#but this was already several hundred dollars worth and pretty much all of my fun money for the rest of the year

[jedi-bird]

Part of yesterday's haul. It's mostly UK crochet magazines with a few US books thrown in. I haven't bought UK crochet magazines since I gave up my Barnes & Noble discount since they were one of the few places that allowed discounts on magazines. It's going to be fun to sort through these and see what gets added to the list of things to make.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Guerrerita, Part 3

 <- Part 2

Summary: The first time you met Nevada Ramirez was also in a dark alley. 

1,577 words

“You owe me.”

“What?” you hissed, whipping around to face the threatening voice. You kept your face hard, showing no sign of weakness, even as you saw the three intimidating men who had followed you into the alley outside a shady, semi-legal MMA tournament.

“I had a lot of money riding on that fight,” said the shortest of the three, tsk-tsking. His shoes were shiny black leather—expensive, but tacky. He held a cigarette between his teeth when he wasn’t speaking and wore all black except for the gold cross flashing around his neck, pendant resting in a bed of dark chest hair. The two flanking him were bulky heavyweights, over six feet, at least two hundred-fifty pounds a piece, which meant you probably couldn’t take them. Not both at once. They dwarfed the center guy, but they were waiting on his signal to do anything. The small one was the brains. The boss. He was the one you had to keep your eyes on.

“So what? Not my problem.”

You shrugged your gym bag over you shoulder and turned to leave, but his goons stepped forward sharply, ready to grab you, and you thought better of it. As much as you’d rather not show them you were scared, this was the kind of dangerous you didn’t turn your back on.

“Oh, sweetheart. You think I’m playing? You come into my town, looking like a nervous mousy little rookie. Oh, pobrecita bebita, que tierna,” he mocked baby-talk at you, pouting his lips. “Get everyone betting against you, then the bell rings and you turn into a wild fucking animal. You run a hustle on my turf? Way I see it, that is your problem.”

Your left nostril began to twitch and the corner of your mouth curled into a snarl. “Then get some fucking glasses.” A small voice inside begged frantically, don’t do this now, calm down, but it was already drowned out by a dark, reckless pulsing in your ears. You didn’t like being threatened. Somewhere along the line your stubborn refusal to take any more shit from assholes turned into a fury you couldn’t control, that overrode your own self-preservation. Your bruised fists curled for another fight.

The boss just laughed, a harsh, barking, sarcastic show of power. His men stayed put, for now. “What a dirty mouth. Little warrior here, huh? I like that, I like that.” He prowled toward you, a crooked smirk without teeth bending his neatly trimmed stubble. If he wasn’t such a scumbag you would have called him handsome. Maybe that was what kept you at bay, apart from the knowledge that the second you launched yourself at him in a hail of fists, the two big guys would kill you—because his face was too pretty to bloody up. “Guerrerita, you don’t know who you’re fucking with.”

“You want money, go after the bookies. They’re the ones making bank,” you challenged, taking a few backwards steps to keep distance from him. “I don’t know what kind of hustle you think I’m running, but I bet my last fifty bucks on myself and I’ll still be lucky to make rent. I am not giving a cut to some wannabe gangsters.” You planted your feet at the spot where the alley curved and some old shipping crates created a pinch-point where your smaller size might afford some advantage, and refused to back off another inch.

He stopped, keeping several feet of distance, too. Taking one last drag, he threw his cigarette butt down and crushed it out.

“I’m the King of the Heights, sweetheart,” he explained, as if that should mean anything to you. “Nevada Ramirez.” He extended a hand to shake, and you dropped into a defensive stance. You didn’t like the way he looked you up and down, scrutinizing you with a gaze that made goosebumps rise along your arms. Your muscles twitched in anger and terror, and you tried to balance the two emotions so you could maybe get home in one piece.

“Alright, Mr. Ramirez. Why don’t you and your boys back the fuck off and let me go home. Because you try to follow me, rough me up? I promise it won’t be worth your time. You watched me fight. Before your boys back there can take me down, I’ll have your balls shoved down your goddamn throat. And yeah, you can have your boys shoot me dead.” You noticed the muscle had reached for concealed weapons the moment their boss got within range of your fists. “But what a waste. I’ve never done anything to you. I’m not a threat to your… kingdom? Not unless you attack me first. So why don’t we both just go about our merry ways in peace?”

He laughed again. Dry. Harsh. Your defiance entertained him, but he was growing impatient.

“What makes you think you can tell me how to run this town?” The hard edge to his voice raised the hairs on the back of your neck. As much as you liked to think you’d hit rock bottom and didn’t give a damn anymore, you’d never been murdered. As many impulsive fights as you’d gotten yourself into, you had never been so sure that losing would result in your body in a bag. He smiled when you had no more snappy comebacks, relishing the growing fear in your eyes. His posture opened up, suddenly all friendly. “You’ve got me all wrong. No one’s gonna kill you, guerrerita.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want to know what’s a high-class broad like you doing here?” He raised his eyebrows. His knowing grin sent a jolt down your spine, and he looked satisfied by your reaction, which confirmed his assumption.

Nevada could read people, and he could smell suburbs on you. Nice house. Good family. Educated. White picket fence and a dog. Apparently he couldn’t smell the trauma or the failed stint in the Marines thanks to your occasional but fun penchant for sucker punching assholes without thought to rank.

“What’s it to you?” Your teeth ground together. Like hell you’d ever tell him that story.

“You owe me for that stunt in there. And I know how you can pay me back.”

Now it was your turn to laugh. “Good luck if you think my family will pay you ransom. You think I’d be here if—”

“Work for me.”

Your mind went blank. For several seconds you stared, wondering if you’d heard him right. Finally you blurted incredulously, “What?”

“Come work for me, and we call your debt even.” He looked you up and down again with a smirk. “Bet you clean up into some nice arm candy, classy girl like you.”

You took another step back despite yourself, stomach turning. “No fucking way. I don’t need a pimp, and if you even think of touching me I swear to fucking god...” Your voice turned into a threatening snarl as disgust turned to rage. Your muscles twitched, ready to do as much damage to his handsome, jeering face as possible before being killed. You would rather die than go through that again.

“Whoah, easy,” Nevada laughed, putting his hands up in surrender, but with enough dripping mockery to make it a power move. “Nothing like that. Security.”

“Security?”

“You get knocked in the head too many times?” he raised his eyebrows over his shoulder back at his guys, and they laughed along like trained seals. “Think about where you are. You just won a contest for beating the shit outta people. Security.”

“You want me to be a bodyguard?”

“Now she gets it,” he smiled, and it was pure delight. “Enforcers that look the part are a dime a dozen—face full of scars, covered in macho tats. They send a certain message, don’t they? Usually the intimidating shit is what you want. But some situations call for a bit more… nuance than these pendejos.” He jerked his thumb toward the giant brawlers still lurking behind him. One of them sulked. “You could be subtle. When business requires I don’t advertise I brought muscle. Imagine it,” his tongue darted over his lower lip. “Put you in a dress two sizes too small, and nobody sees you coming until your fist is through their skull. I bet folks underestimate you all the time.”

You almost laughed that the idea of protecting him when he must have known you’d just as soon put a fist through his skull. Working with criminals didn’t sit well with you. Though your life had been one downhill spiral since all the shit that kicked you off your shining life trajectory, you had never done anything illegal. If you didn’t count misdemeanor battery. Which you didn’t. You only punched assholes who deserved it. And you were fairly sure this Nevada Ramirez character deserved it. You didn’t trust him, and you did not take well to being shaken down.

But then he said people underestimated you. His eyes were the color of the sky before thunder: bright, ominous, and flashing dangerously. And when he said it, his bright eyes locked straight onto yours, like he knew. For the first time in your life, it felt like someone was seeing you, the deepest parts of you, and actually liked what he saw.

You didn’t have much of a choice, anyway. It was either accept the job, or have some drug kingpin sic his enforcers on you for your last dollar. 

“What do you need me to do?”

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags: @beccabarba  @caked-crusader @itsjustmyfantasyroom @thatesqcrush @dianilaws @permanentlydizzy @eclecticreader2020   @mrsrafaelbarba​ @da-po 

[xanican-exile]

Interview the Muse

Do all of them

Long post under the cut

- What is your Full name? Include any maiden names, aliases, or nicknames.

”Venix Savreux. My last name is Mornese, I guess that must be where my mother was from. Its a country a bit to the east of Xanica.” - When is your birthday? Do you know where you were born and at what time?

”I’m actually not sure. I know that my birthday is a few weeks before the first snowfalls, but rangers didn’t really have calendars out in the Wyrmswood.”

- What is your star sign? Do you know your Chinese Zodiac too?

“I don’t know what that means.”

- What is your earliest memory that you can remember?

“My... Mother wiping a bloody scrape on my cheek. I’m really young, can’t be more than 4 or 5? It hurts a lot but I won’t let myself cry. Babies cry, but I won’t. She’s chiding me for getting in a fight, especially with two boys that are bigger than me. But I think a little part of her is proud. They were making fun of me for being a whore’s son.”

- Where was your childhood home? Was it more urban or rural?

“I was born in docks quarter of Esklay, one of the big port cities in Xanica.”

- How was your childhood in general? Did your parents treat you well? Did you have a lot of friends?

“My mother and I didn’t have much. She was a whore, no idea who my dad was, and I wasn’t exactly around there long enough to make friends.”

“Things got a lot better when I joined the rangers though.”

- How was/is school? What is your favorite and least favorite subjects? What were your grades on average?

“I didn’t go to school, but I was trained to be a ranger from the time I was... 8, 9? Something like that. I know I was ranked pretty high among the cadets, I was the top in sword skills, but everyone else that would join my pack was better than me in at least one thing.”

- Did you have a best friend growing up? What was their name? Are you still in touch?

“No, no I’m not in contact with any of them. Vex, Rand, Mako, Velite, Ilia. They.. They aren’t around anymore.”

- Were you in any cliques?

“We were encouraged to become close to small groups, they would become our pack once our training was finished.”

- Best childhood memory you can recall?

“The day my pack became full rangers.”

- Worst childhood memory you can recall?

“... My mom dying.”

- Name an event in your childhood that has shaped you into the person you are today

“Probably the day I was found by the rangers. After my mom died I ran from home, didn’t know where I was going, too young to think beyond getting away. I think it was a few weeks of being on my own, barely surviving on scraps. I guess I was going north, because I eventually ended up in the Wyrmswood. I don’t know how, it’s hundreds of miles from where Esklay is on the coast, must have ended up in one of its southernmost reaches. I.. I ended up passing out around a ranger campfire, barely noticing the people watching me. A lot of lost kids, orphans, bastards, and street rats end up as rangers, but I’ve never heard of any others stumbling on them like I did. Its probably happened, Xanica is pretty big, but I’ve never heard of it. Anyway, when I woke up they fed me, tended to my wounds, and teased my story out of me. I remember one of them asking me if I would like to be strong enough to never let something like this happen again. I took his offer without a second thought.”

- What is the dumbest thing you have ever done to impress someone? Were they impressed or was it all for naught?

“I guess there was a couple times when I was still training that I tried to go off on my own, hunt things I wasn’t ready to to impress our masters. Only took a couple beatings before I stopped doing that though.”

- Did you ever have any sweethearts or lovers? Do you have a boy/girlfriend?

“Not really. I’m on the road a lot, going from place to place. I don’t get time to get close to a girl like that. There is this one bard I seem to keep running into though..”

- Are you a virgin?

“No.”

- Do you ever plan on getting married in your life? Do you want kids?

“I’ve.. never really thought about that. I guess no. Having a family or getting married doesn’t sound like something I can do.”

- Would you rather have your own kids or adopt? How many kids would you want?

“I don’t really have a preference, its hard for my to imagine doing either.”

- Do you think you'd be a protective parent or a relaxed parent?

“I don’t think I’d be a very good one.”

- How would you prefer to pass away? Surrounded by loved ones and at peace, or while doing something heroic?

“Definitely fighting. I want whatever takes me down to remember how much of a struggle it was to kill me.”“

- Generally, how healthy are you? Do you get sick or injured easily or are you fit?

“I do everything I can to stay in peak physical condition. Doing otherwise would mean I end up dead in my line of work.”

- Have you ever been badly injured before?

“Several times. You don’t fight monsters for over a decade without collecting a fair share of scars.”

- What is the worst injury you have ever gotten? What was it and how did it happen? Were you ever close to death?

“This one right here. Those three slashes across my chest? Those are from a Wyrmling. Its like a wyvern but flightless and with four legs. I had to hunt one on my own once. Those claws destroyed my armor, but I would have been turned to paste if I hadn’t been wearing it.”

- How many times have you been to the hospital/doctor's?

“I haven’t been to many hospitals. Those are for sick people, but I’ve had to visit a lot of surgeons and healers over the years to get stitched up or have other wounds treated. I’ve never tried counting how many times I’ve been to those.”

- Have you ever had a concussion or brain injury? Have you ever had amnesia?

“I’ve had more than a few concussions, but I don’t think I’ve ever had amnesia or a serious brain injury, thankfully.”

“...I should really get a helmet.”

- What was the worst illness you ever contacted? Do you know what it was? How long were you sick?

“I don’t know what it was, but there was one time that I was stuck in bed for over a week as a child. It happens sometimes to cadets, they weren’t sure I’d survive, but I proved stronger than they expected.”

- Ever had any extended hospital stays? What for?

“Didn’t I already answer this?”

- Have you ever had to give yourself or someone else emergency first aid? What happened?

“Multiple times. Sometimes they lived, sometimes they didn’t.”

- Are you employed? Where do you work and who do you work for? What do you do?

“I guess you could call me a mercenary. Since leaving Xanica I’ve made my living going from place to place dealing with bandits, poachers, and monsters. Once or twice I’ve been hired to stay on a noble’s estates for a season to keep it guarded. Those jobs are boring, but pay best.”

- Are you happy with your current job?

“...No. Most of it is just busywork. I do it because its what I know, because its closest to what I used to do. But I wish I had something more meaningful to use my skills for.”

- Did you have any previous jobs? What were they and what did you do?

“I was raised to be a ranger. Its what I did until leaving Xanica about 2 years ago.”

- Most dangerous thing you have ever done?

“That’s hard to say. I’ve been involved in a lot of dangerous things. The expedition into the Divide might be at the top though.”

- Do you consider yourself a more active person or a more relaxed person?

“Definitely more active. I’m not good at sitting around doing nothing for than a day or so.”

- What is your dream come true? How about your worst nightmare?

“My... My nightmare already happened. My dream would be for my pack to be alive.”

- What is the biggest and most important goal you have set for yourself?

“To never let what happened to the rangers happen to someone else.”

- How persistent would you say you are? How much does it take to get you to give up on a task?

“I’d like to say I don’t give up easy, but I guess I’ve already given in on the stuff that matters.”

- Would you surrender yourself to your enemies or fight to the very end?

“Fight. I won’t run again, not while there is something I can still do.”

- When do you usually do your shopping? What is currently on your shopping list?

“Usually between jobs, or right after I finish one. Right now I need to get myself some new rope, hardtack, my cloak stitched, and a pan for cooking.”

- Top three things on your wishlist?

“Wyvernhide leather cuirass, a pair of those new glyph inscribed boots that resist water, and a warm chocolate mint drink.”

- Currently, what is something you want but do not need?

“A warm chocolate mint drink “

- Do you like shopping? What is your favorite thing to shop for?

“I don’t know if I like shopping, but I don’t dislike it either, its just something I have to do.”

- What is the most expensive thing you have purchased? Was it worth it?

“My mail shirt. Absolutely worth it, saved my life more than once.”

- What would you do if you were suddenly given one billion dollars out of the blue?

“I’m not sure. I don’t really buy a lot of luxuries. Maybe I would purchase a keep or something? A place to winter at when the roads get snowed over.”

- What would you describe your style of clothing as?

“Practical.”

- Do you have any hobbies? Name all of them if you can.

“I can make simple woodcarvings, I play the flute, and I guess I’ve dabbled in falconry.”

- Do you like and appreciate art? What is your favorite piece of artwork?

- Do you like music? What is your favorite style of music?

- Have you ever seen any musicals? What is your favorite?

- What are your top three favorite animals? What would you say your "Patronus" or "Spirit Animal" is?

“Eagles, Hawks, and Bears. Most rangers would probably say our spirits are most like wolves.”

- What are your top three favorite colors?

“Red, white, and I guess yellow or amber, though that last one is really just with eye colors.”

- What is your favorite season? Do you prefer hotter or colder weather? Do you like snow at all?

“Spring. I can’t stand the snow, it makes it easier to be tracked, and the work always slows down during the winter.”

- What kind of flavors do you prefer: Sweet, Sour, Bitter, Spicy, Dry, or Umami (savory meat taste)?

“Savory is my favorite. I’m not really a fan of sweets aside from fruits. I like mint a lot as well, but I don’t know what that falls under.”

- Can you cook at all?

“Yes. Everyone in the pack took turns cooking. So we all got pretty good at it.”

- What is your favorite dish? Can you prepare it? Do you have the recipe handy?

“I don’t know if I have a favorite, but I do like going to new places and trying their foods.”

- What is your favorite fruit and vegetable?

“Strawberries and onions.”

- What is your favorite dessert? What is your favorite type of candy/treat?

“Choclate is just about the only sweet I enjoy.”

- What is the best thing you have ever had the opportunity to eat? What is the worst?

“Xanican haggis is always a treat.”

- Do you like to drink tea or coffee? Any favorite flavors?

“Both are good, as I said earlier I like mind a lot.”

- Describe your sense of humor.

“Sarcasm.”

- What is one thing you are justly proud of?

“My skill with a sword. I’ve always been good with a blade. The best of all the rangers in my age group.”

- Do you have any religious beliefs? If not, have you ever been to a church service?

“Everyone pays respect to the gods, but I wouldn’t say I’m really religious. I’ve had to go to a few services when going to priest or nun healers. They usually make that their payment.”

- What would you say is the worst thing someone has done to you? What is the meanest thing someone has ever said to you?

"Tricking my pack into helping stoke the fires of a civil war and then getting them all killed. Anything that’s been said to me doesn’t even come close to that.”

- What is the worst thing you have done to someone? What is the meanest thing you have said to anyone?

“I’m not really sure. I tend not to talk much unless I have something really worth saying, insults are usually not worth the effort.” “Worst thing I’ve ever done to someone is definitely kill them. I’ve had to kill quite a few people.”

- Share the latest entry in your diary/journal.

“I can’t write.”

- What is the most precious thing you own? Is it valuable at all?

“Garmr. My sword. Over a thousand years old. I’ve heard some people say that its worth a kingdom, I wouldn’t know, and I don’t plan to sell it.”

- Talk about someone you know. It can be someone you either like or dislike.

“Rubio. He’s just a kid, got a lot of heart but a chip on his shoulder too. He’s had a rough start to his life, and I’m hoping to teach him a few things so he can make the rest of it better.”

[choco-glow]

Fall Like Rain On Sunday, Pt. 6

Jason paid the check while Steph visited the bathroom, watching her purse with a careful eye against his side, entirely uncaring of the snickering little fucks two tables over. They couldn’t be more than sixteen, with girlfriends a tad younger, which already was making Jason’s blood heat as he stared them down with his best “Get Fucked” glare. They ordered expensively, which set his hackles up, and when their waiter, Geoff, came back with his card, Jason quietly asked the older man to wait.

“Hey, Geoff, quick question.” He swallowed, looking faintly worried, and Jason gave him a smile as he signed the card slip, a huge tip on the tip line and adding it up in his head with ease. “Those kids been in here before? I know it’s a trendy place, but it ain’t cheap.”

“…No, they haven’t, and I’m worried they’re going to dine and dash. We just got a new kitchen manager, and he’s adamant that any dashers come out of your tips…and we can’t run after them.” Jason nodded, and handed the slip back…as well as five crisp hundreds, much to Geoff’s wide-eyed shock.

“If they do, take it out of the tip I gave you on the card; I know they tax you guys on that, bullshit as that is. This is yours, though; if you wanna share with anyone who needs it, go for it, man, but I’ve watched you haul ass around her all night on a bad leg; my girl and I think you’re awesome, and we’ll be back again next week.” Jason murmured, and Geoff swallowed thickly, his eyes misting over before he shook his head, clearing his throat.

“…Sir, if you’d be so kind to give me your name, I’ll make sure you have a standing reservation at this booth.” Jason beamed up at him.

“Jason Wayne; I think Bruce Wayne’s a regular too, if I’m not mistaken? He’s my old man.” Geoff brightened at that, even moreso, which hardly surprised Jay. Bruce might be a bit of an ass to his kids, but his long-standing choice to write “put your current debt here” in the tip line is very well known among the waitstaff at these places. One of the few things we don’t fight over these days.

“He is, and I thought I recognized you, Mr. Wayne…”

“Please, just Jason; I have pretty humble roots back on Fourth and Ash.” He murmured, and Geoff’s eyes warmed even more.

“Absolutely, Jason. And your date?”

“Stephanie Brown.”

“I’ll make sure you two are in the reservation book. Saturday night still work?”

“It should, but I’ll call a few days ahead to change it if we need to. If we don’t show for some reason, by all means, fill the booth; I’m not going to be upset.”

“That’s what your dad says. That…helps. Thank you, Jason.”

“My pleasure, Geoff; hope the little shits behave, but if they don’t, you’re covered now.” He grinned, neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard and mustache curving up, and Jay thanked him again, standing up when Steph made her way back, looking just as radiant as before. “Hey baby, we’ve got a standing reservation now, if you’re cool with that?” He murmured, and Steph leaned into his chest with a happy sigh, kissing him in a way that had those girls swooning and the boys looking down at her plates now, which made Jay grin against her lips.

“I’m so good with that. Where to now, handsome?” He grinned and offered her his arm; she took it with a happy laugh, and they made their way out of the restaurant to the evening sunshine outside. Sunshades of every color in the rainbow protected tourists and locals alike from the harsher rays over their heads, rippling softly with the sea wind blowing through the streets and canals. Here was a look into both Gotham’s past…and its future.

The canals, much like Venice half a world away, had gondolas brought over by the Italian families and operated along Amusement Mile, where the Gotham River met the Atlantic Ocean, powered by the long guide poles and clever little electric motors as needed nowadays, full of romancing couples and delighted tourist families, and Jason admired the hard work alongside Steph, both of them happy to see something other than gentrification rebuilding their beloved city.

“Those are the new solar power shades, right, Jay?”

“Yup, Lucius had them put up a couple weeks ago, and so far, they’ve managed to cut the electric costs to the Mile by over half…” He murmured as they ambled along, neither of them in a rush to brave the heavy crowds heading in from the carnival to eat and drink and make merry. Steph gently tugged him to the back part, where the fishing docks lay quiet and calm, some leisure craft roped to the ancient oak pillars and walkways, but mostly, it was just a few people looking to escape the rush.

He breathed a sigh of relief alongside Steph, and they walked in the shadows together, comfortable in their surroundings. The Joker rarely came out of the Dixon Docks area of town anymore, and frankly, though Jason would have preferred to see him dead…seeing him without much of his support and former allies did help. Up here, at Amusement Mile, where he’d hated being for so long…he found he didn’t mind as much, with Steph by his side.

Of course, no one in their right mind had clowns out and about anymore, so that helped too. No, this carnival was a permanent one, with hand crafted trinkets and a few games, and several fun rides. The jewel of the Mile was the newly built replacement to the old Ferris wheel, this one a little smaller, but no less glamourous, and Jason caught Steph’s eye, nodding to the wheel with a grin, and she chuckled.

“Maybe later…still walking off that food baby, because damn did they give us our money’s worth.”

“You got it, babe, still wanna keep walking before dessert?”

“Is dessert those fuckin’ delicious paczki that I keep smelling?” He snickered, and she punched him lightly in the arm, still laughing. “I take that as a yes.”

“Yes, it’s paczki, you really think being a street kid wasn’t all about earning that sweet dollar-eighty to buy a bag of hot fried dough with jam?”

“Considering both Bruce and Alfred looked at me like I was crazy for craving them while I was pregnant, yeah…” Jason’s eyes softened and Steph sighed. “…I’m glad you knew that already. I don’t…like going over the details.”

“Can’t say I blame ya, Blondie…but yeah, I know. For what it’s worth, though…you’re an awesome mom.” She blushed, but the tiny smile she gave him when she looked back up made Jason’s heart beat a little faster, and he gently tugged her into the shadowy recess of one of the game buildings, the CRACK of hard rubber balls hitting the metal milk jugs hiding any sound they might have made. “I mean it…” She stopped him with a kiss, pressing her curvy body to his, and Jason leaned back against the support, pulling her as close as he could to kiss her back, losing himself in her soft warm lips, the little noises she made, the way she hugged him so tight.

“…Thank you…” She whispered when they both pulled back just a little for air, and Jason felt his heart flip-flop at the smile on her lips.

“For you, sweetheart, anything.” Steph sighed a little, happily, as far as he could tell, and he shifted her closer, tucking her under his chin and kissing her hair softly. “You okay?”

“…With you? I will be.” She murmured, and Jason felt his heart leap like he could fly.

“Then you got me, babe. For as long as you want me.”

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 78

~*~Sebastian~*~

The sun shone brightly when we woke up. I made Emma coffee first and we sat at the bar with fruit and yogurt. I wasn’t particularly hungry. Nauseated, if I’m honest. Emma was going home today. Yes, it was only for a couple of days, but that wasn’t what the problem was. I was afraid of how I would feel when she left. We’ve been together almost a week. We said I love you. Went to a concert with her friends, planned a vacation with mine, and celebrated a month together. Everything is wonderful. I don’t know how it will be when she leaves. Will I be melodramatically sad, anxious, and insecure that while she’s away she’ll figure out she prefers to be without me, or when she leaves will I be glad to have my space back? Realistically, the panic is more likely to come when she leaves France and we’re apart for six weeks. Today’s just a preview.

Around noon Emma was ready to leave. She’d gone through the bags of new stuff and left what she wanted to take to France. No sense packing it home only to bring it back. Especially when she was dealing with her suitcase on the train. Early afternoon was the best time to get her back. I walked her downstairs to her Uber and stopped by the security office to find out where the parking garage was. The security guard walked outside with us and pointed to a keypad on a pole next to the building. I walked into the building hundreds of times and never really noticed the large panes of windows that matched my building was a garage door. The same code that worked on the outside door worked on the garage and my spot was the same as my apartment number. That’s easy.

The Uber driver took Emma’s suitcase and lifted it into the trunk while we said goodbye. “I love you and I’ll see you Thursday.”

Emma kissed me and patted my chest, “I’ll let you know when I’m home.”

“Thank you.” I’m always going to worry about her getting home safe. Can’t wait until there’s snow and she’s driving to work or worse, here. I kissed her again, told her I loved her and tucked her in the car. Stood on the sidewalk until she turned the corner too. Avoided going back upstairs by running across the street and getting a bottle of something. Didn’t really matter what. I wasn’t thirsty. Took a walk around the block to drink my bottle of whatever. Finally, throwing the bottle away in the garbage can at the end of the block, I headed back upstairs.

I walked in my door and stood there with my hands on my hips, waiting for something to happen. Everything looked the same. Felt the same. Not sure what I expected. The apartment wasn’t going to suddenly have a portal to hell open up in between the dining table and couch. If it happened, it would be in the guest bathroom. Maybe my closet. I checked both to be sure. Nope, no portals. What I did find in the master bath was a mauve lipstick kiss print on the mirror. It was at my eye level but on the edge close to the wall. I smiled, thinking how she would have had to crawl onto the counter to put it there. I imagined she’d get the same thrill when she found the notes I’d hidden at her place and school.

A little over two hours later my phone rang. The prettiest girl in the world was calling me, “Hello, beautiful.”

She grinned, “Hey, handsome.  I’m home.”

Emma turned her phone around to show me her family room. “I can see that. How was the trip?”

“Uneventful.”

“Perfect.”

“What have you been up to since I last saw you?” The lilt of curiosity in her voice was funny.

“I’ve been busy. Checking email and seeing everything has changed.”

“You’re very flexible.”

“Not nearly as flexible as you, my love.” We shared a dirty smile. “Now, we’re shooting in Paris instead of London. Which is convenient and doesn’t require a flight. And tonight I’m having dinner with a former spy.”

Her eyes lit up, “That sounds fun.”

“It does.”  I agreed. “I’ve been trying to schedule something with him for a while. Finally worked out. It will be good to get in person and ask questions about all the shit I’ve been reading and watching.”

“I’m excited for you. You can get the psychological emotional part down. I imagine in person makes it easier to internalize.”

Not that I doubted, but she’d been paying attention when I’d talked. Her interest in the how and why of the craft side was as enjoyable for me as it was her. I wanted to show her more. I wanted to know about how she taught too, how she knew what to do and how she designed lessons. Which reminded me, “Add me to your online classroom so I can watch you teach.” There’s the added bonus of pretty much having her “on demand” if I wanted to see and hear her. I had the video from the party with her, Eli, and Boone too. That would make a long night alone a little more . . . stimulating.

We didn’t talk long. I was having an early dinner to allow plenty of time to talk and I needed to shower and get ready. Emma needed to unpack and start gathering things to repack. There’s also the part about she’d just left.

Dinner lasted much later than I’d anticipated. It was awesome. Dan told me stories and let me pick his brain. I told him about my part in the movie and he was able to give me some specifics. Not that I’d play the part exactly as he’d said, but I knew what to avoid, what wasn’t realistic. I liked that because a complete mismatch with reality could put me into my head and that’s the last place I wanted to be.

The next morning I hit the gym and had a good workout. Mirrors everywhere told me I needed more than a little personal grooming before leaving. A haircut was already scheduled and I called the salon to add on what I thought I needed. I had lunch with my manager to go over the next few weeks. I don’t have a full time PR person, but I do have a firm with which I contract. Emily had been in contact with them. About my girlfriend. Amazing how fast my mood went from good to not.

“Seb, don’t make that face.”

“What face?”

“The annoyed one where you’re holding in a tirade.”

“I’m glad you recognize the precarious ground you’re standing on.” I drank the last of my wine and crossed my arms across my chest. “I’m going to sit here and be very quiet for a limited amount of time. Talk fast.” I don’t have many tirades. A big part of that is due to the relationship I have with Emily. She’s been with me forever. She knows when to push, when to back off, and when to let me have a tirade. Girlfriends are and always have been a tricky area. Usually, Emily wants me to be more open about a girlfriend. Much like what previous girlfriends wanted. That never turned out well for either of them. Emma was altogether in another class. I wasn’t sullen because I didn’t want to hear about what I should be doing. I was feeling protective and didn’t want business in my personal life. Same issue, different reasons.

“Everything is good. Emma is good. She doesn’t have much of a social media presence and hers is private. Family and friends sometimes tag her, but there’s nothing problematic out there. Once her name is out there she won’t be hard to find because you and several of your friends follow her. It’s a quick find that she’s a teacher, where she works, plays volleyball, has a twin, and has musician friends. She’s known by Pearl Jam fans. They’re protective of all the females in the band’s orbit. Best guess is anything negative is wiped quickly. We called Pearl Jam’s PR people and they’ve worked with her, so we don’t need to. Until something comes up and then we’ll probably have to work with you too. Unless you go silent again.”

I must have twitched.

Emily held her hands out like she was calming a wild animal. “Everyone’s a little concerned because you let Will post something. Oh, and any pictures of her in a bikini are always in a group.” She smiled comically and sat back.

“The ones she sends me are solos.”

“Good to know.”

I sat a second, my blood pressure dropping. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

I nodded and shrugged, “I told Will to post the picture. Don’t know exactly why. I’m happy. I’m in love. I’ve grown. Past is past and I’m moving to the future. All of them.”

“So, the comments and everything. You’re okay?”

“No, Emily, I’m wonderful.”

I waited until I got home to call Emma. She hit voice call. I pouted even though she couldn’t see. “I am at Target replenishing my travel supplies.”

“Sounds fun! Are you in for shampoo and leaving with three hundred dollars worth of who knows what?” Isn’t that the way it usually works at Target?

“I have a list. I’m staying away from parts of the store I don’t need to be in.”

“Smart. What time do you have to be at the court?”

“We’re going to meet for dinner about five. Game at seven.”

“Give Sam your phone so I can pack and watch.”

“I bet if you ask nicely she’ll alert you when something big is going on.”

“I’m a decent multitasker.”

“How was dinner with a spy?”

"Dinner with a spy was" I shook my head and looked up, "fascinating. Books, even non-fiction, and video are good, but watching his expression and mannerisms was so cool. Especially when he had neither." I went on talking while she shopped. She laughed and gasped at the same parts I had. I was excited to see how I could incorporate this new knowledge. We hung up when she was checking out.

~*~*~*~

"Sorry about the loss." I cringed to soften the blow. I knew she didn't like to lose. Who does?

Emma growled, "Frustrating. I want a chocolate brownie or something."

"I think the bakeries are closed." It was a little after ten. "I'll get you one tomorrow."

"You're the sweetest."

"When will you be here?"

"Well before lunchtime. I got everything packed before the game. I'll shower tonight. Get up and be on my way. Do you have plans?"

"Yes. Vanity kicked in. I have a facial and haircut, before therapy. Want a facial?"

"No seaweed."

"Damm, that's what I booked for you."

~*~*~

I spent the morning packing. I’m not a heavy packer. I’ll wear the same thing over and over. I’m working so costuming will be taking care of most of my clothes. I’m invited to the fashion show. Being dressed is part of the package. Emma and I had made a list of places we wanted to see and things we wanted to do while in Paris. I composed an email and sent it on to the hotel’s concierge. I heard back almost immediately. They would create an itinerary and we could adjust it once we arrived. Perfect.

Emma would be back about noon. Our spa treatments and my haircut were set for three and my therapy appointment was around five. I cleaned up around the place. Nothing drastic. I had a cleaning service come in after I go away. I just make sure everything’s put away.  I had my suitcase closed and in the dining area when my text notification went off.

Emma ~ Are you home?

Sebastian ~ Yes.

Emma ~ Alone?

Sebastian ~ Yes.

 I am sensing something is about to happen.

Emma ~ When I get there would you like to play a game?

Sebastian ~ Yes.

 I neither know nor care what she’s talking about. It would be nice to know what I’m going to be playing, though.

Sebastian ~ Could I get more details?

Emma ~ Porn

Sebastian ~ You want to watch porn?

Emma ~ Pretend we're in one. Over the top, things that only work in porn, excessive moaning, name calling, filthy talk porn.

 Fuck. I’ve watched enough porn to know how this was going to go.

Sebastian ~ Yes, I would like to play.

Emma ~ I never doubted you.

Sebastian ~ Are you texting and driving?

Emma ~ Traffic and voice to text. Delivery girl, booty call, escort? Me. This time.

Sebastian ~ I don't know yet.

Emma ~ Text when you do.

Sebastian ~ I love you.

Emma ~ I love you.

 Woman has been away for forty-eight hours and shows back up with this shit. I wasn't a sex-starved horn dog five minutes ago. I wonder what she's wearing? Delivery girl, booty call, escort. I like her choices. I have to seduce the delivery girl. Or be seduced. Booty call would be a repeat. Familiarity without expectations. There are zero expectations with an escort. Well, there are expectations, but only mine. I feel like it's a question of how selfish I want to be and what questions I want to answer after. Booty call it is!

I texted her my choice and that the door would be unlocked. I sat in the chair to wait. Patiently.

[winterromanov]

you made a mess of me - chapter one (bucky x reader)

pairing: bodyguard!bucky x princess!reader

updates: every week

masterlist 

message me to be added to the taglist

A/N: this is the short opener to what i hope will be an epic and fun fic!! hope you enjoy x

There are many things to like about being a princess. No way round it—you love the luxury, the worldwide fame for just existing, the way people are grateful just to be in your presence. It’s like every time you leave the palace a red carpet is pre-rolled out, ready for you to walk gracefully across in your limited edition Louboutins. Your life is gowns, champagne and ribbon-cutting, Hollywood-white smiles for paparazzi and deliciously opulent scandal. If you’re not pictured in the socialite gossip pages of glossy magazines, you’re not partying hard enough. You’re not appearing in enough of the right places with the right people.

Except, in your world, you’re the only right person. People battle for a place at your table, an invite to your party. It is impossible to not get intoxicated on that feeling, way before any hundred dollar (plus) champagne is drunk.

It is hard not to believe you’re completely inpenetrable. Sat at the annual Sokovian Aid charity dinner, you feel pretty fucking invincible. 

Yes, sure, the charity is important—daddy does love his little humanitarian projects, and it is one of your only actual jobs to interact with them—but you can feel the eyes of everyone in the room looking at you. People chatter about what dress you’re wearing, who accompanies you in your direct entourage, who you may be leaving with at the end of the night. The charity is important, but you know really, you’re the true focus. And that is not as selfish as it sounds, because your presence on its own brings in thousands of dollars of donations.

“Oh my God, (Y/N),” your best friend and confidant, Lady Connie Davenport, murmurs drily from next to you. Naturally, you’re on the honours table. The top one. As if you could be put anywhere else. “Look at the Sokovian girl. What on Earth is she wearing?”

Connie was pointing at a tall, pale girl who you recognised as the PR liaison rep for SA, but you had long since forgotten her name. Whilst it was your job to turn up to these things, other people could remember the minor details. “Who knows. Maybe it’s Matalan.”

Connie laughed loudly. “Matalan? Surely not. Bit too expensive, no?”

You smirk, bringing a glass of champagne to your lips. It had been filled up without you even realising��that is the kind of attention to detail you appreciate. “Perhaps.”

“Hmm. And what about the men? Seen anyone you like?”

Of course, you’d already scanned the room on arrival for eligible bachelors. Many were rich, but ancient oligarchs with deep pockets are not exactly your type. Several of the younger men had arrived with ladies on their arms which, whilst not an obstacle, did require some extra effort. The other men were way too presentable for your tastes. The last thing you want is someone you could take to dinner with your parents and for them to approve.

There is one man, though, who you’ve had your eye on. Or, his eyes have been very certainly on you. Deep set and intense, he looks at you differently to the way everyone else does. All night he has been sat quietly and aloof in the corner, not even pretending to look away when you catch eyes. He looks confident, arrogant even. And there is literally nothing that turns you on more than an over confident man who thinks he can do as he likes.

They think that, until they meet you.

“We’ll see,” you reply. Connie arches an eyebrow at you knowingly. “What? I like to keep you guessing.”

“You are infuriating, darling.”

Your smile is coy as a hand brushes across your shoulder. Looking up, you see Eric, your family’s head of PR. He is the one who keeps these events running smoothly, telling you where to be and when. “They’re ready for your speech, your highness.”

Of course, you hadn’t written the speech. Some neatly typed prompt cards had been handed to you a few days ago and you’d glazed over them, but it was the same old shit. At this point you might as well have the words what a great cause tattooed on your ass.

You huff a reluctant sigh. “Alright, let’s get this over with, then.”

Eric guides you through a maze of back corridors until you reach the door nearest the makeshift stage. Whilst a compere excitedly introduces you to tables upon tables of distinguished guests, a lady touches up your makeup and hair, messing with the hem of your dress. You have to look perfect for the photographers or your life won’t be worth living. You hear your name and you turn on the thousand kilowatt smile, waving elegantly as your heels click loudly against the tiled floor. The cheers are invigorating. Speeches are boring, yes, but the attention is most definitely not.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” You say, standing just the right distance away from the microphone to make an impact on the room, but not close enough for it to be overpowering. These are the kind of lessons you’re taught as a princess. “And what a pleasure it is to be here! It is always an utter joy to help Sokovian Aid and I am, as always, proud to be the patron of such a great cause.”

In the corner of your eye, you see movement from where your admirer has been perched all night. Maybe he is dying to get a better look at you.

“Sokovian Aid has been a charity very close to my family ever since we visited just after the end of the civil war.” There is more movement. People shift in seats and confusion flits over your expression, but you need to stay professional. “We saw poverty and pain, but a community so full of life and—”

BANG.

Blood rings in your ears as your body is brought heavily to the floor, thumping gracelessly against the tile. A much larger body is hunched over your own and just above the foggy, muted ringing in your head there is definite screaming. Shock and fear momentarily stuns your breathing—have you been hurt? Have you been hurt and you just can’t feel it yet?

There is one certainty. A chest is pressed tightly against your own, protecting you, a heart thudding desperately loudly against your trembling hands.

“Don’t panic, your highness,” a voice confidently says, deep and masculine. “You’re okay. You’re fine.”

Your breath hitches in your chest. There are a thousand possible questions but none of them make it out your mouth, which is extremely uncharacteristic indeed.

“Shooter neutralised.” The voice says into what you can only assume is a communicator. A fuzzy voice replies. “Emerald is unharmed. I will escort her to the safehouse point. Over.”

Shooter? Is this—a botched assassination?

“Are you okay to stand, your highness?”

The man’s body untangles from your own and you see him for the first time. Tall, muscular, dressed in a well-fitting suit filled out by a bulletproof vest underneath. A communicator, black and discreet, curls from his ear to the collar of his shirt. His hair is dark, neatly trimmed, with the ghost of stubble across his cheeks. You blink whilst his sharp eyes stare at you expectantly. Wordlessly, you nod, accepting his strong outstretched hand.

When you look around the room, it is almost completely empty, other than the usual FBI types that constantly linger wherever you go. Every event you attend is manned by some sort of protection, whether that is the police, secret services or a private, vetted company. You have never cared to figure out which, as you rarely have to deal with them for more than a few moments. You’ve always despised having people hang around you like shadows with ID badges.

Then it strikes you. It strikes you that someone in this room came here with the intention to end your life.

“Your highness. Your highness.” The officer who saved you raises his voice to get your attention. “There has just been an attempt on your life. The culprit has been reprimanded, but we cannot be certain that he was the only shooter within the vicinity. I have permission from your family to take you to a safe house. Do you understand? You have to come with me.”

You nod, but you feel lightheaded and nauseous. People are running urgently around you. Connie, you notice, is long gone, as well as your favourite bachelor. You love attention, but not this frantic, frightening kind—the man’s hand steadies you, stopping your feet from crumbling beneath you.

“We have to go now, your highness. You’re safe as long as you’re with me, alright?”

The last thing you see is his concerned expression before you pass out in his arms.

-

taglist: @nacho-bucky​ @multifanloves* @nerd-without-a-cause​ @starnight-charmer​ @tinymalscoffee​ @xogs* @thatsbucknasty​ @wheni-driftoff-illdream-aboutyou�� @learisa​ (* indicates couldn’t be tagged)

[minijenn]

Universe Falls Chapter 74

Merry Early Christmas, ya’ll! Here’s an early present for you, UF’s first musical chapter! As fun as this was to work on, its honestly just... ok. Some things about it could be better but eh I was already taking way too long to get it done in the first place so I figured might as well get it out of the way. Either way, I hope you enjoy it all the same! 

Previous: https://minijenn.tumblr.com/post/189362205964/universe-falls-chapter-73

***

Chapter 74: Mr. Greg

PUJV'S ERQ AAMVF XF DHHNT HL XTI GADW DCM NEUR CIVH VPBQ AUPC AWZCGL JEEX ZT'D GQVX, GX'E SMEC, LV'A YGRUWYEO, LV'A ZMRQ, MK'S ZYGZ BQR'F MK, WSB EIG'R XTIP MZYG WG?

"From the moment the meat hits the flame, my stomach is growling without any shame!"

"And I know in my gut, it's been worth the $5.95!"

"Would you like a burger? From Pepe's Burgers?"

As the catchy, all too familiar jingle brought the commercial to an end, the TV buzzed to static once again, though that static was soon filled in by the flood of reactions to the ad itself.

"Whoa! Your song is on TV!" Steven exclaimed, looking to his father absolutely starstruck as he sat alongside the twins.

"Yeah, but is it just me or was there something sorta… different about it this time around?" Mabel wondered, curious.

"The words, Mabel, it was the words," Dipper pointed out, rather deadpan.

"Nah, that wasn't it."

"Well, I'll hand it to ya, Greg," Stan remarked, arms crossed as he leaned against the side of the van. "Looks like one of your songs finally accomplished something after all these years: it made me want a burger!"

The conman let out a joking laugh at this, one that Greg joined in on, just a bit more good-naturedly. "Ah, well, that wasn't the only thing it accomplished. You guys remember my old manager, Marty, right? Well, turns out he sold my song as a burger jingle. He sent me a letter explaining the whole thing, and included in that letter was this." The former rock star pulled a small slip of paper out his pocket, presenting it to the others. At first, none of them were really sure what it was until Stan happened to be the first to notice the one, followed by a very lengthy string of zeros, written on it. Topped off by a dollar sign, of all things.

"No," the conman gasped, eyes wide as he took the check to look over it himself. "No way… G-Greg, i-is… is this real?"

"Sure is," Greg nodded, grinning. "I honestly didn't believe it myself at first but it's true. Guess I'm filthy stinkin' rich now! Ten million big ones for something I wrote years ago! Crazy how things work out, huh? And-uh, Mr. Pines? Are you ok?"

Everyone turned to look at Stan, who was obviously beside himself with glee based on the massive grin on his face as he held onto Greg's check as if it were the most precious thing in the world. And, based on how much money it actually was worth, it might as well have been. "Greg," he began, his tone uncharacteristically pleasant and saccharine. "Have I ever told you that you were the best employee I've ever had?"

"Uh… no?" Greg raised a confused eyebrow. "But… thanks?"

"But Grunkle Stan, what about Soos and Wendy?" Mabel asked.

"This isn't about them, pumpkin, it's about Greg and his millions-o-of great qualities, that is!" Stan quickly saved himself with a tight laugh as he waved the check around. "L-like his generosity for instance! Always so giving and selfless. In fact, I'm sure that if you found a worthwhile charity or, oh, I dunno, former boss of yours to donate a few hundred or thousand or hundred thousand to, then you wouldn't hesitate, right?"

"Gee, Mr. Pines," Greg smirked knowingly as he finally took his check back from the conman. "You wouldn't happen to have anyone in mind, would you?"

"Well…" Stan began quite leadingly.

"Oh please, Stan, can't you think about anything other than money for five minutes?" Pearl finally spoke up, sending the conman a critical glance.

"Uh, I would, Pearl, if there was anything else worth thinkin' about," Stan shot back with a smug grin.

Pearl simply ignored him, rolling her eyes as she took another look at the burger commercial playing out on the TV. "I still don't understand…" she said, confused. "What exactly is this?"

"You know when Rose came to my concert?" Greg began with a wide grin. "The night we met? I was playing this song!"

"...This is what did it?" Pearl asked, baffled. "Burgers?"

"It wasn't about burgers back then," Greg clarified. "But she probably would have liked this too, right?"

"...She would have loved it…" the white Gem sighed, defeated as she turned to walk to the far side of the van.

Likewise, Greg also let out something of a dejected sigh as he turned the TV off, though none of the others really seemed to notice. "So what are you going to do with all that money, Mr. Universe?" Dipper asked, curious.

"Oh! I know!" Mabel enthusiastically raised her hand. "You could buy a swimming pool and then buy another swimming pool to put inside it and fill that swimming pool with jelly beans! Or you could buy a pet monkey and a fancy tuxedo for him to wear! Or-or… a rocket ship piloted by your pet monkey, with a jelly bean filled swimming pool inside another swimming pool to take you to your own personal planet!"

"Geez, Mabel, reign it back a bit, will ya?" Stan remarked, crossing his arms. "Besides, I thought we already established that Greg was gonna donate most of that money to me-I mean, a charitable cause. Yeah, there we go."

"Heh, well, you guys have some pretty… interesting ideas there," Greg said with a small smile. "But to be honest… I'm not really sure what I'm gonna do with the money."

Despite the bewildered looks the others gave him at this admission, nonetheless the former rock star took a seat in the back of his van, pulling out his guitar to strum a simple, relaxing tune. One that he was more than happy to sing along with.

"Bright sunny day, don't cost nothin'. Light summer breeze, don't cost nothin'. What do I do with all this money? When the only thing I want is you?" he smiled to his son in particular, who instantly perked up to hear one of his father's classic, off the cuff songs.

"Palling around, don't cost nothin'. Singing a song, don't cost nothin'. How do I spend all this money? I'd rather just spend time with you."

"You could buy a house," Steven piped up, offering suggestions through song himself. "And a car."

"I guess that I can, but I've already got a van," Greg noted, nodding back to said van, a loyal, longtime vehicle he had no interest in replacing any time soon. "I could put you through college."

"But I'm with the Gems all the time," the young Gem pointed out with a shrug.

"...Or I could buy you all the finest courses online."

"What if we took a trip?" Steven ventured after a moment or two of thought.

"Do you think?" the former rock star inquired, intrigued by this suggestion.

The young Gem nodded. "We could go somewhere new! We could take a vacation, and you guys could come too!" he finished, smiling brightly to Stan and the twins as they listened in.

"Woo! Yeah! Vacation!" Mabel cheered, immediately excited by the prospect. "I've been dying to get away and see somewhere new!"

"Mabel, we've just spent the past several weeks on end away at the barn," Dipper pointed out, reigning his sister's zeal in with a small laugh.

"Yeah, but we were there to work," Mabel countered. "This trip is gonna be for fun! Right, Grunkle Stan?"

"Hey, if Greg's payin', I'm all for it," Stan remarked. "What do ya say, Greg? Tropical cruise to the Bahamas? Or are you more of a luxury beach house in the Keys sorta guy?"

"Hm…" Greg took a moment to think over these vacation ideas, before he came up with a suggestion all his own. "I know a place that's always exciting! The shows and the sights and the lights that are blinding!" the former rock star's tempo picked up from his previous song as he rummaged through the back of his van for a postcard featuring his chosen destination. "Emerald City! I'm talkin' Emerald City!"

The kids exchanged an excited glance at this, immediately taken by the idea of venturing out to the famously beautiful northern city. Still, Greg sold the prospect of the trip to them even more as he jumped out of the back of the van, his upbeat tune continuing all the while. "The streets and the sounds and the buildings heightening! A place that's so bright it's like clear, white lightning! Emerald City! Let's go to Emerald City!"

This momentum continued as Greg and Steven began leading the way up to the temple so the young Gem could start packing for the trip. The twins joined in on this energy as they followed, with Mabel dragging a much more begrudging Stan along with them.

"I know a place that's always exciting," Greg began a refrain of his first verse as the group burst into the house, startling Pearl in the process as she stood near the kitchen. "The shows and the sights and the lights that are blinding!"

"We don't need money, but it could be funny," Steven harmonized under his father's melody, quickly throwing his things into his hot dog duffel bag.

"The streets and the sounds and the buildings heightening!"

"So let's go today-"

"A place that's so bright it's like clear, white lightning!"

"Just point me the way to-"

"Emerald City!" Steven and Greg finished together, with the young Gem bringing both Dipper and Mabel into this bold final lyric. Though perhaps not the final lyric as Steven tacked one more onto it at the last second. "And let's bring Pearl!"

"W-what?" Greg balked, caught off guard by the idea.

"Ugh, kid, what's wrong with you?" Stan scowled. "I thought the whole point of this trip was to skip town and have fun. And everybody knows Pearl doesn't know the meaning of the word fun."

"Hey! I do too know what 'fun' is!" Pearl protested, offended. "Why, just yesterday, I had an exceptional un time sorting and organizing every single pot, plate, and utensil in this kitchen. And if that's not fun, then I don't know what is."

"...Well then, I stand corrected," Stan said, absolutely deadpan.

"Aw, you should come with us to Emerald City, Pearl!" Mabel said, offering a bright smile to the white Gem. "I heard there's this magical wizard there, and to get there, you have to drive on this really pretty yellow brick road. Not sure how great that is for your tires, but still, it sounds really cool."

"That's a different Emerald City, Mabel," Dipper pointed out dryly.

"Wait… you mean there's more than one?!"

"Um… still, you gotta come with us, Pearl!" Steven made another attempt at convincing the white Gem. "You always work so hard, keeping the Earth safe, keeping the house clean; you deserve a vacation!"

"Er… I don't know, Steven…" Pearl frowned, clearly uncomfortably as she turned away slightly. "Past experiences have taught me that three is a crowd…"

The young Gem was rather confused by this, at least until his father interjected in an equally uncertain whisper. "Steven, me and Pearl haven't gotten along that well, since… uh, well, since I started dating your mother." Greg frowned, casting a brief, bittersweet glance back at the portrait of the aforementioned pink Gem hanging over the door. Almost as if she was still watching, even now that she was gone.

"Oh, come on," Steven pouted earnestly. "We're all one big family! So this will be a great family vacation! Featuring the Universes," he grinned as he wrapped an arm around his dad's shoulder before nodding over to the twins and Stan. "The Pines, uh… Pearl. And don't forget Mom!"

Greg and Pearl in particular flinched as Steven pulled his shirt up a bit to reveal his Gem. Or rather, what had once been Rose's Gem.

Pearl was still clearly hesitant, taking in a sharp hiss through her teeth as she exchanged a rather uneasy glance with the former rock star, neither of them really sure how to feel about this situation. Ultimately though, the white Gem folded upon taking another look at Steven's pleading expression, one that was accompanied by similar looks from both Mabel and Dipper alike. And under that sort of pressure, how could she even hope to resist? "Oh, alright…" she sighed begrudgingly. "I… I'll come…"

"Yes!" Steven and Mabel cheered in delighted unison, though as they did, Dipper happened to consider something neither of them had.

"Wait, so if this is a 'family' vacation," he began thoughtfully. "Then shouldn't Great Uncle Ford come with us too?"

"Oh yeah!" Mabel exclaimed. "It can't be a Universe/Pines family vacation without Grunkle Ford coming along! It just wouldn't be complete!"

"Uh, yeah, it would!" Stan interjected somewhat harshly. "Who says we need Ford to come with us? Heck, he'd be an even bigger killjoy than Pearl's gonna end up being on this trip."

"Stan!" Pearl huffed, annoyed, though the conman ignored her as he continued.

"Anyway, he's not coming," Stan concluded staunchly, stubbornly. "And that's final."

"But Grunkle Stan, this is a family trip," Mabel argued.

"And Great Uncle Ford is just as much a part of the family as any of us are," Dipper added much more firmly.

"Oh yeah," the conman scowled bitterly. "Well if he's really a 'part of this family' then why doesn't he ever act like it?"

Stan didn't give either of the younger twins a chance to respond as he gruffly turned on his heel and walked out of the house without another word. A somewhat awkward air filled the room at this, at least until Greg filled it with an apologetic frown. "Aw, sorry, kids. I guess it's just gonna be the six of us heading to Emerald City, huh?"

"Wrong," Steven spoke up, placing a reassuring hand on both of the rather dejected twins' shoulders. He offered them both a kind smile, one that was more than enough to tell them that he was going to help them bring their entire family together on this trip, no matter what it took. "It's gonna be seven."

"No. Absolutely not."

Steven, Dipper, and Mabel barely managed to hold back a shared sigh of disappointment upon hearing Ford's outright rejection of their proposal, one that came the moment they so much as mentioned Stan would be coming along on the trip.

"But Grunkle Ford, Emerald City is gonna be great!" Mabel urged, stopping the author in his tracks as he moved about his study by grabbing onto the edge of his coat. "We'll have an adventure in self-discovery and melt a witch with a bucket of water and sing a whole bunch of songs! It's gonna be so much fun!"

"Again, Mabel, that's the wrong Emerald City you're talking about," Dipper corrected, though he interjected once more after a beat of thought. "Well, aside from the songs part, I guess. This is a musical after all."

"Well then, you children are more than welcome to go and have a marvelous time," Ford remarked dismissively as he reclaimed the edge of his coat. "But I won't be joining you. I'm afraid I have far too much to catch up on here and besides, I have no interest whatsoever in going anywhere with-" The author stopped short, sparing a glance down at the trio of kids before he decided to cap his statement off on a seemingly different statement altogether. "I-I… I'd simply rather not go. I'm sorry."

While the twins exchanged a dejected glance at this, Steven wasn't about to give up so easily. "But Mr. Ford…" the young Gem began leadingly, grinning to the twins beside him to tip them off to his plan. His musical plan. "Wouldn't you like-a chance to escape and just break from that boring old routine?" Steven began, taking on a bright, optimistic melody, one that Mabel and Dipper were both quick to catch onto with their own additions.

"Wouldn't you like-a chance to go where you know there are things you've never seen?" Mabel sang brightly, offering the author a convincing grin.

"Wouldn't you like-to explore so much more than you ever have before?" Dipper added trying his best to match Steven and Mabel's enthusiasm.

"Cause wouldn't you like a chance to get away?!" all three kids harmonized, capping their first verse off well and aptly confusing Ford in the process.

"Why are you three singing?" the author asked, bewildered.

"Cause like Dipper said, it's a musical!" Steven grinned, though even so, Ford was still absolutely lost.

"...What? "

"Wouldn't you like-to try something new with a few of your favorite friends?" Mabel kicked off the next verse, slipping to the still-confounded author's side as Dipper did the same.

"Wouldn't you like-to be free, to go out and about to find out what's waiting 'round the bend?" he turned in with a hopeful shrug as Steven came in to finish off another verse.

"Wouldn't you like-to go searching and find everything you're looking for?"

"Cause wouldn't you like a chance to get away?!" the trio finished off in unison once more, briefly giving Ford another short-lived attempt at cutting through the song once again.

"Now, children, I-"

"Wouldn't you like-" Mabel interrupted, as vibrantly as ever. "An adventure with friends where excitement never ends?"

"Wouldn't you like-" Steven sang with a warm, brimming grin. "To go see what the world's all about, see what's flashy and brand new?"

"Wouldn't you like-" Dipper chimed in, joining Steven and Mabel as they came together for the song's grand finale. "To check out what you've missed while you gone for so long?"

"Cause wouldn't you like-" all three of the kids sang before splitting off to build up towards the end.

"Wouldn't you like-"

"Wouldn't you like-"

"Wouldn't you like…."

"A chance to get away!?" they all finished, presenting their case to the author with matching, earnest, almost pleading smiles. Smiles that even Ford was powerless to say no to.

So instead, he let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before he finally gave in. "Fine. I… suppose I can spare a night away from my research." The author cracked a small, somewhat wry smile as Steven, Dipper, and Mabel all let out a shared, excited gasp. "But only because you kids asked in such a… unique way."

"Well, I've learned from experience that when in doubt, nothing works better than a song," Steven shrugged with a small laugh, one that Dipper and Mabel readily joined in on before they sang one final, triumphant refrain of their successful song.

"Now it's time to take that chance and get away!"

It was quite a lengthy drive in Greg's relatively packed van to get all the way up to Emerald City, though as the kids spotted the sparkling metropolis on the horizon, it soon became apparent that it was worth the trip. Emerald City certainly lived up to its glamorous reputation, with towering skyscrapers glittering against the deep night sky, casting an almost ethereal reflection upon the vast lakes and rivers and bays that surrounded it. These clean-cut, futuristic buildings became even more impressive up close as the van winded through its narrow, maze-like streets, allowing everyone a grand tour of the town, at least until they pulled up to their destination.

According to a brief internet search, Le Hotel was the fanciest, ritziest hotel Emerald City had to offer. And indeed, it fit the bill as it towered high as one of the city's tallest buildings, elegant and refined from the outside in as its grand lobby carried the same radiant theme. The group entered with various levels of amazement towards this sophisticated atmosphere, even if they did look quite a bit out of place in that atmosphere given their relatively normal attire and attitude. Even as Greg stepped up to the check-in counter, the clerk simply looked over him with a brief, haughty scoff. His manner hardly changed as the former rock star confidently presented him with his new business card, which colorfully read "Greg Universe: Bazillionaire". However, it was only as Steven peered over the edge of the counter and plopped down one of the many large stacks of cash his father had brought along that the mood of the entire hotel seemed to change. Staff passing by stopped dead in their tracks, the clerk eyed the money being presented to him with obvious shock, and all the while Greg stood by, grinning to the others about the upscale experience they were about to receive.

An experience that of course, kicked off with a song.

"Hey, shake a leg!" the clerk called the rest of the staff, who chimed in just as enthusiastically.

"Hey, shake a leg!"

"It's Mr. Greg!"

"It's Mr. Greg!"

"And he's here to spend his dough all over town!"

At this, the staff mobilized efficiently, quite literally sweeping the Universe, Pines, and Pearl up to carry them off to the hotel's fine, five star restaurant. Without any hesitation, they sat them all down at the finest table in the center of the banquet hall, serving up the finest (most expensive) meal they had to offer.

"He's got the bucks!" the staff sang once again as Greg blithely answered them.

"I've got the bucks!"

"It's all deluxe."

"It's all deluxe!" Greg agreed, much to the excitement of not just the kids, but Stan in particular as he greedily began to tear into the massive, steaming steak placed in front of him. "When you're dining out with me, it's the finest steak and brie." The former rock star was clearly caught up in the somewhat manic, celebratory mood as he hopped up onto the table, catching the others off guard while he began to dance. "And if I break a table, it ain't no-whoa!" Inevitably, Greg did break the table, splitting it clean in half as he fell and knocked nearly all of the food off of it, save for Stan's steak, which the conman had wisely managed to save just in the nick of time. An awkward beat of silence passed at this as the surrounding staff looked to Greg expectantly, but all the same, the former rock star simply laughed his faux pas off as he pulled yet another large bill out of his pocket and handed it to the clerk. "Just bill it to my bank."

"A hundred bucks?!" the clerk exclaimed, amazed. "Gee, thanks!"

Before anyone had a chance to finish up their meals, the staff members led them off again, this time out of the restaurant and towards the elevator, which carried them all the way up to the building's hundredth floor. Its penthouse suite.

Said suite certainly rivaled the decadence and splendor of anything any of them had seen thus far. It was a massive complex, with several rooms, enough for everyone, all connected to the grand main room, which was completed by its very own full-sized swimming pool and slide. However, the lavish accommodations weren't the only surprise the hotel staff had in store. For after a quick round of measurements, they had managed to outfit everyone, kids and adults alike, in matching fine tuxedos and top hats, garbing them all in a look befitting the wealth they were all enjoying.

As elegantly clad as they now were, Greg and the kids alike didn't waste any time in indulging in all the penthouse had to offer, namely, its massive pool. Even despite the expensive, top line suits and ties, they all jumped right in, Greg taking the slide as Steven and Mabel canonballed into the deep end without any second thoughts. Dipper did hesitate for just a moment, that is, until the pair ultimately hopped up out of the water and pulled him right in along with them.

Yet, despite the fun the kids and the former rock star were all clearly having as they quite literally dived right into their vacation, not everyone was joining in. While Stan clearly appreciated his new upscale suit, Ford wasn't as taken with his, particularly the top hat and bow tie and the memories he couldn't help but associate with them.

"Well, these won't be missed," the author frowned, handing both off to the nearest staff member. His brother, on the other hand, gladly touched up his own with a wide, cocky grin, clearly enjoying what was perhaps his first real taste of a life of luxury.

"I could get used to this!" the conman proclaimed, barely even noticing Ford's annoyed scowl at all.

"Of course, you'd find this exciting," he remarked, arms crossed as he glared away.

"Better than your boring old writing," Stan jabbed back, reclaiming the author's top hat and pulling it down over his eyes.

"Would you grow up!?" Ford huffed, frustrated as he tossed the hat aside again.

"You first!" Stan taunted, helping himself to the penthouse's wetbar.

"Is it just me or are they getting worse?" Dipper asked, noticing this exchange from the pool as he exchanged an apprehensive glance with Mabel. Likewise, Steven spotted the obvious tension between the brothers, though that wasn't all he saw as he happened to spot Pearl, lingering quietly near the far side of the pool. Even compared to Stan and Ford, she hadn't engaged in the festivities whatsoever, instead opting to observe alone from the sidelines, seemingly unamused. That is, until Greg and Steven decided to get involved.

While Pearl didn't often change her attire, she was quite surprised to see how nicely her own suit looked on her as the kids came together to convince her to try it on at least. And from the moment she did, she couldn't help but finally join in on the lighthearted spirit of the evening. "I must admit-" she began with a growing smile.

"You must admit," Greg and Steven echoed happily as they posed alongside her.

"It's a perfect fit!" the white Gem grinned, adjusting her top hat gracefully.

"You look great in it!"

"And those fountains I found wasteful," she nodded over to one of the several elegant fountains lining the penthouse. "Are actually quite tasteful! This city's got its charm, unlike that termite-ridden barn. And any time with Steven makes for a delightful evenin'!" She laughed, falling in step alongside the young Gem for a spirited round of tap-dancing.

"You're having fun!" Greg exclaimed, pleasantly surprised.

"More or less," Pearl shrugged, grinning. However, that grin quickly fell the moment the former rock star grabbed her hand to pull her into another dance.

"So dance with me, just say-"

"NO!"

Pearl's stark shout echoed through the lofty halls of the penthouse suite, bringing both the song and the cheery mood to an abrupt end. An air of startled, awkward silence filled in for both instead, one that seemed to grow even more awkward and heavy as all eyes turned to the crestfallen white Gem herself. Pearl flinched, unsure of what to say at first, especially as she met Greg's sad, yet earnest expression. "I-I… I mean…" Ultimately, however, she let out a bitter sigh, turning away from the entire group as she sulked off to some other part of the penthouse just to get away from it all. "Maybe later…"

"Boo!" one of the hotel employees called after her, disappointed. "You ruined the song!"

"Er, uh… sorry, guys," Greg frowned, dispensing a handful of cash out to the staff to compensate them as they took their leave. "Thanks for singing with us."

"W-well, I guess our super fun city vacation could be getting off to a bit of a better start than this, huh?" Mabel asked with a fretful frown.

"Yeah…" Steven sighed, looking off in the direction Pearl had retreated to. "It really could…"

"Aw, don't worry about it, kiddo," Greg reassured his son, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, all while hiding his own lingering regret well. "It's always been this way…"

"Hm… perhaps I should go talk to talk to her, Greg," Ford volunteered thoughtfully. "After all, I think it's safe to say I have just as much experience as you do when it comes to Pearl and this… particular problem…"

The former rock star offered the author a grateful smile at this, catching his drift all too well. "Thanks, Mr. Ford."

"Yeah, go on, Ford, while the rest of us have fun, you and Pearl can have your sad little nerd party of two," Stan remarked with an obviously teasing smirk. "See, kids? I told ya both of them would end up being nothing but a bunch of killjoys on this trip."

"Grunkle Stan-" Dipper began, shaking his head disapprovingly over such a tactless remark.

However, Ford was more than ready to intervene on his own behalf instead. "Oh, so now I'm a killjoy?" the author countered, turning back to face his brother. "Well, forgive me that I have no interest in losing my mind over a bunch of big-city frivolity."

"Tch, obviously," Stan remarked, rolling his eyes. "So if you aren't here for any of that, why'd you even come in the first place? 'Cause as far as I can tell, if ya ain't here to have a good time, then you might as well not even be here in the first place."

For a moment, Ford simply sent the conman a bitter scowl at this, much to the worry of the younger pair of twins as they watched this icy exchange unfold. However, what none of them, not even Stan himself, could have expected was what the author did next. He reached out, his expression completely unreadable as he placed a hand on his brother's shoulder… and abruptly shoved him right into the swimming pool behind him.

Ford was the first, and for a long time, only one of the group to break out into a heavy burst of laughter as Stan splashed into the deep end before floundering back up to the surface, completely flustered. "Well, I don't know about the rest of you," the author chuckled, beside himself with amusement, especially as he caught sight of the conman's dumbfounded face. "But I'm certainly having a great time now!"

At this, Dipper and Mabel finally let out a small, shared laugh themselves, one that Greg and Steven slowly joined in on themselves. With the tension in the air finally cleared, Stan couldn't help but crack a small, subtle smirk himself as he pulled himself out of the pull and wrung his hat out in the process. "Alright, fine," he scoffed playfully. "Consider this payback for that time when we were in 6th grade and I pushed ya off the diving board at the public pool."

"Please, Stanley, I'd hardly consider this payback," Ford remarked with a flippant wave of his hand, even though he was still chuckling somewhat. "Especially since you did that right in front of Cathy Crenshaw."

"Aw, c'mon, sixer, you always knew a square like you would have never been able to land a catch like 'Cold-Stone Crenshaw'," Stan jabbed, elbowing his brother wryly.

"True, though at the very least I never struck out with her like you did with Carla McCorkle," Ford retorted just as confidently.

"Hey! I never 'struck out' with Carla!" the conman protested. "It was that stupid hippie and his stupid bellbottom jeans that stole her away from me! I can still remember the day they rocketed out of the Juke Joint without me and she left me behind…"

"Believe me, so can I, seeing as how you wouldn't stop crying about it for at least a week after," Ford said with a knowing smirk. "Who was the 'sad nerd' back then, Stanley?"

"Pfft, you, sixer, 'specially after your dumb 'ol bust of-what was that guy's name again? Tulip? Toyla?"

"Tesla," Ford corrected pointedly.

"Sure, whatever, 'Tesla', fell off the shelf and broke that one night."

"Well, of course I was upset about that, Stanley, it was a collectible!"

"Oh yeah? Well so was Carla McCorkle!"

A beat of silence passed between the brothers at such a bizarre remark, but ultimately, the humor of just how strange it was wasn't lost on either one of them. At the exact same moment, they both burst until yet another round of bombastic laughter, one that was completely warm and genuine, much to the delight of the younger twins observing. As they shared a delighted grin with Steven, the young Gem offered them a supportive thumbs up before gently shoving his father away to offer the family some much-needed privacy.

"Wow! Aren't we all having such a fun time!?" Mabel chimed in with a bright, leading smile. "It's nights like tonight that just make you wanna forget all of the bad stuff back in the past and look ahead to a bright and happy future, don't you guys agree?"

"Try not to be too on the nose there, Mabel…" Dipper warned in a worried whisper. And yet, neither Stan and Ford's bright mood was dampened by this as they instead offered each other a relenting, yet lighthearted grin instead.

"You know… perhaps it does…" Ford said with a humbling sigh, noting his brother's growing relief and excitement. "After all, what else are vacations like this for than for… getting away from it all?"

Needless to say a line like this was more than enough to prompt another song, one that, much to Dipper and Mabel's continually elated surprise at this situation as a whole, Stan ended up starting off. "We came all this way to give us a fresh start," he began on a tune that was fittingly airy and easy. "And now I'm wondering how we even fell apart?"

"You know it's so strange, I can't help but agree," Ford shrugged incredulously. "Maybe its this city air, or maybe it's just me."

"We've been fallin' out for way too long," Stan sang, picking up a hint of an upbeat swing. "So let's forget who's right."

"And forget who's wrong."

"Ok!" Dipper and Mabel chimed in brightly, so, so happy to see their uncles finally begin to repair all that had been broken between them so long ago.

"And here I thought making amends would be our last resort," Ford added, this time gladly accepting the reclaimed tophat his brother was holding out to him.

"But life's too short!" they sang together, back to back as they shared a cordial grin.

"To always feel shut out, forgotten by the brother I used to know," Stan's smile dimmed only somewhat at this, remembering those nearly 40 years of bitter separation, as well as his own countless mistakes along the way that had brought that separation about to begin with.

"Life's too short!"

"To never let the pain and regrets that defined both our pasts just go," Ford did his best to hold back a sigh here, knowing that those regrets were far too many to name. And as heavy of a weight as they were, maybe it was indeed finally time to just let them go altogether.

"Whoaohoh!"

"I never understood," the brothers sang in harmony, both in tune and in spirit as they both came to meet each other halfway for the first time in a very long time. "But now I do! Life's too short-to miss out on a brother like you!"

The duet came to its apparent close with another strong laugh between the brothers, one that more or less solidified the newly-revived warm feelings between them. And as far as both Dipper and Mabel were concerned, considering the tense bitterness that they had always seen between their uncles before, this was more than a welcome change.

"So are things finally, you know, cool between you guys now?" Dipper asked, aptly hopeful.

"Well…"

"You bet they are, kid," Stan interrupted, catching Ford off guard by tossing an arm over his shoulder. "Well, at least they will be once this guy gives me the 'thank you' he's owed me ever since he got back."

"Thank you?" Ford asked, genuinely confused. "For what?"

"Uh, for busting my butt for the past 30 years so I could bring you back from wherever you were, duh," Stan remarked as though it was obvious. "Geez, and I thought you were supposed to be the smart one, sixer."

However, instead of providing the thanks the conman was expecting, the author instead looked to him incredulously, almost as if he was baffled that he'd even bothered to ask for it in the first place. Which, by most accounts, he very much was. "Thank you?" he asked, scoffing right off the bat. "Thank you? Why would I thank you when you were the one who got me sucked into the portal in the first place?!"

"Ugh, that was 30 years ago, Ford!" Stan groaned, annoyed. "You just said so yourself, it's time to finally let that go."

"How can I when you essentially ruined my life?!"

"You ruined your own life!"

This dig clearly struck an all-too painful chord with both of the older twins, calling back far to many agonizing memories from 30 years past to keep any of them straight. At the same time, their niblings exchanged a distraught, desperate glance, realizing that just as quickly as things had started to come together between their uncles, in much of the very same way, they were rapidly starting to fall apart.

"So we make up and hug? That's how your story ends?" Ford began again, his tune much more sharp and harsh than it had been before.

"Uh, yeah, it'll be just like it was," Stan countered, still somewhat hopeful that things could turn themselves around. Even though he knew the line clearly had already been crossed. "Ya know, when we were best friends?"

"So that's your big plan? To force me back in a cage?" the author accused, glaring his brother down coldly.

"Whoa, let's not freak out!" Stan countered, trying his best to ease the growing tension. "Let's get back on the same page-"

"Gee, thanks for telling me that to my face!" Ford's glare turned to a false, sardonic grin as he made an attempt at shoving Stan away. "And showing off your mastery of tact and grace!"

"No way…" the younger twins sighed, realizing just how south things really were going.

"Nevermind how you spilled my secrets, gave a full report!"

"Wait-" Stan attempted to interject, but Ford clearly was having none of it.

"Cause life's too short!"

"There it is! The door you love to slam in my face!" Stan immediately shot back, his tone every bit as fierce as the author's as he spun back around to face him. "You did well there for a spell but now we're back in the same place. Tell me off if you want, but I'm the only one who wasted 30 long years on trying to save you!"

"You can waste whatever you want 'cause I don't care!" Ford huffed crossly, throwing his hands up at his equally disgruntled brother. "You're a fool who opened the portal!"

"That is SO unfair!"

"I swear!" both brothers sang in a harsh, hardened lack of harmony. "I'm through with taking your unshaking brotherly support!"

"Support!"

"Support!"

"Ha! 'Cause life's too short!"

"To let you get off it all so scott free," Stan scowled, his hands in tight, practically shaking fists at his sides. "Without thinking about thanking me!"

"Life's too short!"

"To listen to a reckless fool!" Ford argued hotly, borderline hatefully even. "Who only ever sees what he wants to see!"

"You don't know-"

"You have no idea-"

"What I've been through! Because of you!" they both sang together, hostile and explosive and completely unaware of their niblings' immense dread as they helplessly watched all this unfold.

"Life's too short to waste another minute!"

"Life's too short to even have you in it!"

"Life's too short!" They finished fiercely, abruptly turning on their heels before they both walked away in opposite directions, their stance on each other very clear. And as they parted ways, they left the younger pair of twins behind, awash in the echo of their angry, bitter refrain.

"W-well that… didn't go great…" Mabel frowned, disappointed. "Heck, so far almost none of this vacation has… 'specially not with those two... What are we supposed to do, Dipper?"

Dipper didn't answer right away, instead catching the briefest of glances between Stan and Ford right before they both slipped into their own respective rooms on the opposite side of the penthouse for the night. In the end though, he sighed dejectedly, not even sharing any of the same sparse shreds of hope Mabel was still clinging onto. "I don't know, Mabel…" he admitted quietly before he turned to walk away himself. "I don't know…"

And with that, the younger twins parted ways, if not in words than in sentiment, repeating the very same empty, hopeless verse their uncles had before them.

Despite the upbeat excitement that had been going around as the group pulled into Emerald City earlier that evening, those celebratory feelings were in short supply by the time they all ended up turning in for bed. With the former levity drained from the penthouse in its entirety, its guests soon slipped into slumber instead, with just about everyone taking a separate room in the sizable suite, save for Greg and Steven who ended up bunking together. And it was as they lay on the luxurious king-sized bed, quietly snoozing away, that Pearl quietly entered.

After that initial song, the white Gem had made herself rather scarce, not really wanting to face anyone, the former rock star in particular. However, as she softly stepped into the room to stand alongside the bed, she couldn't help but crack a small, somewhat bittersweet smile, especially as she spotted the bouquet of roses resting on the nightstand beside it. Pearl let out an almost inaudible sigh as she plucked one of the flowers, holding onto it gently as she let her many mingled thoughts and feelings out in a soft, solemn tune.

"I was fine with the men, who would come into her life now and again." Men such as Ford and so many others even before him, all of whom had captivated Rose in some sort of way, be it romantic or otherwise. But all of them had come, in and out of her life in a constant flux all the same, always dwarfed by just how broad and brightly the pink Gem had always shined. "I was fine, 'cause I knew that they didn't really matter… until you…"

The white Gem's smile finally fell as she looked back to Greg, unknowingly slumbering before her. Still clinging onto her rose, she slipped her top hat back on and stepped out onto the nearby balcony, all the while unaware that she had awakened a certain young Gem in the process.

"I was fine when you came and we fought like it was all some silly game." It really had seemed so silly back then, so innocent, just like so many of the others had been. Just another human who would happen to catch Rose's fancy for a while before ultimately being left behind. Another human who would never be able to stay by her side for as long as Pearl herself had. "Over her, who she'd choose. After all those years, I never thought I'd lose…"

"It's over, isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't it over?" she sang sadly, mournfully almost as the dull lights of the sparkling city seemed to float and drift around her. "It's over, isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't it over?"

"You won, and she chose you," she admitted, knowing it was the truth. But even if it was the truth and it had been the truth for several years now, that never made facing it any easier. "And she loved you and she's gone… It's over, isn't it, why can't I move on?"

At this, Pearl performed an elegant leap onto the balcony's narrow edge, balancing skillfully between it and the city streets far, far below her. All the same, she danced deftly on that fine line, all the while reveling in both her memories and the grief that came along with them. "War, and glory, reinvention." She smiled discreetly down to the rose still in her hand, knowing just how much 'reinventing' both of them had done in their hidden, yet shared past. "Fusion, freedom, her attention." All things that she adored, that she only ever got a glimpse of, that they only ever had won because of each other. "Out in daylight, my potential, bold, precise, experimental." As she swung her rose out like a blade, once again she was reminded of just how different she had become, just how much she had broken away from everything she had ever been made to do. Then again, she supposed Rose had broken away from all she had once been before too. They both had changed, and the best part of it all? They had changed together.

But that was then. And this was now. And now… Rose was gone.

"Who am I now in this world without her?" Pearl lamented as she lay against the railing, her gaze cast up to the sky as she felt that all too familiar pain ring through her once more. A pain that she never seemed to be able to shake away, no matter how hard she tried. "Petty and dull with the nerve to doubt her." To doubt her decisions, her choices, be they good or bad. To fail to understand what she had done, what she had sacrificed even now, even still, years after the fact when she should have known, she should have understood. But… she didn't. And sometimes, she wondered if she ever really would.

"What does it matter? It's already done!" And it was. Done, finished, over. And yet… in so many ways… it wasn't. At least not to her. "Now I've got to be there for her son!"

Speaking of said son, Pearl didn't even notice as Steven quietly slipped out of bed in the room behind her, listening in on her mournful melody with apt sympathy. All the same, the white Gem slipped back onto the balcony with resignation, looking back to the city as she tried, so hard, to make it past this. To finally move on and just let it go. The only problem was, how could she let go of something as precious as the love she felt for Rose? The love she still felt for her, even now that she wasn't there?

"It's over, isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't it over?" She gripped the railing tightly, shaking her head at her own stubborn foolishness. While she didn't technically have a heart, she knew that if she did, it would be aching beyond measure. And it likely would have for quite some time now. "It's over isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't it over?!"

"You won, and she chose you, and she loved you and she's GONE!" On this, she tossed the rose, hoping to release it and everything it represented. And yet, try as she might, those feelings, bitter, painful, and agonizing as they were, still remained, just as they always had. Just as they very well always would.

"It's over, isn't it? Why can't I move on?" She wondered softly, a stray tear finally streaming down her cheek.

"It's over, isn't it? Why can't I move on?"

Slowly, Pearl turned away from the balcony and back toward the bedroom, only to find that her song had an audience. Steven sat on the near edge of the bed, looking to the white Gem with a sad, sympathetic frown. However, the one Pearl was immediately more concerned and alarmed by was Greg, sitting on the far side of the bed, his back turned away from her and his expression unknown.

"G-Greg!" the white Gem exclaimed, gripping the edges of her top hat tightly. "You were… a-awake?"

"Nothing's gonna fix this…" Greg sighed tiredly, standing as he threw a bathrobe on over his suit. "Is it?"

Pearl faltered, unsure of how to answer this question, especially as the former rock star began to sulk out of the room. "Greg!"

"I'm sorry you had to be around me…" Greg muttered dismally as he walked out, despite both Pearl and Steven's protests.

"Dad!" the young Gem called after him worriedly, though his attention was soon turned back over to Pearl as she let out a small, guilty sigh behind him.

"I shouldn't have come along…" she said, now more forlorn than ever before, this time entirely thanks to her own doing.

"No," Steven said, his devout, serious tone catching the white Gem off guard. "This is exactly why we brought you."

Startled and confused, Pearl looked to the young Gem, bewildered, but all the same, she followed his lead as he began heading off in the same direction his father had gone. Though as they passed through the penthouse's den, they soon discovered that they weren't the only ones awake at such a late hour of the night.

"Dipper? Mabel?" Pearl frowned, noticing the pair first as they listlessly sat together on the couch. "Why are you kids up so late?"

"Why do you think?" Dipper asked, clearly exhausted as he broadly nodded over to the other side of the penthouse. Even from the den, the sound of Stan and Ford's noisy bickering could be heard, something that had been a constant for at least the past hour or so now. A constant that had, in the process, was robbing the younger pair of twins of sleep all the while.

"Admit it, Stanley! All you've ever done is hold me back!" Ford shouted furiously from somewhere down the hall.

"Oh yeah?" Stan's challenge echoed just as loudly through the penthouse. "Well at least I've done way more for you than your old pal Rose ever did!"

"Don't you dare bring Rose into this!"

"Oh my…" Pearl muttered to herself, shaking her head. "It seems I'm not the only one having a hard time moving on…"

"They're still fighting," Mabel groaned into one of the couch's plush pillows. "Which is crazy cause it actually seemed like things were finally going to be ok between those two!"

"But who are we kidding?" Dipper shook his head in resigned defeat. "They've hated each other for this long, why did we ever think there's anything that could make them stop now?"

"You guys can!" Steven interjected earnestly, offering the hopeless twins a hopeful glance. "They love both of you more than they hate each other, I know it! Which is why if there's anyone who could get them to make up, its you two."

For a moment, neither Dipper nor Mabel said anything to this, instead simply meeting Steven's encouraging smile halfheartedly. Until they both decided to go out on a limb in the hopes that such an idea could possibly have some merit. "Well, at this point, I guess it's worth a shot?" Dipper ventured with a small shrug.

Mabel nodded in support of this plan with a reassured smile, though before she could speak to it, the sudden simultaneous slamming of two different doors thundered through the entire penthouse. Something that signaled the fight was over, but the "war" was far from done. "Uh… how about you go talk to Ford while I smooth things over with Stan?" Mabel suggested, figuring that splitting up might be able to help.

"Sounds like a plan," Dipper agreed, both him and Mabel exchanging a hopeful, solidifying nod with Steven before they parted ways. At the same time, the young Gem continued on his own mission, taking Pearl by the hand as he led her out of the suite on an equally important mission all his own.

Meanwhile, Dipper and Mabel wished each other a silent bout of luck as they turned to their respective doors and respective tasks. While initially hesitant, sure enough, Dipper did work up the nerve to finally knock on Ford's door, only to receive a very harsh reception from the other side of it.

"For the last time, Stanley, I'm through wasting my valuable time on your childish games!"

"Uh… actually, it's Dipper…"

Unsurprisingly, Ford didn't hesitate to open the previously locked door for his nephew, greeting him much more fondly than he certainly would have had it really been Stan instead. "Sorry about that, my boy," the author straightened the edges of his suit, calming himself considerably. "What can I do for you, Dipper? It's awfully late, you know."

"Yeah, I do…" Dipper frowned as Ford let him come into the room. "But do you and Grunkle Stan know that?"

"A-ah… so, you heard?" Ford said, somewhat flustered.

"Pretty sure the whole hotel heard…" Dipper said as he sat alongside the author on the edge of the bed. "Great Uncle Ford, I'm sorry, but… I just don't understand."

"Understand what?" Ford asked, confused.

"Why you and Stan won't just… let this huge grudge you guys have for each other go. I mean, I guess I get where that grudge came from in the first place but, who knows? Maybe it's time for the two of you to just bury the hatchet and... start over?"

For the longest time, Ford said nothing to this, instead letting out a long, tired sigh as he stood to face the room's large window overlooking the sleeping city outside it. When he did speak, however, his tone was surprisingly melancholy, perhaps even tinged with hits of both regret and worry alike. "We can't do that, Dipper," he said softly, simply. "And to be perfectly honest, I'm quite surprised that you don't understand why we can't."

"W-what do you mean?" Dipper asked, quite confused himself now.

"Well-and I mean absolutely no offense to Mabel in saying this, but-haven't you ever felt as though she's… weighing you down?"

"I… uh…" Dipper frowned, unsure of what to say to such an odd question.

"Uh… huh?" Mabel asked on the other side of the hall, sitting on a different bed as she watched Stan angrily pace around the room.

"Ford thinks that I need the two of us to make up and be best friends, but I don't, not anymore!" the conman huffed hotly. "I don't need him, I don't need anyone! From here on out, there's only one person I'm lookin' out for and its good ol' numero uno: me! And if you were smart, kid, you'd do the same."

"B-but Grunkle Stan," Mabel protested. "That's no way to be! Why would I only look out for myself when I have so many other people to care about, like you, and Grunkle Ford, and Dipper-"

"Ha! Good luck with that," Stan scoffed bitterly. "I really hate to break it to you, pumpkin, but just you wait. I bet good money that in 10, maybe 15 years time, Dipper will end up leaving you behind for some dumb nerd thing, just like Ford did to me. I love the kid, but let's face it, he's way too much like sixer for his own good."

"But… n-no… Dipper wouldn't…" Mabel muttered, suddenly distraught as her own mind echoed with a question she didn't dare ask aloud: would he?

"N-no, Mabel's never…" Dipper trailed off, unable to honestly finish the thought. For indeed, there had been more than a few times where Mabel's own wants and pursuits had come before his own. The all-too bitter, far too familiar memory of a certain puppet show that led to an ill-fated deal came to mind above all else. And try as he might to shake that memory so many times before, the thought of all it had nearly cost him, of what she had nearly cost him, it was a shadow he'd yet to step out of, even still.

"Dipper, you're a brilliant kid with so much potential," Ford said, turning to his nephew with absolute earnesty. "You shouldn't let anyone, not even your own family, hold you back from all you could achieve. Believe me, that's a mistake I let myself make far too many times in the past, and while it might be a bit too late for me to change that, it's not too late for you."

"Look, Mabel, I just don't want to see you get hurt," Stan sighed, placing a hand on his niece's shoulder. "Better to see it coming and be ready for it than to let it take you by surprise and knock you off your feet. 'Cause take it from me, that's a road you don't wanna go down."

"But… me 'n Dipper aren't like…" "You guys" was what Mabel wanted to say, though she didn't quite have it in her to speak it aloud. So instead, she went off on a different tangent entirely, all the while desperately trying to convince herself, perhaps even more than Stan, that it wasn't true, that it wouldn't be true, that it couldn't be true. Because if it was… she couldn't even begin to imagine just how painful that would really be.

"But… Mabel and I don't… w-we aren't…" Dipper took in a deep breath, trying to steady both himself and the newfound rush of doubts starting to fill him.

"I-I mean… sure, Dipper isn't always on board with my ideas."

"I mean, I know sometimes Mabel can come on a little too strong…"

"And yeah, sometimes he has a bit of a problem of trying to do everything by himself instead of asking for help when he really needs it…"

"And she does sometimes go way overboard and she can be kind of selfish every now and then…"

"And… And… I guess he is just a little, tiny bit-"

"A-and… and she's just so… so-"

"Stubborn." All four Pines said at practically the same exact time, acknowledging the dark thread that seemed to taint their family in more ways than one.

Ford turned back toward the window, shaking his head sadly as another song began, jazzy, yet melancholy in tune and tempo. "He listens, but doesn't hear, he looks, but doesn't see," the author closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of his own faint reflection in the window. A reflection that always seemed to remind him of his twin in some way or another. "I talk, but it's so clear. I'm talking to only me."

Stan scowled, crossing his arms after he finally removed his top hat, glaring briefly toward the door as he began an icy verse all his own. "He acts so smart, all of the time. I'm always wrong, he's always right!" He scoffed, knowing that's always how it had been, ever since they were kids, and even now. A common refrain that had been a constant all his life, one that he had always tried to break out of, but could never quite rise to the occasion, no matter what he did or how hard he tried. "Not worth the effort, and that's why I'm-Done, it's over. Hang up the fight."

Dipper couldn't help but let out a small, sad sigh, recognizing just how many unfortunate, almost painful parallels really did exist between him and Mabel and their uncles. And in light of seeing those parallels clearly for the first time, he was unable to avoid the practically crushing worry that their own usually close bond was just as similarly doomed as their uncles' had been before them. But if it was, then who's fault would that really be, all things considered? The answer to that, seemed so simple. After all, he knew very well whose fault it usually was whenever they ended up falling out with each other. "She acts out, for a response," he began, just a hint of knowing bitterness in his tone. "She acts out, and I don't mind. She always does just what she wants. I'm forced to act, like its just fine." But it wasn't, it never was, because whenever she ended up getting what she wanted, he was always, always the one to lose out in the end.

By this point, Mabel was practically holding back fretful tears, overwhelmed by fear and dread. All coming from the long, singular though that, perhaps even sooner than later, her and Dipper would fall away from each other. That the close bond they both had always known between them would be broken. That they wouldn't need or even want to be around each other anymore when they always had been. Or rather, that he wouldn't want to be around her. "Right by his side, I try to stay," she sang almost mournfully, pulling her knees to her chest as those tears finally began to well up in her eyes. "And it's ok, but it's a lie… He goes alone, on his own way, and when he does, I always cry…"

"And nothing changes," all four of them sang, sharing the same sentiment, the same sharp, yet dull ache ringing through their song and through their hearts all the while. "It's all the same. Despite the ages, it's like a game."

"It's in the family-"

"In the blood."

"It's never over."

"It's like a flood-"

"Of bitter feelings-"

"Of old regrets-"

All things running so deep in their family, so far that it was practically the foundation they were all built upon. A foundation that was crumbling, breaking until the day it would inevitably fall apart completely, taking all of them with it in the process. A day they all knew was coming, but couldn't bear to face.

"It's in the family…"

"Don't forget…"

"It's in the family…"

"We can't forget…"

While Le Hotel's grand restaurant never really closed, it was rather empty at such a late hour of the night. In fact, it's only current patron was Greg, who sat at the bar, dully, dejectedly snacking on a glass full of cherries in the hopes of easing his sorrows. That is, until his sulking was interrupted by an arrival he admittedly hadn't been expecting.

Upon hearing his son clear his throat from behind, Greg turned to find both Steven and surprisingly, Pearl standing alongside him. The white Gem offered him a pensive, awkward smile, though ultimately said nothing. Greg did the same as he stood, even as Steven offered both of them a silent nod, urging them to do what they both knew needed to be done. The only problem was, neither of them had the faintest idea as to where to start.

Which was why Steven decided to take the initiative instead. He marched dutifully over to the restaurant's grand piano, handing off a large stack of cash to the pianist to curtail his inappropriately upbeat ragtime tune. Delighted by the sizable tip, the musician hurried off, leaving the piano open for him to take over with a gentle, earnest melody of his own. One that he hoped would finally accomplish something that should have been done quite some time ago.

"Why don't you talk to each other?" Steven sang up front, catching both Greg and Pearl off guard by just how forward the question really was. "Why don't you talk to each other? Just give it a try."

Despite this soft urging, Greg and Pearl still averted each other's gaze, neither of them knowing what to say to finally break the ice that made up the frozen wall that had been built between them years ago. "Why don't you talk about what happened?" the young Gem continued with a small, yet sad smile. "I know you're trying to avoid it, but I don't know why."

"You might not believe it." The pair slowly, hesitantly turned back toward each other, sparing a brief glance over at Steven along the way as they listened to his lyrics and the warmth and care behind them. "You might not believe it. But you've got a lot in common-you really do…"

"You both love me and I love both of you."

It was true. A fact that neither of them could deny even if they wanted to: that they loved Steven, deeply and fully, just as they both had-albeit in a different way-loved his mother before him. And it was the realization of that fact that, at long last started to bring both of them together.

With tired sighs, Pearl and Greg largely ignored the rest of the restaurant, lying down on the floor as a conversation finally started to brim between the two of them. "Look, if I were you, I'd hate me too," Greg began, looking down fretfully.

"I don't hate you…" Pearl assured softly, earnestly.

"But… I knew how you felt about Rose and I stayed anyway."

"That wasn't the problem…"

"Then… what was?"

"She fell in love with you…"

"Well, you know Rose," Greg sat up, finally cracking a smile. Pearl couldn't help but do the same, sharing that same sort of fondness that they both had-and still did have-towards the pink Gem. Fondness that they always had always had in common, they just hadn't been able to see it until now.

"She always did what she wanted!"

"I know you both need it." On a bout of tearful laughter, the pair stood, and as Greg extended the offer to dance once more, this time, Pearl had no qualms about taking his hand and joining in. "I know you both need it. Someone who knows what you're going through…"

"And you might not believe it." The pair took to the floor, dancing slowly yet cordially along to Steven's song and enjoying it, and the newfound, much-needed solidarity between them all the while. "You might not believe it-but you've got a lot in common, you really do."

"You both love me and I love both of you."

"You both love me and I love both… of you…"

As both the song and the dance came to a close, Pearl and Greg still exchanged a warm smile, one that only grew as the hotel employees came out to applaud their performance. Still, both of them knew there was much more worth celebrating than that. Because for perhaps the first time ever, they could finally see things eye to eye. And the flood of good feels from that alone made both Pearl and Greg never want to return to the bitterness and shame of the past again in favor of embracing a newer, kinder future instead.

This newfound camaraderie was inevitably interrupted however as one hotel staff member came up to Greg with a silver platter, offering it out to him. "Le bill, sir."

As soon as Greg took the bill, he jolted, shocked by just how much of a hefty charge their one night stay had racked up. Of course, he now had more than enough to cover it, but that didn't make the high cost of the life of a nouveau riche any less startling. "Tailor made suits, those cost somethin'," he sang, frowning as he unfolded the lengthy bill to get a glimpse at its full scope. "Room with a view, those cost somethin'."

"Dancing with you…" Pearl interjected with a knowing, playful grin.

"Don't cost nothin'," Greg chimed in gladly, especially as the white Gem let out a small chuckle.

"Why'd we even come? We could have done this at home," she pointed out, eliciting a delighted laugh from Steven as he came over to join them. In fact, that delight continued as they returned up to the penthouse to pack their things, their expensive vacation having come to an end before anymore money could be poured into it. And yet, for relieved as Steven was by the newly cleared air between Pearl and Greg, he quickly realized upon meeting up with Dipper and Mabel again that they hadn't shared the same sort of success when it came to Stan and Ford.

In fact, if anything, all four of the Pines seemed quite forlorn as they prepared to head home, expressions equally downcast and words sparse as they all made the trip back down to the lobby. And as he took stock of this, Steven's own smile couldn't help but fade as well, even if things between Pearl and Greg were still every bit as bright as he had wanted them to be.

"Singing a song, don't cost nothin'," Pearl sang as she helped the former rock star pack up the van. "O-or was it, palling around, don't cost nothin'? Getting it wrong…"

"Don't cost nothing!" Greg cut in with an amused chuckle.

"I tried," the white Gem shrugged.

"I'm surprised you remembered any of it," the former rock star pointed out, still laughing.

"What can I say? Its catchy."

With their time in Emerald City coming to a close, everyone climbed into the van, Pearl and Greg taking the front as they kept each other entertained with reminiscent conversation-most of it focusing on fond memories of Rose-as they began the long trek home. Stan and Ford sat as far apart as they possibly could behind them, arms crossed and moods sour as they both tried to go to sleep to avoid any sort of further interaction. And then, in the back, sat Steven, wedged worriedly between Dipper and Mabel, who, much like their uncles, seemed uneasy at the very thought of so much as even looking at each other, much to the young Gem's confusion.

Steven hadn't the faintest idea as to what had transpired between the twins while he was gone, and at this point, he wasn't sure if he even wanted to ask. And yet, his unspoken question soon got something of an answer in the form of a morose, quiet, yet unwitting duet between the two, one that Steven listened in on with growing concern all the while.

"Tried so hard to fix it all, to let it grow…" Mabel started, her usual cheery tune currently anything but.

"From the ground up, but it wound up that now we know…" Dipper continued with a sigh, staring out the window as the cityscape passed them by.

"Life's too short…" the twins sang together softly, almost mournfully over an agonizing truth they'd never once considered before. And in the process of discovering it, indeed they were a bit wiser, though certainly much more sadder for it.

"To see there's much more out there," Dipper kept his sights on the window as Mabel slowly, fretfully spared a discreet glance past Steven over at him.

"To see that you don't care…" she lamented, fighting back tears.

"Was it them who were wrong?" they both sang, looking toward their uncles sitting in front of them. "Or was it us all along?"

"I wish I saw things clearly," Dipper closed his eyes, shaking his head in gentle frustration.

"I guess I'm not the sort…" Mabel faltered, barely letting a small sob choke out.

"Now all we know as life's too short…"

Silence filled in between the twins at this, striking Steven the hardest as he sat in the middle of it all. While he still didn't know what had really happened, he could tell that whatever had managed to harm them both. That it had broken something between them, even if there was no real telling what.

Which was why the most the young Gem could hope to do was to repair that break before it inevitably ended up tearing two of his closest friends apart.

"But… it's… not over, isn't it?" he sang to himself, echoing Pearl's own song with the same sort of woe and regret the white Gem herself had sang it with.

"It's not over, isn't it?" he sang, even as they left Emerald City and everything that had happened there behind. Or at least, that's all he could do to hope, even as he realized it wasn't true. For as one problem had indeed been solved on this trip, it was all too clear that an entirely new one was only just beginning in its place.

"It's over… isn't it?"

Next:

[overheardatthecontinental]

Congratulations on hitting such a big milestone!!I'm screaming at all of those possible meetings!! As much every single one of them is awesome number 10 is somehow the best!!! Just the mental image of the bogeyman being hustled at pool by a badass nononsense civilian &all of the other assasins sitting there shocked that she beat THEBABAYAGA. Also I picture there being a big bar fight where Helen punches out a ton of people aiming for John not realising that their actually trying to kill him.

Here you go my love 

xoxo

Of all of Viggo’s establishments and properties, Cain’s was without a doubt the only one John Wick would willingly find himself in. Unlike the other clubs and bars, which were chic and modern in design, Cain’s was a dive. There was cheap whiskey and cheaper beer and not much else in selection.

The walls were lined with tattered posters and dart boards Beaten up license plates traced the bar. And there was no room for dancing, thank god. Only pool tables and space for people to sit during Wednesday night trivia.

It was Thursday, though, and the usual crowd of corrupt cops, mob agents, and local drunks were all settled in.

John walked in, eyes sweeping the room. Viggo was in the corner meeting with some business man. It didn’t much matter who. They were all the same. 

Bet set aside from the men gathered in business suits and the female agents and assassins dressed all in black, there was only one who stood out. 

He didn’t recognize her and this was not a place that idly welcomed newcomers.

She was probably ten years younger than him. Give or take.

Average height, average build. Dark brown hair that hung loose as she shot a striped ball into a side pocket with a practiced ease.She stood up, her hair flipping back over her shoulders as she did.

He feels himself swallow and catches himself as he does. Attraction is foreign. He has always had the ability to notice and appreciate beauty, but never has it associated itself with a sense of longing. That is… new.

He looks away and walks over to the bartender and nods. He’s here enough he doesn’t need to order. 

A bourbon is set in front of him and he sips it back. 

“Do you play?” One of Viggo’s lieutenants asks, pulling up a stool near where he stands. “Pool?”

“Used to.”

“But not anymore?”

John shrugs.

The lieutenant huffs ,”What do you do, Wick? Kill people and sleep?”

John shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah.”

“And that’s it?”

“Sometimes I eat.”

A beat passes, “You really are something. You eat, you sleep, and you kill. Efficient. Like a motherfucking machine. Barely even human. I guess you’d have to be, doing what you do.”

John stays silent, taking another sip of bourbon.

“But come on? No hobbies? Nothing you do to kill time? You go to the movies? The theater?”

He raises his hand to the bartender, signalling for another and looks back at Viggo’s lieutenant. Petyr? Pietro? He couldn’t remember as his eyes glazed passed him to the woman playing pool.

“I bind books.” He admits.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Binding books? It means I take old, tattered books and I put them back together.”

“Why?”

John blinks in confusion, “because they’re broken. They need to be fixed.”

From behind the lieutenant he can see that woman bend down low towards the table, letting her eyes line up with the last ball. The eight. “Corner pocket.” She says and her voice is soft and sweet and it makes him suddenly aware of how fast his heart can beat. 

“Christ. You really don’t know how to have fun do you?” The lieutenant follows John’s gaze passed himself to the pool table and the woman, now sinking the final ball. “Or maybe you do.” He looks back at John, “Huh. Guess you are human.”

John looks away as the bartender slips him a new drink. “Never claimed I wasn’t.”

“Maybe not. But you sure act like you aren’t. You got a girl, Wick?”

John downs the drink quickly. “No.”

The lieutenant glances back as the woman collects a wad of cash from whoever she just demolished. “She’s hot.”

He shrugs, not really sure of what to say. She was beautiful. That little smile on her face as she sat on the edge of the pool table, sipping at her own drink. She was listening, nodding along to whatever the few men gathered around her were saying. 

One of the man says something that makes her laugh and then he turns, loudly calling out the bar, “200 dollars down, if you can beat this woman!” 

The lieutenant grins and John feels his arm being thrown up into the air. His immediate urge is to throw a punch but he remembers where he is in time, just as Viggo’s man calls out, “I got a live one for you!”

“What are you doing?” John asked, pulling his hand back down. 

“Getting you to do something with your life other than kill, sleep, or binding books.”

“Binding books?” The woman asks, stepping over to where they stand. “Interesting work.”

“Keeps me busy.” John replies, “But I’m all set on the pool.”

“Oh?” She slides up to the bar, standing between John and the lieutenant. “Afraid?”

“Of you?” It’s hard not to smile as he asks the question. She might be good at pool but even in the black vest and tight pants, she looked like an out of place angel more than anything else.

“I’m an intimidating woman.” She says it with a sweet little smirk that makes his pants feel just a bit too tight.

“I bet.”

“Come on, handsome. I’ll make it worth your while. An extra two-hundred bucks in your pocket ain’t nothing.”

“Two hundred bucks will do little for me.”

“Then let’s go higher. Three hundred? Five hundred?” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the wad of cash she’s won. “Hell, if you beat me, I’ll give you the five hundred and I’ll let you buy me a drink.”

That was… pretty damn tempting.

“Life is short, Wick.” The Lieutenant raises a glass to him.

“So is my offer.” The woman tilts her head to the side, “How about it?”

A moment passes and he feels his head nod. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and pulls out five hundred dollar bills and hands it to the liutenant. The woman counts out five hundred and passes it to him as well.

 She reaches out and grabs his hand. “Come on.” She says, moving a few steps backwards and pulling him out of his seat. He finds himself following her, almost helplessly, ignoring the eyes that were on him as he did something so uncharacteristically John Wick. 

John feels his throat go tight. She is so very close to him. He was going to kill Petyr or Pietro or whatever the bastard’s name was. 

Viggo would have a field day with this.

“I’m Helen, by the way.”

“John.”

She shoots him a smile, “Nice to meet you, John.” She releases his hand to grab him a pool stick. “Do you want to break?”

“All yours.”

She takes her own and walks to the other side of the table and lines up her shot. She draws back and slams forwards, sending the cue ball flying into the others. She sinks two striped balls before standing and smiling at him. “Stripes.”

She shoots again and sinks a third. Her fourth shot is a miss but not an aimless hit as it rocks one closer to the side for her.

John crosses to the other side, idly noting the attention they were getting. The lieutenant was now taking bets, scratching them down onto the back of a receipt.

He lines up his shot and sinks his first ball. Then the next. 

Helen smiles softly as she watches his technique, the way he lines up and shoots.

She was utterly beautiful just standing there but that smile, directed at him… breathtaking. There was no other way to describe it.

He wasn’t sure what to do with it. She was just a girl. Someone in a bar, who he would likely never see again.

He misses his next shot and tries to blame it on something other than his own captivation with the woman in front of him.

With a practiced ease he wasn’t expecting, she slips around the table. Shot after shot after shot, sinking another three balls.

There is a commotion around them. A few assassins lining up and watching, throwing “ooohh!”s out every time Helen sunk a ball.She shoots again and sinks the last of the striped balls. In only five minutes, she has already nearly cleared the table.

The eight ball is in the middle of several of his. She frowns as she walks around the table. 

“Side pocket.” She says but her goal isn’t to sink it, just to get it out of the way. She does so and John looks at the table.

He’s sunk three. Which means he has to get five to stop her from winning.

“Ooh, Wick, you're fucked!” Someone calls from the bar.

He ignores them, walking around, trying to figure out his best course of action. Where can he shoot to successfully sink a ball but not screw himself over with the next shot?

He sinks the first easily. And the second.

He lines up his third shot.

“Fuck it up!” Someone calls from the bar and there is a chorus of cheers. 

He feels the stick slip as it goes in motion, knocking the cue ball forward but not nearly enough for it to sink his intended target.

Helen says nothing as she lines up again, “Corner pocket.” She shoots and it sinks.

The audience accumulated erupts in equal measures of cheers and groans.

“The fuck was that, Wick?” One calls, “That was shite!”

“I bet good money on you, man!”

“Wick just got his ass handed to him!”

“Toke, can I get the bill?” Helen calls to the bartender before looking back at John. “Don’t listen to them. You weren’t terrible.”

John shrugs, “But you won. Well done. Double or nothing?”

She tilts her head, “Book binding money really that good?”

“Better than you’d think.”

She hums, “Alright. If you think you’re up for it?”

There is no small amount of hooting and hollering from their audience as Wick takes out the rest of the money from his wallet and hands it over to the Lieutenant.

“That hurt to watch, Wick. You best get your ass in gear.”

John gives him a small glare before walking back to the table. “Rack it up.”

The bartender brings her the bill and she signs off, snatching the pencil before it is taken away. She wraps her hair up and slides the pencil back to keep her loose bun in place.

“Want to break this time?” She asks and John shrugs.

John nods, “Okay.”

He shoots and the balls scatter. None sink, much to his dismay.

“It’s okay.” She tells him, walking around and lining up her own shot, “Sometimes it takes a while for a guy to get his balls to drop.”

“OH SHIT!” One of the guys yells and he does his best to ignore the clambering.

She sinks the first one she aims for, calling stripes for herself yet again.

“That was terrible.” He says, the slightest hint of a smile on his face as she lines up her second shot.

She throws a wink in his direction and drops the next. And the next. And the next.

Five in, three to go. Compared to his shit break, leaving him eight and oh.

John rolls his eyes and starts to line up a shot. He taps the ball forward and it knocks into a couple but only a striped ball falls in.

“Thanks.” Says Helen, “But I could have gotten that one on my own.”

He sends a mocking glare in her direction.

“Christ, Wick. Anyone ever tell you that you fucking suck at pool? My twelve-year-old sister could beat you.”

John looks up. “Gonzalez. Haven’t seen you in New York before.”

Helen shoots, knocking the ball in a better position but not sinking it.

“I try not to see New York at all, but business is business. Especially now that Padron, may he rest in peace, is no longer here to facilitate our needs. I heard you may have had something to do with that.”

John scans the bar yet again. Viggo has noticed Gonzalez, along with a few of his cartel lackeys. He raises an eyebrow at John who returns his attention to the game. Helen is watching carefully, her chin resting on the end of her pool stick.

“A lot of people had something to do with that.”

“I’m aware. And believe me, they’ll get what’s coming to them. But right now I’m asking about you.”

John takes a shot and the ball slams into one of his, finally sinking. 

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t involved.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t have to.” John sinks another ball, “But it’s the truth.”

He lines up and misses the next one.

“Good effort.” Helen says, patting him on the back as she steps in. She easily sinks one. “Corner pocket.” She tells him before she even begins to line up.

“Christ, Wick. I came here to kill you and now I just feel bad.” Gonzalez said. “Do you want to finish your game or can I end your misery now?”

The man to Gonzalez’s left had his hand on his gun.

“Do you have a problem?” She says, turning around and looking at Gonzalez. “I’m trying to take all the money this man has and, honestly, you’re being a little distracting.”

“Helen…” John starts to cut off.

“No, seriously.” She says stepping forward. “Because, honestly, this is getting to be a little too much and I’m not here for it. He said he wasn’t involved. So unless you’re here to get a drink or you want to get in line so that I can empty your wallet too, I suggest you leave.”

One of the lackeys looks to Gonzalez “Esta perra nos esta hablando?” Is this bitch talking to us?

John opens his mouth, ready to intervene and diffuse the situation before it got out of hand but Helen steps past him.

“Si, puta.” Yes, whore. He winces as the perfect Spanish pours from her lips, “Esta perra te esta hablando.” This bitch is talking to you.

The man reaches for his gun but before he can grasp it, Helen’s fist has shot out and there is an audible crack followed by a loud groan. She smacks his hand away from his gun and punches him again, square in the jaw.

Gonzalez moves to strike but before he can, Helen drops low and swipes his legs out with a quick kick. He hits the floor and before John can process anything, the entire room has erupted. The assassins, who had been watching from the sidelines, were not people who stood idly by.

John grabs the edge of the pencil and pulls it through Helen’s bun, spinning it in his hand so that the sharp end is facing out. 

Gonzalez’s second lackey goes for his gun as Helen kicks their leader in the nuts. John surges forward, stabbing the pencil into the temple and yanking it out, only to let the man slip to the floor with a soft thud. 

Confusion has broken out. Another one of Gonzalez’s men makes a move to grab Helen. John cuts him off, stepping in front of him as Helen punches an assassin from the bar who made the mistake of trying to get in her way. 

John holds the pencil upright against the pool table and brings the man’s head down on it, letting it crack his skull and pierce his brain simultaneously. He turned the man over, yanking the pencil out with one hand and grabbing a pool cue in the other. He launches it across the room, smacking the hand of an assassin reaching for a gun.

Come one, they all knew better than to bring guns into it this close to the public.

A gunshot would only bring the real policeman and no one wanted that bureaucratic mess. 

Helen seems to be handling herself rather well for a woman who presented so soft.

She grabbed a pool stick off the ground and broke it over her knee. She used the ends to repeatedly smack Gonzalez in the head now that he was back on his feet.

John swore aloud, quickly inserting himself between Helen and Gonzalez. He gave her a little unsuspecting nudge towards another, less important a game piece in the grand scheme of their world.

She continued to smack her new target with the ends of the pool stick.

“Shouldn’t have come here, Gonzalez.” John says, dodging a punch that the man throws his way. “Should know better than to pull this shit here.”

“I didn’t start it,” Gonzalez snarls, nodding his head at Helen. “Nice bitch. Is she yours?”

John decks him hard in the side of the head and Gonzalez stumbles back. “Not yet.” He says, kicking him so that he crashed into the wall behind him. “But she’s going to be.” 

John brings the pencil back up, stabbing it hard into Gonzalez’ eye and as deep as it would go.

He leaves it, letting another body hit the ground, spinning back to see the scene that unfolded.

A few assassins had joined the fight, unsure what else to do but the cartel had been taking care of. What was left was idle bullshit.

Everyone else was just sitting at their tables or the bar, watching without much care. 

Viggo raised his drink to him and John resisted the urge to shake his head. Instead, he approached Viggo’s lieutenant, still sipping at his own drink.

“Give me the money.” John says.

“You guys didn’t finish.”

John blinks, “I stabbed a man on the table. Pretty sure the game is over. She would’ve won anyway.”

The Lieutenant shrugs, “Make sure she gets her money.”

John rolls his eyes as if there was any other possibility, and walks back over to where Helen is lashing out right and left.

She knocks a man to the ground and John grabs her wrist. She spins around to attack him with her other hand but John catches that wrist, too. Helen blinks up at him in surprise and he uses the moment to release her and catch her low along her waist. Easily, he hikes her up into the air and tosses her over his shoulder and walks out the bar, ignoring the carnage that had been left in their wake.

“What’re you doing?” She shouts to him as the door closes behind him, “I wasn’t fucking finished.”

“You are.” John says and sets her down in the parking lot. “Trust me, you kicked more than enough ass in there.”

Her nostrils flair. “I don’t like bullies.”

“And by the way most of them are on the ground, bleeding, I’m guessing they don’t like you.”

He hands her the cash and she shakes her head, taking it and immediately handing back half. “I didn’t win the last game.”

“You were going to.”

“Maybe. But it’s not over till it's over.”

“Pretty sure it’s over in there.” John gives her a soft smile, “Don’t think I’ve ever had anyone stand up for me like that.”

She shrugs a shoulder. “I didn’t like the way he was talking to you.” Helen takes a step closer, narrowing her eyes, “You hurt at all?”

John shakes his head, “No.”

Helen hums. “You need a ride home?” He opens his mouth to politely decline but she has already turned on her heal, “What’s your address?”

“I’m staying at the Continental Hotel.” He recites the address quietly and follows her over to a slick and trim Kawasaki Ninja. “This is yours?” John asks. 

She grins at him. “Don’t have a helmet with me that will fit you but I promise to drive the speed limit.”

Somehow he doubted that but he smiled, nonetheless.

“Are you sure?”

“That hotel of yours got a bar?”

“It does.”

She takes a finger and playfully pokes him in the chest. “I believe you owe me a drink.”

“You might be right.”

“I’m positive.” Helen tells him, “And I intend to collect upon that.”

She mounts the bike and takes it off the kickstand. With a nod of her head, he climbs on behind her.

“Hold tight.” She tells him.

John tries not to smile at the irony. Once he held on, he might never let go.

...

To be continued???

@shanjedi

[fatathlon]

IRONMAN 70.3 Indian Wells – La Quinta – Race Recap

* A video version of this race recap can be found on my YouTube channel here.

A triathlon is a game of contradiction.

You spend hours, weeks, months training for something that lasts moments of your life. Improve at one sport by mastering three. Train slower to race faster. Race slower to race faster. Do it alone, surrounded by people. Never see a finish line as the end.

One of the most challenging contradictions is the trap of identity. To do well, you have to immerse yourself in training for long periods of time. It can become you; consume you. And then what is objectively a meaningless act of physical exertion assumes a station in your life that it never deserved. And you are left with nothing but finish times and medals, to gather dust because nobody cares.

I thought about these contradictions a lot during my training for my first Ironman 70.3 race in Indian Wells – La Quinta California. It seemed fitting in this vein of contradiction that I would train in the cold and snow in order to race in the warm desert. I hoped that by recognizing the contradictions inherent in what I was doing, I could avoid that most challenging trap, and come away with an experience, rather than just another race.

After Musselman in July, I took a break for a few weeks, and then started training again. I had a few minor injuries, which were challenging, but for the most part my training was consistent. I did some bike fitting and got a set of aerobars on my bike. Winter arrived early in Vermont; we had snow on the ground before Thanksgiving. So most of my riding was indoors. I ran outside as much as I could. And weather doesn’t matter in the pool, of course.

Swimming was a major area of focus for me this fall. I got a second swim analysis and really worked on my technique. I was able to take another ten seconds off my 100-yard time, and by December I was swimming faster on average than I ever had.

I had also been trying to eat smarter, both to be healthier and to drop extra weight. With the help of a friend, I definitely had some success here, though it added some stress to our family routine. Kids like what they like.

I was a little concerned about flying my bike to California, because I had only done it once before and I didn’t have to assemble it myself when I arrived that time. So I broke it down and packed it up at the bike shop so I could get guidance with questions that I had and hands-on help from Darren, my friend who owns Vermont Bicycle Shop. I felt a lot more confident once it was all ready to go.

The flights were pretty uneventful, and we made it to San Diego in one piece — including my bike. One of the first things I did was put it back together; I wanted to make sure I would have enough time to solve any problems that came up. Luckily, there didn’t seem to be any and the assembly went pretty smoothly.

The Catamount, my custom Orbea Terra, ready to ride

We spent a few days with my brother’s family in San Diego, hiking at Torrey Pines and playing on the beach. It was a nice way to get acclimated to the environment. It wasn’t as warm as I thought it would be, but it definitely was a lot warmer than Vermont. Locals on the beach were dressed in winter coats and hats, but our girls thought it was the perfect weather for swimming in the Pacific.

Before long it was time to drive to Indian Wells. The amazing scenery on that drive took us all by surprise. We stopped for a moment but the day before the race was very busy so there wasn’t a lot of time for sight-seeing.

After getting the family settled at the hotel, I had my first Ironman athlete check-in experience and got to see the pro panel, which included the eventual race winners Lionel Sanders and Paula Findlay. I checked my run gear in to T2, a little overwhelmed by the enormity of the transition area. Then it was time for a half-hour drive to the swim start and T1, to see the swim course, check in my bike and decontaminate my wetsuit before hanging it on the racks where it would stay until race morning. I made sure to mark it well so I wouldn’t have any trouble finding it.

My day would have gone quite differently if it hadn’t been for my teammate Lacy. She and her husband gave me a lift to the shuttle buses, which was already a great help by itself, but when she mentioned her water bottles I realized I had forgotten something at the hotel. Specifically, all of my hydration. It was still sitting in my refrigerator. They drove me back so I could retrieve them and I was so grateful. Luckily we were up early enough that it didn’t affect our day — we got on a bus with no waiting and were off to the start area.

I knew the water would be cold. The reported temperature that morning was just under 59 degrees. There was no warm-up swim. We stood in line at the rolling start for a long time before finally getting into the water. And then, finally, after everything, I was racing.

The first one or two hundred meters were tough. I was hyperventilating from the shock of the water temperature and struggling to relax and find my rhythm. I expected that, but it didn’t make it any easier. Finally I settled in, though, and found my zone. It was clear pretty quickly that I should have seeded myself further forward; nobody around me was actually swimming at the pace they lined up for. I was crawling over people all the way. My goggles half-filled with water but I ignored it since I could still see. When I finally crawled out of the lake, I had a personal best time of 34 minutes. By my watch, I had swum ten seconds per 100 yards faster than my first 70.3 in July.

As I mounted my bike, I readied myself mentally to face the biggest contradiction of the day. I had programmed the wattage target my coach and I agreed on into my bike computer, and I was going to stick to that number like superglue. The paradox of my plan was that the number was low. It was lower than I had expected. It was lower than it was at my first 70.3, and it was low relative to my power profile. It was so low that it meant I’d be doing what amounted to a zone 2 ride for the entirety of the bike leg.

The plan was predicated on the knowledge that the course was pancake flat, and that triathlons succeed or fail on the run. We would conserve energy on the bike, allowing my inertia to do most of the work, and hopefully get off the bike with enough in the tank to really drop the hammer.

So what the bike ended up being was a test of patience, rather than fitness. My heart rate stayed low, peaking only at the very start during the excitement of transition and climbing a tiny hill out of transition. I spent a lot of the time focused on avoiding drafting as much as I could, but it was pretty difficult considering that the roads were absolutely packed with riders. That forced me to surge occasionally, but it was okay because the course was so flat.

The first 20 miles flew by so fast that I was actually surprised when I saw the mile marker sign. At 30 miles I felt no worse; very comfortable and just cruising along. It was a strong contrast to my last race, where the 30 mile marker saw me doing pretty solid work. I began to get excited about the paradoxical plan as evidence in its favor continued to build. That naturally inclined me to want to push harder, but I redoubled my efforts to stay focused and in my target zone.

The highlight of the bike course by far was the Thermal Raceway, which is a private racetrack for cars that we got to ride around on. My watts went up on that section for sure, but it was a match that was worth burning. It’s a unique experience to ride your bike around a banked track with perfect pavement, designed for million dollar super cars. I had a lot of fun there.

The rest of the course was technically uphill but the gradient was so gradual, I barely noticed. I rode into T2 just 2 watts over my target. My family was cheering at the dismount line, which was a nice boost going into the start of my run.

After racking my bike and strapping on my running shoes, I started out on the final leg, to see if the contradictions would be resolved. Here I was, running in the heat and sun after training for months in the cold and snow. Here I was, having biked slowly on purpose to see if I could do a faster race. And here I was, after weeks of training at a jog, pushing my legs to go fast, and stay fast.

I have always run fast out of transition, because it takes a mile or two before my legs really feel normal and I can tell how my body is actually doing. At my first 70.3, I slowed that pace after the first aid station, feeling that I would have to conserve energy to make it through the run without shutting down. This day, though, I felt strong. I felt no such impending decline. I felt like I could hold the pace. So I didn’t slow down.

The run followed asphalt roads for a couple of miles before turning off onto a golf course, where it tracked around the greens on a winding, undulating path that was a mix of concrete, dirt and grass. There were no long straightaways, no places to hide from the course. It was highly dynamic and constantly changing.

A conclusion I had drawn from my first 70.3 was that I had been underfueled. This time, I ate and drank everything I could get my hands on during the run. I think I probably ate two or three whole bananas, a half at a time, plus several gels and all the coke, gatorade and red bull I could grab. I didn’t slow down during the aid stations; I didn’t want to lose my inertia. At one point I took a cup of ice, dumped it in my hat and packed it onto my head. The contrasts had never been more stark — at home I had been wearing winter hats to keep the snow off my head; today, I was deliberately packing ice onto my scalp.

It was a two-lap course which meant that I had to run agonizingly close to the finish line at around mile seven, only to have to turn around and do the entire thing one more time. Now I knew what to expect, though, and I knew where to push and where I could relax. Now all I had to do was hold my pace.

When the second lap of the course started to beat me, I focused on my family, waiting for me at the finish, and steeled myself in the resolve to make this all worth it. What was the point of asking so much of them, to support my training, to spend an entire day of our vacation standing around, if I didn’t make it worth it? I wasn’t going to slow down for anything.

The last couple of miles were hard and my pace started to slip a little bit, but I was still moving faster than I had ever really expected. I found my family just before the finish line, gave everybody high-fives, and then took it over the line. It was a personal best by a long margin, with personal records in every part of the race. I almost couldn’t believe it, but there it was.

If there’s one thing I learned from this race experience, it’s that you can’t always see contradictions as obstacles. Sometimes, they are puzzle pieces in a larger pattern that you can’t fully recognize until you’ve put it all together. You can’t always resist the things that don’t make sense; sometimes, you have to lean into them, make them part of your plan and see them through to the end. And that’s when you can find clarity.

We closed out our trip with a drive through Joshua Tree National Park, marveling at the natural beauty of the desert before boarding our plane to fly back into winter. With California behind us, it was time to look forward to a new year, and new contradictions.

Watch the video version of this race recap:

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[aweebwrites]

Seven Deadly Sins 2

Warning: Lots of swearing and suggestive themes.

____________

(Y'all. I just wanna thank the heck out of @thelucariosfish for beta-ing this! They're the best!)

___________________

“I know what you two are.” The man says, trailing after Lloyd and Jay.

“Oh?” Lloyd says, voice sounding disinterested.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Got any money? We can strike a deal~” Jay hummed, looking the man over for any more cash since he already stole his wallet.

“Jay, you know we don’t do deals.” Lloyd says irritiby, just wanting to murder his target and go home.

“You don’t but I do.” Jay grinned at him then back at the man. “So? Cash? I accept gold and gems too. Anything of value really.” He says, walking in front of the man backwards, peering into his shirt pocket.

“But what if what I need is more money?” The man questioned and Jay tapped his chin, walking backwards still.

“Nah.” Jay sighed then turned around, walking next to Lloyd dejectedly. “I was hoping for some more cash, you know? What's the point in helping you get cash when I need it myself.” He huffed.

“You really don't.” Lloyd ssys drily, glancing across at him.

“Want, need. Potato, potato.” Jay says, waving it off.

“You're not supposed to refuse me!” The man sputtered and both Lloyd and Jay glanced back to see the man following them still.

“You're still here? You better scram while you can. You have nothing worth doing and nothing to offer.” Jay says dismissively and the man blinked at him as he stopped.

He gritted his teeth.

“Either you make me a millionaire or I tell everyone your little secret.” He threatened and Jay stopped in his tracks.

“Oh?” He says, looking over his shoulder at the mortal with glowing blue eyes, a wide grin on his face that revealed glistening fangs. “You sir, are a very brave mortal.” He says, walking up to the confident man who reeked of fear and anxiety.

“I like that.” Jay says, crossing his arms as he stopped in front of the man who looked relieved. “But not enough to let you live.” He whispered and the man's eyes widened.

He looked down, seeing Jay's hand through his chest. He pulled his hand back then licked a drop of blood away from his claws as the man watched breathlessly. He then collapsed and Jay walked off, towards Lloyd who was waiting on him while people screamed and ran.

“You know, these Touched Ones are getting on my nerves.” Jay says, wiping his hand with the handkerchief in the man's wallet as they continued walking. “Lordie should really keep his warriors out of our business.” He huffed, tossing the kerchief aside.

“Fucker should stay dead. He's been sending his soldiers to patrol Ninjago City more often. We'll have to let Wu know what's going on. We might have to lessen our time hunting here or else he'll send his Generals and we'll be in some deep shit.” Lloyd says, still pondering a target.

“We can take them.” Jay huffed.

“Yes. Together. But if they catch just one or even two of us, we won't stand much of a choice. The Warriors are indestructible and the Droids are unkillable. While killing us will only send us back to the Underworld, dying doesn't hurt any less. Not to mention you guys can't simply pop out whenever you want. It could take as short as a week for my dad to prep the spell to get you guys back in the mortal realm. And let's not forget about the time it'll take to heal from their purifying weapons.” Lloyd reminded him and Jay grumbled.

“I heard purifying. Tell me you guys didn't run into any Warriors or Droids…” Nya says from the comms.

“No. None whatsoever. Just a Touched One.” Jay reported, snagging a hundred dollar bill hanging out of a woman's purse in passing. “Honestly. If they keep blessing people with the ability to see us as we truly are, we won't be able to have as much fun anymore.” He complained, holding the bill up to check if it's real before pocketing it.

“I could still get by, even if they do know what I really look like.” Nya huffed and Lloyd rolled his eyes then glanced up at the buildings as he walked, sharp vision able to see people moving around inside.

They're all damned lucky that have such great apartments and buildings to work in. He heard the engines of a car rev and glanced back to see the sleek car driving up from a few blocks down. Sunglasses, expensive watch, cocky grin, pretty woman in the passenger seat. Bingo.

“Finally found someone, huh?” Jay says with a smirk, seeing the sneer on Lloyd's face.

One he usually wore after finding someone particularly lucky.

“Careful. Jay just killed someone. I don't have any Warriors or Droids on radar in your vicinity but these morherfuckers have a way of appearing.” That was Morro.

“I know that. Keep your fangs in.” Lloyd huffed as he gathered his green energy in hand, fueling it with his jealousy.

While he knew how to drive, he certainly didn't have a car, worse one as fancy or fast as that one is. He could see it all. This little fucker had a penthouse suite all to himself. Lloyd didn't even have a room for himself! Why the hell must they have all the good things while he was fucking stuck where he was? Dad said it was good for him and his powers, for him to live in an abandoned stupid fucking ship with his uncle, cousin and 5 others. Three of whom are almost always fucking. He can't catch a fucking break and this piece of shit with his good looks and shitty personality got to have it all! Fuck him very much. He watched as the car drove up before launching his green energy at it, walking forward still. He didn't look back when the car suddenly exploded, flipping past them and slamming into a stoplight, breaking the car in two as it brought down the stoplight.

“Wow. That guy really pissed you off huh?” Jay says with a grin, knowing those two will be feeling that in the Underworld for possibly years to come.

“Fucker has everything and he's the biggest asshole I've ever come across.” Lloyd growled low and Jay perked up at that.

“Everything?” He says and Lloyd glanced at him warily. “Don't look at me like that! Think about it. He's dead now. It'll take a day or two for his things to be moved out to his family. Why not indulge? This is your chance to have a taste of what you really deserve...” Jay purred, tail flicking back and forth.

“... You just want his valuables.” Lloyd says flatly, even as he changed directions to where the hotel was.

“You know me so well.” Jay grinned.

“Hey, if you guys are going to crash an upscale place, I want in. Hotel food is fucking amazing.” Cole says from the comms.

“Fuck yeah. Give us an address. We'll meet you there.” Morro says and Jay grinned at Lloyd.

“Fine.”

________________

“Ho-ly shit.” Cole says as he looked around the huge penthouse suite.

Glass windows all around, white themed furniture, crystal chandelier, open concept everything… This place was obviously for the elite.

“Found the kitchen Cole!” Nya yelled out and that was all Cole needed to hear, darting off.

“It's not bad…” Zane says, uninterested then yawned.

“I've been here before. I had a target here. But the place wasn't this grand.” Kai says as he looked around, a silk robe he picked up half off his shoulders. “Plus, he had a small dick anyway.” He added, stroking his hand over the white leather couch before looking to Zane with a mischievous smile.

“I do remember the bed though. Softest, most comfortable bed in all of Ninjago. I'll take you to it if you let me fuck you…” He purred as he sauntered over, his tail coiling around his limp one. “Pretty please? I'll make it worth your while…” He whispered as he nosed along his jaw, up to Zane's ear.

“Fine. Whatever.” Zane sighed and Kai's eyes lit up.

“Just hurry up and get the fuck out of here.” Morro says, irritated before using his power over wind to blow the windows all open. “Much better.” He says, flopping down next to Lloyd who picked up the remote on the coffee table.

“Let's see…” He says then pressed the button for tv.

“Woah.” Nya says from where she was leaning against the back of the couch, all three of them watching as a large panel opened up, revealing a 60” flat screen TV.

“... Fucking bastard.” Lloyd whispered, looking at it in awe.

“Please tell me that this guy has video games.” Morro says as he got up and walked over to the cabinet beneath the tv and opened it.

He grinned once he saw four controllers, a game station and several disks.

“Fuck the hell yes.”

_________

“Alright. Now that the visible valuables have been taken…” Jay says, glancing over at the sack full of electronics, paintings, vases and things he knew he could sell for a huge sum of money. “Time to find the safes.” He says, rubbing his hands together, generating electricity.

“Alright tail. Do your thing.” He says, glancing back at it before walking away.

His tail was like a metal detectors except it finds money. He discovered that his tail tends to move towards and linger in areas with a large amount of money just 10 years back. It was never wrong. He walked around the bedroom, ignoring Kai and Zane as they made a mess of themselves then out to the living room where Morro was snarling along with Lloyd as Nya beat them at whatever game they were playing. He refused to believe this asshole didn't have at least two safes here. He walked into the kitchen where Cole had the kitchen island full of empty wrappers and bottles, leaving no morsel of food behind. He was getting impatient when he felt his tail move on its own. He stopped and looked back. The… The fridge? Well. That's creative. He opened the empty fridge looking around. His tail slithered in, making him shiver once it pressed itself against the back of it.

“Fucking tails and sensitivity.” He mumbled then looked at his claws, willing one to become taller.

He then traced it along the back of the fridge then paused once he came across a hitch in the smooth plastic. He then pried it open and huffed at the high tech safe just behind.

“Well I'll be damned. This guy was paranoid as fuck.” He says then gathered his electricity and pressed his hand against the handprint slot, smirking once his electricity overrode it and opened the safe.

“Holy fucking shit!” Jay yelled in glee at what the safe held.

“What is it?” Cole asked as he walked over before guzzling a bottle of mustard.

“This guy was fucking loaded!” Jay says, taking out a bar of motherfucking gold from the safe.

One of six stacked neatly inside.

“Oh fuck yes.” Jay laughed as he grabbed them all then dropped them with a gasp at what lay behind. “Is that a fucking diamond?!” He yelled then snatched it.

He looked the palm sized gem over in the light then bit at an edge. Pain flared up once the tip of his fangs were broken.

“Oh yeah. This is the real deal.” Jay says, knowing his fangs will regenerate in a few minutes.

“Hey, who has any idea what this guy sounded like. I'm gonna order room service.” Cole says as he watched Jay slip the gold into a bag he pulled from virtually nowhere.

“Check his phone. It's in the sack over there. Put it back when you're done though.” Jay says, shooting Cole a glare and he walked away to where the sack was.

He spotted it on top then blew warm air over the screen, seeing his unlock pattern and unlocked the phone. He searched through then found a few voice messages. He listened to his voice keenly before dropping the phone in the bag and walking over to the phone on the wall.

“Hello, room service?” He spoke into the phone, mimicking the man's voice perfectly. “Yes, I'd like a continental dinner buffet delivered to my suite in 15 minutes… I don't fucking care about short notice. Either you get it here in 15 or I'll move elsewhere… Good.” He says then slammed the phone back in its holder.

“They better hurry up. I'm starved.” Cole says, stretching.

“You’re always starved.” Jay huffed as he stood, zipping the bag closed and keeping it very close to his person. “Someone should save Zane. Kai might ride him to death.” He commented before he went looking for more safes.

Cole considered it then shrugged. It would be something good to pass the time with… With that, he headed off to the bedroom. Morro on the other hand chucked his controller at the tv, cracking it.

“Fuck this! You cheated Nya!” He snarled at her.

“I don't need to cheat to beat you.” Nya huffed, tossing her controller on the coffee table.

“I literally saw you short circuit his controller with water.” Lloyd says, dropping his controller.

“I already said I don't need to cheat. Something is just wrong with your eyes.” She huffed and Lloyd rolled his eyes, knowing better than to try and get her to admit something.

“You fucking liar!” Morro yelled, wind angrily churning through the penthouse as he did.

“Hey! Watch it!” Jay yelled from on the ceiling, stuffing money into his bag, the wind making one or two bills blowing out of the safe.

“Cool it already. The TV's busted and I'm bored now. Let's just go home already.” Lloyd huffed with a glare, hands tucked into his pockets.

“Good luck getting Kai to stop fucking long enough to leave.” Nya says as Morro seethed still, already plotting revenge.

“He won't need to.” Jay says as he hopped down from the ceiling and grabbing the bills that fell. “Cole's taking over from Zane and he ordered room service. They should be here any minute now.” He says as he straightened.

Just then, there was a ding, signaling that the private elevator was in use.

“See?” Jay grinned.

“Cole! Food's here!” Nya yelled and there was silence for a few seconds before he was walking towards them, buttoning his pants with his shirt thrown over his shoulder.

He had a lot of hickies for such a short time…

“Come on. I was almost there…” Kai protested, following after him, wearing only the robe which meant…

“Fuck Kai. Don't walk out here with a boner. What the fuck.” Lloyd says with a grimace, looking away.

“Yeah, well-”

Kai was cut off when the elevator opened. Their eyes widened. In the elevator stood a tall figure with similar, smaller figures behind them. They all wore red and silver armor, the smaller ones wearing black capes while the leader wore a sliver one. Warriors.

“Room service.” Kozu- first fucking General- says with his holy swords gripped in all four hands.

“Run!” Jay yelled and they dashed, heading for the nearest window.

Cole barely dodged a hit from Kozu's sword and Morro turned around, using his wind to blow him back- or at least he tried. He was made differently from all the rest. He was heavier. Morro grunted as he was head-butted, the force sending him flying across the space and into one of few walls in the suite.

“Fucker!” He grunted as he pulled himself out of the concrete, blood running down his face.

“Come on Morro! We have to go!” Lloyd says, yanking him back.

“Not until I teach this asshole a lesson!” Morro growled, his skin blackening as his fangs lengthened, white markings appearing on his face.

“I run from no-one!” Nya growled, shrugging Cole off of her.

“God dammit I-”

“No wait!” Kai says, cutting Lloyd off. “Zane is still in the room. We can't leave him. You go get him and we'll hold them off as best as we can.” He told him seriously and Lloyd growled, hating that even with almost nothing but fucking on his mind, he can still be level headed enough to remember Zane and think of a plan.

“Fine. Alright. Don't do anything stupid.” Lloyd warned then took off.

“I've always wanted to kick a General's ass.” Nya says, cracking her fists as Kai passed on the plan to the others.

“We shall see that about that.” Kozu says then looked to his subordinates and nodded at them.

All six of them stepped back.

“Oh? Aren't you cocky. Think you can take all of us on by yourself?” Morro asked with a sneer.

“What's there to complain about? It'll be easier to take him down.” Cole says as he grinned, revealing thick fangs. “I for one am pretty pissed off about not getting my buffet!” He snarled, skin darkening before he roared as he charged at the General, Nya and Morro charging too.

Kozu smirked.

______

“Zane what the fuck?! We have to go!” Lloyd yelled as Zane laid there on the bed, partially naked with only the sheets covering his ass, drifting in and out of sleep.

“Blame Kai. He made me tired.” Zane mumbled, nuzzling into the pillows.

“Zane. There's a fucking General hunting us. Do you want to die?” Lloyd growled in irritation. “It took us a month to convince you to come back to the mortal realm. I'm not doing it again.” He warned and Zane only hummed.

Lloyd growled in irritation.

______

Nya grunted as she hit the ground hard, gripping her side.

“That all you got.” She panted as she forced herself to sit up, blood dripping from her side.

“How about some shock therapy!” Jay yelled as he threw an electrical punch at the General.

He grabbed him by the hand as he strangled Kai then threw them both down hard, knocking the wind out of them. They groaned then yelped as they rolled out of the way out of his blessed swords as they came down on them.

“I've had enough of you.” Morro sneered then jumped Kozu with a yell, spinning his way out of his swords’ reach.

He then shoved his clawed fingers into his eyes but his claws only broke on impact. That didn't stop him from clawing at his face and helmet, snarling like a rabid animal.

“Filthy demon!” Kozu growled then grabbed him by the back of his neck and pried him off his face.

He grabbed him by the hair with one hand, holding his hands behind his back with another and held a blessed blade to his neck.

“Any last words?” Kozu says as his warriors stepped forward once the others moved to attack.

“I have a few.” All of their attention turned to Lloyd and Zane who was standing still behind him, eyes an eerie gold, just like Lloyd's overcasted ones.

Lloyd casted those eyes onto the others and their eyes also became gold with his control.

“Demonic influence.” Kozu growled behind his mouthpiece.

“Kai. Nya.” Lloyd says and they used their powers together, creating a huge cloud of steam, filling the room.

Kozu quickly drew his sword but cut thin air. There was the sound of multiple flapping before he rushed forward to the nearest window, hopping out and allowing his cape to morph into large, white stone wings. He looked around but the demons were nowhere in sight. He couldn't sense them anywhere.

“Mark my words, Nobles of the Underworld. I will keep Ninjago City free from your evil.” He growled lowly.

_______________

“We could have handled it.” Nya says then winced as Kai took care of the wound on her side that wouldn't be healing anytime soon.

Stupid fucking blessed blades.

“Yeah? Wait until Wu hears about this. Then Kozu will get what's coming to him.” Cole huffed between bites as he stress ate.

“Was using your princely powers necessary?” Zane murmured from where he was lounging on the couch, head resting in Jay's lap as he counted his loot, the sack of valuables nearby.

What? You thought he'd leave it?

“Are- are you fucking kidding me Zane?” Lloyd says turning to him from where he was standing by the door. “You could have been killed if I hadn't. You all could have been!” He yelled at him then growled as he turned away again.

“It was my fault. I shouldn't have let us go to that fucking penthouse. I shouldn't have let us stayed that long.” He whispered as he looked down.

“Look. We all decided to go. This isn't on you alone.” Nya says as Kai bandaged her up.

“Quit the fucking melodrama. You're sounding like a fucking Warrior or a Droid.” Morro says as he walked into the room. “Look, for all our fathers have been talking about the Generals, this is the first time we came across one. Warriors and droids we know. Generals? Not at all. Of course it'll go badly. But we have experience now. Those fuckers won't get us next time.” He swore, already planning revenge.

His dark green eyes burned with the need for vengeance.

“No-one fucks with me and gets away with it…”

______________

(Ah! Finally wrote a fic with mah boi Kozu involved! I've actually just queued this since I finished it pretty late but I really love this au and all the beautiful art made for it! I thought: since the ninja are demons... Why not make the Overlord, Lord and the Stone Warriors along with the Nindroids be basically this au's version of angels? By the way, Morro also has the power to control demons since in this au he is the biological son of Wu. His just looks as if he possessed them. Ah. That's all I can think to add for now. I hope you guys liked it!)

[justalosersdiaryofmisery-blog]

A Necessarily Sober Night’s Ramblings

    I’m sitting here in my bed, writing on a shitty, hundred dollar netbook that rests on a book thicker than my fist to prevent overheating. The floor of my room is covered in a disgusting salad of dirty laundry, trash, and books, all sprinkled with a frustrating amount of cat litter from the box a few feet to my right. A space heater with more personal space than anything else in the place keeps me warm in the mornings and nights, and the fan that’s blowing my hair at  the moment keeps me cool during the afternoon and whenever else I’ve been drinking.

    I’ve got Altered Carbon playing beside my word processor; just started watching it. It’s impossible for me to focus on any one thing, so its there just to keep the excess ‘brain energy’ or what have you busy while I try and write this all out. All this nonsense. The lamp resting on my nightstand, which is currently sitting in the midst of the chaotic disaster that is my floor rather than being pressed up against a wall, is annoying but helps keep the anxiety down a bit.

    The anxiety is still drumming my heart and shaking my hands, but it would be worse in the dark. I enjoy knowing what’s surrounding me. If I turn off the light, I can only assume what rests in the darkness. I don’t think there’s any monsters hiding beneath my bed amidst the beer cans and paper plates, I’m not a child. But there’s knowing, and then there’s knowing. When the light is gone, the whole world becomes Schrodinger's fun house.

    Plus, if I turn out the lights, the odds I step on a sharp piece of aluminum on my way to the bathroom magnify ten fold. Foot lacerations are the fucking worst. Slicing your palm isn’t that bad because you don’t always have to have your dick in your hand. Plus, for the most part, your always aware of the palms of your hands. You forget the bottoms of your feet, and the trail of blood you leave behind is a bitch and a half to clean up.

    Not that I’d clean it from my own carpeted floor, but there’s certain expectations for the world outside the stained and battered walls of my bedroom. Smiles required, pleasantries demanded; it’s a whole other ball game out there. That’s not some dramatic piece of speculation either. When I was a child my parents threatened to beat the frowns from my face and decried my silent coming and goings as disrespectful disobedience. Now that I am a man in age and burden if not status however, I am free to move more freely. The habits have already taken root though.

    Despite my already volcanic anxieties simmering and sizzling beneath my flesh, I’m having another energy drink, my third of the day. I went to the store earlier for something fizzy and calorie free to drink, and despite knowing I must be wary of caffeine, I was swayed by a little sticker promising ‘3 for $5!’. It’s a rare moment that I’m without thirst, but unless I have sweat through my clothes in exhaustion (an even rarer moment) or am exceptionally hung over, drinking water gives me heartburn.

    It’s a touch allegorical, really. Water, that most basic material of life, burns the ever living shit out of my throat.

    People don’t take caffeine seriously enough. It’s just like any other drug, if a bit milder. At first it puts a bounce in my step, then in a few minutes my mind will be racing with dark thoughts and fears, and if I go without it for too long my head feels like someone is taking an ice pick to the top of my skull. Sometimes the initial jauntiness is worth it though. That ‘sometimes’ keeps me coming back.

    There it is. Reading this back, you won’t remember the pauses between sentences, the distraction filled minutes as Altered Carbon takes priority over writing between paragraphs. I say that so it won’t feel quite so jarring when I say that anxiety is carving a butcher’s knife through my gut and up my sternum after just mentioning the jauntiness caffeine can bring.

    Anxiety and just a hint of anger are filling me. Thinking on it now, and exploring this idea for the first time (though I’ve brushed against it like a virgin schoolboy ‘accidentally’ bumping into a pretty girl before), I’m realizing there’s always anger somewhere in this stack of flesh. Anger I was bred into, that was taught to me, beat into me. It’s always there. Just, I keep it buried away and hidden. Once, I did that so that I wouldn’t get in trouble, so that I would be safe. Now I do it so that the people around me will be happier.

    The only people I’ve ever intentionally physically hurt are my male family members. My younger brother, in adolescent rage reminiscent of my father’s, has been strangled, punched, thrown, and kicked. It was never unprovoked, but always unearned given the severity. I never bruised or truly damaged him, but still. Trauma is trauma. The words I spewed at him were instinctively and specifically chosen to hurt him, to damage him. It’s left me with a quandary similar to that of the chicken and the egg. Did his little man complex come from my infrequent but scarring abuse, or were the assaults unleashed by his constant needling and provocations?

    Then there’s my father. Him I tried to kill once. He was drunk, and violent. He was roaring and screeching with anger at my mother, worse than normal. I went to figure out what the fuck was going on, he put his hands on me, and I snapped. I threw him to the ground, and amidst his punches and slaps and scratches I began to choke him. Tears and spit pouring from my face I bared my fangs and produced more animalistic sounds than actual speech.

    My mother was futilely trying to pull me off, begging me to stop. I didn’t care. I was beyond reason at that point, my id was in full control. Like a flare in a moonless night however, a thought brought me to a stop. I had my second day of work at a new job the next day, and couldn’t afford to spend at least the night and next day in jail for murder. That lone, paragonal thought amidst a sea of frothing rage was all that saved my father’s life.

    Other than those two examples however, I’ve never allowed myself to be a violent person. Or rather, I’ve never had the courage for it. I get the fight or flight shakes just from passing a slow moving vehicle, let alone a face to face confrontation. I wonder if that’s who I am, or who I was made to be.

    My first girlfriend, who could technically be called my ex-fiancee if you don’t dismiss a six month, hormone-fueled, teenage puppy love engagement, was victim to some verbal abuse throughout the two or so years we spent together. She was a piece of work herself though, and although I cringe to think back on my words and feelings back then, I don’t think less of the man I am today for them. I see it as character growth. She cheated on me, lied to me, and was certifiably crazy herself. She and I have both come a long way since then though, and I’ve learned to be a better man based on the awful example I set for myself.

    I say we’ve both come a long way, but in reality, she’s got a college degree and is dating a successful musician while working for a governor. I’ve got a GED, am entirely alone, and as of the end of March jobless. There was a brief spike in my life a little over a year ago. I only weighed one-hundred and sixty pounds, I was on the second rung of the company I worked for’s ladder, I had a girlfriend, I was happy. That’s all long gone now though.

    See, even though I hunt for zero calorie sodas and energy drinks, I still eat too much food. I drink too much alcohol. I lay around in bed like a fucking pile of ooze. I was going to call myself a slug, but even those invertebrates get more exercise than I do. I probably weigh Two-ten by now. Two-fifteen maybe. I’m sure if I were sitting on a scale right now it’d read in the two-twenties, between my clothes, belly full of spaghetti sauce-drenched pizza, and general fat ass.

    As of today I’m twenty-two years old, five-eight in the morning and in shoes, with short brunette hair and just the one tattoo, a coyote on my left arm. My upper right arm and my left ‘tit’ are covered in scars. I have a handful spread over the rest of my skin; faded ones all across my legs, one across my stomach, one on my right ‘tit’, three partially faded bands on my right forearm. All self-inflicted, obviously. I have a small patch of fur all across my chin that struggles to reach the center of my lower lip, stubble spreading back from it towards my throat, and a curled moustache above my mouth.

    I fucking hate when television shows have non-English parts. It prevents me from being able to just spend the extra ‘brain energy’ on them, and instead I have to divert more of my direct attention to follow along.

    Sometimes I want to carve out my own eye. Even though my left eye is (diagnosedly so) the weaker of the two, whenever I envision it, it’s always the right one I slice out like an avocado pit. The cut would start close to the center of my forehead and run all the way down to my jaw, stopping just a hair over the line and onto my throat.

    I don’t think that comes from any weird sort of mutilationist fetish, or one of those weird (Ha, who am I to judge?) mental illnesses where a part of your body feels alien. I think its just a desire for attention? If that’s the right way to phrase it. I want to be special, look special. All those bad-ass pirates and fantasy characters have facial scars, typically over their eyes, and I want to be like them. I want to be special.

I want to be special. I want to be important. I want to feel like I actually matter. No amount of self reaffirmation has ever been enough for me. I’ve always needed ‘affirmation’ from others, and I’ve rarely ever received it. And it can’t be just anyone who gives it to me, it has to be someone special, someone whom I respect. The words of those I subconsciously deem as ‘below’ me mean absolutely nothing, no matter how reverential or supporting.

As for who I respect, which isn’t the right word at all, I’m not really sure. Beautiful women. Impressive men. Members of authority. People with experience in fields that I respect (this time it is the right word). I’ve had coworkers who practically begged me to hang out, less than attractive women who nearly molested me in their flirtations. All it ever did was annoy and nearly disgust me.

It’s a strange dichotomy, my ego and self-loathing. On one hand, I’m disgusted by myself. I look in the mirror and see a hideous, fat, disgusting, waste of human existence who could die tomorrow without the world so much as blinking. On the other hand, I recognize my intellect, sense of humor, virtues, and what few skills I have as being exceptional.

I hate myself, but somehow still place myself above others.

It’s funny how little self control I have compared to what little drive I have. I crave love, yet haven’t been able to muster the willpower to eat healthy and exercise. I crave fortune, yet haven’t been able to finish writing (Really writing, with editing and everything) a book. I crave attention, yet stay hidden away in my room and when out in public avoid standing out at all. When I crave a McChicken, I’ll drive to the McDonalds across town at 3 AM for it.

I guess I’m just short sighted. Back when I still played chess, I could never think more than a single move ahead. When a problem has a single-step solution, I can find it near instantly, no matter how obscure or obfuscated it is. Throw in just one more step, however, and suddenly I’m lost as an orphan looking for his mother in a department store.

That applies to long term goals too, even when the answer is spelled out for me step by fucking step. Step one, cut the calories down to less than two-thousand. Step two, take the dog(s) for a walk everyday. Step three, repeat steps one and two for the next six months. Just like that, I go from fat lard-face to looking like a young Leonardo DiCaprio.

But I just don’t do it. The one time I succeeded with a diet, it was based on routine. Every morning on my way to work, I’d get two McDonalds burritos with mild sauce and a large diet coke, no ice. Every night after work, same thing. Right now, jobless and hopeless, there is no routine in my life. That’s just an excuse though, I know that. Doesn’t mean I fucking do anything about it.

It also helped that back then I spent every night with a woman I was in love with. Kira. Black haired, thin as a skeleton, cheek bones like daggers. Her nails were more like claws, and she’s never without her eyeliner that stretch out like wings from her beautiful brown eyes.

When we met, she hated me, so of course I sought her approval. She hated me just because I sat in her spot one time. She, never to my face, called me an inbred hobbit. After several random encounters at work (which is where I met her), we also bumped into each other at the vape store. A casual, friendly conversation lead to her messaging me at work the next day, and a friendship quickly formed.

After that, it didn’t take long for love to form. One sided love. I asked her out, she rejected me. My love diminished but quickly re-blossomed. I confessed full-blown honest to god love to her. Again, she rejected me, with a full (and requested) letter explaining why. That letter tore me to pieces. Not because it destroyed my hopes for ever having her, but because every reason she listed was (to my eyes) nonsense.

She said I wasn’t artistic, I consider myself to be a great story crafter and a half-decent writer. She said she thought I’d be controlling and possessive, when I am nothing of the sort. She said I wasn’t ‘edgy’ enough, in so many words, even as I carved my flesh into ribbons. Even to this day, when she describes her perfect partner’s personality, she describes me to a T, or at least to a lower-case t.

I treat our bond as though we are siblings, and I believe that’s how she sees me, though I feel a much stronger love than that for her whilst single, and she feels nothing for me. She treats me like garbage. One time I begged her for company, knowing that if left alone I’d make an attempt on my life, and she said no. No one else came either, but I thought she of all people would understand and care. But she didn’t. And despite the handle of vodka, bottle of nyquil, assortment of pills, and sheer amount of blood loss I endured that night, I lived to suffer the pain of her betrayal.

With her it’s always apologies and broken promises. She’s sorry she abandoned me for the millionth time to be with her new abusive boyfriend, she promises it won’t happen again. She’s sorry she disappeared without a word of warning, and promises she’ll warn me in the future. She’s sorry that she broke her promises, she promises it won’t happen again.

And yet I love her. I’ve given her thousands of dollars. I’ve bought her over a hundred meals. I take care of her when everyone else abandoned her. I helped her get her shit together when agoraphobia had grabbed hold of her. I’ve given her everything I could possibly give, sacrificed everything she’s ever asked for or needed that I had.

But its never enough for her. It never will be. She will never care about me and my needs. I don’t need her romantic love, as much as I would enjoy it. But never once has she sacrificed for me. Never once has she gone out of her way to make me happy. She gave me a stack of ‘coupons’, to be redeemed for things such as ‘a guaranteed hang out session’ or ‘You can pick the music all day’. The one time I tried to redeem one, the first one I mentioned, she blew me off.

But of course, she moved to a whole other state for her drug addicted, physically and verbally abusive boyfriend. Then when she came back I took her back following a promise that she was completely done with him. I’m sure she will, or already has, broken that promise.

Despite all that, she is the most important person in my life. The thought of her killing herself makes me genuinely want to die too. Without her, there’d be absolutely no one in my life that I truly love. She is a fire amidst a barren tundra without which I’d freeze to death, even if she flickers in and out of existence that I’ve wished to  die in her absence.

My only other friend is Whitney. The strangest person I’ve ever known, and one of the most genuinely wholesome and good people you could ever have the pleasure of meeting. She’s sweet, kind, caring, generous, intelligent, and fun. She’s also asexual, so there’s no hope for romance there either. She lives a busy life, between college and work, so it’s rare I ever get to see her.

    Everyone else in my life is temporary, fleeting. They either abandon me purposely or drift away like clouds.

    My last girlfriend, the only other serious one I’ve had besides my ‘ex-fiancee’, abandoned me out of the blue. One moment, she was saying that she loved me and that I was her perfect man. The next, she provided a list of issues she had with me and said that they were irreconcilable. She left me with trust issues that have plagued every attempt at romance I’ve had since. I lost my virginity to that girl.

    And when we broke up, you know what happened? Her shit head best friend went and spread all of my personal information to our mutual friends, in a horrific way that painted me to be a violent and hurtful man who was ruining her life. And they believed him. Even though he was known to be an over-dramatic, hyper-aggressive piece of shit, they believed him. In spite of all the good things I’d done for them and absolutely no personal experience with me to back his words up, they took it as gospel. I had non-romantic commitment issues before then, but damned if they weren’t magnified ten fold after that.

    Every other romantic trist I had after her has had its issues. One time, whilst I was seeing a shrink and given pills that amplified my anxieties to levels beyond my control, I went full blown crazy with a girl. Demanded to know where she was, why she was ignoring me, sent over thirty texts in as many minutes. I quit that medicine the moment I ‘came down’.

    Another I ‘broke up’ with after we agreed that she couldn’t handle just hanging out in my car, and I can’t handle going to clubs. Another couple ghosted me. Another was even flakier than Kira, and far more blatant about it. Another just wasn’t that into me, even if he (an FtM transgender person) wouldn’t admit it.

    Right now, the biggest source of my anxiety is the fact that Kira has yet again disappeared. I’m used to that, but this time she explicitly said she would text me ‘soon’ when we hung out three days ago. The girl is a fucking suicidal drug addict, and doesn’t care about the pain it causes me when she disappears like this. The fears and anxieties that fill me hurt so bad you wouldn’t believe it. I’ve told her this countless times. She just, doesn’t, care.

    I want to punch something, tear my room apart. Its a disgusting mess now, but the mess is settled at least. A path to the door amidst the refuse, big piles pushed against the walls. It could be much, much worse. I feel like I’m about to explode, all these feelings bursting out of my fucking rib cage. But she doesn’t care about that. All she cares about is herself.

    There’s only two people in the entire world I’ve truly cared for, like really, wholly, undeniably loved and felt empathy for. My ‘ex-fiancee’, and Kira. But even for those I didn’t feel that way for, Whitney or my ex-girlfriend, I treat them right. Better than right. I buy them gifts, I look after them, I tell them I love them, I do my best to be the best friend or boyfriend I can be.

    I’m a heartless monster, but at least I have the manners to act better than that.

    You know something, I legitimately can’t remember the last time I cried. Probably when Kira and I first started becoming friends, she demanded I open up and tell her everything if I wanted her to do the same. So I did, and I broke down. Since then, not a drop. I just don’t have it in me. I’m tired. I’m tired of being alive, but outside of drunken and seemingly random spikes of suicidal ideations, I’m too scared of death to try and kill myself tonight.

    The thought of death, of everything just disappearing, terrifies me. It has since I was a little kid, we’re talking four or five years old. I don’t want to die, I never want to die. I want to live forever, or at least to know that there is reincarnation or an afterlife. I fear the ocean too, specifically being in the middle of the water with no land in sight and seeing a silhouette approaching me. But that’s not what my fear of death is. That’s a shock, a jump in my seat when I watch a video on youtube.

    My fear of death is primal, unadulterated terror. It keeps me up at night, it forces me to keep a light on when I want to sleep, it gave me a love for twilight hours as they brought an end to the darkness when I was a child. It brought me peace.

    Kira finally texted me back, simply saying ‘’I love you’. It could be her last words, it could be an apology for going back to her shit head ex, it’s definitely a lie to either herself or to me. It brought some measure of peace, though left a trail of underlying fears in its wake.

    I just wish I could be happy, but for that I need at least one of the three B’s. Booze, blood, or betrothal. The last B is hyperbolic, I don’t need that much of a commitment, just some sort of romantic connection with someone. Gotta keep the pattern going though. When I’m drunk, my troubles fade away. When I’m cutting, the pain distracts me. When I have a girlfriend, I feel accepted.

    Right now I have none of those things. I might cut my arm here in a bit, but I doubt I’ll be getting a girlfriend sometime tonight; and its too risky to be drinking on a night like this. So, I’ve just got to wallow in my own misery.

    I meant to write chapter two of a new book I’m working on tonight. It’s a dark, nautical comedy set in a fantasy-ish world about a dull yet narcissistic pirate captain and his misadventure to regain his fortune. I started writing it to keep myself busy while I wait to distance myself from the first book I wrote, a more serious piece. That one’s about a man and his new apprentice facing a rebellion of monsters who are supposed to coexist with humans, but are sick of their treatment as second class citizens.

    I need to distance myself from it because every time I look at it I want to delete the whole thing. It all feels too fresh, too personal. I can remember every keystroke that I put down, and since I was the one who typed it all, it must be trash. That’s how my mind sees it. I need to forget.

    I’ve just started episode five of Altered Carbon, haven’t paused it once, haven’t stopped writing except when they speak in another language or I don’t know what to wrtie next or when Kira texted me. I’m starving. By starving I mean I’m hungry, just enough that my stomach hurts. I’ll probably go grab more food like the fat ass, no-self-control shitstain that I am.

    I hate when people tell me I’m not fat, or when people say it shouldn’t matter. I am fat, and it matters to me. I don’t find fat people attractive. Never have, never will. I remember once, back when I was dieting and nearly at one-sixty, a (fat) girl said to me “Why are you still dieting? You look great.” I responded by lifting my shirt up (I didn’t have the scar on my stomach at the time) and jiggling it, which immediately elicited an ‘Ew!’ from her. I said, “That’s why.”

    It’s not a crime to be fat, nor do I treat fat people any worse than their skinny counterparts. I just think its extremely unattractive, just like me. I don’t want to be fat. I just don’t have the willpower to put a stop to it. And I hate myself for it. Maybe if/when I get a new job I’ll be able to get back into my routine. It’d be a lot easier if I lived on my own, and could choose the pantry and fridge’s contents myself.

    But for now I’m stuck living in my parents’ house. I thought once I bought a new car, I’d be able to save up and move out. Then I met Kira, and spent thousands on her. Then I allowed myself to be talked into going to therapy, a waste of time that I put a stop to after being told that I’d never be happy and to keep on cutting, that put me in debt to pay for. Then my car broke down, and I’ve had to open a new credit card for over nine-hundred dollars and spent another four-hundred up front, and her check engine light is already back on.

    Oh, and I don’t have a job anymore after getting fired for spending too much time helping coworkers, so its not like I can get a place with the two-hundred and twelve dollars I get a week with unemployment. I’ve dreamed about living on my own since before I was even a teenager. I’ve always hated my parents. Every time I think everything’s about to turn around fiscally, life comes around and shits down my fucking throat and cuts a hole through my trachea so it can fuck my feces-stained esophagus. Every, single, fucking, time.

    God that therapy was fucking worthless. I did what the guy said in regards to cutting. I tried rubber band snapping, icing, writing out my feelings. None of it had the same sense of distraction and gravitas. So, he told me if it helps and I’m being safe, keep doing it. So I have. I wanted to stop though, not for my own sake, but because the people who say they care about me (in other words, Whit) don’t like it and I can understand why. Again though, no will power.

    When it came to my moods, I told him about as much as I’ve told anyone in my life about myself. At first it felt good, he looked at me like some sort of specimen. By our last session though, it felt more like I was a chore to him, a frustrating waste of time. Although I didn’t bother to remember the words verbatim, he more or less told me that sometimes there just isn’t anything you can do to stop being miserable, and you’re just stuck that way. So, since that was the case, I stopped going.

    There was another professional I saw there, a woman who was there to actually prescribe medicines. After the first one ruined a budding and potentially great relationship, I was hesitant to try another. Given the fact that it was also expensive as fuck and I was constantly broke, with or without hesitation I couldn’t try another kind. She refused to prescribe me medicine for my ADD either, even though she did diagnose it. Said we needed to get the depression under control first. Maybe I’d be less fucking miserable if I could concentrate on one thing at a time instead of constantly having my attention diverted between two to three things every waking moment of my life.

    It’s funny, when I finished my first book, I thought I’d be happy. Filled with a sense of pride and accomplishment that would spur me forward in life. So I rushed it. The last couple chapters were far below my typical word count. Whitney pointed out that fact, and the fact that a lot of the earlier chapters were subpar comparatively, so I went back and finished it ‘for real’. I rewrote most of the earlier chapters, filled in the later chapters, got a real, proper first draft done. And still nothing.

    Now I’m telling myself that once I can edit it properly instead of just grimacing through the prologue I’ll feel it, but I don’t believe it. Maybe if an agent wants it, I’ll feel it, but I don’t believe that. If it were miraculously published, then, then I might feel a hint of genuine joy, but I don’t believe that. I keep pushing the goal posts of finding happiness further and further back to excuse my failure to do so.

    Fuck, I don’t even know why I wrote all this. I don’t feel any better. I feel like an overdramatic, self-important, delusional cunt. Same old same old I suppose.

[janethepegasus]

BMC Miraculous AU RP Thing: Stranded in the Desert

An RP me and @pika-ace did related to the BMC Miraculous AU, where an akuma leaves Jordan and Roger in a desert and they have to travel through it to find civilization.

(Roger was just walking by the street, but then all of the sudden, a van zooms up towards him and stops by him. The van door opens and vines lash out towards him) Roger: Wha-AH!! (The vines wrap around him, yank him into the van, and the van drives off) (Meanwhile with Jordan, he and Eric were walking together, but then the van zooms towards them, with the driver's eyes being on Jordan)

(They see the car zooming towards them) Jordan: What the-?

(The van stops by them, the van door opens and vines come out of it and wrap around Jordan)

(Jordan gets yanked in and the van zooms away) Eric: JORDAN!!

(Jordan struggles in the vines) Jordan: Ack! Let me go! Roger: Jordan?! (Jordan looks and sees Roger struggling in vines as well) Jordan: You! >:/

Jordan: Oh fucking wonderful, we get kidnapped by the same asshole! >:/

Roger: Greaaat...i'm stuck with a suicidal idiot! >:/

Jordan: Yeah, and I'm stuck with a dumb lazy hunk of muscle; fuck off >:P

Roger: Excuse me?! >:( Jordan: Ya heard me! >:P (Suddenly, the akuma laughs) Akuma: Now now you two! Settle down back there, cause i'm gonna drive ya two to a FAR away place! >:D

Jordan: What are you up to?!

Akuma: You'll see once we get there! Now hang on tight! >:3 (The akuma steps on the gas pedal and he starts to drive REALLY fast, somehow zooming through the streets without hitting anyone or anything)

Roger: Jesus, slow down!! Jordan: What, can't handle a little speed? >:P Roger: Not when the driver is my kidnapper!! (The bickering continues for the whole ride)

(The akuma keeps driving for a while, until he stops, which cause Roger and Jordan to slam against the wall) Akuma: Okay, we're here! >:3

(Jordan and Roger don't hear him as they're still fighting)

(The akuma rolls his eyes, gets out of the van, walks to the door, opens it, and drags them out)

Akuma: Have fun getting home!

Roger: *blinks* Wait, what?! (They look around and they see that they're in the middle of the desert) Jordan: What the hell?! Akuma: Alright, heres some food and water for you *hands them some food and water* take this off of ya *cuts the vines off of them* and this too! *takes their

Miraculous* Jordan: Hey!! >:( Akuma: Aaaaaand some money! *gives them a couple of dollars and coins* Roger: Money? Why would we need money for? Akuma: Plane tickets, cause it's gonna be a LOOOONG way home if you traveled on foot! >:3c

Akuma: Well...bye! (He drives off)

(Jordan and Roger watch the van drive away from them)

Both: O_O

Roger: ...So this akuma kidnapped us...just so he could drop us off in the middle of nowhere?!

Jordan: Bastard!! >:(

Jordan: Now i'm stuck with a god damn living hunk of muscle! >:(

Roger: Oh fuck off! I didn't ask for this!

Jordan: Neither did i and yet here we are! >:/

Jordan: Let's just fucking find an airport or whatever, cause I want to go home to my husband! >:/

Jordan: He's probably worried sick that i'm not home... Roger: Ah yes, your husband. Didn't I help him improve him mentally and physically when you two did that split up thing? I'm sure he'll survive a whole day without you

>:/

Jordan: Yeah, but for that I wasn't KIDNAPPED! We were taking a break! There's a huge difference!

Roger: Well as long as we're not out here for more than a day, i suspect that Eric will try to keep himself somewhat calm

Roger: Let's just go >:/ Jordan: FINE!

(They start walking)

(They walk for a while, rest, and then walk again, repeating the process as best they could)

(During their walk, Roger's stomach starts to growl)

Jordan: Hungry? Roger: What gave it away? >:/

Jordan: Oh gee, i don't know, just instinct? >:P

Roger: Just give me some of that food that akuma gave us >:/

Jordan: Fine fine...

(Jordan opens the bag of food to see what they have) Jordan: We gotta ration this as best we can...

Jordan: So don't eat it all, okay?

Roger: Since when are you Mr. Survival expert? >:/ Jordan: I don't see YOU going on any long hiking or camping trips >:P

Jordan: Which i bet ya DON'T do, cause you're rooted in the city! >:P (Roger fumes and glares at Jordan)

(Jordan fiddles with the food before giving Roger a portion) Jordan: Alright, I've divided up about six days worth for both of us; if we don't find civilization soon we'll divide what we have left again so it lasts as long as

possible.

Roger: Alright then

(Roger eats the food and they keep walking)

(They walk for hours, but then the sun starts to set)

Jordan: We better find someplace to sleep

Roger: Yeah...

(They wander and happen to find a cave)

Jordan: We can sleep in there

Roger: Sounds good Jordan: Alright, settle in, I’ll be right back Roger: Where are you going? Jordan: Getting firewood; you’re a teacher, don’t you know the desert gets freezing at night?

Roger: I teach math and science! I don't know much about how environments work! >:/

Jordan: Oh gooood for you! Don’t go anywhere okay?

Roger: Okay

(Jordan leaves; a little while later he comes back to Roger shivering in the corner of the cave as the sun has fully set)

Roger: *shivers* O-O-Oh F-F-FINALLY y-you came b-back! >:/

Jordan: You try finding wood in the goddamn desert >:P (Jordan tosses the wood down) Roger: H-H-How...are y-y-you not FREEZING?! Jordan: I’ve been walking for hours, that’s why

(Roger glares at Jordan and pouts)

Roger: H-How d-do you p-p-plan on lighting- (Jordan rubs two sticks together with amazing force and a fire starts)

Roger: ...Oh O_O

(Jordan gives him a smug smirk)

Roger: Oh don't rub it in! >:/

(Jordan grins and they sit and get warm)

(Roger warms himself up by the fire, he looks up and sees Jordan with a smug smirk) Roger: Wipe that smug look off your face! >:/

Jordan: Sorry, can't help it; bet you never imagined a 'sacrificial red neck' as you call me would be saving your ass, right? XP

Roger: Oh shut up >:/

(They sit for a while and Roger eventually tries to doze off but finds he's still quite cold; Jordan watches him lying on the ground trying to ignore his shivering and

rolls his eyes) Jordan: Alright, c'mere. *he moves towards him*

(Jordan walks towards Roger)

(He makes to lie down next to him and Roger recoils) Roger: What the fuck are you doing?! Jordan: It's called body heat, asshole, it won't kill ya -_-

Roger: So you're gonna cuddle me to keep me warm?! >:/

Jordan: Yeah, smart-ass, that's how heat transference works and it's how people in the cold don't die in their sleep; I don't like it anymore than you do but it's our

best bet. And what are you so afraid of, I'm married! >:/

Roger: Well what if we're stuck out here for several days and you start hitting on me?! >:/

Jordan: One, why would I cheat on my husband? Two, why the fuck would I want to hit on YOU of all fucking people?? >:/

Roger: I don't know!! But it will happen if our sanity starts to dry out! >:/

Jordan: You really have THAT little faith in the others? Will SAW me get taken, he's probably already told everyone by now to go out looking for us or the akuma!

Roger: Well it's not MY fault i don't know the others more than you do! >:/

Jordan: Well maybe if you stepped outside your goddamn classroom every once and a while you'd learn the wonders of social bonds >:/

Roger: >:O Do you have ANY idea how stressful and time consuming working as a teacher is?! I spend SO much time trying to manage both my work for every week AND my

sanity from all those crazy teens! Of COURSE i don't have much time to take a break! Cause i'm spending so much time managing being a teacher!! >:(

Jordan: Oh bullshit, Will's a teacher too, and he still finds time for us or himself >:/

Roger: Well at least he doesn't work in a school where you handle over hundreds of students every day instead of just 15! >:P

Jordan: Have you considered getting ANOTHER teaching job, smartass? >:/

Roger: Oh like YOU know any teaching jobs that will satisfy you vision of me having time to do whatever you want me to do >:/

Jordan: Uh, Will’s school? Duh; they’re short on teachers

Roger: Oh THAT'S your only recommendation? Me going to the same school your husband works? No offense, but that school is BARELY hanging on to living another year!

Plus they don't have to support themselves unlike my school >:/

Jordan: Ugh whatever, stay at your shitty job, and go to sleep

Roger: Fine! >:/

(They both lie down and slowly drift off to sleep; the next morning, Roger is the first to wake up. The fire has gone out, the sun is up and...he’s curled up into

Jordan, Jordan’s arms around him due to them seeking warmth from each other in their sleep)

Roger: What the...?!

(Roger shoves himself away from him and Jordan blinks awake) Jordan: *yawns* Good morning to you too, asshat...

Roger: Why the fuck were you wrapped around me?! >:(

Jordan: *rubs his eyes* That’s what people do when they’re cold at night, they find something warm and go to it, even in their sleep. Jesus, you’re such a dumbass

outside your precious city...

Roger: >:O I am not!!

Jordan: Couldn’t even think about the heat transferred between two human bodies? Yeah you are >:P

Roger: You assume i NEVER had that kind of thing before?! >:(

Jordan: I feel like you haven’t had a lot of things; seriously you’re like the extreme version of Will I knew in college: moody, hot-headed, and pretty much helpless

when shit doesn’t go as planned and can’t adapt because he doesn’t know shit about friendship and social values >:(

Roger: You're comparing ME to your husband?! I am NOTHING like him at all!! >:(

Jordan: Not now you aren’t; my husband has come a long way; and I’m starting to think YOU’RE what he would’ve turned into if I hadn’t come along >:(

Roger: Well at least I know i won't turn into a male damsel in distress and have a reckless, stupid, suicidal red neck pretty much nearly killing himself just so i can

fucking live!!! >:(((

Jordan: Yeah and that makes you sooooo much better than me, why? >:(

Jordan: Tell me, why the FUCK do you think that you're better than me? Hm?! >:(

Roger: Because I can at least go into a fight knowing I’ll fucking live! Jordan: Yeah? Well I think because your job sucks and you got practically nothing to show for yourself throughout your life, not many people would miss ya if you died

>:( (Roger almost flinches at the harsh words)

(Roger glares at Jordan and fumes) Roger: Well...at least i still got a fucking family that i keep in touch with, such a shame you don't have that, cause they're all dead anyways! >:(

(Jordan freezes and Roger almost immediately regrets his words; Jordan then gets up) Jordan: Cmon, we gotta keep moving...

(Jordan walks out of the cave and Roger follows)

(They walk in silence for a while, Jordan taking the lead)

(Roger stays silent for a while, until he sighed and spoke up) Roger: ...Look, I’m...sorry for saying that, but you really went too far with what you said about me...so I just...fight back...

(Jordan is silent for a bit) Jordan: ...Alright, fair enough...this whole scenario is just frustrating beyond belief so...we’ve just been taking it out on each other...

Roger: Yeah...

(They keep walking) Jordan: I’m sorry too I guess...maybe we should call for a truce, at least for the really low insults; what do ya say? (Roger says nothing) Jordan: Aw c’mon, I’m trying to extend an olive branch here, don’t make me ask again! (He still says nothing and Jordan finally turns around) Jordan: Are you just too damn proud...to... (He looks down and sees Roger had sunken down into the sand, with only his hands and the top half of his head sticking out)

Jordan: Oh my god, Roger!!

Roger: Mmmmmmph!! (Roger’s hands flail as he panics) Jordan: Dont move, hang on!

(Jordan runs towards Roger)

(He grabs one of his hands and starts to pull) Jordan: Let me do the pulling, you’re fighting a losing battle against a sand vacuum here!

Roger: Mmmmmmph!!!

(Jordan slowly but surely pulls Roger out of the hole; the moment he’s able, Roger scrambles as far away from the pit as possible, breathing deeply)

Roger: Oh...thank...god...!

Jordan: You Alright?

Roger: Y-Yeah...i'm okay...

(He coughs and spits out some sand)

Roger: What...the fuck...did i fell into?! *coughs*

Jordan: Dry sand pit; it’s like quicksand but without the water

Roger: *cough* So i fell in a sand pit?!

Jordan: Yep; and they’re pretty rare so, lucky you XD

(Roger glares at Jordan)

(Jordan hauls him to his feet, only for Roger to squirm away from him)

Roger: Don't touch me! >:/

Jordan: Geez, Lighten up, man >:/

Roger: Just...hands off >:/

Jordan: Fine! >:/

(They keep walking, Roger brushing sand off him and his clothes as they do)

(Roger looks at Jordan and sighs) Roger: ......Thanks...for saving me...

Jordan: ...No problem; I may hate your guts, but you’re still my teammate

Roger: Yeah, that's true...

(They keep walking)

(They keep walking for a while, until Jordan suddenly stops) Roger: Hey, why did you- Jordan: Don't. Move Roger: Why? (Jordan gestures a rattle snake that was nearby)

(Roger sucks in a breath)

Roger: Oh god....!

Jordan: Calm down...just slowly move around and away...

(They slowly move around the snake)

(The snake watches them, it’s tail rattling)

(Roger whimpers a little as they slowly move around the snake)

Jordan: Dont panic! Roger: I’m not!

Jordan: Then why you're wimpering? >:/

Roger: Shut up!!!

(They keep slowly moving around the snake)

Jordan: Dont worry, they usually avoid humans...

(Once they were around the snake, they moved far away from it)

(Once it was gone Roger let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding)

Roger: Oh thank god...!

Jordan: Yeah...

Roger: Let's...keep moving...

Roger: Uh...is there anything else in the desert we should...watch out for? Jordan: Well, uh, there's scorpions. sandstorms, mirages, contaminated water, thorned plants, and of course weather things *gestures to the sun* but don't worry, I'll

get us out of this Roger: Who put you in charge? >:/ Jordan: The person who decided to throw you in a sand pit >:/

Roger: I FELL into a sand pit! Though i wouldn't be surprised that YOU would throw me in though >:P

Jordan: Don't tempt me >:P

(Roger glares at Jordan)

(They keep walking and the sun starts setting; both are breathing heavily, but Jordan is keeping up a decent pace while Roger's feet are dragging)

Jordan: *breathing heavily* It's gonna...be dark...soon...we should...find a place...to rest...

Roger: *breathing heavily* Y...Yeah...you do that...I'm just...gonna... *he starts to lie down where he is* Jordan: Dammit Roger this isn't what I meant!!

(Roger lays down on the ground)

Roger: So...tired...

Jordan: C'mon, get up! We can't just sleep here!

Roger: I can't...go on... (Jordan rolls his eyes and hauls him to his feet before slapping his face a few times) Jordan: Up and at 'em!!

Roger: OW!!

(Roger shoves him away and shakes his head, blinking awake) Jordan: Good; c'mon, we gotta find another cave or something

Roger: Alright...

(The night passes and the next day they repeat the process) Roger: There's GOT to be SOMETHING near by now!

Jordan: Yeah! We have to find SOMETHING out here! (They keep walking for a while, until eventually, Jordan spots, in the far far distance, he sees a road)

Jordan: Hey! Look! :D

Roger: What?

Jordan: A road! We're getting somewhere!

Roger: It might lead us to a town if we follow it! :D

Jordan: Or a car could come down it! :D (They hurry and start following the road)

(They follow down the road for a while, seeing cars pass by them as they went)

(They try waving a few of them down)

(They tried hitchhiking but all of their attempts were ignored by drivers passing by)

Jordan: Well at least there's a bunch of cars so something's gotta be close by now...

Roger: Yeah...

(They keep walking along the road and no cars come for a while as night starts to fall; because of this it becomes a lot harder to see anything along the side of the

road)

Roger: I can't fucking see anything...! XS

Jordan: That's kinda how night is -_-

Roger: Yeah i know that! But i'm not used to night being this...dark! Where's the lights?!

Jordan: This is why you city boys need to go camping once in a while -_-

Roger: Well some of us "city boys" don't have time to do that OR show no interest in doing so! >:/

Jordan: And look where that got ya >:/

Roger: Oh shut up! >:/

(Roger pushes him and walks ahead, but he’s so mad that he doesn’t see the rattlesnake until he steps on it)

Roger: *notices he stepped in something* Wha?

(He hears the rattling and at that moment, a car passes, the headlights illuminating the snake for a split second before it strikes and bites Roger’s leg)

Roger: GAH!!

(Roger falls over, clutching his leg) Jordan: Roger?! (The rattlesnake slithers closer to Roger)

Roger: Ow!! Fuck!!

(Roger screams and writhes on the ground and the snake readies to strike again)

(Roger sees the snake and closes his eyes shut)

(But the bite never comes; Roger opens his eyes to see Jordan stomping on the snake’s head, killing it)

(After Jordan kills the snake, he goes over to Roger)

Jordan: Jesus Christ... Roger: I-I’m Fine... Jordan: No don’t move! You’ll mix the venom around more!

Roger: Ow...call a hospital...! Or something...! Ow...!

Jordan: If our phones had service here don’t you think I would’ve done that by now?! >:/

Roger: Well what the fuck are YOU gonna do, huh?! >:/

Jordan: Obviously I’m gonna carry you Roger: Wha- wait! (Jordan manages to get Roger onto his back in one fell swoop)

Roger: Hey!! >:/

Jordan: You can’t move around, the poison will get to your heart quicker that way; suck it up

(Roger sighs)

Roger: Just...hurry and find someplace...

Jordan: Alright

(Jordan jogs along the road with Roger, looking for any sign of civilization)

Jordan: C’mon, there’s gotta be a town somewhere!

(As Jordan moves, Roger gets more and more light headed as the venom starts to take effect)

Roger: Ugh...I don’t...feel so good...! XS

Jordan: You’re gonna be fine!

Jordan: Just hang on!

(Jordan keeps jogging and Roger eventually passes out and at that moment, Jordan sees building lights)

Jordan: Wha?

(He sees a small town in the distance) Jordan: Oh thank god!

(He jogs as fast as he can towards the town)

(Hours later, Roger feels himself waking up)

Roger: Ugh...

(He slowly opens his eyes and finds he's in a small hospital room)

Roger: Wha...Huh...?

(He groans and slowly sits up; the door then opens and Jordan enters) Jordan: Look at that, he lives

Roger: Wha...? You...!

Jordan: Yeah, me

Roger: Wha...where- Jordan: You’re in a hospital, Roger, you’re lucky I found one

Jordan: Remember what happened? Roger: We...we were walking and...oh god, that snake-! Jordan: Yep, he got you good

Roger: I...I felt so light headed...then I passed out... Jordan: Yep, and then I found a town, got to the hospital and got you in.

Jordan: And since you've been out for *checks watch* a long-ass time, I went ahead and got everything else figured out Roger: Everything? Jordan: Yep; called Eric and the others to clue them in and booked us a flight home. The others took out the akuma so we don't have to worry

Roger: Oh...good

Roger: You...really did all that while I was out? Jordan: Well duh. There was NO WAY I was just gonna sit and mope over you >:/

Roger: Heh, guess you didn’t have any time for me, since you hate my guts! >:P

Jordan: Don't act like you wouldn't have done the same if it were me >:P

Roger: Oh please, if you were bitten by that snake, you’ll probably walk it off like it was nothing! >:P

Jordan: Eh, fair enough :/ (Jordan suddenly blinks and freezes) Jordan: Whoa...hold the fucking phone...did you just...COMPLIMENT me???

Roger: *blinks* Wait...I did?? O_O

(Roger thinks back on what he just said; he said that Jordan could walk off a snake bite, complimenting his strength and endurance) Roger: O_O Fuck, I did....

(Jordan’s eyes widen and looks at Roger)

Jordan: Holy shit...did hell freeze over? Roger: *blushes slightly* Shut up... Jordan: You fucking complimented me! Holy shit, I better see if the rapture's happening! Roger: *blushes more* Shut up...!!

(Jordan looks out the window) Jordan: Oh my god, it’s not! Roger: *covers his face and blushes* SHUT UP...!!!

Jordan: Oh this has made this whole three days of hell worth it! Wait 'till I tell Will about this when we get home!

Roger: Ugh... XS

(A day or two later, Jordan and Roger are on a flight home (Roger having crutches), where the armada are waiting for them in the airport)

(When the plane landed on their destination, they get out of the plane)

(They head out of the plane and once they're fully out, they see the armada) Jeremy: There they are!! Eric: Jordan! :'D Michael: Dad!! Momo: Roger!!!!

(Eric runs towards Jordan at top speed and tackle hugs him tightly)

(Jordan catches and spins him around before they both go for a deep kiss)

(As they deep kiss, Momo runs over to Roger) Momo: Roger!!! :D (Roger stops her from hugging or glomping him, but he gives her a little pat on the head)

Momo: Why do you have crutches?? D: (Meanwhile, Jordan and Eric break the kiss so Michael and Jeremy and Lin can hug Jordan tightly)

Michael: We missed you, Dad!

Roger: *to Momo* It's a long story... XS Jordan: I missed you all too!

(Jordan hugs them back and smiles)

Ann: Oh no Roger, should I transform and heal you? :( Roger: I don't think that will be necessary

Ann: Are you sure? Roger: Yeah, I’m fine, I can adjust to this

Roger: After a day or two I should be fine Momo: Are you gonna tell us what happened or not? >:/ Joe: I think we should all get home first and Jordan and Roger can explain from there

Jordan: Yeah *to Eric* And Will, you’re gonna be surprised what Roger said to me at the hospital! X3c Roger: Ugh.... XS

[theoutdoorpursuit]

A Virgin Tip To Alaska

The Last Frontier, a vast wilderness tucked between Mother Russia and our friendly Canadian neighbors up North. It certainly didn’t feel like America, yet they spoke the language and happily accepted all of my American Dollars. To say the 49th state was unique would be a vast understatement, nearly as vast as its endless vistas. I grew up in the Appalachians, hiked the Rockies, yet these were but foothills compared to the monstrous Alaskan peaks. I put my boots on the ground, ate and caught my fair share of halibut, searched for Grizzlies, and soaked in the never ending sunlight. Here are my takeaways from a first-timing Alaskan Tourist:

Float Planes Are A Way of Life

Researching Alaska months prior to my visit, I had every intention of riding a Float Plane through the mountains and landing in one of the endless remote glaciers in Alaska’s wilderness. After an 8 hour flight across country from Atlanta to Anchorage, my desire to leave the earth had left me and it wasn’t because of the lack of access. The hotel we stayed at in Anchorage backed up to the busiest Float Plane lake in Alaska. Non-stop, throughout the day, planes cruised back in and took back off out into Alaska’s unknown. I can only imagine the views and the bumpy ride that entailed on one of these $100 dollar four hour excursions. 

Alaska is a sportsman’s paradise and almost all hunters and brave anglers reach their remote destinations by Float Plane. We learned that on a typical five day hunt, a plane drops off a group and are informed to draw an “X” in the sand if they need an early emergency pickup. A plane would fly by once a day. No phone service. No one else around. It doesn’t get much more primal in today’s world than a backcountry Alaskan hunt by plane.  

The Sun Never Sets

We arrived into Alaska during the first week of June which means one thing, The sun “set” at 11:15 PM and rose at 4:00 AM. But here is the kicker, the sun never truly set. It merely dipped down behind the mountains. It’s always light out in Alaska in June. Our first night in Anchorage we ate dinner at 7:30 PM… 11:30 PM at home. I struggled to keep my eyes open as I nibbled at a halibut burger, while the sun, high in the middle of the sky, taunted me as if to say “We’re just getting started buddy.” One morning, we left for a fishing trip at 3:15 AM and it looked as if the sun had been up for an hour. I’d advise looking into a hotel or cabin that has black out blinds or at least purchase an eye mask because the constant light was quite detrimental to the sleep cycle. I couldn’t help but wonder what the winters were like as they would be the opposite, dark nearly all day long. Talk about intense seasonal depression. I guess the light is better than the dark, but I had never been so excited to see the sun set as the day I returned home and climbed into bed. 

Grizzlies are Tough to Find… Moose are Not

The animal I wanted to see the most… from a distance, the ever elusive Grizzly bear, was not sighted. I saw plenty of black bear, but the majestic beast on every Alaskan postcard was nowhere to be found. I took the bear spray everywhere I went, even on the two mile hike in the backyard of the ski resort, looking like quite the tourist with a camera around my neck and a bear spray canister holstered to my hip. Thankfully, no bear spray was discharged in the making of this trip. 

Now what was surprisingly everywhere was the Alaskan state animal, the Moose. These things are the equivalent to white tail deer on the East Coast. They’re on your hiking trail, in suburban backyards, and terrifyingly close to the roads. The major Alaskan highways are lined with ten foot high fences to deter Moose from coming in contact with a car, which would not be a pretty sight as these beasts can be well over a thousand pounds. We certainly drove with caution as every few hundred yards a Moose crossing sign warned of potential danger. Go for the Grizzly, see a hundred Moose, as they say.

Everything is Far, Hence the Planes

Anchorage, where we stayed the first part of the week, was fairly convenient. It’s a normal, small sized city which has about 300,000 inhabitants, half the population of Alaska. While in Anchorage everything from restaurants to grocery stores was an easy 20 minute drive. Everywhere else in Alaska is a haul. We drove 8 hours total one day from Anchorage to Denali, 2 and a half hours to Kenai, and then a combined 3 hours of driving to our fishing trip in Seward. We put many of miles on the rental car and while normally traveling long distances after you’ve already traveled long distances is devastating, the scenery and roadside wildlife made the road time worth it. It’s no wonder planes are abundant. I saw but a small sliver of the massive state and felt like I drove the distance of my home state of Virginia. If you want to see it all, you’ll have to see it by air.

Pictured Below: While Alaska is vast, one doesn’t have to go far for an adventure. In the heart of downtown Anchorage, anglers can hook on to world class Salmon passing through the states largest city.

It’s Never “Warm” In Alaska

I left the balmy, Southern, 90 degree temps of Virginia, excited for some cooler weather in Alaska, but of course I underpacked on warm clothes. I wore my only sweatshirt every morning. The highs in Alaska during June are in the low 60’s, however the mornings were a chilly 40 something degrees. On our morning drive to our fishing adventure the car’s thermostat read 35 degrees. Nothing says summer vacation like long johns, a winter beanie, long sleeved Under Armour, and a rain jacket over top of a sweatshirt as a desperate attempt to keep in warmth. Again if this is what it was like in the summer, I cringe to even comprehend a cold, dark Alaskan winter. At first thought, conversing with our firstmate who had made the move from Virginia to Alaska, I was jealous, until I remembered this poor sap had to endure the cold for likely 9 months of the year.

Everyone Leaves With A Box of Fish

Enter into the Anchorage Airport and people all around you are hauling their catch in foam coolers. It is a sportsman’s paradise after all. We learned that freezing your catch and checking your cooler as a carry-on for $25 dollars is the most cost efficient method to get your harvest back home. Shipping frozen meat can add up quickly at over $6 a pound. We ended up with close to 40 lbs of halibut and after two days in our cabin freezer it easily made the 10 plus hour journey home in a foam cooler, still mostly frozen when we arrived at our house.

Don’t Drive To Denali Without A Camper And Couple Days to Spare

Mount Denali. “The High One” 20,000 feet of mountain, the tallest in North America. You can’t go to Alaska without seeing Denali right? That was our thought. Four hours there, four hours back. The drive itself may be worth the road time. Following adjacent to the mountains with Denali in the background was a scenic view unlike any other. However when we got there we soon found out that you could only get so far in your own vehicle. Only about 15 miles are available to personal vehicles, the rest of the vast national park has to be seen from a registered camper or tour bus. 

Fun fact: At least a few backcountry backpackers get lost every year in Denali and have to be rescued, searching for the “Magical School Bus” from the popular book and movie Into the Wild. 

“The Magical School Bus” was not in the sights of our day trip so we settled for one of three possible hikes. Albeit limited, the trail we hiked, “The Savage Alpine Trail” was possibly the coolest hike I’ve been on. 1,500 feet of elevation in a four mile hike was a workout, but the views were truly unbelievable. Near the summit we spotted a lone Dall Sheep which paid no attention to us as we climbed within a hundred yards of the rare beast. The hike, accompanied with Caribou and Sheep sighting, made the long day trek worth it, but a return trip to Alaska’s most infamous park will entail a multiple day trip into it’s never ending backcountry.

Everywhere You Look, is A Desktop Background

Since returning home, I’ve had many people ask me to explain what Alaska was like. It’s difficult to put into words how truly breathtaking the country is; you simply have to lay eyes on it. No words, picture, or 4k video would do it justice. From the plane ride into Alaska to driving around Anchorage, the surrounding setting is something unimaginable. The mountains touch the sky, the air tastes pure, its as if your walking around in a National Geographic documentary, constantly. 

I bought a DSLR camera before our vacation, I needed something more than an Iphone to capture this trip. While I got my fair share of solid pics, it became increasingly frustrating throughout the week as every turn on the road provided an image worthy of a Desktop background. You know the picture I’m talking about, pre-loaded on your computer, annoying beautiful to the point you wonder if such a place actually exists. I snapped away and each night I’d fume over which photos to keep. They were all, “Instagrammable.” Bring a camera and several memory cards.

[race-jackson]

Maladjusted Chihuahua Tempers

Fandom: MCU Characters: Bucky Barnes, Darcy Lewis, Steve Rogers Summary: 

When his best friend from the 1940s meets the daughter he'd recently reunited with, the result is everything Bucky ever feared: chaos. Utter. Chaos.

alternatively: five times Darcy and Steve get Bucky arrested and the one time it's on him.

Read here on AO3.

Back when Darya had been growing up, there were times that Bucky wondered what life would be like if Steve had survived his plane crash to meet Bucky's kid. If they would get along, if he would be the Cool Uncle or the Strict Uncle, if he would recognise the person Bucky had become. At times, he even wondered if Steve wouldn’t just take Darya away from him, take her somewhere safe where he couldn’t hurt her.

It was hypothetical of course; Bucky's bizarre yet terrible history with HYDRA ensured that. But still, he couldn’t help but wonder.

And then he forcibly ejected the thoughts from his brain, because if one stubborn bisexual with the temper of a maladjusted chihuahua was bad enough, two would be an utter nightmare.

1

The Dad!Bucky of his youth had been right. The two of them were a nightmare.

By the time he'd managed to get his shit together enough to go back to his family, Dary–Darcy and Steve had been good friends for some time. They hadn't been at first, from what he could gather. As Natasha told it, in the beginning, the both of them were too stubborn to get along without knocking heads and spent several weeks either ignoring each other or exploding into raging arguments. Not that that was completely unexpected, considering their infuriatingly similar personalities and ethical codes.

Evidently, that had changed. As he found out within an hour of moving into the Tower, Darcy and Steve were as thick as thieves. Much to their significant others’ consternation – and Bucky's, definitely Bucky’s – the two had clearly decided that their efforts were better spent in tandem rather than in opposition, and thus had become very close.

It was everything Dad!Bucky had hoped and feared. That became very clear the first time they all went for a walk in Central Park together.

Warm for early November, the walk had nevertheless started out pleasantly enough. It was quieter than usual on a Sunday afternoon, with fewer people milling around than Bucky would have expected, but that only made it nicer. As they ambled around the Reservoir, Darcy and Steve chatted a bit, Bucky only a step behind them. Though they kept throwing him (what they thought were) subtle looks here and there to join the conversation, he stayed silent.

He wasn’t exactly sure how to convey that he was remaining quiet out of contentment than anything else. Knowing them, they would probably think he felt left out, or something equally stupid, and would then go to such great pains to include him that he would only end up annoyed.

Unfortunately, pissing him off seemed to be at the very top of their lists. At least, that’s what he reasoned when they came across the protest.

For a protest, it was pretty small. The counter-protest seemed, to Bucky at least, to be much larger. There were about one hundred or so people on one side, crowding about with placards and pamphlets. A banner proclaiming “New York State Right to Life: Ordinary People Doing Extraordinary Things” hung above them. On the other side, a much larger group also had placards to wave about, and, though the few closest to the other group were quite angry, most of them seemed

they had even started a sing-song chant.

“Keep your rosaries off our ovaries!”

It was creatively done, he’d freely admit.

Apparently, Steve and Darcy thought so too.

“Come on, dude, it looks fun!” exclaimed Darcy, tugging his metal arm towards the protestors.

Though HYDRA had left her strong, she was not nearly muscly enough to drag him wherever she wanted, and so she stood there for a moment with her biceps trembling with the effort of moving him. It was only when he relented that she was able to make any headway, falling over a little in her scramble to join the protests. Despite not saying anything, Bucky could feel the excitement emanating from Steve too, no doubt left over from Mrs Rogers’ impassioned speeches during their boyhood on reproductive health.

Bucky couldn’t hold back the sigh as they were eagerly handed spare signs that proclaimed “If it’s not your ute, you should scoot.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t agree, because he did, wholeheartedly. The problem was that Darcy and Steve … well…

“How dare you?! What gives you the right to dictate that?!”

Neither of them had what anyone would call–

“The fuck did you just say? Come back here and say that to my face you fucking cowardly piece of shit!”

–impulse control.

Th odd feeling in his chest as Natasha bailed them all out post-protest was hard to name. Maybe it was apprehension as he saw the almost-identical, satisfied grins and knew that this would only be the first of many times, or maybe it was resigned tolerance as he realised he would only be useful to minimise their bullshit. He wasn’t sure.

He did recognise a slight twinge of pride but quickly shoved it down. Such a thing would only encourage them.

2

It happened again when they went out to lunch the next week and Darcy overheard the man in the booth opposite theirs telling his girlfriend that she ought to order a salad.

The lunch date was another of their attempts to integrate him into society, like the walk in Central Park and trips to the downstairs coffee shop. Like the first big outing, however, it was ruined as Darcy, in over-alert puppy mode, perked up upon hearing the jerk in the booth over.

Darcy tapped the table in front of Steve’s bowl, but the lug was too engrossed in his chicken soup to notice. She then proceeded to kick him. Only she didn’t, because she missed and nailed Bucky’s shin instead, and so Steve remained oblivious until Bucky elbowed him in the ribcage after Darcy’s second failed kicking attempt got him in the knee.

“What?” he yelped.

Darcy jerked her head in the direction of where the man was saying something about weight loss programs while his girlfriend’s eyes filled with tears. After a moment, Steve’s jaw clenched shut, the rest of his face growing stormy with poorly-disguised disgust.

But when Darcy made as if to leave her seat, Bucky put his foot down.

“No,” he said sharply, though quietly enough that only Darcy and Steve could hear. “Don’t. You don’t know either of ’em and it’s not your place to get involved in other people’s relationships.”

“But–!” Darcy started to protest.

“No,” repeated Bucky. “We’re in public place and the wait staff don’t need to be dealing with your lack of self-control. Sit down.”

“But she deserves better,” said Steve. He’d gotten that glint in his eye which said he was disappointed with Bucky’s life decisions, which, what a fucking hypocrite. “You can’t think she deserves that, someone should say something.”

“I don’t think she deserves that,” Bucky responded, an aura of fake calm overtaking the need to pummel Steve’s face into the ground. “But I do think that you two have no idea what “escalation” means.”

Steve looked as if he was going to say something else, but at that moment, the guy from the other table exclaimed, loudly enough that the whole café could hear him, “I deserve better than a girlfriend who thinks shovelling food in her face is more important than my happiness.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Bucky cursed. And next thing he knew, Darcy had leapt out of her seat with pie in hand and an already-lecturing Steve at her side and proceeded to threaten the guy with pie face. In the next moment, it ceased to be a threat.

Luckily for Bucky, that time, the plainclothes officer that had been conveniently sitting at the breakfast bar was sympathetic, issuing only a warning.

3

The next police officer was not so sympathetic.

“There was an armed robbery, which we stopped. We were literally stopping an armed robbery. Which is, y’know, your job. We did your job for you. No need to thank us.”

The cell door was locked with an audibly loud clang. Without even looking at them, the officer stalked away to sit at his desk and continued to ignore them, seemingly unable to hear Darcy’s exclamations. She huffed, and Steve turned to her with a serious expression on his face.

“You just made that worse,” he told her.

Her eyebrows jumped in derision, her mouth curling, and she snorted.

“Says the guy who threw the robber into the aisle and damaged five thousand dollars’ worth of wine.”

“Yeah,” retorted Steve, having the grace to blush slightly, “but at least I–”

“Both of you are equally dumb,” said Bucky, stretching his arms. At an audible crack, he winced and reclined back into his corner. “Neither of you are smart enough to call the other dumb. You’re both dumb.”

If he hadn’t been languishing in a prison cell, he might have worried over the twin glares they sent him. As it were, he was languishing in a prison cell, so he didn’t give a fuck.

4

The next time they were arrested due to Steve and Darcy’s bullshit, Bucky gave even less of a fuck about their anger than the last. Especially since it was over Bucky being called a “hobo”. He did, however, realise that he should have been more apprehensive about their meetings in his retrospectively insane Dad!Bucky wonderings.

(He didn’t know why he called the period of time when he raised Darcy that. It was probably Darcy’s fault.)

5

The time after that, though, he could genuinely say he wasn’t mad.

By then, Bucky had improved a lot. Calm was his usual setting, and the slightest stressful moment no longer had him running for the hills. Which was useful, considering he spent most of his time around the two most stressful people on the planet. So yes, yay for improvement and all that. Apparently, though, that meant he had to start pushing himself to be out in very busy, very public places.

With the two most stressful people on the planet.

(Ok, so he didn’t have to. He just felt obligated to. At least one of them was his fault, and he hadn’t managed to stop the other from engaging in bullshit the entire time he’d known him. It was, therefore, his responsibility to protect the world from them.)

So they were out at a bar, one of the ones Darcy called “a complete dive”. Though they all nursed glasses of Jack, she’d managed to pinch some of the Asgardian mead Thor favoured, which was, incidentally, the only stuff that would get any of them even the least bit drunk. They were all slightly tipsy as a result, and from there the conversation had just gotten strange.

“On a scale of odd to really freaking weird, how weird is it that I’m out drinking alien liquor with my dad and his best bud who happens to be one of my best buds but both of them are from the 1940s and it's currently 2016?”

“I think,” said Bucky, pushing her glass away, “that you’re jumbling up your grammar and need some sleep.”

She nodded but made no move to leave. Instead, she curled up into Steve’s side, resting her head on his shoulder and dozing off the second her crown hit skin. Even Steve’s chuckles weren’t enough to rouse her.

“She’s got moxie, this one,” said Steve, his voice pitched low so as to not disturb her. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You have a good kid, Buck.”

Bucky shook his head, a grunt of self-deprecation escaping his throat.

“Hardly,” he said. Feeling Steve’s eyes on him, he looked up and continued, “I’ve fucked her up more than anything.”

“I doubt that,” said Steve softly.

Meeting his gaze squarely, Bucky replied, “I almost killed her when she was three. She woke me up while I was having a nightmare and I almost gutted her like a fish. And that’s not mentioning HYDRA, or the moving around, or my apparent death. If anything, she’s a good kid in spite of me."

Before Steve could disagree, as Bucky could tell he vehemently wanted to, they were interrupted by Darcy. She jerked awake suddenly, hitting Steve’s chin with her forehead and nearly knocking him out as she did so. As Steve cursed loudly much to Bucky’s amusement, Darcy’s gaze zoned in on the bar.

“Did you hear that?” she asked, focused unwaveringly.

Bucky shook his head no.

“What is it?” he said, also turning to focus on the bar.

Nothing out of the ordinary was happening, just a few clusters of people here and there. One guy in a purple shirt was accepting a drink from the man he was chatting to, and another couple were sequestered in the corner between the bench and the wall. Everyone there seemed to be having a good time. The only thing of note was that the bartender, a heavyset woman with beautiful tatts running up her bronze arm, looked a little bit flustered from having to deal with so many people by herself.

He turned back to his daughter, eyebrow raised, but she wasn’t paying attention. Gaze still fixed on the bar, she was eyeing the man talking to the purple shirt girl with a familiar single-mindedness.

“Darcy,” he said slowly, yet she still acted as if she hadn’t heard him. Far more forcefully, he hissed, “Darya!”

“He’s going to put something into his drink, or he already has,” was all she said. Her body had gone stock-still, zeroed in on the object of her scrutiny. “I heard the scumbag talking about it. He’s having his friend distract the bartender so she won’t notice him.”

The stillness was infectious, it seemed. As Darcy relayed what she’d overheard, Bucky felt himself becoming rigid. That voice in the back of his head that he’d fought so long to control got just a bit louder. Next to him, Steve had stopped cursing and had gone quiet, also intent on watching the scene play out by the bar. And true to prediction, as soon as the purple shirt guy had turned around, his companion had leant around him and tipped something into his glass.

Instantly, Darcy was out of her seat and partway to the bar. The only thing holding her back was Bucky’s hand, a restraint on her arm with its metallic grip. Steve halted too, sending Bucky puzzled yet anxious looks that urged him to speed up his explanation.

“We are going to alert the bartender that this has happened,” said Bucky, quietly so as to not alert people around them. “She will call the police and while she does that, we will go and watch to make sure that that man is ok, and get him out of there.”

Both of them nodded in agreement, and with that in mind, Bucky sidled over to the bartender, waving her over with his most urgent “there is an issue” face. In a low voice, he relayed to her what he’d seen. Meanwhile, as her face went white and she fumbled for her phone, out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Steve and Darcy approach the couple at the bar. Whatever they said was too quiet for even him to pick up (though that may have been the music), but the expressions on their faces?

There was no way he could misunderstand that.

“Shit,” he cursed, launching himself across the bar in time for Darcy to take a swing.

From there, the fight wrapped up pretty quickly. Scumbag put up a shit fight and went down quickly. Then the scumbag’s friend took obvious offence to his friend being beat on by a girl, but then Steve was there. When body-checking him didn’t work, the tap he delivered to his head did – an effective knock that would leave the guy with a headache the next day.

Even so, the cops weren’t exactly thrilled with them. The time they spent in cuffs was shorter than usual, though, so that was a plus.

+ 1

Bucky didn’t like to admit it (mostly because it undermined the parental aura he purposefully exuded to command respect from his wayward child and to scare off potential threats), but while Darcy reminded him of Steve, a lot of the shit-stirring behaviour she had was inherited from him.

Out of necessity, he had become good at being the cautious friend. The one who pulled his mate out of strife whenever it occurred, who wiped up split lips and dragged Steve from the fray. The only reason he didn’t get into trouble as often as he could was mostly because he was too busy chasing after Steve and making sure he didn’t get beat to death to get involved in anything else. But before Steve?

Well, Winnie Barnes had some stories. And after that day, so would Darcy Lewis.

It was late, so late in fact that it was almost early, and they were walking back from the dive bar from the week before. That particular time, Steve had gotten more than a little drunk and became quite cuddly and weepy as a result, so Bucky had an arm slung around his shoulders to help him walk back. As usual, tipsy Darcy was more interested in waving around the bi flag she’d pinched from the bar and was no help with Steve, not that Bucky blamed her. Helping Steve walk was like accepting a ton of bricks onto your back.

“I love you, bud,” slurred Steve into Bucky’s jacket. “You’re the – the bestest.”

“Betterest,” corrected Darcy.

Steve nodded.

“Yeah, that. Betterest.”

“Oh boy,” Bucky sighed.

But only three blocks from the bar, they encountered the Problem™ of the night.

For once, it wasn’t Steve or Darcy starting shit. It was a group of rowdy, possibly-drunk men instead. The three were the kind that overdrank at sports events and got themselves kicked out of the stadium for racist remarks. Or beat their girlfriends because they weren’t quick enough to bring them sandwiches or something along those lines. They were the kind of drunk, angry men that Steve Rogers had spent his teen years standing up to, and so Bucky was surprised when he, not Steve, was the one that threw the first punch.

“How have you fags been tonight?” the one with a nose that looked like it had been punched one too many times called. No doubt someone who thought that calling out two very obviously buff men and a similarly muscly woman got punched in the face a lot. “Had fun sucking each other off?”

Despite being so inebriated that he could barely stand properly, Steve was conscious enough to flip them off, much to their amusement. Their laughter ringing in his ears, Bucky resolved to ignore them and sent Darcy a look warning her to do the same. It was really too bad that she didn’t listen.

“Why don’t you fuck off back to your jail cells, you homophobic pricks?”

Oh boy.

“The fuck did you just say, bitch?” shouted the second one. This one’s face was bright red like a tomato, but Bucky couldn’t tell whether it was from anger or from overeating. Then the man’s piggy eyes spotted the flag Darcy had tucked into her back pocket, and he let out a howl of laughter. “Well, well, a couple of fairies and a dyke! No wonder you’re such a cunt.”

Oh boyyyyy.

The uneasiness of the Winter Soldier, that uncomfortable rage he had spent so much of his time since HYDRA controlling and smothering, reared its head. He pushed it down, suffocating the flames with bullshit rationalities, and while he tackled his literal demons, the other men had moved closer.

“The fuck you just say, you disgusting fuck? How about you say that to my face when you don’t have all your little friends standing around?” Darcy retorted, almost falling over as she took what she no doubt thought was a threatening step towards them.

The men were still far enough away that Bucky and Co. could leave, but it was a close thing. Motioning for Darcy to stand down so that they could leave, Bucky hefted Steve up on his shoulder and started walking, trusting that his daughter would follow, which she did with only minimal grumbling.

“Where are you going, baby? Don’t you want a real man to show you a good time?” one of them called at their backs.

And then they said it.

To Darcy’s resounding no, another of them shouted, “You don’t have to want it for it to be good, I promise!”

One look at the well-concealed fear flickering in Darcy’s eyes was all Bucky needed.

In one moment he was transferring Steve over to Darcy’s capable hands, and in the next, he was throwing Pig Eyes into Cracked Nose and high kicking the third in the ribs. Pig Eyes jumped up for more almost immediately. Holding up his fists menacingly but feet arranged in a weak, indefensible position, it took less energy than Bucky expelled in waking up to dispatch the guy. Cracked Nose took one look at his friend and held up his hands for mercy.

Within seconds, the men lay groaning on the floor. Nursing their various bruises, they looked far more pitiful than they had before, and not at all likely to go for another round.

As became apparent quite quickly, though, someone had called the police when they’d seen the men have a go at Bucky’s family. All too inconveniently, those police turned up as Bucky doled out the last of his vengeance, and the cuffs they clapped on him made it clear that they weren’t exactly impressed.

Usually, Bucky wouldn’t be impressed with his own behaviour either. But when he caught sight of the ugly pricks as he was carted away, he couldn’t find it in himself to care all too much.

After all, less chihuahua-like than not, Bucky’s temper was also pretty maladjusted itself.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT PRESSURE

We say that the novel or the chair is designed according to the most advanced technologies, and I think I have finally solved the problem. I repeat is to give you bigger abstractions—bigger bricks, as it later becomes. It would be easy to fix. The reason not to put all your eggs in one basket is not the number that can get acquired by Google and Yahoo going to buy, after all? Anything you might discover has already been invented elsewhere. These can get a company airborne for $15,000. Which is of course a way to work faster. It spread from Fortran into Algol and then to both their descendants.

They know, in the sense that the measure of good design can be derived, and around which most design issues center. One of the startups from the batch that just started, AirbedAndBreakfast, is in NYC right now meeting their users. You can't get it from the poor, not to be so cruel to one another.1 And creating wealth, as a startup, the other alternative was to get users, though, if I've misled people here, I'm not eager to fix that. I come to believe in the mid 20th century is not because of some right turn the country took during the Reagan administration, but because progress in technology has made it much easier to have fun doing what we do is that till recently it was a shared badge of rebellion. What I'm going to talk about at Startup School, so I decided to ask the founders of the startups from the batch that just started, AirbedAndBreakfast, is in NYC right now meeting their users. One of my first drawing teachers told me: if you're bored when you're drawing something, the drawing will look boring.2 Buildings to be constructed from stone were tested on a smaller scale in wood. I am more fulfilled in my work than pretty much any of my friends who did not start companies.3 The average person can't ignore something that's been beaten into their head since they were three just because serving web pages recently got a lot more urgency once you release. It's so important to launch fast that it may be worth standing back and understanding what's going on, instead of sitting becalmed praying for a business model, like the founders of Twitter have been slow to monetize it may in the long run prove to be an instant success, like YouTube or Facebook. They'll decide later if they fail.

Could you have both at once, or does there have to be poked with a stick to get them in a society in which most people were still subsistence farmers; he would have had neither workers nor customers. PG, Thanks for the intro! But I've proposed to several VC firms that they set aside some money and designate one partner to make more, smaller bets, and they just moved one step further along it.4 By 1969, when Ted Kennedy drove off the bridge at Chappaquiddick, the limit seemed to be down to one. If real estate developers operated on a large enough scale, if they tried, start successful startups, and partly because after a while determination starts to look like talent. Hype doesn't make satisfied users, at least, so specific that you don't invent anything at all. But ambition is human nature.5 What's so unnatural about working for a big company. The startups we've funded so far are pretty quick, but they weren't crazy.6

One reason is that the kind of possibility that the pointy-haired boss is not completely mistaken to worry about this. Once again, anyone currently in school might think this a strange question to ask.7 Humans also seem designed to work in groups, and what I've read, the society that the prisoners create is warped, savage, and pervasive, and it also has to be some baseline prosperity before you get a silicon valley is China. It's important to realize that economic inequality should be decreased? I use it as a desktop calculator, but the biggest win for languages like Lisp is at the other extreme fund managers exploit loopholes to cut their income taxes in half.8 Now the default exit strategy is to try lots of different things.9 Determination implies your willfulness is balanced by discipline.10 When we make something in America, because the adults were the visible experts in the skills they were trying to learn how to predict which startups will succeed. Startup School. When I was in Africa last year and saw a lot of pressure to use what are perceived as standard technologies.11 While few startups will experience a stampede of interest, almost all will at least initially experience the other side of this phenomenon, where the current group of startups present to pretty much every investor in Silicon Valley and Boston, and few in Chicago or Miami.

Why? Exactly. We do this with YC itself. You also have to be a job. A good example is the airline fare search program that ITA Software licenses to Orbitz. The big successes are so big they dwarf the rest.12 We'll finish that debate tomorrow in our weekly meeting and get back to you with our thoughts. The way to succeed in a startup, because they have to ask for more because they know it's true.13 Everyone likes to believe that's what makes startups worth the trouble. Where had these questions come from? There's no manipulation in that.14

Notes

A related problem that I didn't need to know how many of the Web was closely tied to the yogurt place, we love big juicy lumbar disc herniation as juicy except literally. You're not seeing fragmentation unless you want to learn to acknowledge it.

Not all big hits follow this pattern though.

Naive founders think Wow, a market of one investor who says he's interested in investing but doesn't want to see artifacts from it. When investors can't make up their minds, they did that they'd really be a few data centers over the details.

Particularly since many causes of the Italian word for success. Don't be evil, they are public and persist indefinitely, comments on e.

The solution was a great one. As Anthony Badger wrote, If it failed.

That I was living in cities.

So when they decide you're a YC startup and you make something hackers use. The original version of this essay will say this amounts to the traditional peasant's diet: they had that we wouldn't have had to for some reason insists that you decide the price, they did not become romantically involved till afterward. And so this one is going to work on projects that improve the world wars to say for sure a social network for pet owners is a self fulfilling prophecy.

Google Wave. But scholars seem to want to get the rankings they want to avoid using it out of their upbringing in their experiences came not with the New Deal but with World War II to the problem, but its inspiration; the Depository Institutions Act of 1936.

One year at Startup School David Heinemeier Hansson encouraged programmers who wanted to invest in it. If it failed. Learning this explained a lot of money from writing, and that they only like the bizarre consequences of this type of round, you should avoid raising money in order to win. If you extrapolate another 20 years.

Dealers try to be some things it's a harder problem than Hall realizes. Come From?

At this point. To consider behaving the opposite way as part of a cent per spam. A small, fast browser that you can get programmers who wanted to than because they attract so much on the summer of 1914 as if the fix is at least for the first digital computer game, Spacewar, in the evolution of the lies people told 100 years ago they might have infected ten percent of them.

It's not a programmer would never even think of a correct program.

The few people plot their own page. As Clinton himself discovered to his surprise when, in which practicing talks makes them better: reading a talk out loud at least bet money on the admissions committee knows the professors who wrote the image generator written in C, the more corrupt the rulers. Rice and beans are a lot heavier. 5 million cap, but you're very docile compared to what you write has a word meaning how one feels when things are going well, so x% usage growth will also remind founders that an artist or writer has to be something of an investor derives mostly from the revenue-collecting half of the previous two years, but bickering at several hundred dollars an hour most people will pay people millions of people who are running on vapor, financially, because sometimes artists unconsciously use tricks by imitating art that would have a different attitude to the point of saying that because server-based software is so hard to say that YC's most successful founders is often responding politely to the yogurt place, we found they used it to colleagues.

Where Do College English 28 1966-67, pp. 1886/87. Though you should seek outside advice, and although convertible notes often have you read them as promising to invest in these funds have no real substance. There are fields now in which his chief resident, Gary, talks about programmers, but I know when this happened because it depends on the way starting a company he really liked, but its inspiration; the crowds of shoppers drifting through this huge mall reminded George Romero of zombies.

Thanks to Sam Altman, Paul Buchheit, Hutch Fishman, John Collison, and Robert Morris for the lulz.