#This one got a little bit long-sorry!!

[beaulesbian]

Rings of Power 2.06 || Where is He?

└ "Did you not hear that? Outside. Sounded like a siege alarm."

(+ bonus: when the manipulation was successful)

[iknowwhereyousnoozeatnight]

this one's for all the yuri enjoyers out there — nsft under cut

meronia event prompt(s): scar

[the-red-thread-that-strangles]

Rei is late for the first time since he's started working at Poirot.

Neither terrorism attacks nor hostage crises have affected his being on time. Not even a runaway horse managed to keep him.

But he spends one night with Akai Shuichi, and his perfect record is ruined. Asshole.

Despite his calling ahead, Azusa gives him a worried look. He stops briefly to give her a mock-embarrassed apology, turning up the charm. Promises he won't be late again. Then he's off to the storage room.

He needs to fetch his ingredients and get to baking.

Rei's going to find Akai and strangle him, just as soon as his shift is over.

.

Roughly 12 hours earlier.

There's a gun aimed right between his eyes.

That in itself is nothing unusual. The situation could be worse, really.

After all, his own gun is pointed right back at Akai Shuuichi's annoyingly smug face. At this distance, he'll be able to read his movement, react in time. He'd rather talk, but if the sniper fires, Rei will drag him into hell too.

Blood for blood. Mutually assured destruction.

(His excitement is slightly dampened by the fact he's rather certain Akai won't kill him.)

"Caught you." Rei can't help the satisfaction slipping into his voice.

Finally. After three years, their game of cat and mouse is over. He'll have his answers.

The most pressing of which-

"Where's Scotch?"

The words cut into the silence, sharpened by fear. His best friend might still be dead, after all. (If he isn't, why hasn't he contacted Rei?)

It's not like he has much to go on to suspect he's alive, besides the fact that Akai himself came back from the dead. Rei can only hope he brought Hiro along.

Before Akai answers, there's a click. The world becomes dizzyingly bright, expanding past the muzzles of their guns.

Rei blinks the disorientation away. Spots silhouettes from the corner of his eyes. He hasn't met them before, but he's familiar, of course, with the owners of this house. How long have the Kudos been watching them?

While he's busy processing that revelation, Akai holsters his gun. Part of Rei hates how nonchalant Akai is about all of this, exposing himself so easily. Like Rei isn't a threat, won't put a bullet in his head because of a couple of witnesses. (Hates that he's probably right.)

"I propose a trade. For old time's sake."

(The words leave a bitter taste with Rei. They haven't exchanged anything, not goods, not words, not warmth, in years.)

Akai snaps open a cheap flip phone - likely a burner. His thumb hovers over the call button. The fingers of his other hand, long and dextrous, wrap around the barrel of Rei's P7M8, tugging gently, but insistently.

Rei considers his options. He holds no illusions - without his gun, he won't be able to dispatch Akai. But he's more than capable of holding his own for long enough to escape, if need be.

(He could just fire, right now. It wouldn't have to be lethal. Could take the phone by force. But chances are, whatever information Akai has, he'll be much less willing to share it with a bullet wound.)

Rei looks up at Akai, meets his green, green eyes. The part of him that shows genuine emotions, some days. (Not that Rei is one to talk.)

Finds Akai looking...tired. He wears a small smile, but it's worn around the edges. There's no open mockery, no quiet amusement. It's just the two of them, and an offer.

Rei lets go of the gun. He hopes he won't be needing it, tonight.

.

Akai helps him up, his hand warm and steady. As soon as he's upright, Rei lets go - he can walk perfectly fine by himself, thank you very much.

The FBI agent shows him to the living room, tells Rei to make himself a home. After all, the Kudos have promised to give him some privacy, for his chat.

For a moment, the sniper lingers, gaze caught by the phone. Then Akai casts his eyes down, and leaves Rei alone.

Silence, if not for the crackle of the damned fireplace, fills the room. Rei hesitates for a moment. Then he presses 'call' for the only number in the directory.

The phone crackles with static, beeps as it establishes connection, then-

"Hi, Zero."

The world stops moving. Relief floods his system, sapping the tension from his muscles. He leans against the soft backrest, breathing freely for the first time in a good long while.

.

Their talk is short. Rei asks some questions to establish it's truly Hiro, not an imposter (though that would make a very poor basis for the negotiation the Kudos have planned).

Hiro tersely explains some things, although he isn't allowed to give away much. He's in the FBI's witness protection program. That they're talking at all is a massive bending of the rules, authorized only because of Akai's insistence. He claimed it was of critical importance to their mission.

It certainly is, to Rei.

.

The next hours are a blur.

The sofa dips when Akai sits down at his side, the Kudos already having taken their seats on the other side of the small coffee table. (He wishes Akai would sit farther away. That he be less reasonable in his assumptions and demeanour.)

It's somewhat surreal to think that celebrity actress Kudo Yukiko of all people gives him a steaming cup of chamomile lavender honey tea. Good thing working with Vermouth has knocked most of the starstruck behaviour out of him; his younger self would have made a fool of himself.

He can't afford that. After all, they are seeking him out in an official capacity, requesting PSB senior agent Furuya Rei's cooperation.

It certainly is strange for them to reach out through him, considering his known enmity of Akai. But he's a professional - he might be reluctant to work with the man, but it's not his decision to make. He'll relay the offer, unless it's utter garbage.

So he pays attention while they share what they can of their plan to take down the organisation. Listens to their pledge for equal contribution, and their promise of crediting the PSB with a successful operation; an obvious play intended to soothe the wounded pride of the Japanese, after years of illegal activity. But it's the least they can do.

If one were to ask Rei, the offer is certainly worth considering. The PSB has been working the case for five years now, and while they have gathered intel, and managed to place Bourbon as a vital asset, they're barely closer to shutting the organization down than when they started. It's sprawling, interconnected with various businesses, and, worst of all, active internationally. If they don't cut off all its heads at the same time, odds are the members will simply flee to a different branch. Maybe lie low for a bit, and then go about their business with renewed vigour.

It seems like an international cooperation might just be necessary to achieve this task. So he'll be their messenger; it's above his pay grade to decide whether to take them up on the offer or not.

Though privately, he hopes his superiors agree; every day they lose ground to the organization. By this point, Rei doesn't really care anymore whose plan it is that finally does the organization in, as long as it gets done. (And as long as he and the PSB are finally treated with the appropriate amount of respect.)

Still, he can't help thinking they wouldn't be having this conversation now, if these foreign agencies had respected the official channels ahead of time. Maybe Hiro could be hiding in Nagano then, with his brother, instead of being confined to the other half of the globe. In the US, of all the terrible places to be. He shivers.

.

By the time they're done it's very late. Rei is already half-dozing off, despite his best efforts to stay awake. It would be highly irresponsible to drive in this state, so he's asked their hosts for a coffee (he's sure a place housing Akai will have more than enough of it to go around). He'll just rest his eyes for a moment, until they're back.

.

Something light is being dropped on him, almost stirs him to consciousness. But it's warm, soft, and smells of huddling together in an abandoned apartment.

(Of long-forgotten small comforts.)

Not a threat.

Thus satisfied, his body collects its due, and he's dragged back under, into deep, dreamless sleep.

.

Which brings Rei to the reason he's late.

Someone, and he has a very good idea of who it was, put his phone in airplane mode, drew all the curtains shut, and kept the rest of the house quiet.

(Let him sleep for as long as he needed to.)

So Rei wakes up with a start, in a barely familiar place, the digital clock on the wall indicating it's way past opening time for Poirot. Shit.

He grabs his belongings, pistol, clothes and keys and all, and dashes out the door. He swears he can see Okiya - no, Akai, he was right, damn it - look down on him from that favourite window of his. Asshole. Contrary to him Rei has a job, a cover to maintain. He'll get back at him, yet.

.

It should probably worry him that he can perform the drive to Poirot on autopilot. Too many late-night stakeouts turning into impromptu naps, requiring him to drive straight to work after. So much trouble, over nothing. If Akai had just cooperated sooner-

Then, what? Rei hadn't managed to track him down before his supposed death, and the less interaction there is between Okiya Subaru and Amuro Tooru, the better for both of them. He grinds his teeth, barely manages to brake in time for a redlight.

(Hates that he understands the caution, to a degree.)

.

The universe really is conspiring against him, today.

After the lunchtime rush, a certain pocket-sized detective is ushered in through the door, followed by his guardian and her best friend. The kid gives him odd looks all throughout ordering lunch, too sharp in a way that makes the hairs at the back of his neck stand in up. Rei gives him his sunniest smile, and an extra packet of sugar. He's played games with Gin and Vermouth in worse conditions; he won't yield to a particularly precocious six-year-old.

Despite getting more sleep than the last three nights combined, he's not feeling too well. A single good night's rest can't undo weeks of insomnia. If anything, it only makes apparent what he's lacking.

He finds his mind wandering, glad the preparation of food comes automatically, by now. Whisk and mix and pour. Fry, remove from the pan...

"...uro? You seem unwell."

Too-familiar green eyes stare back at him, bags under the eyes and all. Rei barely manages not to flinch.

Of all the people to catch him spacing out, it just has to be Akai's little sister. The gods must truly hate him.

"Ah, miss Sera. I apologize, I was just pondering some new options for our menu." He winks, gives her his most dazzling smile. "The chamomile lavender honey tea cake has me under its spell."

In response, she just wrinkles her nose, unimpressed. Squints at him with those jade eyes that always see through him too easily.

"Are you sure you're not running a fever? It seems a little warm in here already, yet you're working in a sweater."

Rei blinks at that. The temperature seems fine to him. Azusa hasn't said anything about it either.

"I appreciate the concern, but I assure you, I'm perfectly fine. Now, what can I get you?"

One slice of red velvet cake (of course - why did they even keep that on the menu?) and a macchiato later he's rid of her.

For now, at least - she's joined her friends at the window seats, and judging by the way she keeps sneaking glances at him when she thinks he isn't looking, he hasn't seen the last of her yet.

Still, her questions are odd. Surely he doesn't look that terrible?

(Vermouth has taught him some of her secrets; he's been concealing the shadows under his eyes for a while now. Nobody's ever found him out. Why is it now that people notice?)

.

He continues to work mindlessly, unfocused. This damn shift just doesn't seem to want to end.

He just about manages to avoid knocking Ran out for leaning over the counter, into his space. She remains blissfully unaware of the danger she just escaped, smiling brightly, kindly.

"Excuse me, I have a question."

Rei closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, counts to four. Smiles at the girl. "Go ahead", he says, continuing to whisk some cake batter.

Ran leans in closer, conspiratorially.

"Masumi is too shy to ask" - that's a bold-faced lie, if he's ever heard one, and he's something of an expert on the matter - "but she'd love to know where you got that sweater."

Now, Ran's a lovely young lady, always eager to help. It's a pity she's being manipulated for Sera's gain. Because there has to be more to the question, even if Rei can't see it yet.

Of course, he can't tell the girls the truth - Kazami bought it for Bourbon's cover. But the best lies are closest to the truth, so-

"I apologize, but I do not know where it was bought. A friend gave it to me." His best calculated-apologetic smile smoothes the blow, hopefully.

"Oh. I see." Ran visibly deflates. Still, her good manners prevail. "Thank you, though!" And with that, she's heading back to her table.

Strange. What could Sera possibly want with his sweater? If she wanted to track him down, surely there's more efficient ways, and it's not like he doesn't have a dozen similar cream sweaters-

Wait. Cream?

Rei's pretty sure he dressed in black to infiltrate the Kudo manor. He's not been home and he hasn't changed for work.

He manages to supress a groan, but he's sure there's some unpleasant emotion visible on his face.

...he must have grabbed the sweater along with the rest of his belongings in the morning rush.

Now that he's looking at it, it's clearly a little too large for him. It's also warm, fuzzy, soft, and utterly unoffensive. That's probably why it didn't register, before.

The sweater does smell decidedly of Akai - cigarettes and a hint of his obnoxious aftershave. The warm scent of curry is new - though unsurprising, given his foray into cooking. Great. That's why they've been staring at him. Sera likely recognizes the sweater and Conan spends enough time with Akai to know the scent.

His gut instinct is to go change, right now, get rid of the damning piece of connection to the man he has too many conflicting emotions about. But a long-sleeved black turtleneck is hardly appropriate work attire for Poirot. Besides, if he changes now, the pair of detectives watching him will just have their suspicions confirmed.

So he grits his teeth, takes in a deep breath that smells too much like Akai, and gets back to work.

.

Rei does change out of the sweater as soon as he's done with his shift.

(It doesn't help. The scent lingers.)

.

He's tempted to just toss the sweater, but can't help feeling like it would be a waste. It's quality craftsmanship, well-worn but taken care of - this kind of sweater would pill, otherwise.

It really shouldn't be faulted for its owner's flaws.

So he puts the sweater in a bag, intending to have it dry-cleaned and give it back later.

He should really hunt down Akai, too, but if he's honest, he's just too tired. He probably shouldn't even drive, in his condition, but he needs to get to a safe place, to think about the developments of the night.

.

He reports to Kuroda, showers thoroughly, and falls into bed.

.

Rei can't have slept long. The sunset colours the world in blood red hues by the time he wakes up, out of breath, heartbeat too fast.

Visions of smoke and ash cling to him. Explosions, destroying him one by one, until nothing remains but death alone.

Hagiwara and Matsuda, taken by violent flame.

Hiro's remains, crushed and burnt beyond recognition.

Akai's smile, grimly defiant, as he's shot by Kir. He too finds his end in a blaze, lacking glory.

They're gone.

Consumed by the inferno that seems to follow Rei around. Which burns everything he cares about, leaves him freezing in its wake.

(He can't even cry, his tears evaporating in the heat.)

Rei shivers, draws the blankets closer. Hopes for a little bit of cover, a little bit of warmth.

Please. If he could just shake off the nausea. If he could stop his spiralling thoughts. Logically, he knows that's not all true, even if his heart burns. Akai and Hiro aren't dead.

It's a lie, they're alive, it's a lie, they're alive, it's a lie a lie a lie a lie-

A set of sharp barks rips him out of his thoughts, back into the present.

Oh. He's woken Haro.

The little guy stands in front of his bed, ears tucked back and hackles raised. A defiant ball of fluff that cares so much, trying to growl the nightmares away.

(It might just work.)

Slowly, shaking and somewhat off-balance, he reaches down to scoop up his dog. Wiggles the blanket off his shoulders so he may cradle the whining bundle of fur to his chest. It's soothing, to feel the warmth of another living being by his side. They sit, the silence permeated by Haro's huffed breaths. His body heat seeps into Rei's chest, nestles in his heart.

"I apologize for worrying you. I'll be fine, soon."

He's not alone.

Haro nudges his hand, demands to be pet. Rei obliges, of course he does.

He's not alone.

.

Still, the headache is a pain. He won't be able to go back to sleep like this, will need to grab a painkiller.

He makes his way to the kitchen counter, keeping to the walls because he's still somewhat unsteady, carrying his bundle of warmth along.

The dog throws a fit as they pass the bag with Akai's sweater, growling and yapping at it. Despite the circumstances, Rei can't help but smile.

"I'm glad to see we feel the same way about him."

Wait.

Inspiration strikes in the form of a very stupid idea.

Because that sweater, with its stupid mixed scents, reeking of Akai, is proof he didn't just imagine last night's events. Tangible and olfactory and physical proof. If he were to wake from a nightmare, with it by his side...the anger at Akai would surely keep the pain at bay.

It's worth a try.

.

As he goes back to bed, Haro lies down beside him. Rei keeps petting him, one-handedly. With the other, he holds on to a cream sweater that isn't his.

When he breathes, it smells of too-long stakeouts in windy apartments.

Of Rye's extra blankets, the ones he started to bring when he noticed Bourbon always freezing; irritating to no end, how he was always better prepared for cold weather than Rei.

(It smells of Bourbon's cooking, given in exchange for soft blankets.)

Scents of a tentative alliance, as thread-bare as the fabric between them.

Grounded between the warmth of Haro, and the scent of Akai, Rei falls asleep, waiting for the dog days to finally be over.

[vaya-writes]

Serving the Serpent - 7

Briar owes Lord Isen her life. She works off her debt by serving in his castle. Dealing with the rapidly changing circumstances of her life, she’s not used to anyone paying her much attention. It’s hard when Isen seems set on interacting with her. 

Cis female human with selective mutism x male naga (slow burn, co-workers to lovers, power imbalances, eventual smut). 2700 words. Content warnings for this chapter include allusions to Briar's cult-like upbringing, it's implied that Isen did not have a great childhood, and some unwanted romantic advances (though not taken far). Divider from firefly-graphics

Briar is still adjusting to her new position. Cue some world building, and some backstory tidbits from Isen regarding his family.

Previous - Masterlist

Briar’s stress starts to pick up the first time Isen uses the speaking tube. She hadn’t slept late. Not really. But Isen had to be up early for a meeting, and had woken before Briar in a rare instance. 

There’d been a shrill whistle from the tube beside her bed, and Briar had been awake immediately, heart pounding, panicking as she tried to kick her legs free of the blankets. It had taken her several moments to place herself, to identify the source of the noise, and to calm her breathing before opening the valve of the speaking tube and tapping on the metal mouthpiece, nails clacking to signify she was ready for Isen’s message. 

Things grow hectic from there. With Winter's arrival, Isen is busier, attending meetings with the locals at least twice a week. Much of Isen’s time is spent with Dinah Vulsinger, his financier, finalising the budget for the upcoming year. The rest is spent with Arol, Isen’s right hand. The lizard is from the area, and has a large part in organising last minute supplies for the winter, and preparing for the thaw. 

Briar dutifully follows Isen in this time, keeping her ears open, learning as much as she can about how he governs the Lowlands. 

She learns to write with ease. It’s still slow going, and her vocabulary is miniscule compared to those around her. But gradually she learns new words and their spellings. Numbers come less easily to her, but Lockwood has her practicing different sums each day.  

Isen makes Briar read the documents Dinah sends him. He makes her read everything, for that matter, until the words swim before her eyes, and she no longer parses meaning from the papers. Sure, reading budgets and stock counts help her understand applied mathematics. But there’s only so much she can absorb each day. 

She comes to relish her work as a cleaner and servant. It’s a chance to let her mind wander. To work without being in a state of intense concentration. But the tasks dwindle as she becomes more efficient. With the floors cleaned each day, it hardly takes her half an hour to do them. She could probably change Isen’s linens with her eyes closed. It leaves her with far too much time on her hands – time that Isen easily monopolises. 

Because when she’s not cleaning, or reading, or following him around from meeting to meeting, duty to duty, he’s speaking to her. Chattering about his work, even if half the information goes over her head. Asking how to sign certain things. Gently prodding now and then, about Briar herself. About New Haven. About her aunt. About her life before. 

She’s grateful he doesn’t ask certain questions. Not what happened to her parents. Nor why she is mute. Or how she ended up a sacrifice to the beastly creature of Eastern Highwood. She’s not sure if she’s ready to share those aspects of herself. It’s hard enough talking about herself. She’d been taught from a young age: she was to be seen and not heard. Speaking only when spoken to. Her worth was less than those around her. 

Isen must have been raised differently, she thinks. Despite being a Lord. Despite owning land. Something must have happened to make him different. Why else would he treat all his servants with kindness and smiles? Greet the peasants among them with familiarity, and good humour? Why else would he keep asking her opinion? Touching her hand as he passed? Bumping shoulders when she forgets her guard? 

It confuses her. Flusters her. Unsettles her. But she grows... not quite used to it. But to expect it. The casualness, and the disregard for etiquette. His freedom with touch, and his continuous quips. She’s not sure she’ll ever be completely okay with them, but it gets easier to mask her surprise. Easier to relax her shoulders, and not freeze up completely if he lingers in her personal space a moment too long. He’s proven himself safe to be around. Backing off when she ices him out, or apologising if he notices her discomfort.  

“You look tired,” he comments over one dinner. 

She straightens, suddenly aware of her slouch. Then shrugs. ‘I’m fine.’ 

A smile flickers at his mouth, before he covers it with his hand. “You’re allowed to be tired, you know.” 

Is she? She’d woken up to the speaking tube again, letting her know that Isen would be taking his breakfast elsewhere. Hastily she’d dressed and stepped into Isen’s chambers to ask if he wished she accompany him, but he’d waved her off.  

It takes a mental toll, being switched on all the time. Being on standby, even when Isen doesn’t have her working. She’s loath to disappoint, or to keep Isen waiting. He doesn’t interrupt her during her down time often, but when he does, she can’t help but scramble into action, an unwelcome anxiety growing in her, that if she makes him wait too long, he’ll be unhappy. He’ll punish her. 

“Are you following the new lessons Lockwood gave you?” 

She stills her features, masking her displeasure. She’d started learning multiplication and division. It’s a lot to get her head around, but she is picking it up. ‘They’re not easy, but I can do them.’ 

Isen lets the smile show this time. “They’ll get easier with practice.” 

There’s a beat of silence while they both eat. Isen breaks it again. “And the meetings. We haven’t been debriefing as frequently. Did you have any questions?” 

Endless questions. She lets her next frown show. ‘Yes, but...’ she struggles with her phrasing, ‘...I don’t know where to start.’ She also hadn’t wanted to bother Isen. She knows he’s open to teaching her, answering her questions. He does so with patience every time. But she also only asks the most pertinent of questions, not wanting to take hours just to fill in the gaps of her knowledge.  

That and there are questions she literally can't ask. She doesn’t know the signs, or the spelling for several of the concepts that are mentioned in front of her. It’s frustrating. 

“Start at the beginning?” 

It’s not very helpful advice. Still. She leans back to consider a topic. Decides on something of current relevance. 

‘What happens during the thaw?’ (Thaw. Melt. Ice change to water.) 

“Oh, the thaw. Well, it floods, of course. You probably haven’t seen the worst of it in Highwood, but depending on the length of the winter, some of the usual settlements become uninhabitable. It doesn't last long, but it can be quite destructive.” 

Briar frowns. ‘Why build there?’ 

Isen shrugs. “Where else? The woods are narrow, populated with humans and beasts. You can live in the marsh if you build on stilts. The only things we can farm in this area practically grow in the water. And there are no main roads, so all imports have to come by river.” 

Briar almost doesn’t ask her next question. ‘Is it worth it?’ 

Isen raises his brows. “What? Living here?” 

‘Ruling here.’ (Ruling. Owning. Working.) 

Isen smiles at that, the expression unusually contrite. “It’s... not a glamourous area, no. But my father bestowed stewardship to me. And people would live here regardless of rule. So, I take it upon myself to do a good job.” 

It’s strange having such a casual conversation with Isen. Learning details about him that don’t come up when he’s on the clock.  

‘Who is your father?’ 

Isen’s expression hardens, if minutely. Still, Briar braces at the change in his exterior. “My father. Lucien Kovit. One of the Collective. He rules over nearly half of the Isles, if you include my and my sister’s territories.” 

Briar blinks. She’d had no idea that Isen had come from such an influential family. 

He winces at her expression. “Don’t. It doesn’t change anything. My father is an arrogant, controlling, unkind male, and I’d rather not be grouped in with him.” 

Still, curiosity eats at her. Her family situation was vastly different from many of the ones she saw growing up; she can’t help but wonder at how Isen was raised. 

‘What about your mother?’ 

Isen relaxes, but not by much. “One of father’s many wives. Their partnership was less political, and more about offspring. A boa and a sea serpent were considered an unstable match, but father wanted a clutch of venomous children. Regardless, I barely knew the female. We were all my father’s creatures.” 

Something about his phrasing makes Briar reexamine Isen. Sympathy creeps through her. Enough so that part of her is tempted to share her own fraught history. A part she staunchly ignores, in favour of more interesting information. 

She hopes it’s a lighter topic. ‘And are you?’ 

“Am I...?” 

‘Venomous?’ She has to mime the meaning, pointing at her teeth when no synonyms come to mind. 

“Oh, no. Well, I’ve no venom I can use in combat anyway.”  

There’s a grey tinge to Isen’s cheeks. Is he... blushing? 

A growing part of her is dying to know what he means, politeness be damned. ‘Not in combat?’ (Combat. Fight.) 

“No,” he says, more firmly. “My sister Zyla, and my brother Starlen inherited deadlier venoms. Zyla possesses an uncommon neurotoxic venom which paralyses her opponents, whereas Starlen has a more traditional hemotoxin.” 

Briar has no idea what several of those words mean, but she knows a deflection when she hears one. Clearly Isen doesn’t want to talk about his own abilities.  

She respects the move, begrudgingly, and shrugs. ‘You have siblings?’ (Brother. Sister. Both. Siblings.) 

He grimaces. “Too many half siblings to count. Literally scores of them. But of my clutch there are three. Zyla, Starlen, and Kylet.” 

‘What are they like?’ 

Isen finishes his food and slouches over his desk. “Zyla is the golden child. She has a whole island under her stewardship. Starlen... has a posting in the Isle military. Kylet is a bit of an entrepreneur. A bad one. Regardless, father still funds their businesses. Encourages them when they fail.” Isen frowns. “That one could get away with murder if they tried.”  

Briar tries reading between the lines. She’s not sure why but it seems like, ‘you’re not favoured?’ 

Isen’s nose crinkles. “Not in the least. Father doesn’t like my style of business.” 

‘Why?’ 

Isen shrugs. “I’m not trying to conquer the neighbours. Or build a monopoly. My name won’t be in history books or written on statues and plaques. He’s obsessed with legacy. Always on my case about making a name for myself. Or how I run the place.” He rolls his eyes. “Just thinking about it irritates me. Can we talk about something else?” 

Brian offers Isen a rare smile. It’s small, and strained, and her next signs are hesitant, but she offers as much solidarity as she can. ‘I wasn’t favoured either.’ 

Isen’s next smile matches her own. It’s more of a grimace. “Based on how we met, I’d gathered.” He doesn’t meet her eyes when he next speaks, staring instead at one of the reports on his desk. She gets the feeling that he’s paying close attention, however. ���Did you want to talk about it?”  

She lets out a noise of displeasure.  

Isen looks back to her, surprised at the vocalisation.  

‘No thank you.’ 

He gives a begrudging smile. “If you ever change your mind, I’ll listen.” 

She shrugs, and stands, ready to tidy up. She’s collecting dishes and clearing the desk when she notices Isen’s stare. He looks contemplative, biting his lip absent mindedly. 

It’s an effort not to fidget under his gaze, and she wonders if he even realises he’s staring. Until he breaks the silence. 

“I’ve a trip planned later this week. It’s not far, just touring the villages in the Lowlands. Would you like to come with me?” 

Briar blinks. It’s hard to parse an expected reaction when Isen’s face is carefully composed into neutrality. She evades the question, asking instead, ‘Should I come?’ 

Her boss shrugs. “It would be a good opportunity to see the Lowlands. Learn about the villages. See me at work.” 

She imagines he might let her stay behind if she truly wished. But he makes a fair point. Apprehension still fills her. ‘I’ve never travelled before.’ 

He breaks into a gentle smile. “It’s a longer trip from Highwood to here than it is to the villages.” 

She contains a wince. Keeps the sentiment to herself – that she doesn’t remember much of that trip to Riversreach. That she’d been drugged into insensibility and numb with terror. 

But he waits patiently for her answer. Perhaps he’d be amenable towards a few questions... 

‘How long?’ 

He relaxes fractionally at her interest. “A day at the shortest. It’s usually an overnight trip.  

‘Why?’ 

“Why is it an overnight trip?” 

‘Why do you go?’ 

His eyes unfocus as he considers. “This trip is to inspect preparations for winter and the thaw. Arol could do it for me, but I try to visit the locals once each season. Remind them I exist.” 

‘They would otherwise forget?’ (Else. If you did not.) 

Isen smiles, though not at her. “It’s easier to build trust and connections with a person when you know their face, don’t you think? When you can speak with them from time to time. I could delegate the work, but I like to hear the local problems for myself on occasion, too. It certainly makes them more tangible than if I just read about it.” 

She’s surprised at his reasoning. The Pilgrims had taught her that authority (except from their own leaders, or course) was always out of touch. That they did not care for the peasants or their problems. She’d wondered why he’d been so busy with meetings lately. The stream of locals visiting twice weekly had perplexed her. 

“So, will you join me?” 

She’s still apprehensive. But now she can’t help but feel curious. And that curiosity outweighs the fear. Barely. 

She gives Isen a measured nod.  

He smiles. “I’ll let Arol know. He'll sort our transport and accommodation. Do let Lockwood know that you’ll be absent from your lessons, yes?” 

Briar finishes her tidying. Typically, she’d rejoin Isen at the table, reading over his reports, but tonight he waves her off. 

“You’ve done enough today, Legs. Unless you want to keep working.” 

She conceals a grimace at the nickname. Then shrugs. ‘What else would I do?’ 

Isen stills, before frowning at Briar. “I don’t know if anyone has told you this, but you are welcome to leave Riversreach on your days off. Or visit your old quarters to socialise during the evenings. There are shops in the villages too. You might see something you’d like to purchase.” 

She had not been told. She hadn’t even been aware that she had days off. Perhaps Lockwood had informed her, on that first day here. But she’d been too sick with anxiety, too grief stricken over the loss of her home to take in any of the details. She hadn’t even left the castle in her weeks here, nor spent any of her wages. It’s little wonder she has no source of leisure. 

She doesn’t let any of that show on her face, though. Instead, she gives Isen a gracious nod. ‘I’ll bear it in mind.’ 

He tilts his head, a playful lilt entering his words. “Unless, of course, you’re lingering because you enjoy my company.” 

She gives Isen a flat stare, but it’s not enough to dissuade him from continuing.  

“I’m actually going to bed now, Legs. So, unless you wanted to join me...” 

She can’t help but stiffen; her lips pursing with the effort it takes to bite back her scowl. She decides right then that she’d rather spend the next few hours doing nothing in her room, than deal with Isen’s casual advances.  

‘Goodnight, my lord,’ she signs, before promptly leaving.  

It’s a shame of course, she reflects upon entering her room. She’s confident by now that Isen won’t fire her for leaving so suddenly. That he won’t hold it against her if she denies his advances, or shirks his humour.  

She just wishes he wouldn’t make such attempts. If it weren’t for them, she could almost allow herself to agree with him. To admit that she really does enjoy his company.  

If only a little. 

Next

[astrobei]

a body in motion - chapter 2

“I– Will?”

Mike doesn’t know why he asked. He would know Will anywhere, even like this– the sunken-eyed corpse he had just watched them pull from the quarry bed. His red vest is still waterlogged, his hair matted to his face, skin still tinged with an undead sort of blue, but unmistakably, undoubtedly Will.

“Will?” Mike tries again, voice coming out shaky and uncertain. A dream, he thinks, curling his hands into fists, digging his nails into the tender meat of his palms. He doesn’t feel it at all. It’s a dream.

[hcdragonwrites]

Banquet ( a @journey-to-the-au fic)

I had to split this into two parts because … it’s 16 pages and I did NOT want to swamp anyone with a wall of text. I’m finishing up the last bit later today possibly after work or tomorrow. I hope you all enjoy!

If there was anything that Heaven knew how to do, it was to throw a party.

In the most boring way possible to Willow.

The entertainment for tonight’s banquet of Heavenly Delight were four great white mares, set to dancing. The great beasts were dressed in robes so long they brushed the courtyard ground beyond their feathered hooves. Purple and gold, saffron and yellow silk was tied to their manes as they sashayed and side stepped in perfect tandem to the soft orchestra led by Gold Chimes Softly. The drums beat a second heart to the horses hooves. Everything was ever perfect and in time. Not a swish of a tail or a twitch of an ear. Willow heard the bells on the great hooves beat in perfect harmony. Other women from their seats applauded as the mares danced softly from side to side. To everyone who awaited the main course and delighted in the dancing, it was the most marvelous entertainment.

To Willow, she was bored to her wits end.

Not a single spark of spontaneous will, Willow thought as her hands settled in her lap. It was another feast her father had requested by letter for her to attend. Well her and Wukong who-even now after almost hundreds of years!- the celestial busy bodies still whispered that she, Earth Reaching Willow, must be under some sort of cursed spell, some beguilement to be married to him.

Sometimes the pasty nobles and smooth beautiful faces of the lady’s behind their fans and sleeves earned the deepest scorn from Willow.

She looked up to the sky. They were seated in the courtyard of sorts, where the pavilions were open to the air and backdropped by the perfectly cut ivy crawling it’s way up the trellis. The warm air and the music was welcome but also stifling in a sense. Incense burned not too far away, cloying with the scent of cooking food in the worst possible way. Willow saw that every star was in its perfect place, the constellations playing at perfection to please their Emperor. Another laugh from nearby caught her ear over the dancing horses. She turned and saw a few attendants huddled in a whisper, pointedly looking between other guests at the banquet. Seems their is rumor scheming going about. How dull.

I bet none of them have witnessed the beauty of a star shower from earth.

She hid it well however, her scorn. Willow couldn’t understand how anyone would choose Heaven over the ever changing earth below. None of these thoughts made themselves visible on her face however. Schooled and taught, bred to peaceful serenity, Willow let nothing ripple the calm of her outward appearance. As cool as a northern star, as serene as a flower in a vase.

Captive peace was hardly true peace. It was stagnation. It was the loss of what made the peace worthwhile. Willow had experienced that feeling: of tumbling in the grass, the heat of the fire as a lightning strike burned a forest down, of the sea and its salty spray in a storm. Willow had felt the movement of a world and it had caught her and held her constantly in its motion.

She took a sip of wine to hide her mouth as it began to slip into a frown. The wine may be of the best quality, brewed by the greatest hands and purified in the finest crystal, but it would never compare to the joy of the toasts her earthen family held in their patch of paradise. Of how when Ba got into his cups he would challenge his sister Ma to a duel of jokes and japes. The music made by Sweet, a kind little monkey, was a better tune and full of more life then Gold Chimes Softly well placed and organized orchestra. Sweet could play a jaunty tune upon their flute, while the rest of his little musician group followed along. They could whip the troupe into a frenzy of dancing and table jumping. Willow had danced before, controlled and reserved like the Mares in their bells and ribbons. But dancing within her husband's court had been an experience she never would have imagined missing. The dancing wildness and stamping feet, the spinning from partner to small partner, the joy that filled the air and the laughter. It had been better than star wine - it had been an intoxication that had left her heart drumming and face smiling wide.

The horses finished their beautiful dance and the court clapped. Willow clapped too. The mares did wonderfully. It was not their fault that the dance felt too restrained, too controlled.

Her father was happy to have her home. Willow could tell by the very evident glances down to his daughters from his seat at the head of the table. He had all of his family arrayed about him, basking. Willow made polite conversation that only scraped surface level with her sisters and the passing women who came to visit her seat. Willow complemented the lady’s jewels and colored gowns. To the men she disarmed a hundred pointed comments that were trying to dig beneath and get to the root of what would be tender and delectable tea to spill in court.

That great sage- he drinks with a gusto! Is it always this way?

Translation - is he a drunk ?

My what clothes. Such a unique style it must have been picked up in his travels!

Translation: He dresses like a Savage. Is He a Savage to you?

Willow had almost slapped another adviser who had pointedly remarked on the lack of children they had and questioned Wukongs ability to perform.

Her sisters, oh her clever sisters, had rallied to her defense in the most courtly way they could: they turned him into a piece of gossip to throw back to court.

“Did you hear?” Wind Over Sea stage whispered to Autumn Leaves Falling.

“Oh do tell!” Autumn Leaves Falling flashed her most wonderous smile, catching the Advisor in her trap.

“Seems that Moon Shadowed Clouds husband has been kicked out of their bedroom!” Wind replied, making direct eye contact with the Advisor.

“How terribly pitiful!” Weaves the Clouds remarked from her cushion beside the other sisters. The Jade Emperor watched from above, keeping himself out of the gossip.

“Wasn’t he caught drinking down in one of the mortal brothels ?” Autumn added, her eyes slashing toward the advisor.

“I heard it was on his Wife’s birthday to boot!” Winter Frosted Grace sniffed, setting her cup of tea down.

Her sisters turned in unison to stare down the Advisor with such cat like intensity.

“For shame!” Little Weaver Girl, the youngest of the brood of women, said loud enough for the court to hear. Little could get away with being louder than the rest- she was adored by their father and was the master weaver of heaven. Her creations had been sought after by all the courts when their father had worn one of her robes that Little had made. “Trying to twist your bad fortune onto my sister.”

The advisor, of course, made a swift exit with red ears and wounded pride.

Willow was thankful for her sisters. They alone understood that Willow, for whatever reason, had found comfort with Wukong and was truly happy. They didn’t see why she wished to remain down among the earthly mortals. Her happiness was what they valued and, like a streak of tigers, would defend with witty claws and well disguised barbs any that fancied a go at making court gossip from the Emperors family.

Willow wished for the upteenth time that she could bring the lot of them to their mountain. To see what she saw. She knew deep down that none of them would really understand. Except for Little. Her youngest sister often snuck from the court to watch the common people live their lives and to see the other mortal weavers of the world. Little would love their mountain. She began to think of Flower Fruit Mountain as theirs - her and Wukongs. It Held so many memories- so many joys and sorrows.

Where was Wukong?

Willow was surprised he had been absent so long. Wukong was still a bit unaccustomed to the Celestial workings of the court and it’s people. Even after attaining buddhahood and becoming an enlightened master, Willow knew that the gossip surrounding them would never die out. It was tiresome to interact with people who still brought things up from almost centuries ago.

She cast her gaze about for him and saw a flash of his red fur—

And his teeth.

Willows stomach fell, like a falcon folding her wings for a dive. Straight to the bottom of her soul

Wukong was surrounded by a swath of richly dressed courtiers, lords and men of the Palace. They kept a respectful courtly distance but Willow knew it was too close. Her dear friend was giving all the warnings she had learned over the centuries together to read. His eyebrows had been raised at the beginning of her watching but now they lowered, the teeth on full display. A smile of aggression. A smile that said ‘I take offense’. He felt accosted and would soon act upon it. For all the calm that had been taught, her husband could not forget that he was a creature that had to fight for so long.

Oh these utter fools, Willow thought. They still don’t know when to leave him well enough alone.

It would be their fault for not understanding Wukongs simple and very obvious attempts to walk past and around them. But another man would join, asking to hear of his teachings from the Buddha himself, and his eyes would make direct contact with theirs and the teeth would shine all the sharper. That wasn’t a smile. That was a promise of violence.

Willow knew if Wukong reacted it would only cement the court's opinion of Wild Beast they saw. Willow had to act fast before the feast turned from one of peace to one of violence. So Willow, setting her goblet down whispered to her nearest sister, Winter.

“Catch me.”

“Beg pardon?”

And then Willow, with the grace of all her years of acting and tricking the witless fools of Heaven, swooned and fainted. Winter caught her, crying out in more surprise than worry.

Willow made sure she brought her hand up dramatically to her face, the sleeve covering her mouth. Her elbow she had knock into the tray that held food and Willow was rewarded with the loudest clatter of porcelain cracking onto the floor beneath them. The goblet she had placed was sent flying to spill into the rug beneath their cushioned seats.

Sorry father. I know you wanted a peaceful night with us all.

Her dramatics had the desired effect: the court all took in a sudden breath and some gasped. She heard her father call to her and the worry in his voice made Willow's heart beat with a bit of guilt.

“Sister?” She felt hands shake her shoulders in worry and looked up beneath lashes into Winters frosty face.

“Play along, so that way the court doesn’t catch on.” Willow whispered and her hand subtly pointed to where Wukong had been- and where he was running up to her.

“Willow!” He sounded so worried it made her heart give another guilty squeeze. His hands had grown in size, meaning he had made himself larger than regular. “Are you alright my love?”

Willow looked just beneath her arm as she brought it up higher in a mock groan. But he was close enough to hear her now.

“Let’s go home.” Willow could see the stress lines on his face, the anger that had been there cooling like coals in a fire.

“Seems my sister fainted.” Bless her, Little was close enough to see that a game was afoot. And she always approved of games. “It’s been so long since she was at the Palace after all. The scents may have overwhelmed her.”

Wukong looked down just long enough to see Willow give a wink. Some of the tension leaked from him and she could feel it leave his hands. His fast mind seized onto this statement (now that he was given a signal that this was a ruse) and elaborated upon the story.

“My wife was worried about tonight. The winds over our mountain have been so clean and clear while Heavens incense must have overwhelmed her delicate nose.” Wukongs arms took her up, face close to hers.

“How did you know?” He mumbled into her hair. He didn’t ask her if she knew what. Wukong understood that she was doing this for him in some way. It was the intuition of being with each other for so long.

“Saw those courtiers - the fools.” She barely moved her lips to speak and was glad to have her sleeve covering her face. She couldn’t help the smile as he blew air into her ear, tickling her.

“You are a Heaven send.” He said to her then addressed the court.

“Seems my wife needs to clear her head. We will head home on the leave of my Father-in-Law the Jade Emperor.”

“You may go, Sun Wukong. Let me - let me know how she fares will you?” The worry that made the end of his voice tremble at the end had Willow feel just a bit more guilt.

Sorry Father.

Willow felt Wukong bow his head and then they were away, faster than a falling star on a path back to earth. Once past the Celestial guards Wukong tapped her shoulder with a claw and Willow dropped her act and sighed.

“Thank small mercies.” She sighed, gazing out at the fast approaching world below.

“Mercies exist but they are not small.” Wukong said. “I’m holding one in my arms.”

“You flatterer.” She laughed at the sappy look he gave her and she pressed his nose with a delicate finger. “Come, tell me true- what we’re those vipers cornering you about?”

“Seems they were beginning to question my … ability to … well …” Wukong was looking everywhere but her, the wind blowing across his fur. It couldn’t hide the blush turning his face and ears into a tomato.

It only took a second for Willow to understand- and she turned in his arms to glare back into the sky. “I will flay that Advisor!”

“Advisor?”

“Yes. The little shrew of a man must have set the rumour to running before he approached me himself.” The coward. She was glad her sisters had known enough gossip to spin his dilemma into a full show for the court. Willow touched Wukongs cheek, worried. “Tell me what happened.”

“They started asking about my ascension in Buddhism and asked about my teachings. Then they started … well. In on the questions of you and me and our… intimacies.” He was so uncomfortable that he was rubbing at his forehead, claws leaving little red marks on his exposed skin. “It started making me uncomfortable and I couldn’t see or get a clear path to return to you.” Wukong sighed. “I’m sorry Willow.”

“Sorry? You have nothing to apologize for! That man had come up to me and my sisters to dig at us for information as well.” Willow chuckled, remembering how Little, Winter, Cloud and Autumn had perfectly embarrassed the man. “Of course you know the sort my sisters are- even if they don’t quite approve of me living on earth they won’t stand for such pointed questions.”

“You were asked about children as well?”

“Yes and I was about to slap him.” This made Wukong laugh. They sped past a cloud front, promising heavy rain. The mountain was coming into sight now within a sea of jet black turned silver by the moon.

“I would have paid good money to see it. The second slap heard in all of Heaven!” Wukong chortled. Then he sobered. “I’m sorry again.”

“Stop Wukong.” Willow caught his face and pressed a kiss to his temple. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

And then her stomach gave a tremendous growl, like the traitor it was. It took the wind from her words and flamed Wukongs look of timid regret.

“I pulled you away from the feast before you could even get a bite in.”

“We have all the food back at home.” Willow countered. Cursed stomach. As the Mountain got closer and the silence stretched a bit longer Willow looked back at her friend. His face was concentrated in thought that was slowly beginning to brighten to delight.

“Wukong, I know that face. What are you thinking ?”

He was silent, trying to make his face neutral again. And failing miserably. Once they had stepped down and onto solid ground, Wukong set Willow down and returned to his original size.

“Wukong…” Willow tried again, but was interrupted as the two sentries that night, Ma and Ba, came bounding forward, weapons drawn. When they saw it was Wukong and Willow they relaxed and called greetings.

“My King? You Return so soon!” Ma said.

“Was the feast good?” Ba asked, his broken tail giving an agitated flick.

Wukongs face was fully alight with a genuine smile as he looked at Willow then back at his family.

“The feast was a drab thing of mediocre blathering. We will outdo them here!” The Monkey King walked forward, taking Willows hand gently. She followed, knowing that she was about to get her answer to what Wukong was about to do

“Ma! Ba! Call the troupe- fire up the ovens. Set Water Curtain Cave in its best ! We will have our own feast that will rival Heavens!”

“Yes my king!” The two answered in unison then sped off, whooping and calling and waking all of the mountain for a feast. Ma grabbed at her brothers ear and yanked, getting ahead of him. Ba snarled in mock aggression, swinging his leg to knock Mas out from under her. The two had turned it into a race and it didn’t seem that either would make it out without a few bruises along the way.

“They seem eager for it.” Wukong laughed. He led Willow into their home as the lanterns were turned from their sleepy glow to a bright blaze.

“Wukong …”

“What?”

“Why a feast? I don’t need a feast — I would be satisfied with a simple fruit tart and some water.” Willow felt a bit guilty as she saw sleeping mothers poke their heads from the stone homes and peer out at the ever growing and excited crowd calling for feasting. She saw the kitchen fires light up like a twinkling row of stars coming to life.

“Nonsense!” Wukong assured, pulling her along. “ Why should Heaven have fun and we not have any? Besides I have to find a way to thank you for saving my pride while you lost a bit of your own.”

Was that what this was about ?!

“Oh Wukong it’s fine! Women are expected to faint and fall over themselves with the silliest things.” Her sisters had fainted countless times. Mostly to attract the eye of a gentleman or women they thought was beautiful or fancied. Willow had seen Autumn take the most spectacular swoon, right into the arms of one of the generals! Maybe theatrics ran in the family. Wukong simply shook his head. The idea had him now, the excitment of competing with Heaven growing brighter in his eyes.

“I won’t hear of it.” Wukong declared. Willow forgot how competitive her friend could be. But he also was hiding something else he wanted to do. She could read it like a book.

“You are planning something else are you not? Don’t lie, I can see it on your face plain as day!” She teased him, his mirth infectious. The whole cavern was now alive with the news- droves of the family were coming out now gathering in the banquet hall with foodstuffs to share and enjoy in. Wine was being brought up from the deeper colder caves and already the air smelled intoxicating as the cooks set to work.

It was Wukongs turn to wink at Willow now as he left her at her room door, smiling softly. “You will see~”

[appallinnballin]

my beautiful son who has every disease

[dayurno]

what makes Kevin Day/James Rhemann truly work? i am. fascinated. need legit excuses to foam at the mouth for them.

in canon: absolutely nothing at all

in this fic specifically: rhemann has been trying to convince the usc board to fund the trojans' exy team as much as it funds the football team for about as long as he's been a coach at usc, and one of the first thing kevins offers upon visiting is to help him achieve that goal. kevin specifically offers to help by talking to the board, which rhemann finds amusing if a little preposterous because he knew kayleigh once and it sounds like the kind of nonsensical proposal she'd make based on her name alone. he only really takes kevin's word for it once coach wymack vouches that indeed kevin managed to convince the entire psu board to sign on neil on the sole promise that kevin would make him court, which is truly nothing but at this point in his career it might be the last hope he has. rhemann and kevin (and jeremy) spend a lot of time together drafting a proposal to the university and going over the trojans' finances, which puts them at close contact, sometimes well into the night, alone, with kevin day in glasses,

more so i think it's probably to me the dynamic of. first of all hope. rhemann is closer to retiring than he cares to admit and he'd lost all hope of seeing the trojans achieve their full potential during his career, and kevin acts both as a balm to that and a last resort that Feels like what rhemann was missing this entire time. on a more intimate level i made rhemann and kayleigh friends once; he was never in love with her but he spent a non negligible amount of time living in her shadows as a fellow defenseman, and the age difference aside kevin makes him feel just as uncertain about the future as kayleigh had, once, and the similarities astound him. there's also a little bit of it being years since rhemann has last actually played exy: i made him an ex-goalie who retired peacefully and gracefully to being a coach! his career wasn't much to look at so he's very surprised once kevin actually remembers that rhemann played and for what team, remembers his stats and his successes and failures and thinks that if rhemann had stayed on track and worked harder he might have been able to make it as a player. i Really wanted to have a scene where kevin convinces c rhemann to play with him at least for a little bit even though it's obvious that on a shootout against the best striker in the league kevin is wiping the floor with him, and i think that scene is a turning point for both of them because it establishes a little bit of trust and a little bit of wonder and hopefully a lot of unresolved sexual tension

[glittter-skeleton]

Moon and sun (fit check)

This post was sponsored by @h3rmitsunited’s Dirk outfit meta because getting references is hell but you made it a easier

Also look how cute it’s them chilling after the reunion!!!

[pokimoko]

The One-Way Waltz of the Moth and the Wild Flame (and the Incident of the Authorial Intrusion) - A Good Omens Fic

Written by pokimoko

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: ~25K

Fandom: Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Muriel (Good Omens), Crowley & Nina (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) & Original Character(s)

Characters: Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens), Muriel (Good Omens), Original Characters, (who is technically not an original character but I've got to keep some secrets ;) ), Nina (Good Omens), Background & Cameo Characters

Summary: A story in which Crowley does not prevent forest fires, a radio sends out thoughts and prayers, an angel misuses the emergency contact, the local duck population invents socialism, trees are threatened to varying degrees of success, a waltz is indeed played, and an author considers the nature of tragedies.

Tags: Ineffable Divorce | Aziraphale and Crowley Break Up (Good Omens), Post-Break Up, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt, He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Muriel (Good Omens), Crowley & Muriel Friendship (Good Omens), Angst and Humor, Crowley-centric (Good Omens), Canon Continuation, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Episode: s02e06 Every Day (Good Omens), Pre-Season/Series 03, No Aziraphale Slander Here but it is also Crowley's POV so expect at least some Thoughts, Angry Crowley (Good Omens), Running Away, Both in the Emotional and Literal Sense, Because You Don't Have to Deal with Your Romantic and Personal Issues in Washington State. Obviously, (incorrect: you very much do), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), (even if he won't admit it), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), (another thing he won't admit), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), They're just being stupid, Not A Fix-It, References to God(s), Romantic Angst, America, United States, Fire Lookout, Remember Only You Can Prevent Forest Fires (Unless You Are Anthony J. Crowley), hey is it healthy to repeatedly relive a past trauma to deal with a breakup? asking for a friend, Scene: The Bookshop Fire (Good Omens), Fire, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Isolation, When You're Trying to Cope Badly in the American Wilderness but People Keep Talking to You, Radio, Inspired by Firewatch (Video Game), Character Study, Crowley and the Woes of Being In a Narrative That Won't Let You Go, (Fleabag voice) This is a Tragedy, But oh? What's this?, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ambiguous/Open Ending

[crystalleoi]

i got a 7th gen ipod nano and. well. you know.

additional doodles

[earthmoonlotus]

:/

[starryjkoo]

Alright, not to get too caught up in the MHJ drama, but I’m crying because I just reread my now deleted post-Golden rant complaining about BSH, SB, and my issues with their strategy and I got to this part

😭😭😭

No but I was right. Say what you want about MHJ, but NewJean’s was truly HYBE's only other major success outside of BTS and it had nothing to do with BangPD and it turns out that it absolutely did piss him off LMAO. I knew it. You don't have to believe everything she says, but the elevator thing was basically confirmed and there's no normal, well adjusted adult who would ignore young girls like that if they weren't an immature, petty asshole.

Not to be messy and reopen this can of worms, but it does make me think it's even more likely that he might have been a little bitter over LC hitting #1 considering he couldn't take credit for it. He had that whole article in billboard that came out around the same time talking about how they were going to get the next #1 through their connections or infrastructure or however he put it, which was clearly referencing SB & HYBE America. I think he was trying to make it seem like this whole Scooter A&R strategy was ingenious and vital to Western success based on how hard they kept pushing and talking it up. So if MHJ was telling any amount of truth about his attitude and how he acted towards NWJN's, I just can't help but feel like he must have felt at least a LITTLE negatively about LC hitting that #1 right after he was talking such a big game about how his system (that he spent a billion dollars on) was going to be vital to that next #1.

LC was a Korean song Jimin made with a small in-house team so it must have been a little embarrassing for him to say all that to billboard (and probably investors lol) and have it be immediately invalidated. And LC so clearly demonstrated that BTS and the members could still pull off these big feats without him or his ideas and massive investment and personal involvement. And yeah, billboard did target LC right after that to try and smear it's success, but I think this argument still holds up. Especially because if LC was given any extra care or support it could have kept charting. And what billboard did in it's second week was insanely dirty.

(I’m not saying he was MAD about it, or that he didn’t talk it up to investors after, or that he sabotaged Jimin like a vengeful cartoon villain, I’m just being petty and speculating and saying I don’t think he was thrilled about it considering the circumstances)

Likewise NewJean's released music that did have a good chunk of English but was still Korean, and they managed to break a bunch of girlgroup billboard records as well, and that's ANOTHER project that BSH didn't have his hands on at all. In fact it was one he didn't believe in. Yes, ILLIT broke their record for getting their debut song on billboard quicker, however BSH followed the formula that MHJ created and apparently didn't even consult her or give her any credit while creating a group that was clearly inspired by her work (I genuinely love ILLIT and think they have their own identity! But they do follow the formula that MHJ popularized). So it's not like he got another group on billboard with his genius, it was again just following a formula someone else created (Magnetic was a bop and I loved the whole EP, so I'll give him that!).

I honestly don't even know what SB brings to the table that's so helpful because all they need for a pop song to succeed is basic charting tools like CDs and remixes and playlisting, which they could get before him, and basic decent promotions for visibility. And he's not doing anything interesting or helpful for the non-pop releases even though there's a massive market here for indie, alternative, R&B, and rap. Why wasn't CBTM on college stations? He's useless because the pop releases don't even need much to be successful. And none of JKs promotions were new or unique or something they couldn't have gotten before SB either. And if he's doing something else behind the scenes, I don't think that's worth it either.

JK did have more GP tuning in, but his solo debut was still heavily carried by ARMYs who took advantage of every provided tool, so nothing revolutionary they couldn't have accomplished pre-SB. It wouldn't have worked for anyone else like I said before either, a good example being TXT and their Jo Bros collab which flopped. BSH was all overconfident (top 10 on billboard lol) about it because he thought the secret to success was simply - western producer, western collab, english - but their fans didn't care for the song and therefore it didn't do well. So yeah, at the end of the day it's about good music and/or having a big fandom willing to carry (and that very rare charisma the BTS members have). Not whatever stupid synergy strategy BSH thought he unlocked. Honestly I wonder if he's really that stupid to think that they could get a hit with just those things, but I'm starting to think so. Genuinely what good decision has he made lately that wasn't just following trends?

Won't rehash everything again but this MHJ drama did make me look back on all this discourse even though I swore I was done with it. I'm not as bothered by all of this now, I just think it's interesting to look back on and compare some of her criticisms of HYBE & BSH to many of our own criticisms and speculation. While I take her words with a massive grain of salt, I do think there's a lot of outside evidence to back up some of her claims about the company and their issues (and I'm not her fan or excusing her actions or saying she's always truthful either).

Of course I could be totally wrong, just my thoughts. I'll go back to looking forward to Jin returning and upcoming projects because at the end of the day the BTS members are the ones responsible for their own careers and they have to be the ones to advocate for themselves and deal with their company, but the plus side of this situation is that I hope at least some K-ARMYs are approaching the company with more scrutiny and hopefully holding them accountable for certain things, although I won't hold my breath. It was hilarious seeing HYBE's quick response to their complaints about Jin's hug event though. I wish I-ARMYs would stop being such company stans (you can criticize HYBE/BH without being a manti you know) but not getting my hopes up.

I just sincerely hope that this whole SB creative strategy won't carry over into BTS music, or any more of their solo work. I wouldn’t care if the quality was there, but imo it’s too inconsistent (I definitely enjoy most of Golden! Seven is a bop, SNTY is 10/10). It’s not about creating art or good music for them, it’s about trying to design a song that they think will chart. And songs like that will almost always lack in some way. So I hope this doesn’t become a pattern and the members retain their creative freedom and recognize that they definitely do not need to rely on those people for a hit (ofc unless the want to work with them).

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[pikkish]

idk if this is a good prompt but put doomguy in myhouse.wad I think he would find it enriching

Right, so I've been mulling on this one for a little bit now, n I'm not opposed to writing something for you, I'm just not... entirely sure what to write? Because the thing is, myhouse.wad doesn't actually really have anything to do with Doom as a story. Sure, Doom is important in that it's the vessel through which the story is told and one of the connections between the narrator and his dead companion. But as far as Doom itself goes, and the story about a man who was too angry/stupid to die, fighting demons and saving earth, none of that is at all relevant to myhouse.wad and its story. For all intents and purposes, Doomguy isn't actually a character in myhouse.wad. So I'm not really sure how exactly to fit him in there.

[secondpersonpoetry]

you’ve probably already read it before, but the poem Party by Kim Addonizio really got me tonight. first thought was “oh man. yeah” and then my second thought was “how can i make this about my hockey guys somehow………..”anyway! have a good one! 

oh. oh.

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