#i��m so sorry Jorge

[mj0702]

@helen-with-an-a ... I hope you like it

“Jorge.... Sophie... Lucy!!” Diane yelled from the Kitchen towards the yard where her three children were playing.

Lucy and Jorge were fighting over the old football laughing and shoving each other while Sophie sat on one of the lounge chairs reading a book.

“JORGE!!! SOPHIE!! LUCIA!!” Diane yelled again her voice more strict

“Yeah mum?” Sophie answered on behalf of all three

“Dinner will be ready in 10” the Bronze family leader said grateful that at least one of her children reacted

“Okay” Sophie said and stood up to interrupt her siblings play by kicking the ball to the other side of the yard

“The fuck Soph??” Lucy looked at her younger sister in disbelieve

“Mum said dinner is ready” the youngest Bronze said dismissively turning around heading towards the house

“She just could've said so” Jorge grumbled as he started to walk towards the house “Oh Luce... you need a better stand... root yourself into the ground then the other player can't shove you over”

“Yeah I know... I still have to work on that” Lucy sighed “I just don't know how”

“You need to find your balance” the oldest Bronze said as the two of them entered the kitchen through the garden door

“I don't think so... shoes off” Diane immediately stopped the two pointing outside again

“Sorry Mum” Lucy quickly retreated kicking her shoes off in front of the door

“No you're not...” Diane grinned at her teenage daughter “The only thing the two of you are interested in is football”

“I'm gonna win you the Champions League one day Mum...” Lucy smiled at her mother

“For that women need to step up and play real ball” Jorge threw in and the second he said it Lucy already jumped on his back choking him

“Take it back” Lucy grunted from above as her brother started to spin around to get rid of her

“Never in a million years... you girls are to fragile to play real ball” Jorge choked out

“Stop roughhousing you two... dinner is ready” Diane interrupted her children strictly “Go sit down”

“Yes Mum” Jorge and Lucy said simultaneously as Lucy slipped of Jorges back

“Okay... Your mom and I have to tell you something” Joaquim said grabbing the hand of his wife after dinner

“Oh my god... you're getting divorced... I knew it...” Sophie blurted out shocked hitting Lucys shoulder repeatedly “... I told you... something is weird... I TOLD you!!”

“Sophie... Sweetheart...” Joaquim said softly “.... I promise we're not getting divorced”

“You can stop hitting me now” Lucy said dryly

“But something is WEIRD” Sophie exclaimed

“Weird is the wrong word Soph...” Diane smiled “... try... different”

“Different how?” Jorge asked confused

“I'm pregnant...” Diane said softly her hand finding her stomach resting on it lightly

“WHAT??!!” all three Bronze children exclaimed

“Pregnant??” Jorge asked

“From dad??” Lucy asked confused

“With a baby??” Sophie shook her head “I'm not giving up my room... I JUST got it... I don't want to share a room with Lucy again... she snores”

“I do not snore... you snore” Lucy shoved her sister

“To answer all of your questions” Joaquim interrupted his children “... yes... to all of them.. pregnant... with a baby... it's mine... all of you are going to be big siblings once again... congrats Soph... you're going to be a first time big sister – well done me”

“Oh ew DAD” Sophie exclaimed disgusted which caused Joaquim and Diane to laugh

“Mom... I'm home...” Lucy yelled into the quiet house when she came home from school “... I tell you... Tracey Gellar is a full grown bi.. mom?? are you okay?”

Lucy quickly made her way over to her Mom who was clutching to the kitchen counter holding her belly her face scrunched up in pain

“It'll be okay in a second... your sibling decided to kick me into the rips again” Diane wheezed out “I tell you know Lucy... they be a better footballer then you one day �� you didn't kick as much”

“Hey Bubs...” Lucy said softly kneeling next to her mums belly “... I told you not to kick Mum so much... I told you she's the only one who knows how to took... we need her around... we'll all starve... or get food poisoning from Dads food”

Diane chuckled at her daughters words and her heart swell with pride at how Lucy adapt to the situation and how gentle she was when it came to the unborn child. She did most of the chores around the house now. The cleaning, the laundry or whatever arises – Lucy stepped up and took over. Except for the cooking. Lucy tried – she really did. But she wasn't made for cooking. Or frying. Or cutting. So Diane kept her monopole in the kitchen. She cooked and her children did the dishes and Lucy normally stayed longer to clean the whole kitchen. On top of that Lucy had school and homework and football. Diane was so proud of her middle child

“You always manage to calm them down..” Diane smiled as she stroke through Lucys hair

“Her mum... she's a girl” Lucy said firmly

“We don't know that Luce... I told you we want it to be a surprise” Diane smiled at her daughters words

“I know Mum... I just know...” the middle Bronze smiled back

“You have a name then?” Diane asked softly as she pushed herself upright again

“Y/n... Y/n Tough Bronze” Lucy smiled

“That's a beautiful name Lucy... I'm very proud of you” Diane smiled while Lucy got her a glass of water

“Lucy... I trust you to keep an eye on Mum okay... I'll be gone for about three hours” Joaquim said seriously while Jorge and Sophie got in the car already

“Don't worry Dad... I got it” Lucy waved off

“Good... if anything happens...” Joaquim started

“All numbers on the fridge... first call Ambulance, then you... not the other way around” Lucy rattled off what her father drilled into her head

“Good... you're a good daughter Lucy... I love you” Joaquim smiled

“Love you too Dad” Lucy smiled back

“Okay Mum... you need anything?” the middle Bronze asked her highly pregnant mother

“No Lucy thank you...” Diane sighed trying to get more comfortable “... could you please stop moving?”

“She's being difficult again?” Lucy chuckled

“Yes... she's going to be a handful Lucy I tell ya...” Diane groaned

“Don't worry Mum... you've got Dad.. and me... and... yeah no.. I wouldn't trust Jorge with a baby... he's clumsy...” Lucy said thinking about her siblings and their ability to look after a new born which made Diane chuckle

“I know Luce... but it's not your responsibility to look after a new born... you have to study Lucy...” Diane said gratefully

“I don't see it as responsibility Mum...” Lucy smiled “... I see it as protecting someone I love”

“Lucy” Diane said a little louder to get her daughters attention but she got no response

“LUCY” the head of the family yelled

“Yeah??” Lucy opened the door of her vacation home room

“Would you come here please?” Diane said feeling another twinge in her belly region

“What's up Mum?” Lucy padded down the hallway a cereal bar in her hand

“I need you to stay calm now and call the ambulance” Diane said calmly knowing exactly what's happening – after giving birth three times already

“What??” Lucy asked dumb folded a little piece of cereal bar falling out of her mouth

“Call an ambulance Lucy” Diane pressed out clutching her side

“You mean... but it's too early... she has another four weeks to bake” Lucy said panicky

“Lucy... sweetheart... darling...” Diane said soothingly “... calm down.. I know you're getting scared but I did this before... just call the ambulance okay sweetheart?”

“Yeah... yeah I can do that...” Lucy stammered pulling her phone out of her pocket “... wait... bag”

“Bag comes later... Ambulance... Bag... Dad” Diane said calmly

“Okay... Ambulance...” Lucy took a deep breath

“Lucy” the middle Bronze heard her name being called down the hospital corridor and as she lifted her head she saw her Dad and two siblings running towards her

“Hey Dad” Lucy said lowly

“You did perfectly Babygirl” Joaquim mumbled as he pulled his daughter into a hug

“You maybe should look for Mum Dad...” Lucy mumbles against her Dads shoulder “... they wouldn't tell me a lot but I heard one of the nurses that she's apparently “pretty far along”... whatever that means”

“I'll tell you one day I promise” Joaquim winked “Your aunt will pick you lot up soon okay... I'll call you later before bed okay?”

“Can I stay Dad?” Lucy begged with big eyes “Please”

“Lucy...” Joaquim sighed “... this could take hours... the whole night even”

“I don't care Dad... please” Lucy begged again and Joaquim had no choice than to falter under the puppy eyes

“You want to stay as well?” Joaquim asked his other children

“No thanks Dad... I have a game tomorrow” Jorge said and Sophie shook her head as well

“Okay... go get yourself something to eat Luce... something useful – not a chocolate from the vending machine” Joaquim sighed and pulled some bills out of his pocket

“Thanks Dad” Lucy smiled happily

“Lucy... hey Lucy” Joaquim shook his daughter carefully awake who fell asleep in the plastic chairs in the waiting area

“Hm?? What time is it?” Lucy mumbled tiredly

“3.25AM... Come on Luce... time to meet someone knew” Joaquim said softly chuckling at the sight of Lucys eyes flying open

“She's here?” Lucy sat up quickly rubbing the sleep out of her eyes

“Come on...” Joaquim said lovingly taking his daughters hand pulling her up and towards the room Diane and the newest Bronze were placed in

“Lucy... meet Y/n Lucia Tough Bronze... your sister...” Joaquim said keeping his voice low pushing Lucy gently forward

“Hi Bubs...” Lucy chocked out happy tears spilling out of her eyes looking down at you in your plastic container like bed “... hi”

“You can touch her Lucy... but gently... she's not Jorge” Diane smiled tiredly from her bed seeing how Lucy retreated her hand a few times not daring to touch you

“She's so small...” Lucy whispered “... I'm going to hurt her”

“You won't Luce...” Joaquim said smiling softly as he pushed his daughter down on a chair simply lifting you out of the hospital basinet and placing you unceremonially in Lucys arms

“Dad!” Lucy squeaked shocked when she found a little bundle in her arms

“Lucy... the two of you already share a special bond... that's why we decided to give her your name – whatever happens I... we... we know you'll always take care of her and will protect her with your life” Joaquim said soothingly “So say hi to your sister.... born at 2.15AM, 6lb 3oz, 18.8 inches... she's a little small but I can tell you she has a good pair of lungs on her”

“I will...” Lucy whispered looking down at you as you opened your eyes staring up at your big sister right into her eyes “... I promise Bubs... I protect you... I'll keep all bad things away from you... mostly Jorge... I swear he's manky... he doesn't wash his hands after using the toilette most of the times... I won't let him touch you”

“I told you... these two are a perfect match” Diane whispered towards her husband who sat down on the bed next to her observing how Lucy talked to you quietly

“Just wait till Lucy wants to go out and has a three year old attached to her leg...” Joaquim chuckled back also watching the two of you fondly

“Hey Bubs...” Lucy said tiredly as she walked into your nursery “... what's with the screaming?”

Lucy looked in your crib where you where crying and fussing your head red a little sweat forming on your forehead

“I checked on you two hours ago...” Lucy mumbled “... you were snoring”

“Oh you so were... don't try to deny it” Lucy said after you let out a particular loud scream “... you got that from Dad... he always snores when he falls asleep watching the Telly”

“Oh really.... I don't think so” your sister said like you actually answered her as she lifted you up and laid you against her chest your head on her shoulder “... okay... why so upset?”

You calmed down a little bit feeling the familiar skin of Lucys neck, smelling her scent and hearing her soothing voice

“Hungry?” Lucy asked you starting to rock you gently “Okay... not hungry... change? Please say no...”

“Okay... that's good” your sister said after she took a quick sniff and sniffed.. nothing “... if you have colic again I'm going to shoot meself...”

“Lucy??” Joaquim asked tiredly entering the nursery “What are you doing?”

“She was crying... I've got it Dad... you can go back to bed” Lucy said shrugging her shoulders

“It's not your job Luce...” your Dad said to your sister

“She's not a job Dad...” Lucy said seriously “... and I don't mind...”

“Hand her over Luce... go back to bed... you have school tomorrow” Joaquim said holding out his hands to take you from Lucy

“No Dad it's okay... she nearly calm again” Lucy turned away from your Dad basically hogging you

“If she hasn't calmed down in 10 Minutes you bring her to our bedroom...” your father said strictly but left knowing he had no chance taking you away from your sister

“Heard that Bubs... you need to tell me what's bothering you” Lucy mumbled as you slightly hick up against your shoulder “... don't tell me you woke me up because you missed me presence”

Lucys quiet constant talking send you back into a semi-sleepy state which held until Lucy was about to lay you down again and you lost the familiar contact. Immediately you started to fuss again and Lucy groaned knowing what it meant

“Yeah okay... you can sleep in me bed... but I'll tell you know... when I have a relationship you sleep in your own room” Lucy huffed (oh boy was she in for a reality check – the two long-term girlfriends loved you just as much and more often then not you ended up in their bed anyway)

“Keira... this is Y/n... my sister... she's good on her feet... just a little slow” Lucy said apologetic as you held onto her finger tightly while she introduced you to the woman who sat at the table

“Hi Y/n” the blonde smiled kindly down at you and you decided she had pretty eyes and funny ears

“Come on Missy... you made me late already” Lucy sighed lifting you onto a chair next to her and you immediately tried to flee again

“Oh no... you stay” your sister said quickly pulling you up into a sitting position again “No running about”

You made your feelings about it known starting to cry loudly and Lucy pinched the bridge of her nose

“I'm so sorry” Lucy said to Keira while stuffing your pacifier into your mouth trying to silence you “... I didn't want to bring her but she had a whole meltdown when I started to leave so I rushed to get her in some decent clothes and then of course she wanted to walk by herself from the car and because I rushed to get her ready I don't have anything with me to entertain her... I'm so so sorry”

“Oh god no please don't be sorry...” Keira chuckled seeing how you try to spit the paci out again just for Lucy holding it in place professionally “... we can take a walk if you want.. maybe that would suit her better”

“No...” Lucy said quickly “... I haven't had time to eat and I'm so SO hungry”

This made Keira burst out laughing and you looked at the blonde like she lost it – even in your young age you couldn't control your face. Years later it would become a running joke within the Lionesses that your face was the subtitles of your emotions.

“Okay... then let's order?” the blonde laughed

“No Bubs... that's my... okay...” Lucy huffed as you climbed on her lap from your chair “... can you please at least act like you have mann... no... no hands on the salmon”

“I'm sorry but she's just too adorable...” Keira laughed seeing how Lucy struggled to eat AND keep you out of her plate

“Yeah well we can switch if you like... she's a big fan of pasta” Lucy grumbled as she pried your hand open to remove the peas you squished in there

“You have it fully under control... I don't want to disturb your routine” the blonde chuckled and Lucy suddenly grinned darkly at her company

“Hey Bubs... look... Keira has pasta with tomatoes sauce” your sister pointed at the other plate you didn't realized was there but now that Lucy pointed it out you became big eyes and immediately started to climb over to Keiras lap

“Really??” Keira said unimpressed adjusting her hold on you “Using her so you can eat in peace?”

“Told you... big pasta fan” Lucy said her mouth full with her meal

“Okay little Bit... slowly okay?” the blonde said softly holding her fork out for you to eat the two noodles she picked up for you

“There we go... good girl” Keira praised you after you held still for her to feed you the pasta and started to chew slowly

“Are you brat serious??” Lucy asked outraged “You smashing my food but behave for her?”

“What can I say... I have a way with kids” the blonde winked already feeding you another fork full of pasta

“Unbelievable” Lucy grumbled but then smirked “... I might have to keep you around then”

“You might have to do that” Keira smirked back holding her glass of water for you to have a sip

“Bitsy come on... we're late” Keira yelled down the hallway

“I can't find my shin guards!” you yelled back and a second later a pair of t-shirts flew out of your room into the corridor

“Kid...” the blonde sighed rolling her eyes

“FOUND THEM” you yelled but your voice was uncharacteristically low

“Then let's go!” Keira yelled again

“Can't... I'm stuck” you whined “Kei.. help”

“It's like living with Pinky and Brain... with me being stuck with Pinky” the blonde rolled her eyes already on her way to your room and couldn't help but laugh at the sight she was greeted with

“Don't laugh... help me” you whined from under the bed one of the posts broken trapping you successfully

“How did you manage to break your bed Bitsy?” Keira chuckled as she easily lifted the bed so you could rob out from under it

“I used the post as leverage to get to the second shin guard and pushed against it and it just... broke” you pouted

“We'll fix it later..” the blonde ruffled your hair lovingly before she ushered you towards the car driving the both of you to the Man City trainings ground

“Good job everyone...” Nick clapped his hands being happy with the training his team just ended “Tomorrow we work on some Midfield – Defence connection”

“That connection works perfectly already” Steph Houghton laughed shoving Lucy towards Keira with Lucy trying to be smooth and trying to keep upright by flinging her arm over her girlfriends shoulder just to keep on stumbling when Keira took a step to the side

“Thanks for catching me Walsh” Lucy huffed from the ground where she laid on her back shooting Keira a playful glare

“Always my pleasure Bronze” the blonde smirked back spraying Lucy with her water bottle when suddenly a painful scream echoed through the grounds

“LUCY!!” Keira yelled after her girlfriend who shot off the ground sprinting down the field already jumping the first barrier

“Fuck...” Steph swore under her breath taking off as well “... come on Kei... move... if it what I think it is I need you there... the rest of you.. hit the showers and go home”

“But what..” the blonde asked confused when she heard a cry immediately knowing it was you – this time Keira sprinted off in the same direction Lucy did but instead of jumping barriers she took the official exit

“It's okay Bubs...” Lucy panted as soon as she reached you getting down on her knees next to your upper body “... I'm here... I'm here... it's okay”

“Lucy” you cried out clutching your knee

“It's okay Bubs...” Lucy crouched down even further her hand on your cheek her thumb whiping away the tears that were already streaming down your face

“I felt it rip Luce...” you cried “... I tore it again”

“No Bubs... no you didn't” your sister quickly said but both of you knew she was lying “... you just twisted it...”

“I'm not stupid Luce...” you tried to hide in your sisters side from all the prying eyes “... I know what it feels like”

“Bitsy” Keira came to a scrambling halt on your other side “... It's going to be okay... we got it okay...”

“It hurts” you cried as your sister pressed soft kissed to your forehead now basically laying next to you

“I know... medics are nearly here” Keira said softly her hand placed on yours holding your knee still so you wouldn't hurt it further “... just breath Bitsy okay... Copy Lucys breathing”

“Lucy??” Dr. Wimmer asked when he entered the waiting area

“Yeah?” Lucy looked up from her hands still in her trainings kit

“There's no easy way...” the young dark haired doctor said

“Just say it Teddy...” your sister knew what was coming – she has known the second she saw you on the ground

“I can repair it...” the orthopaedic surgeon said “... but there's no way this knee will hold the pressure of a professional career”

“Did you tell her?” Lucy asked quietly

“No... I thought I'll tell you first because she'll need you” the doctor said

“I'll tell her...” your sister said firmly standing up

“Okay... she's in the same room” the dark haired woman said her face apologetic

“Okay...” your sister huffed turning around to a silently crying Keira “... I need you in there too...”

“Give me a minute” Keira took a deep breath before standing up herself “okay... let's get it over with”

“Hey Bubs” Lucy carefully opened the door finding you staring out the window

“Hey... Bubs” your sister said again softly trying to get your attention feeling Keira taking her hand squeezing it supporting

“Again, hm...” you said monotone your voice raspy from all the crying

“Yeah... I'm so...” Lucy said coming closer to your bed Keira right behind her

“It's okay... shit happens right?” you chuckled humourlessly “Another round of physio and learning to walk again...”

“I'll be with you every step of the way Bubs” your sister said quietly “... like always”

“I know it's over Luce...” for the first time you looked at her and Lucy felt her heart shatter into a million pieces with the empty look you had in your eyes “... no player ever came back from three ACLs”

“But you will Bubs... we'll help you get back...” Lucy said quickly but again the two of you knew she was lying

“It's okay Luce...” you sighed your voice emotionless as you turned your head to look out of the window again “... some things are just not meant to be”

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 6

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

First - Prev - Next

CH.6

“Good evening, Stanley.”

“...”

“I can see in lieu of speaking, you have instead chosen to communicate with an obscene hand gesture- two obscene hand gestures. I'll excuse your immaturity because I understand you might be feeling… upset.”

“Upset? Me? What could I possibly be upset about?”

“I understand your current state of… lodging is making you apprehensive. On account of being involuntarily committed.”

“You not picking up sarcasm doesn’t surprise me. And this isn’t an involuntary commitment; this is an unlawful abduction and confinement. I have enough experience with both to know the difference.”

“You what?”

“Ask me whatever stupid questions you’re about to ask, but I refuse to stand up. This is literally the first bed I’ve had since prison; and in that bed I had to worry about bed bugs, dirty needles, poisonous snakes… and Jorge.”

“What was that last thing that you just whispered to yourself?”

“Don’t worry about it. Now, what do you want, Doc? You here to scan me again? Get me to take more drugs? Ask me weirdly personal questions like your hot friend?”

“I want to talk. I may have come on a little strong when we crossed paths in town, in order for you to truly understand where I’m coming from, I’m going to have to give you some context in place of your lost memory.”

“Please tell me you’re not about to give me the tragic backstory of you and your missing twin.”

“Listen, Stanley, you don’t remember this; but we had a falling out ten years ago.”

“Aaand you’re doing it. Yeah, that’s pretty much what I was expecting. Fine, I’ll play along.”

“We were in our senior year of high school. You ruined a project of mine, and it cost me my dream college. We had a fight, and you got- you left home after that.”

“Man, dunno why I’d do something like that.”

“You were scared of me leaving you.”

“Did a shitty thing, and ended up alone anyways. That's something I'd expect from me.”

“And then you tried to justify it and say there was a silver lining-.”

“I’m sorry.”

“...What?”

“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“... Where’s your excuse?”

“Hm?”

“Your excuses- your reasons? You cannot just apologize- so casually.”

“Sure I can. I just did. You don't accept it, that’s your right."

“...You don’t mean that.”

“Naw, I’m pretty sure no one deserves to be betrayed. I’m sorry you were.”

“Saying sorry doesn’t make it okay.”

“Didn’t say it did. Nothing can- it’s already happened, and there’s no changing it. You don’t wanna forgive and forget? I won’t make you.”

“And you’re going to simply… move on?”

“Look, PhD, I can’t tell you why your real twin did what he did, or what was going through his head when he did it. But he did the wrong thing to the wrong person, and paid for it. It’s too bad you had to pay for it too.”

“You are-.”

“Can see why you’d get us mixed up though. All I do is ruin things, too. Maybe if that thing with your project hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t be a wackjob who carries a tranq gun with him everywhere and abducts people off of the street.”

“I’m not mixing anything up. You are exactly who I keep trying to tell you that you are. You’re just not you right now.”

“I’m never anybody but me. You feel better now? Get all of that out of your system?”

“Now that I have told you what separated us-.”

“I’m gonna take that as a no.”

“Can you fill me in on the years that followed?”

“Doc, a lot of what I remember is like smoke - it’s hazy, and it’s hard to hold onto, can you be specific?”

“How about we start with something tangible?”

“Like what?”

“I am going to slip a paper and a pen through the slot in the door. Write down a list of the people who’ve tried to kill you.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. You told my associate a number of alarming things during his interview with you, and he reported that a not insignificant number of those things revolved around people trying to kill you.”

“A lot of them still want me dead, you know. If they figured out where I was, they might raid this place. It’s not too late to just… let me go, and we can pretend none of this happened. I’m not gonna hold a grudge against you, it's clear to me you've got issues because your real twin is either dead or hiding in Cuba.”

“They can try. They’ll fail.”

"Gutsy. We coulda been friends if you weren't insane."

"...We were."

"If you say so."

To be continued...

[lady-daydream]

Our Life Headcanons/Imagine: How They Deal With Being Sick.

Cove Holden:

Due to both Cliff’s, and then retroactively, Cove’s active lifestyle as well as Cliff’s habit of cooking from scratch plus adding that they live close to the coast. Cove doesn’t get sick very often. Or if he does, he doesn’t react noticeably to it. This means that when he gets ill. It’s normally a pretty strong illness. Cove has a pretty high pain tolerance, and he is the type of person to say ‘ow’ more out of shock than out of pain when he bumped or hits something. As such aches and pains he finds more annoying than difficult. However, he hates the groggy feeling of cloudiness he gets when ill. Normally he will try and sweat it out with spicy food or exercise. But most of the people in Cove’s life normally end up suggesting, or if it is Elizabeth or Kyra it becomes pressuring him to rest. If Cove is being stubborn, they find out that booking a fun activity somewhere for when he felt better normally distracted him long enough for him to forget he shouldn’t be doing anything. He likes cuddles when he’s ill and sometimes forgets that this can cause M/C to be ill as well. So, it normally ends up with both of them getting sick at the same time.

If M/C falls ill however and he’s not sick. He doesn’t like not being able to help so isn’t great verbally at soothing further than ‘I’m sorry – I know this sucks, I’m here for you’. But he shows he cares by distracting them. Or setting up a video call if M/C is in a social mood with friends and family if they are far away so they don’t feel so lonely. He doesn’t mind giving supportive hugs and a few sneaky kisses to M/C, (Much to M/C’s protest at the risk of getting sick), but he just argues he could get sick anyway so why not get a few kisses out of it before he does. If Cliff catches ear that M/C was sick, he normally sends a check-up text, and if he is close enough to be able to do so – he will send food over. If he doesnt hear from the grape-vine, he normally ends up hearing from Cove himself since he is the first-person Cove texts if he’s uncertain if something is wrong or if something M/C does while sick is something to worry about, or if it’s just a side effect of the bug. And if M/C ever needs to go to a GP or The doctors,he never judges if M/C is stressed or scared or needed him there to support, he’s happily holding M/C hand the whole way or waiting outside even if the doctors makes him slightly anxious himself due to the accident that happened when he was younger. 

Derek Suarez:

Derek got sick a lot as a kid. Not intentionally, but due to his two brothers all going to different schools and being in different years, if one person in the household got sick. Everyone got sick. He hates being sick cause he gets fidgety and bored from the lack of energy and ability to move about or being able to do much really. But he doesn’t like seeing other people ill also. This meant he was the first to organise a group activity for Jorge and Nico if all three of them were sick to cheer them up, as well as helping his parents when he could see them slightly stressed from looking after three ill kids. This however led to Derek hiding his illness unless he physically couldn’t from his perceptive parents. So, when he is ill, he may not ask for help, feeling guilty for getting ill. However, as he got older he found his immune system was quite strong so he didn’t find himself ill often. He is always touched when M/C offers to help or look after him when he is ill, even if he takes some persuading from the people that care about him to let them help him get better. His parents like to joke that the brother must be linked because no matter how far apart, the three brothers always seem to get ill around the same time. This leads to a lot of joking phone calls trying to find out which brother is to blame for ‘getting them all sick’.

If M/C ever got ill, he is the first person to notice and is quick to offer help. From the mix of his sports experience, getting sick a lot while young, as well as suffering through rather bad growing pains after he hit 14 till turning 18, he always seems to have painkillers around as well as heating pads or hot water bottles. His strength lay in actually helping cure the sickness and its side effects. He generally isn’t that queasy around vomit, leading to him with either a bowl/bucket or if not a supportive back rub if M/C has a particularly nasty bug or illness as well as being strong enough to offer to piggyback or carry them to bed if its needed. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be the first person to offer mental and emotional support alongside it. He normally ends up joking with you throughout the whole period M/C is ill if they are in the mood to stomach it. If not, he is always happy to give hugs not caring if he gets ill, saying he’s too buff to get ill, forcing a laugh or smile from M/C with a strongman pose. If they aren’t too sensitive to light or noise, he will offer to put on whatever M/C would like to watch, if M/C doesn’t pick something and lets him decide he will pick a movie he knows M/C likes regardless, asking them questions when they seem interested above the movie in order to distract M/C into info-dumping about it. However, due to his vigilance at helping M/C, if things start looking like they are getting worse he normally ends up anxiously double-checking M/C’s temperature or making sure they are intaking enough fluids and food. He is more than willing to take M/C to a GP or the Doctors the minute things are looking bad. If M/C is stubborn he is not beyond carrying them to the car and driving them or just using bribery. He’d rather have M/C be mad at him than them getting seriously sick. But he does always follow up on his bribery so M/C, though mad, does normally end up getting whatever food or treat they want afterward.

Baxter Ward:

If there is one thing Baxter doesn’t like. It’s not being able to work. As such, he hates more than anything being sick. The problem that peoples face with Baxter being sick is that he will hide it until it’s impossible to hide it anymore. He will do anything to continue going on like normal. Tired? down some coffee or work from home. Headache? Wear some sunglasses and listen to some white noise. Sneezing or coughing? Downplay it as a simple cold or hay fever. So, M/C has to be just as sneaky. If they are snuggling and he falls asleep, M/C will test his forehead for a temperature and always carry cough sweets, hay fever tablets, and sunglasses just in case to see if he reacts. After some investigation, and a lot of downplaying on Baxter’s end, he normally comes clean and states he’s a ‘light unwell’. Then comes the next battle. This being actually looking after him. He hates feeling like Mc is ‘wasting’ their time or going out of their way. Constantly apologizing no matter how small the act is that M/C does. However, he appreciates its immensely. He feels ashamed that he isn’t able to deal with the sickness alone, arguing in his own head that adults can look after themselves. M/C reminding them that their Mum’s look after each other whenever they are ill, detailing a time M/C remembers their Mom made chicken soup, homemade orange juice for their Ma when they came home from work with tonsillitis. Normally retelling this makes Baxter chuckle, making him mutter something about ‘some orange juice might be nice, and maybe some comfort would help him get back to work quicker’. But once Baxter starts feeling comfortable and lets up his stubborn walls, he admits that he enjoys M/C comfort. M/C is more than happy to offer head massages, getting as many cold compresses as possible when he needs them, getting him food and just making sure he was taking his medication when he needed.

Meanwhile, though he ignores his own illnesses. If anyone he cares about someone. He will go above and beyond to help them. When they were younger, he would normally find out either from Cove or from knocking on M/C door to have their parents explain that M/C is ill. It would take him long to make his way to town after asking M/C parents if they need anything and picking more than enough supplies to find something to cheer them up. Normally if the illness is bad enough that the M/C cannot text or move about, he will just leave a note with the supplies. Then when they see them later on in the week, he will always ask how they are normally with M/C smiling at their cute note.

However, as Baxter got older, though he became a bit more isolated he still did check in on his co-workers. If he notices someone has been gone for a couple of days, he’ll text them a kind message to see how they are. If they are ill, he will find a small gift – either tea, coffee, or a small snack to leave on their desk with a ‘hope you are well’. If when M/C mentions they are not well, Baxter is happy to take some time off, if possible, to look after them if they would like. If M/C is unwell enough that they are stuck in bed, Baker would recall the story M/C shared about their Mum’s, and a drowsy M/C might walk into the kitchen to find Baxter shirt sleeves rolled up, a YouTube video playing at the lowest volume as to not waking M/C up, all while a tasty soup cooking on the stove.

[p0patochisps]

What IS Epic The Musical

I WAS WAITING FOR THIS GOD DAMN MOMENT.

OKAY. BUCKLE YOUR SEATBELT ANON, BECAUSE YOU JUST UNLEASHED MY ADVERTISEMENT SIDE /HJ

According to the EPIC website, EPIC is a loose musical adaptation of Homer's Odyssey written by Jorge 'Jay' Rivera-Herrans. Jay also voices Odysseus, the main character of the musical.

It is completely sung through, consisting of 40 songs. The musical has two acts, which are then split into nine 'sagas'. There are five sagas in act one (Troy, Cyclops, Ocean, Circe and Underworld) and four in act two (Thunder, Wisdom, Vengeance, and Ithica).

As the show is still a work in progress, the songs are still being released on platforms in their entirety. As of right now, the Troy, Cyclops, and Ocean sagas have been released with the Circe saga coming sometime soon.

Jay posts consistently on platforms such as TikTok and YouTube, showing his working progress with little sneak peaks at the songs and little bits of information about each of them that really enhance the listening experience!

Plot wise, like I said, EPIC is loosely based on Homer's Odyssey. Homer was an ancient Greek poet, and he is credited for both the Odyssey and the Iliad.

The iliad is the first of the two, telling the story of the Trojan War and all that happened. The Odyssey is about the journey Odysseus and the six hundred Ithican soldiers took to return to their homeland post-war (Spoiler alert. It doesn't work out very well)

EPIC follows Odysseus as he tries so very, very hard to return to his wife, Penelope, and his son, Telemachus. However, every monster, God, and Goddess in the entirety of Greece and Olympus seems to have beef with this man and he struggles to get home.

He's somehow meant to be one of the most intelligent Greeks out there, cunning and clever and a brilliant soldier (so much so that Athena- Goddess of W i s d o m- decides to be his mentor) and yet he has a knack of pissing everyone off.

Anyway, the Trojan War took him away from Ithica and his family for ten years, and then EPIC follows his stupidly long and complicated journey home in the most stunning, heart-wrenching, tear jerking, awe inspiring way it can.

It's greek mythology, what isn't there to love about it.

I doooo heavily recommend it. So, so very much. So much. Jay is so very, very talented, and all of the singers in EPIC are so very talented. I think the songs are on most platforms (I'll link spotify and YouTube below). I also recommend looking at his TikTok or YouTube pages because this man is hilarious, and the process to the creation of this musical is so very interesting.

Okay bye bye :))

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLqxvpcFchZLtYj30bSGmm64JibFLaWOAJ&si=fRBt3GoRCwew5_Sd

^this has all thirteen released songs on for YouTube.

https://youtube.com/@JayHerrans?si=7qR098QuuulGBxYg

^This is Jay's YouTube page.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6T7xIAK4W0Fwxp04fSjpE9?si=iccq-vm-SD-i5X0TcXMTBw&pi=e-RZKH3MfvTXmQ

^This is a playlist of released songs on Spotify.

https://www.tiktok.com/@jorgeherrans?_t=8j0ebB8Ka7V&_r=1

^This is Jay's TikTok.

He is also on iTunes but I don't have an account and I can't be bothered to make one (sorry)

IF YOU LISTEN, DROP ME A MESSAGE OR A COMMENT BECAUSE I LIKE TO TALK ABOUT IT.

[sugar-and-spite]

finally watched the vengeance saga and i am being so, so normal about this. spoiler rambles below the cut. i watched a bunch of different animatics for most of the songs so there will be comments about both the actual songs & official animatics, plus the other fan animatics i saw

not sorry for loving you

first off. CALYPSO. MY GIRL. i'm so glad jorge did her right with this song. i remember adoring calypso in the odyssey, and while epic definitely put her in a more manipulative and antagonistic role than i remember her having, she has a reason. i felt like love in paradise kind of rushed her entire character and i'm so glad she got fleshed out more here.

while she is being manipulative, i definitely don't agree with the people saying she's doing it on purpose. she's been alone for a hundred years, of course she'd be lonely. also like. she's literally never known any other people to know whether she's being manipulative or not, so

also i watched the most animatics for this one and calypso being skinny feels so weird to me, she's at least chubby imo

also extremely funny that jorge got gigi to animate for this one for the stream. gigi being known for having the best circe saga animatics and jorge is like "hm you know who i want to animate this other woman who's manipulating odysseus?" incredible.

and there's this which i said to my bf:

dangerous

"six hundred men, six hundred dead under my command, 'cause i had one goal in mind... [silence]" OKAY YEAH I DIDN'T NEED MY HEART. FUCK.

HERMES IS BACK, BABY!

ximena natzel has the best hermes animatics, the official hermes is good but ximena's is better, if you haven't seen ximena's animatics for "wouldn't you like" and "dangerous" go watch them NOW

they canonized the fluffy winions, i'm not even sure who first came up with that design for them (mircsy was the first one i saw) but they're wonderful and amazing

hermes is just amazing and all of his songs are amazing and this is amazing (can you tell i have a favorite song from vengeance saga)

i love that they also included actual sirens in the official animatic!! the birds with women's faces, those are what sirens actually look like in the myths and mermaid-sirens are more common to see nowadays but it's not The Og, and i'm so so happy they used og sirens (this made me giddy in the same way all the "ruthlessness" animatics with horses in them made me giddy, little-known myth details my beloved)

the callbacks to "keep your friends close"! both musically and lyrically! and the callback to "wouldn't you like" with hermes going "don't thank me" and "good luck!" jorge is always on point with the callbacks

charybdis

took a couple listens for me to really vibe with this, it's kinda filler but that's fine they can't all be bangers

someone pointed out this is the only song we have so far that's 100% solo odysseus with no background vocals or other characters so that's neat

feels like this could've been longer? or fleshed out more? it feels kinda abrupt. but there's gotta be some losers they can't all be winners

get in the water

i need to hear this sung by a woman right now actually so i can be equally bisexual about the original and a female cover.

honestly i don't think i had a single thought in my head through the entire song besides damn. holy SHIT. holy shit this one is good. this is so fucking good.

i lied i had a singular coherent thought (on the second watch): it's subtle, but i think there's a musical callback to the end of "god games" during odysseus's part. when he's begging poseidon to let him go, the music is really similar to when athena begs zeus to let him go at the end of "god games."

six hundred strike

hoooooooly shit. oh my god. what the fuck. not to be bisexual but -

(hottest odysseus has ever been)

he has the power of (the wind) god and anime on his side

with the power of friendship and this jetpack he found -

the callbacks

"you can't kill me." "exactly." HOTTEST ODYSSEUS HAS EVER BEEN

NEXT TO MY WIFE

oh my god. holy fuck. oh my god

anyway this has been rey's (lack of) thoughts about the vengeance saga thanks for joining me i'm so, so normal about this musical

[safetycar-restart]

Hi,

I’m not sure if you’ve done this and I apologise if you have already but what hybrid is each driver and what are they like? Again very sorry if you’ve already done this

Hi anon! Absolutely I can go over them. Also, remember that these things aren't set in stone. If you guys want to ask about a driver/rider being a different hybrid, feel free to! The ones I'm about to list are just how I picture the drivers :)) Also, I don't think I've ever written about the hybrid AU with Motogp riders, so I've added some of them as well!

BUNNY HYBRIDS:

Charles, Arthur, Fabio

WOLF HYBRIDS:

Pierre, Carlos, Marco

CAT HYBRIDS:

Lando, Oscar, Esteban, Marc, Alex M, Yuki, Lance

DOG HYBRIDS:

Logan, Mick, Jorge

FOX HYBRIDS:

Pedro, Nyck,

[42bakery]

i'm not trying to start anything but you said that pecco basically says slightly different things to different media, i think that's actually pretty common or at least i've seen marc marquez do it multiple times he's def more tame to italian and english media compared to spain, same with jorge m. maybe it's part of their pr training?? (not saying it's okay)

Hi there anon 👋👋👋👋. I'm sorry for not answering immediately.

I wasn't aware they Marc and Martín also do this, but based on the lack of controversy on the subject, I would say it's not that different from what they say to the Spanish and non-Spanish and non-Italian media. Whereas Pecco is because he has thrown at leas 2 times the mistranslated or misquoted to the medias. In fact there's at leas 2-3 times per season we come here and bitch about what Pecco has said for him to say 'well media didn't get the full quote' or 'it's a bad translation'.

For example when he said that satellite bikes need to be slower to avoid the start melle, he said it to DAZN Spain and he clearly said that. They didn't miss quote him. Then because DORNA officials follow the Spanish media around the paddock, they reported it too and in the next GP he said he mistranslated. And no, Pecco is not stupid. He didn't hesitate nor need help with Spanish words, he really chose to say that. That's why I say Pecco is an expert in media manipulation.

I don't have access to Italian media, but I can say that Joan, Rins and Aleix always say the same (or try to, sometimes the wording is different but is the same meaning) when they speak to DAZN and when they speak to the official broadcast, so it's not PR training. That is Pecco, Martín and Marc choosing to do it. I can see why Marc does, he has most, if not all, Italy against him, so he tries to be more tame and polite.

[foggyfanfic]

The Jorge Situation

Chapter Preview: “But we’re magic! And so is our house,” Octavia argued, “A pool's just a hole with water in it. How hard can it be?”

“Um,” Mirabel said, but before she could come up with a reason why they shouldn’t do this, Camilo cut her off.

“You know what, I say we follow the six year old,” he said, “she has a point.”

First Prev Next Masterlist

“Please Luisa,” they all chorused together, hands clasped under their chins.

Luisa frowned down at them, eyes soft, “I-I’m sorry, I really can’t, I have chores.”

“You always have chores,” Amada pointed out, putting her hands on her hips.

“And it’s so hot out,” Mirabel said, “don’t you usually take the day off when it’s this hot?”

“Come on, doesn’t a jump in the pool sound nice,” Camilo cajoled.

“Pool party, pool party, pool party,” tiny little Octavia chanted, marching back and forth and pumping her fists in the air.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Luisa hedged, inching away from the small army of puppy dog eyes.

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Camilo groaned.

“Does that guy really need you to round up his donkeys every day,” Amada groused.

“But we haven’t gotten to play with you in forever,” Mirabel grumped, crossing her arms and pouting.

Octavia continued to chant “Pool party!” as she now circled around Luisa.

“Aw geez, I know, I’m sorry, really I am,” Luisa said, even as she plucked Octavia up and moved her out of the way. As soon as Octavia was back on the ground, Luisa was off, speed walking out of the house.

“But it’s so hot!” Camilo shouted after her.

She didn’t respond.

“Darn,” Amada sighed.

“Now what?” Octavia asked, finally cutting the chant off.

“Let’s ask one of the adults if Gabe can take us to the river,” Mirabel suggested, already turning towards Tío Bruno’s door.

“Can’t,” Amada shook her head, “they’re all out.”

“What? All of them?” Camilo wrinkled his brow, “Even Tío Bruno?”

Amada nodded, “You know how your mom has that doctor appointment today? She might get bad news, so my Pá and Tío Agustín are setting up a gift basket to cheer her up.”

“Bad news?” Camilo asked.

“Yeah, she’s older than most women are when they get pregnant,” Amada shrugged.

There was a pause.

“Tía Pepa is pregnant?!” Octavia all but shouted.

“My Má isn’t pregnant,” Camilo said, at the same time.

“Oh, we should do something nice too!” Mirabel decided, turning towards Gabriel’s room instead.

“She is, I saw it,” Amada argued, “that’s why there’s a new door.”

“What? No it isn’t,” Camilo turned to gape at the new door, then much like Octavia had, shouted, “My Má is pregnant?”

“Sí,” Amada nodded once, joining Mirabel outside of Gabriel’s door.

“Ay, mios dios,” Camilo put a hand over his mouth, “I’m going to have a baby sister?”

“Or brother,” Mirabel said, knocking on Gabriel’s door.

Camilo scoffed, “Please, in this family? Pretty sure I’m cursed to forever be surrounded by girls.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Octavia asked.

Camilo shrugged, “Don’t know, but my Pá’s friends are always saying they feel sorry for me.”

“Your Pá doesn’t even like those guys, the ones from the masonry, right?” Amada said, “He’s always one bad joke away from smacking one of them.”

“Really? Then why does he talk to them?”

“Why does who talk to who?” Gabriel asked, opening his door.

“Why does Tío Felíx talk to the guys who work for the mason?” Octavia asked.

“Oh, because it makes negotiating with the mason whenever the mill needs a new stone easier and he lost the coin toss between him and Tío Felípe,” Gabriel answered, “is that what you guys wanted?”

“We want to do something nice for Tía Pepa, in case she gets bad news about the baby,” Mirabel said.

Gabriel blinked at her for a few beats, then looked at Amada, “Pretty sure Tía Pepa didn’t want any of you kids knowing yet.”

“Oh,” Amada said, “oops.”

“Amada wants to do something nice for my Má to apologize for blabbing her secret to everybody,” Camilo amended Mirabel’s previous statement.

Gabriel snorted, and left his room fully, “What’d you have in mind?”

“Oh, um,” Mirabel looked around at her cousins, hoping one of them would have an idea, she received a bunch of blank looks, “what do you think would cheer her up?”

“Well, she’s been complaining about the heat,” Gabriel said, then he started walking towards Abuela’s room, “I’ll ask Abuela if we can go to the market, maybe we can make her ice cream or something.”

“Abuela’s not here,” Amada said, “she’s with Má, mediating negotiations between Tío Al and that one jerk head.”

Tío Al was the new goat herder, who had taken over from their Má’s father. He had been herding the goats for years with no problems, but now that their abuelo was taking a step back and fully retiring, one of the farmers had started trying to push Al around. Their Má had slipped up a few times and referred to the farmer in question as something much worse than a jerk head.

“Oh,” Gabriel stopped, he was old enough to leave the house by himself, and old enough to take the younger kids out, but not old enough to take the younger kids out without telling an adult where they were going.

“Maybe Isabela can take us,” Camilo suggested. Isabela and Dolores were old enough that they could take the younger kids out without asking permission, just so long as they also took one of the other older kids with them to help out.

“She’s out too,” Amada shook her head, “she’s helping the Cortez family plan the decorations for that party they’re throwing next week.”

“Dolores?” Octavia asked.

“I think she’s home,” Amada said.

“Yeah, but she’s in her Sanctum of Silence,” Camilo said, “she wasn’t feeling well earlier.”

“Well, there has to be something we can do here at home to cheer Tía Pepa up,” Mirabel refused to be deterred.

As one, they all turned to look up at Gabriel. As a wise and worldly twelve year old, they figured he would have some insight.

“Oh, uh, we could um, make her something else?” he suggested, nervously sweeping his curls back from his face.

“Like what?” Camilo asked.

Octavia gasped, then whispered, “Pool party!”

“What?”

“Pool party,” she cried, throwing her hands in the air, “she’s been hot and might be sad, let’s throw a pool party! With dancing, she loves dancing.”

“Má does love dancing,” Camilo agreed.

“Great, let’s ask Luisa-,” Gabriel started to say.

“She’s already out doing chores,” Mirabel said.

“Oh, so no pool then,” Gabriel deflated, “not much of a pool party.”

“No, no, guys, guys, guys,” Octavia hopped up and down, “we can make one!”

“A pool?” Amada asked.

“Sí!”

“We only have a couple hours before she gets back,” Gabriel pointed out.

“But we’re magic! And so is our house,” Octavia argued, “It’s just a hole with water in it. How hard can it be?”

“Um,” Mirabel said, but before she could come up with a reason why they shouldn’t do this, Camilo cut her off.

“You know what, I say we follow the six year old,” he said, “she has a point.”

“Yeah, let’s follow the six year old,” Octavia cheered, already running towards the stairs.

“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Gabriel followed after her, “where would we get the water?”

“Well,” Mirabel started to say, then grimaced, knowing before the sentence was fully out of her mouth that what she was about to suggest was a bad idea, “you uh, you could use your gift to transport all the water we’d need.”

Gabriel frowned, “My gift-?”

“Sí, if you uh, if you just make a shield underwater, then bring it back to the pool and pop it, then ta-da, water,” Mirabel explained, wiping her palms on her skirt.

Gabriel made a quiet, thoughtful noise, then turned to Amada, “How likely is this to end well?”

Amada blinked and her eyes turned gold, she looked around the room and got this weird sort of smile on her face, “We should do it.”

“Really?” Gabriel asked, face crinkling with doubt.

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“Are you sure?”

“Nothing will make Tía Pepa happier,” Amada said, Gabriel examined her for a long time, then slowly nodded.

“Alright, if you’re absolutely positive?”

“Completely.”

“Hm, well, then guess I’ll just head down to the nearest body of water,” he said, “where will I be bringing this water to? Front yard or back?”

“Actually, I was thinking-,” Octavia started to say.

“Front will be better,” Amada cut her off.

“Bien, front it is,” he slowly backed up, watching Amada, surely hoping she would announce she was just kidding or something. When she didn’t, he reluctantly turned and left the house.

As soon as he was gone, Amada turned to Octavia, “Don’t worry, we’re going with your idea.”

“Whoo!” Octavia cheered.

“What’s her idea?” Mirabel asked slowly, anything Amada felt she needed to hide from Gabriel was bound to be bad.

“Casita will be the pool,” Octavia answered, “because Casita is probably hot too, right Casita?”

There was a slightly uncertain clatter of tiles, then a sheepish wobble of the light fixtures.

“Really?” Mirabel asked, “You get hot?”

Casita made a wavey gesture with the floorboards that Mirabel knew to mean, “Kinda, not like you, but I definitely wouldn’t mind being a pool for a little.”

“Huh, alright, Casita wants to be a pool,” Mirabel took a minute to let that sink in, then frowned at her assembled cousins, “so uh, how do we make Casita a pool?”

“We need to block off some of the doors so the water doesn’t get out,” Camilo said.

“I’ll grab some rocks,” Octavia shouted, running out to the backyard.

Mirabel followed after her, “Wait, shouldn’t we think about this a little more before-.”

“Hah!” Camilo suddenly laughed behind her, Mirabel whipped around and saw him standing next to Amada, one hand slapped over his mouth. The pair stared back at her, trying to look innocent.

“We should get the furniture out of the courtyard,” Amada said.

Mirabel narrowed her eyes at them, now positive Amada was up to something. She crossed her arms, setting her chin.

“Mirabel, I promise, if this goes exactly right, it’ll make Tía Pepa really, really happy,” Amada put her hands up, “trust me?”

Mirabel searched her face, but only saw sincerity, so she sighed, “Bien, let’s move the furniture.”

Casita helped them by moving the bigger furniture so they mostly just moved the paintings on the first story out of the way. Mirabel was very careful to prop them all up on the chairs in the dining room so that their placement roughly matched where they had been in the courtyard. She figured that’d make it easier to put everything back in the long run. Meanwhile, Amada and Camilo moved a few things upstairs where they’d be dry but still accessible, like the record player and a hammock.

Shortly after, Octavia came back with some boulders which she molded to fit the doorways.

“Casita,” Mirabel said slowly, “can you make the floor um lower?”

Casita shivered proudly, and Mirabel could almost hear a voice saying, “No, but watch this.”

Instead of sinking the floor, Casita grew three feet and left the courtyard on the ground. The tiles around the edge of the courtyard folded themselves into steps up to the newly created half floor. Octavia and Camilo cheered, while Amada laughed in amazement.

“That’s so clever,” Amada said, and Casita briefly lit all the lights in the house, literally glowing from the praise.

“Gracias Casita,” Mirabel said, trotting up to the nearest wall to place her hand on it.

Casita merrily clattered some tiles at her.

“Let’s get our bathing suits on,” Camilo said, already jogging towards the stairs.

“Wait! We need food for the party,” Mirabel pointed out.

“Oh, good point,” he switched directions and followed Mirabel into the kitchen.

“Hm, what can we make,” Mirabel mused, putting her hands on her hips. Being nine years old, she wasn’t allowed to use knives or the oven without adult supervision, which ruled out a lot of stuff in the kitchen.

“Ummm,” Camilo, also being nine and therefore forbidden from using knives and ovens, drummed his fingers on his legs, “fruit basket?”

Mirabel slowly nodded, she walked over to the shelves by the pantry and grabbed a basket, “What fruit do we have?”

Camilo was already digging through the pantry, he popped his head out and said, “Mostly mangoes and avocado.”

She wrinkled her nose, “Avocado isn’t a fruit.”

“Yes it is.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Is to.”

“Is not.”

“If it’s not a fruit, what is it? A vegetable?”

Mirabel scowled, but didn’t answer, because it wasn’t a vegetable either. She was pretty sure, at least.

“See! See! Avocado’s a fruit. I’m putting it in the fruit basket,” he stepped out of the pantry with his arms full of avocados and dumped them into the basket.

“Nobody eats just avocados,” Mirabel argued, “you’re supposed to put them on stuff!”

“Like what? We’re not allowed to cook.”

Once again, Mirabel didn’t have a good response, so she just said, “This fruit basket is going to be dumb.”

“You’re going to be dumb,” Camilo said, dumping an armful of mangoes into the basket next.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she adjusted her grip on the basket, which was already getting kind of heavy.

“You don’t make any sense,” he retorted.

Mirabel rolled her eyes, and started to call him stupid, when he stepped out of the pantry with a couple ears of unhusked corn, “Corn’s a vegetable! And you have to take the leaves off of it first!”

“It’s the only plant we have left,” Camilo argued, throwing the corn into the basket.

“What?! Nuh uh,” she shoved the basket into his hands and looked in the pantry, “we have raisins!”

“Raisins aren’t a plant!”

“Yes they are, they’re grapes,” Mirabel pulled the bag of raisins out and placed it in the basket.

“What? Really?” Camilo set the basket down so he could look in the bag.

“Yeah, they’re dried up grapes.”

“Oh,” he frowned at them, “but my Tío Felípe told me they were bugs.”

“Ew! Gross! If you thought they were bugs, why’d you like them so much?!”

“We eat bugs all the time,” Camilo reasoned, “like beans.”

“Camilo, beans aren’t bugs either,” Mirabel said, “did Tío Felípe say they were?”

“Is anything bugs?!”

“Not that we eat,” Mirabel shook her head.

“What about honey?”

“Bugs make it, but they aren’t like, in the honey, you know?”

Camilo looked back down at the raisins, and sighed woefully, “I’m never eating beans again.”

“Because it’s not bugs?”

“Sí.”

Mirabel opened her mouth to ask about raisins and honey, but was cut off when Amada called for them. She helped Camilo lug the “fruit” basket into the courtyard turned empty pool and was struck by how much brighter it was. She looked at the front door and saw a big ball of light that was full of water. Or rather, she saw a part of the big ball of light, it was large enough that Mirabel couldn’t see the full thing through the doorway.

Amada’s eyes flashed gold, then she grinned, “We’re on the right track.”

Camilo snickered, Mirabel looked between the two of them. They were both way too happy about something.

“Guys?” Gabriel’s voice called out, sounding a bit ragged, “Where’s the pool?”

“It’s in here,” Camilo called.

There was a pause, the light making up the ball warbled and thinned. Mirabel gulped and took a step back towards the kitchen, but Octavia had already begun plugging up the doorway. Thankfully, Gabriel must have noticed the light thinning, because he added more to his shield. The ball rolled away from the door a little, so Gabriel could step into the doorway, sweating through his shirt and looking exhausted.

“What do you mean it’s in here,” he gasped, looking around the transformed courtyard, “no, no, no, no. You said we would put it out front!”

“Nuh-uh, I said the front yard would be best,” Amada shook her head, “but this will make Tía Pepa happier!”

Gabriel gaped at her, the light thinning again. Mirabel took another nervous step back and pointed at it, by the time she’d got out a single “UM!” Gabriel had turned and noticed the thinning light. With a tired puff of air, he once more returned his focus to the ball of water.

When the light shaping the ball was nice and thick, he turned halfway back towards them, keeping one eye on the shield, “How exactly does this make Tía Pepa happier?!”

“You’ll see, just trust me!”

“I- you-. Nope! I’m putting the water back,” he said, turning to put both hands on the ball. He braced to start rolling it back the way he came, only to hear something that made all of them freeze.

“Gabriel?” Tío Bruno’s voice wound its way around the ball and into the courtyard, “What uh, what’s this?”

He slowly walked around the ball, holding a box of chocolates in one hand and a bottle of orange colored juice in the other, studying it with a raised eyebrow. When he reached Gabriel he gave him a quizzical look, glanced into Casita, then did a double take.

Octavia, who had just finished plugging up the doorway to the kitchen, happily trotted up to him, “Papa! Papa! We’re throwing a pool party for Tía Pepa!”

For a second, it didn’t look like Tío Bruno understood what Octavia had just said to him, as if she had spoken Russian or Ancient Greek. Then, he looked around the courtyard with a look of slowly dawning horror, his head whipped over to the giant ball of water, then to the blocked up doors. Mouth opening and closing uselessly, he started slowly shaking his head.

“It’s uh, it’s my fault Pá,” Gabriel tried to say.

Tío Bruno barked out an almost hysterical laugh, “Yeah, right!”

Everybody startled at the volume, and Tío Bruno rattled out a few quick sorries, before pinching the bridge of his nose. He took some deep breaths.

Finally, he splayed out his hands and said, “Ok, this is ok, I’m the only one who saw this, so this is fine. We’ll just clean all this up before-.”

“Gabriel? What’s this for?” Agustín interrupted Tío Bruno, also walking around the ball and examining it with a raised eyebrow.

Tío Bruno paused, then said, “Nope, still fine, it’s just Agustín. This is still fine.”

“Actually,” Agustín said slowly, eyes roving the courtyard with growing alarm, “the others are right behind me. Juli and Félix are trying to slow Pepa down so we have enough time to set up her surprise. Uh, what’s-?”

“It’s for Tía Pepa,” Octavia said, now sounding just a little defensive, “we want to make her happy, too!”

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” Agustín said, then cast another confused look around.

“It’s a pool party,” Tío Bruno supplied, deadpan.

Agustín’s face dropped and he paled considerably, after a beat he turned to Tío Bruno and in a hushed voice said, “We need to act fast.”

“Right,” Tío Bruno turned to Gabriel, “let’s get this water back where you found it.”

“I’ll help the kids with all this,” Agustín volunteered.

They nodded at each other, Bruno put his hands on the ball, and started to help Gabriel roll it out of the way, only for it to get stuck on something.

“Whoa! Watch out,” Tío Félix called out.

“Fantastic,” Tío Bruno muttered, resting his forehead on the ball of light.

Now, Julieta, Félix and Pepa appeared, also examining the giant ball of water and light. Since there was three of them, they were able to exchange confused glances, before turning to Agustín and Bruno for an explanation.

Before anyone could provide one, however, Camilo sped walked up to Tía Pepa, lugging the fruit basket, “Mamí! We made you a fruit basket!”

“Oh! Camilo mijo, that’s so- um,” Tía Pepa took the basket and looked inside of it, her smile seemed just a bit strained to Mirabel’s eyes as she said, “thank you corazon! This is lovely.”

“De nada,” he said, hugging her.

“Tía Pepa! Go back outside, the rest of the surprise isn’t ready yet,” Octavia said.

“Surprise?”

“Octavia, we’re not doing it,” Gabriel said gently.

“Why not?! We’re almost done,” Octavia protested.

“What’s uh, what’s the surprise?” Tío Félix asked.

“We were going to throw Mamí a pool party to cheer her up if the doctor made her sad,” Camilo explained, “but now Gabriel’s being boring.”

“You were what?!”

“I’m not being boring!”

“You did all this for me?”

“Why not just use Luisa’s pool?”

“We need to get this all cleaned up before Má gets home.”

“Too late,” Abuela called out over the riot of voices, and everybody froze, as her and Tía Leandra rounded the ball of water, she started to ask, “What in the world-?”

“Perfect,” Amada whispered, as the sunlight began to coalesce around her.

“Abuela,” Gabriel gasped, sounding horrified.

“Mijo, the wa-,” Tío Bruno tried to say.

But it was too late, the second Gabriel laid his eyes on Abuela he encased all of the women and other children in balls of light. In doing so, he pulled the light not just from the sun above, but the giant ball of water under his hands.

It burst.

Four male voices cried out in dismay as a wave of river water fell onto them, soaking the front yard, Casita’s entryway, and the four people who hadn’t received light shields. A few fish flopped around on the ground, and one managed to maintain impressive balance flopping on Tío Félix’s head. Another wiggled vigorously where it was trapped in Agustín’s breast pocket.

Tía Pepa made a choked sound, slapping a hand over her mouth.

“Whoops,” Gabriel said, the shields all flickering out as water dripped off of him. There was a dead, water logged leaf in his hair.

Tía Pepa’s shoulders started to shake.

“What is going on?” Abuela asked, looking too bewildered to be truly angry.

A few squeaks squeezed their way out from between Tía Pepa’s fingers.

“The kids wanted to do something nice for Pepa,” Tío Bruno sighed, parting his wet hair so everybody could see the extremely tired look on his face.

Just like the ball of light, Tía Pepa burst. Despite her best efforts, laughter roared out of her, staining the early afternoon sky with two brilliant rainbows.

“It worked,” Amada cried, throwing her hands up into the air and hopping up and down a little, splashing in the puddle that was spreading into Casita.

“Love you Mamí,” Camilo said through his own laughter, hugging her tighter.

“You knew this was going to happen?” Mirabel asked, “The whole time?!”

“I knew it might happen,” Amada corrected, “and look, look! See how happy Tía Pepa is!”

Indeed, Tía Pepa was still giggling, trying to wipe tears from her eyes. Every time she opened them and looked at one of the men, another peal of laughter burst out of her. And she wasn’t the only one, Julieta and Tía Leandra were also hiding smiles and laughter behind their hands. They both made a passable effort to look sympathetic to their husbands, but neither quite succeeded.

“I want you to know,” Tío Bruno said to Tía Leandra, “I blame you for this.”

“Me? I just got here.”

“Exactly. You weren’t here, and I was dry, then you get here and poof, within seconds I’m completely soaked.”

Tía Leandra opened her mouth to respond, noticed Mirabel paying attention to her, then leaned in and whispered something to Tío Bruno. 

Tío Bruno turned very red and muttered, “Lucky Dolores is spending the day in her sanctum.”

Meanwhile, Julieta carefully pulled the fish out of Agustín’s pocket, then held it for a second. After a little bit of deliberation, she put it back in his pocket.

“It seems wrong to just throw a living creature on the ground,” she told him, when he raised an eyebrow at her.

“So, the plan is for it to live in my favorite vest?”

“Well, the silver scales do go really well with that shade of blue.”

Agustín looked down, “Huh, so it does.”

Mirabel looked over at Abuela, to see her reaction, but couldn’t decipher the look on her face. Abuela kept looking around the courtyard, her mouth starting to tug into a frown, then she’d look at Agustín, Bruno, or Félix and start to smile, then her eyes would land at Gabriel and she would look almost sympathetic, before looking back at the courtyard and starting the cycle over again. Eventually, she just sighed, chuckled, and nodded.

“Well, they’ve certainly succeeded in cheering Pepa,” she said, “hopefully, you children will be equally successful cleaning all this up.”

“Of course Abuela, we’ll get right-,” Gabriel started to say.

“Not you,” Abuela held up a hand, “at least, not until you dry off first. You’ll just track more water all over the house.”

Gabriel grimaced, and nodded. Tío Bruno patted him on the back.

“Casita,” Abuela called out, and the house stayed very, very still, “care to explain why you allowed this to happen?”

Casita didn’t respond at first, then sheepishly rattled some of the roof tiles.

“You were hot? Casita, you’re a house,” Abuela said, “do you get hot?”

Casita rattled out a confirmation, and at first Abuela didn’t respond, she just gaped up at the house for a few beats. Mirabel thought she may have heard Abuela mutter something along the lines of “Just when I think I’m used to all this magic” but wasn’t sure. Abuela shook her surprise off and promised Casita they would talk about ways to cool the house down that didn’t involve allowing a bunch of kids to flood the first floor.

“Mirabel,” Abuela said next.

“Sí Abuela?” Mirabel asked, trying not to shrink in on herself too obviously.

“Did you help with all this?”

“It uh it was sort of my idea,” she answered.

“Really?” Abuela asked shocked.

“Mirabel was the one who thought we should do something nice for Tía Pepa,” Gabriel said, “the rest is my fault.”

Abuela didn’t look anymore convinced than Tío Bruno had about that last part, but she didn’t respond to it, “Sí, well, as always, it is good of you to want to help your familia. How about you help the men get themselves dried off? Meet them out back with some towels.”

“Sí Abuela,” she said, she started to head towards the stairs, but stopped when she realized she was about to track watery footsteps onto the dry part of the house. She carefully stopped at the edge of the puddle, then stepped out of her shoes. Picking them up, she quickly made her way up the stairs to grab some towels.

“As for the rest of you, I believe you know where the mops are,” Abuela said.

“Can’t we help the men too?” Octavia asked.

“Mija, you are the only one who can move the rocks,” Tía Leandra pointed out gently.

“Aaaaw,” Octavia said, but at her mother’s urging, began doing just that, grumbling all the while.

—

Bruno sighed, staring longingly at his nice, warm bed. Leandra, who was busy tucking her curls into her silk hair wrap, noticed him doing so in the mirror. She turned to give him a sympathetic smile.

“You don’t have to do it tonight,” she pointed out, “you can check tomorrow.”

“They’ve been changing so quickly, I-I want to see if they’re affected by what happened today,” he said, “like how they got bigger on Isabela’s birthday, but smaller on Camilo’s.”

“Hm,” she tucked the last curl in, then stood and walked over to him, “maybe we should start writing some of this stuff down.”

He nodded, sighing, “Maybe.”

She squeezed him around the middle, “Do you want me to come keep you company?”

“No, well actually yes, of course I do, but no,” he gave her a rueful smile, “one of us should have enough energy to actually be a parent in the morning.”

“Ah, fair point,” she kissed his cheek, then let him go, “I suppose it’s too late for us to switch?”

“Hah, sí,” he grabbed his bucket and started making his way towards the tent’s exit, “much too late, but you have fun explaining to Octavia why she has to follow you whenever you do errands from now on.”

“Meircoles,” she muttered, getting in the bed.

Suddenly feeling much better about having to work on the cracks instead of sleeping, Bruno wished her a good night, then left her to rest up for a long day of dragging a bored six year old around the market. He hummed quietly to himself as he made his way through his room, then cut the humming short the second his door was open. Checking first to make sure the coast was clear, he tiptoed out of his room and gently closed the door behind him.

Silently, he made the short journey to the painting that hid the secret passage down to the cracks. Then, quietly, he made the long journey down to said cracks.

There were fewer of them today than there were yesterday. He wasn’t sure how to take that.

Was it because Casita spent the day before silently suffering in the heat? Where as today the house received a nice cooling shower of a pond’s worth of water?

Or maybe it was because yesterday Pepa was worried about her new baby, but today she was reassured the baby would be fine, and that her family was there for her?

Or maybe it was just because. Maybe there was no rhyme or reason. Maybe the miracle was just wearing off and he was watching it struggle to keep going. 

Leandra was right, he needed to start writing his observations down.

For the time being, he set his bucket down and got started on mixing the spackle. He had been getting better lately, when he was done, he had a bucket full of spackle that was almost the right consistency. He focused on a crack that hadn’t closed by itself for a few weeks now, ignoring the newer cracks since they might sort themselves out if he let them. With practiced almost ease, he got to work patching the cracks.

[waru-chan8]

i just saw your AMAZING "Would you rather MotoGP Edition!" thing 😍😍 i love it so much! 🥰 and i want to know: 🏆, 🔄, 🛍️ and 🏖️?

Thank you so much Mira 😍😍😍. I'm also glad you liked

🏆 Would you rather third wheel a podium between Fermín&Alonso or Joan&Álex back in their Suzuki era? This one is difficult. I mean I love both teams, but if I have to choose I'll go with my boys the Suzukis. They where my everything and now they are separated and not happy.

🔄 Would you rather learn have a cooking class form Arón or a cross-snitch one from Pol? I took cross-snitch classes in school (it was a mandatory 1 month with 1.5 hours a week) and I din't like it that much. So I'm sorry Pol, I'm going with Arón and his 'Smacheamos la carne'

🛍️ Would you rather let go shopping for clothes with Taka or Dovi? Dovi. He seems to have a more casual wear that fits my style better

🏖️ Would you rather go on family vacation with the Academy at Ibiza or with Aleix, Jorge M. and Fermín in Bali? We are going to Bali baby. I'm choosing this based only that they swim with dolphins and the water seems cleaner.

Thank you so much

[yourimagines]

Jorge masvidal x reader where him and reader go to a party and reader feels like he's ignoring her so she does the same thing the next and he gets kind of irritated cuz he didn't do anything and you complete the rest thank you so much

Sorry it took me so long, had a busy week

I didn’t do anything

* English is not my first language I apologise

* Gif is not mine

* Triggers: swearing, angst, fluff

Y/N POV

There he was talking with some people I don’t even know who they are, totally ignoring me. “Jorge?” I asked politely. He smiled briefly at me and looked back, listening what the other person is telling him. “Jorge, I’m going to get a drink, you want as well?” He looked back at me and shook his head. “Not now babe, I’m busy.” He turned away from me again. ‘Oh okay, you want to play that game… so be it then.’ I turned around and went to the bar. “Hi, one Bacardi Cola.” The bartender nodded and gave me my drink as I payed him. “Thanks.” I grabbed the glass and looked around. People were talking, dancing and watching others just like me. “Hey, you’re Jorge’s girl right?” A tall blond guy stand next to me, also looking around at the club. “Yes, why?” He smiled friendly at me. “I’m one of his old school mates.” I nodded and smiled back. “So you know Jorge when he was a little guy.” He laughs and nods. “Yes I know everything from his childhood.” “Tell me everything then.”

Jorge POV

I looked around to find Y/N, she just disappeared out of nowhere. ‘Where the hell can she be?’ I walked to the bar and saw her talking to Dennis. An old school mate of mine. “Hey there you are.” I said an stood next to her. Dennis smiled at me. “But Dennis, are you sure it wasn’t just a bee?” He laughs. “No it was not just a bee, it was way bigger than that, right Jorge? When I got stung by that weird looking creature.” I laughed and nodded. “Oh yes, no honey that was no average bee.” She didn’t reacted at me, still looking at Dennis. “Is something wrong?” I whispered to her as Dennis ordered a new drink. She turns around and smiles at me. “No, but I’m busy right now.” She immediately turned around to Dennis and started a new conversation with him. ‘What the fuck?’ I looked surprised at her, ignoring me just like that. ‘She mad at you.’ I huffed and order myself a drink, closely watching her. ‘This is going to be an long night.’

It was way to late as we walked to our cab. “Did you enjoy it tonight?” She only nods and get in the cab. I followed her and looked at her. “Is something wrong..?” “Hi, can you bring us to this address please.” She totally ignored me again and showed the driver our address. “Of course..” she smiles and leans back into her seat. “I did something to upset you but I don’t know why, just cut the bullshit already.” She looked at me. “Me? I think you should stop the bullshit Jorge.” She crossed her arms and looked away from me. “What did I do?!” I slightly raised my voice. “Enough, I don’t want to talk to you now.” I huffed and shook my head. “Very mature, okay fine then we don’t talk like adults normally do.” I looked away from her. “Yep, just like we already been doing, ignoring each other.” I looked back at her as she still looked outside her window. “Ignoring?” She stays quiet. “Baby, you thought I was ignoring you?” She turns slightly and looks at me. “Yes, I was asking you something and you just cut me off, with not now babe I’m busy.” She looks down at her hands. “I didn’t know anyone there, you could at least introduced me to them.” I sighed and carefully reached out to her hands. “Baby… I didn’t know, I’m sorry.” I held her hands in mine as she looks up. “I’m sorry, I’m an idiot… do you forgive me?” I looked at her with pleading eyes. “Yeah, only because we are already married.” She joked as she had a small smile on her face. “Good, divorcing is expensive tho.” We both had a laugh about it. “Don’t ever ignore me again Jorge.” “ I promise I will try to not ignore you ever again in the future.” She rolled her eyes at me. “I mean it Jorge.” I nodded “ yeah me too.” I laughed as she slapped my arm. “Okay okay I promise, no need to fight me.” “Good, because I’m the baddest Motherfucker here.” I laughed and shook my head at her. “Are we good again?” “Yes we are good again.” I kissed her temple as she hugs me from the side. “I love you.” “I love you baby.”

[bubblesandgutz]

Hey Brian! Massive fan of Botch, Russian Circles and Sumac!

I was just curious to find out what are some of your favourite books?

Hope to see Russian Circles and Sumac over the pond again in Scotland!

Cheers!

Oh hey! Thanks!

I love Scotland. My genealogy-obsessed aunt insists our family is descended from Robert the Bruce. Who knows if that's true, but got Bruce as my middle name.

Favorite books? Oh man, this is gonna make me look so uncool.

For pure entertainment, I'd have to go with Stephen King's The Stand. I've read it four or five times over the course of my life. It's just a great epic good-vs-evil story, with some good social commentary sprinkled throughout.

As a teenager who discovered the joys of "classics" in the '90s, I have a soft spot for a lot of the 20th century writers that folks on Twitter love to dunk on these days. But fuck it... Kerouac's Duluoz Legend series made me realize that sometimes the way you write about something can be more interesting than what you're actually writing about.

And yeah, Hemingway was definitely saddled with some unfortunate prejudices, but The Sun Also Rises struck upon a very specific kind of melancholy that I haven't found anywhere else. I was talking about it with a couple of friends and there seemed to be a clear division between people who loved the book and people who were unimpressed: all the people who loved it were folks in touring bands. I think there's just something about that experience of parting ways with someone after being in close companionship in unfamiliar territories for a brief period of time that Hemingway captured perfectly.

As long as we're talking about melancholy and classic authors that folks love to hate on: J.D. Salinger's Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters completely floored me. You can skip the Seymour novella that comes bundled with it. But holy shit, I don't understand why Catcher in the Rye gets all the attention when Raise High is right there next to it on the book shelf.

And fuck it. I loved Infinite Jest and I think about passages from the book all the time. I am a walking stereotype of a Gen X male. Sorry.

More recently? I love Murakami's The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. I love Karl Ove Knausgaard's My Struggle series (granted, part six was a bit of a slog). I love Jorge Luis Borges' Collected Fictions. Patti Smith's Just Kids and M Train. Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five. Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude.

Every once in a blue moon I'll decide to tackle something "difficult" and the experience is always rewarding: Tolstoy's War & Peace (not actually difficult, just long), James Joyce's Ulysses (get a reader's guide and treat it like a puzzle), Thomas Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow (the cashier who sold it to me gave the best advice: at some point you'll have no idea what is goin on... just accept that you're lost and enjoy the ride). While these books are a struggle, they definitely imprint something on the brain. They stay with you.

In the last couple of years, I've really gotten into Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's work, particularly Half of a Yellow Sun, though Americanah and Notes on Grief also bowled me over too. Finally got around to reading Roberto Bolaño's The Savage Detectives and loved it... currently have 2666 in the queue. And I've really been enjoying the stuff put out by a small publisher from the UK called Broodcomb Press that all seems to be in a creepy rustic folk-horror tradition, and I suspect that it's really just one writer working under a series of aliases.

So there ya have it. Kinda basic; nothing crazy. But the classics are classics for a reason, I guess.

[tired-simply-exists]

oh wow hi. jumpscare tag. we're gonna go with video game ost's and lyrical songs wahooo. T - taste (aaron's book club) I - I/Me/Myself (Will Wood) R - Remedy (Undertale Yellow Soundtrack) E - Everybody's Lonely (Jukebox The Ghost) D - Dream Sweet In Sea Major (Miracle Musical)

S - Stalker's Tango (Autoheart) I - It's Pizza Time! (Pizza Tower Soundtrack) M - My Goodbye (Jorge-Rivera-Herrans) P - Promise (Laufey) L - Life and Decay (SaltedSporks) Y - You'll Be Gone (YonKaGor)

E - Enter The Nexus (Madness: Project Nexus Soundtrack) X - (gonna cheat and add a song with an X in the entire song name, sorry :) ) Marx Battle (Kirby Superstar Ultra) I - I Am... All Of Me (Shadow The Hedgehog Soundtrack/Crush 40) S - So You Wanna Marry Daisy (Spence Hood) T - The Shifty Sticker (Paper Mario: The Origami King Soundtrack) S - Stardust Speedway "B" Mix (Sonic CD OST)

This was pretty difficult oh my god. so many musical interests fighting for their lives to get a spot and there are a good few letters I could swap songs with- anyways tagging people uhhhhh. @dedsec-pony @moonkeeper579 @octoes-mp4 @bon-the-angel you guys have fun if you want!

Username Playlist

got tagged by @purgetrooperfox to pick a song for each letter of my username so HERE WE GOOO!!!

H- Heartbeat by Childish Gambino

A- Automotivo Bibi Fogosa- Bibi Babydoll

M- MAMAMIA by Manëskin

B- Bounce Out by Kuttem Reese

U- Uno by Little Big

R- Run by Hozier

G- God Race by Metaroom

E- Echos of Roman Ruins by Jesper Kyd

R- RED DEVIL by WURZ

S- Silhouette by Pastel Ghost

L- Landfill by Daughter

I- I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys

P- Pacific Love by Rainbow Kitten Surprise

P- Prisoners by Olivier Deriviere

E- Easy Way Out by Low Roar

R- Respiration by Blackstar

S- Soul Catcher by Yeule

Tagging: @kieropal @legityoots @stagbeetleboy @rottent33th @slaasherslut @phasewashere

[blueeyedheizer]

running out of time - newt

A/N: Sorry this took so long. I actually started this fic back in 2018 when the movie came out but I never got around to finish it lol. But here it is, finally :)

•••

''Come on, Newt.'' you cried out as you struggled to carry your best friend's body on top of the burning building. Your limbs were shaking, and you kept stumbling on your own feet as you tried to keep him up.

Newt was loosing himself to the virus and it was getting harder for him to stay conscious. You could feel him try to push you away but you tightened your grip on him as much as you could, knowing that every second was precious. You had to save him, like he had saved you multiple times before. You had to keep going and make him live the life he deserved to live.

''Just leave me here Y/N. Leave me.'' he said in a harsh whisper before collapsing onto the ground, making you almost fall on top of him. You carefully sat him against the closest wall.

''Newt.'' you said, but he didn't seem to hear you as his eyes darted around, looking everywhere except at your face.

His breathing was heavy and his veins were almost completely black. Tears were blurring your vision and your heart was beating fast as you tried to swallow the lump that was stuck inside your throat. ''Newt !'' you repeated, your voice cracking, finally capturing his attention and making him look at you. ''I'm not leaving you Newt. You hear me?'' you said as you shook his shoulders, trying to keep him attached to reality. ''We're going to make it. Both of us. We'll get the bloody hell out of here, together.'' you never broke eye contact with him while you spoke.''I'm not leaving you.''

''Y/N...'' Newt gasped, ''Please take this.'' he said as he reached to his pocket, taking off something that looked like a necklace.

''What- ? No Newt, later, we gotta move !''

''Take it...''

''Newt come on !''

''JUST TAKE IT !'' he suddenly screamed, making you back away from him. His eyes widened and the expression on his face softened when he realised what he had done.

''T-take it and go. Far away from m-me. Please...save yourself, Y/N.'' With his shaky hand, he handed you the necklace which you slowly took. You brought your hand up and placed it fondly on his damaged cheek, stroking it gently. You shook your head slowly as a single tear began to fall. ''I can't...''

“Save yourself, Y/N.” he begged, his words filled with desperation. You burst into full-on tears and began sobbing heavily ''I can't! I won't!''

''Then kill me! Kill me before I kill you!''

''Newt—"

''KILL ME! Kill me before I become one of them! Kill me! Do it! Just throw me off this bloody building!''

And then Newt’s eyes cleared, as if he’d gained one last trembling gasp of sanity, and his voice softened.

''Please, Y/N....Please.'' You could feel your heart cracking in your chest. You were unable to move. Seeing Newt like this killed you inside, but you couldn't kill him. How could you possibly kill your best friend ?

Suddenly, Newt moved and quickly reached for your gun, slipping his hand around the weapon before yanking it towards himself, pressing it against his temple with tears streaming down his cheeks.

''NO!'' you screamed, throwing the gun away. ''Newt please give me a chance! There's still time!"

''I TRUSTED YOU! I TRUSTED YOU Y/N! NOW KILL ME!'' Helpless, you tackled him to the ground and tried to hold him still. Newt grabbed your arm tightly as he tried to wiggle out of your hold. At this point, you didn't care about your safety anymore. Newt could kill you at any moment, but you just didn't care. You had failed him.

You were about to give up and let your body collapse to the ground when you heard footsteps coming your way. A wave of relief washed over your tensed body when you saw Thomas and Teresa running towards you.

"Thomas, help me !" you pleaded, allowing more tears to fall.

''Newt. Hey buddy, It's me. Come on, stay with me." Thomas quickly injected the serum into his best friend's veins. He didn't know exactly where it had to be injected, but he had to get it in fast. Both you and Teresa were holding Newt's body to stop him from moving, since he was now almost completely changing and screaming in pain.

After several seconds, Newt stilled completely and you could've sworn your heart had stopped beating for a short instant.

"T-Thomas...what's happening?'' you asked, your whole body trembling in fear. "Why isn't he moving?"

Thomas checked his pulse and before he had the chance to answer, an explosion occurred directly in front of you, at a distance of not more than fifty feet. You jerked backward and put your arm in front of your face for protection while Thomas leaned on Newt's body to protect him.

''Is everyone okay?'' Teresa eventually asked, looking around to see the damages it had caused.

Your ears were ringing but you nodded nonetheless.

---

''That's them!'' Thomas screamed, pointing to the Berg. ''Y/N, help me !'' he said before throwing Newt's arm around his shoulder, ready to carry him. You quickly ran by his side and you both carried Newt's inconscious body towards the Berg.

''Come on bud, we can do it. It's almost over.'' Thomas whispered as he readjusted Newt's arm around his shoulder. His legs had become very unsteady, and every inch of his body was trembling with exhaustion, just like yours.

''Y/N, you go first! Teresa, help me !'' You nodded quickly and moved, letting Teresa take over your position.

You quickly made your way over to the Berg, but your eyes widened when you realized how high it was. There was no way you could reach it.

"Get closer !"

"We can't, It's too dangerous !" Vince answered.

"Come on Y/N, reach! You can do it!" Minho yelled. "Give me your hand !"

"Come on Jorge, you gotta get closer!" You heard Gally yell from the Berg.

''Jump !''

''Come on, reach ! Come on !''

You took one last look at Newt, then Thomas and Teresa, who both nodded at you. Then, you took a deep breath and leaped off the ledge of the building, jumping onto the Berg. Gally and everyone else quickly helped you on board, and before you had the chance to glance down at your friends that were still on the burning building, you were slowly engulfed by darkness.

---

You woke up to the sound of crashing waves. You eyes slowly opened to the blinding sun, a small groan leaving your lips as you rubbed your eyes, slowly sitting up. You tried to get up but you head was spinning, so you quickly decided against your initial plan and stayed sat. Not even a minute later, Thomas entered the small room, causing you to smile.

"Thomas." You reached your arms out for him and you pulled him in for a tight hug.

"It's nice to see you, sleepyhead." he took a sit next to you. "How are you feeling?"

"I don't know. My head's spinning." you answered. "Where are we? Is everyone okay?" you asked, remembering that you hadn't had any news of Teresa and Newt since you had passed out.

Thomas avoided eye contact, which only worried you more. You took his hand in yours and squeezed it slightly, trying to hold back tears as his own eyes started watering.

"Teresa didn't make it."

Hearing those words felt like a punch in the chest. You tried to speak, but nothing came out. Instead you allowed a few tears to slip out and pulled Thomas for a hug, which he gladly accepted and returned.

"I'm sorry, Tom." he nodded.

"Newt is resting." he continued as he pulled away, probably not wanting to go into more details about Teresa. "We took care of him, he's getting better." You nodded and he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear before kissing your forehead.

"Now get some rest Y/N, you deserve it. And welcome to the Safe Haven."

---

You sat by the sea as everyone was gathered not far away, celebrating the life of those that they lost by engraving their names on a rock and sharing memories.

You considered yourself lucky. You had made it out alive, and most of your friends did too. Thomas, Gally, Minho, Brenda, Newt. You just wished you could've said goodbye to Teresa.

"It's beautiful isn't it?" a voice suddenly startled you out of your thoughts. That voice, you could've recognized it from anywhere. You stayed frozen for a few seconds before your gaze shifted to the source.

"Newt!" you jumped to your feet and threw your arms around his neck, holding him close as you cried silently. "I thought I was going to lose you." you croaked out before pulling away, your thumb brushing his cheek softly. His skin had regained it color and the black veins were almost completely gone. He looked exhausted though.

"I'm fine, love. All thanks to you." you let out a small, brief laugh of relief before pulling him back to you.

You stayed like this for a while, just enjoying each other's company. Your head rested on his chest and your arms were wrapped around each other as you both stared at the sea, admiring the beauty of the sunset reflecting onto the water until you eventually broke the silence.

"The necklace you gave me...It fell when I jumped onto the Berg. I'm sorry.''

"It was nothing important, love." Newt smiled and squeezed your body before pressing a kiss to your forehead. "We're alive. That's all that matters now."

[justforbooks]

Fifty Great Classic Novels Under 200 Pages

We are now end of February, which is technically the shortest month, but is also the one that—for me, anyway—feels the longest. Especially this year, for all of the reasons that you already know. At this point, if you keep monthly reading goals, even vague ones, you may be looking for few a good, short novels to knock out in an afternoon or two. So now I must turn my attention to my favorite short classics—which represent the quickest and cheapest way, I can tell you in my salesman voice, to become “well-read.”

A few notes: This list will define “classic” as being originally published before 1970. Yes, these distinctions are somewhat arbitrary, but one has to draw the line somewhere (though I let myself fudge on translation dates). I did not differentiate between novels and novellas (as Steven Millhauser would tell you, the novella is not a form at all, but merely a length), but let’s be honest with ourselves: “The Dead” is a short story, and so is “The Metamorphosis.” Sorry! I limited myself to one book by each author, valiantly, I should say, because I was tempted to cheat (looking at you Jean Rhys).

Most importantly for our purposes here: lengths vary with editions, sometimes wildly. I did not include a book below unless I could find that it had been published at least once in fewer than 200 pages—which means that some excellent novels, despite coming tantalizingly close to the magic number, had to be left off for want of proof (see Mrs. Dalloway, Black No More, Slaughterhouse-Five, etc. etc. etc.). However, your personal edition might not exactly match the number I have listed here. Don’t worry: it’ll still be short.

Finally, as always: “best” lists are subjective, no ranking is definitive, and I’ve certainly forgotten, or never read, or run out of space for plenty of books and writers here. And admittedly, the annoying constraints of this list make it more heavily populated by white and male writers than I would have liked. Therefore, please add on at will in the comments. After all, these days, I’m always looking for something old to read.

Adolfo Bioy Casares, tr. Ruth L.C. Simms, The Invention of Morel (1940) : 103 pages

Both Jorge Luis Borges and Octavio Paz described this novel as perfect, and I admit I can’t find much fault with it either. It is technically about a fugitive whose stay on a mysterious island is disturbed by a gang of tourists, but actually it’s about the nature of reality and our relationship to it, told in the most hypnotizing, surrealist style. A good anti-beach read, if you plan that far ahead.

John Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men (1937) : 107 pages

Everybody’s gateway Steinbeck is surprisingly moving, even when you revisit it as an adult. Plus, if nothing else, it has given my household the extremely useful verb “to Lenny.”

George Orwell, Animal Farm (1945) : 112 pages

If we didn’t keep putting it on lists, how would future little children of America learn what an allegory is? This is a public service, you see.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Hound of the Baskervilles (1902) : 112 pages

A people-pleaser, in more ways than one: Sherlock Holmes, after all, had been dead for years when his creator finally bent to public demand (and more importantly, the demand of his wallet) and brought him back, in this satisfying and much-beloved tale of curses and hell-beasts and, of course, deductions.

James M. Cain, The Postman Always Rings Twice (1933) : 112 pages

A 20th century classic, and still one of the best, most important, and most interesting crime novels in the canon. Fun fact: Cain had originally wanted to call it Bar-B-Q.

Nella Larsen, Passing (1929) : 122 pages

One of the landmarks of the Harlem Renaissance, about not only race but also gender and class—not to mention self-invention, perception, capitalism, motherhood and friendship—made indelible by what Darryl Pinckney called “a deep fatalism at the core.”

Albert Camus, tr. Matthew Ward, The Stranger (1942) : 123 pages

I had a small obsession with this book as a moody teen, and I still think of it with extreme fondness. Is it the thinking person’s Catcher in the Rye? Who can say. But Camus himself put it this way, writing in 1955: “I summarized The Stranger a long time ago, with a remark I admit was highly paradoxical: “In our society any man who does not weep at his mother’s funeral runs the risk of being sentenced to death.” I only meant that the hero of my book is condemned because he does not play the game.”

Juan Rulfo, tr. Margaret Sayers Peden, Pedro Páramo (1955) : 128 pages

The strange, fragmented ghost story that famously paved the way for One Hundred Years of Solitude (according to Gabriel García Márquez himself), but is an enigmatic masterpiece in its own right.

Italo Calvino, tr. Archibald Colquhoun, The Cloven Viscount (1959) : 128 pages

This isn’t my favorite Calvino, but you know what they say: all Calvino is good Calvino (also, I forgot him on the contemporary list, so I’m making up for it slightly here). The companion volume to The Nonexistent Knight and The Baron in the Trees concerns a Viscount who is clocked by a cannonball and split into two halves: his good side and his bad side. They end up in a duel over their wife, of course—just like in that episode of Buffy. But turns out that double the Viscounts doesn’t translate to double the pages.

Kate Chopin, The Awakening (1899) : 128 pages

I know, I know, but honestly, this book, which is frequently taught in American schools as an example of early feminist literature, is still kind of edgy—more than 120 years later, and it’s still taboo for a woman to put herself and her own desires above her children. Whom among us has not wanted to smash a symbolic glass vase into the hearth?

Leo Tolstoy, tr. Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, The Death of Ivan Ilyich (1886) : 128 pages

Another classic—Tolstoy can do it all, long and short—particularly beloved by the famously difficult-to-impress Nabokov, who described it as “Tolstoy’s most artistic, most perfect, and most sophisticated achievement,” and explained the thrust of it this way: “The Tolstoyan formula is: Ivan lived a bad life and since the bad life is nothing but the death of the soul, then Ivan lived a living death; and since beyond death is God’s living light, then Ivan died into a new life—Life with a capital L.”

Richard Brautigan, In Watermelon Sugar (1968) : 138 pages

Brautigan’s wacky post-apocalyptic novel concerns a bunch of people living in a commune called iDEATH. (Which, um, relatable.) The landscape is groovy and the tigers do math, and the titular watermelon sugar seems to be the raw material for everything from homes to clothes. “Wherever you are, we must do the best we can. It is so far to travel, and we have nothing here to travel, except watermelon sugar. I hope this works out.” It’s all nonsense, of course, but it feels so good.

James Weldon Johnson, The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man (1912) : 140 pages

Another early novel on the subject of passing—originally published in 1912, then again under Johnson’s name in 1927—this one presented as an “autobiography” written by a Black man living as white, but uneasily, considering himself a failure, feeling until the end the grief of giving up his heritage and all the pain and joy that came with it.

Thomas Mann, tr. Michael Henry Heim, Death in Venice (1912) : 142 pages

What it says on the tin—a story as doomed as Venice itself, but also a queer and philosophical mini-masterpiece. The year before the book’s publication, Mann wrote to a friend: “I am in the midst of work: a really strange thing I brought with me from Venice, a novella, serious and pure in tone, concerning a case of pederasty in an aging artist. You say, ‘Hum, hum!’ but it is quite respectable.” Indeed.

Shirley Jackson, We Have Always Lived in the Castle (1962) : 146 pages

If you’re reading this space, you probably already know how much we love this book at Literary Hub. After that excellent opening paragraph, it only gets better.

Christopher Isherwood, A Single Man (1964) : 152 pages

Isherwood’s miniature, jewel-like masterpiece takes place over a single day in the life of a middle-aged English expat (who shares a few qualities with Isherwood himself), a professor living uneasily in California after the unexpected death of his partner. An utterly absorbing and deeply pleasurable novel.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, tr. Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, Notes from Underground (1864) : 154 pages

Probably the best rant ever passed off as literature. Dostoevsky's first masterpiece has been wildly influential in the development of existential and dystopian storytelling of all kinds, not to mention in the development of my own high school misanthropy. Maybe yours, too? “It was all from ENNUI, gentlemen, all from ENNUI; inertia overcame me . . .” Actually, now I’m thinking that it might be a good book to re-read in pandemic isolation.

Anna Kavan, Ice (1967) : 158 pages

The narrator of this strange and terrifying novel obsessively pursues a young woman through an icy apocalypse. You might call it a fever dream if it didn’t feel so . . . cold. Reading it, wrote Jon Michaud on its 50th anniversary, is “a disorienting and at times emotionally draining experience, not least because, these days, one might become convinced that Kavan had seen the future.” Help.

Jean Toomer, Cane (1923) : 158 pages

Toomer’s experimental, multi-disciplinary novel, now a modernist classic, is presented as a series of vignettes, poems, and swaths of dialogue—but to be honest, all of it reads like poetry. Though its initial reception was uncertain, it has become one of the most iconic and influential works of 1920s American literature.

J.G. Ballard, The Drowned World (1962) : 158 pages

Only in a Ballard novel can climate change make you actually become insane—and only a Ballard novel could still feel so sticky and hot in my brain, years after I read it in a single afternoon.

Knut Hamsun, tr. Sverre Lyngstad, Hunger (1890) : 158 pages

The Nobel Prize winner’s first novel is, as Hamsun himself put it, “an attempt to describe the strange, peculiar life of the mind, the mysteries of the nerves in a starving body.” An modernist psychological horror novel that is notoriously difficult, despite its length, but also notoriously worth it.

James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room (1956) : 159 pages

Still my favorite Baldwin, and one of the most convincing love stories of any kind ever written, about which there is too much to say: it is a must-read among must-reads.

Willa Cather, O Pioneers! (1913) : 159 pages

A mythic, proto-feminist frontier novel about a young Swedish immigrant making a home for herself in Nebraska, with an unbearably cool and modern title (in my opinion).

Françoise Sagan, tr. Irene Ash, Bonjour Tristesse (1955) : 160 pages

Sagan’s famously scandalous novel of youthful hedonism, published (also famously) when Sagan was just 19 herself, is much more psychologically nuanced than widely credited. As Rachel Cusk wrote, it is not just a sexy French novel, but also “a masterly portrait that can be read as a critique of family life, the treatment of children and the psychic consequences of different forms of upbringing.” It is a novel concerned not only with morals or their lack, but with the very nature of morality itself.

Herman Melville, Billy Budd, Sailor (1924) : 160 pages

Bartleby may be more iconic (and more fun), but Billy Budd is operating on a grander scale, unfinished as it may be.

Thomas Pynchon, The Crying of Lot 49 (1966) : 160 pages

Everyone’s gateway to Pynchon, and also everyone’s gateway to slapstick postmodernism. Either you love it or you hate it!

Franz Kafka, tr. Willa and Edwin Muir, The Trial (1925) : 160 pages

Required reading for anyone who uses the term “Kafkaesque”—but don’t forget that Kafka himself would burst out laughing when he read bits of the novel out loud to his friends. Do with that what you will.

Kenzaburo Oe, tr. John Nathan, A Personal Matter (1968) : 165 pages

Whew. This book is a lot: absolutely gorgeous and supremely painful, and probably the Nobel Prize winner’s most important.

Djuna Barnes, Nightwood (1936) : 170 pages

In his preface to the first edition, T.S. Eliot praised “the great achievement of a style, the beauty of phrasing, the brilliance of wit and characterisation, and a quality of horror and doom very nearly related to that of Elizabethan tragedy.” It is also a glittering modernist masterpiece, and one of the first novels of the 20th century to explicitly portray a lesbian relationship.

Yasunari Kawabata, tr. Edward G. Seidensticker, Snow Country (1937) : 175 pages

A story of doomed love spun out in a series of indelible, frozen images—both beautiful and essentially suspicious of beauty—by a Nobel Prize winner.

Jean Rhys, Wide Sargasso Sea (1966) : 176 pages

This novel, Rhys’s famous riposte to one of the worst love interests in literary history, tells the story of Mr. Rochester from the point of view of the “madwoman in the attic.” See also: Good Morning, Midnight (1939), which is claustrophobic, miserable, pointless, and damn fine reading.

George Eliot, Silas Marner (1861) : 176 pages

Like Middlemarch, Silas Marner is exquisitely written and ecstatically boring. Unlike Middlemarch, it is quite short.

Muriel Spark, The Girls of Slender Means (1963) : 176 pages

The girls of Spark’s novel live in the May of Teck Club, disturbed but not destroyed by WWII—both the Club, that is, and the girls. “Their slenderness lies not so much in their means,” Carol Shields wrote in an appreciation of the book, “as in their half-perceived notions about what their lives will become and their overestimation of their power in the world. They are fearless and frightened at the same time, as only the very young can be, and they are as heartless in spirit as they are merry in mode.” Can’t go wrong with Muriel Spark.

Robert Walser, tr. Christopher Middleton, Jakob von Gunten (1969) : 176 pages

Walser is a writer’s writer, a painfully underrated genius; this novel, in which a privileged youth runs off to enroll at a surrealist school for servants, may be his best.

Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1958) : 179 pages

Read for proof that Holly Golightly was meant to be a Marilyn.

Chinua Achebe, Things Fall Apart (1958) : 181 pages

A powerful, clear-eyed, and haunting novel, which at the time of its publication was transgressive in its centering of African characters in all their humanity and complexity, and which paved the way for thousands of writers all over the world in the years to follow.

Leonard Gardner, Fat City (1969) : 183 pages

Universally acknowledged as the best boxing novel ever written, but so much more than that: at its core, it’s a masterpiece about that secret likelihood of life, if not of literature: never achieving your dreams.

N. Scott Momaday, House Made of Dawn (1968) : 185 pages

House Made of Dawn, Momaday’s first novel, was awarded the Pulitzer Prize and is often credited with ushering in the Native American Renaissance. Intricate, romantic, and lush, it is at its core about the creaking dissonance of two incompatible worlds existing in the same place (both literally and metaphysically) at the same time.

Chester Himes, If He Hollers Let Him Go (1945) : 186 pages

Himes’ first novel spans four days in the life of a Californian named Bob Jones, whose every step is dogged by racism. Walter Mosely called Himes, who is also renowned for his detective fiction, a “quirky American genius,” and also “one of the most important American writers of the 20th century.” If He Hollers Let Him Go, while not technically a detective story, is “firmly located in the same Los Angeles noir tradition as The Big Sleep and Devil in a Blue Dress,” Nathan Jefferson has written. “Himes takes the familiar mechanics of these novels—drinking, driving from one end of Los Angeles to another in search of answers, a life under constant threats of danger—and filters them through the lens of a black man lacking any agency and control over his own life, producing something darker and more oppressive than the traditional pulp detective’s story.”

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (1925) : 189 pages

All my life I have wanted to scoff at The Great Gatsby. Usually, things that are universally adored are bad, or at least mediocre. But every time I reread it, I remember: impossibly, annoyingly, it is as good as they say.

Vladimir Nabokov, Pnin (1957) : 190 pages

Still one of my favorite campus novels, and short enough to read in between classes.

Charles Portis, Norwood (1966) : 190 pages

Portis has gotten a lot of (well-deserved) attention in recent years for True Grit, but his first novel, Norwood, is almost as good, a comic masterpiece about a young man traipsing across a surreal America to lay his hands on $70.

Philip K. Dick, Ubik (1969) : 191 pages

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? and A Scanner Darkly have more mainstream name recognition (thank you Hollywood) but Ubik is Dick’s masterpiece, filled to the brim with psychics and anti-psis, dead wives half-saved in cold-pac, and disruptions to time and reality that can be countered by an aerosol you get at the drugstore. Sometimes, anyway.

Clarice Lispector, tr. Alison Entrekin, Near to the Wild Heart (1943) : 192 pages

Lispector’s debut novel, first published in Brazil when she was only 19, is still my favorite of hers: fearless, sharp-edged, and brilliant, a window into one of the most interesting narrators in literature.

Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange (1962) : 192 pages

This novel is probably more famous these days for the Kubrick film, but despite the often gruesome content, the original text is worth a read for the language alone.

Barbara Comyns, Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead (1954) : 193 pages

Comyns is a criminally under-read genius, though she’s been getting at least a small taste of the attention she deserves in recent years due to reissues by NYRB and Dorothy. This one is my favorite, permeated, as Brian Evenson puts it in the introduction of my copy, with marvelousness, “a kind of hybrid of the pastoral and the naturalistic, an idyllic text about what it’s like to grow up next to a river, a text that also just happens to contain some pretty shocking and sad disasters.” Which is putting it rather mildly indeed.

Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937) : 194 pages

In 194 pages, Janie goes through more husbands than most literary heroines can manage in twice as many (and finds herself in equally short order).

Edith Wharton, Ethan Frome (1911) : 195 pages

To be honest with you, though it has been variously hailed as a masterpiece, I find Ethan Frome to be lesser Wharton—but even lesser Wharton is better than a lot of people’s best.

Joan Lindsay, Picnic at Hanging Rock (1967) : 198 pages

The mood this novel—of disappeared teens and Australian landscape and uncertainty—lingers much longer than the actual reading time.

Angela Carter, The Magic Toyshop (1967) : 200 pages

“The summer she was fifteen,” Carter’s second novel begins, “Melanie discovered she was made of flesh and blood.” It is that year that she is uprooted from her home in London to the wilds of America, and it is that year she comes to term with herself. “It is often the magical, fabular aspects of Carter’s stories that people focus on, but in The Magic Toyshop I responded to the way she blended this with a clear-eyed realism about what it was to live in a female body,” Evie Wyld wrote in her ode to this novel. “In a novel so brilliantly conjured from splayed toothbrush heads, mustard-and-cress sandwiches and prawn shells, bread loaves and cutlery, brickwork and yellow household soap, the female body is both one more familiar object and at the same time something strange and troubling.”

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[jackredfieldwasmyjacob]

your 3 favourite characters in druck and your 3 most hated

oooooh this one’s good thanks anon!!!

i don’t remember the old gen that much so this is gonna be mostly new gen

top 3 favourite:

1. fatou: i mean do i even have to say why??? she’s simply the best, love her way of thinking, her style, her struggles feel really real, and yeah, she’s amazing

2. amira: the sanas are always my favourite characters, for some reason i usually relate to them a lot, and amira m is no exception, also she and mohamed are the cutest couple in druck istg

3. josh: he’s honestly the type of guy i would like totally admire if i went to class with him but never would talk to him (jorge from eskam fits the same criteria hahshs) he’s just everything i aspire to be tbh

top 3 most hated:

1. constantin: yeah

3. the niko character: i’m sorry i don’t remember his name but yeah. also his sa scene is one of the most unconfortable ones imo and just outright hard to watch. only putting him under constanting cause he only was in one season, but i hate them equally.

2. alexander / ismail: i’m just not a big fan of the williams. tbh he’s not the worst of them, but i can’t with his arrogant attitude. and ismail is on thin ice, although he seems to be having some sort of redemption arc this season, we’ll see

[hardgivermilkshake]

JAIMEANDRéSCASTILLO

Biography; 

ANDRéS CASTILLO born in Popayán Colombia from musical and attorneys parents heritage, studied at the kinder garden Mi Trensito, My little Train; Colegio Calasanz, at his high school, where he participated at the chorus, started his guitar studies and never lose a year till successful graduation. Jaime Andrés ( his given name & the way some people call him in Colombia ) studied his first guitar and music lesson w/ his father, el doctor Jaime Castillo Fernández. Castillo ( like some people call ANDRéS in the States, when called at high school and in the army on his mandatory service at BOGOTá ) studied in several schools of music and in an English school at Chicago, Illinois at The United States. Actually, Jaime Andrés studied in one of the most important conservatories in America; had the real pleausre to get his participation in class at The Chicago College of Performing Arts where he degreed a Bachelor of Music, “convalidación pendiente,” a hold on convalidations at the Ministrar of Education in Colombia. In addition, his first great Jazz guitar lesson was w/ Gabriel Rondón. Castillo also studied at La Académia Cristancho as one of his first formal music studies, remarkable lessons with Baracaldo, and Jorge Pulecio. Moreover, he studied at La Universidad Javeriana where the program of jazz was not accepted but he could studied classical guitar in the formal program with Maestro Carlos Posada. Anyway, aftermath, Castillo goes to look for the real swing, Jazz at The US, founding John Mclean as his maestro and teacher at Roosevelt University in The Chicago College of Performing Arts, and maestro Paul Henry who pushed classical guitar as a minor, you know, and in this coming and going and ups and downs, funs and funcks... Castillo ends up studying his Master of Arts of pedagogy applied on music with emphasis in classical guitar with Brian Torrosian, a branch in Andrés Segovia´s class technique. “Maestro Oscar Giguilla  I´m so sorry I could not graduate yet from NEIU, I´m working on the studios and Maestro´s Villalobos and Bach works still....” I´ll be back though! I sweetly remember my couple of classes with maestra Pamela Kimball at the CCPA, thank you maestra. Maestra Phillips your class was beautiful, maestro Scott great lessons and I have to talk to you soon. Maestros Hassey, Folse and Marquozy my grace hello... TEACHERS MAESTROS GRACE AND GENEROUS PEOPLE at the CCPA, Northeastern Illinois University and The University of Illinois at Chicago..............dolce grace tutti. Thank you maestros Fareed Hake and Jeff Parker for your lesson as well.

 ANDRéS 

 “I´m still studying the class of all my guitar maestros, you know how it goes, plus I´m very happy to continue doing it.” says ANDRéS with a smile in his laughing face.

Several concerts & jam sessions in my curriculum

Solo guitar appearances.

Compositions for solo guitar and other formats.

Arranger on my own music catalogue: albums, youtube, facebook, instagram, tiktok channels...

Teaching at several institutions in Colombia, Universities, and at the Chicago area Castillo taught in different level programs becoming a strong well done teacher. “I enjoyed my teaching process so much getting great results for my own program...”

°) albums are part of his publishing corporate records among paintings, poems, tails, and a guess that participated in Disney channel as soon the girls mention it... 

Awards in Elmhurst College Jazz Festival for outstanding recognition, Honores conferred from the members of the faculty at Roosevelt University, The Chicago College of Performing Arts, Nombramiento como Par-académico en Colombia, convalidaciones pendientes en el territorio soberano. Becas logradas por merito, Academia Cristancho, ( menoscabo universidad javeriana, no beca allowed ), Roosevelt University and Northeastern Illinois University, paying for all his studies at The United States parallel to his living from 1°)°)°) to 200/ (1999-2007).

Actually ANDRéS CASTILLO as much people know and call him at The United States, is promoting his collaboration with the band leader and outstanding saxophonist Taku Akiyama at youTube, facebook, instagram, tik tok and his own...

“My experience of having fun with maestro Taku points in the fact that maestro Taku was very patient since the first day I performed with his till today, I was not the same performer from first tune we just played till the end, he was a real gentleman, a very big fan of guitar, he liked my playing and he let me know that several times, as well as the members of his quintet, Noritaka, Joshua and Timothy, The Taku Akiyama´s Quintet. It is hard to tell but responsibility don´t seam to be the most popular thing nowadays, I loved that feature in his personality and as the director of the jazz program we shared as fellow students at The Chicago College of Performing Arts, el maestro Rob Parton mentioned referring to el maestro Taku: ´he is a very special person,´ repeating this for our fellow students when  one day maestro Taku was absent... Y nunca lo olvidaré...”

JAIMEANDRéSCASTILLO

Former President(e)-vicepresident(e);

ANDRéS CASTILLO MUSIC PUBLISHING, INC. ANDRéS is actual student of maestro Henry Johnson, ( recomended to check out his channels ). On rights 2021 June 28, BOGOTá. Col.