#also “second chance” here refers to another blondie who died

[herbarimoon]

Some very self-indulgent Ochako breakdown doodles

[anagentinwriting]

Lifeline - Part 3

Summary: (First Responders!AU) Moving to Los Angeles and living with your brother, Thor, was never part of your plan nor was being a 9-1-1 dispatcher, but plans change when you are faced with your own emergencies. In your case, it was leaving behind a relationship that wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. Will this be the fresh start you were hoping for or will your past find a way to catch up with you?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Odinson!Sister Reader

Word Count: ~2100

Warnings: Mentions of fire

Lifeline Masterlist / Main Masterlist

After much convincing from Carol and Nat the other day, you decided to go to the firehouse to meet this Steve face to face.  It wasn’t unusual for you to stop by the firehouse, but you thought making a batch of your mom’s to die for chocolate chip cookies would give you more of a motive. You didn’t want to go, but it would shut Nat and Carol up for a while. 

Walking into Station 107 Fire and Rescue’s garage, your eyes traveled to the second story loft overlooking the ambulance and the trucks. It was a cozy, warm space that had all the amenities of home. On one side of the loft was the kitchen with barn red walls, modern cabinets, and a huge fridge. On the other side was a living room filled with oversized couches, a flatscreen connected to a gaming system, and a pool table. A dining table sat in the middle separating both spaces in the large open area while exposed wooden beams hung from the ceiling. There was a hallway that led to the two dormitories towards the back of the compound. And below the loft were their lockers, gear storage, showers, and a small gym. 

A guy jumping out of one of the trucks makes you stop in place. He had broad, muscular shoulders and a small waist any girl would want to wrap their arms around. You knew everyone at this firehouse, so you could only suspect this man to be Steve. He shot you a quick glance your way, noticing the ever-growing stubble on his face, before closing the truck door and coming over to you. Nat and Carol were right; he was a good looking fella. He was someone you could’ve easily fallen for, but you didn’t think like that anymore. Hell, back then, you would’ve already had your kid's names picked out without even saying two words to him.

“Hi ma’am, can I help you?” He raised an eyebrow, wiping his hands on a rag.

“Is Thor around?”

“Oh, ah, you didn’t hear,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this--” he ran his hand through his hair, looking everywhere but at you “--but he passed away last week on a call saving a kid.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” you gasped, shaking your head. You covered your hand over your mouth to hide the smile appearing on your face. Steve had no idea who you were, so might as well play a little game.  

“I’m sorry. Afraid not, ma’am,” he sighed. “It was a shock to us all.” 

“Then, what about the baby?” You placed your hand on your stomach. “Am I going to have to do this on my own?” You glanced back up at him, and his eyes went wide, not sure how to answer this.

“A baby?” You covered your hands over your face and let out a fake sob. “I’m sorry, ma’am. He...um...he didn’t die. It’s a thing he wants all of us to say to the girls who come looking for him.”

You uncover your eyes, staring at him for a brief moment until you shake your head at your brother’s orders. “He told you to tell them this? That he died?” 

“Yes?” he said, coming out more like a question than a statement. 

“Poor girls, well not all poor because they should’ve known better,” you sighed, letting out an annoyed breath. “I’m going to have to talk to my asshole brother for this.” 

“Wait...uh...are you YN?”

“Yes. Do I know you?” You narrowed your eyes at him, eyeing him over. 

“Yeah...I mean no...at least not officially, but you helped me like a week or so ago on a call.”

“Sorry, I take like two hundred calls a shift sometimes. It’s hard to remember which one is which sometimes.” You shrugged, trying to not make it come off too obvious that you knew the one he was referring to.

“Right, sorry. It was the call with the electric pool. You told me to use…”

“..the hose and pulled her across,” you finished. “Oh right, right. That must make you Fireman Rogers, then.” You held out your hand, and he shook it with his cleaner hand.

“Please, call me Steve.” You nodded. “It was a great idea you came up with. You’re a real hero.”

“Ahh...thanks. It comes with the territory,” you answered, rubbing your hands together. “We try to save as many as we can, sometimes that doesn’t mean everyone, but we got to try, right.”

“Absolutely,” he nodded, eyeing you over. “Thor went to grab groceries with Val, but you’re more than welcome to wait upstairs in the loft.” He pointed over his shoulder before resting his hands on his belt, making his biceps double in size.

“No, it’s okay. I have to get to work, but I’ll give these to you.” You hand him the container, and he opens it, licking his lips. “Made them yesterday and figured I would drop a container off here since Thor was eyeing them.”

“Thanks,” he chuckled, snapping the lid back on. “They look good.”

“I would try at least one because they go pretty darn fast.”

“I’ll take that into consideration.” He nodded, holding up the container to you. “It was nice meeting you, YN.”

“You too, Steve.” 

“WHOA, YN! Is that you girl,” Sam shouted from the balcony. “What are you doing here?”

“Dropping off some cookies,” you shouted back, covering your hands around your mouth. 

His eyes widened, sprinting to one of the staircases on the side of the loft. He came up behind Steve and yanked the container out of Steve’s hands. Steve narrowed his eyes, watching Sam open it and take a big whiff of them.

“Man, Steve, you don’t know what you just gave up? I ain't sharing these with nobody.” He opened the container, grabbed a cookie out, and took a bite out of it, letting out a satisfied sound. Steve tried to grab one, but Sam shut the lid on his fingers. “Nope!” He shot daggers at Steve, but then he looked back at you with a gap-tooth grin on his face. “Thank you, YN, you’re the best.”

“Sam, you should at least give Steve one, since he has never had them before.”

“I guess you do have a point there.” He pointed his cookie at you, then at Steve before taking another bite, mulling over the idea. “Fine, just one…well half of one.”

Steve slowly reached in and grabbed half of a cookie and took a bite. His eyes shot to you, and he nodded his head. “Wow, these are incredible.” 

“Thanks.” You shot him a small smile. “I should get going, but I will see you, gentlemen, later.” 

“Safe travels, YN,” Sam waved.

“Have a good day at work,” Steve added with a side smirk.

You turned around and started for the door only to see Carol walk in. Upon seeing you, Carol’s mouth twitched into a knowing smirk as her eyes drifted from you and Steve. 

“I see you came and checked out the new transfer,” Carol winked, wiggling her eyebrows at you. 

“No,” you replied. “I dropped off some cookies.”

“Good cover.” she nodded. “What do you think?”

“Yeah, sure, he seems nice, but I am..”

“...not looking for a relationship...yatta yatta yatta,” she finished for you. “It doesn’t have to be a relationship, you know.” 

“Wow. Yup, you went there.”

“Of course I did, besides the way his eyes are traveling over you tells me he would be ready to mingle with you.” 

You peeked over your shoulder, noticing he wasn’t even looking at you. He was still talking to Sam, but his eyes flashed to yours for a brief moment. You turned back to Carol and narrowed your eyes at her.  

“Well look at that, now he knows you're interested.” She teased, making you scoff. “Peace out.” She patted you on the shoulder, walking past you. You watch her retreat past Sam and Steve, grabbing the cookies from Sam, forcing a frown to his features. 

Steve watched you walk out the door and popped the other half of the cookie into his mouth. He dusted the cookie crumbs on his pants, and Sam punched Steve on the bicep. “Ow, man. What was that for?”

“She’s cute, right?” Sam asked, shooting him a wink. 

“Yeah, smart, too,” he nodded, turning around to head up to the loft with Sam. “Does she know everyone in the firehouse?”

“She sure does.” Sam nodded. “YN moved here about three months ago. I know it had something to do with her ex, but I didn’t want to pry. Not my business, but she showed up in a very fragile state.” Sam shook his head at the memory.

“She doesn’t seem that way now,” Steve added, catching the glint in Sam’s eye.

“Yeah, she���s getting better, man. Thor got her a job, and she always comes by bringing cookies when she can. She’s the best.” Sam smirked. “Why are you interested in Thor’s sister?” He nudged Steve in the arm. 

“What...no...I was just curious.”

“Okay, we’ll call it that for now,” Sam grinned, showing off the gap in his teeth. 

____________

Steve sat on the couch re-reading one of his favorites. He glanced up, shaking his head to see Sam and Bucky bickering about who ate all the peanut butter but put the empty container back in the cabinet.

 “The strongest firefighter has returned bearing groceries,” Thor announced, walking up the steps with both his arms full of groceries. “Two trips are for the weak.”

“We get it, Blondie,” Valkyrie grumbled behind him, carrying groceries as well.

“Did you get more peanut butter?” Sam asked, giving Bucky the stink eye.

“Yes,” Val replied. “But, you can only have it if you help put groceries away.”

It was like a silent ritual, gathering around and helping put groceries away. It was also the chance to see what they would be eating for the next week or a few days, depending on how long it would last. Everyone always put in a request to what they wanted, but depending who was on groceries for the week would determine if they were nice enough to pick it up.

“Here’s Steve’s old man food,” Sam smirked, handing him his oatmeal. Steve couldn’t hide his small smirk as he grabbed it and put it in the cupboard. 

“At least I’m not eating your peanut butter.”

“What the hell, Steve?” Bucky narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were on my side for this.”

“I’m not getting in the middle of it,” Steve held up his hands as he continued to put groceries away.

“Thor, again. Why all the Poptarts?” Sam asked, pulling three boxes from one of the bags.

“New flavors, duh!”

“You know Thor loves his Poptarts; honestly, I think they taste like cardboard,” Val remarked, pulling out her energy drinks. 

“No, they don’t! You're being ridiculous. They have the same flavor as the box says. You want a hot fudge sundae without the brain freeze; have a Poptart. Want s'mores, but don’t want the sticky mess; have a Poptart. It’s crazy the amount of flavors they have.” He looked down at a box with a child-like smile on his face.  

“A woman stopped by looking for you,” Steve added, shutting one of the cabinet doors.

“Did you give her the usual charade?” Thor asked, folding the reusable grocery bags. 

“About how you passed away saving a child in the fire?”

“Dude, why are you still going on with that charade? It’s awful,”  Bucky added, only to get ignored. 

“Raging fire, did you say raging fire?” Steve nodded. “Good man,” Thor grinned, pointing his finger at him. “How’d she take it?” 

“She was upset but doesn’t know what to do about the baby now.” Thor’s mouth dropped open. “She’s in the bathroom now.”

“Told you to keep that sword in your pants, pirate angel,” Val grunted, hitting him on the bicep. 

“Ow...well, I’m sorry, Val,” Thor shouted with sarcasm. “What you...you just let her stay? What did she look like?”

Carol came out of the bathroom, and Thor stared at her. “What?” Everyone started laughing, forcing Thor to chuckle along and shake his head. 

“Haha, you guys got me. Hilarious you guys, really.”

“Your sister did stop by though,” Steve said, opening a bag of blueberries.

“Was she okay? What did she say?” Thor rushed out. All the giddiness from his eyes changed to something more serious. 

“Um, nothing serious, dropped off some cookies. There on the counter next to all the other tokens of appreciation and cards we get from people.” Steve pointed over his shoulder. 

“Ooooo, yes.” He rubbed his hands together, going over to grab one, but took the lid off, lifting the empty container upside down. “Really? Come on, she’s my sister. I deserved at least one.” 

“Well, she must like us better,” Sam mentioned, taking a bite of the last cookie.

______

AN: Thanks for reading Part 3. She finally met Steve officially, but will this put a stop to Nat and Carol pestering her? Only time will tell...haha! Any guesses on who is eating Sam’s peanut butter? Do you think it’s Bucky or someone else? And I thought it felt necessary to give a little nod to the first Thor, and have his choice of snack be Poptarts...haha! And finally, the whole layout of this firehouse is very similar to Station 118 firehouse on the show 9-1-1. I just love the whole loft and rustic flair to it, but you can imagine it however you want!!  Any who, thanks for reading, comments always welcome! 

[gellavonhamster]

ghost stories

Suicide Squad (2016) || characters: El Diablo feat. everyone else || post-canon, sort of a fix-it

ao3 link eng || this was first written and published on ao3 in Russian in 2016 but I didn't attempt to translate it into English back then.  

Harley is the first to see him.

She catches the smell first. Something appears to be burning, and she checks cautiously if there is something wrong with the coffee machine. She doesn’t find anything suspicious – not that the appliances about to flame up smell like that anyway. Could it be that there’s a fire starting? That would be funny, but seems like there’s hardly a chance. It is the smell of a bonfire at the beach, of the fallen leaves being burned in the yards in fall, of a melting candle in the church; weirdly, all this at the same time. A smell that seems too pure for Belle Reve, for Gotham, for everything that makes up her life these days.      

Harley looks around once again – and springs to her feet like she’s been stung.

Chato Santana is standing next to her cage.

“Diablo?” she whispers, unable to believe her eyes. She would’ve thought she’s lost her marbles if there were any left to lose.    

“Harley,” says Diablo, and it’s his voice, his shy, sad smile, his eyes and his tattoos, and Harley squeals in delight as she rushes to him. The bars of the cage are live, so she only dares to stick out the tips of her fingers. He touches them with his hand – certainly alive, certainly not a product of her mind being tortured by boredom and monotony – and she laughs.

“You’re alive, alive, alive! How did you survive? And how did they let you in?”

“It’s a long story. And I don’t think I have much time,” Diablo looks guilty. He’s still holding her hand and looking at her so earnestly it’s almost worrying.  “Harley… don’t go with him.”  

“Huh? What do you mean, honey?”

“He’s coming here. Don’t leave with him, Harley, stay. It sounds strange, but this would really be for the best.”  

“Don’t leave with whom?” she can’t follow him. He gives her a melancholic look – and suddenly disappears. Without any smoke or flames or any other special effects. She can’t wrap her head around how it happened – it’s just that he was here a moment ago, and now there’s no one beside her, and she’s reaching out towards nothing.      

“Diablo?” she calls, and when she gets no answer, she decides to get things straight by asking the guards. What kind of cruel joke is this? Only one person is allowed to joke here, and that person is her. “Hello there! Mister jailer, yoo-hoo! Where’s my friend?”  

No one is in a hurry to respond. Finally, one of the armed-to-the-teeth guards approaches the cage.

“Why are you yelling, lady?”

“Where’s my friend?” Harley asks petulantly. “He was here just now, and we didn’t finish talking. Where did you take him?”  

“There was no one here.”

“What do you mean ‘no one’? I just talked to him!”

The guard examines her from head to foot. Looks like he’s chewing gum, which, combined with his empty apathetic stare, makes him look like a cow.

“Definitely crazy,” he sums up, and leaves. Irritated, Harley forgets to take caution, hits the bars and falls down on the floor right away, writhing in pain.    

“Well, well, well,” she whispers, playing the recent events over in her head. Chato was very much corporeal – not a ghost, then. Yet the guards didn’t notice him, and then he vanished into thin air. Harley thinks about the being Chato transformed into by the end of the battle – an ancient one, as if straight from the walls of some Aztec temple. Could some petty bomb kill such a being? Could the Enchantress’s brother have survived too?  

“I am friends with a god,” she informs the ceiling. “Incredible.”

About an hour later, her Puddin’ comes for her, and she forgets the advice Diablo gave her.  

  Croc sees him on the night of the same day. He knows for sure that it is night thanks to the TV listings – the only reference point for time and days of the week that he has. Not that it was bothering him too much, truth be told. Monday or Sunday, every day in Belle Reve is a carbon copy of the day before. However, Croc doesn’t complain. He has a roof over his head, water, food – even better food than he used to have in the sewers in days gone by – and a TV, and it is honestly not too hard to do without such extras as companionship and fresh experiences. Still, he is glad to see Diablo. Even though first he lunges at him with his fangs bared, because he doesn’t immediately recognize him and supposes that Waller and company are sick of feeding him and decided to kill him. Or to put someone else in his quarters, which would have been no less audacious.        

“Croc, it’s me,” Diablo hastens to say, and lights up a flame over his left palm – so unusual and out of place in the dampness of Croc’s cell. Croc freezes and watches the flame for some seconds. That must really be Diablo; there are hardly many people in the world capable of such tricks.

“Hey, man,” Croc says. “Whatcha doing here?”

“Just checking up on you.”

Well, that must definitely be Diablo. Croc knows that there are hardly many people in the world who’d care to check up on him, but that sounds like something El Diablo would do. Back then, during the mission, he was friendly, asked “You okay?” after each skirmish, and could clap him on the shoulder without shuddering. And there are definitely even less people in the world that would touch him willingly.      

“Did they just let you in like that?” wonders Croc. Diablo gives him a slight smile.

“They don’t know I’m here.”

“So you’re, like, a ghost?” Croc asks. It occurred to him from the very beginning, but it sounds particularly joyless when said out loud.

Diablo gestures vaguely. “I’m still figuring it out myself, to be honest.”

“Hmm,” Croc glances over his cell. A bag of food on the cot catches his eye. “You want a burger?”

“Nah, I’m good. Save it for yourself.”

“They’ll bring more today, I’m telling ya.”  

“Then I want one.”

“Then you’re not a ghost,” grins Croc, and the fact that Diablo doesn’t flinch or try to look away also proves that this is the real Chato Santana, because most people don’t like seeing Croc smile.

And so he and Diablo, who kind of is a ghost but kind of isn’t, sit there eating burgers and watching some crap on MTV. Life has taught Croc not to be surprised by anything, so everything’s fine.  

“So what happened after the bomb went off?” Croc asks. Diablo opens his mouth, and then closes it again, apparently at a loss how to explain.

“I was smoke,” he speaks finally. “Then I was flames. Then I became myself again.”

“I see,” Croc replies, although, of course, he can’t see shit.

“Who are you talking to?” comes the guard’s voice from behind the door. “Hey, scum!”

Croc puts the burger aside.

“Wait a bit,” he tells Chato, gets up, and heads for the door.

When he comes to the bean hole, the guard already looks like he regrets calling him.  

“No one,” Crock smiles as widely as only he can, and the guard, who isn’t among the people able to watch him smile without blinking an eye, steps back reflexively. “But come inside, and I’ll talk to you if you wanna. How about that?”   

When he turns around, Chato has already disappeared, and Croc could have assumed he has dreamed it all, but there are two half-eaten burgers on the cot, not one.

  Digger sees him next, and he isn’t even amazed. The bastards keep drugging him with all sorts of shit to calm him down. Usually after the shot he just lies there, feverish, and can’t even move, let alone stand up, but who knows, perhaps they’re testing some new poison on him. Or they’ve started using something stronger because they noticed that a couple of hours after the usual stuff he’s already able to yell, bang at the door, and do everything he can to get the best of them while cooped up inside. Or it’s simply that there’s already so much of this shit in his blood that it’s impossible not to have any screws loose, try as he might to keep them in place. In any case, he’s not exactly shocked when, as he tosses and turns on the floor after another injection, he turns his head and sees El Diablo, large as life and twice as ugly.

“Fuck me sideways,” Digger says. He doesn’t have any energy to be mad yet. “I must be tripping.”

“You’re not tripping,” Diablo objects.

“You died. So I must be.”  

“I didn’t die either.”

Diablo sits down cross-legged on the floor next to him.

“Has it crossed your mind that if you stop getting on their nerves, they might start treating you better?” he asks.

“Go to hell.”

“Message received.”

There’s a footfall outside; a whole bunch of people must be running somewhere.

“They’ve turned the entire joint upside down,” says Digger, because it’s been ages since he has spoken to anyone who’d at least pretend to listen, so a hallucination will do. “Blondie escaped.”  

“I know,” Diablo replies gloomily. “I tried to warn her not to go with the Joker, but she didn’t listen to me.”  

“Why warn her?” Digger asks. Harley Quinn is no bosom friend of his, but she kind of tore out the heart of the witch who kind of tried to end the world, and anyway, teammates probably should take interest in each other’s lives. Probably. He’s never really made sense of that teamwork stuff. “What’s he gonna do to her?”    

“At best, what he always does.”

Two tiny figures of fire appear on Diablo’s open palm – a man and a woman. The man backhands the woman across her face, and she falls down. Digger watches the dancing flames with fascination, and meanwhile in his head, bit by bit, stroke by stroke, a plan starts to take shape. He wouldn’t be Captain motherfucking Boomerang if he fails to use any opportunity that turns up – even a ghost of one. 

“Listen, mate,” he begins cajolingly. “If you’re really here and it’s not just me tripping… help an old friend out, won’t you? I’m fed up with being stuck here, you know.”

“I’m not gonna help you escape,” Diablo says calmly. “How do you imagine that would even happen?”

“Can’t you just burn the entire Belle Reve to the bloody ground?”

Diablo smiles.

“I can,” he admits. “But I won’t.”

The next thing he knows, the son of a bitch is gone without a trace. Anger and offence must be giving Digger strength, because he manages to leap to his feet. Like a lunatic, he thrashes around the cell, looking for at least some kind of proof that someone else was here a moment ago.  

“Oi!” he shouts, knowing damn well that the guards have long stopped listening to what he has to say. “Grab the devil! A convict escaped! Hey, wankers!”  

But he’s feeling lightheaded, and this shit must be really strong, and he collapses, badly hitting his head.  

  Tatsu sees him next – late at night, in her apartment. She’s a light sleeper, and wakes up as soon as she hears footsteps. The sword is close at hand, and she grabs it instantly, blade swishing through the air.  

“Who’s there?” Tatsu asks, and then repeats in English. “Who’s there?”

There is nowhere to hide in her bedroom. The only furniture is the mattress and the pair of chairs she uses to hang her clothes on. Everything is on the floor or on the windowsill – weapons, her laptop, the book she tried to read before going to sleep but could not concentrate on. It is an ascetic, comfortless dwelling that does not look permanent and is not supposed to become so. Fate and Amanda Waller, though, seem to have other plans in this respect.  

There is nowhere to hide in her bedroom – but someone’s definitely walking in the antechamber; she flings the door open – and sees El Diablo, standing by the entrance and looking around. In a blink of an eye Tatsu is next to him, and the blade of the Soultaker is pressed to his neck.  

“Katana, it’s me,” Diablo says, unfazed. “Chato Santana.”

“Chato Santana is dead,” she says through her teeth. Chato Santana was a gangster who killed, albeit by a tragic accident, his own family – but she fought side by side with him, he sacrificed himself to save the world, he called their squad his family and died for them. That is enough for her not to let anyone use his name as a cover. “Who are you?”    

“I’m alive,” Diablo replies. He puts his hands up to show he’s unarmed, and forks of flame appear on his palms. “Or sort of.”  

Sort of.

Tatsu lowers the sword and looks warily at the man standing in front of her.

“How did you…”

“You’re gonna have a new mission soon. Demand that Waller tells you everything.”

“About what?”

“I couldn’t overhear that,” he says with regret. “But…”

Something knocks on the window. Tatsu turns around quickly, but that must’ve been just a tree branch hitting the windowpane. When she turns back to Chato, he’s already gone, and her apartment is silent.

It’s just four in the morning, but she can’t make herself fall asleep again. Having poured a cup of tea, Tatsu sits down on the mattress and thinks, think, thinks about what just happened. Tatsu believes in ghosts – her sword is teeming with them, so she wouldn’t say that her worldview is shaken. Still, this is strange, very strange. What did he want to tell her? Why did he disappear so abruptly? Like… a broadcast was interrupted.    

Colonel Flag calls her at daybreak and tells her that there’s a shoot-out between two gangs on the outskirts of Gotham, with metahumans on both sides. When Tatsu arrives at Belle Reve, it turns out they must have considered it to be not enough to ruin her Saturday morning, because she is asked – more like ordered, actually – to escort an inmate from his cell, an inmate who attacks anyone who tries to enter and has already injured three guards with his bare hands, and it’s not reasonable to sedate him before the mission, and “he’s likely to obey if it’s you, Katana” – the last is Rick’s argument, and if he told that to her face and not on the phone, she would have had to strain every nerve not to hit him with something.    

No one tries to attack her when she enters the cell of Captain Boomerang – Harkness is sitting on the floor quite still, his arms around his knees, and when he notices her, he even smiles with bruised lips.  

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says. “Am I hallucinating you too?”

“No,” the question is unexpected and confuses her. “Why?”

“Well, they keep injecting me some crap, and lately I’ve been seeing things,” Harkness explains peacefully, even eagerly. His voice is quiet and hoarse, which, combined with his Australian accent, leads to Tatsu being barely able to make out half of what he’s saying. To hear him better, she crouches down next to him, still gripping the sword hilt – there is no telling if he isn’t just making her come closer to take her down and bolt. “Saw the devil yesterday.”      

“The devil?”

“Our devil. Día… de fucking Muertos. Chato Santana.”

Tatsu gives a shiver and, having lost her balance, half sits down, half falls on the dirty floor.

She isn’t the only one to have seen him. She isn’t the only one he wanted to send a message to.

“Hey, luv,” Harkness frowns and reaches out to touch her knee lightly. “You all right?”  

“Same as you, more or less,” she wants to reply, which of course would mean she isn’t, not at all.

“What did he tell you?” she asks him instead.

  When Floyd sees him, he is hardly surprised, since the others have already warned him. Boomerang, Croc, and Katana tell him everything while they’re waiting for the helo, and had it been just Boomerang, who believes inexplicably that he has a sense of humour although he certainly doesn’t, Floyd most likely wouldn’t have believed his ghost stories, but it is even harder to believe that Croc, let alone Katana would agree to take part in such pranks. Which is why he listens to them closely and takes note: okay, then he doesn’t have to worry about his mental heath if the late Santana suddenly appears out of nowhere to give some advice or share some news or simply ask how he’s doing. So the four of them keep whispering to one another like kids at the back of the class until their transport arrives – just the four of them, which is a pity. If there is anyone on the team that he had missed a little, it’s Harley. Floyd knows some things about the Joker, for it isn’t possible, as they write in the papers, to belong to the criminal world of Gotham and not know anything about the Joker. Floyd knows what Flag had spilled to him when visiting him in his cell or escorting him there after a visit to Zoe. Floyd thinks that in his entire lifetime he hasn’t understood a thing about love – is it even possible to understand it, on the other hand? – but he feels like the mad and brilliant Harley, Harley the whimsical, Harley the loving deserves better.                

“What’s with the gossiping?” Flag inquires suspiciously.  

“Nothing!” Croc and Digger answer in unison, in unison, and Floyd facepalms because seriously, are they in some cheesy movie or what? They don’t tell Flag anything yet, but Floyd is almost sure that sooner or later Santana will visit him as well, because Flag is one of them too, after all. Not that he’s even trying to deny it; no one’s making him drop by Floyd’s cell every other day to chat about some nonsense through the steel door.          

So Floyd is hardly surprised when, as he makes his way behind the dumpsters loading one gun after another, he notices a familiar, head-to-toe-tattooed figure standing nearby.  

“There are snipers on the roof over there and around the corner of the shop,” Chato says instead of greeting. Floyd nods.

“I noticed.”

“Eight men in the drugstore on the other side of the street. Each with a machine gun.”  

“How do you know?”

“I’ve just been there.”

“Got it,” there’s no time for lengthy conversations. No time to say: glad you’re alive, man. No time to ascertain: are you alive, though? So he thinks over the plan of action, making a mental note to ask all these questions later, when there are no bullets whistling past their ears.  

People like them deserve no guardian angels, frankly speaking, but they may have managed to earn one for all of them.

[nikikikiko]

Goya no Machiawase

 This song is not just the opening for Noragami, it could have predicted/foreshadowed a certain character’s downfall, and it was so well hidden as an opening, nobody wanted to look into it. (p.s. I will be using translations from animelyrics. if the source is not a good source, please tell me!)

That certain character is Yukine, the angel of a 14 year old who’s emotionally messed up right now. and Here’s how I saw this,

I'm carrying a loaded rifle in one hand. I'm heading for you with quickened steps, knowing you're shaking and shivering

Yukine is carrying a ‘loaded rifle’ or rather, his very own powers as a shinki. Shinki’s are known to be able to do spells (Kazuma) if they are powerful enough. Hafuri’s outrank usual Shinkis by default, but if the shinki (Kaguha) is well-versed and gifted for spells, then the shinki is going to outrank the Hafuri. But so far, Yukine has only been outranked by Kazuma, who’s seemed to have fallen to our favorite blondie besides Bisha, after pissing off said blondie.

This could also reference to the fact he’s willing to die for someone he loves (be it Yato, Hiyori, Kazuma, Bishamon, Daikoku, Kofuku, Tenjin, etc. He’s willing to die, or just Yato. Just yato would do probably.) because of the second chance at life they have given him, he doesn’t want them to lose that (if they are a shinki, if they are a God, then to cause the shinki they have pain, especially himself.) life. (I.e. He quite literally risked his life over and over for Yato, he gave up a personal bit of info to Kazuma because trust). Tick tock, tick tock go the hands of the clock. They just spurred my flustered heart on. Tick tock, tick tock go the hands of the clock. They keep moving forward with no sign of stopping.

The God’s Secret is unstoppable. There is no sign of stopping it besides the Shinki accepting the way they died, or the shinki having no fear of death (Nana’s case). Yukine’s name was chipped by Chiki, and therefore he had a time limit before he reached an emotional part of the god’s secret where he can’t trust anything, but Yato. and then Yato breaks this trust by using Kazuma, spurring the fall even faster. (As you could see, Tsuguha spent time with only Bishamon, even if Bishamon didn’t let her shinki see Tsuguha, Tsuguha still saw Bishamon as a sign of trust and help. So it could be that the shinki starts to zero in on the god as a line of trust. Especially since Yukine’s trust was broken 5 or more chapters by Kazuma before breaking.) Sealed in in a room devoid of others' warmth, I'm stretching my cold hand forward. No one else knows where I am. Take a wild guess what this correlates too. Did you think ‘Yukine’s death’? Then ding ding ding! This could possibly mean Yukine remembering his death, since he was beginning to anyway. When he died, only his father knew where he was, after all. He was being suffocated alive in a dark place, and nobody else knew where he was. He died alone with the man he probably both loved and hated most.  “Tick tock, tick tock go the hands of the clock.It's the border-time, the time between end and beginning.Tick tock, tick tock went the hands of the clock. They've all aligned!” Back to what I was saying about time, time is up.  “It’s the border-time” He drew a line against Yato. A line. A border. This is the showing that his time as Yukine is finally coming to a close, and that he’s going to break soon.  I was waiting there speechless for a sorrow so deep it would make me laugh. I was waiting there speechless for a joy so great it would bring me to tears.

Yukine wanted a family that wasn’t dysfunctional, even if he didn’t remember he did, that desire still stayed. So his birthday present was a ‘sorrow so deep it would make me laugh’ because it reminded him of the thing he hated, he was dead. He’d be 14 forever, and there was nothing he could do. But it was also a ‘joy so great it would bring me to tears’ because it was so sweet they all gathered together and gave him a birthday present, and he was so thankful to have Yato and Hiyori in his afterlife.  Sealed in in a room devoid of others' warmth I'm stretching my cold hand forward. No one else knows where I am.

A repeat of what I said earlier, he’s remembering how he died most likely.  Tick tock, tick tock went the hands of the clock. As if to hound me Tick tock, tick tock went the hands of the clock. for not wanting to spend my days Tick tock , tick tock went the hands of the clock. desperately trying to weather the coming storm. Tick tock, tick tock went the hands of the clock. They've all aligned! A probable descent into madness. This could pertain back to Yukine’s time being up .  Also, back to the conversation in the latest chapter, he realized that he was not Yato’s son. He was a tool. Even if Yato doesn’t see it that way, Yukine does. And he regrets thinking that way possibly.

This could also mean his ablutions. “As if to hound me... for not wanting to spend my days... desperately trying to weather the storm... they’ve all aligned” 3 Shinki must be present for an ablution because they’re the one performing the ablution. They make align in a triangle, and desperately try to stop the infected shinki from turning into an ayakashi, in some cases. In Yukine’s case, he didn’t want to spend his days with Yato, so he stung the god, and then his ablution was desperate. I had been waiting speechless, all alone in a dimly lit room. I had been waiting there speechless for the sound of someone kicking the door in. I had been waiting speechless, all alone in a dimly lit room. I had been waiting there speechless.

Remembering his own past. He was alone, possibly, with his abusive and drunk dad. And it’s more than possible, he was waiting for someone, maybe the person he was mailing (letters + mailbox, he was definitely mailing someone), to come save him from his dad. Since he felt trapped possibly.

"You have nothing to fear now. I promise."

This is Yato’s promise to Yukine. That he is safe. Yukine remembers that promise, and tries to do the same for Yato. As said before, the only person he probably trusted more than himself was Yato, so Yato getting another shinki (WITHOUT HIS KNOWLEDGE, mind you. It was done behind his back and he ran into Yato using Rekki, so ofc he’s gonna be sad and confused. The exact same emotions Nora felt.) He possibly feels as if that promise was broken. That’s why it’s here possibly, he’s remembering it and, 

I held my loaded rifle toward the firmly shut door and I kicked it in. The barrel jerked up and pierced the person I was yesterday. "Nighty night." Shouldering his despair, the person I would be tomorrow walked away. Let's meet again tomorrow night.

This could mean he finally let the original Yukine, the Yukine before being a shinki go to rest. He was the original one day, and the shinki the next. And he’s bidding goodbye to his past, instead choosing his second life over his last. Choosing his given name, rather than his original name.

The Blonde 14 year old spirit of a boy who was abused, chooses the name Yukine. 

[thereallygoodblogshow]

MA Fashion and Textile Practices Major Project Path - 4th September

Punk and Vivienne Westwood cont.

The Clash’s breakthrough single was unarguably ‘London’s Calling’.The song refers in part to a narrowly missed nuclear disaster on the Three Mile Island Nuclear Generating Station in Dauphin County, Pennsylvania in 1979. The accident involved the partial melt down of one of the nuclear reactors, and was considered to be the most serious nuclear incident in US history. ‘London Calling’ is a nod to old BBC wartime radio broadcasts declaring London had something to say, so The Clash were declaring that nuclear war had begun and it was a calling out to post-apocalyptic survivors. There are also nods to their feeling’s towards the elite who live along London’s Thames, as well as to the glorification of London in the swinging sixties and ‘phony Beatlemania’ - in the 70′s London was a bleaker place.      

The Clash [The Clash]. (2009, Oct 3). The Clash - London Calling (Official Video) [Video file]. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EfK-WX2pa8c

In the early days The Clash gigged with other bands and were the main support band for the Sex Pistols. A crossover was happening at that time, many of the American bands were coming over to observe the UK punk scene for themselves and taking the aesthetic back with them. Bands such as The Runaways - lead by charismatic lead singer Joan Jett - went from rock attitude to punk attitude almost overnight. 

The Slits were another female band who were inspired by the Sex Pistols and their devil may care attitude. None of them really knew how to play or what they were doing, they made it up as they went along. The Slits would eventually hold their own with many of the male bands on the scene, although being an all female group did provoke some audience members to violence, they were often attacked for daring to be forthright females who had a voice. Drummer Palmolive (2019) said of the attitude some had towards them:

“We were very provocative but we felt we had a right to be provocative, but that didn’t give someone the right to punch you or cut a slit in your pants with a knife. I feel like in a way The Slits were a revolution with the revolution, we wanted to have the reigns to our destiny.”

The Slits [Marx Dudek]. (2011, Jun 15). The Slits - Vindictive (Peel Session 1977) [Video file]. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wrLMm5d6lqg

Other groups with a strong female presence were trying to make themselves heard and it worked, the scene was becoming more gender balanced. Groups like Siouxsie and the Banshees and Blondie were also paving the way for women in rock. Debbie Harry from Blondie was the only female singer to sing on a Ramones track and was held in high regard by the band.     

Stein, C. (n.d). Debbie Harry The headline reads "Sex and marriage by the Ayatollah: WOMEN ARE JUST SLAVES.". [Photograph]. Retrieved from https://www.reddit.com/r/HistoryPorn/comments/6yn286/debbie_harry_september_3rd_1973_the_headline/.

When the Ramones eventually played in the UK it was to become a seminal moment in punk rock history. The Ramones were the band that many of the UK punk bands had taken inspiration from, and now they were here in the flesh. The gig took place at The Roundhouse, London on 4th July 1976. Many bands were in the audience; The Buzzcocks, The Vibrators, Generation X, The Damned, Sex Pistols and more.   

Christie's, n.d. (2008). The Ramones. [Poster]. Retrieved from https://www.christies.com/lotfinder/Lot/the-ramones-5144625-details.aspx.

Well I can avoid it no longer, the Ramones gig was to kick punk into the mainstream but one band were to propel it to stratospheric proportions, and that band were the Sex Pistols. Already an entity managed by Malcolm McLaren and dressed in part by Vivienne Westwood, the Sex Pistols were ripe for punk stardom.  

Sex Pistols [jaroshy]. (2010, May 20). The Sex Pistols - Anarchy In The U.K (official video) [Video file]. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cBojbjoMttI

The Sex Pistols first single was ‘Anarchy in the UK’. It was really about the state of the country at the time and the frustrations of the younger generation. They saw that people such as the monarchy lead a life which was unobtainable and unrealistic to the average person, times were hard and they were angry about it. They wanted to create something which was accessible to everyone. Johnny Rotten (2019) didn’t like the term punk but knew the ethos behind it:

“What’s really important to me is what punk turned into, honesty, originality and a genuine feel for my fellow human beings. I think the word is empathy really, and there it is, and then punk took off.” 

A few of the bands were set to tour together in order to push the sound across the country. The Sex Pistols, along with The Damned, The Clash, Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers and more. The tour was to be ‘The Anarchy Tour’ gigging at Universities across the nation, and initially was meant to start at the University of East Anglia (UEA) in Norwich on 3 December 1976. This first gig was cancelled at the last minute on the grounds of fearing the audience and property would be compromised, possibly due to the Sex Pistols appearing on the Bill Grundy show a few days before and using profanity. Grabbing the headlines of many national newspapers the day after the incident no doubt cast a shadow over the whole proceedings, which then lead to cancellations of many of the booked gigs. The bands continued to travel to each gig in th hope that by chance they would be allowed to play. Only three of the scheduled gigs went ahead, Leeds Polytechnic being the first, then Manchester and with another four added en route. Ian Moss (2016) was in the audience at Manchester’s Electric Circus in Collyhurst:

“It was completely life-changing, the Pistols walked on stage and it was magnetic. I had not seen people who looked liked that. They started playing and it was exciting - the music was really good - but the main thing was the attitude. I had seen David Bowie and Mick Jagger but he (Lydon) had more charisma than either of them."   

The Bill Grundy incident was quite damaging for the scene at the time, the Sex Pistols were of course being themselves and some say were goaded by Grundy to swear live on camera. Either way, the media frenzy which followed labeled punk as purely being antagonistic and troublesome which saw a rise in certain elements arriving at gigs purely to cause trouble, attacking the audience and the bands themselves. The Sex Pistols decided to leave the country and head for the US to tour, when they got there no gigs had been lined up. Malcolm McLaren said nobody wanted to deal with them but ironically they finished up touring the South on the typical Country and Western routes, and then on to west coast cities such as San Francisco where they went down a storm! Suddenly America had discovered punk.

Altpress, n.d. (2018). WAS THE SEX PISTOLS’ FIRST US TOUR AS DESTRUCTIVE AS REPORTS SAY?. [Photograph]. Retrieved from https://www.altpress.com/features/sex_pistols_first_u-s-_tour_destructive_1978/.

The tour of course was offensive to a large proportion of the towns they appeared in, many people demonstrated at the gigs and were  worried for the safety of its property and townsfolk. McLaren of course loved the controversy and wanted as much of the disruption as possible to be seen by the American and British press, in his eyes any exposure was good exposure. The tour had essentially been a success but Sid Vicious and his American punk girlfriend Nancy Spungen had started taking heroin and things began to change, the drug taking effected the bands creativity and energy greatly. As soon as the American tour finished in 1978, the band returned to New York and promptly broke up, right at the pinnacle of their fame. In the months that followed Sid and Nancy holed themselves up in the Hotel Chelsea and spiraled deeper into their addiction. On October 12th 1978 Sid Vicious called the police to say the body of Nancy Spungen was laying dead in the bathroom of their hotel room with a knife wound to her stomach. Vicious was immediately arrested and charged with second degree murder. Four months later he died of a heroin overdose before his trial began. 

Wizard Varnish, n.d. (n.d). Sid and Nancy. [Photograph]. Retrieved from http://wizardvarnish.com/wv/2017/04/13/180656/.

The events of the months prior to Sid’s death were incredibly unsettling for the ex band members, and his death shook them to the core, Jonny Rotten (2019) especially felt responsible:

“The biggest joke of all was that Sid would have never hooked up with a girl like Nancy unless I introduced her to him, which I did. So I take some really serious sense of responsibility in Sid’s demise because of that. I miss my friends.”

[ceaselessly-into-the-past]

brooklyn

Last night was pretty good.

I’ve been technologically out of commission for the last few days for a couple of reasons, the first of which is that my phone finally broke. I say ‘finally’ because for the past year the screen has slowly been parting ways with the main body and I’ve been waiting for it to fail, like how neighbors in a nowhere town wait for the local unkempt, over-the-hill drug dealer to finally be crushed by their own shady small-suburbia dealings. The second reason was that my laptop, the morning after my previous post, suddenly stopped detecting the local wifi. Had I been religious, I would’ve suspected that it was some karmic or some I-smite-thee curse from the heavens for speaking against my mother.

But no. As Old Mr. Frank Schuster was finally arrested for the possession and vending of narcotic substances by the local patrol officers the community nicknamed Jesus, Buddha and Mohammed - named so because they were never there when they were most needed - I was able to get a new, older-model phone. And the IT department found that my computer had caught the hiccups because I had recently changed the account password, leading the system into a limbo where it recognized neither my old or new passwords. No karma or godly strike-downs. Simply a small, reversible error.

The real world is sometimes so wonderfully simple.

What happened after that, though, is the actual subject of this post. The day was testing day - undergraduates were processed through schedules and cycles and small, uncomfortable rooms with small, uncomfortable people to assess their understanding of harmony, intervals, chord progressions, proficiency in piano playing. Those who were clueless and couldn’t do anything that was asked of them ironically got the best part of the deal - they simply walked in, explained that they had never taken any classes or lessons on any of this, and they were told that well, in that case, you’ll be put into Theory 1 or Ear Training 1 or Piano Fundamentals, and were sent on their way. Those who had some idea of what was on the test pages, who had a chance of skipping useless, basic material and placing in a higher-level class - that was where the competition brewed. A silent, near-subconscious energy that simmered in the testing halls and assessment rooms. How little of this can I miss? I’m sure that I remember how to conduct in 5/4 time. Remind myself of the right hand fingering for a two-octave C major scale on piano: 1-2-3-1-2-3-4-1-2-3-1-2-3-4-5, 1-2-3-1-2-3-4-1-2-3-1-2-3-4-5, 1-2-3-1-2-3-4-1-2-3-1-2-3-4-5. I heard earlier that fourth species counterpoint was centered around suspensions, but that was from that one kid who I don’t trust so really, there’s no way to verify that as truth, so I’ll leave that one blank and return to it later, when my desire to get into Theory 3 will override my disdain for them and I’ll inevitably start by writing a half rest followed by a 5-4 suspension. 

The spirit and mind ticked with quiet fury in the hours between 10 am and 3 pm, and so afterwards was our time to let them breathe. After eating, I began digging into my self-given reward by joining two friends - J.P., a composition major whom I’d met before, and the hilariously-named George Foreman, not of George Foreman grills - in finally watching Sergio Leone’s 3-hour Western epic The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. The cinematography transfixed us, the spectacle pulled us out of our consciousness and into some bubble of wonder, and Ennio Morricone’s score lifted us as if we, too, rode horses and carriages through the periphery of the Civil War, guns at our sides, mouths as smart and hearts as burnt as those of Blondie, Tuco and Angel Eyes. For me, it was an arrival: to Spaghetti Westerns, to pre-old age Clint Eastwood, to the dusty, analog 60′s epic. It wasn’t life-changing so much as satisfying that something like that is now part of my consciousness.

Afterwards, J.P. and I, as well as Dongxu, an international violin student, were called on by Sebastian, another cellist, to do the improbably foolish thing of following him into deep Brooklyn at 9 at night. Normally we most likely would’ve declined, but Sebastian had had some issues recently with some dickwad who he had used to be friends with, but had since ditched when he went off the mental deep end. The last I had heard of him, the guy had sent out a mass email around his school containing erotic fanfiction of a girl he liked - clearly, he hadn’t improved. So, given that fact, the four of us joined him, and made the journey from 65th Street to the 72nd Street station in pouring rain, perhaps walking towards something unfortunate and horrible. But we were kids. We weren’t perfect machines - we needed to taste danger to know to never walk blindly into it. But also because it was admittedly fun to do something you absolutely know you shouldn’t. I suppose it comes from the irrationality of the human intellect.

The train sighed and screeched and tunneled its way through downtown Manhattan like a mechanical snake, permitting passengers only to demonstrate its terrors and raw power coursing under their feet.

‘You know what we should do,’ J.P. said, in his paced, muted way, ‘is go see my mom’s old house.’

‘Her old house?’

‘Yeah, she grew up in Brooklyn. She lived there fifty-some years ago. It’s in a good neighborhood.’

‘Okay. Sounds good.’ Sebastian, lanky and awkward with a big pile of curled hair on his head, gave a thumbs up, clearly feeling better already. Danger can do that to a person. ‘Ask her for the address and let us know.’

‘I will once we get there, there’s no service down here.’

‘I swear to god, if it’s far away and we get killed by some crazy man I’m going to fuck you up.’ Dongxu spoke with that accent that comes to mind when you think of the Asian stereotype of the 50′s - the comical affliction that turns every English vowel into something strange that could possibly have meaning in Chinese.

‘I guess it won’t matter because one of you will be dead,’ I said.

‘Why?!’ Dongxu looked at me from across the aisle accusingly.

‘Well J.P. is white as hell. And you’re obnoxiously loud.’

We laughed. It was true - J.P. was white as hell, and Dongxu was obnoxiously loud. 

The subway crossed into Brooklyn, and in six stops we arrived at Franklin Street, where we would transfer and go for another stop. Except we didn’t, instead following Sebastian through the turnstiles.

‘You fuckup, we didn’t transfer.’ Dongxu punched Sebastian in the arm. It was still raining as we left the station.

‘It’s okay, it was only for one more stop.’ Sebastian looked around as if to find some reference as to where we were, despite never having been there. Dongxu huddled next to J.P. while he texted his mom, awaiting an update on how terrified he should be.

‘Guys, it’s a forty minute walk from here. Do you want to do this?’

‘Yeah, totally! Let’s go.’ Sebastian took the lead as we followed, umbrellas raised and shoes slapping wet against the cement sidewalk.

J.P. and I took to discussing the movie we’d watched - in particular, as one would expect, about Ennio Morricone’s score. At first we hummed the two major themes - the famous one in the opening credits, and also what I suppose was the ‘action’ theme that plays during many of the horse-riding and chase sequences - in relation to his thoughts on them from a compositional standpoint, but soon enough the conversation bled and dissolved into flat-out trying to recreate the score using our voices in the rainy, turbulent night. We scored our little walk through the dark streets of Brooklyn, overshadowed by dripping trees and washed by the light of signs and the occasional spotlight, to the strains of music meant for dashing, grit-hardened men firing revolvers from the hip, exacting revenge and struggling, competing, fighting for a trove of Confederate gold. There’s a certain charm to that grossly false equivalence.

It was about the time that the amateurish singing and vocalizing had died down that Sebastian later said that he started to feel someone follow us.

‘Ye shihfedhesds.’

‘What was that?’ We looked around. Something in the distance back down the dark street we’d come up. 

‘Cemedsgovheres.’

And then in in that distance: a figure, seemingly an old woman, haphazardly but quickly making her way towards us, hair flying grey in the scarce lamplight and limbs flopping around barely being of any use in her demonlike movement.

We ran. Dongxu found a subway station 0.62 miles away. And we went back to Manhattan never having seen J.P. mom’s old house from fifty-something years ago.

‘How about we go get some bubble tea at that place on 72nd?’ Sebastian offered.

‘That’s closed now,’ we all said. And we sat, talking little, save for Sebastian making small apologies and the rest of us excusing him. It didn’t seem to be something to fault anyone for - it simply happened.

I met Sebastian and J.P. today at a mandatory health and counseling services information session at 9:30 in the morning.

‘Hey, you tired from last night?’ I asked.

‘Yeah. But it was kinda fun, actually, wasn’t it?’ Sebastian looked at me.

I thought about it for a second.

‘Yeah, it was.’

‘Now we know not to go to Brooklyn in the middle of the night.’ Sebastian smiled.

‘Yeah, it’s good we didn’t have to learn it the hard way.’

‘No, we learned it the flaccid way.’

Sebastian and I looked over. J.P. was silently cracking up.

We laughed too.

Yeah, last night was pretty good.