#i wrote the better chunk of this in like an hour and a half right now

[perpetualcynicism]

…𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: In which replying to a mysterious letter leads you back to the one place (and person) you could never quite forget. …𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: Childhood friends to lovers. …𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: None. …𝙻𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑: 2,255 words. …𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: Gender-neutral reader; renga is a collaborative form of Japanese poetry which consists of a 5-7-5-7-7 syllable scheme; Heizou Hasegawa is a character from the novel series Onihei Hankachō by Shōtarō Ikenami, who acted as possible inspiration for Shikanoin Heizou, who was inspired by a real figure—an interesting and more comprehensive explanation of this can be found here. Reblogs and comments are appreciated.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

𝙰 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙱𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚊𝚔𝚞𝚛𝚊.

It is a letter which appears under your door, written in an elegant hand on a plain slip of paper, left unsigned. You are addressed by your pen-name at the top; the rest reads as follows:

I have heard countless tales of your famed verse, and read many of your novels on my travels—no, I will be honest; I confess that I’ve read all of them. I cannot help myself. Such wit and mastery of words as you possess is simply astounding. In particular your most recent tale, A Thousand Boughs of Sakura, was exceptionally engaging in how you utilised the text itself to hint towards the true identity of the culprit; and I must say that you almost fooled me with the shocking conclusion! 

In the spirit of your skill, and my current being in town—entertain a poor soul with a game of renga, will you? I’ll start:

—Secrets tossed on wind

The rest of the paper is blank, as if the author has already anticipated your compliance to the proposal with complete confidence. 

The letter’s arrival itself is nothing out of the ordinary: you often receive such messages from fans, offering praise, questions and comments regarding your publications. It is, however, one of the rare occasions where the subject of interest has been yourself, rather than your work, and the first where a request has so specifically, not to mention so directly, been made of you.

Indeed, from the request to the manner of writing, the letter initially strikes you as terribly entitled, and you have the mind to toss it away and forget about it—but, skimming your eyes over the message again, you hesitate. 

Despite the novel being released a few weeks ago, this is the only letter you have received to pick up your writing technique: using differences in the pronunciation of kanji to suggest alternative meanings to the phrase; implying hidden messages through synonyms which, though identical in meaning, contain different radicals to the alternative word. Whoever the sender of the message is, they must have an acute eye for detail—a quality you can respect. Perhaps this mystery reader of yours is worth a moment or two.

You walk to your desk and unthinkingly pen another verse:

—All one must do is listen

You hardly know where to leave the reply—it is not as if your messenger has indicated their whereabouts, beyond ‘currently being in town’—yet somehow you trust that it will find its intended recipient. You pin it in a corner of the local noticeboard, and think no more of it for the rest of the day.

——————

—To hear the rustle.

Penned in the same elegant handwriting, this is the new line which has joined the previous verse when you pass by the noticeboard on the following day. You remove the letter and take it back to your home, where you spend a few moments considering how to respond. 

Your reply, as you pin it back up, reads thus:

—Verses penned by unknown hand 

The next day, another line:

—Anonymity’s respite.

And so is your first complete stanza concluded. You thumb the edge of the translucent paper, considering how next to proceed. 

Of course, the first thought to arise is that there is no need to ‘proceed’ with this game whatsoever: you have fulfilled this reader’s request at no great benefit to yourself, and there is no obligation compelling you to elaborate upon it further. You could end this playful exchange now and feel hardly the worse for it. 

And yet, that peculiar hook, on which your career and passions are founded—that irresistible inclination named ‘curiosity’—has taken hold somewhere within you, is tugging you gently in the direction of the mystery. You wish to know more of this enigmatic admirer of yours; you wish to know why something about him (you feel, somehow, that it is a ‘him’) feels almost familiar. If nothing else, you enjoy the creative interplay. 

You raise your brush to the page, and continue the poem. 

—Where is respite found?

—Asks the cowering sinner

You read over the line once, twice. Something, a niggling feeling in the deeper recesses of your mind, is beckoning to you, inviting you to wonder at this choice of words.

It feels like your partner is hinting at you, playing with you much in the same way you do with your own audience. You wonder what the clue may be, return to the previous lines you have composed together, come to a tentative hypothesis. 

You think you know the direction in which to guide this inquiry. 

—Shed of virtue’s mask

—Like young blossoms in summer

—Trembling in fear of cyclones.

You return the letter to the noticeboard. Over a week has passed already; what began as a favour on a whim has grown into a routine, even a commitment. 

There is room yet remaining on the paper for one more stanza; one final chance to crack the code, to solve the puzzle laid out for you. This method itself, you acknowledge, is a clue. 

You feel much like Hasegawa, the protagonist of A Thousand Boughs of Sakura; reading between the lines and hunting down scant hints to identify the criminal before it is too late. (In your novel, the criminal turns out to be an old acquaintance.)

The difference is that you are no detective; merely an author, a poet. Your skills reside in capturing the immaterial, not assimilating the real. 

Even so, the opening line of the final stanza gives you confidence that you are on the right track.

—What is a cyclone?

—But that which intuits vice 

—Wielding intellect 

—Catching arrows with bare hands

—Leaving no buds to fester.

My, what a beautiful poem we have composed! Our hearts must truly beat in harmony with one another. Your intellect is as sharp as I remember. 

Midnight, tonight. I will see you at the usual spot.

——————

The letter does not specify where you are to meet, nor does it need to. Since childhood, there has only been one location you frequented enough for its significance to become instinctual. You head toward the coastline, where there grows a certain sakura tree overlooking the shore, identified by its gnarled trunk which is twisted with age. 

There is a reclining silhouette already outlined against the tree when you arrive. Perhaps the details have changed here and there—the height, the clothing—but the figure itself, you could not mistake for the world. 

In unmarked silence, you join Shikanoin Heizou beneath the sakura tree. 

For a time, neither of you speak. What is there to say? You have not seen each other in years. Circumstances, not to mention your own selves, have altered within the rift of time you have spent apart. The last time you met was in the early moments of adulthood, when he took on the mantle of a detective and your aptitude for writing began to raise you into company higher than anticipated. 

Thinking back on it now, you never said a proper goodbye; he simply had to leave one day, and subsequently you drifted out of each other’s lives through no devices of your own, as a cloud disperses into smaller fragments and is scattered on the wind. You never received any letters from him, either; it did not occur to you to send one of your own (and if you had, how were you to know where to send it?). But you never forgot him—Archons, never. 

The fact that he is here now gives you hope that he did not forget about you, either. 

The silence grows, deepens, becomes uncomfortable. Somebody will have to take the first step; and this time, it is your turn. You run your tongue over dry lips. 

“What a surprise it is to see you here, Heizou.”

For all of your usual eloquence, any skill with words has abandoned you now. You feel exposed and frightfully inexperienced, like you are sitting at an empty page in your father’s study, wondering how to compose your first haiku. 

He smiles, and the world is stable again. “Not much of a surprise, I’m afraid. You figured me out.”

“You wanted me to,” you reply, and you find yourself falling into a rhythm of effortless exchange similar to the renga game—except this time, you are not separated by ink and paper, but face to face. The interaction feels easy, like the rift of time between you is nothing at all. 

You ask, “What were your reasons for approaching me through letters, rather than directly? Diverting as your puzzles were, surely it should have been far simpler to greet me in person, not wait until now.”

“I couldn��t risk speaking with you any earlier, for both of our sakes. Until recently I was part of an undercover investigation, and had I been recognised, the confidentiality of the case may be compromised. And on your end, I figured it would be embarrassing for somebody of such high standing as yourself to be seen hanging around somebody like me.”

Something is off. His explanation is sound, but there’s a matter he hasn’t addressed. “A letter signed with one’s name alone ought to be privacy enough—yet it was your choice to remain anonymous,” you point out.

Another smile lifts the corner of his mouth, this time a touch meek. His eyelashes lower as he glances downwards. “Would you rather the honest answer, or the one which will flatter me?”

“Offer me first the flattery,” you propose, “and only the honesty if I fail to decipher the truth myself.”

“My intention was to test your discernment. I remember our childhood battles of wits fondly, but after such a long time, I wasn’t sure how your character held up. So much time spent in high society can change somebody; I wanted to know whether you were still the same person I knew before taking any action to introduce myself.”

“Am I still the same person?” you ask out of interest. 

“Of course you are.” The reply is so quick, comes so naturally, that it warms you. 

So, that is the flattery. 

You scrutinise the man in front of you; his posture (the way he leans against the tree trunk, yet drums his fingers on the wood), his expression (how his eyes glance between you and the floor, like he’s just as shy and skittish as you are, perhaps even more so), his explanation (which is obviously false—he read your works, meaning he must have been aware at least to an extent of your personal development).

“And the truth,” you conclude after a careful period of reflection, “is that you were afraid. Afraid that, after all this time, I would hold towards you feelings of contempt for leaving so abruptly. You did not sign your name in fear that my knowing your identity would provoke me to be hostile, or to rebuke your advances.”

“And would you have done so?” 

“I never thought ill of you, Heizou,” you say. When you say his name, his eyes widen by a touch, brighten a little. “Not once, even if I tried to. And…” You sigh, leaning back against the tree beside him. “You may comfort yourself with the fact that I was afraid, too.”

Heizou looks away, in thought. Silence settles upon you once more. This time, you are comfortable in it. Yes; there is comfort in having Heizou standing beside you once again, close enough that, should you wish, you could…

(He flexes his hand, and you know you are thinking of the same thing. Neither of you act. It’s still too soon, too hasty, to go there yet. You want to get to know him again, from the beginning, before going there.) 

“Is it really true, that you read all of my novels?” you blurt. 

“Every single one,” he replies in earnest. 

You scratch your neck. “Was it… ahem, was it obvious that Hasegawa was based on you?”

“I did notice some similarities, yes,” Heizou admits with a chuckle. “In fact,” he continues, a smirk beginning to creep onto his face, “if my memory serves me correctly, you describe him as handsome no less than seven times.”

Heat rushes to your face. You cough into your first, and Heizou laughs again, the sound full and bright and everything you’ve missed in the last few years of your life. 

“Don’t worry—you were subtle in every other part of the story. I wasn’t exaggerating in my initial praise, you know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such attention to detail in the narration as well as the plot itself. It really is extraordinary.” 

You’re accustomed to receiving praise from fan letters and colleagues, but getting it from Heizou feels different, somehow; it feels more valuable, more real. “Thank you,” you smile, suddenly all bashful and self-conscious again. He smiles back. You have to look away.

“What do you plan to do now, then?” you ask, changing the subject to something less involved with yourself. “I assume your incredibly-confidential, undercover-agent case is over.”

“I’ve been considering staying here for a while—until another case comes up, at least.” Now he’s the one to look away. A slight hint of red dusts his cheeks, a shyness reveals itself in the upturned corners of his lips, and his voice takes on a softer, more self-conscious note. “This might be a little presumptuous of me, but… I was thinking that I could stay with you. If you’d have me.” 

Your reply is so quick, comes so naturally, that it warms you. 

[lollytea]

Therapy

(Wrote this in five hours without stopping. Nothing fancy. Maybe sloppy and unpolished. Bon appetite???)

"Leave it alone, Darius," Hunter snarled, slamming down his chisel and wooden shape on the desk as he whirled around to face him.

"I'm doing a load anyway!" Retorted Darius, one hand gripping the laundry basket against the hip and the other holding a graphic tee with the solar system printed on it. "You know it bothers me to walk in here and see dirty clothes tossed all over the floor."

"I can do my own laundry!"

Hunter internally winced at his tone the second it burst out of him.

He sounded like the cranky, whiny child that he had once been, always gnashing nonvenomous teeth in an effort to be taken seriously.

Being treated as a child was one of his most explosive buttons. And the worst part was that if pushed, he always acted up in a way that proved them right.

He reeled himself in, filling his lungs to steady his wrung nerves before turning back to his work.

There was a pause.

"I know you are," said Darius, his voice softer than it had been a moment prior. "But considering you've been letting it pile up for the last few days, I figure I'd lend you a hand."

"I don't need a hand." Hunter took furious chunks out of his hunk of wood. "I'm gonna do it myself. I'm just....busy. Right now."

Hunter was "busy" a lot lately, leaving things such as laundry overlooked, as he focused on one obsession after another. Darius referred to his bouts of productivity as "manic episodes."

It was preferable to the other half of the time when he went borderline unresponsive. Those days weren't fun.

He heard a fwump, which was presumably the sound of Darius dropping the shirt back on the floor.

"Ocellena called," He said.

Hunter's rough attempts at whittling went still. "That's...the therapist's name, right?"

"Yes. Your first session is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. 3pm."

"Right. Okay." Hunter intoned. "Thanks."

When he offered nothing else, Darius pushed a bit.

"I know you're scared."

Hunter wanted to hotly declare that he wasn't. But he felt like the blood of a lie would seep through his words. He said nothing.

"But you haven't been doing well, Hunter."

He wanted to argue that he was actually doing awesome. But Darius was a lot better at arguing than he was, so he'd probably just end up looking stupid.

"And I promise that this is a step in the right direction."

"I said I was sorry," Hunter found himself uttering in a quiet, scratchy voice.

There he was again, that whiny difficult child inside of him. And in that moment, he had touched Hunter's throat, letting out one final plea to be forgiven.

He didn't know what he expected to happen.

Maybe deep down, he desperately wanted Darius to soften up and say to him, "Oh Hunter, what am I thinking? I shouldn't send you to therapy. You don't deserve that."

Darius said nothing of the sort.

Instead, he sighed. "You have nothing to apologize for,"

Hunter felt fingerpads gently drill against his temple. "How do I get that through your stubborn skull?"

His insides writhed with empty dread.

So, apologizing was worthless in this case. Noted.

Before Darius left the room, Hunter's hair was affectionately ruffled. He slid his eyes shut and savoured the feeling.

Every day for the last few months, Hunter was handled with such gentleness by the people around him. It had become so frequent that he had come close to taking it for granted.

He once caught himself wondering if maybe one day he'd forget how it felt to be treated.....the other way.

Well, it certainly wouldn't be anytime soon.

Hunter was, quite possibly, one of Bonesborough's most insufferable roommates. The number of times Darius and Eberwolf were awoken at untitanly hours by the sound of him suffocating on his own serrated screams was embarrassing.

The memories still seared raw and achey, nowhere close to scabbing over.

He couldn't forget.

And now, he was about to experience it all over again. But for morally correct reasons this time.

Hunter exhaled, irritated by the way it rattled. He leaned forward and hung his head in his hands.

There was a persistent gnaw of guilt in his abdomen that he was doing his damndest to ignore.

He did not want to go to therapy. But he knew he'd be a coward to admit that.

This was supposed to be a noble thing, right? Atonement. He was supposed to be owning up to his mistakes like an adult. But, being faced with the imminent appointment made him feel more like a spineless child than ever.

"Do you know what therapy is?" Darius had asked a few weeks ago when the topic had first been broached.

His tone made made Hunter bristle. He felt patronized. Nothing made him shrink in humiliation more than being confronted with the fact that he still didn't know a lot of things.

"Of course I do!" He snapped, not bothering to mention that he had only learned of the concept a few days prior when Steve brought it up in conversation.

"It's so chill, dude," He had explained. "It really made me reflect on all the bad stuff I did as a scout, y'know? And now I feel like I can finally move past all that business without the ol' baggage wearin' me down."

"But what is it?" Hunter prodded. "What happens in therapy?"

"Well it's...y'know,"

Hunter frowned, impatient. He did not know.

"It's just you and them. In a room together. Alone. And...you talk. About stuff..." Steve shrugged airily. "It's just that, man."

The last words Steve uttered sounded like they were underwater because Hunter had mentally blipped out after hearing the words 'In a room,' 'Alone' and 'talk'

His blood had frozen over.

Steve's wrist was promptly squeezed by Hunter's jittery fingers. And when the older scout curiously met his eyes, he said solemnly, "Steve. You don't have to go there."

Steve smiled his pleasant, lopsided smile. "I want to, Hunter."

His voice was so soft, so sure of itself, that a heavy weight of devastation unloaded in Hunter's stomach.

"Sure, it's scary at first." Steve continued, giving Hunter's knuckles a comforting rap. "But over time....it helps."

And then, he said the words that Hunter selfishly wished he had never heard.

"I go to therapy, and I think I'm now a better guy than I used to be."

The rest of the interaction had fallen flat because Hunter suddenly felt very disconnected from his body, and Steve could not reel him back.

He remembered the curt businesslike knock on the door of his castle bedroom. He knew it as the sound of guards delivering a message. A slip of paper from the Emperor himself, requesting his presence in the throne room. To talk.

He remembered the soft-spoken echoey order once he entered.

"Close the door,"

Hunter would obey. And then, they were alone.

'In a room'

'Alone'

'Talk'

Hunter knew how to read between the lines.

He felt stupid. Naive. They had told him that the things Belos had done to him were wrong.

They promised him that it was wrong.

But it seemed as though Hunter had severely misunderstood.

The actions themselves were not wrong, but the reasoning.

Hunter did not deserve to be punished for failing to carry out the dirty work of a vile, depraved man.

Every punishment was undeserved by default, on the grounds of it being delivered by Belos.

But Hunter, idiot that he was, had foolishly believed that he was never going to be hurt like that again.

And if he was, he would at least take comfort in the fact that it was wrong.

The realizations were crashing over him in overpowering waves. He felt pathetic for not being able to take it.

I'd like to leave the Emperor's Coven and never set foot in that throne room again

I go to therapy, and I'm now a better guy than I used to be

There were people on the Isles who hurt you and....and it was right...?

You face the consequences of your actions, and you allow them to hurt you in a way that was ethical, and then....you were a better person.

Of course.

Of course that was how it worked.

How could he possibly believe it worked any differently?

It had struck him the moment Steve had said it, that nobody on the Isles deserved therapy more than Hunter.

The actions of the Golden Guard had been unspeakably cruel. All the times he had stood there, turning a blind eye, as his uncle tore open a living creature. All the carnage Hunter had allowed to happen directly in front of him.

It was borderline brainless of him to ever assume that he could escape consequences.

He desperately wanted to be a good person. He would start ripping his own innards out if it meant he could be deemed a good person.

He'd do anything. Really.

Which was why he had decided to steel his nerves and agree to therapy.

He would walk into that room and his legs would not shake.

He would tilt up his chin, close his eyes, and stomach the consequences he had earned.

And then, Titan willing, he'd be one step closer to being good.

And yet...he would rather be dismembered than admit it, but...

Hunter was scared. He was scared to receive his punishment.

After everything he had done to innocent lives, Hunter had the audacity to be scared of the punishment.

He disgusted himself.

_______________________________

With the Emperor's Coven dismantled, the vacant police precinct currently had a plethora of uses.

Most notably, it was a research facility that Darius frequented. The current project was working on a safe sigil extraction procedure. Hunter gave Darius a headache by asking for updates every damn day, despite the latter's insistence that it would probably take years to perfect.

But today, when Hunter visited the building, he and Darius did not turn right towards the lab, but they ventured down an entirely foreign hallway.

Hunter was doing everything in his power to keep his breathing steady.

"Would you like me to sit in the waiting room?" Asked Darius.

"No," Hunter answered.

They continued to cut through the hallway in silence.

"Yes," He corrected himself, so quiet he worried Darius wouldn't hear it.

He did hear it. "Alright. I think we'll pick up some fatty junk from the market for dinner tonight. I don't feel like cooking."

Darius hated fatty junk.

Despite the terror teething his insides, Hunter's lip still quirked upwards, feeling the tiniest surge of warmth.

He loved fatty junk. And Darius knew it.

His therapy session was not the end of the world. Life would continue afterwards, and there would still be little pleasures.

And he would be a better person than he was now.

Once Darius checked him in, Hunter tried not to squirm in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, debating whether he wanted to pick up one of the trashy magazines on the rack.

According to the front cover of one of the tabloids, a star grudgby player had an organ eating scandal. Typical tabloid stuff.

"Hunter?" Called a soft, docile voice that nonetheless made him glad he didn't eat breakfast because he wanted to puke.

Darius tapped his knee to signal him to stand up, which Hunter did. He managed to not cave in.

He crossed the waiting room and pushed the door open, pretending that he wasn't experiencing alarming flashes of hands and eyes and dripping green blades.

He was ready. He was going to be a good person.

"Hello, Hunter~" Singsonged a small pudgy woman, who was in the process of donning an ankle length cardigan. Occellena. "Do you find it chilly in here, by any chance?" She asked.

Taken aback by the question, Hunter dumbly shook his head.

"Guess it's just me, then. It's a curse. Cold blooded n' all."

She had a head of plump indigo tentacles, and her bright amber eyes were magnified by jar-like spectacles.

"Well, let me know if you catch a chill and I'll turn up the heater."

The heater in question was a crystal ball the size of an ottoman with a blazing flame contained in the glass.

Occellena swept across the room to where Hunter stood and put a hand to the door. "Let's just close this and we can get--"

As far as he was aware, he did not do anything. But something made her take pause, and when she glanced his way, he felt himself jot.

"Or would you prefer to keep it open?"

The question initially escaped his comprehension. It seemed out of the realm of his own reality.

Hunter's throat tightened. And when he tried to speak, he failed.

He nodded again.

"Okay!" She said cheerily, like this was the best thing she had heard all day.

Out of the thousands of tangles in Hunter's stomach, one of them spread loose.

It was faint, but he distinctly felt the way that tangle relaxed itself.

"So, we'll leave the door open for now," said Occellena. "And if you decide at any point that you don't want that anymore, you can just pop right up and give it a swing shut."

Defenses still scaling high, Hunter had no idea what to make of this.

"Anyway," She made to walk towards her own chair, politely beckoning him to follow with one of her tentacles. "Shall we sit? I recently got a new couch. I'd really like some feedback on how comfy it is."

_______________________________

Darius would never say it, but his heart was hammering like a jackalope with worry for that ridiculous kid. His legs kept crossing and uncrossing in the waiting room chairs that seemed specifically designed to be uncomfortable.

Darius had bumped into Occellena on a few occasions in the upstairs kitchen. He had spiked his apple blood while she grounded oyster shells into her tea. He had never been one for chit-chat, but she had been nothing but bubbly with him, in spite of his less than enthusiastic responses.

He couldn't determine her skills as a therapist from just a few conversations, but the extensive research he had done to find a qualified candidate had promised that she was highly competent

But was she 'Golden Guard as a client' competent?

Was anyone?

If all else failed, she was sweet. Hunter loved sweet people.

He needed this to go well. If Hunter had a bad therapy experience, it would both stunt his recovery progress and leave him far less willing to try again for the foreseeable future.

Darius resisted the urge to stand up and pace the room, knowing his footsteps would probably disturb Hunter's session.

He noticed that the door remained slightly ajar, which he found peculiar.

Were they not supposed to keep the doors closed? Client confidentiality and all that mumbo jumbo?

Granted, he could not make out the words being said. The pitch of two voices, definitely, but it was all muffled nothingness.

His nerves were barbed during those first few minutes, in which Occellena carried on speaking for several seconds at a time, while Hunter only offered singular sentences as a response.

It was fine, he convinced himself. They were just warming up.

The moments passed, and the session seemed to take a turn in a positive direction.

The seconds in which the slightly lower pitched voice stretched a little bit longer every time he spoke. Louder too.

At some point, he seemed to take off babbling, presumably having one of those obsession buttons pushed.

Darius could only imagine that Occellena had asked about one of Hunter's many passions. That would certainly work wonders.

He had such terrible control of his own volume when he got too eager, so this was a promising sign.

After that, the conversation took a subdued dip, the silences hanging for longer.

And then, he heard footsteps. He straightened his posture, startled by the session seemingly wrapping up so soon.

But no. It was the door clicking shut.

From then on, total silence. Thirty minutes of just Darius, his trashy tales of organ eating athletes, and the vacant uncertainty of how Hunter's first therapy session was going.

And then it was over.

When Darius saw Hunter emerge from the room with Occellena's hand on his shoulder, his eyes were strikingly rimmed with red.

"So I'll see you next week. Don't worry yourself with telling Jewel, I'll have her put it down in the system. Be sure to take it easy for the rest of the evening, alright?"

Though he looked like every ounce of energy had been sapped out of him, Hunter still pulled up a smile for her, and Darius recognized sincere warmth on that face when he saw it.

"I will. Thanks, Occellena,"

And when he approached Darius, he looked relieved, ashamed, and dazed all at once.

"Hey," He greeted, uncharacteristically quiet.

"Hey," Darius responded, softly incredulous. "Shall we go ruin our skin with your accursed bag of grease now?"

His reddened eyes glinted with light boyish amusement. He nodded.

Hunter did not say much during their quest through the Bonesborough marketplace, and Darius vaguely wondered if he should be concerned.

As much as he complained about the boy being an incurable chatterbox, his silence unnerved him.

Hopefully, the session had used up too much of his blabbering muscles.

It wasn't until they were home and seated on opposite ends of the dining room table that Darius understood.

One of his most strictly enforced household rules was that dinner must be served on an actual plate. No takeout containers allowed on his property.

His nose wrinkled in distaste at the atrocity known as deep-fried eyeballs that were making a greasy mess out of his ornate lilac dishes.

Hunter was rolling the unsavoury little orbs around with his fork.

He seemed relaxed, if distracted, so Darius decided to pop the question, only to fill the silence, if anything.

"Do you want to tell me how it went today? With Occellena?"

Hunter's fork went still, but his eyes never dared to draw away from the fatty dinner in front of him.

When he opened his mouth, his bottom lip wobbled, searching for a voice that he did not seem to possess right now.

"It's alright," said Darius. "What happens in therapy stays in therapy. Isn't that what they say?"

Hunter did not respond to that, not even with a glance or a nod or anything of the sort.

He remained hung up on the struggle of getting his initial words out. The bump of his throat bobbed.

Finally, with a small, feeble voice that cracked around the edges, Hunter said, "I didn't think she was gonna be nice to me..."

The silence that fell was born of complete and utter bewilderment. Darius was so flabbergasted by the statement that he spoke before he fully thought it over.

"Well, that is to be expected from therapy," A touch of laughter rose and fell between the words. "I mean, surely you didn't think she would--?"

Darius cut himself off, his smile dropping as he noticed the visible tremor of Hunter's mouth, which he had forced into a thin line.

"Hunter?"

The boy lifted his head, bright brown eyes already pooling with an open, lost, childlike anguish. Then he blinked and it spilled to his cheekbones. He looked to Darius searchingly, like he wanted to ask something, but he could not utter a sound more.

"Hunter...? What did you think was going to happen...?"

[lorichu]

Through the Gate

Here's a little something a wrote for @gtypewriter, featuring the characters Kane, Dr. Eliza Houghton, and Commander Cade from his Gatekeeper series in my story, Over the Wall. Enjoy!

---------

Living in Nettles had desensitized Jay to most of the sounds that went bump in the night, but the distantly rhythmic thump-thump on the front door couldn't be ignored for a second time. She wiggled her way out of Collin's sleep loosened grasp and crawled over to the center of his chest. Must like her, he'd grown accustomed to her tiny movements and adjustments, so she needed to put all of her strength into pushing against him with both of her hands.

"Collin!" Jay called out. "Someone's at the door!"

His still closed eyes pinched together, and a low, rolling groan rumbled beneath Jay as Collin woke up. Even half asleep, he knew better than to thoughtlessly move about and slowly brought one hand to his face to rub his eyes while the other went for Jay. Groggy fingers gently looped around her midsection and half carried, half nudged her into his shirt's chest pocket. Once she was inside, Collin carefully sat up and opened his eyes with the same haste as he swung his legs over the side of the bed to stand.

Collin made good use of the short walk through his house and paused for only a few seconds when he reached the door to put the last few scattered pieces of consciousness back in their proper places before engaging whoever was on the other side. The list of probable visitors at this hour was so short that he wasn't at all surprised when he found Chief Victor waiting for him.

"Evening, or maybe morning, Chief," Collin mumbled, his brain and body still struggling against their mismatched levels of functionality.

Victor chuckled. "Probably morning." He gave the younger Scout a quick once over and nodded to himself. "Is Ranger South with you?"

Taking his hand off the doorknob, Collin rested a few fingers over his pocket. "Is something wrong?"

Uncertainty was not an emotion the Chief wore lightly, and as he shook his head, he stepped backwards off Collin's short porch to gesture towards Trevor a few paces back. "Not entirely sure, but we're going to find out."

Vague and ominous as it was, Collin didn't need a further explanation to follow the Chief. He knelt down to fully tie his boots, then stepped out into the chilled, way too early morning air and shut the door behind him. Jay huddled against him when the wind picked up, but didn't raise any complaints about having her sleep cut short.

Their dedication to Nettles and its people came first.

In an interesting twist, Victor began walking away from the center of town instead of going towards it. Not missing a beat Collin followed, but his thoughts lingered on the decision. 'If not HQ, then where?' he mused, feeling Jay poke her head out of his pocket while not glancing down to engage with her. 'There's nothing but ruins and unsalvageable trash in that direction.' Still, he didn't argue or bother to raise a question. The Chief always had a reason for his choices and would wait for the right time to share them.

After they'd been walking in silence for a couple of minutes, Victor slowed his pace to allow the younger Scouts to fall into step beside him. His steeled gaze stayed locked ahead of him, though it was tilted slightly up at the night sky. "I received an anonymous tip about a half hour ago," Chief Victor began softly, "from a restricted internal line."

"Internal?" Trevor repeated, skipping ahead a step to avoid a jutting chunk of concrete. "Like, from inside Nettles?"

Victor shook his head. "Internal as in a different government department."

Having just caught his balance after tripping over a stick he didn't see in time, Collin lowered his hand from his pocket. "How do you know that? And aren't the towers and the Colonel the only ones with clearance to contact us?"

"All I can say for certain is that the code masking the number matched up with my records, and the woman I spoke with already knew who I was." Chief Victor's eyes grew distant, and he sighed quietly through his nose. "She called to tell me there was going to be, in her words, an unrequested and very much off the books delivery being made within the town borders. She also claimed it wasn't inherently dangerous or a threat to any of us, but that if we didn't get out ahead of the confusion, the situation could change very quickly."

Jay braced herself against the side of the pocket and folded her arms over the lip. 'Sounds like someone's trying to cover up a problem they don't want to deal with by dumping it on us.' Normally she had no problem chiming in with her two cents, but like this her words would just get lost if she didn't scream her throat raw. 'Whoever it is must've made their fair share of enemies if someone is willing to break protocol by contacting the Chief to subvert them.'

A quick cough got them back to attention, and Victor broadened his shoulders as he slowed to a more definite stop. They'd just crossed over the line of what was usually considered the town's "boarder", leaving them right on the edge of a wasteland of crumbled brick walls, rusted out shells of cars, and more grass than pavement. "The only other tidbit she gave me was that it would be an airdrop," Victor said with a huff. "Since this is meant probably to be a covert mission, they'll likely be armed to the teeth with stealth tech and sensors, meaning we should lie low until they're well out of range."

"Wait, so we're just gonna let them do it?!" Trevor blurted out. "Why the hell would-!"

Victor raised a hand, and the rant cut off. "Even if they have information about us, it is still our duty to keep ourselves hidden and protect Nettles. That much is our responsibility. Always has been." Years spread out like ripples around the Chief's eyes, and he gave a tired sigh. "Just because they're willing to abuse our secret doesn't mean I am."

Sound as the logic was, Trevor still wasn't satisfied. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth, only to be silenced once again by Collin lifting a hand into the air. This, however, was more of an alert than a deliberate hush, because Collin had raised a single finger. "Do you hear that?" he whispered.

Jay had. "Sounds like engines," she offered, straining to project her voice despite the obvious need for extra caution. "And not like a car, but turbines, on planes."

Nodding sternly, the Chief took a step backwards and pivoted in the same motion. "We need cover. Fan out but stay close."

Posting up behind the crumbling remains of a long-collapsed building's wall, Collin peered through a hole in the bricks as the sound got louder. A light tap on his chest shifted his gaze back down to Jay, who then directed him up at the sky. Large dark shapes blocked out the stars on this cloudless night. Together they followed the fleet of aircraft, and the cargo suspended beneath them, as they maneuvered over to the tree line. The squad made a sharp, helicopter like descent straight down, then released their cables to cut themselves free from the large wooden crate the four of them had been carrying. Free of the weight, they zipped off into the night without so much as a glance backwards. Mission accomplished.

Cloaked in darkness themselves, the Scouts and Chief silently crept out of hiding and formed a loose semicircle as they advanced. The crate itself hadn't moved, but they'd all seen subtle movement inside through the open top, which had caught their eye after the bold, blocky number "13" plastered on the side of the surprisingly thick walls. Despite all being completely unprepared to deal with any sort of major threat, they kept pace and didn't break stride. Whatever was in there, they'd handle it.

Two red pinpricks appeared in the shadows, their glow cutting through the dimness like a pair of spotlights. Their quick movements and the way they narrowed ever so slightly were warning enough, preparing the Scouts, Chief, and Ranger for when a humanoid form began lifting itself up. Clawed fingertips dug into the wood, leaving deep gauges in their wake as the being crawled out of the crate and dropped into a low, almost animalistic crouch.

Collin's guard lowered as his brain worked through what he was seeing. This was someone their size, from the outside. How was that possible? Why would anyone, much less the government, make more giants when they could barely begrudge themselves to take care of the ones they'd created by accident? What did this mean? What was going on?

Driven purely by his curiosity he kept walking forward, only to be forced to abruptly stop dead in his tracks when the new giant growled. This showed a mouth of sharp pointed fangs, mirroring their clearly powerful clawed hands and feet. They hunched lower, widening their stance in preparation to attack.

"You're scaring him." Jay's quiet statement punched through the tension thinned air, startling all of the giants.

Too many conflicting emotions had blended together to give Collin's snorted chuckle any sort of discernable flavor. "How exactly? We're unarmed and basically the same size?"

"Right," Jay replied shortly. "And how many people his size do you think he's seen?"

Trevor and Chief Victor muttered their agreements amongst themselves, but Collin wasn't biting. "Ok, so what're we supposed to do about that?"

"Put me down so I can talk to him."

Something somewhere inside Collin's brain snapped. "Absolutely not!" he barked. The new giant hunched lower to the ground and let out another cautionary growl. "Just look at him, Jay! He's a-"

"A what, Collin?" Jay'd flinched involuntarily at his volume, but it hadn't broken her resolve. "A monster? Like you?"

Collin's jaw clenched, transforming his voice into a rasping hiss. "Jacklyn..."

Doubling down, Jay puffed up her chest. "I don't need your permission, you know. I'm your colleague, not your subordinate."

She practically vaulted over the lip of the pocket and had already made it about halfway down Collin's shirt before his hands caught up with her. "Jesus, Jay. You're allowed to be stubborn, not stupid." It took no effort to break her grip as he gathered her up with a single hand, but instead of returning her to his pocket like he wanted, Collin lowered Jay to the ground and completely pulled back.

Her silent thanks were given in the form of a softer look, but once she turned her back to Collin, Jay was all business. Right away she noticed a change in their visitor. He looked calmer, but not in an at ease sort of way. This was confidence, pure and simple. The Scouts were an unknown he couldn't fully account for, but someone like Jay was clearly familiar territory, for better or worse. He knew he could handle anything she threw at him.

Stricken with a fresh dose of fear, Jay struggled to swallow it down and put on her simplest smile. "Hey, it's ok. A lot's happened, and you're confused. So are we, but we're not here to hurt you. No one has to get hurt for us to understand what's going on." It felt almost insane attempting to be a comforting presence to someone so much bigger, but Jay powered through. "I'm Jacklyn, or Jay for short. That's Collin," she jerked a thumb over her shoulder, "and back there's Trevor and Victor." The air felt clearer, and it was easier to breathe in this simpler space. "Can I ask what your name is?"

By pulling his limbs in closer, the giant made a consorted effort to appear smaller. Perhaps even for Jay's benefit. "Kane," he murmured in a deep voice laced with a surprising amount of gentleness. "Where are we?"

The fact that he was willing to engage eased Jay's frantic heart. "It's nice to meet you, Kane, and we're on the outskirts of a town called Nettles."

Red eyes snapped open wide. "Nettles?" Kane repeated. "You mean it's a place?"

Chief Victor shuffled closer but made a specific point not to move past Collin. "So, you have heard of us." Lifting a hand to his face, Victor rubbed his stubbled chin. "I guess I'm at least a little relieved that there's a connection."

"Connection to what, Chief?" Trevor asked, following his superior's example to a T. "What're you talking about?"

Sparing the Scout a momentary glance, Victor returned his focus to their guest. "Kane, how do you know about Nettles?"

The Chief's stern but unaccusing tone loosened the sharp set of Kane's shoulders. "It was something that always got listed whenever they were running tests," he explained. "No one ever told me what any of that stuff meant, so I always just assumed it was a codename or something for whatever they did to me."

"You're probably right," Victor went on. "I think in the very broadest of terms it's safe to say the tragedy that befell our town was not the end of that research. However, without deeper insight, I can't say for sure how closely connected the two are."

When Kane started to sit up, he was acutely aware that everyone had started staring at him again, but he didn't linger on it. He'd gotten used to people watching his every move. Who he chose to focus on was Jay, still standing tall just a few paces away from him. She'd hardly batted an eye at his movements, even as he started to reach into the shallow pocket of his body suit. "I might know how to get you that," he said quietly. Between his fingers was a battered, hardcover book that he set down a short distance in front of Jay. "Dr. Houghton gave me this before they took me away. I couldn't see what she was writing in it though."

Jay heard all the unvoiced arguments buzzing behind her as she went to retrieve the book. It was an encyclopedia, volume "G", that was clearly a part of a well-traveled set. There was one dogeared page, so Jay wasted no time and flipped right to it. Hastily scribbled over the entries in ballpoint pen was a message. "Dr. Eliza Houghton, Sect. 13, R&D". Below that was a phone number with an area code Jay didn't recognize.

"Looks like I've got a call to make," she chuckled, turning around to face the others while brandishing the book. "Maybe she was even the one who tipped us off about-"

Branches snapped and leaves rustled.

The force bulldozing behind the destruction hadn't levied a single thought to the obvious noise its charge was making, which meant it could only be the work of one stubbornly single-minded creature: a crag boar. Geralt might have been the nastiest among them, but that didn't mean the rest of them were serene, herbivoric pacifists. If anything, Geralt's death had broken down the doors of their worst impulses and had made the remaining population even wilder and more vicious as a result. This was why deliveries were always made well within Nettles' official, well-guarded borders.

Curved ivory white tusks poked through the underbrush first, followed by a scar-nicked snout and a pair of black, beady eyes. That dark glare quickly took the scene in, passing right over Kane to lock squarely on Jay, the clearly much easier target.

Fear lodged itself in Collin's throat as he ran through calculations at the same breakneck pace. She was too far away. He'd never reach her in time. Before the boar's hoof had even lifted off the ground, his voice tore into the frozen air. "Jacklyn!!"

Kane became a blur, moving in the nanoseconds between heartbeats to position himself in a tense ready stance above Jay. His left hand was rooted firmly in the ground next to her, claws digging deep gouges in the dirt to balance himself while his right hand was splayed and pointed directly at the boar. Like with most other challengers, the beast did not care. It let out a bellowing squeal and resumed its charge with fully tunneled focus.

What it didn't realize is that the moment it was within arm reach it was already far too late.

In a flash claws were at its throat, tearing right through its thick, bristly hide with ease to draw out a vaporous shower of crimson. Blood gurgled in its wail, drowning its once powerful voice. With a flick of Kane's wrist, he pulled away and sent the beast teetering off balance to crash into the leaf and rubble strewn ground. Muscle spasms jerked its stubby legs through the steps of an ever-slowing death waltz. One final, burbling squeal graced the night sky before silence fell once again.

Each heavy breath from Kane thumped like a beating drum in the stillness that followed. It was only once he finally broke out of his defensive stance that anyone else remembered how to move, and while he was aware that the Scouts were hurrying towards him, Kane's focus was on the woman almost cowering in his shadow.

"Are you ok?" he asked bluntly as he shifted away from her to take a seat.

The shell of Jay's fear cracked like spring thinned ice, snapping her out of her memories. A quick tremor passed through her entire body, and she had no trouble meeting the now softer gaze of those intensely red eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks to you."

Collin and Trevor both dropped down to crouch beside them. Having already heard the answer they needed, they simply basked in the relief that came with certainty. Chief Victor joined the little huddle in a much calmer fashion, though he remained standing. "I know I speak for us all when I say you have our deepest thanks, Kane," Victor said once he felt the moment had been sufficiently appreciated. "If you found yourself looking for a position as a Scout or even just part of the town patrol, any of us would be happy to have you."

Wide red eyes rapidly blinked a few times. "I can stay?"

Victor raised an eyebrow as he huffed a chuckle. "Of course. We were never going to turn you away. Origins aside, you're here now. You're one of us."

That affirmation broke down the last few lingering barriers, but it wasn't something they could afford to wallow in for long. Dawn was coming, and they suddenly had a lot of work to do. In order to accomplish everything in a timely matter, it was best to divide and conquer. Victor and Collin trekked back to the main offices at town hall, drafting their reports on the way so they could inform the Colonel and the wall what had happened. Jay, Trevor, and Kane splintered off at Collin's house, both to clean Kane up and get him something to eat, and to contact this mysterious Dr. Houghton.

Accepting the role of "host", Trevor got to work on fixing them all some breakfast while Jay and Kane sat at the table, staring anxiously at her phone. The Ranger's mind was buzzing in a million different directions at once while it rang. She was terrified of what might happen if this lead went cold, but for now, all they could do was wait.

Even though it had felt like an eternity, in reality, the phone was only left to ring four times before the call was picked up. "Dr. Eliza Houghton speaking," a kind but extremely tired sounding voice answered promptly.

Jay snapped out of her daze and reflexively sat up straighter. "Good morning, Dr. Houghton. I'm sorry for bothering you so early, but I really appreciate you making the time." Sending a quick glance up to Kane, she smiled. "My name's Jacklyn South, and I'm the current Ranger in Residence stationed in Nettles. I'm calling to both thank you for your assistance and to confirm that we received the... um, package."

Dr. Houghton's relief crashed down like a tidal wave. "While I appreciate your discretion, Jacklyn, this is a private line. You can speak freely." She laughed and let out a quiet oomf as she collapsed into a seat. "How is he?"

"I'm fine," Kane answered for himself. "Still confused, but fine."

They could hear her smile grow. "It's so good to hear your voice, Kane."

"Yours too." Kane's grin was small, but sweet.

Now it just felt like Jay was intruding on something very personal, but she still had a job to do so that discomfort could wait to be unpacked. "I was actually hoping, Dr. Houghton, that you could tell us more about all this?" Everyone was counting on her to stay focused on the task at hand. "As it stands, we don't actually know the how or why any of this even happened."

"Right, right, of course." Dr. Houghton cleared her throat and sharpened back to the intensity she'd answered the phone with. "And please, call me Eliza. It's simpler."

Things were moving again, maybe a little fast, but it was a good start. "Jay works fine for me."

Another softer, knowing smile touched Eliza's voice. "Alright, Jay. I hope you're ready for this because it's a lot to stomach. Though," she chuckled, "given your current employment, I'm sure you're well versed in handling the strange and abnormal."

Having just joined them at the table, Trevor made a quiet sound of protest. Quickly covering her reaction, Jay let go of the tension between her shoulders. "Don't worry about me. I'm pretty light on my feet."

While Jay hadn't actually been prepared for the steep drop off into the deep end, she didn't get swept under. Eliza started way back at the beginning to touch on Sector 13's founding, which had in fact been tied to the Nettles disaster. Not only had the research that caused the accident proved fruitful, but now that there was a town and surrounding forest filled with giants, preventative measures needed to be taken. Initially that had really just been it, counter measures.

"However," Eliza went on after pouring herself a fresh cup of coffee, "none of that ended up being necessary. When it became clear that Nettles was open to peaceful cooperation and, to an extent, coexistence, the top brass had to pivot. Over time that led to the program that produced Kane, and that only happened over the past ten years or so."

Jay was so glad she had Trevor here too in case she forgot something. "But if this program's been around for so long, why did this happen now? What changed?"

The length of Eliza's next pause was rather telling on its own, as was her drawn out sigh. "Terrible as it is to say, funding." She took another long drink from her mug. It was already half empty. "After Kane, all progress and forward momentum ground to a halt. Why would we bother with any iteration when there's no practical use for what we're doing? Enough time passed, people got impatient for new results, and eventually someone had to answer for where all the money went."

Eliza huffed and sunk deeper into her chair. "That was a meeting I know I'll never forget. The Commander called us all together in the middle of the day to break the news, and some young, hotshot nobody stepped way outta line and brought up a long defunct mech program the Sector used to work on. They had no idea the breadth of the minefield they'd marched into, and after getting a thorough verbal lashing, they slunk out of the meeting room with a face redder than Kane's eyes. Doubt we'll ever hear from them again."

Glancing up, Jay and Trevor shared a quick look. "Um, Doctor...?"

"Sorry, unrelated side tangent," Eliza muttered. "As I was saying, that meeting ended with the only acceptable solution anyone could think of: removing our most expensive asset, Kane, from the books, and washing our hands of the project for good. It was a tough choice that no one wanted to make, but if we didn't do something, a decision would be made for us. The Commander eventually made the call to take advantage of your town's... unique situation in the hopes it would mitigate the potential harm."

Kane growled, but continued silently eating the meager meal Trevor had thrown together for him. The other two portions remained untouched. "Having a singular common "enemy" will make things a lot easier," the tired Scout mumbled as he wiped his face. "Gives us something specific to aim at."

Eliza's mug landed on the table with a heavy thunk. "Enemy?" she balked, her voice rising. "Did you listen to anything I just said? Has Nettles been biding its time all these years for a chance to strike? Was your promise of peace truly that thin?"

"No one's going to attack!" Jay interjected. All the hairs on the back of her neck were on end, and an unshakable antsy-ness danced along her skin. "At least, no one from Nettles anyway. What I believe Trevor is trying to say is that Chief Victor isn't going to just let this slide. Nettles isn't a dumping ground, and he's going to make sure that your people are, let's say encouraged to do their part helping Kane adjust to life here."

The doctor's guard hadn't lowered an inch. "How?"

Jay's mouth had opened before her brain had time to realize it was blank. "I, um, I don't know just yet, but he and Collin are on the case."

A stranger's baseless claims weren't enough to reassure or change Eliza's mind, but they had to end the call on that low note because the rest of the world hadn't been put on hold until they figured this out.

Uncertainty hung like a cold fog over the house when Collin finally returned. Trevor was "dismissed" to go home and clean up so he could meet back up with them at town hall once Collin had done the same. Soon enough they were outside in the pale light of a procrastinating sunrise. They traveled in silence, keeping whatever information they'd just learned to themselves until it was time to compare notes as a group. Worry gnawed on Collin's heart, but he kept his mouth tightly shut.

'Trevor was there the whole time,' he reminded himself again, 'and Jay wouldn't hide something going wrong. Nothing bad happened to either of them.'

He hated that he couldn't get those thoughts out of his head, but Collin had nothing else to focus on. It was still too dark out for the rest of Nettles to be up and running, and in this quagmire of a waiting period, Collin's only focal points were what had already happened, or what might have happened, and the long winding road ahead of them.

The calm, neutralizing interior of the town hall closed the lid on Collin's roving thoughts for the time being, and he marched on with renewed purpose as he led the party into one of the inner offices. Chief Victor hadn't moved from the chair Collin had left him in, his hands steepled together in front of his mouth while he propped his elbows on the remaining pieces of the armrests. The clouded contemplation in his eyes broke when they entered the room.

When Trevor joined them moments later, they wasted no time consolidating their information. A thin, rather malnourished plan rolled out before them like a red carpet made of a single piece of thread, but it was the only path they could take. If Chief Victor had any doubts, he didn't show them as he turned his chair to their only means of contacting the world beyond the wall and began dialing a number.

In a surprise twist, the call connected almost instantly. "Who is this, and how did you get this number?" the man who answered demanded. There was a faint hint of morning grogginess around his sharp eyes, but wherever he was it wasn't so obscenely early for him to be dressed in uniform and in his office. "Your superiors will be hearing about this!"

"That's great, Commander Cade, because I am calling on behalf of my superiors," Victor replied smoothly, settling comfortably in his chair.

The Commander's expression had been perfectly carved out of a block of granite, but his left eye gave the slightest twitch. "How do you...?"

"My name is Victor," the Chief went on, seemingly ignoring the question, "and I am the current serving representative of the little outpost here in Nettles. Perhaps you've heard of it?" Cade flinched. Not dramatically enough to move him out of frame, but enough to know that the call now had his full attention. Victor's smile grew, and he reached over to grab a plank of wood from further down the desk. "I wanted to tell you personally that we received your package this morning."

Back in control, the Commander frowned. "Package?" he scoffed. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

With only the slightest amount of flourish, Victor presented his evidence. It was a piece of the crate emblazed with a large "13". A chill washed down Cade's spine. Less than twenty-four hours ago he'd stood next to and been dwarfed by that very number. Because of how the Chief had shifted, he could now also see Kane standing beside two other young men. Side by side, like equals.

Setting the plank down, Chief Victor clasped his hands together on the desk. "Our request is a simple one. Get in touch with Colonel Samuel Hastings, and he will show you how your department can sponsor our newest resident. Discretely, of course."

"You've already told someone?" Cade snapped.

Darkness pooled around Victor's eyes as they narrowed. "We here in Nettles are not allowed the luxury of misrepresenting facts. If I do not report even a single birth or death, hell will rain down on our town because of it. My superiors are not so strictly bound, so if you need to threaten someone, point your weapon at them."

There was a long, stagnant pause. "I'll see what I can do." Then Cade hung up.

A heavy sigh rocked Victor's shoulders as he powered down the machine. Leaning back in the chair, he lifted a hand to drape it over his eyes. While the others stood at silent attention, Kane dared to inch forward. "Why do I need his money?" he asked bluntly. "What good would that do me?"

Victor turned the chair around slowly and dropped his hand back into his lap. "You wouldn't get the money directly, but you'd reap its benefits. All financial support means is food on our tables and clothes on our backs. Getting anything more than the barest minimum is an uphill battle we lose far more often than we win."

"So, what makes this time different?" Kane pressed. "How can that Colonel do anything more than he normally does?"

A small twist of a smile perked up the corner of the tired Chief's mouth. "Well, to put it plainly, we've got dirt and a paper trail. If Sector 13, or more likely, their superiors, don't want word of what they've done, either in their labs or with this little stunt, getting out, then they'll have no choice but to take Colonel Hastings' offer. Otherwise... well, I'm sure budget troubles will be the least of their problems."

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

Insomnia and allergies are killing me (they aren’t anymore cause i wrote this part a week ago) so prepare for a bunch of Angel Dust facts that no one needs to know about and Vivziepop will probably end up ignoring!

Some of these are headcanons and some of these are canon facts so they will be colourcoded as such! Headcanons will be blue and canon facts will be red. Anything that relates to real spiders will be listed with a 🕷️! Some of these will also get a little doodle from me

Much like an average spider, Angel can feel and sense when storms are coming. These freak him out and will make him curl up on the ground.🕷️

Angel is sensitive to vibrations and especially sensitive to stronger ones like lightning and earthquakes. (Hell does not have earthquakes.) Stronger ones make him paranoid and nauseous from his organs moving around.🕷️

He definitely needs glasses to see far away but doesn’t bother since it hardly becomes an issue in daily life.🕷️

Jumping spiders change how they see btw! Less light = more detail, More detail = less light.

Vision Examples:

He can also see behind him but I don’t have that angle so this is the best you get

Sleeps curled up.🕷️

Also follows lasers! Not in the same way a cat would, but any interesting movement in his peripheral vision will cause him to turn toward it to see it better.🕷️

Can see ultraviolet light.🕷️

Has a tree nut allergy (Hazelnuts and walnuts. He is unfortunately a very big hazelnut fan.)

Dresses up Fat Nuggets on Halloween. And basically every other day. Seems to have a preference for the witch hat

Owns a skateboard??

Why do his eyes glow pink why can he do that on command

Can dialate his pupils at will I guess

Molts. Basically like shedding but if you also had to scrub a chunk of your skin off. Lasts 1-2 days.🕷️

Very often used to say slurs without knowing they were slurs and probably still does sometimes

Currently still under the impression his sister is alive. She also probably found him after he overdosed.

Struggles to keep track of time

No idea what half the letters in LGBTQIA+ mean

Recently learned what a pride flag is

Angel has small retractable hooks/claws inside his palm that he can use to hold onto surfaces.🕷️

Angel hates people crying around or on him and will push them away or distance himself.

Examples:

Angel is very skittish around fire even though it cannot hurt him.

Hates the smell of citrus fruits.🕷️

Angel has two fangs (primary for injecting and liquifying food) on the roof of his mouth, much sharper papillae in the back of his throat and a second set of venomous fangs near the deeper in his throat that are to inject larger food and paralyze it but there is the rare occasion where the fangs stab his own throat and he collapses for a few hours after getting the fangs unstuck and he just lays there until it wears off and it kind of looks like he's dead cause there’s probably blood in his mouth but hes fine /hj🕷️

This is more of a food safety precaution. If he ate something live he would inject it with venom if it wasn’t dead yet, but he does not do this so these fangs are basically pointless and he might as well just get them removed at this point

Angel DOES have lungs! I know this seems like a very basic fact but some spiders have book lungs! Different from ours they don’t breathe the same way we do, just like how spiders don’t have blood like humans. This is me being a nerd, but we have seen that Angel has mentioned his lung capacity and he has the ability to cough as seen in Episode 5 (I think its 5 dont quote me on that) This means he cannot have book lungs since if he did he would not be able to cough, nor would he be able to sneeze or hiccup.🕷️

Angel is likely right handed in his top pair of hands, left handed or ambidextrous in his middle pair, and as for the bottom it seems like either ambidextrous or he just doesn’t like to use them for actions at all.

This is like half headcanon but also I pay way more attention to this shit than Viv does so Im basically right all the time

It doesn’t get super cold in hell Id assume, but on the rare occasion it gets colder or the AC in the hotel is on really high that is one of the few times Angel will use webbing and will wrap himself in it and crawl under a blanket and stay there. If it’s really cold or he plans on being in a cold area for maybe a week or month or so he might go into diapause to conserve energy, warmth, and food. (This can also happen when he has sudden sharp changes in diet and during daylight savings)🕷️

This will be updated again I can feel it in my bones. Hopefully this can satiate you all while I move house 🫶

[chilli-talks-a-lot]

doing thing tips from a gifted silly who's on the edge of sanity but can't seem to break

1. find that balance of "enough to keep you engaged, but not distract you"

Taking away all distractions is dumb because then you get distracted by your brain because of boredom. Make your space a nice place to be! Then, put on music or background noise or have fidget toys, something for stimming so you don't get bored and don't wanna do the thing. Math fucking fucks so I always blast rock music in my ears (it does take me a lot longer to get it done when I do this, but I enjoy it and it's better than never getting it done)

2. if procrastinating, acknowledge why you're procrastinating

I like this Ted-ed video:

It validated my experience with procrastination and helped me to realize what was causing it, which made the task (my assignments) feel less scary. Thinking about this and rewatching the video every once in a while helped make my work seem not so bad.

3. half-ass now, half-ass later

this isn't really good if you have an assignment that's due in like 2 hours or something, but if it's not due right away or something like cleaning this tip applies

sometimes you just don't have the energy. so half-ass it. put only a little bit of effort into it. get some of it done.

half-ass is better than no-ass. then, you do the other half. or just continue to do little chunks of your task until it gets done.

you sweeped the kitchen, but didn't vacuum the carpet? great! you got some of it done, take a break, and do the vacuuming later.

you wrote the intro paragraph of your essay? awesome! it's not finished, but you're making progress. take that break.

4. help others

i don't know, but i like helping others more than helping myself. i use that to my advantage. (feynman technique)

you don't wanna do it? well your friend needs help doing it, so go do it so you can help them.

you don't wanna do it? show your kid how to do it. or think about how you would explain it to your kid if you don't have one yet. or explain it to your cat. or think about how you would explain it to your cat if you don't have one yet.

[theladyofshalott1989]

I'm working on a story right now and struggling with where to go with it. I saw in one of your recent posts that you're currently outlining a story. If you don't mind sharing, how do you go about doing that? Thanks!

HELLO!!! Okay, so I panicked when I saw this Ask (in a good way, I promise hahaha), because while I do have a process, it's hard to describe. So, I went to my BFF @heyitszev to help me formulate my thoughts. Quoting him here, coming up with a quote for what I should say (LOL): "I follow Save the Cat! and then Bash does whatever he wants and I go with it." ^ So... THAT. 😂😂😂

But, to clarify that a bit... Save the Cat! is an outlining process used by screenwriters that can also be applied to novel writing. Here's a link to the website for it with a lot of wonderful resources that can help you on your writing journey. As wonderful as this process is, I do find some downsides to it as a writer of fanfic. 1. If you use this process, it's tough to write anything more than say, 100k+ words per story. Mapping out a story with specific beats that must be hit and resolved within a certain percentage of the story typically means there's a hard stop for the plot to be coherent. BUT, that's what series are for, so there you go.

Side note: I do think I would have a lot more engagement if I had just stuck to one overarching story (lots of readers on AO3 don't tend to follow along with a series, from what I'm finding), but it is what it is! 2. Sometimes the outline is a bit too constrictive for my taste. That's where Bash comes in. I've found over time that loosely outlining is much better than say writing 30+ pages worth of plot beats (yes, I did this for Like Moths to a Flame - it was very time-consuming - LMAO). When I plot loosely, it also leaves room for inspiration. While writing You Cannot Put a Fire Out, I had a general idea of where I wanted the story to go, but then Sebastian (my POV character) took over entirely, and the story went in a completely different direction than I was expecting. And, tbh, I loved "his ideas" even more. I guess what I'm saying here is to trust your instincts. You never know where they'll take you.

That's my writing process! From a routine perspective, once my outline is complete, I write every morning for an hour before work, and sometimes during my lunch break (also an hour). I also write during my toddler's nap time (roughly two hours) on weekends. I don't typically take a day off when I'm writing a story, unless I absolutely have to. Using that process ^, I wrote the first draft of Like Moths to a Flame in about three and a half months. Burning Bright took two months (it's a bit shorter and it didn't require me to watch a million YT playback videos to make sure the dialogue from the game was correct LOL), and You Cannot Put a Fire Out took me four months because Bash wouldn't let me use my outline and I had to move around (and remove!!! massive sigh) huge chunks of stuff I'd already written to make the story make sense. Then there's editing, lots and lots of editing, followed by sending to my lovely beta readers (yay), and then perhaps another draft or two before I start posting. It's quite involved, I will admit. But then, that's that! Thank you so much for asking. I wish you the best of luck with your story! :)

[weirdestbooks]

The Frozen State (Wattpad | Ao3)

This is not a canon oneshot

This was co-written with a good friend of mine, @lost-islands. This was originally her oneshot, but she was having trouble writing it, and I didn't want to let it be abandoned, as I really loved the premise and what she had written so far. So, it was her idea, and she wrote a good chunk of it. I just made it a cohesive thing.

I should’ve known better, seen the warning signs, and docked when possible. Or just never left the shore at all. But it’d been a gentle east wind and a beautiful day, and I’d naively thought I could handle whatever the Big Lake threw at me. 

I cursed myself for that. One of these days, thinking that way would get me killed. The lake changed too quickly to be underestimated like that. 

It was too dark and foggy to see the coastline. The wind whipped around so loudly I could barely hear the motor; my jaw ached from keeping it clamped shut. I could only use my own judgment and familiarity with the area to guess where I was. I hoped the shore wasn’t too close. If I was correct in guessing, the jagged sandstone cliffs would destroy my boat ages before I got to land safely. 

The best idea would be to go a little further to where I knew a small bay was and attempt to land there. After landing, I’d leave and go back home, where I could change into a dry set of clothes and complain to Illinois about my ruined evening. 

The thoughts did little to distract from the biting cold. The frozen rain felt more like sleet, my skin and hands stinging from the temperature and ice spray. I was half tempted just to leave now and abandon my motorboat and belongings to the mercy of Lake Superior before I went completely stiff.

A shape loomed out of the fog that I, unfortunately, recognized: a half-fallen tree barely hanging onto the cliffs. My heart sank at the sight.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” I said, fear spiking. “It’s too far- I’m past it.” I spun around, looking behind to see what I missed. This situation was suddenly a lot worse than I’d thought. 

Turning around now would be a lot harder than going forward. 

“No worries,” I forced a sigh, trying and failing to calm myself. I could barely hear my voice through the storm, but it was easier than thinking. “I know where I am; been in worse places than this and made it out all right.” 

I just needed to figure out a way to reorganize myself and- 

My eyes widened when I saw what was in my way: a giant wave, already whitecapping. Before I could think, it’d hit my boat and tilted her side against the waves, suddenly exposed in the open water. I cursed. I needed to move before the boat could capsize. 

Before I could do that, another sudden wave hit me, splashing over the side and somehow drenching my already-soaked clothes worse than they’d been before, The cold feeling like needles jabbing deep into my skin. There wasn’t time to worry about that; an enormous third wave was already bearing down on me. 

My mind blanked, staring up in shock at the wall of water in front of me. There was a lurch of the boat as it started climbing up the wave.

I should’ve expected it to be that cold, considering I’d been breathing the lake for the last half hour, But being in the water somehow made it worse. The pain felt like a frozen fire I couldn’t escape. Kicking upward, I barely managed to break the surface and get a breath of air.

The last thing I saw was my boat rise above as the wave flipped over. The cold of the second largest lake in the world made my clothes and feathers feel like an iron weight chained around me, trying to drag me down into its depths, seeping the little remaining warmth out. Something metal slammed into my head, and everything went dark.

—------------------

Everything hurt, But hopefully, that meant I wasn’t dead yet. My limbs could’ve been made of stone just from how cold, numb, and stiff they felt. My head spun as I tried to focus and understand what I was seeing and hearing.

Voices seemed to echo distantly; a bright light from somewhere hurt my eyes. I winced. Everything felt too sharp.

”He’s awake!”

“Get away from there. You’re going to burn him!”

”Someone go get Dad!”

A face I vaguely recognized as my brother’s seemed to swirl in front of me. His eyes widened.

“MICHI! It’s me! Noi! Can you hear me?” His voice was mixed with concern and fear.

I tried to blink, but the numbness and the overwhelming sense of exhaustion were too strong to string a sentence together. Feeling too scattered to process anything that was happening.

‘Uggghhhh-” I managed to say, still struggling to focus.

Indiana pushed into view, her face red, clearly furious. “DO YOU KNOW HOW WORRIED WE WERE?” she yelled. I flinched from the sudden noise, “WHERE WERE YOU? WHAT HAPPENED?”

As a response to my sibling’s loving concern, I rolled over to the side of the bed and threw up.

A few hours later, I was feeling a lot better. Feeling was barely starting to return to my hands and feet, my brain freeze of a headache was clearing up, and I didn’t have such a huge risk of dying of hypothermia. 

Clean, warm clothes never felt so nice. My hands were still blue and shaking, but it was a significant improvement. I just wished I could be alone for a minute. I doubted the constant stream of people crying and yelling at me was doing any good for my recovery. At the very least, it would worsen the already painful headache.

 “So you’re saying-” I said, pausing to take a sip of the hot apple cider they’d given me “-that I was stuck in the ice for six months straight, and none of you knew where I was in that time.” 

Indiana rubbed her neck, “More or less, yeah. I think it was closer to five, though. Had a general idea of what happened, but-” She shrugged, “Didn’t know how to find you.” 

I thought for a second, then slumped back in my pile of blankets as a realization hit me, 

“This means I have a ton of work overdue, don’t I.” 

“Michi, that's hardly the most important thing to consider right now.” 

“Says you,” I grumbled,

“You don’t have half a year of political shit to catch up on.” 

A faint, amused smile crossed her face, and she punched me in the arm, “I'm glad you’re back. I know many people have said it in the past hour, but don’t ever pull a stunt like that again, or I'll freeze you in ice permanently.”

I rolled my eyes, “Flattered to know you still care.”

“Oh, you wanna see someone who cares? You should’ve seen how Ohio was freaking out. He missed you a lot, ya know.” Indiana then lowered her voice to a whisper, a conspiratory grin on her face, “Now, don’t tell him I said this, but I once caught him saying he’ll give you Toledo if you come back.

I smiled, albeit a bit sadly. Ohio was willing to give up Toledo. That’s how badly I worried my family.

“It’s not your fault Bitchagan. We know you didn’t want to be under the ice. Also, Indy, I told you to keep that a secret, and I will have my revenge.” I heard Ohio’s voice from the doorway. Turning my head to face him (an action that took far too much effort), I smiled. Ohio saw it and returned a small, sad smile of his own.

“I’m not afraid of you, Ohio. But, I’ll let you have your Michi time.” Indiana said, giving me one last pat on the shoulder before leaving. Ohio walked over and sat on the chair Indiana had just vacated.

“I…I missed you, ya know? This country’s not fun without you to fight.” Ohio said, fiddling with his fingers. I smiled.

“Aw, thanks, Hio. Can I have Toledo now as a get-well present for your poor brother?” I asked. Ohio snorted.

“Michi, your own stupidity made us nearly lose you forever. There’s no way I’m giving you Toledo,” he said, wiping something that looked suspiciously like tears out of his eyes. I didn’t call attention to it. 

Some things were better left as a peaceful quiet.

Well, it was peaceful until my Dad barged in.

“Michigan, don't you ever do that to me again!” Dad said, rushing into the room, tears streaming down his face as he held me tightly. 

I leaned into the warmth of Dad’s body, somewhat surprised by my dad crying, as it was a rare sight, “Sorry, Dad…”

“Kid, I love you so much. I know you didn’t mean to do that, but…god, it was so hard waiting, knowing where you were not, but being able to do anything to help. S’not your fault, but…Michi, I don’t ever wanna lose you.” Dad said, voice thick.

“None of us do,” Ohio added quietly.

“I know…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be…just focus on getting better, Michigan, not anything else. I’ve been taking care of your things for you. Don’t worry about having to apologize to us, or doing paperwork, or anything. Being here, alive, is far more important than anything else.” Dad said. I nodded, then let my heavy head drop, feeling the exhaustion I had been fighting back.

Rest and get better. I could do that.

[iwriteasfotini]

The Heart of the Lion

Author Note

I'm doing things all sorts of backwards these days. The work is complete on AO3 as of on hour ago. So now I suppose I'd better publish an AN about it! I edited this work through three times before posting it in a few large chunks. Phew, this whole work posting for LONG fics is a lot of work. I mean, writing them is a lot of work in general. But reading 160K words 3x within a few weeks is a lot. I'm really looking forward to having installment six posted. Things get much shorter from there. And by things, I mean works. But alas, two works still need to be edited thrice and posted and both are sitting at 170K and 190K respectively at the moment. *Sigh*

What do I have to say about The Hear of the Lion. Um, I love it so much?!?! Every work I post is my new favorite. I mean it's Jegulus, and not angsty will they get together Jegulus, but actual Jegulus in a relationship (secret as it may be). I love them together so much. They were made for each other.

I'm going to talk about some spoilers now so if you don't want to read that skip down to the bold text after the cut.

I love Regulus in this work. He's so young, and in this secret relationship with his brother's best friend. He has a few normal insecurities, but honestly, the kid is confident and tough. He is carrying the burden of his family to keep Sirius out of the picture. He's got adults mentoring him, recruiting him, enticing him... he meets the Dark Lord and is rather fascinated. Dumbledore asks him to essentially be an undercover agent for him. It's ridiculous. But Regulus is a good person at heart. And his heart is positively bursting for James. They are beyond ridiculous.

They really get to know each other this year and spend lots of time flying together and even the entire Easter holiday together in James' dorm room. I mean they aren't stuck in the room, but they sleep there together at night. They have several sweet symbolic moments of teenage romance. Doing over the top things for each other, declaring they will love each other forever and intensely. They know they have hardship in their future, but they don't have to face it yet and thus get to sort of exist in this little fairytale.

At the same time, Regulus declares as a Dark wizard (super awesome) and becomes closer with the other teens who will all end up being future Death Eaters. He is secret best friends with Lily. They are mentored by Kingsley this year and experience things with their magic beyond anything they ever dreamed. But Lily and Dark magic prove to be a dangerous combination. Severus is obsessed with Remus all year, it gets really annoying and finally Sirius' dam bursts and he reveals how to get through the Willow at the end of the year. I set up for a lot of action at the beginning of the next work.

There is a lot to unpack in this work. And yet, Regulus is still years away from joining the Death Eaters. Crazy!!!

I wrote this installment months and months ago. I can't remember what my favorite parts of writing it were. But reading it back, I love the chapter during which Regulus does his three Dark rites. Really the entire second half of the work hits right where I wanted it to, the heart.

As far as posting goes... I'm not sure still how I feel about the way I'm posting. I'm thinking for the next work I might post it in chapter clusters of 4-5 at a time... This whole experience is rather odd for me. I didn't anticipate feeling positively buried in so much unpublished content. I haven't been able to write anything new in weeks because all my time and mental energy is going to editing. I've had to accept that. I think it will be okay. I still have a long term plan and I have several WIPS I was working on out of order until editing simply became too much. Once The Changing Times posts I am taking a bit of a break from posting so much and I would like to get back to writing more.

I might try some WIPS, either after The Changing Times or as side works still set in my universe. I REALLY miss writing new content. Just so you all know, I've been working on this project for almost a year. I began posting my works on October 31, 2024. And thus far my posted series is at 523,687 words, and is four long fics. I have about another 500K already written, and this does not include the war years and beyond.

When I edited this work I became very excited about cutting back my word count. I ended up cutting 10K words from my initial draft to the final published work. I was shooting for 20K, but 10K is still really good. That's about two chapters of content, though I didn't actually cut any chapters. What it means is hopefully less repetition, less meaningless dribble, and more high quality content. I'm going into editing The Wolf and The Star with the same mindset... but I'm going to keep my expectations more reasonable at cutting about 10K.

As the story is moving more into the later Hogwarts years, I hope I can get some more people onboard. The content goes more mature, at least I think it does. I know a lot of Marauders writers don't even start fics below fifth year, and my next work to post is fifth year. The ships intensify, the drama increases yet again, I think it's a wild ride myself. But I digress.

I'm so proud of all my works. I think my writing progression is becoming more apparent in this work. I looked at The Heir and The Spare the other day and was like, Holy Hornets this needs another edit! But I just can't. Not right now. Not when I have so much other content to edit and to write. Alright enough from me. Please go read the work. Tell me your thoughts. I love to hear them and I think this work is an intriguing one.

The Heart of the Lion on AO3

[xkv8r]

Macro Aggron Day Stuff

Friend of mine on Discord has an Aggron/Corviknight hybrid character so because it's Aggron day and marco March, I wrote him being a collossal fatass and eating buildings. Contains Macro, fat, and object vore. Aprox 2600 words, esitmated reading time: 13 minutes.

Demolition isn't exactly exciting work for someone like Mint. One would think knocking down a building would normally be fun, but steel types were usually relegated to "processing" which meant he would be eating the concrete and rebar that was deemed too expensive to bother recycling. Most of the good steel would be cut out and recycled, Mint was there to serve as little more than a glorified trash compactor. Still, for a corviknight aggron hybrid who would normally need to stake out a large chunk of an iron rich mountain to sate their hunger, it wasn't a bad deal. Getting paid to eat was a much better job than most people ever got an opportunity at, so long as he brought his appetite, job security was assured, and Mint always brought his appetite.

Every hour or so, a front end loader would dump another pile of reinforced concrete in front of his trailer and Mint would happily chew through the stone to get at the delicious rebar inside. Even as old, dry, and tough as these condemned buildings were, the concrete still held a rich texture to it, and once one got past the rust, the inside of the steel rebar was still plenty sweet. The Corvaggron's beak had only slight trouble crunching through the stuff, but his stomach had no difficulty breaking it down. Giving his belly a few pats, Mint popped the next chunk of rubble into his beak and gulped it down whole, feeling the heavy clunk as it was deposited into the pit of his gut.

A few unintelligible shouts from the demolition site caught Mint's attention, and having cleaned his plate so to speak, he figured there was no harm in taking a walk. Heaving himself off the trailer and into the dirt with a heavy thud, Mint was once again reminded of the consequences of his job. A career of sedentary eating had left its mark around the Corvaggron's waistline, pudgy belly, stuffed with rubble, bulging far enough forward that he could see it below his chestplate. Even if old buildings were relatively low calorie, Mint had always been a big eater, and while steel types were not known for being light, Mint was certainly up there for his species, no doubt the result of many years of demolition work.

Approaching the site, Mint found the site foreman and a couple other workers in the now exposed basement, staring at half a dozen black 55 gallon drums, one of which had been opened. The foreman was swearing up a storm and shouting angrily into a cell phone before slamming it back into a carrying case and turning to the other two workers. "What do they think we are, a brownstone cleanup operation? It's gonna take months for us to get the permits to deal with this!" The other two workers avert their gaze from their furious boss and try to avoid provoking him further before one of them spots Mint and gets an idea.

"Hey, why don't we see if the big guy can deal with it?" The other two give him puzzled looks before he elaborates on his plan, "The Corvaggron, he eats basically anything, right? He can probably drink the oil, we don't have to worry about getting a permit, and we're back on schedule." The foreman thinks for a moment before relenting with a sigh and a shrug. "Fine, bring him one and see if he eats it, I'm gonna go make some more calls." He says before walking off.

The two workers load up the open barrel into a handcart and wheel it over to Mint, who gives the contents a few experimental sniffs before shrugging and picking up the whole drum. The heavy liquid sloshes around inside and he has to adjust his grip on the drum a few times before tipping it back into his open maw. Thick, black, and surprisingly sweet oil pours from the barrel, which Mint happily chugs down, each gulp causing his dark blue underbelly to swell outward and hang low on his frame forcing his stance outward a bit to accommodate the his rapidly distending stomach, and pushing his armored chestplate into his neck ruff a bit. Each swallow packs away more than a gallon of the liquid, slowly but surely emptying the drum into his gut. When the last drops spill from the drum, Mint is bloated heavily and panting from exertion even as he licks the last drops of sweet crude from his beak.

The two workers look relieved at this development, thankful that they have a way to dispose of the problematic waste, but with five other drums stacked up and awaiting disposal, Mint has his work cut out for him. He turns the empty barrel sideways, crushing it like a soda can before biting through it like a cookie, scarfing down the flat metal disk in a pair of massive chomps before waddling forward to the remaining barrels while the workers roll another towards him. The second drum goes down as easily as the first, Mint simply lifts it over his head and lets the oil glug out of the barrel and into his open beak. One of the two workers gives Mint's heavy, swollen stomach a hearty slap in celebration, letting a few bubbles of air tumble out of his maw as a deep, resonant belch. "Alright big guy, you polish those off, we're going on break." The pair of workers walk off in the direction of the foreman, looking immensely pleased with themselves for having resolved the problem.

Meanwhile, Mint is left trying to chug drum after drum, panting and belching as his stomach distends into a sphere, clutching his belly with one claw while tipping back a drum with the other. Ominous metallic creaking echoes from his armored plates as Mint tries valiantly to complete his task, having gorged himself to the bursting point. It's when Mint starts to feel as if he can't take another drop that the sensation of fullness suddenly starts to abate. Shrugging at his newfound capacity, Mint makes his way back to the half demolished building at the center of his jobsite, a barrel under each arm, somewhat surprised to find his hips brush against the sides of doorway, and that he has to duck his head to avoid whacking his horns.

Returning to his job of devouring the rubble, the first few chunks of reinforced concrete slip effortlessly down Mint's lubricated throat, splashing into the pool of oil in his belly. He alternates between sipping from a drum and biting off bits of building, chomping through steel girders and gulping down gallons of crude with equal voracity. His hybrid metabolism works quickly, digesting the rubble almost as fast as Mint can cram it in. If not for the fact that he was completely engrossed in his meal, Mint might have seen that he was steadily growing bigger, rounder, and even taller, but the ravenous need to consume more and more is so distracting that even when his horns bump into the floor above him, Mint hardly notices.

A chunk of rubble tumbles loose from the ceiling above, smacking into Mint's belly, but fails to even scratch the thick armored plates of his torso, succeeding only in knocking loose a rumbling belch from his swollen stomach. Mint rips steadily larger and larger pieces out of the building, scarfing them down with reckless abandon, tearing the dilapidated structure asunder with each bite. As quickly as he clears the area around himself of metal and concrete, his body, and his reach grow in kind, letting him engage in further acts of unrestrained gluttony without even having to stand. Sat on his widening rump, Mint eats away every last bit of structural integrity the building has, letting it collapse into a pile that he scoops into his greedy maw.

Soon, all that remains of the building is a concrete pad, picked clean of everything save for a few pieces of bent rebar protruding at odd angles, and a bloated, gigantic Corvaggron, easily three times the size he was this morning. Mint heaves himself back up onto his feet, feeling the rubble grind and clunk together inside his gut before giving the misshapen mass a hearty pat and letting out a low belch. Despite having devoured a whole building, the sudden growth has only left Mint feeling even hungrier than before and he waddles off, looking for more to eat, stomach swaying with the weight of a building, each ponderous step leaving marks in the earth where his mass has packed the dirt flat.

Mint doesn't even make it to the road when his hunger strikes again, lifting a car off the side of the street and folding it in half, glass shattering and metal squealing before shoving it into his maw and taking bite out of the crushed heap of metal like a massive hamburger. In seconds, the crushed sedan is devoured and Mint is already eyeing his next snack. He grabs hold of another car, rolling it up before stuffing the compacted automobile into the open back of a construction van to make the metallic equivalent of a burrito. Mint takes massive bites out of his latest creation, letting leaking fuel dribble down his chin as he crams the crushed cars into his stomach. Before long, he is licking spilled gasoline off of his claws as he savors his meal. Mint belches out a few scraps of rubber tire, the release of air causing his gut to clamp down like a car compactor on its contents, crushing the twisted wrecks into a tight ball, belly echoing with the sounds of squealing and creaking.

By now, there is panic in the streets as everyone watches the building sized hybrid devour entire cars whole. Dozens of vehicles, abandoned by their drivers line the street, leaving behind a veritable buffet for Mint. Whatever isn't crushed flat under his ponderous footsteps or plowed into the trench left by his belly dragging along the ground quickly finds itself vanishing down his throat. Spotting a tanker truck amid the pileup, Mint lifts it out of the road, giving the tank a gentle shake to confirm the presence of liquid within before extending a claw, and effortlessly piercing a hole in the tank. Black gold pours from the truck by the ton, and the lumpy shapes of wrecked cars in his belly quickly soften and vanish as oil floods the pit of his stomach. By the time Mint has polished off the contents of the tanker truck, he has grown tall enough to see over the tops of all but the tallest of skyscrapers, and his doughy gut is too big to let him waddle down even the widest of roads without knocking down buildings.

Undeterred by the prospect of having to wade through buildings, Mint gets to work eating his way out of the city, ripping off chunks of skyscraper and shoveling them into his maw. To him, the city is one big buffet, and Mint has every intention of glutting himself on every delicacy it offers. Massive tail wagging back and forth, cutting down buildings like grain before a scythe, belly oozing into the streets and pancaking anything unlucky enough to be unable to get out of the way. Claws crushing concrete like it was chalk, nothing is spared Mint's relentless destructive appetite, anything that doesn't make it to his stomach is buried beneath the mountainous hybrid's ever expanding body.

Mint had almost made his way to the city outskirts when he spots another prospective meal, a cargo train barreling along the tracks, unaware of the danger until it is far too late. The train turns a corner to spot Mint, laying on the tracks, maw open wide, the operator slams on the brakes, but it's impossible to stop that much train that quickly, unless you are, of course, Mint's stomach. The train careens into his open maw, inertia forcing it deep into his belly. The cacophony of squealing brakes and crushing metal only serves as a dinner bell for mint as he greedily gulps down the train cars like sausage links, savoring the delectable flavors of all the different cargo. Half the train was still outside the Corvaggron when it stops pushing its way in on its own, but that does little to deter Mint, who simply starts to slurp down the remaining cars one by one, rubbing his belly as they coil up inside his stomach. Hauling himself back into a sitting position, Mint runs his talons over the blocky shapes of train cars that push outward against their prison, feeling his stomach compact them into a ball as he swallows the caboose whole. A deafening belch, many times louder than the train's horn was serves as a fitting epitaph for the doomed locomotive, and a sign for Mint to keep moving, knowing that even this won't sate his hunger for long.

Despite his slow, ponderous waddling, at his new size it takes Mint mere minutes to leave the city proper. Following his nose out and away from the more populated areas, the smell of more oil carries him towards more sparsely populated areas. The houses out here are mostly wood, and so small now that Mint barely notices when he crushes one flat underfoot. With each step, the scent of distant oil grows more powerful, as heavy and dark as the belly it will no doubt soon be filling. Mint is drooling at the smell, stomach grumbling at the thought of drinking his fill. The empty fields around here are totally barren of the metal he has grown used to being able to snack endlessly on, and Mint is left to waddle as fast as he can in the direction of the smell that has him enthralled. His feet press deep into the soft earth, and his belly dragging along the ground leaves a massive trench in his wake, but Mint is persistent, and this persistence is rewarded when he spots the drilling rig towers in the distance.

Breaking into as much of a sprint as the flabby colossus can, Mint makes a mad dash in that direction. Spotting a field of pumpjacks all working in unison to drain the oil field below his feet, Mint unceremoniously rips the head off one of the wells, and a dark geyser shoots out for a few seconds before Mint clamps his metallic beak down on the flow. The pressure is so high, he doesn't even have to swallow, the heavy liquid is simply forced into his stomach by the ton. Mint takes the opportunity to lie down on his belly and get as comfortable as possible, mindlessly gorging himself on the thick black bounty, even as his stomach bloats out far enough to lift his legs off the ground. Face pressed against the well by his rapidly expanding body, a distant part of his brain recognizes the tingling of clouds blowing against his taut hide, nearly spherical from the incredible volume of delicious oil. Every minute, more is forced inside his creaking belly, expanding outwards in every direction to contain the dense, sweet liquid. Mint is a veritable ocean of dark, armor plated blubber, engulfing everything around him at a steadily increasing pace, far and away the biggest single thing on the planet and still getting bigger.

[chicken2potato]

6/29/23

Chunks, Mk’s cat, was rubbing his face on my phone wanting to be pet. Out of habit I almost said “Hi Mr. Bean”... I really miss him... I caught myself at the last second.

A part of me wants to be your friend. Forget everything. Just so I can laugh with you again and see the cats again. 

But I need to remind myself of what happened. How you lead me on so many times. How a real friend wouldn’t do that. 

Maybe in another life we could have been friends. Maybe in another life... none of this would have ever happened... 

I miss you. But I’m still so mad at you... It’s hard for both of these to be existing at the same time... Because then I get mad at myself for missing you. But I do. I know I said I wouldn’t. I know I said I wouldn’t give you another thought... But the thing is, you’re always on my mind. Was I too harsh? 

Perhaps not. You really did hurt me. So fucking much. But that doesn’t change the fact that I miss the good times. I think it’s possible to simultaneously miss you and hate myself for it.

I got a notification a few days ago that my Tumblr is five years old. When I first created it, I used to write on it about you. And then I would look up your old username in hopes that maybe you wrote to me, too. Even now, I find myself looking, checking, to see if there’s anything. But why would there be?

I have a job interview tomorrow. My August is filling up fast with weddings, baby showers, bridal showers, trips, and so much more. I can’t afford it on this one income. I need something else. 

I don’t really want to work two jobs. But I want to be there in Alabama and North Carolina for my friends. I want to see them. I want to be there for them. I want to help Cheri and Mk. Mk still hasn’t gotten her disability for her back surgery. She’s been without income for almost a month and half now. Anthony was back to work. But then he went and got a second opinion and found out that his arm is still broken, even though Ant was cleared to go back. So he’s out of work now and waiting on disability, too.

I want to help them. I want to secretly put money in their mailbox and help them pay rent. I want to help them pay groceries and pay their vet bills. I want to be there for Mk because she’s been there for me through so much. Whether it was guy problems or girl problems or family problems or telling me what I needed to hear in the moment, or picking me up when my car died on the side of the highway and still driving me around so I could do the things I needed to, or helping me get through a break up, or helping me financially... She’s quite literally has been like a sister to me. I know I could never truly repay her for everything that she has done for me, but I want to try. I want to give her some kind of peace of mind throughout this terrible situation. 

She’s one of the most loyal people I’ve ever met. She’s sent me money before without ever asking for a penny back. She’s always had my back. She’s always loved me, whether I was here in Maine, or living in Kentucky, she was there. 

I’ve had so many people walk out on me. She never has once. I want to get a second job, not just because August is crazy busy and I won’t be able to afford it, but also because I want her to be able to afford the basic things she needs in life right now. 

Her dad literally gave her money to fill her gas tank up so she could go to the gym this morning. Afterward, we went to Subway and before we went in, Ant and her were talking about how they were going to pay for it. She’s the kindest person ever. She didn’t deserve to be in that car accident. She didn’t deserve to be out of work since January. She deserves so much more and I want to be able to help her. 

My plan is to work the morning shift at one job, the night shift at another job (which I just got promoted for, so I will be getting a nice pay raise; I’ve heard it was like $1.60 more an hour), and perhaps dog sitting for my uncle over the weekend. 

I’m going to be exhausted. But it’ll be so much better than sitting here on my days off, trying to do fun things with her, trying to go try new restaurants like we always do and seeing and hearing her talk about being able to pay for it.

I know life isn’t just about money. I get that. I try my best to be there for here in other ways, too. 

I went to go see her the day after she had back surgery. She was up in Bangor, and it was an hour away from my place. At the time I was just starting a new job after not having one for a month and a half, and I still had no money. She doesn’t know it, but I spent my last $8 to fill my tank up just enough to go see her. I didn’t want her to be alone on the day after. Sure, Ant was up there, and he was going to go see her. But I wanted to be there for her as her friend. I wanted her to know that no matter what I’m always there for her. She’s my best friend. I would do it over again. Even if it meant I didn’t have money for food. Just to be there... I know it must have meant a lot to her.

I want to be there for her now, too. 

And another thing... My brother has a tendency to get drunk and call me. He gets all sentimental and it’s a little weird. Anyone who knows my brother knows that he is not the type to show his emotions. He’s said on multiple different phone calls that he wants to help me pay off my debt. When I was without a job, I used my credit cards to pay for groceries, Soba’s cat food (which is $80...wtf), and gas to get to interviews. But no one would hire me. They always said, “We’ll get back to you.” Then I didn’t have money to pay off my credit cards. But I still needed to use them to get gas and eat. 

My credit score tanked, and I owe a bit on my credit cards. Not a whole lot. I think like just over $2000. I also owe my landlord $1200. That’s another reason I need a second job. I want to be out of debt. I hate having money in my bank account knowing that it’s not really mine because I owe money to others. I want financial freedom. My brother told me that once he becomes a journeyman and starts making money being an electrician, he’ll send me however much I need to pay it all off, and that he doesn’t expect anything in return. I already owe him $300 because he helped pay part of my rent earlier this year... 

My mother used to always hold things over my head. She would do something, and you would think that it was very sweet, but then a week would go by, and she would shove it back in your face if you got into an argument. That taught me to never rely on anyone. And, if for some crappy reason, I did need someone’s help, I always paid them back or did something for them in return. My relationship with my mother was very much like a constant business transaction. Now, I hate asking for help. I hate asking for money. You want to give me money? Okay, but what can I clean to work for it? Can I babysit? Can I do something for you so you won’t hold it over my head later on?

I don’t want my brother to give me three grand in money. I don’t think he would hold it over my head, he said that he wouldn’t. But for the rest of my life, I would know that he helped me out tremendously and I never repaid him. I can’t do that. I can’t be needy. I can’t need help. I need to just put my ass into gear and work jobs and get the money I need. From me, myself, and I. 

I’ve always been that way. I think ever since I was young. Mostly from my mom holding things over my head, but also because she was never there. She worked crazy ass hours. If I wanted to do something or needed something, I did it myself. 

One time in college I had no money. Well, actually on multiple occasions, but this one time in particular it was really bad. We had laundry on campus; a dollar fifty for wash and a dollar fifty for dry. I had no money. My bank account was in the negative. I desperately needed to do laundry. Like, no clean clothes, taking out ones that don’t smell bad, need to do laundry. My friends wanted to help. But I wasn’t going to rely on them for something as simple as laundry. So, I washed all my clothes in the bathtub and hung them up to dry. I then blow-dried them and they were clean. I did the math, and it took about two days for them to be completely dried unless I just sat there for forever with the blow-dryer. I did that for almost two weeks before I finally got my check from my job. (I hate bi-weekly jobs.) 

I’ve always done what I needed to do to get money. To make things work. I once baked cookies and sold them on campus and paid over half of my $710 room and board. It was mostly in quarters and on Cash App, which was kind of embarrassing, but I was also proud of myself that I didn’t have to ask anyone to lend me over three hundred dollars. 

Maybe this makes me proud. Maybe I think I’m above everyone else, but I don’t believe that to be the case. I think that just with not having anyone in my childhood, and those who were there hanging things over my head, made me this way. Which I can be happy in one way, because it has made me strong and resilient. But sometimes I wouldn’t mind asking for help without feeling like a complete failure. 

But maybe that’s good. Because maybe if I didn’t have the shitty things from my childhood I would have turned into a spoiled moocher. 

I could ask the “what if” questions all night long about how I would have turned out if things were different. But things aren’t different. This is how things are. Mk got into a terrible accident. She can’t afford bills. I didn’t have a job for almost two months. I’m trying to catch up on my bills. Rowan was a jerk and yet, I still miss him. This is life. This is how it is. I can’t mope around and feel sorry for myself. Then I would be wasting this life. But I also know that I can’t work three jobs for the rest of my life, because I would also be wasting my life. 

Life is about balance. The good and the bad. The hard and the easy. Sometimes we get a little bit of one or the other. Or so it seems. But that doesn’t mean that the other isn’t present. 

For example, Rowan. There was good and bad. And the ending was really shitty and bad. But there’s still good. I had the privilege of meeting his wonderful cats. (Especially Bean, who may or may not have been my favorite.) I learned how to walk away from someone who wasn’t healthy for me. I learned how to deal with it without it ripping me apart. I’m like ninety percent sure I have BPD. I’m not diagnosed but I have a lot of the symptoms and I relate to the people that have it. I have the early childhood trauma to cause BPD. I’m just too poor to go to a therapist and get properly diagnosed. With the BPD, I tend to get overly emotionally attached to someone, and then when they leave, it’s like my entire world is falling apart. It happened when things ended with John and I. I quite literally felt like I didn’t know what to do and that everything sucked and nothing was worth it anymore. Just because of a guy I didn’t even date and hadn’t even known for a year yet. Looking back, I know it was way over exaggerative, but that’s how I get sometimes. My emotions are uncontrollable sometimes. I think it’s partly to do with the potential BPD and the PCOS.

I didn’t do that with Rowan. I don’t know if that was because I knew deep down in the beginning that things weren’t going to work out, or if I’m actually making some sort of progress. I’d like to think it’s the latter. I’d like to think I’m becoming more self-aware of my problems, what triggers them, and how to solve the issue. Would this be easier with a therapist? Perhaps. But I’m like three grand in the hole right now. Therapy is out of the question. That’s part of the reason I have this Tumblr. It allows me to let my thoughts escape out and be free. It’s my private little bubble. Is it public? Duh. But no one knows me on here. No one knows who Mk is or Rowan. No one knows who I am or what I do. I could be a 40 year old creepy guy making this all up. Or I could be a 13 year old girl who is creating a life to escape her reality. No one really knows. 

I like having this little journal. My mother used to read all the journals I wrote in when I was younger. All of them. Everything. Even the things that I wrote about after I was 18, so she couldn’t use the whole “I’m worried about my young daughter.” I know I would have still been considered young, but I’d still be considered an adult and it was wrong. Either way, I think that it was wrong. I never talked to her because she was never there. And when she was there, she was either wrapped up in her cellphone or condescending me for the very thoughts I would have. Why would I want to tell her anything? 

I like that no one personal to me knows about this. One person does. But I don’t really think they read these anymore. And even if they did, I don’t really care. 

I like having a place to freely express myself. It’s nice to be able to read what used to go on in my head. Sometimes my head even clears up by then end of an entry and I can tell within my writing that I’m feeling better. I burned all my old journals. That way my mother could never read the again. Never use them against me again. I like that no one can use this against me, because no one knows about it. It’s nice hiding behind a username. Honestly, though, I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard to find, if anyone in my personal life paid attention, they would find this. But I don’t think that they care that much. Which is totally fine with me. 

I ought to go to bed. I have that interview in the morning and I’m kind of nervous that I’m going to accidentally sleep through it. I need another job. My cat might have some medical issues, too. Which is going to cost in vet bills and possibly in more medication for her. There’s a potential that the medicine she is on for her skin condition could lead her to diabetes and/or organ failure. So, the vet wants to talk about alternatives. Which is going to be an expensive vet visit and maybe even more expensive things for her. Did I mention that her cat food was $80? For an 8lb bag. It’s ridiculous. Also, my car is shitting the bed. It leaks oil and coolant, hardly starts most of the time, and died on me going down the highway about a month ago. And I do not have the credit to go buy another vehicle nor do I have the savings to buy a cash car. I’m screwed. I need money. I need another job. So, I have to make sure that I wake up for this interview. 

Life is weird. Life is complicated and messy. Life is hard sometimes. But it’s also very nice and beautiful and full of amazing friends and family and people who become your family. Also, cats. I love my cat. I wouldn’t trade her for anything. I’m so thankful I adopted her. 

[doublel27]

A while ago I asked for an AU setting and I would write a three sentence fic. I wrote longer than 3 sentence fic and one of them (Bodyguard AU) has blown into a full WIP and not just a writing exercise.

This is a FSOTUS + Bodyguard AU - excerpt from what I have so far.

~*~

TK chews at his lip, picks at his fingers and practically shakes out of his body the whole ride up. He wants to be alone. He wants to be high. He wants Alex to have been faithful and with him. He wants.

It’s nothing new, the aching want that he can’t fill. When the elevator opens, he bolts. The hallway is lined with agents. It’s not a surprise. He doesn’t really have neighbors on his floor. It’s part of the way they set things up to keep him safe. The net of things to keep him from falling apart, breaking, are extensive and impressive. TK hates all of it right now.

He throws himself into his apartment not caring if the door closes behind him. This is what people are for. He storms to the kitchen, throws open the fridge and grabs a tall blue bottle of mineral water. He wishes it was whiskey or red wine, at least then he wouldn’t feel anything in the end as he unscrews the cap and gulps. The bubbles burn down his throat. He sets the bottle down hard on the stainless steel countertop.

It takes a moment to realize he’s shattered it, leaving nothing in his hands. The counter is covered in fizzing water, blue glass and a few drops of blood.

“TK. God.” Carlos takes his hand and opens it looking at the blood smearing across his palm. “Are you okay?”

“It’s not that bad,” TK mutters, relatively glad that the pain in his palm is taking over somewhat for the pain that’s consumed his heart and his head.

Carlos takes his hand and shoves it underneath the water in the sink. The cut is shallow. TK is glad he wasn’t wrong about the depth of the cut. The chunks of glass are honestly so large, he’s surprised they did any damage at all.

“Could you bring over the first aid kit?” Carlos says, and TK looks up to see him touching his earpiece.

TK snaps back into the moment as Carlos’s words circle around his brain. He glares at the agent. “Seriously, Carlos? You had them take away my fucking first aid kit?”

Carlos looks at him with clear brown eyes. Any emotion that TK thought he heard earlier seems to be gone, like he imagined it. Carlos is fully a suit as he says, “We cleared the apartment of anything that could be used as a controlled substance. It’s part of the protocol.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No. I’m not.”

“What the hell did you think I was going to do?” TK argues, well aware of what he had wanted to do the moment he stood up at the restaurant. He hates that anyone else would know. “You don’t know me.”

Carlos looks at him and there’s something in his eyes that is like a sister to pity. “TK, anyone who had…” Carlos swallows, his jaw clicking. “Anyone who proposed to their partner and was rejected would be having a shit night. To find out that someone you love has been cheating on you, for months, with someone you trained for their position, would be enough to push anyone over the edge. To have it happen in public with photographers outside is a reality most people wouldn’t know what to do with. Most people in your position would want to do anything and everything to erase tonight from their memory. Even if they weren’t in recovery.”

TK feels his own jaw click in response to Carlos laying it out so bare. He knew that Carlos was nearby. That they had agents stationed around the room and at different tables. He knew they knew the proposal had gone wrong. That they knew…

Carlos goes back to looking at TK’s hand, his thumb rubs over the back of TK’s hand. “You deserve better than Alex, for what it’s worth.”

“He was my soulmate.” Just a half hour ago, Alex was TK’s future. Now…now he has no idea what the future holds.

[suckerforsaikik]

Okay so @gentrychild got this ask last year about her fic anyone and I wrote something for it but then I forgot about it and it's been in my drafts ever since so now i'm posting the (unedited) story!

~

description: Hawks realizes that to infiltrate Anyone, he needs to come up with some more creative strategies

----

Izuku was online a lot, nowadays. After leaving his old school and having more time with his new one, he spent around two or three hours just looking at articles for people who might need Anyone’s services. He would also check if there were any information leaks about the organization.

This process, while important, was just him searching up ‘anyone’ and any related phrases, like members' names, with a VPN and an incognito tab. He went onto different browsers and social media sites, all the way down to the most obscure links. This whole thing was repeated every week, sometimes sooner, since he started the group.

Unfortunately for him, because of the rough week he’d had, he hadn’t checked for a while. It had never been a big priority, thinking there wouldn’t be anything too important out there.

That assumption was quickly defenestrated when Dabi sent him a link with the accompanying text: “watch this now.”

At first, Izuku thought Dabi was going to rick roll him, even though the link wasn’t one he was familiar with. Not that he would put Dabi above creating his own video, just to get at Izuku.

He clicked on the link, mentally preparing to scold Dabi after he confirmed his suspicions.

Except.

This wasn’t a rick roll.

The title of the video proudly claimed “eating an onion every day until Anyone talks to me (day 1!)’. Maybe proudly was the wrong descriptor, because the thumbnail was a picture of Pro Hero Hawks, presumably after he had just taken a bite, tears in his eyes. The video was only two minutes long, but as he looked at the newly made channel, titled IAmMyOwnFursona, he could see seven videos of the same title and similar thumbnails.

With dread starting to consume him, Izuku clicked on the video.

“Hey Guys!” Hawks started off, as cheery as his usual persona. In his right hand, he was holding a large, bulbous onion.

“As you probably won’t know, I was assigned to infiltrate this enemy organization called ‘Anyone’ by my superiors. And don’t tell the Commission this, but it isn’t going as well as I hoped.” He added in an awkward chuckle.

“So I thought, since Anyone’s main goal is to help people, wouldn’t they also want to help me, by letting me stop eating all these onions? Just let me know when you’re ready to talk, my favourite vigilante organization!” With that, he bit an enormous chunk out, the tiny little crunches for each layer playing through Izuku’s speakers.

“Fuck, Shit, ah fuck it tastes so bad-” He went in for another bite. “Fuck!”

Izuku could only stare in horror as Hawks bit through the layers, one bite after the next, even swallowing the roots that were at the bottom. He… he hadn’t even unwrapped the skin. Who would do that to themself? Harm themself in that way?

With shaking hands, Izuku clicked on the next video.

“Here I am again!” Hawks waves at the camera, “No updates since last time, but it’s only been a day! Now, let’s get to it.” The onion was held in both hands, and his lips and teeth wrapped around a giant chunk. There was a small bit of hesitation, like his rational brain was talking to him, but then he bit through the skin with a sloppy wet crunch.

“Ah fuck. FUCK okay okay i got this”-another bite-”FUCKKK.”

Izuku clicked through each video, all of them starting with a chipper hawks, and devolving into madness.

“Hey guys! No more updates, but we’re only two days in! Okay, let’s go.”

“Welcome back, no updates again, so let’s keep it up!”

“I think I’m getting better at this. No one’s contacted me yet, sadly.”

“And we’re back again. Unfortunately, Anyone’s still not reached out, so time to feast-”

“I think half my taste buds have fallen out. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures.”

The videos hurt to watch, but Izuku couldn’t drag his eyes away from the screen, and couldn’t stop his hand from clicking on each one after the next. The more hawks consumed the onions, the faster he got, and by the seventh day, he swallowed an entire onion in less than thirty seconds. Izuku could feel bile rising in his throat, threatening to jump out.

He moved slowly, almost in shock, as he picked up his phone and called Kurogiri, putting him on speaker when he answered.

"Kurogiri, can you warp me somewhere? I need to help a hero in need."

[aliwritesfic]

The Night Shift part 11 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

WC: 3.3k

AN: Yall I'm so sorry this took ages to be updated, my laptop screen broke and the repair place had to wait over a week for a new one, I hope the end of this part makes up for it <3 Parts will also be slower to come out as I'm starting my next semester of uni on Monday and that's going to take up a large chunk of my time, but I'm still going to try and put out a new part at least once a week

Spotify

Part 1 Part 12 (coming soon) Masterlist

Friday arrived far too quickly for Frankie’s liking. So quickly he had gotten himself into a routine of being with you, and it felt like it was being ripped away from him. Of course, he knew that it would happen, he hadn’t deluded himself into thinking it wouldn’t, but still . . . still he had grown so used to your presence that when it was finally time to “get your shit from that ugly ass motherfucker” (Will’s words, not his), he felt almost depressed.

You were perched on his couch when he woke up late Friday morning, a cup of steaming coffee clutched in your hand, your gaze fixed absently on a point on the wall. He called your name gently, not wanting to scare you. You blinked a couple times, as if coming out of a trance. He knew the look well.

“Didn’t sleep?” he poured himself a cup and sat down next to you. You shook your head.

“Not great. I think an hour, maybe. But like, really shitty sleep.”

“Not fully asleep but not fully awake?” Frankie suggested, having become very accustomed to the feeling during his military time. You nodded, giving him a tired smile. He understood your exhaustion. You had spent every waking moment stressed about the move, online shopping to replace the things that you were leaving at Kurt’s, and then stressing some more. You had picked up the keys on Wednesday and Frankie had gone with you to check the place out.

It was a bright, airy place, seven floors up with huge windows and a tiny balcony off the living area. Frankie had noticed your eyes shining as you took it all in, almost like you couldn’t believe it was yours. You had wiped away a tear, taking in the view of the lake by the apartment complex.

Frankie had come with his measuring tape and notebook from his mechanic days. He measured each room, each alcove where a piece of furniture would sit, and wrote them down diligently with a messy scrawl on a page labelled with your name.

When you had gotten back to his place, you set to work writing down a list of what was yours and what you needed to replace. At the top of that list was a bed, heavily underlined and circled.

“The bed’s mine, technically,” you explained as you clicked on a display photo of a wrought iron bed frame, “but he can keep it. I want a fresh start, and I think I need a new bed to do that.”

“Makes sense,” Frankie said sitting down beside you, “is that the one you’re going with?”

You had nodded, clicking add to cart. The store had next day delivery, and for a small fee would even build the bed for you. You opted for this, despite Frankie’s protests.

“Please, you’re doing so much already, and putting my whole bed together for me . . . it feels like a very unfair trade,” you told him firmly. Once again, your stubbornness had won over. Frankie, rather grudgingly, had to admit to himself that the delivery people were much quicker than he would’ve been at assembling the bed frame, especially after he had taken a quick look at the instructions.

He wasn’t about to tell you that though.

It was almost midday when a knock sounded on his door, followed by the three men he called brothers piling into his kitchen. You emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed and a shy smile on your face. It struck Frankie that this was the first time you were meeting these guys, truly meeting them without the inclusion of alcohol.

“You’re all really excellent for helping me with this,” you said fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt. You had opted for long sleeves throughout the whole week. “Sorry you have to give up your Friday for this.”

Benny was the first one to make a move. He strode forward and enveloped you in a tight hug. Frankie could see the initial shock on your face before it was replaced by a hesitant kind of happiness.

“You like Taylor Swift?” he asked, and you nodded. Benny craned his neck to look at Frankie. “She’s riding with me, if that’s okay?” he turned back to you and you nodded again. Benny grinned and whispered something in your ear, causing you to snort out a laugh.

Santi stood beside Frankie and pressed an envelope into his hands.

“The photo,” he explained. “Again, remember I have several copies, so if you plan on destroying this one, imagine it like a hydra.” Frankie rolled his eyes and put the envelope in his back pocket. You were too busy chatting with Benny and Will to notice, and he was glad. He wanted to surprise you with the photo when you needed it.

Benny and Will had taken a particular soft spot for you since Frankie gave them the bare-bones rundown of how Kurt had treated you. Frankie noticed it now, in how Will stood like your own personal bodyguard, in how Benny had slung his arm around your shoulders, like you were old friends. Frankie felt the briefest flash of jealousy before he stamped it down. Just because he couldn’t – wouldn’t – touch you, didn’t mean no one else could.

“Quit staring Fish, you look like one of those cartoon characters whose eyes turn to hearts,” Santi muttered, elbowing Frankie in the ribs. Frankie elbowed him back, annoyed.

“Alright, gang! Let’s get this show on the road!” Will clapped his hands together. Benny raised an incredulous brow at his brother.

“What are you, fifty?” He turned to you, linking his arm through yours. “Don’t worry, Fish, I’ll drive extra carefully.”

Frankie felt envious of Benny then, even though he had basically had a week straight with you. But knowing it was coming to an end, that tonight you’d be sleeping at your own place, instead of just down the hall. Well, it made him almost sad. He pushed that aside though and forced himself to be happy for you.

As he drove to your old apartment, everyone else following behind, he focused a little too hard on the radio, just to give his mind something to do. A newsreader was talking about how a quick-thinking pilot had landed a plane in a field after something went horrifically wrong with the engines. Zero casualties, minor injuries. People were already calling for the pilot to be given a medal.

Maybe I should renew my licence, Frankie thought. He didn’t want to be a commercial pilot, or a hero of any kind, although the uniforms were nice. But it couldn’t hurt to have it.

He pulled up outside the building, gripping the steering wheel tightly. This was it.

Will and Santi parked behind him, but Benny’s ridiculously lifted pickup was nowhere to be seen. Frankie squinted towards the end of the street, knowing he couldn’t have gotten lost. He had you with him.

Ten minutes passed with no sign of you. “Where the fuck are they?” Frankie grumbled, now worried that you and Benny had gotten into a car accident. He trusted him, but Benny was the worst driver of all of them. He pulled out his phone to text you but was interrupted.

“That’s his truck,” Will said, pointing to the end of the street, where Benny’s truck had just pulled in. The sound of heavy bass reached them before the truck did. As Benny pulled up outside the apartment, Frankie recognised the song as Gimme More by Britney Spears.

“Sorry we’re late,” you called, clambering out of the truck, a tall plastic cup in your hand. “We stopped for frappes.” Benny sipped innocently at his, giving Frankie a look that said he needed to speak with him.

“Where’s my fuckin’ frappe,” Santi grumbled, looking envious. Benny grinned and handed his over to Santi for a sip.

You stood, looking up at the building, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Guess we better go up. I sent him a text telling him I was doing this today, but he didn’t reply, so I don’t know if he’ll be here.”

“Want us to jump him if he is?” Benny offered, but you shook your head.

“Not right away,” you said, “but if he starts up maybe slap him around a little.” Frankie knew you were joking, but the look in your eyes was one of fear. He took your hand gently and lowered his head to talk to you.

“You can wait out here if you want,” he murmured, “we’ve got the list of what we need to get.” You squeezed his hand and shook your head. Yours was cold and slightly clammy in his own, but he didn’t mind.

“No, I need to do this.” You said. Frankie nodded, understanding. You didn’t need to explain the nitty gritty of your reasoning, all he needed was for you to know that you had him, in whatever way you needed.

You kept a firm grip on his hand as you lead the way upstairs to your old apartment, only letting go when you stood outside the front door, fumbling in your bag for your keys.

At first, the apartment seemed empty of life. All the lights were off, the curtains closed, and the place was eerily silent. You stepped over the threshold, followed by the rest of the boys, who immediately got to work.

As it turned out, Kurt wasn’t there. He remained gone for a good half hour while the boys carried your heavier shit down to their trucks. You set to work stuffing the rest of your clothes into plastic trash bags you had picked up from the grocery store.

Benny joined Frankie in carrying a loveseat downstairs.

“Fish, I need to tell ya,” Benny started, grunting as they made a turn. “She’s as into you as you are her.” Frankie shook his head.

“Don’t do this, man.”

“I’m being serious. I talked to her in the truck. She didn’t say it outright, but you should’a seen the look on her face when I talked about you.” Benny waggled his eyebrows. “And her friend Sara agrees, she’s ‘smitten’ with you. Whatever the fuck smitten means. If you want my advice-”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“-Go for it. Tonight, once we’re all gone. Shoot your shot my guy. Don’t waste anymore fucking time. Sara said she wasn’t even sad about the breakup, like she’s been checked out mentally for months now.”

“Wait, did Sara tell you about me punching Kurt?”

“All I’m saying is, she likes you a lot, you like her a lot, don’t waste this.” Frankie mulled over what Benny was saying. There had been more than a few moments that week when he had spied you looking at him and wondered . . . but each time he had pushed the thought out his head. Old insecurities, respect for you, held him back.

Historically, Frankie had never been very good at telling when someone was into him. He could be literally balls deep and he’d still be questioning it. Even sometimes with Portia, he’d wonder if she really felt the same way he did. Santi, who knew Frankie as a kid, chalked it up to Frankie having a rough go of puberty, not growing into his features until almost the end of high school. By then, whenever someone had showed even a slight bit of interest, Frankie had dismissed it as a cruel joke. Unfortunately, those insecurities had followed him deep into adulthood.

The mood in the apartment had become relaxed, all the heavier stuff, like your couch, TV, furniture, and fridge had been taken care of, and now all that was left was to gather all the small shit. Frankie found you in the bathroom, unscrewing the shower head. You tossed it into a box filled with other bathroom items, the loud clang making him grimace. He opened his mouth to speak to you when yelling from the front room interrupted him.

Your face fell instantly, going from focused to almost afraid. Your eyes met Frankie’s own, and he reached out to touch your arm. It’s okay the touch said, he can’t do anything to you. Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and walked out with Frankie to the commotion.

Kurt was being held back with a single hand on his chest by a bored looking Will, screaming a string of expletives and struggling to land any kind of hit on Will, Santi stood behind Kurt, ready to jump in if needed. Benny was hunched over, clutching his sides in laughter. Kurt finally caught sight of you, standing a little in front of Frankie.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?” His tone made you wince slightly, but Frankie was proud of the way you didn’t shrink away.

“I told you this was happening today, Kurtis, it was your choice to come back while we were here,” you said calmly.

“You’re taking all my shit!”

“I paid for every single thing I’m taking,” you said. “It’s not my fault you never put anything of monetary value into this place.” You stepped forward, so you were facing Kurt head on, but still behind Will. “You need to calm down, you’re acting like a fucking child.”

“I’M ACTING LIKE A CHILD?”

“Yes. You are. You’ve acted like one almost our entire relationship. So you can either calm down, leave and come back later, or my friends will force you to calm down.”

“Are you threatening me?” Kurt spat.

“Yes. You’ve already been smacked down before, any one of these guys would love to be the one to do it again.”

“I’d like to see them fucking try!” Kurt pivoted and lunged at Benny. Big mistake. With a simple, yet effective, punch to the head, Kurt was out cold on the floor. Benny looked up, almost apologetic. You grinned at him, silent laughter shaking your shoulders.

“I didn’t mean to hit that hard,” Benny said, flexing his fist. “But I also did.”

Santi dragged Kurt’s unconscious body to the now empty living room, carefully posing him so he was curled in the foetal position, sucking on his thumb.

“He actually arrived at the perfect time,” you said to Frankie, standing back beside him. “Cause we’re done here.”

“We’ve got everything?” Santi called, overhearing you. You nodded.

“We’re finally done here.”

~*~

Frankie was glad you had decided to ride with him back to your new place. You were buzzing with a new energy, unable to keep a nervous grin off your face. You didn’t speak on the drive to your new place, but Frankie hoped he wasn’t reading into how much closer you sat, your thighs almost brushing his. Benny had gotten into his head, he knew, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation.

You were the most beautiful person he had met, both inside and out, and the very idea that you could like him the way he liked you . . . well fuck, it didn’t seem feasible. But then he thought back to the previous week spent with you, and maybe it wasn’t such a ludicrous idea after all.

He pulled up at your new building, parking in the spot designated for you. You turned to him, unlatching your seatbelt as you did.

“Frankie . . .” you started, then leant over and pulled him into a tight hug. Frankie felt like everything you wanted to say was in that hug. You pulled back slightly, so your faces were almost touching. He could’ve done it then, he fucking should have done it. Crossed that miniscule amount of space between you. But then the moment passed, and you pulled away entirely.

You climbed out of the truck, moving to the back to grab some of the garbage bags that held the smaller stuff. Frankie’s phone buzzed in the cupholder, a message from Will in the group chat.

Ironhead: Pussy

Frankie turned and saw Will staring at him. Fuck offhe mouthed. Will flipped him off with a grin. The effort of getting all your stuff up to your new place was considerably easier than it had been the first time around. For one, your new place had an elevator. So even though they had to take turns using it, it was worlds above struggling up seven flights of stairs. The mood was also improved by the fact Will had knocked Kurt out cold. Frankie had begun to wonder if that had become the main highlight of your day.

It was well into the night by the time everything was in its new place. Benny and Will flopped down onto your loveseat, drinking beers that you had kept in an ice chest you had brought in yesterday just for this. You sat on the floor, drinking a fruity vodka thing that Frankie thought looked and smelt like a melted popsicle. The balcony door was open, a breeze that held the promise of summer drifted through.

“Where’s Santi?” You asked looking around.

“He had to get something from the truck,” Will said. As if on cue, which if Frankie knew these boys as well as he did, it was, Santi burst through the door, one arm stretched wide, the other behind his back.

“My dearest,” Santi began, and Frankie groaned inwardly, “over this past day, the gentlemen and I have grown quite fond of you.” What is this, regency England? Frankie rolled his eyes and took a sip of his beer. “And as such, we wanted to present you with a housewarming gift.” With that, he whipped his arm around and held out a vase of sunflowers. Your face softened, then broke into a grin.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you pushed yourself up and pulled Santi into a hug, motioning for Will and Benny to join. You hugged the three men as tight as you could, smiling at Frankie over the tops of their shoulders. Frankie smiled back, raising his beer in a silent toast.

You placed the flowers on the kitchen counter, facing them toward the window. It was just past ten when the three boys left, Benny carrying the ice chest along with the promise to bring it back as soon as he could. It seemed like it was only moments before only you and Frankie remained.

Frankie’s phone buzzed.

Benny: Don’t fuck this up.

Frankie saw you move outside onto the balcony, leaning against the railing, silhouetted by silver moonlight, your face turned towards the breeze that coasted off the lake. Everyone else was gone, and he wondered if he didn’t take this chance, would he ever?

He moved to stand next to you, standing so close your arms were touching. His heart felt like it was caught in his throat. He murmured your name.

“Frankie,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of his beating heart. Before he could stop himself, chicken out like he had before, he closed the distance between you. One hand cupping your warm cheek, the other encircling your waist, he tilted his head down until his lips met yours.

It was everything.

Your lips were soft against his, hesitant at first, but then you were wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. You tasted like candy and those sugary drinks you insisted on bringing. Your touch was like tiny jolts of electricity shooting down his spine.

Fuck.

His tongue darted against your bottom lip, and you let him in almost hungrily. Frankie deepened the kiss, wondering just why the everloving fuck he waited this long.

He whispered your name, the word like poetry on his lips. You were poetry, you were art, you were every beautiful thing wrapped up into one person. He was in love with you.

Taglist: @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 @1800-fight-me @annathewitch @darnitdraco @frankiecatfish @punkerthanpascal @nakhudanyx @gracie7209 @quica-quica-quica @pintsizemama @phoenix-of-loki @procrastinationstationnation

[bookwyrminspiration]

Do you have any tips for nanowrimo?

I'm not sure how useful I'll be as everyone has a different approach, but I can share what's personally most useful for an enjoyable and productive month! This is my fifth year doing it, and there's definitely a lot more I could say about it, but these are the main tips I would give. I hope this helps!!

Space out your writing.

For me, the most critical aspect is to spread out your writing. All those rushes clumped together at the end of the day are so stressful and just make me dread the month as a whole, so try to avoid having big chunks of time right next to each other. Instead, I have several smaller times planned throughout the day so I can slowly make my way to that daily goal. I might have a 15 minute writing session at 9, half an hour at 12, etc. I know I have an unorthodox school schedule and more freedom to schedule things, but the same principal applies to time after school. Take it in small chunks!

Start early.

I know it's super easy to put off NaNoWrimo to the end of your day after everything is done, but the sooner you get started the easier it will be to finish. Because this opens up the chance to say fuck it and come back to it later. When you get stumped, it's a lot less stressful to step away for an hour to think about it when it's 2 in the afternoon than at 8pm. The more of the day you can use, the better. I personally like to get started as early as possible (with school that means around 10 on the weekdays, 7-8 on the weekends). But that's because I'm more productive in the mornings, so that won't be as effective for everyone.

Treats!

I don't know about you, but my brain loves rewards. If you have the discipline, set up a little reward system--it doesn't have to be consistent. Maybe you'll grab a cookie after writing 500 words, and another something at 1000, etc. This can be as low or as high as you want it to be! And the reward doesn't have the be candy; it can be things like watching a video you like, listening to a song you like, etc. Anything that's rewarding! Note: rewards are not things like basic necessities such as meals, hygiene, water, sleep, etc. They're extra little fun things, so please don't punish yourself to get through your writing.

Neat numbers.

This one is more to get just a few more words each session, and it'll only work if you're more predisposed to this kind of thing. I personally love to update my wordcount with satisfying numbers, so use whatever that means to you! If i'm 27 words away from the next hundred, I might as well just write the 27 right now and enter a 500 word update instead of a 473 one. It's so close! Just a little more effort and it'll be so much more satisying. This could be making your update a fun number, making the total word count of your doc/chapter a fun number, etc. I personally go for the hundreds with this one, but there have been times where I go for all the same number--like a 777 update. Those little details get me to write just a little bit more before stopping, and every word now is a word I don't need to write later and is progress.

Move past being behind.

This one is specifically if you get behind: it's okay. You don't have to make up all those words the very next day--you can, but that's also a big task to take on, doubling your word goal! it can feel like a continuous failure when three days ago you missed a day and fell behind, but just keep approaching it the same as you always did. If you get the 1667 the day after you wrote zero words, you've still met that days goal, that's just yesterday still bugging you. Make it up slowly. Depending on how many days you have left, add a small number of words to the 1667 total until you've made it up. Could be 200, 300, etc. There's no rush! One of the years I had a 10 day period where I was under the path to success, but I'd written all 1667 words each day since I'd missed and that's still good!

Don't look at other's word count.

This is only if you tend to compare yourself to other writers. But if looking at those other word counts makes you judge yourself, stop! you don't need to know where others are. I stopped looking at my buddies' (my partner is my only buddy on the website atm but I would do the same if I had others!) word count last year until I could stop comparing myself. Seeing people have a higher word count than me just makes me unhappy and judgmental of myself for no reason when I know I should be happy for their progress, so until I could better control that I tend to avoid it for the most part! You're not required to look or know, so put yourself first!

Break the rules.

i know that there's technically a traditional way to do NaNoWriMo, but if that doesn't suit you, ignore the rules! The point of this challenge is to get you writing, so find that motivation however you can and use it how you want. Want to start the fifth draft of a novel you've started? Go for it! Want to write a collection of short stories that instead add up to the word count? Do it! Want to restart half way through and still add the words from your other project? I've done that too!! Want to just apply this new word count goal to a project you were already working on? No one's stopping you!

I hope your month goes well and that you enjoy your project!! Writing is definitely not easy and a challenge doesn't make it any easier!

[lucienballard]

The Velvet Underground’s 30 greatest songs – ranked!

30. Ride Into the Sun (1969)The Velvets recorded two versions of Ride Into the Sun: a fabulous 1969 instrumental laden with fuzz guitar and a hushed 1970 vocal take backed by organ. Somewhere between the two lies one of their great lost songs; Lou Reed’s disappointingly flat 1972 solo version doesn’t do it justice at all.

29. Run Run Run (1967)For all the shock engendered by the lyrics of Heroin and I’m Waiting for My Man, the most malevolent-sounding track on the debut album might be Run Run Run, a powerful R&B groove lent a gripping darkness by Reed’s noisy guitar playing and the screw-you-I-take-drugs sneer of his vocals.

28. Beginning to See the Light (1969)The title suggests awakening, the melody is bright, but the lyrics are dark and bitter. They may have been directed at John Cale, who played on an initial version of the song, which was subsequently re-recorded after Reed sacked him, against the wishes of his bandmates. A ferocious 1969 live version amps up the tension.

27. Foggy Notion (1969)Reed was a lifelong doo-wop fan. His passion usually found its expression when the Velvet Underground recorded backing vocals for their ballads – as on Candy Says – but the tough, rocking Foggy Notion went a stage further, gleefully stealing a chunk of the Solitaires’ 1955 single Later for You Baby.

26. The Gift (1968)In which the band set a two-chord grind that may, or may not, have been based on their instrumental Booker T in one channel and a blackly comic Reed short story read by Cale in the other. “If you’re a mad fiend like we are, you’ll listen to them both together,” offered the producer, Tom Wilson.

25. Guess I’m Falling in Love (1967)Recorded at the White Light/White Heat sessions, but never completed, the April 1967 live recording of Guess I’m Falling in Love – taped at the Gymnasium in New York – will more than suffice. It boasts three chords, a distinct rhythm and blues influence, Reed in streetwise, so-what punk mode and explosive guitar solos somehow potentiated by the rough sound quality.

24. Temptation Inside Your Heart (1968)“It was not Mein Kampf – my struggle,” the guitarist Sterling Morrison once reflected of the Velvet Underground’s career. “It was fun.” A delightful late Cale-era outtake that inadvertently captured Morrison, Cale and Reed’s giggly backchat as they recorded the backing vocals, Temptation Inside Your Heart bears that assessment out.

23. New Age (1970)New Age comes in two varieties. Take your pick from the world-weary, small-hours rumination found on 1969: The Velvet Underground Live, or the more epic studio version that the Velvets biographer Victor Bockris suggested was “an attempt to present some encouraging statements to a confused audience as the 70s began”. Both are superb.

22. After Hours (1969)The Velvets’ eponymous 1969 album ends, improbably, with the drummer, Moe Tucker, singing a song that could have dated from the pre-rock era. The twist is that her childlike voice and the cute melody conceals an almost unbearably sad song, ostensibly a celebration of small-hours boozing, but filled with longing and regret.

21. I Can’t Stand It (1969)Amid the Velvets’ songs about drugs and drag queens lurked the plaintive sound of Reed pining for his college sweetheart, Shelley Albin, the subject of Pale Blue Eyes, I Found a Reason and I Can’t Stand It. The latter’s cocky strut is disrupted by a desperate lyrical plea: “If Shelley would just come back, it’d be all right.”

20. The Black Angel’s Death Song (1967)There is something folky and vaguely Dylan-esque at the heart of The Black Angel’s Death Song, but by the time Cale had finished with it – alternately strafing it with screeching, insistent viola and hissing into the microphone in lieu of a chorus – it sounded, and still sounds, unique.

19. I Found a Reason (1970)It is one of the ironies of the Velvet Underground that the most forward-thinking, groundbreaking band of their era could occasionally sound like old-fashioned rock’n’roll revivalists. Buried on side two of Loaded was one of the loveliest of Lou Reed’s loving homages to doo-wop, complete with spoken-word section.

18. Some Kinda Love (1969)Musically straightforward, sensual in tone, Some Kinda Love is a complex business, part seduction soundtrack, part refusal to be hemmed in by standard categories of sexuality – “no kinds of love are better than others … the possibilities are endless / and for me to miss one / would seem to be groundless”. Killer line: “Between thought and expression lies a lifetime.”

17. European Son (1967)European Son isn’t a song so much as an eruption. It sounds like a band overturning the established order of rock’n’roll, almost literally: after two brief verses, it bursts into thrilling frantic chaos with a verbatim crash, like the contents of an upended table hitting the floor.

16. Rock & Roll (1970)It is hard to see Loaded’s driving, joyous hymn to music’s redemptive power – “her life was saved by rock and roll” – as anything other than disguised autobiography on the part of Reed. The suggestion that music will endure “despite all the amputations”, meanwhile, seems to look forward to his departure from the Velvet Underground.

15. Candy Says (1969)No one else in 1969 was writing songs remotely like Candy Says, a stunning, tender pen portrait of the transgender Warhol superstar Candy Darling set to a gentle doo-wop inspired backing. Its melancholy seems to presage the note Darling wrote on her deathbed in 1974: “I had no desire for life left … I am just so bored by everything.”

14. Sunday Morning (1967)Sunday Morning was written at the behest of Wilson. He wanted a single that might conceivably get on the radio; he got a haunting, melancholy sigh of a song, its battered wistfulness and undercurrent of paranoia – “watch out, the world’s behind you” – the perfect encapsulation of morning-after regret.

13. What Goes On (1969)Morrison maintained that the studio incarnation of What Goes On wasn’t a patch on the live versions the band performed with Cale on organ. Maybe, but the studio incarnation featuring Cale’s replacement, Doug Yule, is great. It prickles with nervous energy, Reed’s guitar playing is amazing, its churning coda takes up half the song and it still feels too short.

12. Femme Fatale (1967)Apparently provoked by the damaged, doomed Warhol superstar Edie Sedgwick – with whom Cale had a brief affair – Femme Fatale is as beautiful and fragile as its inspiration. The story of a wary, ruined former suitor warning others off the titular anti-heroine is lent a chilly edge by Nico’s delivery.

11. I Heard Her Call My Name (1968)In the Velvets’ early days, Reed purported to be “the fastest guitarist alive”. A berserk claim, but his Ornette Coleman-inspired solos on I Heard Her Call My Name are some of the most extraordinary and viscerally exciting in rock history, frequently atonal, spiked with ear-splitting feedback and pregnant pauses.

10. Ocean (1969)The Velvet Underground recorded Ocean several times – one version is supposed to feature the return of Cale on organ – but never released it in their lifetime, which seems extraordinary. It is among the greatest of their later songs, its atmosphere beautiful, the epic ebb and flow of its sound completely immersive.

9. I’m Waiting for the Man (1967)An unvarnished lyrical depiction of scoring drugs tied to music on which Reed’s rock’n’roll smarts and Cale’s background in minimalist classical music – the pounding, one-chord piano part – meld in a kind of relentless perfection. Amusingly, there is now a pharmacy at the song’s fabled location of Lexington 125.

8. I’ll Be Your Mirror (1967)A song about Reed’s affair with Nico that could just as easily be about Andy Warhol’s approach to art, I’ll Be Your Mirror is one of those Velvet Underground tracks that makes their initial commercial failure seem baffling. How could a pop song as wonderful as this fail to attract attention? Nico and Morrison on stage at the New York Society for Clinical Psychiatry annual dinner in 1966.

7. White Light/White Heat (1968)A delirious paean to amphetamine, its subject reflected in the lyrics – “I surely do love to watch that stuff tip itself in” – and the turbulent, distorted rush of its sound. The band appear to be barely in control as it careers along; the chaotic finale, where Cale finally loses his grip on the bass line, is just fantastic.

6. Heroin (1967)Heroin was the deal-breaker at early Velvets gigs, provoking a “howl of bewilderment and outrage”. The shock of its subject matter has dulled with time, but its surges from folky lament to sonic riot still sound breathtaking. Oddly sweet moment: Reed’s chuckle as Tucker loses her place amid the maelstrom and suddenly stops playing.

5. Pale Blue Eyes (1969)“High energy does not necessarily mean fast,” Reed once argued. “High energy has to do with heart.” Hushed, limpidly beautiful and almost unbearably sad, Pale Blue Eyes’ depiction of a strained, adulterous relationship proves his point. In its own vulnerable way, it is as powerful as anything the Velvet Underground recorded.

4. Sweet Jane (1970)Sweet Jane started life as a ballad – see the versions recorded live at the Matrix in San Francisco in 1969 – but, sped and toughened up, it became as succinct and perfect a rock’n’roll song as has ever been written, based around one of the greatest riffs of all time.

3. Venus in Furs (1967)For a band who inspired so much other music, the Velvet Underground’s catalogue is remarkably rich with songs that still sound like nothing else; they were as inimitable as they were influential. Venus in Furs is a case in point: umpteen artists were galvanised by its dark, austere atmosphere; none succeeded in replicating it.

2. Sister Ray (1968)A monumental journey into hitherto-uncharted musical territory, where a primitive garage-rock riff meets Hubert Selby-inspired lyrics and improvisation that sounds like a psychological drama playing out between Reed and Cale, all at skull-splitting volume. Fifty-three years later, it is without peer for white-knuckle intensity.

1. All Tomorrow’s Parties (1967)Ninety per cent of the Velvet Underground’s oeuvre consists of no-further-questions classics. The astonishingly high standard of almost everything they did makes picking their “best” song a matter of personal preference, rather than qualitative judgment. So let’s go for Warhol’s favourite, on which the sour and sweet aspects of their debut album entwine faultlessly. The melody is exquisite; the music monolithic and unrelenting, powered by Cale’s hammering piano and Tucker’s stately drums; Nico’s performance perfectly inhabits the lyrics, which turn a depiction of a woman choosing what dress to wear into a meditation on emptiness and regret. It is original and utterly masterly: the Velvet Underground in a nutshell.

source

[fiddlepickdouglas]

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 1 - Ribbit

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, THE meetcute of meetcutes. 2.1k

Edit: thank you so much @trevor-wilson-covington for the pretty edit!! I'm in love with it!

Alex drummed his fingers on the armrest of his seat in the van. The drive from Los Angeles to Vegas was just short of four hours, but it had been an early morning and it was going to be a long day. He was feeling the carsickness sit just under the threshold of dangerous and rolled down the window.

“Whoo! Twenty miles boys!” Luke called out as they passed a sign on the freeway, clapping Bobby on the shoulder from behind.

“Woohoo!” Bobby responded in excitement.

“Think you’re gonna make it, buddy?” Reggie looked over at Alex. Alex turned only a fraction of the way toward his friend and gave a half-hearted nod.

“Hey man, let us know if we gotta pull over,” Luke said.

He simply nodded. Next time he wasn’t going to sit in the back.

The other three were jamming to whatever Luke was riffing on his guitar. Bobby thankfully drove at a slower pace as they approached the final stretch toward their destination. The ache in his stomach didn’t get better, but it also didn’t get worse so he was banking on it calming down once they stopped.

“Hey, guys, we wanna stop somewhere and get breakfast first?” Bobby called out to the rest of them.

“Oh yeah!” Reggie said. “I think I could go for some pancakes.”

“Oh, pancakes sound real good right now.” Luke echoed.

“Alex?” Bobby peeked into the rearview mirror at him.

Looking up from the view outside, he just shrugged. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t sure he could handle food no matter what it was.

Eventually they pulled off the freeway and kept their eyes peeled for an open restaurant.

“I see pancakes!” Reggie cried, pointing at his target.

“They’ve got an arcade next door, I second that vote!” Bobby said.

As they parked and clambered out of the van, the boys stretched and shook their limbs. They entered the diner and found a booth, practically collapsing together on the table. Alex placed his face in his hands and tried taking in deep breaths to calm his stomach. A sudden voice was heard beside the table.

“Good morning starshines, the earth says hello! How are we doing today?” Sounded like a waiter. Alex felt rude, but didn’t bother to look up. He felt Luke nudge a menu under his elbow.

“Oh, we’re hungry!” Reggie responded.

“Awesome, guys,” the waiter said. “Anything I can get started for you?”

“We’ll go with water,” Luke spoke for everyone at the table. “And, sorry about him, he’s not feeling good.” Alex assumed this was about him and sighed.

“Okay, so water for everybody? Alright, I’ll just grab those for you while you prepare your orders.”

As the waiter left, Luke tapped Alex’s shoulder.

“How you doin’, Alex?”

“Not blowing chunks, I guess,” he groaned.

“Hey, guys,” Bobby started saying. “How about we pick what we wanna eat, and then I want to check out the arcade while we wait for our food.”

“That’s a good idea,” Reggie said, perking up. “I hope they have Galaga.”

“I’m down,” Luke said. “Alex, you wanna wait here for us? You can give the guy our orders and then just chill.”

“Maybe that stomach will settle down,” Reggie added.

Alex lowered his hands and rested them on the table.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I need the space anyway. Thanks.”

“Cool,” Luke hopped up from his seat. “Uh, I’ll just do the buttermilk pancakes.”

“Make that two buttermilk pancakes!” Reggie said, holding up his fingers.

“Eggs and sausage,” Bobby told him. “And buttermilk pancakes.” He patted Alex on the back as the three of them ventured next door.

At least they were easy to remember. Alex looked around the restaurant as he kept breathing in and out slowly. He was the only person there. That was surprising for a diner just outside of Vegas around ten in the morning. He didn’t mind the quiet, though. Having all this space to himself was already helping him feel better.

A guy with long dark hair approached him with a tray carrying glasses of water. Alex gulped as he watched, his breath catching in his throat. He took in the tie-dye shirt, the ripped jeans, and puka shell necklace and guessed he was probably from California as well.

“Whoa, where’d they all go?” the waiter asked, smiling a little in confusion.

Alex blinked.

“They, uh, they went to the arcade,” he managed to get out. He couldn’t help it, this guy had a nice smile.

“Ah,” the guy raised his eyebrows and began placing the water on the table. “And they left you behind? That sucks.”

“I’m okay,” Alex said. “We’ve just been on the road for a bit and I got kinda carsick, so I needed some space anyway.”

“I’m sorry, man,” the waiter said. “Did they decide what to eat before they bailed?”

“Uh, yeah,” Alex shifted to face him better. “They all want buttermilk pancakes and then one guy also wants eggs and sausage.”

“Three buttermilks…” the guy muttered as he wrote them down. “Eggs and sausage. And do you know what you want?”

He looked directly into Alex’s eyes as he rested the tray under his arm and it took everything Alex had not to melt right there. Don’t look at his lips, he thought. He was pretty sure his eyes had betrayed him but he forced his gaze downward as a cover.

“I’m sorry,” he said, flustered. “I actually forgot to look at the menu.”

“Right, ‘cuz you were carsick, sorry” the waiter chuckled, running a hand through his hair. Alex bit his tongue.

“I should probably get some food still,” he managed to say. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

“Right on. I could recommend some toast - that’s always easy on the stomach. That comes with eggs, and I could add in some banana for you.”

“That actually sounds great,” Alex told him. “I’ll just do that, then.”

The waiter smiled and bit his lip.

“‘Kay!” He lifted the tray from under his arm and headed back toward the kitchen, doing a little skip before disappearing inside.

Alex felt his hands shaking and he sat on them for a minute. Looking around the empty diner, a thought occurred that somehow with just him and the waiter it had seemed full. The strange feeling crept all over him, like a new exhilarating energy, and he moved his hands back up. The waiter popped back out of the kitchen and came back toward Alex in a cavalier fashion.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked. “I don’t exactly have other people to help and I feel bad leaving you all by yourself in here.”

“Make yourself at home,” Alex said, gesturing to the seat across from him. Make yourself at home? What is that? he berated himself.

The guy extended a hand for him to shake. “I’m Willie, by the way.”

“Alex.” As he took it, Alex returned the firm grip he received and they both chuckled a bit at noticing each other’s strength. Willie sat down and immediately grabbed a napkin from the dispenser.

“So you said you and your friends have a long day ahead of you?” he asked.

“Oh right,” Alex couldn’t believe he had forgotten about the guys for a minute. “We’re a band, so we’ve got a gig opening for Julie Molina tonight.”

“Wicked,” Willie smiled and nodded, folding the napkin into something Alex wasn’t sure what it was supposed to be. “Who’s Julie Molina?”

“Oh, she’s just a good solo artist - does a little bit of everything. My buddy Luke is really into her.”

Willie nodded some more, continuing to fold the napkin.

“And who are you guys?”

“We’re Sunset Curve,” Alex said. “I’m the drummer.”

“Right on! You guys just becoming a thing?” Willie raised his eyebrows.

“I mean, I guess so,” Alex hadn’t exactly thought about it. “Opening for Julie is a big step for us.”

He watched Willie’s hands work until he finished. It turned out to be an origami frog.

“Ribbit,” Willie said, pressing on the top to make it look like it was moving. The napkin material didn’t exactly lend to bouncing up and down, which made them both giggle. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be distracting.”

“I don’t mind,” Alex said. “It’s entertaining.”

He realized how widely he was smiling and laughed to himself.

“What about you?” he asked.

Willie straightened his posture and ran a hand through his hair again. He flailed his arms and blew out his cheeks before holding one arm with the other and leaning on the table.

“Making it on my own for now. I just do whatever feels good, you know? Make a few bucks, get out and enjoy what I find. Don’t need a whole lot to be happy.”

Wow, Alex wanted that kind of chill. He picked up the origami frog.

“What do you do when you’re not here? Besides these, of course.”

Willie shrugged.

“Skate. Be free.” He smiled, but sighed heavily. Alex saw a distant look in his eyes, but knew now wasn’t a time to address it. “I see Vegas in all its glory. You should see the lights at night.”

“Won’t I see them tonight?”

Willie shook his head.

“Not the right way,” he told him. “Not at the right angle. I would show you, but you’ve got your gig and everything.”

Alex opened his mouth to reply, but a head stuck out of the kitchen door. A man with dark hair and chiseled features looked at Willie and all he did was glare authoritatively.

“I’m - coming,” Willie stammered, rising from his seat.

Alex realized his mouth was still open and he shut it, unhappily swallowing what he’d wanted to say.

“That was my boss,” Willie said, already in a hurry. “I’m sorry, I’ll be back when your food’s ready.” He rushed off and the diner felt empty and cold again.

As if on cue, Luke, Bobby and Reggie burst back through the door. Luke and Reggie were celebrating while Bobby seemed a little less enthusiastic.

“Dun-geon slay-er!” Reggie proclaimed in a mock deep voice. “Too bad we can’t stay longer and go for that tournament today; I would have whooped everyone.”

They all sat and immediately gulped down their waters. Bobby remained quiet.

“How was the arcade?” Alex asked.

“It was sweet,” Luke reported. “Bobby’s mad because Reggie mopped the floor with him.”

“The joystick wasn’t working right, it wasn’t a fair outcome,” Bobby defended.

“Oooohhh,” Reggie made a silly face and wiggled his fingers. “Bobby only loses when the game doesn’t work, ooohhh!”

Alex shook his head and laughed mildly. He only noticed then that his stomach had stopped bothering him completely. He hadn’t even felt it when he’d been talking with Willie. He finished his own water, and was happy not to feel anything as it went down. The origami frog was still on the table.

“Hey, Alex,” Reggie said, picking it up. “Did you make this?”

“Oh, no, Willie did,” he told him.

“Who’s Willie?” Luke asked.

Speak of the devil - the kitchen door opened and Willie came out carrying their plates.

“Alright, we got pancakes, pancakes, more pancakes,” he said, placing them where they belonged. He glanced at Alex quickly, but it was too quick to read. “Who had the eggs and sausage?”

“That was me,” Bobby said, raising his hand.

“Okay,” Willie passed it over to him. “And toast and eggs with a banana.” He smiled as he set it down before Alex. “And it looks like you all need more water, I’ll be right back!” He was gone too quickly again.

The change in his mood unsettled Alex, but maybe it was because Willie was working. As he saw Willie returning with the water pitcher he had an idea.

“Hey Luke,” he said. Luke turned to him expectantly as Willie silently poured water in their glasses.

“Where are we playing again?”

Luke looked confused. Willie was listening intently.

“The Pearl, why? How could you forget?”

“And what time do we play?”

“Eight o’ clock. You sure you’re feeling better?”

“Yeah. I was… I was just testing you, cuz sometimes you don’t remember.”

Luke looked around the table defensively.

Reggie shrugged. “He’s right. But you remembered this time!”

Alex felt bad about starting Luke in an argument as he listened to them continue, but he knew it would blow over quickly. He caught Willie looking back at him and nodding as he walked away. As he returned to his food, Bobby smirked at him and shook his head. Heat rose in his cheeks and he focused on his toast.