#i have less than fifty pages left

[britneyshakespeare]

i feel so empty inside

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 vice admiral

synopsis: after receiving some terrible news by news coo, you're left completely devastated. the crew does their best to console you, to no avail... and zoro realizes that, for once, his actions won't speak louder than his words... and makes a promise he's willing to die to keep.

cw: fluff with a decent dash of angst, parental death if that's triggering for you, reader calls her dad papa, comfort, zoro is once again down bad for reader, their relationship is super cute, zoro hates romance books.

a/n: listened to a lot of sad music for this

"They clashed, blades sparking and bodies twirling in an epic dance of death," you read aloud, completely enraptured by the book. "Their love was strong, but the hatred that kept them apart was stronger... It seemed that violence would once again be the driving force of their separation... as well as their rejuvenation."

Zoro gagged, keeping up the cadence of his push-ups as he rolled his eyes, glancing at you on his back with a raised brow.

Seriously...?

"You told me this book was about swordsmanship..." he grunted out, turning his gaze back to the grassy deck. "For the past three chapters... they haven't shut up about their rival families... or their... love for each other."

You let out a small snicker at his annoyed tone, a cheeky grin stretching across your lips as you turned the page.

"Well, if I told you about the romance part, you wouldn't have let me read it," you stated, simply.

"Gee, I wonder why..." he scoffed, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Hey!"

You flicked him in the back of the head, donning a small pout as he sighed, grumbling to himself something along the lines of:

"Always with the pout... she knows I hate the damn pout..."

It was Calisthenics Day, and with such beautiful weather, Zoro had decided to take his training outside, which meant dragging you out of your room to join him.

Even though he always deflected when asked about it, everyone knew that incorporating you into his workouts was one of his many guilty pleasures.

Wearing you like backpack during his pull-ups...

Having you take a nap on his barbell as he bench-pressed...

Plopping you down on his back for push-ups as you read...

He loved it.

He loved being in your presence because, to him, it felt oddly intimate—having you so close as he worked hard to get stronger, honing his body with the goal of protecting you in mind.

Not to mention it fluffed up his ego, being able to lift up and toss around his woman with such ease.

He was only a man... and couldn't help the renewed confidence he gained after every workout.

"Well, I didn't completely lie. The book's got sword-fights in it," you defended, flipping back through the last few chapters.

"Yeah, one every fifty pages," he scoffed once again. "And they're not even good. Who the hell dances in the middle of a fight?"

Your brows flattened, incredulously.

'Jeez...'

"Zo', it's figurative language. They're not actually dancing."

"Figurative... what?"

"Figurative language. Writers use it to make descriptions more interesting."

"Why don't they just say what they mean and be done with it?"

"'Cause that's boring."

"It would make this crap less confusing. Too many blinding smiles and sparkling eyes. Just say the girl looks nice and move on."

You sighed, not at all surprised by his response.

'He's so backwards...'

Zoro was a man who found it hard to say I love you, yet had no problem throwing himself in front of a bullet for you.

Really.

Most girls got bouquets and chocolates from their lovers after their one month anniversary, but you got to patch him up after he was hit in the chest by a fucking cannonball, all because you were in its line of fire.

A rather heart-warming yet terrifying problem to have.

The memory brought a small smile to your face, your lips letting out tiny chuckle as you recalled the scene.

"Gods, Zoro, why the hell did you do that?!" you sniffled, a few tears rolling down your cheeks as he coughed up another round of blood. "I could've dodged!"

He chuckled, painfully, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"With your reaction time?" he weakly teased, raising a brow as he sat up, "I don't think so."

Clutching his side, he let out a wince, pulling away his hand to see his blood was soaking through the bandages you'd applied.

"This is serious! Stop moving or you're gonna tear it open again!" you scolded, glassy eyed and wobbly lipped as you pressed your hand against his chest, forcing him to lay back down. "Gods, you're so stupid... why did you do that?"

After working tirelessly for a whole hour, Chopper was able to stabilize him, the cannonball having nearly tore off the whole of his side, and the organs along with it.

The doctor said it was a miracle, and medically improbable, that the man was still alive.

Zoro paused a moment, breathing slightly shallow as his eyes bore intensely into yours.

He knew exactly why...

"'Cause it was you..."

"Guys! News Coo's here!" Nami called, exiting her office and snapping you out of your thoughts.

Instantly, your mind pushed away the doom and gloom, making room for the wide grin that broke out on your face.

"Yes!" you cheered, jumping off Zoro's back, the man cracking a small smile at your excitement.

'Must be her dad...'

"Ooo, I wanna see!" Luffy exclaimed, swinging over from the figurehead. "I hope my bounty went up!"

"Me, too!" Chopper agreed, bursting from the med bay.

"Wait for me~!" Brook sang, jumping down from the balcony of the crow's nest.

"I call dibs on the funny papers!" Usopp perked up from his spot on the higher deck, tinkering with a new gadget of his.

"Let's see what's new in the world today," Robin mused with a smile, crossing her arms as she walked over to join the rest.

"It's been so long! I wonder how my father's doing!" you squealed, brimming with joy. "I bet he's captured a ton of other pirates!"

"Wait, (y/n), isn't your dad a marine?" Chopper asked, tugging at your arm.

"Yup!" you nodded, proudly. "One of the best there is! Back when he was in his prime, he was one of the strongest in the Navy! He even fought Gold Roger!"

"GOLD ROGER?!" Chopper and Brook exclaimed, shocked.

With a grin, Luffy threw a stretchy arm over your shoulder, literally pulling himself into the conversation.

"Yuh-huh! He and my grandpa are good friends!" your captain confirmed. "They go way back!"

Like Garp, your father was less than pleased to find out that you'd run away from home to become a pirate, much less a pirate with his best friend's grandson.

But, after some time, he learned to accept your decision, and even went as far as saying so in person, reuniting with you on Dressrosa and assuring that he still loved you with all his heart—you had feared he hated you for your decision.

He promised you both would meet again someday, and probably have to fight, given your luck.

So you promised to get even stronger, that way you'd be able to kick his ass back to the Red Line.

Let's just say your head got a good bonking for that one...

"Here, (y/n)," Nami smiled, tossing you the rolled up newspaper. "Take first look."

Giddily, you caught it, giving her a quick nod of thanks before flipping through the pages, searching for your father's name.

Until you found it.

"I found him!" you grinned, skimming through the article. "It is with a heavy heart that the Navy mourns the loss of one of its finest. Vice Admiral (d/n)..."

Your voice trailed off at the end, nearly dying completely as the words rang in the air, sounding foreign, despite it being you that said them.

Zoro froze mid-push up, eyes wide.

'Oh, no...'

Nami quietly gasped, hands rising to cover her mouth in shock, the others sharing similar expressions.

"After failing to return from a routine patrol of the sea surrounding Dunga, the vice admiral was reported missing. Naturally, the Navy sent out a search party, and discovered his ship floating aimlessly a few miles away from the island, battered beyond repair," you continued, frantically searching for some sort of catch. "According to Vice Admiral Momonga's report, upon boarding, the party found his body, along with the bodies of his entire squadron, on deck, each of them dead by varying causes."

No...

It wasn't true...

It couldn't be...

'Papa...'

You chest felt like it was going to cave in on itself, but you couldn't keep yourself from reading, still hoping for a twist.

"Of course, given the ship's close proximity to Pirate Island, it is safe to assume that the Blackbeard Pirates were the perpetrators of this deed. But, nonetheless, we are still left to grieve over this monumental loss..."

Shaking, your legs finally gave out, dropping you to your knees and your hands tightly gripped the newspaper, crumpling the pages.

"Oh, (y/n)..." Nami dropped to join you, a sorry expression on her face as she rested a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

You stayed stiff as a board, still in a state of shock.

Your father loved you with every bone in his body.

He was the man that taught you how to fight after finding out you were being picked on.

The man that kissed away your boo-boos after your daily adventures in the woods.

The man that held you during a thunderstorm after finding you hiding under his covers.

The man that paraded you around the house whenever you were sad, just to see you smile.

And despite the fact you ran away from home, despite the fact you joined the side he'd been fighting for over half his life... that reality never changed.

You were still the same, old (n/n) to him, and he was still your papa.

The papa... that you would never see again.

Your throat let out a wail of sorrow as you crumpled into Nami, clutching the paper tightly in your hands.

Everyone froze, hearts breaking at your sadness, expressions falling at the sight.

Your shoulders rocked with sobs, tears rolling down your hot cheeks like rivulets, your brows cinched in a look nothing short of agony.

You couldn't breathe, your chest heaving with effort as it attempted to retain the air you pushed out with your bawling.

"It can't—! I won't—!" you sputtered, coughing and gasping in an attempt to form the words. "He promised me! H-He promised me I'd see him again!"

"Don't start slackin' on me, kiddo. The next time we meet, it won't be as friendly," your dad smiled, ruffling your hair. "You may be tough now, but you better be a hell of a lot tougher if you wanna stand a chance."

"Psh! The next time we meet I'll be a hell of a lot stronger than you," you scoffed, proudly. "And then I'll kick your ass all the way back to the Red Line!"

"Like hell you will!" he exclaimed, hitting you upside the head with a haki-coated fist.

"OW! Papa, that hurt!" you loudly winced, rubbing the spot

"I love ya, (n/n)!"

"Love you, too, you old jerk!"

A new wave of tears erupted, your sobs becoming even more uncontrollable.

Your mind was completely gone with grief, only one word sticking out among the chaos.

"PAPA!"

Setting himself down on one of the mats in the crow's nest, Zoro's chest tightened, the sound of your wails on a permanent loop within his head.

After hours of consoling, Nami and Robin had finally calmed you to sleep, your body utterly exhausted from all the crying.

Sanji had made a banquet of your favorite foods for dinner, but you didn't eat a single bite.

Brook tried to serenade you with happy songs, but they all seemed to go in one ear and out the other.

Even Luffy tried to make you laugh, but it only made you even sadder, reminded of the times your father tried to cheer you up.

Safe to say, the entire crew was worried sick.

But, in a last ditch attempt to lift your spirits, Usopp and Franky banded together to build an altar in the crow's nest, using one of your father's old newspaper clippings as a photo.

It was beautifully ornate, yet simple, clearly demonstrating the skill and care it took to make it.

They hoped to surprise you with it when you woke up.

But before that... Zoro had to do something.

Using a match, he lit the incense that sat in front of your father's image—the picture of him standing at attention, arms crossed over his chest and expression pulled taut.

He looked strong, like a hero in a comic book, and twice as mean.

Though, if your stories were anything to go off of, he was apparently nothing but a big, old teddy bear.

Clapping his hands together, Zoro shut his eyes, paying his respects.

Without this man, he would've never met you.

Never seen your smile...

Never heard your laughter...

Never held your hand in his...

You were among the most important people in his life, and you wouldn't be the strong, kind, and compassionate woman he knew without your father.

That alone made him deserving of thanks.

But that wasn't the only thing the swordsman was there for...

Opening his eyes, Zoro's hand moved to grab the handle of his Wado Ichimonji, pulling the blade out of its sheath and holding it upright.

"Vice Admiral (d/n)... my name is Roronoa Zoro, and I am the man who will be the World's Greatest Swordsman," he started, deadly serious, looking straight into the eyes of your father's picture. "You don't know me, and I've never had the privilege of meeting you in person. But if there's one thing we have in common... it's (y/n)."

He tensed slightly, as if bracing himself for some harsh attack, letting out a smooth, deep stream of breath to calm his nerves.

"I love her... a lot."

He paused a little awkwardly, but cleared his throat to cover it up, pressing forward.

"Okay... maybe more than a lot," he corrected, glancing down at himself. "But it's because of that I put my life on the line for her every day... and it's because of that I'm worried about her safety."

His gaze sharpened, grip tightening on his sword.

'Bastards...'

"The newspaper revealed (y/n) as your daughter," he stated, jaw set tight. "She told me you tried to hide that, in case any of the pirates you put away managed to escape and seek revenge... but now that the secret's out... and you're dead... it's open season on her head."

He felt anger claw at the back of his throat, threatening to spring loose.

The Navy was fucking useless...

In their lousy attempt to honor the vice admiral's memory, they had inadvertently outed you to the world, completely destroying the years upon years of secrecy your father had worked so hard to protect.

Did they forget about his notoriety?

Forget about the thousands of pirates he'd jailed?

Forget about the countless enemies he'd made?

Forget about the hundreds of dangerous Impel Down escapees?

In your state of mourning, you were incredibly vulnerable, and if a blood-thirsty, revenge-seeking pirate came around wanting to settle a score, he wouldn't give two shits about how you were feeling.

Intentional or not, the Navy had thrown you into the proverbial lion's den.

But it would be a cold day in hell before Zoro let anything happen.

"While she's strong as hell on her own, with you gone, someone's gotta step up to support... be a figure or a name attached to her... strong enough to ward off any unwanted attention..."

He tensed, glancing back up at the picture.

"Which is why I'm here."

Taking another deep breath, he turned his gaze to his sword, now more prepared than ever.

"Vice Admiral (d/n)... I am in love with your daughter. And I solemnly swear from this moment forward... that I will never let her know pain."

His brows furrowed, expression cinched tight in earnest.

"That any weapon, plan, or plot made against her will fall at my blade... that any who come with the intent to harm her will be struck down without a second thought."

What Zoro saw that day scarred his heart for the rest of his life.

To see you so distraught... so crushed... broke a piece of him as well, and it was clear based off the others that gestures would not be able to break through to you.

So, for once, he would have to let his words speak louder than his actions.

"That I will stay by her side until she no longer needs me... that I will protect her with my every breath... that I will be a friend, a guard, a partner, or none at all at if she wants me to be..."

He paused, taking a second to make sure he was ready for the next part.

"But most importantly... that I will love and care for her just the same," he finished, before firmly tucking his sword back in its sheath. "She'll be protected... so don't worry."

A smirk rose to his lips, his eyes finding their way back to the man's picture.

"Soon enough, she'll have the World's Greatest Swordsman as her bodyguard."

[on-a-lucky-tide]

I hate that you are working a 16 hour day so much, that I want you to write a fic where Price is burning the candle at both ends so bad that Nik grabs his silly chipmunk face in both hands and growls: "No." Because neither of you deserve having to work so damn much. <3

I am soft that you sent me this.

Price is overworked and underpaid. Nikolai intervenes.

cw: none.

Price pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, holding his breath with a full chest, as he willed himself to focus.

It was getting on to a sixteen hour day, one of way too fuckin' many recently, and all his stores were depleted. No amount of coffee and sugar free Redbull Bull was helping him now. He had no choice but to push on anyway.

With a sigh, he dropped his hands into his lap and blinked away the fog, his eyes no less sore than they had been moments ago. His watch read 2300, which meant he still had four hours to squeeze out a few more reports before he hit the minimal threshold for sleep. Any less than four hours and he would be inefficient.

His chest felt tight and his shoulders ached from where he had been hunched over for so long, and no matter how many times he read through Gaz's summary of the interrogation training from three days ago, nothing was sinking in. He was at peak information saturation, with four deadlines looming over his head, fifty emails to answer and a field exercise to organise.

Price picked up his pen, circled one of Gaz's comments on a specific trooper and tapped at his keyboard. Just as his sluggish brain had negotiated the database he needed, a sharp knock at his door drew his attention. "C'min. Make it quick."

The door opened and the familiar sight of his favourite pilot loomed large against the white lights of the corridor. "Captain," Nik said as he stepped up to the desk, shutting the rest of the world out behind him. He had been grounded for a few days due to much needed repairs, and Price would be lying if he said he hadn't enjoyed having him around, even if they'd only managed to snatch thirty minutes here and there. It was just... nice.

Nik placed a plate of food on top of the reports; ham sandwich with Cheese and Onion Walkers crisps on the side. White bread n' all. Price's favourite. "Ah, cheers," Price said, pulling it towards him with a faint smile. "Y'olrigh'?"

"Da." Nik walked around Price's desk to stand behind his chair, big hands squeezing Price's biceps before stroking up to his shoulders. "I am concerned."

"About?" Price closed one of his eyes in hopes it would help the remaining one bring the text on the page before him into focus. Unfortunately, Nik chose that moment to press his thumbs into the knots packing Price's shoulders and he grunted, his fingers tightening around his pen, as the pressure unspooled pleasantly down his arms and up his neck.

"You are exhausted, and I know this is the first thing you have eaten since this morning."

"Ahh, I'll have a big breakfast tomorrow, mmph." Price hunkered over as Nik's hands worked up his neck, large fingers sloping down his clavicles as Nik's thumbs rubbed circles to his hairline. It was like sinking into heaven; Nik's palms were so warm, absolute kryptonite to Price's dwindling resolve to keep working. He was fighting to keep his eyes open, wanting nothing more than to sink back into Nik's arms and fall asleep. "Oi, ah, Nik... 've gotta finish these."

"Tomorrow," Nik said, tracing Price's hairline in sweeping strokes, leaning down to press a kiss to Price's thinning crown. It was too much. Too good. Price shrugged him off and Nik's hands fell away reluctantly.

"Naw, g'won. Go back t' bed. 'll be there in a bit."

"You have half an hour."

"Oh yeah?"

"Da. Enough time to finish your sandwich and wind down."

Price smirked, huffing. "Yeah, we'll see."

Nik patted Price's shoulder and left the office with his usual swagger. Price shook his head, grabbed a handful of crisps, and returned to the computer screen.

-

Nik set himself a timer on his phone. It was enough time for him to fill up the hot water bottle John kept in his closet for strain injuries, bundle a few more blankets onto the bed, crack the window and fill a pint glass of water for the bedside table.

When his phone buzzed in his back pocket, he readied himself for the fight. To out-stubborn John Price was a feat of strength in itself, but Nik had a track record of successes that were mounting up more rapidly with each passing year. The more he burrowed into John's life, gently nurtured their relationship, the less John was able to resist him. It was a good thing; he worked too hard and had a depressingly poor sense of self care.

Nik didn't knock before he entered John's office this time, but it didn't matter anyway. He found his captain slumped facedown on the desk, his hand slack around the pen. He was snoring softly, the noise muffled by the pile of paper that made up his make shift pillow.

Waking a sleeping soldier was always a little dangerous. John was fairly centered when he was on base, but there was always a small risk. Nik approached slowly, his palm sliding over John's wrist as he spoke softly to rouse him as slowly as possible. "John, time for bed."

John's face crumpled in a frown before his eyes opened. He sat back, a page sticking briefly to his cheek before he batted it away. "Bollocks, bit of food in my belly and that was it," he grumbled. "Naw, can't, I've gotta--"

Nik took John by the jaw and turned his face up. "Nyet. You are finished now." John was barely awake, his eyes lidded as he looked up at Nik fuzzily, his hair ruffled, his beard flattened on one side, his round cheeks pinched between Nik's fingers, the tiredness filling his usually bright irises; he looked heartbreakingly sweet, which was probably an assessment that would rankle him should Nik voice it.

Rather than give John time to argue, Nik dipped forward and slid an arm beneath his legs, wrapping the other around his back, pausing for a moment to breathe him in.

"Nik... What're ya--ha, what're yer doin'?" Price chuckled tiredly, flailing only a little as Nik lifted him out of his chair. "Put me down, yer giant bastard." Perhaps John's protest would have had a greater impact if it hadn't been murmured into the side of Nik's neck, one of John's hands bunched in his shirt.

"You have lost weight."

"S'been a long year," John replied, lifting his face free only enough to put up token resistance. "If someone sees me bein' carried like some virgin bride, 'm never gonna get me reputation back."

"It is nearly midnight. There is no one awake but overworked, underpaid captains and their long suffering lovers." Nik hooked the door open with his foot and carried John into the corridor. It wasn't far. Just two doors down. But one could not put a Price down once captured, lest it scurry back to its labours.

"Still gives me the... shivers y'know, the... lovers thing..." John was falling already, his body lax in Nik's arms, each breath a struggling, tired sigh as he clung to consciousness. Nik dipped his elbow and backed into the bedroom, depositing his armful of captain gently into the centre of the bed.

John was more a hindrance than a help getting his clothes off, and Nik batted his hands away from the laces of his boots, smiling when John flopped onto his back. The trousers and t-shirt were easier, and soon Nik was tucking John beneath the blankets and sliding in beside him.

The one advantage of such a narrow bed was that they had to essentially sleep on top of each other to fit. It was such a habit that even when they were in one of Nik's condos, with a sprawling king to enjoy, they ended up huddled on one side, their bodies curled together. John rested on Nik's chest, one arm draped over his belly, and Nik wrapped his back, thumb stroking slowly over warm skin.

"Yer too good t' me," John murmured, turning his face into the soft hair on Nik's chest with a contented hum, his hand kneading against Nik's belly.

"I must make up for how bad you are to yourself."

"S'jus' the job, Nik." John squirmed a little, rubbing himself against the length of Nik's body, snuggling down into the warmth and comfort subconsciously as sleep pulled him under.

Nik turned his face into John's fluffy hair, and closed his own eyes as John's breathing evened out and his body relaxed. Perhaps, Nik thought groggily as his dreams lured him in, if John Price was married to him rather than his job, he would be happier and healthier. Nik decided then, as John nuzzled against him in his dreams, that he would turn 'lover' into 'husband' by the end of the year.

[ghysry]

A backstory for brisket Five? Say less!

Tags: Diego and Five bond:(, semi-happy ending, brisket Five, he's retired, not an x reader, if you guys want me to make one just ring the bell!, He's so silly!, now let's traumatize him, shows how brisket Five got his name

Characters: Five | the brisket boy (TUA show), Diego Hargreeves, slight mention of Luther Hargreeves and Sloane Hargreeves, Waiter Five cameo at the end

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

"You used to be one of the rotten ones."

Five wouldn't say he had any artistic ability, in hindsight his calculations all over every space of his childhood bedroom might look like modern art to the gullible eye but it's more of an eyesore when you actually understand the things written down, some even have corrections all over them, which at one point stops looking good and starts looking like someone barfed numbers on top of numbers. He learned mathematics in the years he spent walking the empty wasteland of an apocalypse at the ripe age of thirteen to fifty-something, reading books over and over again that survived in the apocalypse was his only source of enjoyment, if not enjoyment, then to pass the time.

No one knows one of those books he picked up was a cook book, a mini-series of them, he vaguely remembers having six out of the eight that you could get in a standard book set of these page torn burnt at the side step-by-step instruction nightmares. But he kept them. There were no stoves anywhere - and if there were, there would be no gas to turn the thing on; besides, he didn't exactly have the materials to cook food anyway, so it was useless to carry those six books around so much, embarrassing, even. Yet it was still in his cart, all forty years he spent heaving it and dragging the wooden mess behind him, those books never left his sight, and he never let them get damaged.

"Step one, throw a pot on the stove and set the fire to medium heat, slice the meat and add it into the water, then--" Five mumbled with his eyes closed, his hand fumbling with a fork, before his ears picked up footsteps right outside of his hotel bedroom. "Five?" Diego knocked on his already open door, letting himself into the older-but-younger brother's room. "You hear the thing with Sloane and Luther? They're getting married," Diego announced, eyeing his sibling for a second, trying to gauge his opinion. If Diego wasn't Five's second favorite sibling he would have sent him out of his room in less than a second, but he is. "I know. Space boy marries space girl before the world ends, kisses and hugs, do I have to be there?" Five grumbles, standing up from the edge of his bed and making his way to Diego, too lazy to use his powers.

"Yes, you have to be there. You're Luther's sibling too you know?" Diego, who's been trying to work on his parental instincts, can't help but see Five as a kid who just can't be understood by certain people, and with this knowledge in his mind, he also can't help but wrap an arm around Five's shoulder and give off a smile. "I'll be there too."

Well, this certainly wasn't what Five thought would happen a few hours before his brother's wedding. He was baking..a cake, a wedding cake, with Diego, his other brother. Five eyed Diego from his peripheral vision, watching him mix the cake batter incorrectly. "Give it here," he sneers, blinking next to Diego and grabbing the mixer, doing it the right way and watching his brother stare at him in what he thought was either awe, annoyance, disgust, or all three. "What?" Five stepped aside, cracking an egg into the batter and then mixing again. "Nothing, I just didn't think of you as the type of guy that cooks."

...

"I don't." Five stares down at his hand holding the mixer, blinking at the weird thought that maybe he could be the type of guy who cooks. After all this, when the world eventually ends and he finds himself up in his version of heaven (which he would prefer if his siblings were nearby, but he'd never tell them that), he'd open a restaurant and cook all the stuff he wishes he could've when he was stuck in the apocalypse. Or, maybe, he just dies - either way now that he was doing it, it felt pretty good, thinking about how people would eat his cooking. "Diego, help me with this."

--There it is, that dreaded moment. After Luther's wedding, after they found the other side of the hotel, after they reset the universe, after everyone else left. The sinking feeling that his siblings would never get to taste his cooking again, dare he ever try to cook after that shit show, it felt worse than standing here alone, by himself, in a park on the bench hoping nobody walks by him and asks if he knows where his parents are. Truthfully, he doesn't even know what happened to his parents, neither Reginald or his biological mother.

[SOMEWHERE IN THE GODDAMN PRESENT]

He gave up on cooking, he realized it sooner or later. After opening a restaurant that was - by the way - extremely successful, he found himself trying to contact his siblings in his free time, once or twice a week, calling them then hanging up a few minutes later to make it seem like he never missed them, and the reason he was calling was only to check up on whether or not they're starting another apocalypse or something. Klaus and Diego got more calls than he'd like to admit, Diego had a family, Klaus was finally off drugs because he lost his powers, and Allison was taking care of him while Klaus was taking care of Claire; who Allison finally got back in this timeline. But that wasn't when he gave up on cooking, it was when he realized this timeline was still doomed to fail either way.

He remembered it as clearly as he remembers that stupid commission handbook, the subway, the diary, the amount of times he felt his chest tightening at the mere mention of another apocalypse, even worse, at the mention of his siblings dying, or his siblings having to die for the sake of the world. That wasn't what he wanted, it was far from what he thought the ending would look like. Maybe, for once, he could accept that he was gullible for thinking he'd ever have a happy ending, especially one that had his siblings in it. If not for his siblings abandoning him, it was him abandoning his siblings. Again.

One more thing he would never tell anyone is that he still blames himself for ending up so far into the future. At first, when he ended up in the apocalypse and couldn't teleport back in time, he thought it was his fault. Seeing his siblings bodies laying there dead and hearts investing, he thought when he jumped too far into the future, he lost all the time he could have spent with them before the apocalypse happened. It's why he wanted to stop it so badly in the first place, to be able to spend more time with his family, the only family he had. Now, he was stuck in a stupid subway with his head in his hands, shivering in one of the empty seats, using his shirt to cover him up as much as possible from the harsh temperature of the subway. Ten years. Ten years on the subway, ten years travelling different timelines, surviving, leaving, wishing for a better adventure. It was just like the apocalypse honestly, if it happened in a train that smelled weirdly like a mixed cleaning agent and a car freshener.

It was on one of those off days when he found the abandoned restaurant, well, it was abandoned when he first saw it, but it felt like the universe was actively laughing in his face when the subway chose to bring him here, though it was the only place he could stay and feel even a little bit closer to home. He stepped inside the dusty establishment, coughing as he did so, the lights were on and flickering, but he was only here to try and loot the place for food. He walked around the place, old shoes sounding against the tiled floor, senses heightened and a butter knife he found clutched tightly in his right hand.

When he opened the kitchen door, he almost lunged in surprise, well, that is if he could lunge at all, or if he could feel surprised at all. It was..another version of him, cooking a meal of some sort, like something you'd find in a shitty three star fast food restaurant, and the grease was just everywhere on that thing. "Do you mind?" The other Five cleared his throat and raised his eyebrow, staring at the Five who was holding a butter knife in his hand.

"You hungry? I could cook you something too." Waiter Five smiled, well, it wasn't really a smile, more like a small smirk pointed towards the other Five who was just standing there like a bear poked. "I'll make my own food," Five answered, clearing his throat, but his hand never let go of the butter knife at his disposal.

"Got any brisket?"

[thisapplepielife]

Written for a @astrangersummer.

Firing on All Cylinders

Week #16 Prompt: Concert & Rain | Word Count: 3000 | Rating: T | POV: Jeff | Characters: Jeff, Goodie (Freak), Gareth, Steve, Eddie | Relationships: Jeff & Goodie, Background Steddie, Mentions of Previous Gareth/Di (OC) | CW: Language, Mentions of Previous Addiction | Tags: AU, Famous Corroded Coffin, 1990s, On Tour, Slice of Life, Jeff and Goodie are Best Friends Who Talk About The Problems of Their Other Friends, Rain Show, Road Manager Steve Harrington, Eddie Loves His Guitar and This Rain is a Real Problem

June 8, 1995

"Looks like real rain today," Jeff says, standing in front of the hotel window. 

It's really fucking coming down here in Tulsa, so much so that Jeff can't really see much beyond the edge of the windowsill. 

As his dad would say, it's going and blowing.

"Rain? You think?" Goodie says, then adds, "What gave it away? The torrential downpour?" 

Jeff laughs. Asshole.

They've been lucky so far and haven't ever had to play in the rain, at least not rain like is forecasted for tonight, but that's clearly gonna end today. 

"It's basically a hundred percent chance all day long," Goodie says from the couch, less snarky this time. He's reading the morning paper that had been dropped off at their room door. 

Jeff rests his forehead against the cool glass, contemplating everything that is bound to go wrong tonight, now.

"This is gonna be a problem," Jeff finally announces, still looking at the sheets of rain hitting the windowsill.

"No fucking shit," Goodie answers, "Eddie's gonna be a real pain in the ass about that precious guitar of his."

Jeff nods, because Eddie is undoubtedly going to be exactly that, "I'm gonna call Tim. See if we can head this off at the pass."

And he picks up the room phone, scans the contact sheet that Steve left with them, and calls the room with his guitar tech in it.

"Tim, is Artie there?" Jeff asks, sitting in the office chair, swiveling slightly.

"Yep. We're already on the same page," Tim answers immediately, and they probably are. Artie's been Eddie's guitar tech long enough to know how he's gonna react to the prospect of pouring rain during an outdoor gig. "Sweetheart would be fine, you know? All your guitars will be fine. We can prepare for this, we have time, and we had ample warning that it's gonna be like this. This is the best case scenario. Seriously. This isn't a surprise storm, and so far, we aren't looking at lightning."

"I know, I know. And I'm not worried about my guitar. I trust you. But Eddie's not gonna play her in the rain. You know he's not," Jeff says, because they all know that. They do. It's never gonna happen. Sweetheart is more than a guitar, and Eddie will have nothing risking her. 

Especially not after the broken neck debacle. She's already been bunged up by touring, and thankfully fucking fixed, but Eddie's not gonna purposefully drown her.

"We know he's not," Tim says, "so we'll make arrangements."

"Good, good. What do you think? I'm thinking we have three options," Jeff says, "One, you run out and buy Eddie something new in town. A throwaway. Something he has no emotional attachment to."

Tim is relaying the idea to Artie, and Jeff can hear Artie disagreeing, which Jeff gets. Eddie won't want to play a guitar he doesn't know, "Same page. Two, he plays Hercules. I think this is fifty-fifty, depending on his mood. Or three, we get him some options ready from my spare guitars on the trailer. That way he'll be familiar, at least."

Jeff hears them murmuring, mulling it all over, and then they agree that those last two options seem the most likely. They're gonna call a meeting later, once they get a hold of Steve for the logistics, but they'll be ready for either. Or if Eddie surprises them. But he won't. 

Jeff is just settling down on the couch next to Goodie when the door swings open, Gareth poking his head in, "It's gonna rain all day."

"Is it really? I had no idea," Goodie snarks, and Jeff smiles. 

"Fuck you, too, Goodie," Gareth says dryly, then looks back at Jeff, "Steve's on top of it."

"Thanks. We called the techs," Jeff tells him, and then the door slams shut behind him.

"I really gotta stop giving him a key to my room," Goodie says, and Jeff laughs. 

"I think this is my room," Jeff answers, looking around, but Goodie's shit is all over the room, too. They have separate suites. They have the money to do that now, but old habits die hard, and they often end up crashing together, still. The road is lonely, and an empty room is often just depressing. He's not sure how Gareth is functioning on his own, especially now that he's sober.

"Omaha's coming up," Jeff says, because every time he thinks of Gareth, that's all he can worry about. That looming tour date. The disappointment that's sure to follow when Gareth's ex-girlfriend doesn't show up to see the Tom Petty heavy encore set they've put together, just for her.

"I'm well aware of where Di is," Goodie says dryly, "I haven't forgotten that we just spent all that time learning shitty songs she'll never hear."

They aren't shitty. Goodie's just being a contrarian. Jeff knows that. Knows him better than he knows anyone else on earth. And Goodie doesn't mean half the shit he says, he just says it to ruffle feathers. Gareth's feathers, if possible.

"Your Honey Bee is good, though," Goodie concedes.

And it is. They've whipped all the songs into decent shape, but Honey Bee feels damn good. Natural. Electric. Diana would really like it, Jeff thinks, and he hopes that maybe, just maybe, she'll show up to hear it. Either way, covering songs, giving them their own Corroded Coffin twist, is still some of the most fun they have on the road.

"She might come," Jeff says, even if he doesn't believe it. Gareth fucked his relationship up, probably well beyond repair, and now Gareth just has to live with it. They all have to live with it. Which, honestly, has been more stressful than when Eddie first got with Steve and drove them all nuts. At least Eddie was happy.

Gareth is withdrawn, quiet. He's different in a way Jeff can't really pinpoint. Not yet. Only time will tell how this all shakes out. If he's growing up, if he can change, or if this is all gonna explode in their faces when he doesn't get what he wants, two days from now.

"She won't fucking come if she knows what's good for her, and Gareth? He's not good for her," Goodie says, flipping to the next page in his newspaper. Jeff's pretty sure he's not reading a damn word of it.

Jeff thinks that's pretty harsh. They're supposed to be supportive of Gareth, here. He's their friend, their bandmate. Their kid to look after. It's been that way forever. They love him.

"She might come," Jeff says. Because she might. Anything can happen. He can't see the future.

"Well, she'd be a goddamn fool, then. I told her to run, to not take any of his shit, and she better listen to ol' Goodie."

Jeff cuts a knowing look at Goodie, "You also gave Gareth a pep talk last winter, telling him she'd marry him someday. So, pick a lane. You can't bet on both outcomes. It's unsportsmanlike."

Goodie sighs, "You aren't supposed to know that. Gareth has a big mouth."

Jeff fucking laughs. There are no secrets between them, and he's not sure why Goodie thought he didn't know. Of course he knows.

Goodie keeps talking, "Well. Both can be true. She's not coming this week. But yeah. Someday. Someday she will. And when she does, I'll still tell her it's a mistake, but she won't listen."

"You sound awfully invested," Jeff says, poking at Goodie.

"It's been our own private soap opera for how long now? Of course I'm invested. I don't have time for television, I gotta be entertained somehow." 

Jeff just shakes his head.

"Well, is he gonna relapse, when she doesn't show up, old wise one?" Jeff asks, mainly teasing. But he is worried about it. 

"No," Goodie says. 

"No?" Jeff asks.

"No," Goodie confirms.

She most likely won't come, they all know it, and Steve's on top of that, too, making a plan to limit the fallout. If Gareth relapses, they're all fucked. This tour schedule cannot accommodate it. No way.

They would. Of course they would. But it would probably mean the tour will come to a screeching halt. All momentum lost.

"If he falls off the wagon, I'm chaining him to said wagon, and dragging him along behind us," Goodie says.

"You say, to a black man," Jeff says.

Goodie lowers the paper, so Jeff can finally see his eyes, "Didn't mean it like that. Jesus."

"I know," Jeff says, and he does know that. Goodie's been his best friend since they were too little to understand what that meant. But still. Not the best imagery.

"He won't fall off the wagon. We won't let him," Jeff proclaims, as if this is within their control.

Goodie says what he was thinking.

"Like we've ever been able to control that kid. Eddie barely can, and Eddie's so far up Steve's ass-"

"Literally," Jeff cuts in, teasing.

"-now that Steve's back on tour, even Eddie doesn't have the time to babysit."

It's true. It's all true. As much as the undercurrent of worry is there, they can't expend the energy on it today. They don't have the time, and obviously have other more pressing issues today. Tonight, it's gonna be Eddie's turn to be unhinged, Jeff's sure of it, "Let's worry about one thing at a time. Tonight it's the rain and Eddie's guitar."

"If he'd just have a whole stable like we do, this would never happen."

"Not how he works, and you know it."

Goodie rolls his eyes. 

"I don't get it. They're just guitars. I love 'em. But I don't really play favorites," Goodie answers, tossing the paper onto the coffee table. "If the bass I play tonight breaks, well, there are twenty more I can play tomorrow. I'll chuck it in the audience-"

"No, you won't. Steve and Erica will both kill you," Jeff corrects. Been there, done that, had the lawsuit to prove it. Erica got it taken care of, but they don't need any more legal troubles.

"I'm not scared of Steve," Goodie says.

"But Erica?"

"Fuck yes, I'm scared of Erica. I'm not an idiot," Goodie says, and Jeff laughs. It's a good thing she's on their legal team, and not working against them, that's all Jeff knows.

Goodie looks up at him again, "Steve never should have bought Eddie that guitar."

Jeff just nods, even if he doesn't really agree. Jeff helped Steve pick her out. Steve knew which guitar Eddie had been drooling over, but asked Jeff to come in to make sure she'd actually be a good one, if he bought it. So, Jeff played the two they had in stock, and picked the one that seemed to have the best sound, and the best feel, and Eddie has loved her more than they could have ever imagined. It was a great gift.

Steve did good.

Steve's always done good, though. They wouldn't be here without him, Jeff has no doubt.

Even if it being from Steve has made Eddie awfully attached to it, as a result.

That night, Eddie doesn't surprise them, but Hercules is ready to go, and Artie promises to give him an extra coat of oil on the fretboard.

The rain hasn't let up, not for a second, and they've never had a rain show like this one. It's kind of cool, and Jeff's really having fun with it. He jumps up and down, bouncing on the balls of his feet, the puddled water splashing beneath him every time he lands. Goodie's soaked, they all are. 

This tour is just firing on all cylinders, and he isn't sure how they've gotten here. Screaming towards the top. All of them. Together. Finally, in sync. Coming off the last couple years, the torture tours they've endured, Jeff's ready for something to go smoothly, for something they can all fucking enjoy for once.

Eddie and Gareth are clean. 

Steve's back on the road, his back not totally fixed, but definitely better than it was.

Jeff gets to have fun with his best friend, playing music, selling out stadiums, and making a boatload of goddamn money.

And tonight, they get to play in the rain in front of god knows how many people in this park. Looking out over the grass, the crowd is fucking pumped, as if the rain hasn't ruined the night for them at all. And if the fans don't care, why should they? 

This is fun.

Someone, Dustin, Jeff thinks, runs out a hat for Gareth. His hair is plastered down, sopping wet and in his eyes, and Jeff watches as Gareth pushes it all back off his face, putting the cap on backwards. He looks funny that way, not at all like himself, more like they've got Chad Smith sitting in, but at least his hair is out of his fucking eyes. Eddie is fiddling with Hercules, like he's not sure that everything is going okay.

It's more than okay. And when Gareth bangs his sticks down again, counting them in on the next song, off they go again and the crowd screams louder than any rain could ever cover.

Back in the dressing room after the show, Goodie is trying to peel his wet shirt off over his head, and Jeff snags the hem of it, helping him tug it off. 

Then he works on his jeans, and it's a whole 'nother job. Everything feels glued on.

"I've never been this soaked in my entire life. I think I could wring out my underwear," Goodie says, and as soon as he steps out of them, he does exactly that over the sink in their shared dressing room.

Jeff laughs, "You can shower first. I think that's the rule. The one with the most soaked skivvies gets to go first."

Goodie smirks, but grabs a towel from the pile on the counter, and slams the bathroom door behind him.

Jeff looks in the mirror, he's lucky. He's the only one of them that doesn't have enough hair to look like a drowned rat. Steve looked awful. All that hair, hanging down around his ears, where it just doesn't belong. 

Not that Eddie will care. Steve is perfect in Eddie's eyes, that's an absolute certainty.

Jeff steps out of his wet clothes and tosses them into the hamper that Eddie had provided for them. He'll be glad to get warm and dry. After being hit with the AC while all wet, he's freezing.

Jeff's putting on a dry robe as Gareth walks in, Dustin's hat still on his head, "Eddie and Steve are showering first. Can I hang with you?"

And Jeff nods, kicking out one of the plastic chairs. There is a couch, but there's really no reason for them to be dickheads about it and get the upholstery wet. It's not the venue's fault that there was a torrential downpour.

"That was crazy, huh?" Gareth asks.

"Still sounded good though, Mike had the audio tuned in great for what he had to work with."

"My cymbals were muted," Gareth complains, and they were, they could all hear that, but if that was the only problem they had all night, they made out like bandits.

"Think your drums survived?" Jeff asks, picking up one of the decks of cards that are ever present on their show riders. 

He deals Gareth in without even asking. 

"Yeah, they should. The techs have 'em," Gareth answers, picking up his hand, rearranging them around in his own hand to his liking. "Eddie's freaking out about Hercules though. Steve's got a job ahead of him tonight."

"He'll be fine," Jeff says.

"Hercules or Eddie?" Gareth asks, smiling as he puts down the cards he intends to play.

"Both, but I was talking about Hercules. Artie won't let anything happen to that guitar."

Gareth nods, and Jeff plays his own cards, as they can hear the shower running in the bathroom beside them.

A while later, Steve pops his head in, freshly dried and styled and looking much more like himself. He looks towards the bathroom, where Goodie's still in the shower, taking his sweet-ass time.

Obviously seeing that the coast is clear, Steve starts talking, "Denny got back to me. Sheryl Crow isn't playing all the festival dates, but we checked our schedule against the ones she is playing, and I made it work to get you two tickets to Pine Knob in August. It's a Sunday."

Jeff smiles, "Awesome. Thank you. Don't tell Goodie. It's a surprise. That means you, Gareth," Jeff says, because he knows Steve won't say a word. Gareth, on the other hand.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Gareth says, laying down his cards, "Eddie out of the shower?"

Steve nods, and Gareth hops up, probably more than ready to be out of his wet clothes, "Gonna go shower before I end up with diaper rash in my crack from sitting in these wet jeans all night."

"Please do that," Steve stresses, looking back at Jeff, shaking his head after Gareth's gone.

"Any luck getting us backstage?" Jeff asks, hopeful.

"Definitely," Steve assures.

Jeff grins. He doesn't know why he's surprised. They are famous in their own right, and Steve can work fucking miracles. Now, Jeff's not especially looking forward to going to H.O.R.D.E Festival for himself, but he does want to see Goodie's face when he comes face-to-face with Sheryl Crow, outside of a red carpet.

He smiles at Steve. 

Jeff hears the water cut off in the bathroom, signaling that it'll be his turn soon. Steve leaves, and Jeff gathers up his clean, dry clothes, passing Goodie in the doorway of the bathroom.

This is gonna be a good summer, even if it rains the whole time. Because they finally feel back on track for the first time in a long time.

As Eddie would say, this is their year.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!

Notes: Yes, technically, this was meant to take place during Tuesday's Gone With the Wind, but if you haven't read that, I'm pretty sure it can just stand alone. Also, Goodie's referenced pep talk to Gareth happened in Only a Broken Heart. It was fun to look at this 'verse from Jeff's POV for a bit.

The H.O.R.D.E. Festival line-up from the date mentioned, looks like it would have been: Ziggy Marley & the Melody Makers, Sheryl Crow, Blues Traveler, Black Crowes. I'd have seen that show! Dave Matthews Band played other dates, but it doesn't look like this one.

Fun fact: I really wanted to write it in as Lilith Fair, because that seemed like a fun place to send Jeff and Goodie, but alas, it didn't quite exist yet in 1995.

[daughterofthemuse]

Thoughts on 'Wrath of the Triple Goddess'

General Thoughts

This book was a lot of fun.

Nope was the cutest ever

Hecate's house is WILD. The knockers? The aesthetic choices? The BATHROOMS? She 1000% committed to the bit

Some ppl have said that the recent Riordanverse books have had themes. (Roughly speaking,) 'The Sun and the Star' was about accepting yourself and moving through trauma, and 'Chalice of the Gods' was about growing up, aging and embracing the changes that come with it (kinda ironic for focusing on a character who is known for turning 17 every year). I thought 'Wrath of the Triple Goddess' could have been about grief and family, but it's actually abt choices and regrets. Bc ofc the book abt Ἑκάτη (Hecate), the goddess of crossroads, would be abt choices.

Fanart I want to see

The Halloween costumes Percy, Grove & Annabeth wore

Human!Grover, Owl-a-beth & Octo-Percy

The Campers' Halloween costumes

Page-by-page notes that I took (with quotes)

I'm always careful not to look at my mom's screen while she's writing, because a) I know it makes her nervous, b) the floating words make me queasy, and c) I can't help wondering if she's writing a character based on me. Maybe that sounds self-centered, but the idea of anybody writing a book about me makes me super paranoid. (pg 16)

Bud, I'm sorry, but it's a decade and a half too late for that

She knew exactly what I was saying, even if Dave and Hana didn't. "She can't do all your homework for you, dude," Hana said. "Yeah, she has to do our homework," Dave said. "Ugh, you two," Annabeth said, but she gave them a smile. "Okay, Jackson, I can spare you a few minutes, Come on." She hauled me up and led me out of the library, Paul and Hana whispering behind our backs, (pg 24)

Oh look, surprise name change! (/j)

Then his eyes drifted up to the gargoyles on the roof. "Oh, wow." "I know, spooky," Annabeth agreed. Grover scratched his goatee. "I was going to say the one on the left looks like my Aunt Helena. But guess that's the same thing." (pg 32)

Grover's Aunt Helena is probably a harpy / nasty wind Spirit

I'd barely been able to master numbers and colors in Spanish, even with my friend Leo Valdez as a tutor. (pg 35)

Rick is making himself plotholes. Percy is being tutored in Spanish by the missing Leo. It's only Chapter 4!

We had some trouble on Third Avenue when Hecuba decided attack a Lil Zeus Greek food cart, but I managed to pull her off before she killed the cook or devoured his meat supply. Dude wasn't too happy. He yelled something in Greek at me--maybe Please control your rhinoceros--but I couldn't be too mad at Hecuba. For one thing, the food smelled good. For another, anything labeled Zeus sent me into attack mode, too. (pg 64)

Lil Zeus Greek food cart? a) Percy should have understood more of the Greek dude's language, unless he did actually think the hellhound was a rhino and b) fair on attacking it

I took out Riptide. With the tip of the blade, I etched a message on the sidewalk: Went to Gramercy. That was another trick I'd only learned in the last month. One day when I was bored, sitting on a sidewalk while my mom shopped for clothes for her first author signing, I discovered that Riptide could sketch glowing lines on asphalt that no regular mortals could see. The markings lasted about three hours before fading away--less if it rained. It made me wonder why I'd never seen Celestial bronze graffiti around from other demigods. (pg 68)

Riptide can write on the pavement?

He couldn’t have been more than six weeks old. "You want another treat?" I asked him. "Nope!" he barked, which apparently meant Yes, please, I'll take the whole bag. I couldn't help but smile. "Is that your name? Nope?" He tilted his head, maybe thinking about it. "Nope!" "Okay, then that's what I'll call you." He crawled right into my lap. He was heavy--like fifty pounds--and floppy, with ridiculously oversize paws that told me he was going to be a rhino-size hellhound someday. I scratched behind his ears and kept feeding him treats, letting him get used to the sound of my voice. (pg 87)

Percy’s getting a Hellhound puppy that can say nope????

The man who was eating a late breakfast at Dr. Sharma's desk was definitely not Dr. Sharma. His dark hair and beard were flecked with gray. He wore a rumpled tweed jacket, tie, and dress shirt, with a flannel blanket over his lap. His old-fashioned wheel-chair had hand-pushed steel wheels and well-worn black leather armrests. He held a half-eaten bagel in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in other. I registered all these details with perfect clarity, but somehow, I still did not recognize him. (pg 99)

WHAT IS CHIRON DOING AT PERCY’S SCHOOL?

"The Adventures of Mom, Chew Toy, and Alley Boy," Annabeth mused. (pg 115)

pffft! And look, an Oxford comma!

My friend Nico di Angelo, son of Hades, also had the ability. He'd used it once to take me Christmas shopping in Florence. (Long story.) (pg 133)

Nico took Percy Christmas shopping in Florence? I need this story.

“Okay,” I said. “Maybe pack isn’t the right word. I don’t know why Hecate turned you into a hellhound. Gods are weird. I have a friend whose dad once turned her into a tree. Maybe Hecate saved you the only way she knew how. It’s not perfect, but it’s still love.” Hecuba gazed at the ocean—a view she’d probably seen thousands of times when she was a mortal. She’d watched the Greek ships anchor off that coast, ready for war. She’d watched her children die in battle on that rocky beach before the walls of her doomed city. (pg 137)

Is this book abt grief & family?

I frowned. "I didn't figure you for a nightclub guy." "Are you kidding? I can hoof-boogie with the best of them! I've still got that wedding-dress outfit from the Sea of Monsters, too." He sighed. "Maybe someday." (pg 142)

Grover still has his wedding dress?

Pracktical forcery and Potionf for Beginnyng Uferf (pg 144)

Oh look, it's that old-timey font where 'S' is really tall and skinny and kinda looks like an 'f'!

Under this collection was a brass plaque engraved with WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN. I lifted the top of the display case. I picked up a pair of blue-framed glasses that were snapped in half at the bridge. They were the same ones I'd seen in my vision of the child pedaling away from the manse in terror. On the right stem, the initials SEJ were monogrammed in gold. I felt like I had shadow-traveled into a block of ice. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. SEJ. I knew those initials. (pg 145)

SEJ, Sally's initials?

I didn't realize that when he'd said ground himself, he'd meant literally cover himself with the ground. He sat down in a flower bed and started to heap leaves and dirt over his legs. (pg 147) ... Two more tunneled through the leaves and skittered up Grover's legs. Within a minute, there were dozens, maybe hundreds. Honestly, I had no idea. I never had to count squirrels in numbers that high before Grover's torso disappeared under a tidal wave of chittering fur and twitching bushy tails. Somewhere in the mix of brown and gray, I spotted one very large black rat, who quickly disappeared in the sea of its squirrely comrades. (pg 148)

This grounding thing is weird... Could it be a Pan thing?

As he nibbled his cake, I said, "Okay. Tell me." He shrugged listlessly. "It's just... grounding myself like that? It's pretty powerful magic. I can only do it because I'm a Cloven Elder." Grover was too modest. He rarely talked about it, but after the Battle of Manhattan, he'd been promoted to the council of the three most important satyrs in the world, which in my mind made him an elite boss. "It's dangerous?" I guessed. "Oh... nothing I'd worry about," he said. "Not a big deal. It's just when I do that, when I connect with nature on that level, there's always a small chance..." "Yes?" He nibbled more cake. "That I might dissolve into nothing." (pg 151)

Yep, it's a Pan thing. And oh, the grounding thing is like Nico at the end of BoO... okay. This is great /s

And Grover seemed to enjoy being called Cloven Elder. My thoughts started rambling, as they do. I wondered if I should call him CE for short. Did that mean before he became a Cloven Elder he was Grover BCE? This is how my mind works. Welcome to the chaos. (pg 156)

Grover BCE, YES!

The name of the place glittered in pearly white over the door: AEAEA. I guess they'd spent all their money on the storefront decorations and hadn't been able to afford any consonants for their sign. "What is it?" Grover asked. "Not sure," I said. "The name of that place mean anything to you?" Grover tried to pronounce it. "It looks like something Hephaestus might scream when he drops a hammer on his foot." (pg 158)

Αἰαία (Aeaea)? Κίρκη (Circe)????

"My name is Filomena," she said, her jaw clenched. "Aeaea was my home island. But you don't even remember, do you?" (pg 161)

Dude doesn't remember the last time someone recognized him and accused him of destroying their home, does he?

A noxious purple fog started to rise around us. I recovered my senses, yelled, "Aeaea!" (because it was on my mind) and blasted the potion fog right back at Filomena. "Ack!" she complained, now speckled head to toe in magical whatever-it-was. "How dare you!" (pg 162)

Poison manipulation again????

"I take it you didn’t recognize the naiads?" "From where?" Grover asked. "You weren't with us," Annabeth told him. "You were stuck in a Cyclops's cave at the time." Grover shivered. "The Sea of Monsters." "Yep. The naiads are from the island of Aeaea." I rubbed my sore neck. "I think I would've remembered a name like Aeaea." Annabeth considered that. "Actually, you're right. I don't thínk anyone called it that when we were there. It's another name for Circe's Island." (pg 184) ... "Circe had four main handmaidens," Annabeth said. "The Aeaean nymphs. They were responsible for preparing her potions. I guess when the pirates burned down C.C.'s Spa--" "The naiads came to Manhattan," Grover finished. "And set up competing perfume shops. As one does." (pg 185)

I knew they were from Αἰαία! And Lore drop!

Whenever Annabeth joined the chat, the odds of us doing something idiotic went way down. The odds were never zero, mind you, because I was still in the mix. (pg 186)

"Annabeth joined the chat..." Bro, why. Why did you use that piece of slang?

With the help of one of the costume people, Annabeth had done her hair and makeup like it had been on Circe's Island. She looked incredible, but you don't have to take my word for it. The costume person's exact reaction was "You look incredible." Then she turned to Grover and me and said "Now, these two are are a challenge." We were dressed as Annabeth's servants/bodyguards/loyal gladiators? I'm not even sure, but we weren't rocking the look very well. Grover wore a gladiator's breastplate and a leather kilt sort of of thing, with a big plastic sword at his side. I got dressed like a retiarius--one of those Colosseum fighters with the weighted nets and the tridents. The trident seemed a little on the nose for me, but it wasn't my biggest complaint. My "armor" was basically an oversize loincloth with a thick leather belt, sandals, and a weird shield-sleeve thing on my left arm that reminded me of a pizza pan. This meant I would basically be walking around Manhattan in late October in my underwear. Annabeth added a big helmet with a faceplate so nobody would recognize me unless they literally got up in my grill. (pg 187)

I need art of these costumes

23. We Find the Lair of Evil Perfume

Annabeth is doing a ton of amazing work this chapter!

Annabeth responded, "WHOOOO!" (pg 206)

Annabeth, daughter of the Owl Goddess, hooted. It only took her 24 books and 5 years

I raised my hands--except I didn't have hands anymore. Where my arms used to be were eight thick purple tentacles lined with pink suction cups. One tentacle was curled around Riptide. I was so shocked I loosened my hold, letting the blade drop. "Oh.." I wanted to throw up. No offense to octopuses. I've had some great conversations with octopuses. But I didn't want to have their tentacles. My new appendages felt wet and slimy. Powerful muscles rippled under the skin. The suckers clasped and unclasped, smelling the air, searching for something to grip. "This is bad." (pg 207)

Well octo-Percy is... interesting

He was staring down at his legs and weeping. Where his furry goat hindquarters had been, there was bare skin, forward-articulating knees, and instead of hooves... feet. Five-toed feet not too different from mine. "Human," he sniffled. "That's the worst kind of beast!" (pg 207 & 208)

Oh, poor Grover. Also... very interesting "humans are the worst kind of beast"

Annabeth turned her head 180 degrees and shrieked at the nymph. "AWK!" (pg 208)

180-degree head turn from Annabeth!

Grover shuffed awkwardly toward Daedra. "How do you walk on these? They're so tender! Ouch. Ouch. Ouch." (pg 209)

We don't normally walk barefoot. And I want art of human!Grover

I saw a young woman in tattered brown robes. She carried a leather pack over one shoulder, loaded with medicinal plants, vials, salves, and scrolls. It was her life's work--all she could salvage when the Colossians chased her out of their city. She struggled up a steep mountain path, occasionally stopping to grip her stomach, crying out in pain. Tears streaked her face, smearing the kohl around her eyes so she appeared to have a black mask. (pg 215)

Gale Lore drop? Poor Gale!

I'd been wrong about Hecate. She hadn't turned Gale into a polecat out of jealousy. The reason was worse. She'd empathized. She'd lacked faith that Gale could survive on her magical talents alone. Hecate of all people knew how the world saw witches. She'd pitied Gale, admired her, and yes, maybe even feared her a little, but she could not imagine a mere human succeeding when she, a goddess, had failed. So Gale had to cease being human. (pg 218)

Poor Hecate too. Dam patriarchy & fear of the unknown

And no way did I want to be around when orange goo started dripping through Hades's palace ceiling. I'd met his plumbers. They tended to solve all his problems with fery whips. (pg 219)

The Kindly Ones aren't plumbers, Percy

I'll say it again: thank the gods for Halloween. I doubt any amount of Mist could have hidden Owl-a-beth and Octo-Percy from the curious eyes of mortals as we fled, especially since my tentacles kept slapping passers by for no particular reason. Because it was Halloween, though, most people would think, Wow, those costumes are incredible, and that third guy is fully human! Amazing! (pg 222)

Yeah, Halloween does a lot for hiding mythical stuff. Cuts both ways tho

Annabeth gagged. Her beak opened wide. Her owl eyes got even larger. Her crown feathers stood on end like blades. She brought her hands to her throat—the universal sign for choking. I panicked. Would the Heimlich maneuver work on a half human, half raptor? I only had octopus tentacles, but I hustled behind her and did my best to find her sternum the way my fourth-grade health teacher had taught us. I thrust upward into her diaphragm. COUGH! An owl pellet the size of a melon shot from her throat and bounced off the opposite wall. She doubled over, breathing heavily. When she straightened again, she was normal Annabeth—human face, human hair with the scent of her usual apple shampoo. (pg 225)

Coughing that up must've been painful. And I'm pretty sure the Heimlich maneuver isn't recommended anymore

Grover seemed to follow my thoughts. “Tomorrow is Halloween. There’s no way three people can fix this mansion before Hecate gets back. (pg 230)

Just ask your friends to help! They're coming for the party, just ask them to arrive early too

I nodded. “I don’t know what happened exactly, but if we’re going to try rebuilding this place with the help of ghosts, then we need to figure it out. Which means I need to talk to SEJ. Sally Estelle Jackson.” (pg 238)

His mum? Or an ancestor? I'm thinking his mum, but the timing makes me think maybe an ancestor

She smiled wistfully, the way she does when she looks at old photographs. “I haven’t since that day. My family made me wear them because I was seeing things…differently.” “Through the Mist.” She’d always been able to do that. Some rare mortals could, but I’d never considered how hard that would’ve been for her as a kid. “They were just trying to help,” she said. “They were worried. When other kids saw a mounted police officer riding down the street, I saw a pegasus. That kind of thing. We used to live near Gramercy Park West. One day, when I was riding my bike down the street, I saw that mansion, shifting and blending into the buildings around it. Those tombstone walls.” (pg 244)

Interesting... what ppl think of clear-sighted ppl

She swallowed. “Hecate ambushed me! She showed up on Olympus and…well, she asked me what I thought of you. I was shocked! She hadn’t spoken to me since 1914! I—I was desperate to impress her. And foolishly… I said you were quite competent.” “Thanks?” “I panicked! And now, if you fail, that means I failed. Oh, she won’t forgive me a second time.” “I still don’t—Wait.” I’m a little slow on the uptake. But when a puzzle finally starts coming together, I can usually finish it without having to bash too many of the pieces into place. “A second time,” I said. “Nineteen fourteen. That’s the last year Hecate ran her magic school. You were part of that?” (pg 247) She shrugged listlessly. “War. It’s always a war. Our students started taking sides, arguing with one another. It escalated from name-calling to violence to potion-flinging.” “Potion-flinging is bad.” (pg 248)

Ofc WW1 made the school close, and poor Εὐδώρη (Eudora)

I took one more look around the shattered great room. I felt like I was forgetting something important. (pg 258)

Locking the door, I'm pretty sure

Grover and I exchanged a panicked look. If Annabeth was admitting she’d made a mistake, we were in serious trouble. All heroes had fatal flaws. Annabeth’s was pride. She always aimed as high as possible, confident she could go even higher. Most of the time, she was right. But calling for help after one block? The situation had to be desperate for her to swallow her pride like that. Then I remembered why fatal flaws were called fatal. We couldn’t let her get worn-out so soon. She was the only one who could direct the ghosts to rebuild the house properly. “Let me take the torches,” I said. (pg 267)

Annabeth’s fatal flaw is pride, yours is loyalty, Percy. You taking them could go just as badly, with you not passing them to anyone else

My last shot was a miss. Black spots danced in my eyes. I crumpled to my knees, and the torch fell out of my hand. (pg 276)

Oh schist

I knew I’d forgotten something important—again. We’d invited our friends to a Halloween party tonight and never canceled it. You see, kids? Absentmindedness can save your life. The side panel door rolled open and costumed demigods poured out. Connor Stoll led the way, wearing a prisoner’s orange jumpsuit with fake manacles on his ankles and wrists. “Dude, your yard decorations are fire!” “They’re real!” I yelled. “Real ghosts!” More demigods emerged from the van—Clovis from the Morpheus cabin, wearing a nightgown, nightcap, and slippers, which was not very different from how he usually lounged at camp; Harley from Hephaestus, the youngest of our campers, encased in a Celestial bronze Iron Man suit he’d probably made himself; Valentina Diaz from Aphrodite, dressed in a black 1940s evening gown with white gloves, a broad-brimmed hat, and twenty different strings of pearls around her neck. Valentina scanned the ghostly horde. “Gross. Can we fight them?” “Yes, please!” Annabeth yelled from the porch. Our friends charged into battle. (pg 292)

I said his friends could help. Except they're helping with ghosts ig

And Rick, Clovis is a son of Ὕπνος (Hypnos), we don't have a Μορφεύς (Morpheus) Cabin

The horse freaked out and whinnied, Why am I flying? (pg 297)

Poor police horse

There should be a rule that goddesses can never come home before 8:00 a.m. Hecate blazed into the mansion at exactly 5:32. (pg 304)

Eugh, what a wake-up time

Sometimes folks at camp asked if I avoided eating seafood because I was the son of Poseidon and could talk to fish or whatever. I always answered that no, I ate fish. Have you ever talked to one? They don’t have a lot to say. Mostly it boils down to Are you food? Am I food? Eating them is the only way to answer the question. (pg 319)

We have an answer to the Percy-seafood question. Tho he'll probably be off calamari for a while

Obviously, I don’t consume the smart species like octopuses, dolphins, sharks, and manta rays. (pg 319)

Oh, so no calamari at all. Good to know

[jack-kellys]

hiya fizz!! can I request davey + forgetting to eat for the bad things happen bingo? idk it just feels so Him yk

bonus points if there's javey involved asw (maybe with the anger born of worry trope idk)

tyy :))

hey theeere kit of course! one box per fic, though, making it harder for myself >:)

ao3 series here, and request a trope from these here!

The chillier breezes and shifting leaves of autumn came quicker than David could have planned. Not like he can plan seasons, of course, but he hadn’t had time to factor in what autumn meant to his, shall he say.. outside responsibilities.

School, for one, had picked up once September finished- assignments were piling enough and David left home that morning with Les with arithmetic still to complete. It occupied his lunch period, pencil messily scratching across the page to finish it before his next class.

And after school he’s at the circulation gate, waiting for the evening edition with a couple of the boys. Sometimes Sarah accompanies him when she can get out of the house, and especially since their folks don’t permit Les to sell anymore (much to the now ten-year-old’s chagrin), but today isn’t one of those days. It’s solely David, tapping his foot.

“He’s late,” he mutters out, not to anyone in particular.

“Who, Jack?” Racer asks, perking up. That’s true, but not what David meant.

“Wiesel,” David sighs. “Folks are expecting us on the streets in only a few minutes, right?”

“Cool it,” Racer chuckles. “Ain’t a thing. We got better things to be pissed at him about.”

“I’m not- pissed,” David frowns, shoulders bunching a little. He stops tapping his foot. Race gives him an exaggerated nod, eyes widened, and David rolls his own. Finally the gate opens and when David turns away from the window with his fifty papers in hand, Jack appears in front of him with some kind of smile on his face.

“You’re also late,” David says, and Jack only smiles wider. “You selling?”

“Ain’t I always,” Jack smirks, patting his bag- less than his usual, David thinks. “I got a request.”

David’s lips quirk, following Jack when he begins to walk them away from the circulation center. “What kind, exactly?”

“A good one, promise,” Jack replies, setting his hand on Davey’s shoulder, likely to steer him toward whatever odd adventure Jack’s planned. “It’s startin’ to get colder, you know, and Klopp can only buy so much for us. It’s up to us older fellas to pick up the slack. New socks, new gloves, extra fabric to stuff clothes with.”

That’s reasonable in terms of necessity, but not in the way that matters most. David turns his head toward Jack. “How did you get the money for that?”

Jack smiles again, wide, eyes narrowed in amusement or pride.

“Easy,” he states. “I didn’t. Now c’mon.”

For all of the legends and stories David has heard, he’s never seen Jack’s thieving skills in action. There are lots of things he’s swiped over the years, apparently, that simply hadn’t made it to his rap sheet- and most were far more impressive than food and clothing. So while David doesn’t exactly like it, he makes conversation with a shop clerk while Jack slithers into the store behind him. The bottom line is that they can’t afford it, and the kids at the lodge need it, and that has to outweigh the moral consequences of it all.

David’s normally a talkative person. Not a good talker, maybe–definitely a better one now–but he can keep going, and going. He’s leaning on the counter, having linked his english class to the price of wool going up somehow, and he feels his brain start to…slide, almost. It feels distracted, but not by anything he can tell, and his gaze falls to the counter as it does. Maybe he’s just tired, but he has to keep talking so Jack can get–

“Hey. Hey. Kid, you alright?”

David’s head snaps up with a quick inhale at the clerk’s voice, blinking a few times to sort out his vision. He’d been really intent on that counter.

“Uh, yes, yeah,” he nods quickly. “Just fine, ah- sorry, what was I talking about..?”

“You ain’t been talking for nearly a minute,” the clerk replies, “what- HEY!”

That can only mean one thing. David can hear the door open, and before it can close, he’s running outside.

“Thought you said you were good at this!” David yells, catching up to Jack. His paper bag is filled, and his shirt must be stuffed- he’s gripping his sleeves like random objects might start pooling out from them.

“I am when my partner ain’t suddenly go dead silent!” Jack retorts, glancing behind them. He picks up his pace, and painstakingly, David does the same, a pit forming in his stomach.

His expression slackens. More than a pit- something like a hurricane, swirling his insides in circles, over and over.

“Jack,” he tries, but his voice doesn’t carry this time. He’s way more out of breath than he should be. “Jack. We need to- I need to stop.”

His partner’s head swivels at that, expression incredulous. “Dave, we-”

Jack blinks, eyes widening suddenly, and he nods vigorously. Ask and David shall receive, apparently…

In a moment, Jack’s hands are on him, as if he knew David was inches from stumbling. He practically shoves David into an alley, the change in direction jostling his brain. His legs are keeping up, but his brain can’t seem to, and every time he blinks they’re an extra five feet ahead of where they only just were.

Finally, Jack stops, and so does David, breathing hard. Spots are entering his vision, and he tries to blink them away, grabbing onto a railing at the bottom of a fire escape to steady himself.

“Shit, Dee,” he hears Jack hiss, and his fingers fall away from the railing as he’s guided and then sat against the wall. In front of him are Jack’s big, blurred, midnight-dark eyes, his eyebrows creased with concern. Light dapples parts of his face from above, landing on his pink-brown cheeks. He must’ve set David under the stairs. “Davey- Davey, hey, what’s goin’ on? What happened?”

Jack pats his cheek suddenly as he speaks, jerking David back to an attention he hadn’t realized he’d left.

“I just… can’t. Run. Ri’now,” David supplies, blinking at the other.

“Yeah I got that,” Jack almost chuckles, gaze still filled with worry His hand finds David’s forehead. “Are you sick?”

David shakes his head slowly, leaning into Jack’s palm. “Had to do math, during lunch.”

This somehow confounds Jack more, eyebrows scrunching, before he nods.

“Davey,” Jack sighs. “You gotta eat during lunch, okay? Gotta do that, or you’re gonna black out mid-sprint.”

“I blacked out after,” David corrects. The corrects again- “I didn’t black out.”

Jack nods in what David assumes is mock-understanding, before the boy shifts closer, pressing a quick kiss to David’s temple. Then he leans back, sitting on his knees and watching David for a moment. He can feel himself smile slightly, and Jack mirrors it meltily, before David snorts as the other tries to quickly wipe it off his face.

“Stay there,” Jack orders, standing himself up. “I’m gonna go grab you somethin’, alright? Then we’ll head back.”

David nods, leaning his head back against the brick behind him and resting his eyes. There’s no movement in front of him.

“Stop staring and get me some food, Kelly,” he hums.

“I–” Jack huffs. There’s a pause. “On it.”

[stxrvel]

two strangers (1)

summary: when bucky rescues you, you didn't think there could be a more indecent person. but as the days go by, you realize he may have a chicken heart.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: +6k

warnings: a lot of bad words and mentions of wounds and blood.

read this for some context! so fyi this is set in an alternate universe where mercenaries exist, but like a society, like john wick, and the avengers rescued bucky from hydra's control and all that, but he decided to keep his life in the mercenary side, taking missions to get rid of really bad people, and even though he isn't part of the society per se, he's very known by it but he doesn't care to join them.

note: hi guys! i decided to publish this in different parts, seeing that my inspiration had a big strike and yesterday i just couldn't stop writing. i think the updates will be weekly, but you'll know the exact date in the masterlist page. so i hope you like it! and know feedback is always appreciated! love you all 💜

Bucky never thought the rescue would be difficult. It was a huge house, three floors, a hundred windows and doors, with a garden that directly overlooked a wooded area. The walk to the entrance was not at all dissimilar to the ambiance of the whole area, as it was at least a forty minute walk through trees and bushes. There were about fifty people guarding each entrance and access, but Bucky knew that there would be a shift change at ten o'clock at night, at which time there would be about 25 people that he would have to face in less than 10 minutes to reach the target, and after that he would have just under two minutes to get at least ten kilometers away from the house and avoid being followed.

Except that Bucky wasn't riding the bike back to town and had a piece of a shirt pressed against the side of his abdomen from which blood was pouring out, while a couple of other bikes were following behind them and they could barely dodge the bullets.

Bucky knew he couldn't play with words again.

“Drive faster,” Bucky mumbled over the sound of the wind and bullets, barely able to hold onto the abdomen of the woman behind the wheel, whose name he couldn't remember.

“Fucking hell, I'm doing everything I can!”

Bucky peered over the woman's shoulder watching as the needle pointed to one hundred and ten kilometers per hour and raised his eyebrows. How that tiny woman was able to keep her balance and zigzag through the trees at that speed was a complete mystery.

While it was true that the bike had more speed, it was quite dangerous to increase it seeing the wooded road full of natural obstacles in front of them. So Bucky just pulled out of his right side the gun he always carried with him and started shooting at whatever he could aim at. Maybe that way he could get some leverage.

After a few minutes, Bucky began to make out the lighted streets of the city and was minimally glad that the rescue had not been a failure.

“When you take the road, turn right and then left, there you go straight ahead and increase your speed as much as you can.”

The woman barely nodded toward Bucky's words as she maneuvered through the branches and downhill slopes until she made it to the asphalt, and it was like falling off the end of a roller coaster. Bucky thought he had flown off the bike.

When the woman made the turn Bucky indicated and found a track that stretched along without a possible end, she accelerated so much that she was sure that, had she not had a helmet, she would have been out of eyelashes in seconds.

It didn't take them too long to lose the criminals following them and find the safe house where they would spend the night. Bucky felt his body still vibrating with the bike as the woman parked it in the subway parking lot. The walk to the stairs and what he rode inside the house was one big blurry moment inside his head as the adrenaline began to wear off and the pain throughout his body became more and more noticeable.

He barely remembered lying on the white couch, staining it entirely with blood and mud, and the woman in front of him trying to stop his bleeding.

-

You did everything in your power to stop the bleeding in the man's side. It was difficult, but you managed to get a halfway decent stitch and tried to disinfect it with what you found in the first aid kit in the house. You wrapped his abdomen with gauze and bandages as best you could and finally left him alone. He had fainted the moment you put alcohol on the wound with gauze, and you didn't know if it was because of the pain or the lack of blood. It was probably the latter, he looked like a strong guy.

A strong guy who had definitely underestimated his mission. Strong but his arrogance was a major flaw.

You had tried to arrange the whole room as you had found it, because you'd made a big mess carrying that man who weighed twice as much as he looked to the couch. In the end, cleaning up the blood was the most complicated thing.

You went to bed at dawn, after an exhaustive session in the shower. You washed your clothes by hand three times and then soaked them for at least an hour until you washed them again. You got clean clothes and changed when the first traces of azure blue began to adorn the sky.

But you stared at the ceiling for a while. Memories of what had happened in the last few days and years flooded your head and kept you moving your hands under the sheet. Restlessness, new friend. Reminiscing about it, the sound of bullets, the adrenaline rush and the blood of the man in the room almost kept you awake. But, at some point, out of exhaustion or pity, your eyes finally closed.

-

Bucky cursed, moving around the room. Trying to walk to the bathroom, he had dropped everything his hands had touched. And the pain in his side didn't make things any easier. He didn't know what the woman sleeping peacefully on the second floor had done, but it seemed the pain was sharper than yesterday.

As his body moved closer to the bathroom, he heard footsteps coming from the stairs. The silhouette of the woman materialized in front of him, who was trying to climb the five steps that separated him from the bathroom.

“What are you doing? You opened your wound,” Bucky observed the woman's scowl with hair standing on end like a cat in the face of an imminent threat.

He watched her in slow motion and infrared as she tried to move closer to him, decreasing the distance between them and making it difficult for him to walk to the bathroom.

The woman raised her arms to touch him, but before she could do anything, Bucky threw a swipe. She staggered, and without a second's hesitation stepped away from him.

Bucky thought he saw a hint of fear in her eyes, but it had to have been a figment of his imagination, because the next moment she was only looking at him with annoyance.

“How surly.”

“Don't get in my way.”

“I was trying to help you.”

“Standing in my way doesn't help me at all.”

“"You're bleeding again…”

“Fuck, I need to use the bathroom.”

The woman silently moved to the side. And Bucky barely glanced at her as he passed her and finally climbed the fifth step that separated him from his destination.

That was why he had stopped accepting missions like that. It was so much easier to just show up at a place to shoot someone in the forehead and then run away, he didn't have to spend days and days waiting to finish the mission. He could even do more than three in a single day, when the targets knew each other or were in the same place.

But, yes, even if it didn't seem like it, so much death at his heels was also a bit overwhelming if he was honest. He'd heard from other mercenaries, the ones who weren't so sadistic, that rescue missions were sometimes a respite to get back into the action again. Bucky had done it before, but there was always something that went wrong. And this time was no exception. Maybe he wasn't cut out to rescue people, to save them…

When he came out of the bathroom and made his way with great effort into the living room, the smell of bacon and eggs filled the room. Scattered on the dining room table were all the items he could find inside a first aid kit and there was also a bag with what appeared to be bloody gauze.

“I thought the bath swallowed you up.”

Bucky noticed when the woman came out of the kitchen wiping her hands with a white cloth. She was wearing different clothes than yesterday, white and neat, totally in contrast to the stained and dirty clothes he was wearing.

“Sit down. I need to check you over.”

“I'm fine.”

“Don't be foolish.”

Bucky shifted, willing himself to lie back down on the couch he'd woken up in. He vaguely noticed that on one side of the furniture was a bucket of water and bubbles and some sponges, one submerged and one over an edge of the couch that was bathed in blood.

“You do know there are people who clean these places?” Bucky spoke as he tried to find a way to sit down without having to bend over or exert too much force by bending his legs.

“No.”

“Well, now you know. Don't spend time cleaning these things.”

“It looks bad.”

“It's just blood… argh.”

Bucky arched as he made a very bad move and rested one of his hands on the back of the couch. He barely heard the woman sigh and then her footsteps approaching.

“No, no… I can.”

“God, what a stupid man.”

“What the fuck did you just-? Ah, ah, ahhhhh.”

The man hadn't even noticed when you came up behind him and pushed him to move before his head could process it. He fell noisily onto the couch and bit his lips to keep from moaning in pain.

“I like you better when you're quiet.”

Giving up the fight, Bucky let his body fall against the backrest and dropped his limp hands on either side of his legs. With his eyes closed, he heard a flutter of things on one side of him and guessed that the woman was digging through the things she had placed on the table. He barely had any memories of the night before when they arrived and most of them included a terrible pain that drove him into unconsciousness.

"Well, let's see…" the woman mumbled to herself and Bucky soon felt her hands moving over his bandaged abdomen.

It was instinct and he couldn't stop his left hand, metallic and dulled by the bloodstains that spread over his body, from clinging with superhuman strength to the wrists of the woman who had only intended to tend to him.

Even with his eyes closed, he heard her gasp in surprise and felt her tense in front of him. Her small hands, which had not the slightest chance before his exorbitant strength, stirred under his grip in slight movements. Without seeing her, he could tell she was so frightened she didn't know if she should keep shaking or stay still.

Bucky opened his eyes to realize that his instinct was right. The woman was pale with fright.

Sighing, the man loosened his grip until finally releasing her.

The woman fell backwards on the floor trying to get away from him.

That was the look he was used to seeing on all his victims.

Turning his head away, Bucky cleared his throat.

“Ask first next time.”

It was several seconds before the woman moved again. She had stood there, still and tense, watching him, waiting for any sudden movement to bolt. She moved closer to him on her knees, but not as close as she had been a few minutes ago. Her breathing was just beginning to become more leisurely until she finally seemed to have calmed down.

Bucky kept his gaze anywhere but on the small woman in front of him, who seemed to fear she would be swallowed alive.

“I'm going to-”

“Yes.”

That time, when the woman moved her hands back to the bandage around his abdomen, Bucky tensed, but kept his instincts to himself. He knew the woman had sensed that moment of hesitation, because she almost moved her hands away, but came closer again when nothing happened.

Thus Bucky allowed himself to be attended to, until he fell back asleep on the couch.

-

When the man woke up again, you had already eaten breakfast and finished washing the couch, except for the place where he was lying. You had also cleaned up the trail of blood he had left on the floor from the bathroom all the way back to the living room. You had tried to make everything in your reach neat, free of any mud or blood stains. And when you were done in the living room, you went to fix what was needed in the kitchen.

You were halfway through going to get your clothes when you heard him.

“Fuck, how the hell did you make it hurt more than it did before?”

You turned on your feet at the top of the stairs to see him as he leaned forward with a grimace.

“Maybe I wouldn't have had to double stitch you if you weren't such a moron.”

“Double stitch? Does that exist?”

“I don't know!”

“You double stitched me?”

You shrugged. “Just in case!”

“Argh… No fucking way.”

Dropping his head on the back of the couch, the man brought his right hand over his forehead in a weary gesture.

“Whatever. I left you some hot water in the shower and a rag. Try not to get your wound wet.”

He lowered his head to look at you, but you hurried on walking to the cleaning room.

That man was scary. And it was much scarier that you were in an almost-abandoned house in a ghost neighborhood alone with him. The chances were that if you shouted, no one would hear you; or if you did and someone did hear you, they would prefer to keep on walking. That's how troubled the place you were in looked.

You were surprised that your brother had sent someone like that to look for you. At least he would have made a little more effort to find someone more decent. You had to crawl to get you both out of that wrecked house, when it should've been the other way around. As you folded your clothes, you wondered where your brother had gotten that man from.

You were heading back to the room when you heard a snort down the hall. Against the alarms in your head, you approached the hallway to see towards the back, into the living room, as the man had gotten up from the couch and had walked that way about seven steps with the goal of reaching the stairs. At the pace he was going, you wondered how long it had taken him to get there. And with the winces of pain he was making, you knew it was taking all his strength not to make sudden movements.

You sighed as you dropped your clothes on the basket next to the door. That man was going to give you green gray hair.

“Let me help you,” you spoke once you were near him, at the top of the stairs.

It really wasn't that many stairs, only ten steps were separating the man from that bathroom. You didn't know why that kind of platform was there, instead of just making a flat floor for the whole house being so big, but you couldn't judge an architect's decisions.

And yet, even though it was only a few stairs, it seemed like a hundred when you had a bullet wound in your abdomen.

When you started to descend, the man said nothing, just watched you intently as your feet went one in front of the other holding onto the handrail. His deadly gaze caused you to shiver slightly because he looked like a lion about to eat a gazelle.

Still, you stopped at a safe distance.

“May I?”

The man kept his gaze on yours for a while longer, as if he had to weigh every possibility in a short time. You wonder what he saw in you that he had to be so alert. You barely reached his chin, what could you do without him stopping you two seconds before? You didn't even have the option to think of anything.

So when he sighed, you realized he had given in.

-

Bucky took a pleasant nap on the bed in the master bedroom when he finished showering, if anyone could call what he had done a shower. He ran a washcloth with warm water all over his body, with the tiniest amount of soap and unable to wash his hair. The woman downstairs had offered to do it for him, but Bucky didn't even consider that possibility.

Still, he felt fresh enough to really rest for a while.

And by the time he awoke, moonlight was filtering through the curtains.

It was daring to get out of bed. But it was worth it when he reached the kitchen and the smell of meat made his stomach growl loudly. He hadn't eaten anything for over twenty-four hours. He hadn't even accepted the breakfast the woman made because he still felt as if at any moment he was going to vomit up to the air.

But at that moment… at that moment….

“Ah, you finally woke up.”

“How long did I sleep?”

“About twelve hours.”

Bucky moved his head to look at the clock above the entrance to the kitchen, and yes, it was already eight o'clock at night.

“How are you feeling? How's the wound?”

The man stirred when he heard the woman's voice nearby. She had moved until she reached the kitchen entrance, not a step more, not a step less.

“It doesn't hurt as much as it did before.”

“That's good,” the woman shook her head in a nod and walked back into the kitchen. “Sit down. You need to eat.”

Bucky obeyed silently, because dealing with food he didn't want to grumble. He heard the sound of dishes and silverware before the woman came out with two large plates in her hands. When Bucky saw what she had cooked, his mouth dropped open in surprise.

“I hope you like meat,” the woman commented in a light voice, but at Bucky's silence she began to perspire. “I also cooked a vegan option if you-”

“No,” Bucky cut her off, moving his hands to grab the silverware. “I definitely like meat.”

Bucky didn't notice how the woman's shoulders relaxed as she watched him savor each thing on his plate nor how she kept her gaze fixed on him to make sure he didn't choke on how quickly the food was being stuffed.

And when they were both finished eating, the woman pulled out a bag that had been sitting on a chair and set it on the table, bringing it closer to Bucky, but not too close.

At the man's arched eyebrow, she said, “Medication.”

Bucky's eyes lit up, but he shook his head quickly.

“Why the hell didn't you give this to me before?”

“Because there was none before.”

Bucky frowned. “And where did you get this?”

As she answered, the woman got up to pick up the dishes and carry them to the scrubber. “There's a store about five blocks from here. I had some money so I bought it. It seemed necessary.”

The woman went to grab the silverware Bucky had used, not noticing the man's steady gaze on her, when his metal hand stopped her from taking the silverware away.

She unconsciously cringed at the sudden movement, and sought the man's gaze in alarm. Bucky felt such overwhelming anger make its way inside his chest that he didn't even think twice before letting his body act first.

“You did what?”

The woman sputtered a couple of times, like a fish out of water, before replying, “I just went for meds. So you won't get the wound infected.”

“You left this house alone? Are you out of your mind?”

Bucky raised his voice as he rose suddenly from his chair. His metal hand pulled the woman's wrist and slammed it against her chest in one violent motion. She barely managed to take a deep breath before tears welled up in her eyes.

“Do you even have any idea what I had to go through to get you here? And you're telling me you walked out of this house like it was nothing? Alone?!”

Still cringing at the tone of voice Bucky was using, the woman replied shakily, “But nothing happened. I'm fine…”

“Ah! Right! And how can you be sure that no one followed you here? How can you be sure that you didn't compromise our location?”

“I swear I took a good look when I left and arrived. There was no one… There wasn't… Please just... let me go.”

Bucky pursed his lips and took one more detailed look at the woman's contracted face. He angrily let go of her.

She didn't hesitate for a second to start up the stairs.

“Just take the fucking meds,” she spat from afar, and the next thing Bucky heard was the slamming of a room door.

Staring at the empty space through which the woman had disappeared, Bucky took a few seconds to calm his breathing and emotions. Now he had to make sure they weren't going to be ambushed by surprise while he slept and the two were distracted. He could go stay all the rest of the night in the camera room after placing a motion bomb over every entrance to the house… but he was too tired to do that, and he most likely wouldn't be able to find the necessary items in that house to make those traps as invisible as possible. The only thing he could do was to sit in that armchair with a shotgun in his hands and wait. Hope that it was true that no one had followed her.

Bucky sighed. Fuck, he had to learn to manage his attitude.

His eyes fell on the bag on the table and he felt the tiniest whip of guilt inside his chest. It disappeared as quick as lightning. He picked up the bag to rummage inside to find four boxes and a piece of paper.

He shook the bag on the table and the medications fell free. He grabbed the paper with a frown and the whip of guilt returned as he read what had been written in black ink:

“Stranger,

I'm writing this note to tell you how you should take these medications.

The blue one is to prevent infection, so you should take it every 12 hours.

The red one is for pain. If it hurts too much, take it every 6 hours, and if it doesn't hurt too much, take it every 12 hours.

Yellow is an analgesic, it will most likely put you to sleep. Take it when the pain is unbearable.

And the green box is vitamins. Take one after each meal.

These boxes will last for at least a week. Hopefully by that time the wound will have healed much more.

Take them judiciously.”

Bucky stared at that piece of paper as if it were to blame for all his misfortunes. In spite of everything, the woman did try to care for his wound, even if he did nothing but reject the support she gave him.

The sound of something similar to a bell brought Bucky out of the depths of his head.

It was the satellite phone.

Bucky moved to the kitchen, where the sound was coming from. There, beside the blender, was the phone. He wondered if the woman had used it before.

He picked up the device and held it up to his ear in silence.

“Barnes?”

“Jacob.”

“Fucking shit. Why are you answering until now? I've been calling for a while now.”

So she hadn't used the phone.

“I was asleep.”

“What?”

“Long story.”

The man on the other end of the line barely took a deep breath.

“Are you with her?”

“Yes.”

“And she's okay?“”

“Yes.”

“Ah,” the man exclaimed in relief. “When are you going to bring her in?”

“You know I have to wait at least five days before I leave the house.”

“Argh, yes, yeah, right. And have you two got enough? Food? Clothes? Has she eaten well? Have you seen her take care of herself?”

“She's fine. She's more than capable of fending for herself. Stop worrying.”

“It's easy for you to ask me that when it's not your family member who was kidnapped.”

Bucky twisted his lips. “Why are you calling me and not Alejandro?”

“He left early. Seems there was a problem with the New York headquarters.”

“Ah, the troubled mercenary society.”

“Yeah, you should have seen the look on his face from these brats again,” Jacob let out a short laugh that was not reciprocated by Bucky. “Well,” he throat cleared, “let me know if there's any news.”

“Okay.”

And Bucky hung up.

His gaze lingered on the white kitchen wall before returning his attention to the colorful boxes on the dining room counter.

Fuck he was going to apologize to the woman.

-

You were stunned when you woke up the next morning and breakfast was ready and there was no sign of the man anywhere near the kitchen. The same thing happened at noon and at night.

You wanted to meet him somewhere to thank him, but at the same time you wanted to never see him again. However, what you thought about most was his wound and that you should've changed his bandage more than six hours ago. But the man was nowhere to be found. He would only show up to cook something and then vanish.

Still, you tried to comfort yourself with the thought that he had taken the gauze and bandages, because you couldn't find the first aid kit anywhere either.

At some point you thought that would be a good thing, not to find him even by accident for the rest of the days you had to spend in that house. You didn't think you would be able to keep up with his temper, clearly driven by emotions he couldn't control. You'd better take that time to take care of yourself and try to process everything that had happened instead of continuing to repress it, as always.

But… every time you tried to think about what had happened, what it had been like to be in that mansion in the middle of the trees, in the middle of nowhere, a suffocating sensation would make its way from your stomach to your chest and throat, and suddenly you felt short of breath. You couldn't spend more than a minute trying to cope with those emotions and memories you kept locked up in your memory because bringing them up made you feel like you were choking on air.

Maybe it was still too soon.

Yes, maybe it was.

It was already close to midnight when you finished organizing the kitchen. It seemed like the meds were kicking in if the man could spend so much time on his feet cooking and then washing dishes.

Remembering the anger that had sailed across his face the night before still gave you chills. You were trying to get that image out of your head.

You were on your way to the yard when you heard a sound down the hall. There were a couple of doors in that house that you had seen around but had no idea what was behind them, and now you were hearing a sound behind one of them.

Thinking of the man, you moved and walked to open the door, encountering stairs descending to the left and a light at the bottom of the stairs. The sound repeated, and with the door open you could also identify music.

You carefully descended and followed the hallway to the left after descending. Whatever it was you were expecting to see, a gymnasium opened up in front of your eyes. And in the middle of it all, the man, punching a large sandbag as if he didn't have a bullet wound in his abdomen.

You didn't know if you had made a noise or he had a sixth sense, but suddenly he moved his head and his eyes met yours. His expression denoted nothing but indifference and he promptly hit the bag again.

“You do know you have a large wound in your abdomen?” was the first thing you said as you stepped through the glass door.

The man didn't even turn around.

“You could open up the wound.”

“I've been here all day and nothing's happened to me.”

“Yeah, lucky you. Watch how you stretch to hit that.”

The man stopped to look at you when you got too close trying to see his injured side. Feeling prey to his intimidating stare, you backed up a few steps.

“Check it out if you want to so badly,” he turned around to face you and raised his arms waiting for you to come closer. You had barely noticed that he wasn't wearing a shirt.

“No. Did you change your bandages?”

“Yes. The wound is fine. I haven't even had to take the pills.”

You frowned at him as he went back to focusing on his sandbag. “Not even the vitamins?”

The man gave you a sidelong glance before striking again.

“Oh, c'mon,” you exclaimed in annoyance. “At least make my act of recklessness worthwhile.”

His gaze traveled to your face again, his expression incredulous and somewhat angry. He shook his head as if he didn't credit your words and went back to focusing on his blows. One after another. One, two, three, four.

“It really doesn't hurt?”

This time he hit the sack so hard with his metal arm that it flew off and crashed against the wall in a thud.

You barely cowered in place.

“Take off the bandages so you're sure.”

Again he turned his body toward you, his posture nonchalant even though his features were hard, like polished marble.

“Stop,” you raised your hands, “I'm sorry.”

The man sighed, lowering his shoulders for the first time at will. The only times you had ever seen him relaxed had been when he slept.

He began to untangle the bandages around the knuckles of his right hand as he approached the sack he had pushed out of its holder.

“What's your name?”

“Huh?”

“Are you deaf?” the man turned with a frown, but quickly turned away taking a deep breath. “What's your name?”

“Uhm… Y/N. Didn't you already know that?”

“Yes. But I'd forgotten.”

“Ah.”

“I'm sorry, Y/N.”

“Why?”

“I'm not used to… whatever it is you do,” he waved his hand vaguely as if trying to clarify a point.

“You mean help you?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Don't you get help very often?”

“I work alone. That's what I mean.”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

“Well, anyway. I'm sorry I yelled at you last night. I shouldn't have lost control.”

“Yeah…”

“And you shouldn't have gone out on your own like that. Don't ever do that again,” his accusing index finger pointed at you.

“Okay. I'm sorry.”

He sighed and turned around again to look at the sandbag on the floor. He had already removed his bandages and his knuckles looked somewhat swollen, the red color standing out against the olive of his skin. If he'd been like that all day, he must have at least some pain in that hand. You frowned watching him there, not moving.

He couldn't bend over.

Maybe he wasn't so sincere in saying it didn't hurt.

“I can lift it,” you spoke before you even thought it through.

The man, whose name you hadn't asked yet, turned to look at you with an ingrown eyebrow. You tried not to think too hard as he swept his eyes over your figure and then looked back down at the sandbag on the floor, probably taller than you and certainly heavier. But you could do it. Besides, you couldn't allow him to make that effort if there was a chance of once again opening up the wound.

When he took a step back and turned to look at you, your palms sweated. Maybe you really couldn't…

No, you could. You definitely could. It was a piece of cake.

Under his watchful eye you approached the sandbag. You looked at it with narrowed eyes, like your nemesis. You moved your arms, wanting to loosen your shoulders a bit before overexerting yourself lifting the thing, and at that moment you heard a short, thinly disguised laugh through a cough.

When you turned to see him, he kept coughing like it was nothing and turned to walk to another side of the gym.

Ha, how funny.

You turned around to focus on your task and, well, it was crunch time. You felt so determined to shut him up that you didn't even think it was the first time you'd seen an emotion other than indifference and anger in him.

You hugged the sack and gathering all your strength you moved back.

Nothing moved.

You tried again.

Nothing.

You snorted as you stood up for the fifth time and saw that the bag had barely moved less than a foot from its initial state. You rounded the object and sat down in front of it. You swung your legs over and planted your feet on the side of the bag and began to push hard.

You could move it. Not much, but you could move it.

You kept doing it until it was under the support where it had been hanging before the man's anger sent it flying. You put your head up and realized that the support was too high for you to push the bag up. It was impossible.

“Leave it,” you heard the man say.

You found him across the gym in front of you with a bottle in his hands. He took a big sip as he watched you in amusement.

Then, without a word, he moved a little to his left and pressed a button on what appeared to be a joystick. There were many other small buttons and levers that you had absolutely no idea what they could be for in a gym.

Then, you heard something over your head. You watched in amazement at what the man's button was doing.

The bastard had let you try to do something he knew was impossible for you to do, knowing that there was a stupid button that could do it for you. From the back of the gym, a sandbag was moving from the ceiling to where you were, guided by the mechanical system above your head. You barely noticed then that, in the shape of a circle, there was a kind of rail along which the brackets hanging from the ceiling moved.

You wanted to choke someone.

When you looked back at the man, he had his lips cocked in a smug smile. Damn him.

“I'm not going to offer to do anything for you again,” you exclaimed as you stood up and proudly decided to walk out of there with what little dignity you had left.

“Oh no, you should keep doing it. It's very entertaining.”

You stuck out your middle finger at him as you walked in the direction of the exit without turning to look at him. You heard more real laughter when you were far enough away.

-

It was quite late at night when Bucky came out of the gym. It had only been a few hours since you had left and he thought maybe he should follow in your footsteps and go rest, but for some reason he decided to stay a while longer.

On his way out, he saw the sandbag on the floor again and was too surprised by the urge he had to crack a smile. But he restrained himself.

In the house the lights were still on. It was almost midnight. Bucky had prepared dinner with the goal of getting you to eat and go to bed, because it seemed that every time you ate you had to go to sleep afterwards, even if it was just a short nap. But it looked like that wasn't going to be the case this time.

When he came into the living room he found you lying on the big couch in front of the TV on. Some news channel was playing in the background and it looked like you were deep in concentration listening because you didn't move when he approached.

“What are you doing awake still?” Bucky spoke with a frown before he could repent. “It's almost-”

You were asleep.

Bucky stopped at the side of the large piece of furniture when he saw you with your eyes closed and hugging one of the cushions, with half a sheet over your legs. Of course, it was going to be weird that you were still awake.

Bucky had always seen you walking, alert, moving around, always looking for something to occupy you. Your moments of rest were always away from him. However, looking to the front where the glass table was, Bucky quickly noticed the rag on the table and a small bucket on the floor.

So even all tired out you had been looking for something to do.

Bucky sighed shaking his head.

He took the rag resting on the neatest glass he had ever seen, along with the bucket filled with soapy water, and carried them to the laundry room where he put everything back in its place.

When you returned, you had shifted on the couch and looked like you wanted to find a position to stretch out because your body was more tilted than before.

Bucky turned off the TV which had low sound and stood in front of you on the couch.

He couldn't carry you to the bed without risking too much force that would compromise his injury and seeing how worried you had been about that earlier, he preferred to avoid straining too much. For some reason, he had the feeling that you would prefer to sleep on the couch if it would keep the wound in his abdomen from opening up.

So, he opted for the safest option. He brought down some pillows from the master bedroom along with another larger, thicker sheet. He planted himself in front of you thinking about the best way to accommodate you so you wouldn't wake up sore, although the cushions on that piece of furniture weren't as hard as the ones in the dining room.

Finally he opted to follow the direction your own body was taking. He nestled a pillow over the armrest of the couch, punching it and molding it until it looked comfortable enough. Then he ran his left hand carefully down your neck and his right hand circled your shoulders until it reached your back. He moved you slightly forward keeping you stable and then began to let your body slowly fall onto the couch.

When you were lying flat, he gently pulled his left hand out and stood up. Quietly and very carefully, he removed the small cushion you were hugging, and before you could make any grimace, he rolled a larger pillow between your arms. Bucky watched you sigh in contentment.

Finally, he pulled back the small, thin blanket between your legs and arranged the large sheet he had brought that almost doubled as a bedspread. It would probably get you warm in a few seconds, but that was good, because the nights were cold in that house.

Finished with his task, Bucky nodded to himself.

It was only after he finished that he really realized what he had done. He frowned, watching your placid face as you rested comfortably.

Why had he done that, without even a second thought?

Bucky suddenly felt the need to run away. Now he wanted to undo all that because tomorrow you would wake up and surely ask questions he wouldn't know how to answer. That he wouldn't want to answer. Maybe he could play dumb and say that's how he'd found you when he'd left the gym. Surely you'd been so drunk on sleep that you hadn't even realized what you'd done.

Maybe that had happened to Bucky. Maybe he'd been so drunk on exhaustion that he hadn't realized what he was doing until he'd done it. Yes, surely.

Inside his chest he again recognized the feeling of guilt he'd had when he saw the paper you'd given him with the pills, and that only increased as he remembered he hadn't taken a single one.

It was guilt that made him move like that.

Yes, that was probably it.

[frostbitemutt]

Hi! Could you please do Jack Marston with a childhood friend reader? If Honor level is needed let's go with high Honor for this one. Thanks! <3

sure! Sorry if this is a bit ooc, I have yet to play high honor jack, so I'm going off the wiki and yt clips

Yandere! High Honor! Jack Marston with Childhood friend hcs

Warnings: Gender neutral darling, yandere trope, obsession, spoilers for rdr1, gaslighting, breach of trust, stalking, isolation, kidnapping, guilt tripping, possibly ooc Jack

✘ Oh boy, a tragic one. Seeing your best friend go from a bright smart boy to a killer and obsessed stalker. Granted it's high honor at least.. so you won't get some of the nastiness of low honor.

✘ His obsession won't start until after both his parents die, leaving him alone, with only you around. It starts as worry, worry you'll be ripped away from him like his father and mother, just when things were starting to get good.

✘ You probably can excuse it as a reasonable thing, grief can change a person. In this case, it's a really big damn change. That's the advantage he has. He isn't as openly vulgar, crass, and deranged as his low honor self.

✘ It's things like insisting on following you around, escorting you places, casting doubt on certain people he's jealous weary of. He's just looking out for you that's all! After all you two been friends how long? Yeah. That's right. He's just worried about his best friend.

✘ He uses the childhood friend card like a drug. Paired with the grief one. Any accusation of him stalking you, beating up townsfolk, chasing other people away, stealing things? That's ridiculous! Do you hear yourself? You really believe some strangers over him? He's hurt. Even if it's all true. You don't need to know that!

✘ He even feels guilty sometimes for what he's doing, but he tricks himself into thinking it's reasonable again. After everything he's lost its only fair he tries to keep the one person left right? Anyone else would do the same in his position! Even if means shooting down a few people, they laid their hands on you.

✘ He is less trigger happy than his low honor counter part. Someone's gotta get real, real under his skin. He'll make it quick and brisk, leave their body, and never speak of word of it to you. He knows you wouldn't be exactly over the moon if he openly admitted to stalking you, stealing some of your things, or killing someone.

✘ He also conveniently takes up Journaling around this time. Don't worry. It's just fifty or so pages about you and his ramblings. Nothing you need to worry about at all.

✘ He really struggles. He knows it's wrong. It's dirty. Yet he can't just.. stop. His father was an outlaw, he was doomed to be like this wasn't he? A filthy crook dragging another innocent person down.

✘ Yet he also bounces back, you're his friend, you two have know each other for so long, so long before he was this? You've stuck with him for so long. You wouldn't mind staying with him forever would you? It's only reasonable for you two to be together after all your history, as he so claims. You should feel the same.

✘ Kidnapping will be a last resort. If he's guaranteed to loose you, like if you plan on moving. He's reluctant the whole time. You'd really see him as a monster now wouldn't you? He's talking to you the whole time, pleading for you to not make this harder for either of you than it needs to be.

✘ You cry and scream at him and get very little back. He understands he's broken your trust, that's that. He can't un-break it. Yet he argues back, you should've know, you both should've known this would be the outcome. All you two can do now is stick through it together right? You don't have a choice anyways.

[schismusic]

Joy Division, or: how I learned to stop worrying and love New Order, too

Spring is weird as hell because one time you have this glaring sun that powers you up like being plugged into a wall outlet, then not five minutes later clouds begin to gather and you feel like you're going to die if anything goes south. So the most obvious combination to represent two sides of this same coin, emotional and meteorological, is Joy Division and New Order.

Sometimes you need Transmission or Shadowplay for the sunny days — impassioned jolts, sparks flying everywhere. Sometimes The Perfect Kiss hits harder on a cloudy afternoon, coming back home and in need of that extra push to not fall asleep in the train. It's surprising to realize the versatility displayed by both bands, or the same band in two different iterations according to whomever you ask. Peter Hook says, as late as 1993, that the laziest member of New Order is Ian Curtis. Or again this other person, in the comments under the Atmosphere official video on YouTube, who went to see New Order (Hooky-less New Order, which might be a relevant distinction) at the O2 Arena a couple of years ago and they gave an encore, says "Those of us who stayed got the privilege of watching Joy Division perform three of their songs". Interesting outlook on the matter. I personally saw Peter Hook and the Light play both Joy Division records and, I'm pretty sure, an encore comprised of just Love Will Tear Us Apart at the Arti Vive Festival in Soliera, back when it was still free to attend some of the events. I remember being pretty mad that Hooky had stopped to take pics with basically everyone and then left exactly as I was approaching. In retrospect I don't exactly blame the man, it was like midnight anyway. I remember nothing of the back trip home.

My first contact with Joy Division happened when I was thirteen and very much in my prog era. I was in Rome staying at an aunt of mine's place for my fourteenth birthday and she told me I could get a CD, since I had gotten some money saved up over time. Some Facebook page dedicated to Pink Floyd I'd liked (yeah, Facebook at age thirteen — I literally just wanted to play a fucking Flash game, back when Facebook allowed them, and I ended up getting to be terminally online. Crazy how things turn out) used to share a lot of memes and fanart relating to the Unknown Pleasures album cover, and me being a massive Pink Floyd head at the time I thought "I mean, if these guys are pushing this band so hard, that's gotta mean something". The album cover was pretty striking, admittedly: a far cry from the paisley ass paintings that I had grown to accept as the gold standard for the music I liked, but its simplicity struck a chord closer to The Dark Side of the Moon, or perhaps The Wall. Those were records I liked a lot, probably called them "the best records ever made" to more than one person, not like they aren't but that's a very bold statement to make when your listening experience consists exactly of

Madonna's Confessions on a Dance Floor when I was six;

Daft Punk's complete discography (minus Random Access Memories, which wasn't out yet) when I was twelve;

Pink Floyd's complete discography, courtesy of a CD collection coming out with some Italian newspaper, that same year;

a couple random classic rock records recommended to me by older friends and relatives usually well into their fifties or sixties at the time, random people on Internet forums — which, for clarification, I did not actively attend, preferring to just lurk from time to time — and the OndaRock "milestones" page.

So browsing through the surprisingly expansive CDs section of this electronics shop in Rome, and being mesmerized by a vinyl rack in the days when Music on Vinyl was the final frontier of pretending you could re-analogue the digital ("you mean to tell me these are like CDs, but bigger? Whoever designed these truly lived in the future"), I came across that very same album art that had stricken me so hard. I had listened to the first seconds of the album on YouTube, but that weird drum sound — so echoey, so distant, ultimately not particularly powerful, meaning it didn't really sound like Bonzo: it sounded more like my own band, which at the time didn't even exist yet — I didn't really know what to make of. This store I was in had one of those preview listening machines that would scan the barcode on the CDs and give you a small snippet of the song. I pull the CD up to the scanner, the scanner lights up green, I put on the headphones and the solo from this comes up:

Clearly they had to be kidding me. I had come to know, sneaking into infinitely many rehearsals with the band from my mother's town, what it sounded like when someone tried to play lead without something else filling up the arrangement (even though I didn't really know all that, or at least lacked the vocabulary to properly express it) and, for Christ's sake, didn't these guys notice rehearsing? It sounded empty, weirdly so, and it wasn't my thing, I thought. I put that CD away and picked up a band I knew I'd like — Genesis, specifically. So Nursery Cryme became the first CD I've ever paid with my own money, the very day I turned fourteen. Not a bad pickup. I remember being very impressed with the fast blurring lead guitar on The Musical Box and digging the sweet pastoral atmospheres of For Absent Friends and Harlequin. I still think of that record more often than one would probably assume looking at this blog, or my most played on Spotify. At the time, that was the best move I could take, really: why beat my head against a record that, as your average prog nerd ballbreaker, simply wasn't speaking to me?

Then all of a sudden in August of the same year my friend's dad hands me a 16 gigabyte USB drive, full of random music from all eras of rock. A lot of it remains inscrutable to me for a really long time, most notably Tom Waits (see related post), but I spent the whole month reading random folder names, seeing if something catches my eyes, and at one point I come across the Mars Volta. Open the folder up, read the names of their first three records, and my first thought is "Christ, these guys look incomprehensible. I'm about to have some fun". Long story short: I end up having a lot of fun, the Mars Volta turns into my favourite band at the time and finding out that they had previously been called At the Drive-In makes me gain some measure of respect for punk rockers: if they tried hard enough, I must've thought, they could prog as hard as anyone. In the meantime the ghost of Joy Division remains at the back of my head. I feel like I'm missing something, for the first time in my life: it's not them, it's me. Too bad that same realization didn't occur to me when it came to the people in my life until much, much later, but that's being fourteen for you I suppose. Early King Crimson and the Mars Volta were the pinnacle of violence to me, and not even the very few Metallica songs I'd downloaded just to see what would happen scratched that itch. It felt a bit too cauterized for some reason (I would later find out I had been looking in the wrong direction the whole time: the Black Album "sucked", according to my favourite metalhead of the time, who somehow catalyzed my interest from the very second I saw him in the school's courtyard. Hard to imagine why I would imprint on people like puppies do, but what the fuck, not like I've ever outgrown that anyway, I've just gotten better at managing it). But I felt there was more than violence to this, or different forms of violence. When Christmas came around and my relatives tried to get me presents, my mother asked if there was anything specific I was interested in, and I basically told her "look, if they can get me some CDs off of this list, I'm golden". It had some bangers on it, namely Noctourniquet by the Mars Volta — it's one of their best and I will die on this hill, be warned — and The Downward Spiral, which might as well warrant its own post in an ideal world. But the best of them all I think came from a random purchase, once again with the little money I had lying around at the time.

Closer appears to be, right away, a bit more concrete, and if there's something inexperienced music fans like is a pretty packaging that conjures a strong emotional response before they've even played the record. Compare a color-inverted graph of pulsar emissions to a literal funerary monument. Opening up the booklet I was shocked to see that Genesis was used as a negative point of comparison (bad omen, I thought) by people close to the band, and I came across much more detailed information about Ian Curtis's untimely demise — at that time, something far too removed from my experience to be faced with the delicacy and attention it deserves. Atrocity Exhibition hits like a ten-ton truck, a reference which at the time I wouldn't have been able to make for obvious reasons, and Isolation exposes all the nerve tissue under the skin. Passover comes in and strips everything even barer, and then A Means to an End turns… danceable, for some reason? Big emotional moment with The Eternal and Decades, which I thought actually took them closer to my usual tastes. And yet at the same time I kept looking at Colony, Heart and Soul and Twenty Four Hours as the most compelling cuts. Geometric assault sounding like sheet metal if it were music; rhythmically driven emptiness that serves as a minimal backdrop for depressed poetry, and finally a rocking ebb-and-flow that would probably inform a lot of my interest in GY!BE-like post-rock in the coming years. Very interesting to think that the same guys who'd done Unknown Pleasures could think of this. To this day, when asked, I still do think that Closer is the best Joy Division record, but what does it even mean when the records are exactly two, compilations notwithstanding?

It was around this time that it came to my attention that both Joy Division and another band called New Order had a record called Substance out, both published by the same recording company, both coming out within a year of each other. Looking it up, it turns out it's fully intentional, because New Order is simply Joy Division minus Ian Curtis. It would turn out to be a tad bit more complex than that. Anyway, I look New Order up and kind of have to do a double-take. Synthpop? In my Joy Division? More likely than you'd think, considering Isolation exists. But yeah, that sort of seals it — I wouldn't care about this New Order for a million years. Until all of a sudden a couple of years later David Sylvian bursts like a comet in my face, which of course leads me straight to Japan, the same year as I'd come across Berlin-era Bowie, and you can probably guess where this is going, right?

Well, you'd be wrong. I still don't check out New Order. There's a whole new world open to me — vaporwave and therefore R Plus Seven come to my attention, which leads me to dissect that record like an alien tool of unclear purposes. This of course leads me onto an ambient tangent, taking me back to my Tim Hecker listens of that same year, which has the effect of renewing my interest in "pure" electronic music and the then-rising post-dubstep movement. The sheer experience of sound, the dazzling modernity and innovation, is what's in at the time. I have no time for nostalgia-pandering dimwits: the future awaits. Then all that jazz from the first Godflesh post hits, then God pulls the funniest gag in the history of viral infections to my memory, and I have some time to actually look back, a bit less prejudiced. As it turns out, synthpop is not the devil, as some of you might have surmised by now, and as I relisten to Blue Monday I realized I have never listened to either of the Substance record. I do know some, most perhaps?, of the tracks on the Joy Division one, and I do think the New Order one has the more striking cover art — not to mention I knew, by this time, that this was the one to give Metal Gear Solid 2: Substance its name, and that Your Silent Face soundtracked one of the most memorable moments in Nicolas Winding Refn's Bronson. As the ultimate Hideo Kojima stan, I couldn't let this slide, so I pop the record on and get hit with this:

Way to go, guys. Holy shit. I knew that Ceremony was a Joy Division cut before they could record it, but what the hell — Bernard got it, too. It wasn't a matter of singing ability with songs like these, it's just getting it, finding the right energy. They had that right energy. And then it hit me just as many times these dudes have made Blue Monday over and over again before actually getting it right, and everytime I look into it it's funnier and funnier to realize just how many different attempts it took them to finally be Kraftwerk, but augmented — with the stellar results we all know. Everything's Gone Green, 5 8 6, Temptation potentially, all lead up to this one moment in the history of dance music where somehow three dudes and a girl hailing from Manchester managed to out-gay the Pet Shop Boys (by their own admission, apparently), to shake the whole world's collective booty, to do whatever it is they were supposed to do in this last comparison that would ideally make the previous one a bit less obnoxious but whatever, it's 3am as usual, you know how it goes by now don't you? But then after Blue Monday the record keeps going, and thank god it does, because it's banger after banger. How do these guys keep doing it?

So I spend some time with that record, then it fades down, then it comes back up last month, when the weather calls for it and its parent company. Which is when I find myself watching the Control movie for the first time, surprisingly enough seeing as I already enjoyed the work of Anton Corbijn as a photographer. Looking at all that, it is revealed to me that Joy Division never really having died is not a bug, it's a feature. Everyone is gasping, I get it, but please pick your jaws up and check this out: the band has never learned how to play their respective instruments. One might go so far as to argue they play their own stuff their own way, and that's basically it. Nothing could be further from the truth. These guys jammed, a lot; that's how Joy Division wrote songs, that's how New Order wrote songs, even going as far as having Bernard Sumner fucked up on acid so he could find the chorus to Temptation or the whole band bombed out of their minds on X in Ibiza clubs to write, basically, the entirety of Technique — and even then, not really, there's a couple jangly tracks that the X would most likely render unlistenable but what do I really know? Point being: it might now have been sparked by a music teacher or instructor, it might not have been the product of a process comparable to that within Television, which led them to organically seek out better, more "by the book" musicianship, but New Order were incredibly familiar with their instruments, had formed an element of comfort and understanding that counterbalanced the alien-ness to music terminology.

Peter Hook recently uploaded a Yamaha-sponsored video to his Instagram, which I am pretty sure has a say in running, where he jams on a Yamaha bass and, you know, it sounds like Hooky alright, but it's never a discernible bassline until he kicks into the A major strumming that opens Love Will Tear Us Apart. Before that, he just strolls around the neck, leisurely strumming away at power chords imbued with that thick chorus and reverb combo he became renowned for. I would never, in my wildest dreams, have imagined I'd find myself thinking "okay, awesome, stop talking — I want to hear you jam a bit more" referring to one of the musicians who were part of possibly two of the craziest storiest in the history of contemporary rock'n'roll, also notorious for playing the rockstar whilst carrying the minimum possible baggage of technical knowledge he could. Once again, this is nowhere near a knock to the man — quite the opposite. Ian Curtis asked "persistence, well, what does it matter?", and Hooky (and, of course, the other members of New Order) found a way to constructively answer that question. Moments before Coil, but a bit later than Israel Regardie, they said "persistence is all" and built a brand on finding a way to consistently sound like splendid, eternal, golden children: "like crystal", impassionate, tightly-knit performers with the purity of a child's heart. Ian Curtis had, in certain ways (at least artistically), the purity of a child in his heart, which some might even argue was a distinguishing feature of most of his literary idols — if you think about it, William Burroughs could be your dirty-minded classmate who walked in on his parents sharing an intimate moment in the bedroom (had his parents been gay men, the metaphor would probably fly better, but that most definitely wasn't the case). So the heart of Joy Division remains untouched, if a bit more naked. Heroes of post-punk, sons of the silent age, you can sleep soundly tonight.

[outsidereveries]

old readings from curiouscat (4th may 2024—2nd june 2024)

4th may 2024

how skz' comeback in may will do?

the hierophant, wheel of fortune, king of cups, 8 of swords rx, 5 of wands rx • the world

As successful as usual. High sales, maybe they'll be somewhere on Billboard (not saying they'll be on Hot 100), maybe receiving a win or two (or possibly more).. their usual achievements. They'll solidify themselves.

5th may 2024

will newjeans have at least 1 comeback before (hypothetically) disbanding?

page of wands rx, king of swords, 9 of pentacles, 4 of pentacles rx • 7 of swords rxx

Overall yes, I can see even a satisfying amount of releases and not just one before their disbandment in the future but like I said, in their releases they'll be too repetitive and their concept will just be the same all over again.

will bts leave bighit music/hybe?

10 of swords rx, knight of cups, page of swords • 5 of swords

As a group I don't see it but for individual activities is possible.

will bhmnbg debut between 2024 and 2026? what'll be their concept?

3 of wands, king of wands, 4 of wands rx, 10 of cups, 9 of swords rx • the world

I can see that the timeframe isn't certain. Them looking for a member is repeating on my head, so there is someone who isn't trainee under the subsidiary yet. Rougly, they can debut until 2026 but it seems too early. I saw they will start doing auditions, right? Yeah, I believe it can take them months to find the member they need. I only see one who's "missing" at the moment. Unless BHM clear some things, I think I should wait and see will they be successful or not at later time.

Concept?: the hierophant, the lovers, 7 of cups, the devil rx, 4 of pentacles rx • 9 of pentacles

As of now undecided, it's yet to be decided.

will newjeans have a scandal on their upcoming comeback?

the world, 6 of cups rx, 6 of pentacles, 3 of cups, the chariot • 2 of wands

There won't be any scandal at all.

17th may 2024

will a kpop group or soloist put out a song that will be as popular as Gangnam Style or Cupid in the future?

knight of swords rx, 5 of cups, queen of wands rx • knight of pentacles

Rough answer, no.

Being more detailed why there won't be song who will be viral as PSY's Gangnam Style/Gentelman to some extent and FIFTY FIFTY's Cupid is because of unsatisfaction in Korea and/or locals prefering the usual, typical songs that are popular in their homelands. The main key sentence here i am hearing is "the most popular songs in certain places will be these ones in their native languages, not.. foreign ones". So I believe there are 2 possibilities:

1) Since companies focus the idols' relevance, whether they're groups or soloists, in FOREIGN LANDS, especially in USA more recently (and Canada? I am unsure for there), k-netz are dissatisffied with that more than you believe (ex. the lyrics in the most recent songs). In the future there can be songs from bigger companies that will underdo themselves from the perspective whether it will have domestic success or not. Therefore, if korean companies who produce music want to be still relevant, just remove that fucking American dream in your heads. It's not profitable as fuck. Everything will be against them if they still want to try and push their luck.

2) Americans, and not only them, would listen to songs that are in their NATIVE LANGUAGES, in their MOTHER TONGUES. Koreans are less than 1% of USA's popularity. Just saying that the luck isn't that much on their side anyways.

after the dior contract with txt end will they have individual endorsements/fashion brands to promote?

knight of swords, knight of cups, judgement • the star

Yeah, I'd say so.. but only 3 members? Maybe they are Yeonjun, Soobin and Beomgyu? So far I see Huening Kai and Taehyun left out :|

will the drama between Kendrick Lamar and Drake continue? What’s the real reason why all of these rappers include Kendrick switched on Drake and now don’t like him? will the drama affect Drake?

Will the beef continue after 'Not Like Us' release: 6 of swords, 2 of pentacles, ace of wands • 10 of swords rx

No. Drake though, has a lot to say.. this time truths about Lamar. But since in the previous tracks that were released by him he lied, noone will believe Drake said truths.

Why some (I have no clue how much, sorry) rappers switched on Drake: the sun rx, page of pentacles, 6 of wands • 9 of swords rx

They disliked him anyways, they just are happy they cannot pretend anymore!

How Drake feels towards the drama: 8 of swords rx, strength • the devil rx

He believes he still has the upper hand (in a haughty way)? He doesn't care that much, lol

Will the drama affect Drake's popularity/relevance: king of wands, 7 of swords rx, the sun • 9 of swords rx

As odd as it sound and looks, yes, it will affect him big this time. Finally some people can show that they don't like him! They were heavily pretending to like him and his songs..

will txt start doing more solo gifs in the future?

2 of swords rx, 2 of pentacles, 8 of wands • the high priestess

Yes, but very specific ones for each member. It's like X member will do this type of activities, Y member will do that type of gigs and etc. until they have finished with what Huening Kai should do. In the near future I'd say they can happen. Possibly a few months (3-4).. at its latest?

will babymonster's reputation suffer in 2025?

the magician, 6 of cups rx, 4 of wands • 10 of wands

Not so much, I believe so. I'd say no but there will surely be a tough situation in 2025, at least the current energies look like that.

in what year babymonster will shine the most?

According to my pendulum, 2027 and 2030 are the YEARS for BABYMONSTER (that will make them shine; 2027 will be better compared to 2030). I asked for the years between 2024 (this) and 2030, for the rest of them I saw "no" as an answer.

will min heejin be able to stay as a ceo of ador?

the hanged man, judgement, 4 of pentacles rx, ace of pentacles, knight of pentacles • the chariot

I personally see Min Heejin taking a "vacation" (resting days, отпуск) but not leaving NewJeans, ADOR and HYBE (I doubt she wants to leave currently). The proof that HYBE thinks it will benefit them benefits Min Heejin/ADOR, so she will be lucky for that, at least for now. Someone else will be kicked out from the corporation though. I don't have clue yet who.

how well Treasure will do for their next comeback?

9 of wands rx, king of swords, the fool, 3 of cups rx, 2 of pentacles • 2 of swords rx

Uh, not that good? YGE is panicking (like for real, the first card shows that!!!) how they will do, and it's reasonable why: the koreans aren't liking the moves for the group from what I saw? I am also hearing "last chance", so please, work your a— off for this release. Stream this massively because this might be the last OT10 release for TREASURE, like for real. If you can, buy albums, digital releases, idk how it will go. They just hope whatever they will release to be actually worth it and gain more fans.

will lee seunghoon debut this year? if yes, which month?

page of cups, page of pentacles, wheel of fortune • 10 of cups

Yes, he will. According to my pendulum, he can debut in the 4th quater of the year (between October and December) as it "answered" yes for all of these months. I'd personally bet on October, it was stronger "yes".

23rd may 2024

will treasure disband soon?

5 of cups rx, page of wands, judgement rx, ace of swords, the star rx • the chariot

To exactly disband, no. There are a few more years before the contract ends, but I see the boys focusing on solo gigs until the end of their contract as a group for the upcoming months, maybe 6 or so (+/- a month). There can be a group activity every 3-4 months but YGE will apparently lose hope.

after winter's lung surgery, how she's feeling?

king of pentacles, 5 of wands rx, knight of swords, page of wands, knight of cups • knight of wands

Actually, Winter feels a lot better and the truth is that SME isn't rushing her at all. I see SME being really cautious with her after the surgery on her lungs, as I see a few doctors/nurses/medics surrounding her because SME were worried for her breathing, I believe so and if I was asking Winter herself how she's feeling, she'd say "Like a brand new person!" or something like that. Winter might've been very careless around the time the surgery was needed, so she had no choice but to change her habits/tactics after the surgery was already done. Don't worry about her, she's more careful now.

will newjeans go to hiatus after their comeback?

5 of swords, 6 of pentacles rx, ace of pentacles, 6 of cups, queen of swords • king of cups

No, Min Heejin won't allow it (She seems to be the queen while the king is the corporation's chairman). As of now it looks like Min Heejin will stay no matter what.

how severe this hybe vs ador (min heejin) beef going on? and how long?

How severe: 4 of swords, queen of pentacles, the emperor, the world rx, 5 of wands rx • knight of wands

As the corporation's CEO is the queen, while the chairman is the emperor (Min Heejin is in the bottom card of the deck), it's a scheme that both men are trying to make Min Heejin weaker than ever (to make her resign or kicked out, the men are trying to flip the bigger hand to the corporation). Behind the scenes, it's on pause not because of legal matters but because of the 3 men's stubborness (i am including SouMu's CEO bc he is far worse than these 2 men I mentioned) to do anything. No matter what they do, they won't succeed at all, so in the end they'll make compromise and let Min Heejin stay in the corporation. Park Jiwon won't mind but Bang and So might receive more backlash, either because of LS or ILI (I'LL-IT) or obtain bigger and harsher karma/circumstances.

When: Q♣️ (Min Heejin), J♦️(Bang Sihyuk), 10♥️, A♣️, 2♦️

In a month (this is more intuitive this time, but looking again.. in 2-3 months at its max.), but again, these 2 people are deciding everything.

what'll be the outcome of the 1st verdict (hybe vs min heejin)?

king of pentacles (Sihyuk), knight of swords (Heejin), queen of wands (Jiwon), 6 of cups, 5 of swords rx, the magician • the chariot

From (as much as possible) legal perspective, yes, Min Heejin has the allegedly real upper hand as it's very visible by the Knight of Swords and it's more likely as of now that she will win. There will be apparently changes in the corporation (according to my pendulum and intuition to some extent at least): HYBE's CEO, SouMu's CEO, BELIFT's CEO and other staff because the Korean government will want for HYBE to do that. I see Sihyuk and Heejin rekindling their business relationship with very, very good feelings (with geniuine smiles! so in the end Sihyuk might've been really manipulated in the end; i'm not saying he's a victim because he's also at fault for the fiasco but I really feel he doesn't hate Min Heejin to the extent Jiwon, Taeho and Sungjun dislike/hate her).

In conclusion, HYBE will be changed for the greatest good at least from creative perspective.

25th may 2024

will j-hope leave hybe or stay for solo activities?

8 of wands, temperance, the emperor rx, queen of wands, ace of wands, the hanged man • 9 of pentacles

Overall I can see Hoseok thinking about separating with the corporation after he ends the military duty. He feels other people are favoritised way more compared to him. Sure, he likes the pace his solo journey comes from music/discography perspective but not anything else. The full creativity he wants to have is missing, the passion once he had as a dancer is still missing.. It feels like something has shifted after his collaboration with Becky G.

As of now, as rough answer, yes. He might leave HYBE/BHM for solo activities.

blackpink, brief career look (2025+2026)

2025 — 4 of wands rx, 2 of cups, judgement, 2 of wands rx, 4 of swords • justice

On hiatus. YGE will try to make them come back as a group but Lisa will still wants her money from the years she was under the company. Even though not fully, it looks like YGE scammed her. Also, their dynamics aren't like before. To the girls, BLACKPINK is no longer together.

2026 — the moon, 9 of cups, temperance, death, 5 of cups rx • the star

Still on hiatus but like 100% inactivity from both sides. YGE will find searching them for a group release useless.

In conclusion, BLACKPINK won't be officially disbanded but it will be felt like they really disbanded.

will min heejin receive back her "karma" for how she copied jeans, or how she acts towards i'll-it/le sserafim?

king of pentacles rx, ace of pentacles rx, 8 of cups, 5 of wands, 7 of wands • the devil rx

Related to the mexican group where that girl from RBD was in (Dulce Maria, to be exact), Min Heejin is really clueless, she has heard of them for the first time when the comparisons have started. I am not joking, she didn't knew😭 This time it's really coincidence. About the other karma you're asking, it's someone else's.. how about Sihyuk's?

Apprarently to the higher powers, Min Heejin hasn't done anything to LS, ILI or to copy the mexican group on purpose this time to receive some amount of karma, circumstances, whatever.

will hybe snatch zb1 members and debut them in their future groups like they did with sakura and chaewon?

7 of swords rx, the emperor, 8 of wands, 4 of pentacles rx, wheel of fortune • ace of cups

They'll try with Ricky as the corporation only like him out of ZB1, like I saw around a year ago. However, he'll decline as ZB1 might actually continue as 9-member group after the 2,5-year contract. Ricky seems to want ZB1 to stay too. If he didn't want it, as I've seen before (however that's because he didn't knew them that well), he'd accept.

Roughly, yes, with Ricky, but he'll decline straight away.

swan (purple kiss), rough career reading (2024-2025)

9 of wands, 2 of cups, 2 of wands, page of wands rx, the moon, 5 of cups rx • death

As of now, quite stagnant as RBW might have no clue what to do next. Swan seems to not be creatively free (she might have some ideas but I don't see them). The people who are deciding her solo path have difficulties deciding what to do, therefore unless they have mutual agreement, Swan will be only active as PURPLE KISS member.

how ateez' upcoming comeback will do?

10 of swords, 9 of pentacles, judgement, the tower, 6 of swords • king of wands

Not what I expected, um.. It really feels these golden hours are the last we'll see from the group. Everyone behind the scenes is distant from each other emotionally and I wouldn't be suprised if they start with the solo activities right away or there can be news regarding ATEEZ (not) remewing with KQ, Hongjoong's collab with Chung Ha was the first step for any solo gigs.

As the look is more into this rather than the success, it'll be successful but it won't feel the same for ATINY.

will choi hyunsuk be more scandalous?

5 of pentacles rx, 3 of swords rx, 5 of cups rx, death, king of pentacles • ace of pentacles

No. He experimented with himself. Despite the respect he had wearing the hairstyles, he realised that if he experiments more as a TREASURE member, Hyunsuk might be irrelevant, so he'll stop there.

if min heejin gets kicked out, what's the future for newjeans? will they switch subsidiaries or get fromis_9's treatment? (orig. different wordplay)

4 of swords, the star rx, 10 of cups, 10 of wands, strength rx • 8 of swords rx

Like I saw, if Min Heejin gets kicked out (for which I nowadays really doubt), they might be transferred to PLEDIS, disband fromis_9 and take their place. They won't be treated the same, they will be treated a bit better if I have to compare both girl groups, I'd even say that hypothetically NewJeans will have way more comebacks but the girls themselves will be more depressed if it happens and they will want to come back more rarely than they usually do when under ADOR.

2nd june 2024

is it possible for nct to leave sme in 2025?

5 of wands, 8 of wands, the world, 2 of wands rx, page of pentacles rx • 4 of pentacles rx

My intuition said "High possibility" 😭 Anyways, yes, I can see a few members of the older units leaving SME. I am unsure they'll be a lot or only a few but there will be some for sure.

what le sserafim think when eunchae asks for more lines?

the high priestess, the hermit rx, 3 of swords rx, 10 of swords rx • 3 of cups

Will be straight away with the answer, they ignore her. Don't care.

will source music's future groups be .. as good as gfriend? (orig. different wordplay)

5 of cups rx, 6 of cups rx, the devil rx • 3 of pentacles

No. My face expression is just similar to 😐 emoji, just.. as of now no. GFriend will be their best group so far from talent perspective.

how successful will be babymonster's "forever"? (orig. different wordplay)

5 of swords, 4 of cups, the hierophant, 10 of swords • 3 of swords rx

Compared to SHEESH.. their pre-release won't come even close. Low placements on charts despite their usual amount of sales. The success of the SHEESH era was a pure luck of the circumstances that happened in these days.

how aespa feel about SM after the new changes and LSM leaving?

the sun rx, 10 of swords rx, page of pentacles rx, 5 of wands rx • ace of wands

Honestly, they were sad because they were aware that their concept will be changed right away. The girls were aware the other people who work now in the company HATE Lee's idea of KWANGYA. They couldn't do anything anyways.

sunoo, solo career reading

6 of swords, the hanged man, ace of swords rx • strength

Individually, nothing much. He would prefer to be inactive individually.

how bang sihyuk truly feel about aespa?

the tower, ace of pentacles, the hermit • 8 of wands

Sihyuk would prefer to not say much. To the girls, he doesn't feel anything. He doesn't hate them, he doesn't love them, it's total blank for that.

For their concept however, he's MADLY ENVIOUS. Sihyuk envies Sooman that he graduated with totally different thing and used it to his advantage with aespa's concept. He realised how successful it was going to be if he had thought of it first (this is despite some of the comparisons the group had with LOONA). Sihyuk was speechless when he saw the group's concept first, to be honest but also knew that he had and will have nothing to compare with Lee's genius idea of KWANGYA (to Sihyuk at least).

are YHS & YG Entertainment satisfied with the results Treasure achieved so far with their recent comeback?

10 of cups, the hanged man rx, 10 of pentacles • the star

They haven't achieved the local success YGE were aiming for, so despite the other achievements, it looks like the answer is indifferent. It isn't certain no for sure, but it's not yes either. The company doesn't have the patience anymore, I guess.

will ma jingxiang become an idol?

page of pentacles rx, ace of swords, knight of swords • ace of cups

Yes, but not now. Ma Jingxiang might receive an offer during his stay there.

when adornbg will debut?

6♦️, 8♦️, 7♣️, 4♥️, king ♣️ • 10♦️

Everything depends on the King of Clubs. I see the King will say that they're ready to debut but if you're asking Min Heejin for that, it might be too soon. The King might be one of the 3 new directors, so thanks to him, at least for now, up to 4 months, I believe so.

is super shy newjeans' peak?

knight of swords, knight of pentacles rx, 5 of pentacles • king of wands

Uh, it looks like Super Shy's era should've been released in a later time for some reason. NewJeans' peak seems to be in the future with a lot more sales and so on.

are the new directors (ador's) bad for ador?

6 of wands rx, page of swords, 10 of cups • judgement

The new 3 directors in question are in the gray area - they don't know if they're here for good or bad, they're just neutral towards the whole situation. They won't make anything towards the situation, ADOR included - not good, but not bad either. They'll be replaced anyways, they're here temporarily.

what's adornbg's future?

queen of cups rx, 8 of pentacles rx, 10 of wands • 9 of wands

Uh, Min Heejin is really against that director who wants to debut them as soon as possible. There's serious behind the scenes conflict between these 2 people.. I am expecting Min Heejin to say something related to it, I don't know..

how things will be for NJ after the court ruling that MHJ can stay in Hybe?

king of cups, death, wheel of fortune rx, 3 of swords rx • knight of cups

Basically, 2nd round of the drama, it hasn't finished yet. It's still cloudy for me, so I don't feel/see anything else.

will sme have a controversy?

10 of swords rx, 8 of swords, 8 of pentacles rx • 9 of swords rx

Yes, I can see it. possibly with NCT??

will le sserafim ever recover from the Coachella incident and with MHJ vs Hybe fiasco?

knight of wands, 10 of cups, ace of swords rx • page of pentacles

The energy is uncertain. Currently, they won't fully recover (from relevance outlook).

how nwjns feel towards min heejin (minji to haerin, hyein doesn't want to share)

5 of wands, 4 of wands, 2 of cups, 3 of swords rx

Minji is struggling to express how she feels.

Hanni and Danielle feel very positively towards her, to them she's like their mother, sibling, like a part of their family.

Haerin feels neutral about her.

is hybe holding back their Korean artists from speaking up about Palestine? will someone speak about it?

king of cups, ace of cups, 6 of cups • the moon

As suprising as it is, no, HYBE doesn't control the idols' freedom of speech, especially when it comes to political issues, this war included.

The idols in the corporation (most of them) are unaware of the ongoing war, so unless they learn about it in one way or another, they won't say or do anything.

As odd as it is, I don't see that HYBE has done any (social) media literacy lessons, at least for now.

[deryuj]

Follow the curves

You wish you could focus on your case but truth be told, Connor is far too distracting.

(Or Connor is helping you with your case while you sketch him in your notebook instead)

Rating: General audience

Ship: Connor x gn!reader

I started my summer job and realized I have a lot of free time so I actually wrote a fanfic because I was bored. Enjoy!

p.s. Last time i wrote a fanfic was in 2017 and english isn't my first language, lol.

It's been three hours since you stepped your foot into the squeaky clean department. Also, it's been two hours and fifty-five minutes (minus ten minutes you spent making yourself a coffee and five minutes you took for a bathroom break, which was an excuse to just get up from your workspace and do something different) since you made yourself comfortable by your desk and started working again with the weird writings and drawings you found last night at the apartment, left by what you suspected was a deviant. Looking at the same set of lines for hours turned them into uncomprehensive scribbles and doodles at this point so you couldn't make anything out of them anyway. You needed to do something else rather than stare absent-mindedly at the same page for the next five hours until your shift is done.

You wish you could say you were going in circles with this investigation but honestly, there was no circle you could even walk in in the first place.

How frustrating.

With a soft sigh, you turned your gaze to your right where Connor sat way before you even arrived, his blue LED shining and flickering as his brown eyes stayed glued to the screen. It was funny that for an android he insisted to use computers to scroll through information like the rest of the DPD did. He didn't have to, it was probably more time-consuming and less efficient to do so, but somehow it was so endearing that he makes sure to act as human as possible and blend with the rest of his coworkers.

You haven't really spoken to him today though, he was assigned to you strictly because of the notes you discovered, it was the longest you have been in his presence, which is a bummer. Usually, you would see him casually follow Hank like a puppy, hand folded behind him, long legs easily matching his anger, quick steps, and a soft smile that was always plastered on his face. You weren't sure if he was designed to always smile or chose to do so, but you decided to believe that he wants it that way. Now though you could see that soft smile and adorable chocolate cowlick up close with him working mere centimeters away from you and you couldn't help but smile yourself.

Cyberlife sure did a great job designing him.

Connor was the newest addition to the team, assigned to help the lieutenant in his cases, which definitely did not make him happy since he oh so loved his broody and lone wolf reputation. You were pleased though, you never had a chance to work with an android (and you kinda never exactly did until now). You liked Connor, maybe more than you'd like to admit, and you found yourself doubting the whole 'friendship' if you could even call it that. Yes, he was an android and he definitely wasn't programmed to like everyone (based on his previous interactions with Gavin) but somehow you found yourself hoping that after all the small conversations you shared he, at least, considered you a friend because he liked you, not because his program told him so. Were you even making sense at this point?

You let out a soft sigh, reaching out to grab a half-empty cup of stale coffee before your eyes glided back to working Connor. He hasn't moved from his stiff position since morning, his warm eyes fixated on the computer screen, subtle nose twitches, jaw tightened, smooth hand gripping the notes you wrote down yesterday as he silently analyzed the same set of information written in your handwriting over and over again before looking up at the computer screen, trying to find some kind of clue on what exactly the deviant was trying to write down or show.

As if it was that easy to understand the maniacal scribbles they left behind before running away.

He looked so focused, so eager to prove himself and his skills to everyone that he completely shut himself off from the whole department and new information from his surroundings for now so nothing will take him out of the process of decoding the messages. You were almost curious if by any chance he knows you're watching him so shamelessly or if he even realized that you joined him by your desk to help almost three hours ago.

He was cute, really cute, and in some way you felt a little weird with choosing this word to describe a grown man, or more specifically someone designed to hunt down deviants and do it without any hesitation.

You'd rather keep your observations to yourself rather than get embarrassed though that's what you told yourself with your inner voice.

You comfortably leaned against your palm, letting your gaze dance across all the soft and sharp edges of his profile. His small, pretty nose, freckled artificial skin, pursed, plush lips, and extremely long lashes. Someone put all these details down into this single design just to make fun of you and your silly little crush on an android, that you were almost sure has no algorithm that could by any chance make him like you back. It was stupid, really, but God was he too pretty to not like.

Never mind your earlier praises, you hated Cyberlife for this design.

You felt your cheeks heat up just from thinking about this, definitely not your smartest thought of the day.

You tilted your head to the side, your hair moving with your move as you glanced at him from a slightly different angle. Still pretty. Dang.

One line, second line, join these two with another line.

Without thinking much your hand danced across your handy notebook, your pen leaving gentle lines and curves as you tried to memorize his pretty features. You weren't an amazing artist but you could at least make it resemble him. That's all you needed to do. You needed to convey his pretty profile somewhere where it won't disappear, somewhere you'll be able to look at whenever you'd feel like it, and not when Hank would get up from his desk to go to your communal kitchen with his partner in hand.

You poked the thin paper with the tip of your pen, spreading small, inked dots across his sketched cheek, dragged curled lines from his eye down to his cheek to mimic his long curtain of eyelashes, and made sure that the curve of his lips was the curviest, kissable line you ever drew on paper.

Your silly attempts caused you to let out a quiet snort. I mean the sketch wasn't bad… it's just that you finally caught up with what you were doing that caused you to realize that you were acting like a lovestruck teen if not worse than that.

Stupid- said your more sober side.

You still proudly looked down at the small sketch of Connor that popped up in the corner of your notebook, it was no longer accurate though since the model decided to finally rise his honey-filled eyes away from the screen and face you instead, clearly curious about what made you laugh during a long, boring investigation.

"What's wrong detective?" Your eyes snapped back up at his seeking expression, right in the middle of him tilting his head to the side as he would usually do whenever asking a question and being actually curious about it.

Now what?

"Ah" passed your lips before you could catch yourself. What exactly are you going to tell him and make it sound not weird?

"You draw a lot?" He took your silence as an answer and leaned in to trail his eyes along all the sketched lines, his lips curling into a soft smile to your dismay, a soft whir erupting from his chest.

You silently flipped your notebook to the next page, lips pursed as you turned your face away from him to hopefully regain your ability to say something smart rather than babble while looking at his handsome face. And yet he still watched you, or more like observed you, analyzing your mouth twitch, gaze shift, and muscle tense. Clearly, he was getting what we would call 'nervous' at his seemingly failed attempt at making a small talk and you couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

"Sometimes, helps me think or get myself to reboot" He could somehow understand the concept, maybe because you used a techy word he had some experience with.

He hummed in response, shifting comfortably in his seat, almost like he could feel his muscles sore from staying in one position, and looked down at the blank page, as if the drawing was still there and he was still taking in every single stroke of your pen.

"You are quite talented" He seemed honest, maybe there was a hint of something else, and you couldn't help but chuckle. There was something so innocent behind his words, he almost sounded excited to face a new quirk humans had.

He always liked those. The quirks. Things that made people unique and so interesting.

"I guess once I retire I'll move out somewhere quiet and spend the rest of my life painting landscapes" You mumbled sarcastically, your eyes rolling as you tried to get Connor off his path to compliment you more. He would always be painfully nice to get people to like him and accept him in the department. It worked, sure but you don't need him to get you flustered at work where people can see. Especially where that asshole Gavin can see and use it to make you annoyed.

He let out another soft, vibrating hum at your small joke, leaning down to comfortably lean against his smooth hand. He was thinking, processing and rinsing your words to find a suitable answer to your lighthearted response and hopefully match your tone.

"That sounds nice, I'm glad that for now, I can enjoy your work here at the department." He replied and you let your lips form a smile at his response. I mean you could interpret it as if he wanted to work with you more. You wouldn't complain, your work quality would suffer though. Or maybe you're looking too hard into it.

"Have you tried drawing Hank before?" You let out a sharp exhale from your mouth, your laugh stuck somewhere in your throat, safe from being let out to the world. You weren't sure if it was a joke or not, if it was it was funny, if it wasn't then it was cute but still, you don't want him to feel bad for laughing at him.

Connor didn't mind, in return, his plushy lips quirked up into a bigger smile, doe eyes narrowing as the smile finally reached them while he happily watched you light up after working with papers.

"Don't know, I guess I'll ask him if he wants to model, sounds like a cute date" You wanted to continue the banter, it was somehow of an anomaly to see Connor try to joke like this, hopefully, you weren't expecting too much of him. On the other hand, hopefully, Hank didn't hear that because even though you two are friends he'll scold you for joking around at his expense and giving 'the android weird ideas'.

In return he let out a quick, soft chuckle before clearing his throat to get back to his professional self, his pale cheeks dusted with a soft, blueish color. Seems like he doesn't want to make you feel bad for laughing at you as well.

"Sounds like a lovely evening" He admitted before falling silent once again, his brown, gooey eyes now staring deep into yours, analyzing you. In moments like this, you were always envious of how he can pretty much see through you and see what you think while you're left with his pretty face and zero ideas on what might be going on through his head.

"Let's… check the notes again and work through it together" You finally suggested, trying to put the awkward conversation (on your part) behind the door and focus back again on your actual job. You let Connor shift closer to you, his shoulder bumping against yours as you flipped pages back onto the one with your infamous little drawing.

Seeing the real deal up this close made you realize how much longer his lashes actually are, how his lips are far more softer than what you left on the paper and how many freckles you haven't even put down on your drawing.

You should probably try again, maybe at home.

Maybe with him in your apartment.

[ambiguouspuzuma]

Algae

"I'm sure you've hard around the Bās system," she said, in faltering Human English: pronouncing hard rather than heard, and confusing around and about. But Objects in the Mirror gave her points for trying. Most emissaries would open in their own language, and just expect him to keep up.

"The solar flare? Yes, of course. Awful, awful news."

He folded his limbs in the Bās gesture for commiseration, and she reciprocated with an appreciative click. She wasn't indigenous Bāsic - not unless she was hiding a couple of arms under her gown - but emissaries were encouraged to adopt the planet of each posting as if it were their own.

"How long do they think until... you know?"

"Forty taons, more or less. A few more sons, and it will all be gone."

"A few generations," he translated. "It almost doesn't bear thinking about. Millennia of civilisation, and then the universe does this. I'm so sorry."

"Me too."

"I do speak Eastern Bāsic, if that's easier for you," Objects in the Mirror continued, wondering which would be her preference. She might have been born in the Com belt, from the shade and texture of her skin. "Or a few dialects of Comon. I was only on Earth for fifty taons, so I never went entirely native."

His correct guess was rewarded by another click, although her tone turned apologetic. "Sorry, is my ascent that strong? I grew up on Com-5, so Honsun is my baby tongue - but I'd like to perverse with Human, if you don't mind too much. It's good to have the practice."

"English it is." He smiled in the Human fashion, with his teeth instead of his eyes. "What else can I do for you?"

"As you will know, we have enjoyed sentries of peace. A perfect equilibrium. We spawn, we die, and our populations remain much the same. Our worlds remain much the same, held in balance to exactly meet our needs. But that balance has been tipped. This solar flare follows volcanic activity on Com-2, and soon we will be two worlds down. We will need new homes, and fast."

"I'm no terraformer," Objects in the Mirror said. "I'm a cultural researcher. I study the way things are, preserved, rather than changing what they might be."

"You know Earth," the emissary said. "If we have exhausted our own planets, we must look to bring others into the fold. Make our homes amongst them, if we can. You've been there, done it. Is there space?

"Space?" He chuckled at that. "Mankind abhors a vacuum. They can't see a blank page without filling it. Men are like a culture of algae, you understand. They'll always grow to fill their cell, their dish, and overflow if you forget to replace the lid. That's why we've kept them at arm's length. We want to keep the little that we have."

"They would take our homes? Destroy the rest of our balance?"

"They might not mean to, but yes." He crossed his various limbs in contemplation. "Not all of them, of course. You won't be familiar with their hobby of keeping bonsai trees, but they follow our approach to planets: looking inwards, all effort on perfecting what you have, and maintaining it in that state, as we do with our societies. But most men are more like weeds. They have no patience for perfection. Only growth drives them: more land, more wealth. More people. They breed like haraguti, and are never content in one place for long."

That concept was foreign to Com-5 as it was here. Objects in the Mirror knew that the emissary would have been raised with the same philosophy of life: home was home, and they would build it upwards before spreading out. All resources were devoted to improving the lot of their society, raising the baseline, no individual left behind, rather than expanding it - fighting wars whilst children starved at home, and leaving more misery in their wake.

Other than emissaries like her, researchers like him, there was little desire for citizens to leave their home systems, where everything was different to their tastes. A move to Earth would be a desperate measure, born of desperate times. But humans would colonise a barren rock as soon as they were given the means, just to see it done. Whatever the hardship, they would endure it, out of some driving need to overcome each barrier in front of them, and then the next, and then the next, whatever the personal cost.

"They've been on Earth a thousand years," she said. "They seem fairy content."

"Only because we've stopped them," he explained. "Their history is one of conquest. Every state has tried to spill over into its neighbours, taking from others and churning up their land, rather than building a paradise on their own soil. Every enterprise, whatever its success, chases constant growth and profit above preserving what they have. Do you know much about sharks?"

"Are they the ones with the tentacles?"

"No, but I suppose it doesn't matter. Aquatic predators. Big teeth. A man once told me that they need to keep moving or they die, and I think that men are the same. They're irrepressible, so we decided to repress them. We thought it better to keep them there." He paused. "Of course, could use a little irrepressible now."

"How do you mean?" the emissary asked. He wasn't sure if she meant that last point, or if he'd passed the limits of her vocabulary, in which case he'd have to repeat that whole thing. He took a gamble on the former.

"Are you familiar with concept of pioneer species? They're often seen as weeds, but they serve a vital ecological role. Fast spreading, fast reproducing, able to adapt to virgin land, terraforming it for others to follow. You get algae on an island first, and it creates the mulch for complex plants to grow in."

"Algae and weeds again," she said. "So what do you suggest? You said we can't go to Earth, because they will come to us."

"Or we could point them in the other direction, and see what else they find," he considered; arms still crossed, face still smiling. "Perhaps it's time to open the lid."

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 1/2/2024

it’s quite satisfying how the year started on a monday

listening

first song of the year: how could it be anything other than Sabata. this is the theme from the titular Sabata, i meant to pick the theme from Return of Sabata but im not mad about it.

-

reading

i read Tim Marchman’s Popping Tins newsletter (a newsletter about fish and seafood) less bc i enjoy locking Mack in the bathroom every time i want a tuna melt and more for the droll authorial voice. i have bought a tin of mackerel after reading some entries, and it was very good but much much richer than tuna.

What should I do with this can of krill meat?

after consulting the importer’s website:

This is accompanied by a photograph of the can featuring easily-discerned black eyes, which are nothing to be concerned about, according to the company that produces this can. The first question on its FAQ page is “What are the little black speckles in my can?” “No need to be concerned here!” the answer reads. “Your meat is not dirty, and you did not get a defected can. Our Antarctic Krill meat contains the most nutritious parts of the krill, which happen to include their eyes.

…

The risks here are clear: I could vomit when I open the can and see the nutritious black eyes staring at me; I could destroy the peace in my home by making it smell like sautéed and simmered krill; and/or I could ruin a perfectly delicious lunch by introducing nutritious eyes and hard bits of chitin.

i have no memory of how i found this newsletter.

i keep forgetting i have ten hoopla credits a month through my old library and i want to read more comics this year bc reading comics is fun. in the past in practice this means ive binged all ten credits over a weekend. this weekend i had time for exactly one.

The Riddler: Year One is an extremely direct tie-in to the movie and i think it’s neat they let the riddler’s actor paul dano go wild with his backstory and then turn it into a comic. it’s fun when actors get to do weird tie-in shit.

(non-sequential pages)

watching this forensic accountant’s brain crack and scramble like an egg as he struggles to really grasp the enormity of gotham corruption and why the city is such a dogshit miserable place to live in made me go “oh huh that was a pretty good writing decision in the movie”. not that the riddler was terribly stable to begin with but the despair and the unraveling were very effectively conveyed. this comic has a lot of fun with funky layouts (left) and an entire issue (right) is conspiracy board shit on top of accounting forms which is a neat artistic choice.

deeply depressing but an interesting new little window into the rpatz batman (god i hope we get more rpatz batman films) and fun to look at.

how i found this: trawling the popular comics page on hoopla

-

watching

this is the seventh year of starting a new-to-me classic black and white movie around 1030/11 PM New Year’s Eve and i am annoyed i didn’t like the movie that started this year but, according to the data, it’s been fifty-fifty so far.

previous years have featured: sunset boulevard, yojimbo, the thin man, it happened one night, bringing up baby, the big sleep, and now roman holiday (1953, dir. Wyler).

this is the platonic ideal of a classic movie. it’s not sterile but it’s so… unobjectionable. wholesome (derogatory) even. not particularly what i was looking for in a movie but, much like the gelato and champagne that pop up, it was kind of a sweet nothing. i don’t think anyone eats any real food this whole movie?

this is never a movie that feels rushed. it is two hours of watching beautiful people traipse around a beautiful city in beautiful edith head costumes. i would not say there is a lot of tension for the first hour and a half. however, imo, it does land its ending and for that i can forgive it a great deal. this is another beautiful movie that is simply not for me.

-

playing

have you ever wanted an open world rpg where you play as a shark? congrats, this was apparently free on epic a while back

Maneater has a tremendously fun prologue where you play as the soon-to-be-dead mother shark who is absolutely going to town on a crowded beach and destroying multiple spear-gun-wielding divers and multiple boats full of citizens exercising their second amendment rights. this prologue is an excellent choice by the game bc it locks the fun part (eating people) behind several hours of really grindy shit. i am not entertained by the grind of eating progressively larger muskellunge, avoiding alligators, and collecting license plates. the grind is EXCEPTIONALLY grindy, i put about three hours into it and have only gotten to level 5 (teen) and have only two mutations i can sink loot into (four types of loot gained from eating other fish. this is too many types imo). i am not anywhere near a recommended level to start fucking humans up. im also not super impressed with the open world aspects of it— there are not a lot of things to do, discover, or interact with in the first two areas.

this seems like a really fun game that clotheslined itself with a cripplingly slow upgrade cycle. im sure the mid and late game are hysterically fun, especially on stream. however i am not willing to put in the hours to get to the fun part when i could immediately be having fun in some other game.

-

making

a lot of profoundly uninteresting cleaning. after not being able to figure out why my office (where Phil [no longer in heat. for now] lives) still reeks of piss even after stealing a blacklight from a friend and cleaning with a blacklight, it is of course bc she has been pissing in secret places i didn’t think she could get to. upside down smile emoji. both the girls got their monthly flea goop yesterday and were deeply unhappy about it.

most of my plants died in the move and i am finally tackling the survivors. fan favorite giant snake plant (not pictured, tidied up and inside) did make it and pull through but is not happy about it. now that i have baby basil and baby dill sprouting in the kitchen i do need to do something with the balcony so they have somewhere to grow up study and strong.

also slammed that silly little blondeyes NFT thing up on the archive

[rowanwriting]

— about;

hello, writeblr! my name is Rowan. I'm 32, bisexual, aro/acespec, nonbinary, transmasc (they/them), and an aspiring novelist. I'm also a part-time english undergrad and hopefully a future teacher.

I enjoy writing in quite a few genres, from contemporary romance to sci-fi to horror to fantasy, and I love trying new things in my work. my biggest challenge is actually finishing a wip, but I hope to get better at that with motivation from tumblr. I also enjoy dabbling in some fanfiction, especially when my original stories hit writer’s block. 

please feel free to join me on other social media, linked below. I look forward to getting to know more people in the writeblr community!

—links;

about // wip page // twitter // instagram // wattpad // archive of our own // gaming twitter // spotify // pinterest // nanowrimo

— works in progress;

lost in death —

Cassidy Sullivan is dead.

He's been dead for five years, watching his girlfriend move on without him. He's been dead for ten years, watching his parents mourn. He's been dead for thirty years, as the world changes around him and he remains the same, in the small apartment he died in. He's been dead for fifty years, and everyone has forgotten him.

Tristan Kent is a psychic.

More of a curse than a blessing, their so-called gift has ruined their life. Unable to go to school or work, they eke out a meager existence be exploiting their abilities from a small metaphysical shop. They don't believe in most of the things they sell, neither gods nor demons nor angels, but they know that something must be real, else they wouldn't be haunted.

When a regular client of Tristan’s volunteers them for a local ghost hunting reality show on the extremely haunted Wentworth Street House, Tristan takes the job only for the money. They have no interest in proving the supernatural to be real — they already know that it is. But the presence that haunts the house is like none they’ve ever sensed before, and their not sure what to make of that, save to find out more.

As the reality show commences, the ten so-called psychics come to exorcise the house. Tristan must discover who is genuine, who is faking it, and whether to help Cassidy resist expulsion. But there is more to the Wentworth Street House than even Cassidy knows, and soon he’s the only thing between Tristan and a sinister force that has remained hidden from his sight all these years.

the kraken —

Fifteen years ago, the love of Marisolle’s young life was discovered and brutally executed by her father, the Prince-Regent, for crimes against the Crown. Hardening her heart, the princess swore never to love again.

Now queen in her own right, married, and with children of her own, Marisolle is content, if not happy. She rules well and is beloved by her people, and her country is more prosperous than ever. But there are enemies on the horizon, and Marisolle soon must seek desperate help if her rule is to survive.

Theovold left his home almost ten years ago to join the queen of Mavacia in an arranged marriage. He loves his children, and adores his wife, even as he feels the deep chasm between them, the pain of a love lost. But his attempts at wooing her may come to a stop when Mavacia is attacked, and a new man comes into her life.

Vincenze is a pirate, nothing more and nothing less. When the Queen of Mavacia offers him a Letter of Marque, permission to sail under her name and banner, in return for his aid in the coming war, he knows that he cannot run from his past any longer.

And as Marisolle, Theovold, and Vincenze come together to face their enemies, the Sea Witch watches, pieces falling into place.

the beyond —

The year is 2284. Humanity has long ago risen to the stars, joining a galactic community of ascended species. No longer alone in the universe, the Helios Accord brought the countries of Earth together into one united government, The Sol Federation.

Emelyn Kane is a washed up soldier, a mercenary working solo. Born far from Earth, she spends most of her time on her ship, going from job to job and trying not to think about how she ended up disgraced and discharged from the human military.

When her ship crash lands on an uncharted planet, Emelyn believes her life, such as it is, has ended. But the planet is life bearing, inhabited by a sentient species. And the indigenous people, the Vescai, have strange abilities — abilities that have kept their massive empire hidden from the rest of the universe.

Even when she gets used to life on the beautiful planet she is now stranded on, Emelyn knows that she is the last person who should be seen as a vanguard of humanity, let alone an ambassador for the entire ascended galaxy.

As the Vescai debate her very appearance on one of their planets, Emelyn must decide if she wished to remain with them, or allow them to wipe her memory or send her home. But her choice might be taken out of her hands, as she soon begins to develop the very abilities the Vescai treasure.

the prince of stars —

A cursed prince must find and kill the fallen star that foretold his doom before his twentieth birthday.

Prince Riavyn is born under a falling star, cursing both him and the realm he is one day meant to rule. If he is ever crowned king, he will bring war and ruin to his country. At least, so long as the star lives. Now nearing his nineteenth birthday, Riavyn is more determined to be king than ever, despite being removed from the line of succession by his mother, the queen.

His only chance to regain his standing in the royal family and redeem himself is to seek out the living star, and kill it before nightfall on his twentieth birthday, when the astromancers say the curse will become everlasting.

Along with the captain of his guard, Riavyn sets out to hunt the star down, knowing that it’s his only chance to become king. But the curse is more powerful than he knows, and breaking it might have consequences he never imagined.

A star is not meant to die, after all.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Having just read your Tom Riddle in twilight fanfic, I love it but it's obvious Tom's character had to be adjusted to make sense in twilight. So... What if Tom Riddle's Horcrux diary falls through a hole in time and space and winds up in Twilight, what happens? Fuck it, let's go even harder and say that 16 year old (iirc?) Diary Tom winds up in Edward Cullen's hands.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to London by me and @therealvinelle

Also, why Tom is the way he is in the fic.

Caveat

I mean, keep in mind anon, that while he is adjusted, it's more that @therealvinelle and I spout the same sort of heresy for Harry Potter that we do for Twilight.

This is what we think Tom would be in a world where magic still exists but there's no Wizarding World and he happens to run across a crystal demon as a young man.

It's an adjustment but... if you're looking for sociopath Tom Riddle, you're not going to like the rest of this meta at all.

A Bit on the Diary (and Other Horcruxes)

I mean, the Diary is eternally sixteen. He's a bit like a vampire himself in a way in that he shoved himself in this container for fifty years, still seems to be in a very sixteen-year-old headspace and makes some remarkable choices when he was set loose.

Diary is always Peak Diary.

(Just as I will always believe the Locket tormented Ron with the equivalent of sock puppets of Harry and Hermione make out, complete with falsetto voices, "I love you so much, Harry! You're so handsome. OM NOM NOM, LET ME KISS YOU!" not so much to corrupt Ron because he found it fucking hilarious.

So much so, that his last moments are tormenting Ron, with fucking sock puppets.)

I will forever be upset we didn't see more of the horcruxes.

They're always such a hot, hilarious, beautiful mess.

Edward Finds the Diary and is a Fucking Nerd

Why am I picturing the pilot of Death Note where Light happens to notice a black little notebook falling out the window at his school?

Regardless, we'll say this is the start of Twilight and... why fucking not, that's exactly what happens.

Before Bella arrives (so as to keep this less complicated/Edward invested), Edward is in Forks, staring dully out the window in this purgatory he calls high school (that he absolutely doesn't have to go to, Edward, remember you made this choice, Edward).

Notebooks don't just fall from the sky.

Curious, Edward goes to retrieve it after school.

He finds it's a perfectly ordinary, if old, notebook. It has a worn cover, appears to belong to a T. M. Riddle (who Edward has never heard of and doesn't live in Forks, curious) but is otherwise empty.

What's interesting is that it smells unused.

There's no recent human scents on it, no grease from fingers, it smells sterile or at least as if it's been left alone for many years. So how did it get here?

Edward, who has been bored out of his fucking mind, has a mystery on his hands.

He eagerly enlists Alice.

"Edward, I can't see the future of fucking inanimate objects" Alice tells him dumbly, he can be a nerd about this one by himself, Alice isn't interested.

Rosalie suggests Edward try to at least find this T. M. Riddle and return it to him. Edward goes on a whole rant of how there is no Riddle in Forks. Rosalie's not that impressed, Edward's right, but he's overlooking that this book is old, and it could be a maiden name. It's probably someone's heirloom.

"How can it be an heirloom if it's empty, see?" Edward says, flipping through to Rosalie's dull eyed wonder.

Rosalie stops arguing and goes to the garage to work on her cars.

Edward can't wait to tell Carlisle but realizes just showing Carlisle an empty notebook that fell from the sky, with nothing more than that is... kind of lame.

He has to investigate.

Edward carefully searches the pages for invisible ink, or else traces of writing that was erased. He brings out the UV lights, everything, but there's not a hint of anything there.

It looks, for all intents and purposes, like an empty notebook.

But it can't be, of course, because then why would it fall from the sky.

("Maybe someone in a hazmat suit chucked it off the roof" Emmett suggests.)

Eventually, Edward's curiosity overcomes him, and he starts putting liquid on the page (he's been trying not to damage anything at this point). To his astonishment, it disappears!

Tom Rolls Out of Hibernation

Ye gads, Tom in the Diary says, waking out of... whatever the fuck goes on in the Diary (there be monsters in there, I'm sure). Someone's writing, this is his chance, perhaps his only chance.

He's taking advantage of it.

Tom responds to the line of graphite, or whatever it is, and starts writing back.

Edward... doesn't seem to think he's a person or sentient, Tom quickly realizes (Edward thinks Tom's a very clever machine of some kind with a chat bot kind of like ELIZA inside, he's not sure how it works, or what this paper is if it's not paper, but he's very amused by Tom's claims to have been a person in the 1940's).

Edward has great fun grilling Tom on his life in the depression in England and pointing out all Tom's historical inaccuracies.

Tom immediately loathes Edward for this alone, but Edward continues to prove himself what Tom has always despised.

Tom views Edward as hopelessly arrogant and complacent. Edward has all the opportunities in the world, all the money in the world, and he sits here whining about how school is so boring and his life is so pointless. Edward is content to wallow in his own romanticized misery, brought on by absolutely nothing in Tom's eyes, because Edward simply enjoys the idea of being romantically miserable so very much.

Edward also believes himself to be highly intelligent, is clearly a naturally gifted legilimens, but is arrogant in this assumption and always believes himself to be the smartest in the room (there's a lot of pitying of Tom the poor chat bot).

Tom is very eager to destroy this little man and is certain he has all the tools to do it: Edward has real demons he has to deal with and he lets his guard down around Tom, he's started treating the diary as a kind of chat-bot therapist diary who won't run off with the secrets he does not wish to tell the family but needs to get off his chest.

Tom will get him, sooner or later, he'll get this motherfucker.

Bella Arrives in Forks

Edward has his crisis but guess who's there this time?

Edward vents his private terrors to Tom, his doubt, his obsession, everything.

Tom has his window and now owns enough of Edward's soul to possess him.

Edward starts losing time, he blames Bella for this, as he truly believes she's some kind of demon sent to torment him. Tom feeds these suspicions by pretending to have stored away historical information of previous cases. Demons who take the form of women and slowly unravel their victim's psyche.

(In case you were wondering, Tom as Edward just goes to school and acts perfectly pleasant to Bella and everyone else. Making Edward, of course, seem unhinged whenever he comes back and he's lost a fucking day.)

Edward is terrified of telling anyone, let alone Carlisle, as he thinks he could be genuinely dying. However, if he murders Bella, then he's murdering someone who, at least from the outside, genuinely seems to be a high school girl.

Either Edward snaps and does it or Tom does it for him, Edward waking up to being covered in Bella's blood, eyes red, standing in her corpse.

Edward runs, now having lost himself entirely, and Tom drains the life force from him and walks off having had a grand time.

First on his agenda? Turning into a vampire, that looks like fun.