#actually i just checked the recording time because i recorded it and i spent three hours on this in what world

[sturnsdarling]

teenage dirtbags, part two

Skater!Matt goes to overachiever!readers dorm so she can help him with his essay

vibe check: bickering, matt fancying the fuck out of reader but being unaware, reader being a snob, kind of flirting? idk if you can call it that lol.

1.7k words

A/N: this is so FUN. in my head, Matt has always secretly thought reader was gorgeous, but any and all good natured feelings were swallowed by an avalanche of irritation and borderline hatred

intro, part one, part three

love and cigs, merc

You were sat on the floor of your dorm, clad in a big knit jumper, little shorts and fluffy socks, cross legged on the carpet with a pencil dangling from your mouth as you scanned the margins of some 19th century text about the French Revolution.

You were pulled from your focus by the sound of your door rattling, three short knocks sounding through your room over the low hum of your record playing in the back.

You looked to your watch, 7:03, Matt was actually on time.

You pushed yourself up off the floor and made your way over to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open with a less than welcoming look on your face. You were met with Matt, board in hand and headphones hung round his neck, a flat grin on his face that quickly dropped.

Matt couldn't help but scan your figure, he'd never seen you in anything other than your clean cut outfits, so seeing you in a baggy jumper that hung off your bare shoulder and shorts that just covered your ass was, interesting.

"come in" you said, pulling Matt from his accidental objectifying gaze and stepping to the side to let him in.

"thanks" Matt said as he walked past you, taking in the sight of your room, it actually did smell like vanilla and academic over achievement.

You had more books than he had ever seen in his entire life, the walls covered by rows of bookshelves all packed to the brim with classic literature.

"this is a lot of books" Matt said, gawking at your collection.

You nodded, lips tucked between your teeth as you raised your brows slightly.

"have you read all of these?" Matt asked, pointing at the shelves.

you scoffed with a smile, "no" you shook your head, "just over half, probably"

"that's still impressive" Matt shrugged, dropping his stuff on the floor.

"should we get started?" You said, wanting to cut the small talk and get this over with.

"yeah, sure" Matt said, following your movement and sitting on the floor opposite you, pulling a bunch of crumpled up notes from his bag.

You looked at them in disgust as he tried to flatten them out on the floor, shaking your head as you got up, scanning over your shelves to find anything you had on existentialism. You pulled a few books out and returned to the floor, opening them and scanning over the pages. Your movement grabbed Matts attention, him watching you intently as you began to rip through all the possible approaches he could take, listing off essay summaries as if you knew them like the back of your hand.

Matt wasn't listening, mostly because he had no idea what you were talking about, but also because your hair was falling in your face slightly as you leaned down to scan the books, the strands framing your face perfectly as you spoke with your plump, glossy lips. Matt noticed the small constellation of freckles on your nose, how your eyes darted around the room as you spoke, as if you were literally searching your brain for information, how your brows knit together every time you said 'obviously' and how...what the fuck is going on

"are you even listening?" you snapped, pulling matt from his haze.

"huh?" he said, meeting your glaring eyes, "yeah, yeah, I'm listening" Matt said, shaking the thoughts from his brain.

"because I don't have to do this for you, you know that right? I have much better things to be doing with my time and you're honestly the last person I want to spent my evenings helping" you began to complain, your tone cocky and fed up

"charming" Matt scoffed, "trust me, y/l/n, you're not exactly someone I want to be spending my evenings with either" Matt quipped back, matching your cadence.

"right, well, maybe if you listen to me, this can go a lot faster, and we can go back to pretending we don't know each other" you said with finality.

"fine" Matt shrugged, holding your eye contact

"fine" you repeated, having to get the final word

Matt chuckled, shaking his head with a slight eye roll. You squinted at him, scrunching your face up as his attitude.

"what?" you spat.

Matt couldn't help but grin, "you haven't changed at all" He met your gaze once more.

"what are you talking about?" you said, your voice thick with attitude.

"you always have to have the last word" Matt shifted where he sat, bringing his knee up as a rest for his arm.

"no, I don't" you replied with a scoff.

"yeah, you do" Matt grinned, nodding.

"no, I don't" you pushed.

Matt didn't respond, only raised his eyebrows and tightened his smile, looking at you in an accusatory manner, as if you responding the way you did only proved his point.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and returning your attentions to the book in your lap, "lets just get this over and done with"

The rest of the night went...fine. There was some bickering, mostly started by Matt not listening or simply being himself. You ended up getting his introduction done before you decided it was time to take a break, needing to decompress from all the arguing.

You and Matt sat in silence, you fidgeting with your pen as you scanned over what Matt had written and Matt wandering around your room like a lost puppy, in his search through all your things, his attention was caught by the crates of records that looked as if they were holding up your mattress.

There were hundreds of them, all in alphabetical order, stacked on top of each other in the makeshift bed frame you had made with the crates. Matt scanned the names, in awe of the fact that not only did you collect music, but it was good music. Maybe you did have something in common.

"are these all yours?" Matt said, unable to take his eyes off your collection.

You looked up from the page, looking over to Matt who was crouched on the floor, peppering soft touches with his long, slender fingers over the spines of the records.

"who else's would they be?" you said, raising a brow at him as he looked over his shoulder at you.

"this is an impressive collection, y/l/n" Matt said, ignoring your attitude.

"thanks" you cocked your eyes to the side, generally irritated by him regardless of what he said.

"I didn't know you fucked with music like this" Matt returned his attention to the stacks, "maybe you're not as lame as I thought you were" he looked back to you with a boyish grin

You screwed your face up at him, giving him the biggest condescending smile you could muster up. Matt cheesed at your face, looking back to the music and scanning some titles.

"oh shit, Fleetwood Mac, I fuckin' love them" Matt said, pulling out the Rumours album and turning it over to read the track list, "still not as good as their self titled album from 75" Matt shook his head, putting the record back in its spot.

"are you serious?" you scoffed, "Rumours is easily their best album"

"absolutely not" Matt shook his head, sitting back down opposite you.

you simply stared at him for a moment, trying to process your bafflement, "In what universe is self titled better than Rumours?" you put the page in your hand down, leaning your palm on the floor so your body was towards Matt, your movement causing your jumper to fall down your shoulder slightly lower.

"In this universe?" Matt chuckled, "self titled has Rhiannon and Monday morning" He shifted, one leg tucked beneath him with the other acting as a perch for his arm, knee in the air with his foot on the carpet.

"and Rumours has the chain?" You pressed, "and dreams"

"okay, and?" Matt shrugged with a grin, drawing out his first word.

"you can't be serious?" you shook your head, "Rumours is incredible, you can literally feel the tension between the band with every sentence they sing, the energy is on a different level"

"so the album is good because everyone was beefing? how does that correlate to good music" Matt pushed, only slightly relishing in how worked up you we're getting.

"because?" you scoffed, "it's real, and raw, and the live shows were insane"

"you don't think self titled was real and raw?" Matt raised his brows at you.

"no, idiot, I didn't say that" you rolled your eyes, "rumours is just different, it was like all the anger from everything that happened was spilling out over the sheet music, it was...beautiful" your eyes wandered the ceiling as you explained your reasoning to Matt.

He couldn't help but smile as he looked at you, watching you speak so passionately about something other than how much you despised him was awe inducing, especially something like music, which he would have never have pegged you to care about this much.

You continued to argue your point, but the feeling of Matts eyes on you made your cheeks warm, and you stopped your rambling to look at him.

"what?" you deadpanned, cocking your eyes to the side quickly.

Your change in tone snapped Matt back into reality, and he was quickly reminded of who he was gawking at.

He cleared his throat, "nothing" he dropped his gaze from you, searching the floor for something to pay attention to other than the strange feeling in his stomach.

You furrowed your brows at him, watching the top of his head as he clearly tried to avoid eye contact with you at all costs. what the fuck was that about? you decided not to look into it too much.

"lets carry on, yeah?" Matt said, opening the book in his lap and clearing his throat once more.

"alright" you said, ignoring the tension in the air and returning your attention to the paper in your lap.

You spent the rest of the evening in silence, only talking if you really needed to and staying a good five feet apart at all times. Matt left once you had finished the outline for the body of his essay, still not looking at you for any longer than a second and hurrying out your room moments after you said that you could pick where you had left off tomorrow.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10 @cherib3lla @jetaimevous @witchofthehour @sofieeeeex @ncm9696 @lovesturni0l0s @pepsicola-pussy @ifwdominicfike @dani-sturn @stupendousjellyfishpost @aesthetixhoe @sturn-rose @mattsnronebitch @chriscorqutte @elizasturn @ribread03 @st7rnioioss @maggieflms

[espinosaurusrexex]

Remember Me

WinterSoldier!BuckyBarnes x Female!Reader

summary: After a fight against the most notorious Hydra agent of all, Steve and you discover that your assumed diseased friend Bucky is still alive. Old wounds resurface as you are confronted with the grappling reality that you have lived vastly different lives for the past 70 years. Will he remember your shared history? And most importantly: does he still feel the same?

word count: 3.1k

a/n: Just a short piece that I managed to finish. I know it's not a lot, but I hope you enjoy anyway 💕

warnings: a bunch of fluff and angst, mentions of war, mentions of sexism, swearing, Bucky is really broken in this one, happy ending (:

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

“Proceed with caution, unidentified shooter on bridge. I repeat: unidentified shooter. It is not clear what the motive is. Take cover and shoot on sight.”

“Dispatch, this is Captain America - we’ll take it from here.”

“With all due respect, Cap, I will keep my men on site to keep your cover.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Least I can do for you, sir.”

“Stop chatting it up with the police and do your job, Rogers.”

“Alright, alright.”

You chuckled and turned to Tony. “How long are we out?”

“Three minutes, 46 seconds.” 

“You gonna survive that long, Stevie?”

“That guy’s got a good aim on him, gotta give him that.”

Muffled noises pushed through your earpiece before you stepped into the back of the Quinjet to gear up. 

“Can’t let him do anything. It’s one guy they’re fighting... one.”

“Yeah, one Hydra-trained assassin who’s apparently immortal and got more deaths on his record than Romanoff.”

You huffed as the meeting recollected in your mind. The Winter Soldier had been the newest pain in the Avenger’s asses ever since you discovered that Hydra was still operating in the shadows of S.H.I.E.L.D. 

“They’re just making a show out of everything, huh?” 

You strapped your gloves over your wrists and watched as Tony chuckled in the pilot seat. You and him had become good friends over the past few years. Ever since you and Steve had been discovered in the frozen airship of what you had thought to be your last mission about 70 years ago, you and Captain America had woken up in a vastly different world. One through which Howard’s son, Tony, gladly guided you. 

Both you and Steve were overwhelmed by the amount of changes the world had endured while you had soundly served your time as human popsicles, though Captain America seemed to struggle a little more with 21st-century technology and norms. 

It was fine, Steve had always been a little old-fashioned, even back in the day. You for one were delighted to learn about all the opportunities the world had to offer for women and other people who couldn’t have dreamed of any in the 40s. Because while Steve was celebrated for being the face of hope for the American people, you were still dodging snide comments doubting your place in the Army. And while you tried not to let anyone see the toll it took on you, it was the reason for enough nights you spent with Peggy sharing stories over a bottle of wine. 

You both decided the important men in your life should never find out. Though, of course, your not-so-secret didn’t stay hidden from Bucky for long. Which was one of the reasons you had jumped on that plane with Steve. Even when Bucky was already dead. Even when Steve was still oblivious. You constantly needed to prove yourself. But this one time, it had actually changed something – well, time had. 

You shook your head free of that thought and walked towards the cargo hatch. Tony had landed the Quinjet – it was go time. 

“Ready?”

“That guy won’t know what happened to him when we’re done with him.”

“Let’s rock his world, then,” Tony winked before his helmet closed and he flew out of the jet. You were close behind him, running the short distance from the ramp to the bridge from which you swung yourself off with a grappling hook. 

“What’s the status?”

“I’ve been shot.”

“I’ve got it, Bearcat check on Steve. He looks ridiculously helpless.”

“Roger that,” you sprinted towards the two fighting men on the street, as the Winter soldier threw Steve to the ground, his shield nowhere to be seen. 

“Okay, my turn.” You stepped in front of him, analyzing his movements, and dodging punches, trying to get some in yourself. 

“Oh come on, that’s not fair.” You huffed when he took a knife out of your leg holster and almost acrobatically threw it over your head just to graze your cheek with the blade. 

He had knocked off your guns at this point, leaving you with choking wire and some smaller daggers in your jacket. When he turned the right angle, you jumped his shoulders and locked your thighs around his neck, kicking the knife out of his hand and watching as he ripped your choking wire in half. Damn.

“Now, that’s not nice.” You threw the torn metal to the side as The winter soldier struggled to get you off him. A look to Steve told you he had a new plan, and with a short nod, you signaled your understanding to him. 

“But if you wanna be like that...” Steve threw you his shield and in a swift motion you managed to drag it over the soldier's head. He pushed his metal arm forward just in time, though your hit had already knocked the mask off his face. 

When the shield came down, you heard Steve’s footsteps halt next to you, the world going quiet. 

Your stomach churned when you watched blue eyes twitch between the dark smudges. Familiar and oh-so strange at the same time. 

“Bucky?” Steve stammered, and at the sound of his name, goosebumps rippled over your skin. 

The Winter Soldier’s look darkened before he reached for a gun. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

From then on, the day seemed like a blur. You remembered Sam knocking Bucky down and the lot of you flying back to the compound on standby. Steve was functioning a lot better than you were, considering the man you thought to be dead for over 70 years was currently handcuffed to a handrail on your jet. 

James “Bucky” fucking Barnes. Captain America’s best friend, founding member of the howling commandos, infamous war hero apparently turned assassin, and the man who stole your heart somewhere along the way. 

You dared a glance at the chained-up, unconscious brunette in the corner as Steve sat down next to you, a calming hand squeezing your shoulder. 

“Can I get you anything?”

You ignored him. “How are you not freaking out?” You whispered through glassy eyes instead. 

Steve’s expression softened when he pulled you into his chest, his other hand pressing your head further into him. His heart was hammering beneath his ribcage, his fingers cold to the touch. 

“I am. Just trying to be a captain.” His voice was strained when he mumbled into your hair. 

You just nodded in understanding, finding comfort in the fact you weren’t the only one feeling this way. 

❁ ❁ ❁

You watched him through the glass of the interrogation room with your arms crossed before your chest. Buck was sitting at the table, his head hung low, his dark hair falling in wet stands into his face. He didn’t move a muscle. For half an eternity, he stared at the table his wrists were chained to, almost statue-like. But when he finally looked up, you could see the confusion and nervousness in his ocean-blue eyes. 

They had given him time to recover, to shower, and feel like a human again. They forced him into normal clothes and offered him a bed to sleep. But it wasn’t enough. The man you were looking at was terrified and lost - exhausted and overwhelmed. 

Bucky visibly tensed when the door opened and Steve stepped into his sight. They spent the next hour reconstructing his past. Steve told him how he had ended up in the 21st century and by the end of their conversations, the tension was a lot less static.

“She’s alive,” Bucky stated and tore his eyes away from Steve to look at the one-way glass.

“She’s a tough one. Survived the crash without super soldier serum and came out of the ice just as unharmed as I did.” 

“What are the odds?” Bucky chuckled bitterly. “What are the fucking odds we all end up together again?” 

Steve only gifted his friend a sympathetic smile along with a squeeze to his shoulder. “Take it as a chance.”

“Feels like a punishment.” 

They were locking eyes and even though you were watching the interaction from the outside, you could feel the atmosphere turn somber. The men were staring at each other in silence for a while, though you knew there was an entire discussion happening in their eyes.

“Does she... does she want to see me?” Bucky’s voice was hesitant and broken. And you couldn’t help but somehow imagine a different question nestled in his words. 

You almost had to stop yourself from touching the glass with your hands, wanting to tell him that you were already seeing him - really seeing him. 

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Steve stood and with a last smile to Bucky, he exited the room. 

This was it. The door was open. The love of your life sitting only a few feet from it. Though it seemed like he was trapped inside another’s body. 

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Steve murmured as he stood in the doorway looking at you by the window. And you just nodded, trying to suppress your pulse rushing in your ears. 

“Thanks.” It was only a whisper. You weren’t used to your voice being this small. And Steve didn’t seem so either. He was looking at you with sad eyes, fists clenched by his sides. There was nothing he could do to make you feel better. Not this time. And he seemed to know so. With one last tight smile, he sent a short nod your way and then left. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky didn’t look at you when you finally built up the courage to step inside his room. He was much bigger than you remembered. Thick muscles adorned his arms and shoulders. Shaggy, longer hair fell from his head and over his scrunched brows. His left arm was entirely of metal, a red star reminding him who had taken claim to him several decades ago. 

If you hadn’t known, the man before you had almost no resemblance to the soldier you loved in 1941. He had been lean and full of life. He was broken now. And you were terrified someone had taken the very thing from him that would keep him from becoming himself again. 

Without a word you approached Bucky, cupped his hands with yours, and undid the restraints that tied him to the table. And this was the first time he looked at you. Really looked at you. Bucky’s piercing blue stare was full of awe and sorrow, a deep pain etched beneath the grey flecks within the vibrant color. 

You sat down beside him. 

“Hey.” Your voice was shaky, dragging a long silence in its wake that only made your heart beat faster. 

“Hello,” Bucky finally whispered, breaking the spell. His voice was a raw timbre, like a long-forgotten melody. And so much more tangible now that you weren’t listening to it through a speaker. 

But that was it. Neither of you spoke afterward. 

There was so much that could have been said, so much that could have been exchanged, known, explored about the other. And yet it didn’t feel like any of the words known to you were enough to break the static tension in the room. You were just looking at Bucky, scanning every part of his body like it was a flash card for the most important test of your life. 

So, here you were: With the opportunity of a lifetime right at your fingertips and the confidence of a kicked puppy settled deep in your wounded soul. The person you had known for the longest looked so timid as if he were looking at a stranger. Not that he had ever been shy about strangers back in the day. But this was different. This was strange and beautiful, and scary, and exciting. No book in the world held the answers as to what to do in this situation. 

And the solution was so easy: you just had to say something. So why didn’t your damn mouth open?

The speaker above your heads crackled and then Tony’s voice rang through the room. And for the first time in what felt like hours, a tiny bit of the weight on your shoulders lifted with it. “Bearcat, If you don’t open your mouth and put the guy out of his misery in 5 seconds, I’ll personally mediate this incredibly static confrontation.”

You rolled your eyes and then glared at the mirror, knowing full well Tony was watching you despite your asking him to leave. You mouthed a ‘shut it’ towards the glass and then turned in shock when a familiar voice rose from the silence.”

“Bearcat?”

You stared at Bucky with soft eyes. There was an innocence in the way he slowly guided this conversation - almost like he’d always had. It was an easy question, a nice entry to the heavier stuff that was bound to be discussed. 

And just as you began to explain, it dawned on you how much you had missed about each other. How differently your life could have been if it weren’t for the cruel turn of fate.

“When Steve and I were discovered, S.H.I.E.L.D. was our home for a long time. They tried to put us in apartments, even set us up with chaperones to guide us through the new century.” Bucky looked intrigued, even leaning forth as he listened intently. You wondered if he ever realized how much time had passed when he was the winter soldier... if anyone ever cared to tell him. “But it wasn’t until I met Natasha that I felt like I had arrived. She showed me so many things and trained with me until I became an agent here. Howard’s son came up with the nickname. He reminds me of him.” You smiled and shook your head “He’s a pain in my ass but a genius that can be genuinely helpful even though I don’t want to admit it at times. I haven’t grasped the explanation fully, but apparently, my fast learning and efficiency when it came to fighting reminded him of one of those small powerful fighter jets that were finished just after the war.” You chuckled at the memory before your eyes found Becky’s again only to see pain all over his face. 

A silent tear rolled down his cheek and hit the floor before you could see it stain his skin. “I'm so sorry.” His voice was shaking, his body trying to make itself smaller but failing miserably with all the muscle surrounding it. He took up the room and your heart right along with it.

“Hey you have nothing to apologize for, you hear me.” You cradled his face and his hands instantly covered yours, only for his metal one to retract just as fast again. He was sorrowful and it made your heart ache. 

“You’ve been navigating through so much alone and this is yet another thing you had to do without me.” He confessed through his tears and squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t changed within - always caring for everyone around him and never putting himself first.

“I’m fine. Was then and am now.” You ensured him. “If you want to worry about someone, take Steve. He’s a lot more overwhelmed than I am.” Bucky chuckled through his tears, a deep seriousness settling in his eyes. “If anything, I’m sorry we didn’t save you sooner.”

He shook his head. “You couldn’t have known.” And there it was: a glimpse of the loving, caring, charming man you’d known so many years ago. A small smile snuck onto your face at the revelation and a spark of hope shot through your body. 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” you confessed, "We never had the time to actually be just us. To live all the dreams we shared back then.” 

Bucky's eyes were full of sorrow before he closed them and pressed his forehead to yours. “I wish I could say I missed you,” he whispered and slung his arm around you, “But I didn’t remember.”

“And that’s not your fault, you hear me.” Your hand stroked over his damp hair, pulling it back and making Bucky look at you again. “None of this is your fault. Don’t you ever doubt yourself. What happened to you is horrible. And I vow to kill every single person responsible for keeping us apart for this long. But not once will anyone ever consider this your fault.”

Bucky averted his eyes and turned his head but you were quick to catch his face with your hand. “Promise me you won’t beat yourself up. Please. That’s all I ask of you. Let Steve and me handle the rest and focus on becoming comfortable in your skin again. I can’t wait to meet the man you can become.”

“You don’t want to know me, doll. Not anymore. Even if it wasn’t my fault, it changed me. I’m not the man you-“ he stopped talking as you watched regret flash over his features. “I don’t think I can give you what you deserve.”

“I don’t care what I deserve, Bucky. I want you. I always have and that won’t change because some bullies tried to brainwash you. The very fact that we are here talking like this shows how much stronger you are than them. How the good in you never wavered.”

“But I can’t even trust myself. How can I expect you to do so of me?”

You cradled his head harsher as you felt your own tears roll down your cheek. “All I need is for you to try and trust me. We’ll figure this out... like we always do.”

Bucky’s flesh hand had fallen to your thigh, a soft thumb stroking over your leg and he watched the movement in awe. You didn’t know how long it had been since he had last felt comfort but you were determined to make up for all the lost time. With the wild beating of your heart, you took his metal hand and laved your fingers with his, watching as Bucky’s eyes glued to your smaller hand in his. There was no fear of what could happen, no aversion towards the alien element attached to his body. And then, finally, he encased your hand with his silver fingers. 

Your other hand still stroked his cheek and you waited until he caught your gaze again. And once he did, you did not hesitate to slowly push your lips to his. 

Just a short, sweet kiss. One that held more words than you could ever say. And then you waited. What for? Maybe a rejection, the shake of his head, or the sheer confidence with which he used to kiss you decades back. 

Bucky’s breaths were shaky, his hands still touching you and sending softly timid comfort through your body. He held your gaze for a second... and then, he finally kissed you back. 

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[ms-demeanor]

*screaming*

*continued screaming*

Okay. So. My introductory Visual C# class.

The professor for that class was Alice. Alice was the person who spoke in the introductory video and the person who we were supposed to email if we had any issues.

But all of the assignments, lectures, and quizzes were written and delivered by Bob. On the youtube channel "Bob's programming academy." The quizzes included Bob's name, like "if you do X will it return the string ProfessorBob, Professor, Bob, or Professor.Bob?"

This class was really frustrating for me because it was structured in such a way that you could easily pass the class with zero knowledge of the subject - it was totally based on quizzes that you could take an unlimited number of times and we *had* weekly programming assignments but they weren't graded so there was no incentive to do them (and look, if I wanted to teach myself programming with no incentives I could fail for several years to do that on my own, I don't need to pay fifty bucks a unit for that; the reason I am in a *class* and am not self-taught is because I need external motivation. That's why I sought out a class).

Also when there *was* a problem with an instruction that was unclear in one of the videos for the assignments, or if I thought I'd done something correctly that was very much incorrect, it wasn't Alice who had created the instructions, it was Bob - in 2017 no less - and I didn't really feel like I could ask Alice for help with an ungraded assignment that she hadn't written.

So. Now. My Python class.

Today is the first day of class. Professor is Charles.

I go to the mandatory attendance quiz and it is word-for-word the same mandatory attendance quiz as the C# class, down to the final question "what is your personal email address so I can keep in contact with you after the semester?"

I look at the syllabus.

Class grade is based on quizzes. We have assignments but none of them are graded. There's no textbook, just a series of videos from Professor Bob's Programming Academy.

So I'd been toying with staying at this school and trying to take more CS classes instead of going to another school, just to try to keep my records easier to manage, but since it seems like that *ENTIRE DEPARTMENT* is five Professor Bobs in a trenchcoat, I will probably be going somewhere else (and once again trying to force myself to do projects that I already know are *good for me to do* but *useless for the class and a massive time suck*)

I should drop this class. I should drop this class and apply for the other school so that I can start taking classes there in the spring because if I take this class and then go into the object oriented programming class in the spring and it's another professor bob sock puppet and I end up taking twelve units of programming classes where all I learn is how to google answers in a short time frame (something I already know how to do thanks) I am going to fucking lose it.

Also, again: I have a Bachelor's Degree. I spent five years at a community college when I was getting that degree. I took probably a dozen online classes starting in 2005 and going until 2011 in the process of getting that degree.

THIS bullshit, this "I'm your professor but actually I'm not and all the materials were created by someone else in the department or came directly from the textbook publisher and there is no writing and there are no assignments everything is multiple choice quizzes that are automatically graded" is *dogshit.*

This is NOT how online classes worked back in my day, not even online math classes, and as much as I know adjuncts are getting fucked over by academia in general, this isn't something that these professors should be getting paid as much as they are to do. Alice checked whether or not students turned in a hello world assignment and gave a pass/fail grades for three discussion boards that were responses to youtube videos. Nothing else in the class required her input. If this is the level of instruction that students are getting then the class is already automated and the students shouldn't have to pay for it.

This is crap. This is an incredible level of crap.

[thefirstknife]

Feeling abnormal about Echoes continues. Apologies for the scrunchy screenshots, it's from a recording. Immediately starts with Saint and Osiris killing me on the spot:

A little bit of comedy to ease on the crying:

Help. Osiris obviously doesn't want to do this because like. He's seen this before and it made him very unwell. Seeing Saint's dead body is very clearly not something he wants to experience again, but Failsafe says that Saint needs him so he goes anyway. Yippee.

Then the answer to my question. Nessus basically holds an archive for the Vex which includes the archives from the Forest, which is where we're going. I expected something that doesn't require lengthy explanations about how we're getting to the Forest. Saint even helpfully asks:

Some more info:

This is a really neat explanation that migth allow us to revisit this some time without having to go through the hoops of complicated shenanigans with what happened to the original Forest (and Mercury). But also it does leave me with the feeling that they may just never give us that answer. This will take me a while to process and come to terms with.

More interactions to kill us:

And then the big room. I'll put it under read more because damn:

From above where you enter:

It's a whole new area. It's absolutely bizarrely filled with a lot of details. There's four gates to the Forest, each designed differently. Spent a long time wandering around trying to figure stuff out and it's quite interesting. Makes me feel like we will use this area for something again because this level of brand new designs only being used one would be very strange.

So this one without the actual blue barrier:

This is the "Nessus" gate. When you gate closer, you can see the new plants from this episode and stuff. It's also used at the end of the mission to leave to the core of Nessus. The other three gates have the barriers and they later open, though we can only enter one of them. The one from behind that's basically the last you can actually see... Is Europa:

The snow? The ice crystals? The blue ice streaks? This is completely new. It looks like a gate leading to Europa. When it opens later, the enemies that come out of here are the normal Vex, which you can also see on Europa. I'm saying that because other gates have Vex associated with what the gate looks like. This is unhinging me. What does this mean. It can't just be a random thing they made to use once. There's no way. Bro...

And then there's this one which is the one we use to get to Saint's tomb; it's a gate leading to the future:

VERY interested in the enemies that come out of there. Obviously Descendants aka future Vex, but that also includes WYVERNS. Which are the first Descendant Wyverns we've ever seen:

And there's this one which I couldn't originally place; it looks too similar to a lot of other stuff, including Nessus itself, but I thought it might be Black Garden or Venus. Turns out? Black Garden. When you fight in the center later, Sol Divisive Vex come out of that gate.

The Europa and Black Garden gates fully open when you start the fight and they let the Vex out; as I said, normal ones from Europa and Sol Divisive from the Garden. Then when they're cleared, the future gate opens too and there come Descendants. The other two gates remain open but you can't access them; there's a firewall. Let me in.

In the future gate, there's the worn down corridor and then directly after it is the tomb.

And then the tomb.

I highly recommend doing this yourself or checking out a playthrough for all the lines because I can't feasibly summarise it all. Osiris and Saint show up and Saint interacts with the body, then experiences its memories and finally realises that every Saint is equally the same Saint. He also gets the information on how to find the Conductor. But before that we're treated to emotional damage about Saint and Osiris. Primarily Osiris' incredible worry and also trauma which more or less sends him crying which is fine and okay (lie). Like it's not actually sobbing on screen, but it's very much implied in how he moves and the way lines are delivered.

Okay I guess! How about we all jump into lava! Just to make it clear, Saint's last thoughts before he died were of Osiris. And in Immolant, when Osiris thought he would die, his last thoughts were of Saint.

But there is one where Osiris finds happiness. He finds a time away from strife. He finds Saint—a dream of warm serenity. The peace to his purpose. With Saint, there is a future that could have been enough.

So we're all jumping into lava, right?

Outside we fight Agioktis, except this time it's "Archived Mind" aka the archive of the Martyr Mind, the Vex that killed Saint originally.

Then we move on into the planetary core which reveals... certainly a sight. Of something that looks like an alien civilisation, with like a garden and also a HUGE pyramid inside of a artificially made Vex crater. And that's inside of Nessus. And now we know what they meant in the showcase when they said we'll be exploring an ancient civilisation.

I am unhinged. We don't even get to see more because the cutscene starts when you move forward and then we get the beautiful cliffhanger that will make me the most normal Destiny fan for the next 3 weeks.

Maya explains that she's here because we all suck apparently and she wants to fix the world by using Vex radiolaria to essentially convert everyone and everything into a "better" form. She's having a normal one.

Radio message is more or less a recap on all Veil Logs for people who didn't listen to them and the lore page, which randomly now isn't on Ishtar yet even though all others were available right away is about... well. Maya and Chioma living together in the Vex network peacefully and lovingly until the page break and we see the Conductor experimenting by doing open surgery on Exo Chioma. Very normal. very fine. But I guess now we know what that Exo thing from the trailers was.

Now we have to wait 3 weeks.

[convexicalcrow]

"Look, I know you're impatient, but just trust me, okay? We can't let them know ConCorp's behind this. Not yet, anyway," Cub said.

He was talking to Captain Jack, ConCorp CEO, who was currently sitting on the other end of the boardroom table, clutching a piece of melon in a claw that he was currently eating rather contentedly. The parrot seemed to pay no attention to him.

"What about Scar? Nah, nah, not Scar. He doesn't need to know. Besides, I told you before why we need Grian to front this. Not just because it was his idea, but because he's better at running things like this. And it keeps it all separate from me, so if it does end up failing, well, I can swoop in later to take over," Cub said.

The parrot chirped softly. Wandered across the table, gazing at things. Seeking more fruit. He caught Cub's gaze, and Cub laughed.

"Look, I promise I'll keep you updated, okay? Just let me work. I know what I'm doing," Cub said.

-

The meeting with Captain Jack had happened in Vexspace, of course, like all good ConCorp meetings, and it had happened just as the Hermetheus was arriving at their new home planet. Grian had been talking about running the shopping district on permits this season, something he'd been thinking about during stasis. Give each Hermit their own monopolies and see how that panned out. Cub had only gotten involved after Grian asked for help coming up with all the permits that might be needed.

Cub, of course, could see the potential. Monopolies for some resources could be very lucrative indeed. If this could infect the other Hermits with the same capitalist drive that ConCorp thrived on, well. They could go far indeed. And better have the Hermits in the arms of ConCorp than in the arms of GigaCorp. At least ConCorp was openly unethical. They wore their war crimes with pride.

And so it was that Cub spend much of the first day on the server, after they'd gotten geared up, locked in a dirt hole with Grian, figuring out permits, and how to sort them. Because, of course, if he rigged the distribution system well enough, perhaps he too could profit handsomely from it.

-

Hermit Time was a rather finicky thing. It happened when it happened. Once everyone had settled down in whatever space they wanted, it was easier to figure out where the shopping district would go. The permits were on their way, and Cub did not miss the hours spent crafting them all and sorting them into their iron, gold, and diamond tiers in the randomiser system he'd built. And then, once it was done, he stepped back, and let Grian run the show.

Grian sold it so well though. He was uniquely capable of ensuring the permit system was adopted by everyone. Unlike other Hermits, who didn't know exactly which permits were up for grabs, Cub knew which ones he wanted, and he would make sure he got them one way or another. Horns and fireworks, once he had those, he was set.

-

It's not that Cub was necessarily letting Grian fail, but the man's obsession with fishing up a mending book probably had wrecked his brain a little, so he wasn't at all surprised to find him rather reluctant to actually run the permit office once it had been set up. Hiring Scar and Skizz as Permit Office Enforcement agents definitely said a lot about Grian's care in selecting good people to help run the place. Cub had laughed when Grian told him he'd only hired them because they happened to be there at the time. Of course he did, that was the kind of slapdash Permit Office Grian seemed to like to run.

Cub didn't mind, though. If his Higher Ups wanted him to step in, he would, but they had other plans still. Give them a chance to fail on their own first. Patience. The time will come.

-

In some ways, Cub thought he was doing more permit office work than any of those three combined. He was fastidious about checking for permits being hung in shops, the presence of ender chests, making sure shops were kept in stock, all the work the Permit Office staff should be doing. He didn't keep his records out of spite, but perhaps he did send some anonymous mail to the Poe-Poe to tip them off if he found any egregious offences.

But of course, Grian would get lazy, the Poe-Poe would shirk their responsibilities, distracted by other crimes such as Doc's diamond ore thefts, and so the shopping district would lie neglected. And thus came the message from Captain Jack: It was time to step in.

-

Cub arranged a meeting once his ultimatums to Grian to step up his game went unanswered, which he knew they would be. He also sent summons to Scar and Skizz, just to get everyone together. Was calling it a disciplinary hearing a little strong? Well, perhaps, but it would get his attention. Set the stakes. Let them know he was serious. Well, the Higher Ups were serious. They wouldn't know it was him until he arrived.

Captain Jack was chattering in his ear as he floated down in front of the Poe Poe HQ where Grian, Scar, and Skizz were waiting for him. Cub wasn't always one for a dramatic entrance, but he felt this one mattered. Got himself a whole Permit Office uniform and a shiny gold badge, just to make it feel official. He was pleased they all showed up, and he definitely had to suppress a smile as he heard Scar reply, 'hello God' as he touched down in front of them, the slow falling having done its job.

It wasn't necessarily in Cub's nature to be dominant and bossy, but sometimes, it was just how things were gonna be, and it was vital to make it clear to them that he was in charge now and his orders would be obeyed. And, look, if he laced in a little Vex magic to sway the non-Vex, well, that wasn't a bad thing, right? The thunderstorm was a bonus, and honestly, he didn't mind the ominous evil atmosphere it created as he very calmly said things would be fine. And they would be fine, in time. All he had to do was make sure Grian didn't get in the way too much, and when the time was right, well. Perhaps Captain Jack would come to visit, and the server would once again belong to the ConVex.

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Modern meet cute with a little help from Lambert's runaway pet.

The ten seconds Lambert spent staring dumbly at the now broken leash in his hand was all the time his black labrador needed to disappear from view. The man cursed before sprinting in the same direction, muttering curses in-between yelling his pets name alongside grumbled apologies to fellow pedestrians too slow to get out of his way - this was the absolute last time he bought cheap pet supplies online!

As luck would have it, Lambert didn't have to go very far before discovering his dumbass dog had made a friend; the man he'd apparently accosted giving pets with one hand whilst the other had a firm grip on the harness in an attempt to both keep the dog in one place and dissuade the attempted jumps at the cat sat on his shoulder.

"Morhen!" Lambert yelled before whistling twice and catching the attention of all three, the dog looking happy, the cat indifferent, the man indignant.

"Sorry, did - did you just call me a moron?" They spat

"Was calling my dog." Lambert clarified, "Says it right there on his collar."

The other man blinked at him, "Oh, I was wondering about the pronunciation. And that must make you-"

"Lambert. Yeah. Also on the collar." He shrugged, as Morhen trotted up to him, leaning against his leg as if he hadn't just made his owner sprint from one end of the park to the other, "I may have affectionately called him Moron a few too many times during the puppy stage and it ended up being the only thing he'd answer to but my brother insisted it was borderline animal cruelty to actually name him that and my dad was adamant he wasn't walking around in public yelling 'Moron!' So...Morhen. And for the record they were leashed but-" he held out the leash so they could see where the clip to attach it to the harness had broken clean off.

The man gave an inelegant snort in response, "Well seeing as we got your names, I'm Aiden and this-" he tilted his torso to give Lambert a better view of the tabby in a yellow harness and leash of its own, "Is Marv. You're welcome to pet him if you like."

Now it was Lambert's turn to snort, "Oh my god, that's such an old man name for a cat!" He moved closer, holding his hand out for inspection.

"Well he is an old man." Aiden cooed, giving Marv a tickle under the chin who butted his head against Aiden's in response before sniffing curiously at Lambert's fingers, "And I didn't name him, he's a rescue. It's a running joke we picked each other because we're a matching set."

Lambert gave them both a quick once over to try and find some clue as to what Aiden meant. It was then he realised the cat now rubbing its head against his palm was missing it's right eye and Aiden in contrast, appeared to have lost the sight in his left if the cloudiness was any indication. The remaining eye of both was also green, although Aiden's was of a darker shade.

Lambert felt like he should says something witty or slightly profound in response. Instead, what left his mouth was "Thought one of the things about cats was that you didn't have to walk them?"

Aiden shrugged, "We like the park. My new building allows pets, but I don't have a balcony or anything and he's partially deaf as well as half blind. Not great odds against city traffic, but he goes slightly stir crazy if he's cooped up inside for too long."

Lambert nodded in understanding as Marv's purrs grew in volume. As much of a pain in the ass Morhen could be, the thought of anything happening to him made Lambert want to pick him up and shelter him under his jacket like he had when they were still small enough to be held in one hand. The dog in question gave a sudden bark.

"Aaaaw, were we ignoring you, gorgeous boy?" Aiden clucked as he leaned down slightly to rub Morhen's head.

"I should get him back home before the entire harness decides to fall apart." Lambert said, hastily passing the leash through the harness loop and tying it in a knot, giving a couple of tugs to check it would hold, "Hopefully you won't experience any more crazy, runaway dogs."

"I don't know. I think I like how the last one turned out." Aiden replied with a smile, "Would it be ok if I call or text you sometime?"

Lambert blinked. He wasn't inexperienced by any means but usually he was the one asking cute guys for their number, not the other way around.

"Uh, sure. Let me just-"

"I already memorised your number off Morhen's tag earlier." Aiden admitted, "Nothing creepy, just incase I ended up having to call whoever to come get their dog."

"Text me and I'll save yours."

"Will do." Aiden gave a wave as Morhen used Lambert's distraction to start pulling him down the path, eager to get moving again, "See you around, Lambert."

When Lambert's phone alerted him later that evening, he was greeted by an unknown number sending him a pic of a tabby dozing in the shade of a tree and a link to a reputable website selling various pet harnesses.

[noonaishere]

Music of the Heart [J.YH] - fifty-two | D-Day

D-Day.

Or… R-Day? Or maybe Y-Day, since today was the first day of recording and having to work with Yunho and actually talk to him.

Whatever, it didn’t matter. You were just glad that he said he would try to stay away when you saw him before the meeting yesterday.

The elevator door opened and you went to get on. He was already inside, along with someone else you presumed was his manager. You sighed and got in. The button for your floor was already pressed so you didn’t have to do anything.

The other person got out on an earlier floor, you guessed they weren’t his manager after all, not that you were going to ask. You and he were alone again.

You’d have to start leaving your apartment five minutes earlier.

“Umm…” he started.

“What do you want, Jeong?”

He seemed taken aback. “I wanted to apologize for having to record.”

“Okay.”

He waited for a few seconds. “I know this must be uncomfortable for you.”

“It is.”

He nodded slowly. “Umm… yeah.”

You kept your eyes on the buttons.

“I’ll try not to bother you as much as I can.” He nodded again.

“Good,” you nodded.

You spent the rest of the journey in silence and the doors opened. Both of you walked out and he walked in front of you and opened the door for you. What the fuck.

You nodded a singular nod of thanks and walked in. You put your stuff away and got your notebook and everything ready for recording.

Yunho put his stuff on the table and checked his phone. Hongoong watched him carefully out of the corner of his eye before turning to you and patting the chair next to him.

“Sit here.”

You sat. It didn’t escape you that he had put himself in between you and Yunho by telling you to sit where he did, a wall that allowed you some leeway from having to interact with him.

He smiled and gave you a nod. “You okay?” He asked quietly.

You mustered a half smile and nodded back. You were.

The wounds Yunho caused all those years ago had been deep. But after your recent hiccup of relapsing into something like the depression you felt years ago, you came to a conclusion: you had more than realized your dream of working in music. Sure you were already in your mid-20s and you had just started - when you had wanted to start right out of high school - but you were still young in the grand scheme of things. You had the support of Hongjoong, Maddox, and Wonderland, so you potentially had a long career ahead of you. At the very least, Yunho hadn’t fully taken that away from you, only delayed it. And even though he was sitting at the table of a recording studio with you, it was your turf.

At least he had already decided that you’re in charge.

Hongjoong smiled reassuringly at you and directed his attention over to Yunho

“Where’s your manager?”

“I’m sorry,” Yunho apologized, “He’s a little late.”

Hongjoong nodded. “Don’t managers usually pick their talent up?”

“I told him I could get myself here and he, um… might have overslept because neither of us are used to me having work.”

Hongjoong nodded again with a sigh. “In the future let’s have him pick you up so you’ll both be on time.”

Yunho nodded.

The door opened and Maddox walked in. “Hello everyone, look who I found outside.”

Satbyeol followed Maddox in and waved gently upon entering. Behind her must have been her manager, and behind her were three more people. One was obviously Yunho’s manager as he hurriedly moved over to him and handed him some papers, and the other two were Doyun and his manager.

You and Hongjoong stood and greeted everyone.

“Hongjoong, t/n, this is Yunho’s manager Hwang Eun, Satbyeol’s manager Kim Hajoon, and Doyun’s manager Park Siwoo.” Maddox said.

“Everyone, this is the newest member of our team, t/l/n t/f/n, and you already know me and Maddox.” Hongjoong added.

You shook hands with and bowed to everyone, and sat back where Hongjoong had put you.

An hour of going over the lyrics and sheet music later, you were standing in the recording booth with Satbyeol.

“I haven’t recorded anything in a while so please bear with me.”

You smiled, she was so cool, even when apologizing. “You’re no problem. You have much more recording experience than anyone else here.”

She nodded as she put the headphones on. “Ow.”

“Did it pull your hair?”

“Yeah…” She pulled them away, some of her hair still caught on it.

“Don’t pull, don’t pull. I’ll fix it.”

You got to work pulling the strands out of where they had gotten caught. “The hinges on these headphones are weird. I can get you a different pair when I’m done freeing you.”

She chuckled. When you found out who she was at the meeting, you had wondered if her voice really did sound as husky and sexy as it did on TV. It turned out it really did.

Did you have a crush? You might.

“Thank you. At the very least, I need my hair to look nice on TV.”

You laughed softly. “I’ll try not to pull any out.”

A few minutes later you had freed her, removed the offending headphones and brought her a new pair.

“Try these on.”

She put them over her ears. “Much better. Thank you, kitten.”

You felt your face heat up and joined Hongjoong on the other side of the glass. Hongjoong raised a brow as you covered your face, trying to hide your expression. You turned away.

He pressed the button on the PA mic. “Okay, we can start when you’re ready.”

Her voice was even better than you remembered. She sang her part and brought such emotion to her lines, that it almost had you ready to cry.

“That was great. I see you haven’t lost your skills.”

“Thank you. I took lessons again in anticipation.”

“They paid off. You can leave the booth now.”

She nodded and took off the headphones, hanging them where the first pair had been hanging when you and she walked in. She walked out of the recording booth and joined all of you.

“Let’s listen to your takes…” Hongjoong pulled up the first one and played it.

After he had gone through them all, Satbyeol nodded. “They all sound good to me.”

“You’re happy with them?” He asked.

“Mhm.”

“Then you’re all done.”

“Can I stay and listen to the rest of the recording?”

“I don’t mind.” Hongjoong looked to you and Maddox.

“I don’t mind,” Maddox answered. You shook your head that you didn’t.

She smiled. “Thank you.”

She was so cool doing anything. How does someone do that? You couldn’t help but wonder if it was effortless or something that had to be practiced in the few moments you had before Hongjoong said:

“Doyun, it’s your turn.”

Maddox stood and helped him in the recording booth.

Satbyeol moved closer to you and whispered. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Oh no, go ahead.”

She smiled. “Is this the first project you’re helping to produce?”

“It is, actually.”

She nodded. “I haven’t been in a recording studio in so long. I’m surprised to find that I miss it.”

“Is that part of why you took the role?”

She winked. “It might be.”

Your eyes widened at that and you pretended to cough.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

When you looked back up Hongjoong’s mouth was twisted as he tried not to smile at your fake coughing.

Doyun’s recording session was a bit more difficult. He seemed to have a hard time understanding the instructions given to him, but rather than ask for clarification he pretended he understood, and when Hongjoong asked if he needed help, he brushed him off. You and Maddox looked at Hongjoong and then back at each other: he was doing a lot of sighing, clearly becoming frustrated, but unwilling to say anything.

Maddox stood and clapped his hands together. “Is anyone else in need of a break? We’ve been at this for two hours, why don’t we take a break?”

“I could use one,” you seconded as you raised your hand.

Hongjoong nodded with a sigh. “We’ll take a break?”

Satbyeol, Yunho, and their managers all nodded.

Hongjoong hit the PA button. “Doyun, everyone wants to take a break, so how about ten minutes?”

Surprised, Doyun nodded. “If you say so.”

“Come out.” Doyun’s manager added.

The two of them left the room, leaving the rest of you together.

Yunho looked to Satbyeol for a moment, she was looking at her phone.

“I… I feel like we should apologize for him,” he started.

“He’s his own man.” Satbyeol said without looking up. “He’s fully capable of making his own decisions.”

Hongjoong shook his head. “You don’t have to, Yunho. Like Satbyeol said, he’s his own man.”

“He’s also the male lead.” Satbyeol put her phone in her lap. “He’s routinely late and acts difficult with the director and wastes our time on set, why wouldn’t he do it here as well?”

“Satbyeol…” Hajoon started.

She raised an eyebrow at her.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be saying this… out loud.”

“You say that as if his behavior is some kind of secret, when he was just wasting our time.”

She sighed.

Yunho nodded. “He holds us up during filming too.”

Manager Eun cleared his throat at Yunho.

“Sorry,” he apologized.

“We were all thinking it,” Satbyeol reassured him, one finely sculpted brow raised.

“Maybe, but you’re a much bigger star than my client. We wouldn’t want Doyun to hear what he said and retaliate.”

Satbyeol hummed in thought for a moment. “I’m sorry for starting the conversation. I apologize. Let me know if Doyun starts anything, we’ll put him in his place.”

Yunho nodded awkwardly.

Hongjoong sighed. “I had heard he could be a little difficult, but I didn’t think he’d be like this.”

Maddox sighed as well. “We were all thinking he might be. It’s sort of a shame the rumors turned out to be true.”

You weren’t too up-to-date on the drama behind the scenes of Kdramas. You had never heard of these rumors before.

“Thank you for calling a break, by the way.” Hongjoong nodded to Maddox.

“No problem.” Maddox turned towards you. “Thank you for backing me up so quickly, t/n.”

You smiled. “What are friends for?”

Maddox smiled.

Yunho looked towards you and looked away.

The rest of you conversed comfortably as you waited for Doyun to come back, and after almost half an hour, it seemed like he wasn’t going to. Hongjoong looked at his watch, not doing well at hiding his annoyance at the hold up.

“Okay, we’re burning daylight. Yunho, would you like to record?”

“Now? Doyun isn’t back yet.”

“I’ll tell him it was my decision and he can just get mad at me. We want to get out of here at some point today.”

Yunho stepped into the recording booth and Maddox helped him.

“Have you ever recorded before?”

“No. But I was paying attention when Jongho recorded and when Satbyeol recorded, so I at least have that.”

He didn’t lie: he at least had that. Yunho took directions much better than Doyun did, you could admit that. And it was a welcome change for Hongjoong and Maddox, as Yunho actually asked when he was unsure about something.

“Go ahead,” Hongjoong said.

As Yunho went to sing, Doyun walked back in.

“What’s this? I thought it was my turn to record!”

“Was recording happening out in the hall? We were all in here,” Satbyeol said, and Hajoon nudged her. She smiled at her but stayed quiet.

“It was,” Hongjoong said coolly to Doyun. “But since your ten minute break turned into forty-five minutes, we had to continue without you.”

“Well I’m back now.”

“And you’re not in the recording booth.” Hongjoong swiveled around and hit the PA button. “When you’re ready, Yunho.”

Yunho started his take. He had clearly practiced beforehand because… he was good.

You couldn’t remember the last time you heard Yunho sing. It must have been one of the last times you spent at his house on a weekend, you practicing bass and he taking a break from whatever school play script he was practicing. You could remember it like it was still happening: you sitting on his bed and he on the floor as you played the song you were learning, him singing softly as you played. And now, his voice was just as smooth as it was back then, only more seasoned and tempered by time.

You didn’t even know that the memory was still in your brain and yet here you were, some part of your heart having gone thunk against your chest because the sound of his voice had been so engraved on your soul in the years you were friends, like a dirt path that existed because it had been walked for hundreds of years, and you were being forced to remember that as he sang the words of a heartbroken second male lead.

Fuck. You thought.

You had completely forgotten you used to have a crush on him.

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[misfitwashere]

Strong winds

ROBERT REICH

DEC 12

Friends,

I’m sitting in the United Airlines terminal at the San Francisco airport. The plane I was scheduled to travel to Newark, New Jersey, has already been delayed three times. It was scheduled to depart at 1 pm. It’s now departing at 4:40 pm. 

They’re blaming strong winds in the Northeast. But another United scheduled to depart at 2:30 pm just took off on time. I asked the service attendant why the 2:30 pm to Newark had departed despite strong winds. He explained that the real problem wasn’t strong winds; it was a lack of air traffic controllers in Newark. My suspicion is United is trying to minimize the number of late flights; rather than risk two, it sacrificed my 1 pm. 

I asked the attendant if he thought my flight will actually depart at 4:40, because I have to get to a Hilton Hotel in Elizabeth, New Jersey by early enough to get a few hours sleep before attending meetings tomorrow morning. The attendant said “there are no guarantees. This flight could depart anytime, or it could be cancelled.” 

When I phoned the Hilton Hotel in Elizabeth, New Jersey, to tell them I’d be checking in very late tonight, I got a menu that told me to “press 2” to change or modify a reservation. When I pressed 2, an automated voice said I could not change my current reservation but could make a new reservation. The automated voice also said if I was experiencing any difficulty I should go to the Hilton website. 

I found the Hilton website, which asked me to fill in reservation number. But I didn[t have a reservation number. When I reserved a room, Hilton had given me a confirmation number but not a reservation number. I typed in the confirmation number but the website said the confirmation number was incorrect. 

I spent the next half hour trying to find a human being at the Hilton Hotel to ask them to keep the room for me despite my lateness. Finally, I connected with someone who didn’t understand what I was asking. I asked them where they were located. They said they were not permitted to say. 

It’s now 3:35 pm and I’m still sitting here in the United terminal in San Francisco. The customer service person I just spoke with told me the plane “may or may not take off.” I’m about to phone the people I was to meet with tomorrow to tell them I won’t be there. 

I relate this to you because I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the frustrations that might drive people to vote for a strongman who promises to “shake things up” even if he’s intent on destroying our democracy, or might cause people to cheer for someone who murders the CEO of a giant health insurers. 

United Airlines is one of four remaining national carriers (there were ten in 2000). In the third quarter of 2024, had pre-tax earnings of $1.3 billion, with a pre-tax margin of 8.7%. In other words, it’s doing fabulously well. 

Hilton Hotels is almost as profitable. In fact, its net operating profits have shot up from what they were a year ago. It’s also doing fabulously well. 

Big American corporations are doing better than ever. The stock market has hit record highs. CEO pay is hitting new highs. 

But American workers and consumers are being shafted with lousy service at ever more expensive prices. 

Something’s got to give. Right?

[do-not-lick-the-walls]

a devil put aside | chapter two - angel's advocate

masterlist | read on ao3

(lovely gif by @goodsirs!)

beelzebub x fallen angel!reader

summary: after saving you, beelzebub attempts to convince their dark council to give you a chance.

(she/her pronouns are used for reader, no use of y/n)

warnings: strong language, smoking, some religious themes

-----

This meeting has been going on for two hours, and in that time, astoundingly little progress has been made, even by Hell's standards. This may actually be a new record for Least Gotten Done In Two Hours.

Beelzebub has spent these last two hours leaning back with their feet on the table, fiddling with their cufflinks, and losing their mind.

An odd (and, frankly, unpleasant) cocktail of feelings swishes around inside them. One moment it'll settle in their chest or lower spine, only to be reanimated at the slightest thought and go back to sloshing through their body. Some of it, they understand---boredom, irritation, both good friends of theirs---but some of it is unfamiliar. Or, at least, estranged to them.

Amongst those usual, dull emotions that often accompany Dark Council meetings, there's an uncomfortable fluttering of the heart. An urge to shift in their seat, to leave, as if they're afraid, or... no, not afraid, just... something adjacent to it.

Whatever this is, Beez is quite sure they're not a fan, and the way it's roughing up against the sound of Dagon wasting time is starting to get torturous.

Are we really sure it's her?"

"For the last time, Dagon, yes. It's her."

"How do you know?"

"I saw her face."

"Faces can change. You change yours."

"Yes, but---" Beez groans, pinching the bridge of their nose in an attempt not to smite their coworker. "Why would someone else have her face?"

"I don't know!"

Dagon's insistence on checking, double-checking, and deca-checking everything is exactly what makes her an excellent Lord of Files-slash-Master of Torments, and a real pain in the ass during emergencies. Everything's a trap with her, something she's got to unravel between those pointy teeth.

"She could be a... what's that human thing? Trojan Goat! She could be a Trojan Goat!"

"What the heaven are you on about?" The smoke off Hastur's cigarette curls, and Beez's insides go swimming again as they're reminded of your smoking wings.

"Upstairs could just want us to think she's Fallen," Dagon explains, "How do we know she's not an angel in disguise?"

"I literally found her smoking, wings broken, having smashed through the damn ceiling, remember?"

"I went to see the damage," Hastur says, "It was rather impressive, actually."

"How is that relevant?" Asks Dagon, Lord of Irrelevant Questions.

Beez throws their hands up. "Because if she wasn't Fallen, there wouldn't be a huge fucking hole in the ceiling!"

Had this meeting been about anything else, Beez would consider Dagon's point. It's a smart one. But you aren't a Trojan Goat. You just aren't. And this entire conversation isn't even really on topic, anyway.

They take a breath.

"The question we're trying to answer right now is what to do with her."

It's the fourth or fifth time Beez has coraled them back to this topic, in the hopes of getting their idea on the table, getting it agreed upon, and then getting themself out the door. So far, it's proven a massive failure every time. Probably because the council is made up of Dumb, Dumber, and Dagon, all of whom make getting off-track into an art form. But they can't exactly give up, here.

"I think---"

"Well, I could arrange eternal torment for her, or we could throw her in a really deep pit, or we could---"

"Actually, Dagon," Beez looks up from their fiddling. "I'd quite like to train her."

"You wot?"

Usually, Beelzebub cares about what their council has to say. They did hand-pick these three to advise them. But right now, after the events of tonight, Beez is resenting that they can't just decide shit themself sometimes. It's never that simple, is it? They've got a plan already forming, but instead of putting it into motion, they have to sit here and convince their own subordinates into a majority vote.

"I said I want to train her."

Dagon chews on her pen. "Beelzebub, with all due respect, that idea is absolute shit."

"And why's that?"

"Because she's a fucking angel!"

"Technically," Ligur finally joins the conversation, for better or worse. "She's not. Anymore."

"Still, you don't find it at all suspicious that a Seraph just fell out of nowhere? After six thousand years? Nobody's fallen since we did."

"I'm well aware of that, Dagon." Beez's voice starts to buzz with irritation, and they swallow it back down.

Ligur whistles. "She must've done something bad to get the boot after six thousand years."

"Thank you, that's what I've been trying to say, but Dagon here can't seem to get it through her thick skull---"

"Falling doesn't make her one of us, though," Hastur joins Dagon's team. "Who knows what her motives are?"

(Beez would hazard a guess that your motives include safety, comfort, and possibly revenge, if they're lucky, but they doubt these three would understand that.)

Ligur nods, making his chameleon wiggle. "She didn't side with us the first time, after all. And she's not someone to just be lettin' run amok without allegiance. Do you remember what she was like in the war?"

"Yes, I had an... unfortunate encounter with her on the battlefield." Hastur grimaces. Beez doesn't blame him. "Had a lot of wings. Felt like she could see me even when she wasn't looking. Probably could, now that I think about it." He shrugs, blowing a puff of smoke that once again sends their heart into that uncomfortable patter. "Does she still have all the wings?"

"No, just the two. Dunno what happened to the rest."

Beez remembers the wings. You had six of them, or maybe eight. Huge, when they were unfolded all the way. They remember you, even from before the war. They used to see you around sometimes. Ever-smiling, ever-playful.

You were radiant. And strange. Something just a little bit incomprehensible, even to other celestials. All Seraphim are like that. But you, in particular, Beez always thought you somewhat... ineffable. How could you not be? You made the prophets, every one. Nostradamus and Cassandra and Agnes Nutter; all blessed by you, fed with knowledge passed down from God herself. Beez only ever looked on you from afar, but part of them always wondered if you knew they were watching. If you saw them with all your hidden eyes.

And in the battle, Satan, in the battle, you were...

"Probably a good thing, makes her easier to contain." Hastur takes another drag. "I wouldn't care so much if she was a nobody, but considering..." He shakes his head. "Power translates. 'As above, so below' and all that. Best to be rid of her before she gets a handle on whatever she's got now."

There we go!  Beez pounces on that sentiment and twists its neck to their advantage. "Exactly. Power translates. If we do this right, we could have another Duke of Hell."

The point goes whooshing directly over Ligur's chameleon. "What's wrong with us?"

"Did I SAY anything was wrong with you?"

"We could always give her to Satan," Dagon chews thoughtfully on her pen. "He likes a snack every now and again."

"Or feed her to the hellhounds." Adds Hastur.

Ligur shakes his head. "We can feed anyone to the hellhounds, seems a bit of a waste."

Good, good, somebody's getting it---

"Feed her to some of the lesser demons, then. Throw 'em a bone. Morale's been low."

What the fuck, Hastur.

"Morale's always low, we're in hell." Ligur snatches Hastur's cigarette and takes a drag. He then hands it to his chameleon, who also takes a drag.

"We're not feeding her to anything!"

"Alright," Dagon narrows her eyes, folding her hands under her chin. "What's your plan, then?"

Finally.

"Like I've been saying: We make her into one of us. Properly."

In one motion, Beez swings their feet off the table, stands, and leans in.

"Hastur, you said it yourself. Powerful angels make powerful demons. You want to waste whatever chaos becomes of a Fallen Seraph?"

The council is silent for the first time in over two hours. Beez takes this as a sign to continue.

"I'd train her myself. With help from you all, of course, and whoever else as necessary. Think about it. We have a powder keg here, and one we can mold into whatever we need. You said morale's low, we could... I dunno, make her into head of... whatever that is. Or a new Lord of Temptations, or Master of Hellhounds, or whatever! The possibilities are endless, really."

That seems to finally crack the brick wall that Dagon's put up around her brain. But she's a fish of habit, and there's a variable that Beez hasn't addressed yet.

Here goes.

"How do we know she'll cooperate? And more importantly, not stab us in the back first chance she sees?"

This is, by far, the flimsiest piece of Beelzebub's argument. There's no guarantee that you'll even sign on, let alone become loyal to the cause. But Beez is nothing if not a good bullshiter, and the thought of you becoming dinner is making that fear-adjacent thing whirl around in their chest again, so they sit back down, and prepare to save your life via two of their greatest skills; false overconfidence, and making shit up.

"She'll cooperate."

All great bullshit begins with part of the truth. The trick is to build outward off of that truth, make it sound like more than it is. Beez has three pieces of not-really-evidence-but-close-enough at their disposal to spin off of. If they play their cards right, they can appeal to all three councilors.

"Three reasons."

Beez looks at each of them. Dagon, cautious and objective; Ligur, dense but thoughtful; Hastur... whatever Hastur is. But who first...

Ligur.

"One: I just saved her from being torn apart by those assholes over in Accounting. And I fixed her wings. She'll trust me, probably even feel indebted to me after that. She even said she trusted me before I left."

Ligur strokes his chameleon's tail, a gesture which usually means he's managing to make his brain work. The chameleon fades from green into blue.

Got 'im. He's always the easiest to sway with pure logic. Beez feels the smirk start to creep into their mouth. They push themself out of their chair to pace around the room---well, as much as somebody can in this stupid, cramped space---height gives an extra kind of authority, and they want all the help they can get. Plus, they're not sure how much longer they can sit still with this coil all wound up inside them.

One down, two to go. Dagon needs established proof, Hastur needs some kind of emotional push. Beez glances back and forth between them, and decides to save Dagon for last.

"Two: she wants revenge on heaven. She obviously wasn't very happy with how it was running if she did something bad enough to get kicked, and she's definitely not happy with them now. Fuck's sake, she was cursing the bastards the whole time."

Hastur laughs. All it takes with him is a go at the angels. Two down.

And now, for the hard bit...

"Three. She just cooperated perfectly for me. Did everything I asked without batting an eye. Seriously, she takes direction like she was born to it. Or, well, made to it. She's already proven herself a good follower, and she doesn't even know us yet. Think how malleable she'll be once she's fully under our influence."

Dagon thinks for a minute, spinning her pen idly. Come on, Dag. You know you want to.

"Alright."

Gotcha!

"But."

Shit.

Eric chooses that exact moment to show up with the hellfire they ordered thirty minutes ago, nearly hitting Beez in the face with the door, mouth already open to make his usual pointless commentary. Beez is about to wring his neck, but Dagon ignores him, and continues asking her pointless question before he can start blabbering.

"Do you really think she has what it takes? To be one of us?"

Beelzebub pauses.

They think of you, broken on the floor in a pile of rubble, tears in your pretty eyes. They think of you, trusting them without second thought, placing yourself in their hands. They think of you, stumbling down the hallway in their arms, looking as if you could kill just as easy as you could die.

But mostly, they think of you, writhing beneath them in the dark, bloody and panting, enough fight left in your body to nearly push them off.

Beez takes their cup from Eric, and downs it in one go.

"Yes."

"We talking about the angel?" Eric chimes in, entirely uninvited. "Saw her in the hall with you, Lord Beelzebub. She's got a killer glare, that one. Very scary. I'd bet on her being a good demon for sure."

"NOBODY ASKED YOU!"

"Right, sorry---"

"Get out. Before I turn you into a pile of goo."

Eric gets out. Before Hastur turns him into a pile of goo. The not-really-fear-but-close-enough continues to slosh around.

"Right. Are we decided?" Beez says, in the way that means 'we better be decided,' edging backward toward the door. The urge to get back to you is growing as the feeling whirls more insistently within their chest.

Dagon does not get the memo.

"Not quite yet, I've got some suggestions."

Dagon's always got fucking suggestions.

"Fine, whatever. suggest away."

"First, she should be submurged in sulfur and hellfire, just to be certain she's not a Trojan Goat of some kind."

"Yep, gotcha, fair enough, I'll see to it. She needs a bath anyway. Covered in blood."

"Second, we can't let her wander about freely. She could do some serious damage if something goes wrong."

Beez has got their hand on the knob. "Alright, I'll keep her on a bit of a leash for now, probably good for her own safety."

Hastur raises his hand. "If something goes wrong, can we feed her to the hellhounds?"

Ligur raises his. "Or to the IT department?"

"Yeah, fine, whatever. Sure. All in favor of keeping her?"

As soon as Beez gets an 'aye' out of all three, they're out the door before they even finish saying "meeting adjourned!"

They manage to control themself from sprinting down the hallway, instead replacing their usual stroll with something more urgent. It's a long fucking walk back, but they don't want to send any more gossip spreading. Word of you, and of them helping you, has no doubt already made its way through the hive many times over by now. This could very quickly turn into a PR nightmare if they're not careful.

But still, they can't bring themself to walk quite as slow as normal. This entire plan hinges on you liking (or at least accepting) your new climate, and if you wake up alone and locked in, it's not going to reflect very well on them. Accounting already made a bad first impression, Beez can't afford a bad second. Especially not now, after fighting Dagon for a stupidly long time on your behalf.

Before you passed out, you asked them why.

They don't know why.

They want to say it was a simple recognition of potential that made them swoop in like that. They saw an opportunity, and set themself up to take it. There's part of the truth in that: you're a living ball of could-be, covered in gasoline and waiting to be ignited into something amazing, they know it. And they want to hold the lighter.

But there's more, they can't shake it. If it had been for nothing but your possible utility, they wouldn't have been so... whatever to you. No, there's something else here. Something sitting next to that unpleasant jumpiness in their gut. They just don't know what.

When they found you, you just looked so... sad. Pathetic, yes, but it wasn't pity, exactly, that so captured them in that moment. It was more like... looking at some kind of old reflection. Somebody who they used to be. Some kind of ghost in the mirror from a very long time ago.

Whatever it is, both the swishy thing and the ghost, it's almost certainly out-of-bounds for the Prince of Hell to be feeling. For fuck's sake, they're meant to be the example, the kind of evil that the lesser demons aspire to. Feelings aren't a part of the job description. Feelings aren't a part of them.

When they healed you, you squeezed half of their wretched heart between your hands. And half is too much.

Better swallow this before it's too late.

As Beez rounds the last corner, they walk past the "WE HATE YOU" poster. It makes them feel a little better.

[sparkles-oflight]

Polaroid Photos - Part 4

Master Post | Chapter 3

This took... embarrassingly long.

And like. it's not even good.

So... I've been up to many things in the past... couple of months.

Been to three countries, wrote a short story, helped write another fanfic, helped with a music album, showed up on Kris' Instagram stories not once but twice, started my masters, had a car accident, you know, life things.

Now... this is the last chapter of this story, and I feel like it was a bit rushed (SOMEHOW?????). Some of the parts that seem super important that are "skipped" have been covered in other fics in my fanfic universe (everything's on the link below the chapter, or you can check out the master post that also has the link to the fic list).

This chapter doesn't have a source list, tbf it's all fiction and more of a "connecting everything" kind of chapter so... Yeah.

I'd like to give a shout-out to @vecnokriv-nikolicel for proofreading this ;) - I was in serious need of a native lol. And now, without further ado, let's get onto the last chapter of this fic.

Jan was tired.

Jan was always tired. Today, though, he had spent the day recording the music video for Barve Oceana at the beach and then he went out to party with the crew. So, all he wanted was to rest.

Rest is not something Bojan likes to give people.

It was early in the morning when Bojan called him. Jan would rather sleep, but something in Bojan’s voice sounded urgent, so he agreed to let the small nuisance come during the afternoon.

When Bojan arrived, he showed a shy smile as he greeted Jan. Jan raised an eyebrow at this but allowed him into the apartment.

- So… uh… - Bojan started after sitting on the couch – So, this is not easy, and I need you to bear with me.

Jan nodded along to his friend’s speech.

- I need you first to promise you won’t judge me.

- Depends on what you d-

- Jan, promise. It’s important.

- I promise. – Jan said reluctantly.

- So, Martin doesn’t know. Actually, the only one who knows is Luka, but only because I was drunk and-… – he gestured nervously – I wanted to trust you, Jan. 

He sighed.

- It’s really important. – Bojan reaffirmed.

- Okay, okay, I get it. Tell me.

- So… I might or might- Okay, I am… I am bi.

- Okay? – Jan gestured for Bojan to continue, only to realize there was nothing else – Is that it?

- What!? Is this not a shocking event for you!?

- Not in the slightest.

- I also know you are not straight? – Bojan continued unsure – I mean, I figured two gays in a band was unlikely, but I know you and I… Well…

While Jan wasn’t exactly out to the band, he also didn’t hide his sexuality from them. After the breakup, Jan had a few opportunities to hook up with someone from the same sex, to reaffirm that yes, he is Pan. Jan only told Kris about the name of his label, but one time he was too drunk to drive, and Bojan had to pick him up at the gay bar. When Bojan came, he caught him making out with someone.

- I like guys too. – Jan stopped his rambling – If that’s what you are asking.

- Okay, so… uhm. I don’t know if you knew this but – he bit his lip before proceeding – Me and Kris kissed once.

Jan remained silent.

- And… we were just teens, and it was stupid because we were drunk, and Kris was single at the time. I think.  But then I couldn’t get it out of my head, and I figured… I am in love with Kris. I can’t even run away from it. And I tried, I tried so hard. But yesterday… Yesterday Jure tickled me into the sand, remember?

- I remember that.

- And tonight, I dreamt it was Kris. And Kris was kissing me. And he was-

- I don’t need the details.

- Yeah, sorry. But, Kris is straight and-

“Jan, you don’t have the right to out someone”, a voice in his head told him “Not even if it’s to help these two idiots?” he contested. He chose not to out Kris. That’d be just an asshole move on his part. Besides, Kris and Klara were a good couple. He didn’t want to ruin the band for what could have been.

- Jan, can I ask you for something?

- Uh, depends?

- Can we have sex?

Jan choked on his own saliva. When the fuck did shame leave Bojan’s body and when is it thinking of coming back!?

- I’m sorry? – Jan asked.

- I was thinking-

- You don’t say.

- Let me finish. I was thinking “I only kissed Kris when drunk, do I really like guys, or was it just the alcohol? And what if I don’t like the sex?”. And, you know, you promised you wouldn’t judge me and all, and- I promise I won’t tell anyone. And you don’t have to do it and-

- Bojan. – he stopped him – Bojan, I… this is a very touchy subject. You should think of this before-

- Isn’t the past 4 years of looking at Kris and feeling like I love him wholeheartedly not enough time to think of this? I just wanted to experiment before- Fuck this is silly, but. If Kris was single, if he wasn’t straight, I would like to be ready for that hypothetical scenario.

Jan couldn’t lie: Bojan was confusing. But even if Bojan was confusing, so were Jan’s feelings. He too would like to imagine the possibility of Martin not being straight. And that’s why he goes out when he can, to experiment. Bojan is going through the same thing as him.

- And I wanted to try with someone I know I can trust. – Bojan said under his breath.

Jan sighed. How much trouble would he be in if Martin found out about it? Would Martin think Jan and Bojan were together if he knew? Would he even be acceptive of their queerness? Would he think all the time Jan wanted to spend with him was only because he wanted to get into his bed rather than a genuine feeling?

There was no point in thinking about that.

- I’ll help you. – he announced – But only under the condition you will not tell anyone. Not even Martin.

- Pinky promise. – Bojan smiled and extended his pinky to Jan. Jan promised as well.

- And I’m not fucking you.

- What? I thought that was kind of the point.

- Blowjob, take it or leave it.

- Okay, fine.

- So, how do you want to do this? – Jan asked.

- Ugh… kissing first? I like some foreplay first. So, make out?

- Sounds good to me.

It was weird. Jan and Bojan had kissed before and none of them had come out to each other because they weren’t attracted to each other. Not romantically, at least. Jan knows even when Bojan thought he was straight, he was still physically attracted to Jan and who is he to judge?

The moment had passed. His facial hair touched Bojan’s sweaty shoulders as he kissed the singer.

- So? – Jan mumbled against the smaller one’s skin – Good?

- Oh, yeah. – he smiled as he sighed – We should do this more times.

- Absolutely not.

They laughed. Jan felt his eyelids feel heavier from the tiredness, but Bojan’s voice had to interrupt his sleep schedule.

- Janči. – Bojan called.

- Uhm.

- Have you ever been in love with a man?

- No. – he promptly lied.

“Sorry, Bojči, but I can’t tell you this one”.

- Well… I guess I’ll have to figure it out on my own.

- In the meantime, we can sleep. – Jan said, snuggling closer to Bojan.

- Yes, but a shower first!

- No. We will be disgusting for now. – Jan tightened his grip on Bojan’s waist and they both fell asleep.

The following year, they decided to spend vacations together as a band in a cabin in the woods to finish the album. During one of those nights, Jan talked to Martin about his feelings. Martin was caught by surprise but also curious. He was a firm believer he was straight, but Jan revealing those feelings made him want to try being friends with benefits.

Jan adored Martin. Sometimes he would bring him home, other times they’d “help each other” in backstage areas or during studying sessions. His favorite part of the whole thing was getting to see Martin’s skin and being able to touch it all he wanted and trace his body after sex carefully, like a fragile sculpture. The only problem was that Jan was always the one initiating the interactions, and Martin would go along. Eventually, he began saying “no” to any intimacy. At some point, Martin started saying “no” altogether.

Jan was scared he had done something wrong, but the more he looked back at their interactions, the more he realized his feelings weren’t reciprocated, and Jan eventually arrived at the conclusion that… Martin wasn’t even queer. From the very beginning, his position was that he was “curious”, not that he was attracted to the same gender. And that made Jan feel guilty. He knows Martin would have a hard time saying “no” because of his personality and because of the band.

When Martin announced his departure, it was the last straw.

He hadn’t warned Jan, or Bojan, or anyone. He just dropped the bomb on them.

Jan’s main support after the announcement was Jure who he ran to and confessed everything that went on between them. Jure took him to Martin’s house where they talked about it.

“I’m not into guys, Jan, I’m sorry”, Martin told him.

They had their last show with Martin at Križanke and then they recorded a video announcing Martin’s departure. After it was done, he ran to the bathroom, Kris and Jure ran after him.

- Janči. – Jure said as he entered the bathroom.

Jan was in the sink, washing his face.

- So… uhm, we are all sad with his departure and I’ve only been here for a year so I can’t say much, but… the band can still move forward, Janči. 

Kris put his hand on Jan’s back.

- We have done it once and… - the younger began and Jan turned to him – and we can do it again. Even if it’s just the four of us. Martin could never be replaced.

There they stood. The two people who knew about his and Martin’s situation and yet… Jan hugged Kris with all his might as he felt tears run down his face.

Kris saw familiarity in the way Jan was acting. He didn’t like it. He was too scared of Jan shutting down again like he had done with Karolina, and they couldn’t afford that anymore…

- I won’t shut down. – the older guitarist whispered in his ear – But please hold me for a while.

Jure joined the two of them into a group hug with only the older two crying. Kris remained still.

- Kris, what’s wrong? – Jure asked.

- I’ll smoke outside.

He left them and they stayed to clean their faces.

After some time had passed, they decided to look for Bojan. He was coming from the outside and he looked out of it.

- Are you okay? – Jure asked the singer.

- I… - he looked scared – I just saw Kris have a breakdown with Martin. I think we should talk to him.

- Let me handle it. – Jan offered – It’s the least I can do for him from what he has done to me.

Jan drove Kris home, and he let the older one stay there the night. He told him what Bojan had told him.

- I don’t want to talk about it anymore. – Kris said.

- Oh, I know how you feel about “not talking about it anymore”. Trust me, I know. But you need to stop running away from these things. You can’t just NGVOT everyone.

Jan expected a laugh out of Kris, but instead, he got angry.

- Oh, yeah? What the fuck do expect me to talk about, uh? – he got up from where he was sitting – Oh, I know. I could talk about how the band is EVERYTHING to me and seeing it constantly changing or breaking apart makes me uneasy about my future because I can’t picture myself doing anything else with anyone else! 

Kris grabbed Jan’s shoulders and began shaking them.

- I could tell you about how I’m scared of having to work a “regular job” to pay bills and not being able to because I suck at dealing with people or because I can’t function on “regular” working hours. - he continued - Or how I can’t live strained to a place! I could tell you how you guys are my second family and I’m afraid of not being able to take care of you, to fail you. Because, yes! All of you came to me for help! And I can’t help you! I don’t know how to even help myself right now! And maybe… maybe Ema was right. I can’t even take care of my fucking relationship right now. I haven’t seen Klara in a while or talked to her properly, what the fuck can I even do right, Jan!?

He paused for a moment and released the older one’s shoulders.

- I could tell you all about it, but I don’t want to talk about it.

Jan didn’t know what to say, so instead, he pulled the younger one into a tight hug. Kris began crying as Jan played with his hair.

They talked about it and Jan met up with Bojan and Jure.

- Kris needs a vacation. This has been too much for him, not to mention his degree. So, he’s taking two weeks to go to the Netherlands. Is that okay?

No one objected.

- Martin gave me the info about the bass player he mentioned. – Jure said – His name is Nace Jordan. His CV is amazing. I think we should give him a listen.

- Martin’s trust is all I need. – Bojan said.

- We can do this after Kris comes back. – Jan said – I’m not exactly in a rush to find a “substitute” for Martin.

- Martin can’t be replaced. It’s the four of us now.

“It’s the four of us now”, such a weird sentence, Jan thought.

Kris didn’t go to the Netherlands as he got COVID before his trip. Jan visited him at his apartment a couple of times to leave him some food at the door. It was a bit sad that he couldn’t see his best friend face to face during that time, but they still talked on the phone a lot.

After Kris got better, they finally decided to meet up with the famous “Nace Jordan”. Jan researched all he could about the guy. He wanted to make sure his resume was as good as Jure described it. Kris thought Jan must have gotten sick because he was impressed by the fact that Jan researched.

- Hi, I’m Nace Jordan.

- Bojan Cvjetićanin – the smaller one shook his hand – I’m pretty sure I’ve met you before…

- I play in television shows, so maybe.

- Ah, that must be it.

- Kris Guštin. And I know you. – he affirmed – I did some research, and you played at my High School prom.

- Oh, I played for Gušti’s kid himself?

- You sure did.

Nace laughed at that. A laugh so loud it could fill the whole room with a strange warm feeling.

- Maček. – the drummer took his hand – You already know me.

As they talked, Jan stayed quiet. There was this feeling of uncertainty that filled Jan’s body.

- Whoaw, you really like to stare, uh? – Nace turned to him.

Jan noticed he was the only one still sitting on the sofa holding his instrument, unlike all the others who got up to greet Nace.

- Jan… - he whispered.

- Yes?

- Jan. – he repeated in his usual tone – My name is Jan Peteh.

Nace looked skeptical at Jan and there was a clear shift in the environment with him leaning closer to Jure as to ask something. Bojan got closer to Jan and sat on the sofa’s arm.

- Jan is like a cat. He needs time, don’t worry about it. – Bojan messed his hair, and Jan forcefully removed his hands and hissed at the singer.

- I see. – he chuckled.

- I think we should give Nace a listen. – Kris suggested.

Nace was perfect. He didn’t know all their songs, but he could already play some. Martin told him that they don’t play with music sheets, and everything was done by ear which explains why he doesn’t know their whole repertoire, but he proved to be a fast learner.

Nace also seemed to have a great personality and amazing values shown in his interview with Kris and just like Jure he seemed to fit in perfectly with the band – just how Martin had promised.

The problem was that he wasn’t Martin.

Nace was shorter than Martin. Nace wasn’t skinny like Martin. Nace’s arms were filled with tattoos unlike Martin’s. Nace’s voice was different from Martin's. Nace’s personality wasn’t Martin’s.

“It’s the four of us now”, Jan thought.

- So, who votes for Nace to stay? – Kris asked after the four of them when they were left alone.

Everyone raised their arms.

- Okay then. – Kris announced – Nace will be our on-stage bassist. I’ll tell him to get in.

Nace seemed pleased with Kris’ announcement, and they quickly began talking about how it would work. Jan didn’t pay much attention. He just wanted to go home.

A couple of days went by until they met for practice again, to which Martin showed up to help Nace. It was weird seeing them both. Did everyone just accept Martin isn’t going to be in the band anymore? Jan said he did, but his heart is still recovering from it.

- I’m going for a smoke. – Jan announces as he leaves the room.

Once outside, he called his mom and asked how things had been at his parents' home. She tells him the neighborhood gossip – who’s getting married, who’s having a kid, who died, who is moving out, who’s graduating… things he doesn’t really care about, but lets his mother talk about.

- And when are you thinking of graduating? – his mom asks.

He chuckles. Martin was helping him out with that. But now that he isn’t in the band anymore, they rarely talk.

- I know… - she said – You have the band.

- Yeah…

- I would just really like to see my son graduate.

- Aaaaah – he sighed – Your son would like to be done with university quickly too.

- And I also want to see you with a girlfriend and get married soon.

- Mom, I’m 22.

- Do you know what I had gone through at 22 already? I’ve been working since I was 15.

- Me too.

- No, I mean real work.

Jan chose to ignore his mom’s remarks about his music career. He knows his parents still don’t see his and his brother's professions as jobs just because it’s in the artistic field.

After some more chatting, he ends his call. He turned to his side and Nace was there.

- Calling home? – he asks.

- Sometimes I have to.

- Do you have some light? – Nace asks as he waves a cigarette.

Jan takes out a lighter out of his pocket and lights Nace’s cigarette.

- Thanks.

A moment of silence goes by, and it’s Nace who breaks the ice.

- Do you hate me?

- No, why would I?

Jan was scared. His intention was never to hurt Nace. He seemed like a great guy! Jan was just shy…

- I’m not here to replace him, you know.

- I know…

- It’s just another gig. I work with other bands too.

- Uhm.

- Doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. – he smiles at the younger one.

- You are right.

- What’s something you like? I like animals.

- I like animals too. – Jan shyly smiles.

- Do you have pets?

- I have a cat. His name is Igor.

- Igor? – Nace laughed and that got a chuckle out of Jan.

- Keeps me company. You?

- I have two turtles and a dog.

- Do they fight a lot?

- Only for my attention.

Jan finished his second cigarette as Nace’s pocket began buzzing. The older one looks at it and his facial expression softens.

- It’s my girlfriend. – he picked it up – Hi, bejbi.

Jan excused himself and returned to the inside, only giving a glance at the bass player one last time before entering the building. Nace had a sweet voice, Jan thought.

He decided he would take one step at a time with Nace. There was something in his stomach that told him to be away from him, but he was going to let that feeling win. He was going to fight it. That’s how they began hanging out even outside the shows and eventually…

- Nace, would you like to join the band? – Bojan asked.

They had a meeting before Bojan asked him directly. They wanted to enter Eurovision – a long-time dream – and for that, they needed a bass player. They all agreed Nace had to be the one, but that implied Nace would have to leave the other bands he worked for.

- You have some time to think. – Kris added.

Kris had become closer to Nace too. Almost as close as he was with Jan, but only because they happened to be neighbors. That and Nace was always Kris’ “safe space” when things got too chaotic with the rest of the band. Despite being the youngest, he always acted as the oldest sibling of this family.

- You guys are serious? – Nace asked and everyone nodded – Of course, I want to join!

Bojan was the first one to shake his hand and then throw himself at Nace – clinging like a koala onto him.

That’s when they began their whole Eurovision journey.

The night before their semi-final performance, Kris walked with Jan to his room. Both wanted to say goodnight to each other. It only made sense since they began this journey together. But Jan sensed something was off with the younger who couldn’t stop fidgeting with his hands.

- Nervous? – he asked.

- No. You?

- I am.

- I guess that’s normal.

- What are you thinking about? – Jan glanced at his fingers.

- It’s just…

Kris sighed and rolled his eyes.

- Bojan’s still not back at the hotel. I know he had… I know he was invited to a party with Jere.

- Are you worried he will drink too much?

- No, I know he wouldn’t do it. We agreed on it.

- Then what is it?

Kris stayed quiet for a little longer.

- I’ll be- Actually, no. I’m not fine. – he confessed – It’s weird because I should be happy. I’m at Eurovision! I’m performing at the biggest stage of our lives! I’m doing what I like with my friends. I have a family I love and a girlfriend waiting for me at home-

- “And yet”. – Jan intervened.

Kris didn’t reply.

- Can I ask you something? – Jan waited for Kris’ nod – How are things with Klara?

- Well… not bad. Just. I don’t know. I- Jan, can I ask you something and you promise you won’t laugh or judge me, and you’ll answer with the truth?

Jan nodded. He knew he’d eventually get asked about it.

- Remember when were… 17? 18? Whatever. When the band was broken up, you took me to a… - he lowered his voice – gay bar-

- Oh, for fuck sake, Kris. Grow the fuck up.  GAY BAR! – he shouted.

- Yes! So, you remember it!

- Of course, I remember it.

- And you got me out of there… - he massaged his forehead – I kissed someone there. Who did I kiss, Jan? 

- Do you really want to know?

- Yes! It has been plaguing my mind for years! Please tell me! Do I know him? 

- Don’t do anything stupid, please. – he paused – It was Bojan. 

Jan watched as Kris’ face began changing expression. His frown leaving his forehead, his jaw dropping ever so slowly, his breath hitching.

- What…? – he asked – Jan, I told you to be honest with me.

- I am being honest.

- Jan, is this some fucking joke to you!?

- Kris, I’m not lying!

- Why- Why would I!?

Kris sat on the floor, tears barely being held back.

-Why would you lie about this!? What the fuck is wrong with you…

Jan sat next to him and held him as the tears began flowing down.

- I kissed him? I’ve been in love with one of my best friends for years? Does he even know? Does he know that we… that I… Does he?

Jan kissed his best friend’s temple.

- But… I love Klara too. I think. And now Bojan is off with… I lost him, Jan?

- I wouldn’t worry too much about that. Just… for now, one thing at a time.

He pulled him even more strongly into the embrace and petted his hair.

- You need to rest. – said the older – Tomorrow is a big day. We will make our family and friends proud. The whole country proud. And we have time to help you with those feelings. Not like Bojan is going anywhere.

Jan took him to his room and wished him goodnight. As he headed to his and Jure’s room, he bumped into Nace.

- Good night. – Jan said.

Nace gripped his arm firmly.

- What happened?

- Uh? Nothing happened.

- Jan, I can tell you are not doing well.

- And how would you know that!? – he hissed at him.

The older one sighed and massaged his forehead.

- Jan… I’m just worried.  You don’t have to lash out at me.

Jan looked to the floor. They had made so much progress in the last couple of months, it felt unfair to treat Nace like this.

- You are right. – finally, he said – But I can’t tell you what’s going on. It’s not about me. But I’m all right.

- All right… - Nace let his arm go – Just know that… if you need anything, you know where I’m sleeping at.

Nace pulled him closer and kissed his cheek, cupping his face with his hands.

- Uhm, Nace. Don’t do that.

- Why not?

It’s true that they are comfortable around each other when it comes to physical touch, but one thing is when they do it in private or on stage where there’s a certain barrier that protects them. Here… in the middle of the hallway, there’s nothing.

- Let’s just not… Not here.

- Uhm. I see. – the bass player said, slightly disappointed.

Eurovision went well. In fact, it skyrocketed their careers. But it also broke some relations.

During the summer, Jan was invited to Nace’s home. Nika, his girlfriend, had broken up with him and he needed reassurance. Usually that’s Kris’ job but he was sick, and Jan wasn’t going to leave him alone, nor did he want to. And it was right there and then, in Nace’s apartment, as he took care of Jan’s hands that were burned by hot spilled tea, that Jan accepted his feelings for Nace.

He was utterly in love with Nace. With his kind nature, his caring soul, his brown eyes, his loud laugh, his love for animals… with everything about Nace.

There was one person he wanted to run to tell all about it: Kris.

He didn't get the opportunity to because not long after, Klara too would break up with Kris. After Kris called Jan to tell him about the news, Nace, Jan, and Kris met up at the older’s apartment to have a sleepover.

As they played Uno, Kris threw knowing glances at Jan. Jan had indirectly confessed to him that he had a crush on Nace on the phone, and he was just waiting for the perfect moment to talk about it.

The minute Nace left to go to the bathroom, Kris forgot all about the Uno.

- Nace? What’s your obsession with bass players? – Kris smiled.

- What’s your obsession with “one year older than you” people? – Jan smiled back at him.

- Touché.

It wouldn’t be until January of the following year that Nace and Jan would act upon their feelings.

It happened one day when the two were left alone in the London apartment. Jan kissed Nace in that intimate moment. They decided to get together after that, but Jan asked it to be a secret. Being queer out in the open was something he struggled with and Nace promised to wait for as long as he needed. Thought they did tell the band about it.

The first challenge they had to confront as a couple was Damon’s photoshoot. The Englishman could tell something was up with the two of them. So, he asked to have them together in the shoot.

- You can leave your coats there. – the photographer instructed.

As Damon talked about his ideas for the shoot, Nace held Jan close to ground him. 

- If you feel comfortable, you can kiss too. – Damon said – But you don’t have to! It’s only if you feel okay with it. And I’d consult with you about which photos you want to be posted or not.

They agreed on it. While Damon left them alone inside the shower as he prepared his camera, Jan entangled his pinky finger in Nace’s.

- Are you okay? – Nace asked.

- It’s just the usual fear.

“The fear of being mistreated for being queer”, Jan thought. Nace threw him a knowing glance.

- I’m here to protect you.

- Nace, you can’t kill a single fly.

- Listen, flies are interesting. You’d be surprised by the amount of fly species there are.

Jan chuckled at that. He loves his animal nerd.

- Ready? – asked Damon.

- Ready. – they both replied.

After they got a couple of shots taken, they closed the distance between each other. Their eyes met each other, their noses touched, their mouths were centimeters apart and it seemed as if the word had stopped. As if no one would hurt them, as if they could show all the love they have for each other out in the open.

Damon didn’t ask anything out of them, but a couple of seconds of them staring at each other led them to kiss. They kissed as if they had never loved anyone.

There was one song playing in the background. Marco Mengoni’s Due Vite.

Turn off the light though you may not feel like it Let's stay in the dark enveloped only by the sound of the voice Beyond the madness that dances in every thing Two lives, look at the mess

Jan’s fingers traced Nace’s cheeks, and he left marks with his nails that scratched the surface. Nace’s hands were on his hair, pulling ever so slightly. And they smiled at how clumsy it was. They were just discovering each other after all. And that journey of discovery lasted months and months on end.

Now, they aren’t clumsy anymore. Jan has scratched Nace up and down and knows what he likes. Nace learned how to pull Jan’s hair just the right way. Now, they wake up next to each other, in each other’s embrace.

Jan is the first to wake up, this time. He checks his phone and scrolls over to a particular phone conversation.

Fran: Listen, I wouldn’t personally do it so soon, but I also know what kind of person you are. I’m sure he’s going to love it. You are an amazing guy, lil crazy at times, but I’m 100% sure he’s into that. So, go for it, Jan.

Fran: For me, it was the best decision of my life

Fran: Actually, I’d say it marked the beginning of my new life

Fran: I’m sure you’ll feel the same too

Jan Peteh: Grazie, Fran

Fran: Here for whatever you need! :)

Jan felt an arm pulling him closer and a breath close to his neck.

- Good morning. – Nace said with his sleepy deep voice – What time is it?

- Early.

- How Early?

- Around 11 am.

- That’s not early, Jan. – he smiled.

- Nace.

Jan said his name with such conviction the older one opened his eyes and sat on the bed.

- Is something wrong? – he asked.

- No. – Jan reached for Nace’s hand – Everything’s fine. More than fine. – he let out a chuckle – I just… I’ve been doing some thinking. Uhm. You don’t have to take this to seriously, but.

Nace’s eyes followed Jan’s movements. His hands reached for his bedside table and he took out what looked like a small black box.

- Uhm, so I was thinking that, you are really important to me and there’s no one else I’d rather be around with it. I can’t imagine anyone else. What I’m saying is… - he opened the box – Mister Jordan, will you make me the happiest man in the world and-

- Yes! – Nace said sealing Jan’s lips with a kiss.

- Really? Isn’t it too soon?

- Maybe? A little? But I’m also in my thirties.

- Shit, never mind you are old. – Jan joked and Nace lightly hit him with the elbow – Hey!

- What I am saying is… We are already grown and we don’t have to get married right away, but we can be engaged for as long as it takes us to get to it.

- So you don’t want to marry me? – said Jan ironically with a huge smile on his face that was wiped off by Nace kissing him.

- There’s no one else I’d rather have by my side for the rest of my life. You are my guitarist after all.

- Uhm… I see…

- Do you think the pets will get along?

- Oh, they better.

- Now… I feel like I should give you something to commemorate. - Nace smirked.

- Oh, like what?

- I think we could do a reenact of last night’s events, but this time, I’ll be on top.

- Oh, you have no idea how I’d love that.

♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩

Underwhelming ending? Who said that?

Don't worry about it everyone.... because I have one final fic planned to wrap up this universe :)

and then I can finally do the sailor moon au yayyyy

But it will probably be posted... next year ;)

Polaroid Photos Universe | Recommended next: A sem ti povedal

[n1ghtcrwler]

Revival, Part One

From the records of John Matteson Dated 1 August 2028

“You look like shit,” Fox said as I walked into the office.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“Have you been drinking again?”

I slumped onto the couch. “A little. It’s not what you think, I just…needed a little.”

“The fact that you need it is the problem. Now get off your ass and clean yourself up, you have a client waiting in your office.” I pointed at my office door and silently expressed my confusion. “She didn’t give me a name, but swore you’d recognize her, the poor thing. So I let her wait there.”

I grumbled and went to the bathroom, to adjust my tie and clean up my face. When I was satisfied it was as good as it was going to get for now, I went into my office. “Good morning,” I said, closing the door behind me. “What can I do fo–” I froze as she turned to face me.

“Hi, John,” Lori said.

Twenty-three years, this November. It was like a timer went off in my brain, counting from the last time I’d seen her; one I didn’t even know was running. We stared at each other for a moment that felt way too long, and then I caught my breath and hurriedly made my way to my desk.

“Matteson,” I managed to get out, before clearing my throat and trying again. “People call me Matteson.”

She looked concerned as she leaned forward. “No one did until her, John,” she whispered. “You’re not–”

“What can I do for you, Lori?”

There was a long pause, and then she sighed and leaned back into her chair. “Are you familiar with Mystics Anonymous?”

“I am. I know a guy, Benedict de Monte, works with them.”

“I’ve met him. He said you were doing well, didn’t mention the eye patch. What happened?”

“That’s…new. It also isn’t why you came.”

“We’ve run into a problem.” She started to explain her role with the group, how she had spent the last two decades helping people deal with supernatural trauma, how she went back to school and became a psychiatrist. Apparently, she had tried to help some people in this small town in Massachusetts, but came to realize that whatever was causing the trauma was still active. “We don’t have people that deal with this sort of thing. I needed outside help, and you were the most qualified person I could think of. And, you know, it’s been a while, I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to have that conversation, but thank you. I can do Massachusetts. What do you know about this thing?”

“I’m under the impression it’s some kind of nature spirit, must be angry about something. I don’t know, John. I usually only deal with these situations after someone has been through it and needs help, and they tell me what they experienced, and sometimes the type of spirit that did it matters and sometimes it doesn’t. I don’t really know how to identify spirits in the field. What are your fees?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“John, no, don’t do that.”

“I couldn’t–”

“Don’t. I’m here to hire you because of your skill set, not because I’m looking for pity.” She crossed her arms and stared me down until I threw my hands up and leaned back.

“Fine. I can head up tomorrow. Make sure Fox has the address to send your bill.”

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to check in with some people here, and I flew in. Would you be okay with waiting until Thursday, and giving me a ride up?”

“Sure. Alpha will be happy to see you.”

“You still have the same car?”

“Always.”

She laughed and stood. “Thank you, John. I’ll meet you here on Thursday.”

I walked her out, waited while she gave Fox her information, then watched the door for a little longer than I realized after it closed behind her.

“So who is that?” Fox asked.

“Lori Berman.”

“Yeah, I got that.” She held up the paper she’d just written Lori’s info on. “Who is she to you?”

“You can lose that, by the way. I’m not billing her.” I dropped onto the couch and loosened my tie as I leaned back.

“Why would you wanna do that? Matteson, what the hell is going on here? Who is that woman, really?”

“I can’t bill her. Not after…I owe her, is all. It’s complicated. Old news. Don’t worry about it.”

“Look, Matteson. It doesn’t have to be me, I get it, but you need to talk to someone. All these secrets aren’t healthy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, getting up and heading into my office. “I’ll be out of the office starting Thursday.” I heard Fox grumble something as I closed the door behind me. Probably best not to find out what.

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[theserpentsadvocate]

So I’ve been doing a lot of research (or, more accurately, I’ve been doing cursory research fairly often) for the seventy-million Veronica Mars fanfics I’m currently writing, and I’ve run into a… difficulty. The fic that actually prompted this post wasn’t even related to the Thumper thing even peripherally, like it doesn’t even happen in it, but what can you do.

Here’s the thing: under California law, assault is the attempt to hurt or cause harm to someone by an individual with the capacity to actually cause that harm (e.g. throwing a rock at someone and missing, trying to punch someone who dodges). Actually harming someone is battery (e.g. you knock someone out and hide their drug money inside their motorcycle).

Now we, the audience, know that whatever someone might feel morally*, Weevil isn’t legally guilty of murder – he committed battery, and that’s probably all Lamb can prove, because he has witnesses to that part. But he has witnesses. He should have Weevil over a barrel on the battery charge at least.

But here’s the sticking point (or one of them): Veronica says, canonically, that Weevil ‘pled down to assault’ (and he seems to agree with her). So… why did he end up doing time for a lesser charge?

Answer One: The writers messed up.

Okay, so this is a very unsatisfying answer, and I’m rolling my eyes at myself about it. But still: it’s very common for the general public to gloss ‘assault and battery’ as one thing, or to use ‘assault’ to refer to battery charges, doubly so since, in a non-legal sense, the word ‘assault’ does include (legal) battery. Probably whoever wrote that line assumed that they knew what ‘assault’ was and just didn’t double-check.

(And they also didn’t bother to brush up on the difference between a felony and a misdemeanour and whether you can be on parole for a misdemeanour (answer: no), but I’ll get to that.)

But that doesn’t help square everything up with canon (unless you’re the kind of person who can say stuff like ‘that line doesn’t make sense so I’m ignoring it’, which I… am not, generally speaking), so more productively –

Answer Two: Veronica messed up

Veronica’s attitude toward Weevil isn’t always great in season three, trending towards dismissive on several occasions, and she is, technically, a member of the general public, so maybe she just said assault and meant battery, and he did go to prison for battery and not assault. This would track with him still being on parole – well, at all, but notably about halfway through season three, when Veronica wants to meet with the PCHers – and mentioning his parole officer multiple times. (Simple assault is a misdemeanour and has a maximum sentence of six months; parole, unless there is a glaring hole in my Googling, is only for felonies. Nothing he does to Thumper, as far as I can tell, would qualify as felony assault – he doesn’t use caustic chemicals or a deadly weapon, and he definitely doesn’t throw anything at a moving vehicle.)

Misdemeanour battery, on the other hand, appears to have a maximum sentence of a year, and a battery charge would leave the possibility of a felony open: aggravated battery, or battery causing serious bodily harm, is a ‘wobbler’, which means it can be filed as a misdemeanour or a felony, depending on the circumstances, and ‘serious bodily harm’ includes loss of consciousness. (This would also mean he very well could be a convicted felon, which of course has implications for the rest of his life beyond just having a record. I don’t actually want this for him, obviously, but if you want the felony for fic reasons, or to explain the repeated parole references, that versatility is there.)

The only problem is, Veronica is not a very likely person to make this particular mistake. Her dad spent most of her life in law enforcement and she’s very well-acquainted with most law enforcement (and much legal) procedure, she regularly interacts with the sheriff’s department, and she commits enough illegal and dubiously legal acts herself that it’s in her best interest to be familiar with these kinds of distinctions. (Although she’s still very much protected by being a middle-class white woman – she can do things like tasing obnoxious frat bros in The Rapes of Graff without worrying overmuch that she’ll be arrested on misdemeanour battery charges, even though it would absolutely qualify.)  Also, she clearly made the effort to look into how his case played out, since she’s the one who brings all this up, and she appears to have tracked him down at the car wash deliberately, so it would be kind of bizarre if she then got the offence wrong. This one is convenient, but in the end it’s a hard sell and I don’t think I buy it.

Answer Three: Weevil didn’t plead down from murder to assault, he pled down from battery to assault.

Lamb’s case for murder probably isn’t all that great. It makes for terrific oomph when you are deliberately arresting someone two minutes before he’s supposed to graduate, like an absolute monster, but what does he have, really? Two kids who saw Weevil knock Thumper out with… a cloth? Or something? and take a bag of… something. (And leave.)

So this proves battery, it strongly implies robbery, and given Thumper showing up under the ruins of Shark Stadium it certainly suggests murder, but that’s not going to stand up in court. Assuming the autopsy can conclusively determine which ones are from the stadium collapse and which aren’t (admittedly a big if), Thumper’s likely to have injuries from the beating the Fitzpatricks gave him that Weevil is (per the prosecution’s own witnesses) not responsible for and which were incurred after his attack on Thumper. The kids also saw him leave Thumper’s unconscious body and walk away with the bag of money, so – dead to rights on battery, but iffy on murder. The other PCHers can testify that he had motive to kill Thumper, but they might well not be willing to, for a whole host of reasons. Weevil is absolutely smart enough to establish himself an alibi for the entirety of the time after his attack on Thumper, and that would make Lamb’s case very difficult, as does that fact that Weevil literally didn’t kill Thumper, and so there’s very little forensic evidence to be found that would be damaging to him.

(Honestly, even if the charge was murder, and he pled down to assault or to battery, the fact that they offered him that also suggests the case was flimsy. Rich, white, even-more-innocent-of-the-actual-murder Logan only got offered manslaughter in the plea deal for Felix’s murder.)

So if this is it? That is a ton of reasonable doubt. And that’s before Cliff gets up there and points out that Eduardo Orozco was a known gang member and drug dealer and had all kinds of opportunities to make the kind of enemies who might have chained him up in that stadium (which is not only true but also… basically what did actually happen). In fact, typing this all up, I’m kind of pissed Weevil did any time at all.

Add to that the fact that both eyewitnesses are kids, who are notoriously unreliable on the stand… Yeah, I can easily see the DA deciding a murder charge won’t stick. But they have him on battery! …Wiiiith most of the proof being those notoriously unreliable child witnesses. So maybe they drop the murder charges, get him on battery, and then offer him a deal. On their side, they don’t have to worry about those kids holding up in court; on his side, well, if they threatened to file the aggravated battery charge as a felony, he’s looking at the difference between a year at most in prison and a possible four-year term with all the attendant miseries of being a convicted felon for the rest of his life. And he definitely can’t afford a better lawyer than whoever’s available from the public defender’s office. So it’s reasonable to decide that going to court is too much of a gamble, and just take the deal. This also explains how he’s out so quickly, since it cannot be more than three months since he was arrested when season three starts – but if he pled right away and got a light sentence (since it’s his first adult conviction), that might make sense.

The main problem with this one, even though I really like it, is that, well, there are the repeated references to him being on parole. Weevil himself could just be glossing probation as parole, I suppose – ‘don’t tell my parole officer’ makes a better joke than ‘don’t tell my probation officer’ – but Veronica also says he’s on parole in President Evil, which is an unlikely mistake for her to make if he’s not on parole, for all the reasons outlined in Answer Two, especially in what is literally a presentation for her criminology class. (Of course, in that same presentation she refers to him ‘assaulting’ Thumper, so who knows.) Most damning is the entire B-plot of Wichita Linebacker, which makes it clear he is indeed on parole, since if he doesn’t get another job he’ll go back to prison.

(And I suppose ‘pled down to assault’ is kind of a weird way for Veronica to phrase it in this case – but not utterly bizarre, and she’d be unlikely to spell it all out like that, since she doesn’t know she’s on TV and that line is supposed to be letting the audience know why he’s not in prison.)

Answer Four: Veronica was just guessing

I’ve always read the scene in Wichita Linebacker as her finding him on purpose, especially since she doesn’t actually stick around to get her car washed, which is why I also tend to assume that she’s either recently looked up his case or been following it from the beginning and would know what the charge is. (She doesn’t appear to be surprised to see him, either.) I also just… like to think that she’d care enough to follow up on him.

But it’s also possible that she really is just at the carwash for carwash-related reasons, and she’s just… guessing about the reasons he’s out already. In this case, she might have said assault, and he acknowledges this as correct even though the actual charge was battery, because he figures it’s close enough, and she’s got the general idea, anyway.

This covers more bases than anything else, although it still doesn’t explain why she implies he’s on parole for an assault charge during the criminology presentation, at which point she would definitely have done the background to know it was battery and not assault, but mostly I don’t love it for character reasons.

Anyway. If anyone wants to hit their heads repeatedly into this particular wall with me, I would love to hear your thoughts.

*and I’m inclined, personally, to say that the moral responsibility for Thumper’s death is pretty much on the Fitzpatricks, and it’s not like he didn’t know who he was getting into business with

[faislittlewhiteraven]

Undertale/ISaT crossover thoughts 3

(aka the 'Sif and family explore The Island' edition)

Had a lot of Undertale/ISaT crossover thoughts (here's the post for how I'm crossing them over in general, and here's the post for an overview of each of the three major plot lines) but most of my actual thinking has been about Sif and family exploring The island so I'm gonna go into some depth for once rather than overview and hope this is useful for ideas for anyone writing any sort of 'Sif and family go to Sif's homeland' fic rather than the Undertale crossover centric stuff most of the other posts have been.

Side note: Location names in my notes is very minimal at this point as I generally look up names last when plotting anything. But er, working name of the Island is The Isle of Chara (because Undertale's Chara is kind of a big deal in this actually and good odds the final name will probably have Chara in it) so please keep that in mind in case I somehow end up typing that somewhere here in my notes.

---

Start:

Sif and family's plot starts with the return of colours and memories (caused by the breaking of the Barrier by the monsters). A day is spent kind of just 'emotionally reacting' to all that (Sif's kind of overwhelmed and in tears) but next day the group actually sit down and discuss whether it's worth them going or not because, yes they are the Saviours of Vauguard and yes they're right next to Bambooche but well, who knows what state the Island is in right now and if it turns out to be... Unpleasant, it is definitely going to hit Sif hard.

Siffrin, naturally does want to go, but am definitely having Sif mentally going over all the potential horrors of the situation (everyone just... Vanished without a trace leaving empty streets and homes? Piles of skeletons because everyone died in an instant? His parents completely untouched by the passage of time wondering why he, an adult stranger covered in scars is claiming to be their missing child?) before confirming with the others he's up for this and that they'll need his Island language skills in case of survivors and for reading signs and records anyway.

How do they get there:

At first the think of taking a boat but well, turns out the Island wasn't the only thing erased from memory and as they reach Bambooche it becomes apparent that- Oh! That 'spooky hill everyone just avoids' is actually a really big and complete with steel, concrete and 'our world modern' tar road bridge, that goes all the way out over the ocean and clearly extends towards the Island.

Cue Party stopping by Bambooche's harbour and the local House of Change to get an idea of options: The House also wants to send people to Vauguard's new/old neighbours (in general all the Houses in Vauguard are very curious and there's a ton of messengers and 'Message Craft' going back and forth everywhere right now) and they promise to get the word out to everywhere (including the press) that the Saviours of Vauguard are investigating so no one has any reason to worry. Cue awkward/nervous Mirabelle laughing and trying not to freak out at the pressure of being so important... Again! While many local sailors are willing to make the trip but well, prepping the ships for an unknown landing will take a while and everyone is nervous about the 'was apparently always there' giant bridge looming overhead (what if bits of it fall?).

So after a bit of back and forth the party go for the bridge. It needs people to check it for structural damage and Sadnesses anyway and the party have people capable of handling both (gives Nille construction analysis skills) so welp!

Bridge:

Actually approaching the bridge the party spy some weird 'metal lumps' that as they approach several members of the group (not just Sif) recognise as long abandoned cars. Which are everywhere, to the point its genuinely hard to get around them, and the group realise the 'little building next to the bridge' is actually the entrance for an underground car park. Cue the group finding a 'building' built into the base of the bridge; sadly the door is locked and despite Isabeau and Nille's best efforts they can't smash it open, but Sif's pretty sure it's probably the door to a train station judging by the glass and metal tube they can see running from the side of the building base all the way under the bridge.

Cue talk on what the crab a train even is as they make their way back onto the actual bridge and start climbing and hopping over the sea of cars (Odile wants everyone to know she hates all this jumping btw), but the silly vibes stop dead when the groups starts seeing the remains of car wrecks and some never buried corpses left at the wheel/caught between two lots of crumpled metal (it's been like 18 years so they're pretty much all picked clean skeletons but yeah, Bonnie is definitely having their eyes covered by Mira). ...Isabeau points out that all the cars and remains here very definitely indicate that the people of the Island were not instakilled/frozen in time by whatever happened and, most likely, they were hit by the memory erasure effect and those who could remember how tried to flee the Island for places less detrimental to their psyches but... It's honestly kind of amazing that there aren't more crash wrecks and bodies given how mentally distressed everyone driving must have been.

It doesn't help cheer anyone up but the observation is noted (Sif keeps getting shoulder pats from everyone since well, this isn't the worst case scenerio but it's pretty bad), and the group continue walking until finally they reach a 'Craft' Station (think gas station but like, magic wish stuff for fuel or something. Thinking there's a favor tree 'tank' next to the building and everything) where they find a few scribbled notes in Vauguardian from the last worker there (bilingial type, lived on the island, trying and failing to remember the island and 'something, someone?' important they left there, decided to head for Vauguard but only after noting down everything they can and making sure all the 'time preserving seals' on the food storage containers are working properly. Just in case someone needs them) and a whole heap of fridges and 'glass cases' with somehow still fresh food inside them. Sadly the cooking implements in the building weren't nearly as resistant to the flow of time but the group decides they'd rather spend the night outside in their tents anyway so they set up camp, Sif shares more of what they do and don't know about all this weird stuff they keep encountering (some but not a lot; Sif recognises the appliances and roads but their coastal hometown was much more 'traditional' and they don't have a clue how all these high tech craft machines actually work outside of making sure they're set up right and flicking a switch) and have a nice dinner before going to sleep.

Next day is walking, with a side order of more walking. Mood is a bit better after talks and rest, but most of this gets skipped (during which the precipitation that collected on the bridge during the cold night evaporates into a thick fog, and then starts slowly clearing up under what looks like strong sunlight) until the group finally see the actual island itself for the first time and- Oh wow. That's an actual city (for an idea of the visuals please imagine the city in the background of the Undertale credits scene where Papyrus is driving along a bridge in a car). Group are blown away because, damn, somehow they weren't expecting that (this is waaay too big a place for them alone to explore, thank goodness the Houses will be sending teams in soon) except for Siffrin who promptly recognises the place as something of a tourist/heavily Vauguardian influenced city that he used to visit on rare occasions with his parents: Usually for big events like going to see a big theatre production on his birthday or to attend the Island's biggest Change festival (brought over by the large Vauguardian immigrant population) which his mom's family always loved attending.

The City:

Takes the group another hour or two to actually reach the city itself (walking takes time alas) but when they get there, yep there sure are a lot of signs in Vauguardian and little Change God statues everywhere. ...Also a lot of signs of looting and unchecked plant growth and 'feral' animals everywhere but most of the buildings look pretty good (Odile is still instantly 'none of us are entering going up or down any floors past ground level in any of these without good reason before Nille/other professionals can check them over for instability' though), and though it takes a bit of awkwardly trying to read a rotting signpost map, Sif is able to guide everyone to the central train station...

Which still has its automated trains working!!! (Sif takes a moment to brag about how 'of course they're still fine! All public transport systems are safe guarded by the best protections applied Wish craft can manage' before wondering why they feel so proud of that something their dad used to say a lot?) Cue party quickly finding the 'Vauguard line' which, yes is working and is just waiting for passengers, and (before proper discussion of 'do we take the train back to Vauguard and unblock the station doors on the other end' can be had) a trainline that stops by Siffrin's home town down by the Island's Southern coast.

...Needless to say, they go for Sif's hometown first (they're 100% planning on unblocking the Vauguard station's door at the nearest possible opportunity afterwards though).

Cue silly scenes of everyone boarding the train, comments being made of the silly 'mascot' figures in black and white everywhere (thinking I may cameo Ingo and Emmet in setting), Odile mentioning that she remembers riding trains -much less sleak and automatic than these ones- in Ka Bue during her youth (presumably their use being associated enough with the Island they were forgotten about when the Event happened), Isabeau turning out to be majorly freaked out by the closing doors and general nice vibes before whooosh they're off to Sif's hometown.

Siffrin's hometown:

Party get a nice scenic view of the coast and a lot of 'old fashioned if fancy' looking coastal buildings as the train zips along and pulls into an elegant if overgrown looking station (I'm thinking greek column/smooth plain stone everywhere vibes and IDK why).

One side of the station leads away from the coast in the direction of what looks an actual town, while the other goes towards the coast and in general seems like a much quieter 'district', with lots of more old fashioned looking buildings (some clearly more damaged by the years without care than others), lots of trees, boat houses and cobbled pathways.

Naturally Sif immediately heads in the direction of the coast, at first slow then running ahead as he recognises the streets and houses before finally stopping at a house in very good condition. Party catch up and yeah... This is Sif's home. That tree had a swing, the marks on the door are from when Siffrin got it into his head to try carving 'stars' on everything for 'good luck', that over there is the 'public door' to Dad's observatory he left open to the public because all Islanders deserve to have unrestricted access to the stars but just as often people from town would just walk right through the house to get there because Mom loved having so many guests and their 'private family rooms' all had locks so letting people freely wander their home was fine and-!

...Yeah Siffrin is terrified of going in alone but fortunately their family of choice is there and well, in they go.

Everything inside is in equally good nick (the place itself is simple and homey but also clearly high quality stuff everywhere) and somehow only very barely dusty, though the group are quick to notice that all the cupboards are bare, there's clear signs of someone searching and packing away things (books all over, things left open, scattered things like bowls and cups -someone trying to decide what to take?) and well. There's a bunch of notes, written in Vauguardian on the kitchen table. Odile reads it out:

The writer cannot remember her name, or where she is, her family which she knows she must have because there's three plates here, just as there are three bedrooms and one of each is for a child she can't remember she can't remember but. She can think enough to write things down, to check on her neighbours and get them to eat. ...No one can stay here. She remembers Vauguard so it must be safe, and... There's a boat, in the warehouse, she and others can take. She and the friendly boulanger she can't remember he's her friend but she can't remember know how to rig and sail it and they're more coherent than most everyone else so... If they head there, maybe things will be fine? She's always liked Vauguard and the Change religion, always thought about changing herself a little even if he likes her as she is She can't read that last line and Changing would be nice, she thinks. ...though, if the family she must have are looking for her, she'll need to keep some things the same. Darkless kinky hair is unusual isn't it? Especially with the darker skin she inherited from her Vauguardian mother so she'll keep those, but... Oh what if she makes herself really stand out in other ways? Then. Then maybe they'll notice and be drawn to her even if they can't remember any better than she does! She lists the things she does remember about herself once more, where she plans to lead everyone (Dormont is a nice place. The quiet slow pace there might help the others adjust), all the supplies she plans on taking (a porcaline doll. Her 's favorite. Hugs it constantly even though it feels awful), a few complaints about people who absolutely refuse to leave even though they're every bit as mindblanked as the rest of them and leaves an end note inviting anyone who reads this account to please enjoy their rest in her home but to please, please please not damage anything because- Someone else might not want it damaged and. She can't remember, can't handle even entering some of these rooms it hurts too much but. Please. She wants everything here to remain where it is, until the people who belong here can return.

...

So um. Yeah.

Big group hug and tears are had but Sif being Sif tries to push on quicker than they should, group reluctantly accept that he might just need some time to process and with Sif's blanket permission ("It's my family house. You're my family, so you can go wherever you want") most split into smaller groups inspecting all the rooms and things, with Odile and Isa checking out Sif's dad's study, Bonnie immediately poking their nose into Sif's childhood room dragging Sif along to tell them all about everything in there (Sif is having like all the nostalgia, heart ache and 'genuinely wanting to show Bonnie all the cool things, oh! The toy aeroplane that actually flies =D' moods right now), and Nille and Mira giving the more rummaged areas a quick look over since well. Good odds they may be here a while and knowing where stuff is might be handy.

During this period thinking Mirabelle should have something of a mild freakout for many reasons over the thought that Euphrasie -her mother/mentor figure- could possibly be Siffrin's mindwhammied birth mother because Dormont was mentioned, and the Head Housemaiden never really talks about her past and she knew of Wish Craft, and has that genuinely really rare darkless kinky hair and the hand writing on the note seemed familiar and aaaaaaa!!!! Cue giving Nille a scene of trying to help calm Mira down' mostly by pointing out there's no way they could possibly know the truth right now, pointing out that post the return of colours they can't really be sure what 'darkless' they're even talking about here, and Sif still flinches whenever Euphrasie is mentioned due to how much he associates her with the loops so if they ARE related... It's probably going to be a good long while before they can even consider reconnecting anyway so Mira has plenty of time to sort through her feelings on this, talk to the related parties to confirm if her suspicions have anything to them, and Euphrasie would probably need even more time to process it all than Sif and Mira will put together (good odds she'd currently be going through a massive breakdown/freakout back in Dormont over realising she has a kid she has no idea the identity, well being or anything of).

Mostly out of direct 'scene to scene' stuff at this point but thinking the group end up spending the night in the Observatory, which is MASSIVE and Siffrin sort of manages to awkwardly get across that observatories not directly used for study are always like that because they're basically public churches for Islanders since viewing the guiding light of the stars with others is a holy/community kinda thing but... Also Sif's family on their Dad's side have owned this observatory/the 'star viewing area' on these cliffs for generations and it IS totally normal to spend every other night stargazing with random strangers and to be given near constant lessons on stars and proper behaviour by your Dad so all the other families know you're being properly pious and- Cue everyone being like: 'hey Sif, I think your family might've be a little less 'humble coastal folk' and more 'stupid rich' than you might've realised from the perspective of being a 13 year old, also the notes and diaries in your Dad's study scream political work and someone who arranges a lot of religious stuff' and Siffrin trying to wrap their brain around essentially being the Island's version of Mira but with like, a lot of money on top of that.

Other:

They 100% find the body of someone who killed themselves recently when looking around... Somewhere. (too many days ago for them to have possibly stopped this person but definite confirmation that survivors of the Island might've been hit hard by suddenly remembering and having no support)

Probably meet Undine on the rail system while looking for pockets of survivors still on the island - Undine is doing the same on behalf of the monsters trying to set up a new government so um. Yay happy first contact?

Once Sif's group has met up with the Undertale characters there' definitely gonna be some Sif and Frisk friendship stuff, though probably not before Frisk and Bonnie (and MK?) friendship causes mild craziness.

(...Must have Sif, Isa, Toriel and Sans pun off. I can't write for beans but I MUST! For the PUNS!!!!)

Scene where Siffrin learns the Elder guy who's been looking after all the kids in the Village by Mt Ebott (main area the monsters have set up shop so it'll probably be renamed by Asgore 'Home Town' soon), is their grandfather on their mother's side and a bit of family history. - namely that Sif's mother was half Vauguardian (grandma was sickly and died before Sif was even born), that travelling to other countries and marrying 'outside the island' was seen as something very odd (slight xenophobic attitudes to outsiders?) back in Grampa's day, and a lot of little tidbits about Sif's parents like how his mom loved fishheads so so much, it was Sif's dad who cooked amazing Malanga Fritters with green peppers, the two of them had something of a whirlwind romance bonding over making enchanted things together (dad better at ritual work while mom could just boom! Make things off the cuff without thinking too hard about it) and... yeah. Just... Sif finding one living relative who never, ever expected to see any of his relatives again to boot (also Elder immediately being all 'introduce me to your family- Ah so just like your mother you favor big handsome men! Oh and your little one Bonnie is precious!' the second he gets over the weepy 'I cannot believe it' awkwardness because dang it, Sif deserves to find some additional family on this otherwise incredibly heavy trip)

The exploration into the space warped and Sadness filled Island Capital eventially leads to a lot of weird/heavy revelations about the Island for Sif:

Sif on his dad's side is basically the heir to one of THE big families of the Island (they don't like royalty but the Asterion and Chara families were arguably that in all but name).

His dad was very concerned about the heir of Chara because they were never really seen in public despite the Chara family living in/basically owning the Capital.

There was a genuine fear of the Monsters returning and waging war for the sins committed against their ancestors and a union between the Asterion and Chara families was seen by many as 'Universe ordained' protection against this (Cue Sif having a lot of 'trying not to wonder if my country practiced arranged marriage' squick and really appreciating their parents' choice to keep them well away from the Capital/the really religious types here...)

The Chara family was apparently in charge of protecting and aiding any Monsters found outside Mt Ebott (of which there were actually quite a few!) but according to the official paperwork all of them requested to join the rest of the Monsters under Mt Ebott? (All monsters helping the party point blank state that no one, monster or human, entered the Underground from the Surface before Chara fell)

...Notes on how Monster dust is raw Wish Craft in physical form in the Chara house...

Notes in the Chara house on how the Chara heir wasn't particularly liked, to the point they weren't being given a personal name until they did something to earn it.

Horror lab eventually found in the Chara house. Lots of dusty cages, notes on how people injected with monster dust react to it, etc.

Chara's room. Bare and empty aside from a few potted golden flower plants, a few letters and pictures stuck up on the wall (cue Sif doing a double take recognising their childhood name on some of them -Chara was that penpal of theirs that never responded?), and a few loose floor boards which underneath have scribbled escape plans, very expired food rations, carefully drawn and folded pictures of non human figures crying in cages, and bandages.

--- And... yeah. That last part is very much the 'Chara plotline' stuff kicking in hard but trying to think of little puzzle pieces for Sif and Co to find and slowly piece together into a big old ball of 'Wow, I DO understand why this otherwise very nice and did not deserve this country got accidentally ERASED by this kid actually' hints so um yeah.

Hope you like all the world building/stuff before it gets all 'period horror/drama' at the end there and do feel free to use any of this/give feedback as well. I've spent too long typing this out, my brain is pudding and I'm done on this thinky think train for now XD

[thislovintime]

Peter Tork’s first house, at 6416 Rodgerton Drive in Los Angeles: (photos 1 & 2) in 1967 and in 2011; Stephen Stills inside the house (photo by Ann Moses); Peter in 1967 (photos by Henry Diltz).

About photo 3 - “Steve Stills of Buffalo Springfield, a close friend of Peter’s, looks at a place of interior decorating by Monkee Davy, who has taken a number of ‘Davy Jones stamps’ and spelt out the word LOVE on the wall just inside the front door.” - Ann Moses, NME, August 10, 1968

"Davy Jones is an acknowledged practical joker: and he kept up his image when he returned from his vacation. The Monkees event three weeks at RCA Studios recording their new album. One night after a sessions Peter invited Davy over to his house and while Pete was getting something to eat Davy pasted Davy Jones stamps all over his dining room wall! You can see Pete’s best friend, Steve Stills checking them out on the left." - Ann Moses, Tiger Beat June 1967

“[At Peter’s house I] found the Davy stickers on the wall, put up by — I, in fact, I took a picture of Steve Stills standing next to the… and he had put the Davy stickers up, and he had put it, all the little stickers so they spelled Davy, and that was on the wall at Peter’s house. So I always thought that was really cute. But [Peter] lived very — you know, he had thrift-store coffee tables and things like that.” - Ann Moses, The Monkees Pad Show no. 10

* * *

"When Peter went looking for his first home he thought of ‘hills and cool green.’ He found them here. Pass through the open front door and you will see the dining room table and the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out on the city lights below. Here on the top floor are the living room, dining room and kitchen… and no matter what time of day or night you enter Pete’s home, the room is always dimly lit with candles and incense is burning. The kitchen, currently stocked with health foods, is to the right and to the left is the living room, the main feature of which is the two single beds that fit into the corner and double as sofas. Whereas green dominates the outside, orange is the feature color indoors because Peter feels it suggests warmth and goes well with candles and quiet. Between the beds is a heavy coffee table that matches the walnut of the color television set across the room. You can actually stand on the table — it is so heavy — and when there’s a crowd in the room the easiest way to get through is walk along it. There is a fireplace against one wall, where a fire is often burning. And the only thing here that doesn’t fit with Peter’s ‘natural’ feel is that he uses artificial logs because they burn more smoothly. The easy chairs in here are sculptured Danish modern and sit next to two huge amplifiers of the stereo system and beside Peter’s electric organ. Behind the sofas, on the wall, is a series of calendar posters called ‘13 ways of looking at a Blackbird’ — each one has a free verse like ‘on two snow-filled mountains, nothing moved but the eye of a blackbird.’ They were a gift of which Peter is very fond. The ground floor lacks the excitement of the upper one, having just two bedrooms and a bathroom. One bedroom is Peter’s, the other is for guests, and neither is decorated. Other bits of info about the house… in the kitchen are walls with paper flowers… there is another favorite poster of Peter’s, a present from his friend Steve Stills of Buffalo Springfield, showing a man and a woman hugging on a deserted beach… and as you walk in the front door to the right Davy Jones has spelled out the word ‘Love’ in big letters using ‘Davy Jones stamps.’ […] A typical evening at Peter’s is spent listening to/or playing music. Group discussions about everything from music to Eastern religious interests captivate Peter. His gatherings are usually spur-of-the-moment things where he’ll call up a few friends and say: ‘Come on up to my pad.’” - Ann Moses, NME, August 10, 1968

“As you walk in the front door of my house, directly across the room there are floor-to-ceiling glass windows that look out onto a small balcony and the green hills. At night you can look out on the lights of the little valley. It makes it very pleasant during the day with the sunlight streaming in. There are a couple of wall lamps, but the socket on one is burned out and the other lamp fell down off the wall, so all the light is by candle. There is no lighting except by candle and I even read by it. I enjoy the colors candles throw off." - Peter Tork, Monkee Spectacular, July 1967

“It’s really groovy at Peter’s house. People just come over and we talk or sit around and watch color TV. We don’t have any favorite programs, we just mainly like the color TV. Sometimes we mess it up so there’s dots and flashes, it’s like our own light show. I’ve learned some things about Peter that I didn’t know before, like he likes to live in a cold house. ‘72 degrees is plenty warm enough,’ he says. He doesn’t like the heat turned up. Also, he loves Chinese food, but he doesn’t cook if he can help it. He much prefers to be ‘cooked for.’ There’s usually a parade of fans every afternoon up at the house. They come up to the door and whisper ‘Is Peter here?’ and then they run away. If he’s home he’ll go out and sign some autographs, but he’s not home that often. He’s usually working. We often sit around and play guitars. His favorite song right now is ‘Strawberry Fields Forever.’ The groups we’ll listen to are the Spoonful, the Beatles, of course; the Mamas and Papas; and Peter digs the Springfield. When we’re not playing music or listening to music, we’re usually picking things apart — groups, ideas we hear from people, pieces of music, each other’s brain.” - Stephen Stills, Tiger Beat, July 1967

“Most of the people who live with him (there are seven now) have known Peter for years. Since money has no value to him, he lavishes his money on his friends. Peter has spent thousands of dollars just helping, with no thought of getting repaid. (That much has changed — a few years ago Peter couldn’t give much more than a sympathetic ear.) With all those people living with Peter now, he has very little privacy, but apparently it isn’t missed. Everyone at the house is working and ‘doing their thing,’ and the house is a simple, unpretentious, very lived-in home. As one person living there puts it[,] ‘It’s a happy, productive household, so full of love you can’t quite believe it.’” - Judy Sims, Disc and Music Echo, May 11, 1968 (x/x)

“Last week we went to Peter’s house to meet him. He had some friends over, but he came out and talked to us. He looked so groovy, and he was twice as friendly and nice as we’d ever expected! He talked with us, took pictures, and signed autographs. We’ll never forget that day, and we just want to thank Peter for making that day the most wonderful in our whole lives! L.E. and S.M. Los Angeles, Calif.” - Monkee Spectacular, March 1968 (x)

[perpetualxfire]

About the Muse

Legal Name: Katelyn May Church Nicknames: Carolina, Kate, Katie May Date of Birth: May 16th, 2522 Gender: Cis Female Place of Birth: You know I'm still not sure? Usually Raleigh, North Carolina (or the 'modern' equivalent of the region in this universe) Currently Living: Iris, a livable moon orbiting the planet Chorus

Spoken Languages

English

French (At a very moderate skill level, not fluent, but can hold a conversation and communicate key concepts)

ASL (or in-universe equivalent; a little rusty, but decently fluent in, like, a hearing person kinda way; my HOH people who sign know what I mean lol;; also, for the record, this is a self roast- I'm trying guys)

Education

Dual Degree; BS in Applied Physics and BFA in Dance (Yes, this was a colossal pain in the ass)

ROTC Training during college

Did NOT go to Officer Training School; Halo lore in this particular area seems to make it difficult to compare modern infrastructure for early military careers with in-universe infrastructure, so, lacking more thorough explanation in this subject, elected to follow research into an education/career path that is feasible now, today, IRL, instead of mentioned/implied/listed alterations in universe.

Physical Characteristics

Hair Color: Red; Somewhere between Deep Red and Auburn. Eye Color: Vivid Green Miscellaneous: 'Beauty Mark' along jaw line near right corner of lip. Height: Safest Bet: 5'10 Frustratingly Verse and Writing Partner Dependent. My Default: 6'3" Weight: See above- Depends on Height. Well muscled, but lean.

Relationships

All Relationships Listed as of Last Known Point in the Timeline

Epsilon ("Brother", Partner in Crime, Confidant)

Agent Washington (Similar to Epsilon; Brother-like relationship)

Reds and Blues (Friends..? Hard to put to words)

Doctor Emily Gray (Notably Respected - not an easy status to earn. Never spell her name the same way twice in a row because you gotta keep 'em guessing.)

General Vanessa Kimball (Well Respected; in my mind, there's a HARD unrequited crush with an ace woman, but, you know, that's just shipping)

Director Leonard Church (Deceased; Male Parental Unit; It's Complicated)

Allison "Finch" (Deceased; Last name head canon (changing your name SUCKS ASS); Female Parental Unit; Died in 2528; Only Listed due to relevancy to Tex)

Agent Texas (Deceased; 'It's Complicated' aka I never actually watched the 'Final Season' because I haven't had the emotional energy and I know it's relevant thanks to the synopses I've been working off of but not specifically how because I also want to have SOMETHING to watch when I finally get to it)

Agent New York (Deceased; 'The One That Got Away'; Ma'am you barely even KNEW him-)

Other Freelancer Agents (Deceased; Once believed to be good friends and comrades; would rather let those memories stay that way, but regularly has to reconcile these memories with present day reality)

Orientation: I write her Bi as fuck Relationship Status: Single; Emotionally Unavailable to Men, Incapable of Expressing Her Feelings to Women

tagged by: @thestupidmeanone tagging: tbh just do it, dude. I spent like three hours on this double checking my information and reminding myself how much I hate inconsistency lol but it's good to remind yourself of the baseline stuff about your muse from time to time

[thezombieprostitute]

Tenure

A/N: This is yet another entry for @the-slumberparty​‘s Bingo. This time I’m mixing together three squares: Professor AU, Caught Redhanded and Enemies. Reader is female.

Warnings: Sexism, bullying, body shaming, workplace sexism

Being an adjunct professor in any field can be such difficult, but rewarding work. Especially if you’re able to get tenure. Today was definitely on the difficult side, made worse by Professor Charles Blackwood, your current competition for the one tenure position available in the department. Even before this the two of you were always at odds. He was a pretentious shit who insisted that your time would be better spent as a housewife, “if you could find a man to take pity on you.” It got so bad you even stopped bringing in baked goods to share because he’d always use them as evidence for his case. But you couldn’t afford to make waves or fight back. He had a rich family to fall back on, you couldn’t afford a blemish on your record. 

Today, he brought his friend from the literature department, Professor Drysdale, to use your shared office. Between the two of them, you heard more comments about your size in one hour than you had in an entire month. You tried to bury yourself in work, getting back with students, TA’s, researchers and co-authors. Headphones didn’t help since the conflicting noises of music and a conversation, while trying to focus on work, aggravated you in ways you couldn’t really describe. By the time they left, your jaw, shoulders and neck were all sore from how tense you’d become. Blackwood must be upping his taunting given that the tenure decision was in less than a week but you’d be damned if you let him break you so he could win.

After double checking some of your latest work, you stood up, stretched and refilled your water. You didn’t need to check the time since Curtis, the custodian for your building, was working and that tells you it’s way late and you should be home. You smile and wave at Curtis and he nods in your direction. You quickly run back to your office and grab a couple of cookies you’d brought in for him. You might not bring in baked goods for the department, but you’ll happily still share with a friend. 

Well, maybe “friend” was too strong. You shared some food and smiled at him but all you ever really got was an appreciative grunt and an occasional “thank you” note left on your desk. You figured he just wanted to do his job and go home, something you could definitely respect. It can’t be easy, or enjoyable, cleaning up after college students for a living. Still, you hated hoarding your baked goods and Curtis was safe enough to share with. At the very least, he never told you to give up your work.

“I hope you like them,” you said as you handed him a small bag of cookies. “It’s a new recipe and I’d love to hear if they’re actually good or if it’s just me.” Curtis put the bag in his pack and nodded. Sensing you weren’t going to get anything else from him, you turned and went back to your office.

The day of the decision comes faster than you expected. Blackwood had Drysdale visit him often and the resulting stress was affecting everything in your life. You’d even burned a batch of cookies for the first time in years. You thought you were hiding the stress well, no one seemed to comment, but you did notice Curtis was actually checking in on you. For others it would likely be a small gesture but to you, it was everything you needed to keep going without crying.

You and Blackwood are in your shared office when you both receive your emails. You get two sentences in before you read, “we’ve decided to go with Prof. Blackwood for the position.” You feel so defeated, deflated and defective. You don’t bother looking at Blackwood, knowing he’s wearing his smug smirk and watching for you to start crying. 

“I told you,” Blackwood sneered, “you shouldn’t be here. You need to find yourself a blind husband and just focus on your domestic skills.”

“Please, just leave me alone,” you whisper. “You’ve won. You don’t need to bother yourself with me any more.”

“I could always offer you a consolation prize.”

“I want nothing from you other than to leave me alone.”

“But you’re so much fun to poke at! You never strike back and it makes me even more eager to be the one that finally breaks your resolve. The one that gets to finally see your tears, to earn your tears.”

“Charles, I’m too tired to give you what you want. If you aren’t going to leave me alone, I’ll just go ahead and head out for the day.” You start to pack up your work and Blackwood almost looks like he’s going to throw a fit.

“No, you will not!” He stands up, using his height to stare down at you and look more menacing. “This is my victory and I will have my prize! Now cry for me like the good girl you are.”

“Ahem…” you hear a fake cough at the door and turn to see Curtis standing there, with his phone out, very clearly recording the interaction. You turn back to Blackwood and see him go pale before he starts walking towards Curtis.

“You’re going to delete that video,” Blackwood orders. “I’m a tenured professor with connections and I will have your job otherwise!”

Curtis doesn’t move and you see the corners of his mouth turn up into an almost smile. The much larger man doesn’t put away the phone and replies, “I’m the Custodian, I’ve got dirt on everyone. And that includes those connections you used to get that tenure.” Blackwood stops his advance and you see him practically vibrating with rage, or maybe it’s fear. “Now apologize to the lady.”

“That’s not needed,” you interject. “I know it wouldn’t be sincere.”

“Want me to get him to turn down the job? I can do that in a few ways.”

“No, but thank you, very much.” Part of you enjoys talking about Blackwood as if he wasn’t there. “If I were to take the job I’d have to keep watching my back because they’d get rid of me or treat me like shit at every turn.”

Curtis finally puts away his phone, walks past Blackwood and holds out his hand to you. “I’m gonna miss you, but I respect your decision.” You shake his hand and give him a tired smile. “With your permission,” he continues, “I’d like to keep an eye on you until you leave. Make sure this one doesn’t keep bothering you.” He points to Blackwood who still looks to be in a state of shock. 

“I’d really appreciate that, Curtis. Thank you.”

It’s been several years since then and you’ve really found your place, professionally and (if things with the cute, muscular IT guy keep going well) personally. You’re hard at work setting up the syllabus for next semester when you get a phone call.

“Hello, this is Y/N Y/L/N. How may I help you?”

“Hello Prof. Y/L/N, this is Dean Vernon at Mathematics And and Research Sciences University. I’m calling about a reference.”

“Oh, okay. Would you please tell me who listed me?” You’re not surprised at the call, several of your former students have put you down as a reference and you’re happy to support them.

“It’s Professor Charles Blackwood,” Dean Vernon responded. “He’s applying for an adjunct professorship with us.”

Your mouth drops and you’re quiet for so long Dean Vernon asks, “are you still there?”

“Yes,” you snap out of your shock, “yes, I’m just surprised is all. Last I saw him, he had just gotten tenure.”

“Well that’s part of why I’m calling,” Vernon continued. “Per his credentials, he really should be in a better position. Can you tell me about your experience working with him?”

You chuckle quietly at the incredible position you find yourself in. You allow yourself to smile wide and tell him, “if you hire Professor Blackwood, you are opening yourself up to a lot of lawsuits. Last I saw him, he was trying to make me cry for the fun of it. I can only think that he listed me as a reference because he thought I’d still act like I was under his thumb. Thankfully, I’m not and can warn you not to hire him. Keep your own employees safe and do. Not. Hire. Him.”

The phone is quiet for a bit before Dean Vernon says, “thank you for the information” and hangs up. The rest of your day is spent with a big smile on your face.

A/N2: please let me know if you found the Futurama reference.