#it must be a hard accent to do but he should give it the old college try

[doctorjennifermelfi]

one thing that is bugging me about the audiobook of the goldfinch is the narrator doesn't even try to make boris sound australian with just a hint of eastern european and instead just makes him sound like the bulgarian woman from my old job who told me that this isn't the barbie movie so how i could i be so happy and jolly all the time

[luveline]

Can I request an Eddie and roan story where something happens and Eddie is quite vulnerable and upset and roan finds him at the kitchen table so she goes and gets reader to help cheer him up. Hurt comfort

ty for requesting ♡ eddie and roan fem!reader, 1.7k

cw grief

It's a bad idea, but Eddie opens the photo frame on the sill. He moves the small metal holdings aside, peeling away the velvet back to reveal the hidden photograph waiting beneath.

His hands are trembling as he picks it up. The edges are soft but the photo itself is pristine, a perfect polaroid taken from her waist height, angled up as she smiled down. 

Eddie puts it back. Closes the frame, sets the photograph right side up on the sill next to your vase. His hands shake as he stuffs them in his pockets, a hard lump aching in his throat. I shouldn't have looked, he thinks to himself, sitting down at the dining table freshly cleared after dinner. 

He couldn't not look. As he washed the dishes after dinner, he'd found his gaze drifting. The photo framed is a simple close up of Roan at her last birthday, her face painted pink, purple, and white in the shape of a butterfly with silver glitter accents. The secret photograph is stupid to keep secret, he should put in pride of place, he should be a fucking man about it—

If you could hear his thoughts you'd frown. Maybe do that silly sweet thing with your hand on his cheek and your soft eyes imploring as they look into his. God, Eddie would give you anything you asked for when you look at him like that. But he doesn't tell you about the photograph, how could he? It's his. It's the last bit of her. 

He looks down at the wooden grain of the dining room table. Without thinking, he springs to his feet, removes the frames backing, and takes the photograph of his mom into his hand a second time. 

She looks so young. Younger than Eddie is now. He must have been a really little kid when he took the photo, old enough to have worked the camera but young enough that he can't remember the moment. Can't remember what she said, what she was laughing about, how that sounded. He can't remember her smell. 

How could I forget that? he thinks, stricken. 

Eddie ducks his head. He drops back into his chair at the table, pinching the bridge of his nose between a calloused index finger and a softer thumb. Don't, he thinks desperately, even as his thoughts race to a more cruel place. I don't remember her. 

She's beautiful in the photo. Willowy and smiling, crouching ever so slightly with a hand braced on her knee. Her lips are curved up a touch and parted with a laugh, but Eddie theories now that she wasn't laughing. Maybe she was telling him something he doesn't remember anymore. Maybe she was telling him that she loved him— 

"Dad?" 

Eddie hides the photograph without thinking. "Yeah?" 

His voice cracks. Roan stares at him with wide eyes, brown as his own but with longer lashes. She's quicker to smile than he was at her age, though none of that lightness shines at present. 

"I'll get Y/N," she says hurriedly, spinning on her socked heel and hurtling back the way she came. 

"Ro!" he says, clearing his throat. "Fuck. Fuck." He wipes at his wet eyes. Fucking great. 

"Y/N!" he hears Roan shout, her panic a raw thing. He can see the look on your face a floor away. "You have to– we have to go help dad!" 

There's a lapse in shouting. Eddie would put the photograph away, wipe his eyes, and run to set things straight if he could; you don't deal with abrupt circumstances well and he hates to think of how your heart is racing, but he can't stop crying. 

Your footsteps sound and stop at the kitchen doorway. 

"Eds. You okay?" you ask. 

"I'm fine, I'm," —he starts to laugh, but the laugh turns into crying, everything a mess— "okay. Tell Roan it's okay." 

"Okay. Two seconds." Eddie covers his face, trying desperately to get a handle on things as you speak in hushed tones. "It's okay, Ro, alright? How about I put some TV on for you? Would that be good?" 

"I want to stay," she whispers. 

You pause. Eddie loses bits of time and conversation, wiping madly at his eyes, his head heavy as a bowling ball and aching as though it's been hit by one. Roan must agree to watch TV or at the least pretend to, because you return alone, pushing the table away from him to stand skewiff by his legs.

Eddie feels like he's choking on air. "Sorry." 

"Eddie, what's happening, honey?" You touch his shoulder tentatively. "What's wrong?" 

He tries to tell you and it hurts worse. Grief is super weird, it always has been (when it wasn't solely and unsympathetically devastating), and Eddie's grief tends to hide away for long periods of time. Like a brewing storm, pressure builds, and builds, and he knew looking at her photo wouldn't end well but she was just so pretty.

He presses his forehead to balled fists. 

You sigh like he's hurt you, curling protectively over his hunched back. Your cheek to a heaving shoulder, you rub at his tensed spine with your palm spread. "It's okay," you whisper, hugging him gently. "Sweetheart, it's okay. You have to tell me what's wrong so I can fix it." 

"You can't," he says, his voice rough as gravel. 

You kiss his shoulder. 

A handful of seconds and you pull back to look him in the eye. "Let me try?" 

He shakes his head softly, reaching into his lap. He's careful to dry his hands before he picks up his mother's photo, placing it with care on the table. You follow his movements, your lips twitching with understanding as you realise what it is. "That's your mom."

"Yeah, she…" 

"I've never seen this one." 

Eddie doesn't have many, but he has a few that he treasures. One framed on the living room mantle, four or five kept in safe keeping with Wayne. You nudge the corner of the polaroid to shield it from the glare of the kitchen fluorescents. 

"She looks really young." 

"She was younger than we are now. She didn't… it couldn't have been five years before she…" 

You don't condescend, your empathy palpable as you murmur, "Aw, Eddie. I'm so sorry. It's not fair." 

His eyes burn. His nose tickles. He closes his eyes and shoves the brunt of his palm against his socket. "I can't remember what she was trying to say. What kind of son am I?" 

"No, no," you crouch down and place your hands on his thighs, "what do you mean? Is that why you're upset? Babe, I can't remember things you said to me last night, you know that? That's not how memory works." 

"But it was important. I took the photo, I should remember." 

"You were young… I'm sorry, I wish you could remember, but," —you hold the photo up carefully— "with a smile like that, it's not hard to guess, right?" Your voice is smooth and soft as angora silk, though it pills as you continue, "I bet she's just telling you that you're doing a good job. Same way you say it to Ro. You must've gotten it from somewhere." 

A half sob shudders out of him. "I hope so." 

You pat his thigh. "You gonna be okay?" you ask, eyebrows pinched. 

He leans into the chair, the armrests groaning as he tries to breathe. His breath hisses from between his teeth. "Shit, sorry. I'm sorry. I'm alright, just, sometimes I remember she's gone and I realise I lost another little part of her and–" 

"It's okay." You stroke a strand of hair from his face. He relaxes at the simplicity of it, a routine gesture. "She's not lost, Eddie. You're not losing her. Yeah? That's not how it works. She's your mom forever." 

"I guess you never stop wanting your mom, huh?" he asks. His throat burns like nothing he's ever felt. 

"I guess not." 

Eddie's tears peter out eventually, aided by the way you hold his hands as though they're delicately made and the constant steadiness of your presence, your head dipping down intermittently to press kisses to the side of his thumb. He can't shake the feeling of grief and he doubts that he'll feel much better tonight, but the need to cry dissipates. He's drained suddenly, like he's held his breath too long, every inhale an ache. 

Roan comes to investigate the quiet. She tiptoes in, her lips parted in confusion, but her puzzlement doesn't stop her from snaking between his legs and your arms to sit in your lap. He's scared her, he knows, and he can't blame her for the way she wraps her arms around your stomach. Like he said: you never stop wanting your mom. 

Roan twists her neck to look at him. You plant a kiss behind her ear. 

"Are you okay, dad?" she asks. 

"I'm okay." 

"Why were you crying?" 

"I don't know, Ro. I guess I was hurting." 

"Did you cut yourself on the sharp knife?" she asks worriedly. 

Eddie chucks her under the chin. "Not that kind of hurt, babe." 

She frowns as though he's told her off and buries her face in his knees. Eddie folds down onto her like a cheap tent in a hurricane, craving the comfort of his little girl, knowing she's here, and that she's not going anywhere. "Is it okay if I squeeze you?" he asks. 

"Yeah, dad. But only this time. You squeezed me too hard last time." She huffs, chewing over her words even as she hugs her father back ferociously. "You're rough." 

"I said sorry already," he says lightly. His eyes scrunch closed. He has to try hard not to burst into a second round of tears as he smells her hair. "I'm really sorry, I thought you liked being squeezed." 

"I don't mind if it's to make you feel better." 

You laugh through your nose. Eddie clings. "Thank you." He's saying it to you, too. He really hopes that you know that. "I feel way, way better already." 

[thevoidstaredback]

Hey! So, it's been a while, but I finally remembered to come back to this! But, it's not gonna go the way you'd think.

If Danny had it his way, he'd be at his Aunt Alicia's house for the summer instead of New Jersey. This place is gloomy, grimy, and soaked through with so much crime that it's a Problem(TM). Like, seriously? New Jersey hasn't allowed the death penalty since he was seven, but can't they make, like, one exception? Get rid of The Joker and half of Gotham's problems are solved.

Unfortunately, he's only here as a guest, so he can't really do anything. Which, for the record, is a shit rule. Call a goose and goose, and that's exactly what Gotham City, New Jersey is.

It isn't all that bad, he supposes. Sure, the pollution blocks out the entire sky at all times, the buildings that aren't condemned are only feeding the rich while stealing from the poor, an entire twenty-four block are has been given up on by mostly everyone, the local vigilantes won't kill the recurring problems like the cockroaches they are- There was a good point to all this.

Oh! He has family here. That's it. That's the only silver lining, and it's bronze.

But, hey, it can't be that bad. From what he understands, his half-brother and company don't actually live in Gotham. Bristol, according to Talia is technically outside of Gotham City Limits, but is still considered as part of the city. Makes sense, aside from the fact that there's no bridge between Bristol and Gotham. Weird design, but he's not rich so he's not really inclined to care or understand.

Half brother, right.

Danny doesn't like Damian much, but that's because he's a clone...of Damian. Danny's a clone of Damian, not the other way around. Ra's makes that very clear

The only reason Talia wants him with Damian is because she's upset with Bruce Wayne. What is it with divorced parents and putting their kids on the middle of their fights? Or maybe that's just Talia?

Anyway.

Gotham, New Jersey is a dismal place. Danny's not germophobic by any means, he can't really afford to be, but even he's having a hard time being in the city.

It was so much easier hiding out with the Fentons.

Well, 'hiding' is a subjective term. Ra's and Talia knew where he was, so did Deathstroke, probably, but that was it.

Essentially, everyone he should be hiding from knows where he's been hiding, which means he's just been on some kind of twisted, extended vacation.

As far as Danny knew, Bruce Wayne had no idea he was coming. Damian knew because Talia had wanted him to pick Danny up from the airport. Weird because while Damian is technically older, Danny is still legally two years older.

Well, 'legally' is a stretch. He doesn't technically exist, outside of the LoA and Amity Park.

The point is that Damian is waiting for him at the end of the terminal, looking as much like an excited puppy as he can, with an older gentleman. Talia had given him nothing to work with, but Danny didn't really care who this guy was as long as he didn't try to make him do anything he didn't want to.

...living in the Midwest was doing wonders for his mental stability, but Ancients was it making him soft!

"'Danny', I presume?" the old man asked, his accent heavy.

Good, so Talia did give Damian his actual name. "Yep. You are?" He may not want to be here, but he still knows his manners. Even if he's only going to use the bare minimum of them. Malicious Compliance and all that.

"Alfred Pennyworth, the family butler." He didn't extend his hand to shake. Danny didn't mind. In fact, he actually preferred that.

Okay, so maybe he's a little bit haphephobic. Leave him alone!

"Danny," Damian greeted, a smile of excitement in his voice but not his face, "It's good to have you here. How did Mother convince you to come?"

"Bribery." Mostly.

Damian seemed to deflate a bit. "Father and the others don't know you're here."

"Do they even know about me at all?"

"No."

"Perfect! Then I can stay at a hotel-"

"For the entire summer?" Alfred raised his eyebrow, "I must insist that you stay at Wayne Manor while in Gotham. Master Bruce will most pleased to meet you."

"Why?" Danny scoffed, "I'm not his kid, nor do I want to be."

Damian slouched a little bit more. "Come, we must get back before the others send out a search party for us."

"Dramatic much?" Danny scoffed.

"Not at all," Alfred took both of Danny's bags before leading the way out to the car, "It' happened before in less time."

"I don't doubt it for a second. I'm calling Bruce a dramatic bitch."

Alfred smirked ever so slightly. "Quite right, Master Danny."

"Don't call me that."

"Alright then, what should I call you?"

"'Danny'. No honorifics, no add ons, no trying to fullname me, nothing else."

"And when you go out with the rest of the family?"

He scoffed again. "You really think they'd let me go out with them? I'm an assassin. In fact, the first thing I'll do the second I'm let out of the house is kill the clown bastard."

Damian rested his hand on Danny's arm. "They let me out with them and I tried to kill Drake. As long as you uphold a promise not to kill anyone, you'll be allowed to patrol with us."

They reached the car, Damian sat behind the driver while Danny sat behind the passenger. Alfred put the bags in the trunk. "So? What will you be called on patrol?"

Danny rolled his eyes, popping his headphones in and not looking away from the window. "Respawn."

Storyboard

[masked-men-fantasy]

Ask about their manhood size Headcanon (Rainbow Six Siege)

Headcanon for my beloved masked men from Rainbow Six Siege. What have they got for us?

NSFW Content. MDNI.

Tachanka

"You know I always come with my LMG, right? One thing you don't realize is that I do not have just one LMG with me." He said it with a heavy Russian accent.

And by LMG, he really meant it, not just metaphorically.

Probably because of his genetics, Mother Russia does give him a satisfactory size of 8 inches in length with a 5 inch girth. The tips or his cock slightly bloomed, with some pre-cum oozed out.

You know that it is definitely huge when you find him naked, and his shaft does not look small, despite the fact that his body is already crazy muscular.

"What, моя принцесса (my princess)? Like what you see down there?" Although he still wears his balaclava, his eyes do tell that he smirked at you playfully while he said that.

Kapkan

"Hunters never let their prey know any information about them," Kapkan said while his cold eyes met yours. "If you want to know, you must step into the lair first."

By lair, he means his own bedroom.

You know he can be edgy, but you are not ready for such a level. You don't hate that, though. In fact, it is what makes you like him.

He will sit at the edge of the bed, tie both of your hands behind your back, and blindfold you. Then let you do your work while he opens his legs.

His hand grips your head and pushes your face to his crotch. You can feel his hardness on the thin fabric. After you let your lips guide through, Kapkan should have at least 6 inches of length.

Unfortunately, your brain cannot process anything further. The scent of his manhood is so intoxicating. It is not a bad or musky smell, but it is a unique scent that works so well, just like aphrodisiac.

Let curiosity aside for now, and let nature's instincts guide your body to please this hunter in front of you.

Deimos

To be surprised, the old Rainbow protocol required keeping very detailed medical information. This, of course, included Gerald's penis size.

Nothing special—7 inches long with a little curve up.

"Now that you know my secret, you need to die." Deimos just appeared behind your back, whispering with his strong voice. And with that tone, he must really mean it.

You begged for your life and promised that you would destroy the remaining documents for him.

"But you still know about me." He said while stroking his chin and looking at you, "I guess I have to destroy you, too."

Oh

Oh...

Yes, yes, please destroy the hell out of me.

[oconswrld]

! Merry (late) Christmas !

Your secret santa XoXo - Kimi Raikonnen x Reader

summary: Y/n is Kimi's favorite santa.

warnings: age gap, romance, too cute🫶, Not retired Kimi!! rawdogging(not proofread)

author's 🗒️'s: i haven't had much time for writing so i did a bit of a cutesy christmas fic for the part 2 hope its good w u guyss <33 enjoy loves!!

( Seb nd Kimi arent retired, reader is at AM with Lance!!)

part 1, part 2, ...

______

It's Christmas. Secret santa with the grid and snow. Well not snow because all of us are still in Abu Dhabi. Knowing glances exchanged after the secret santa pulling. If i remember correctly i was pulled by i think Lance. Im not sure if it really was Lance, but the canadian is a pleasure to know and is just perfect at gifts.

I pulled Kimi, the legend, and my best friend. Maybe my best friend. Knowing how he and Seb are. Obviously it's not only platonic feelings with the way he acts around me.

Thinking about presents for Kimi is rather hard, seeing he doesn't really have a thing he likes but doesn't have. I'd say alcohol but do i wanna heed into his alcoholism? A bit, but only if it means i get a gift for him.

-

The tea in front of me was cold, but the weather kept me warm. Sebastian sat opposite of me, asking for advice on what he should get for Oscar.

"What about i buy him, his gift and you buy Kimi's for me." I suggest a deal thinking of all the things i could give Oscar.

"Don't know what to buy your little boyfriend, eh Y/n?" Teasing smirk pulling on his mouth, the german dared me for an answer.

Eyes rolling into the depths of the back of my head, showing clear annoyance yet he still kept talking.

"Maybe you could finally confess to him, he's all over you whenever you're near him anyway" Sassy tone pulling out his german accent, the sentence making my jaw drop lower with every word. Catching my jaw, i shook my head. Trying to act unbothered, sipping from the lemon tea in my hand.

"Are you really this bored, that you're invested in your two best friend's love life ? Old man." I look away as i hear Kimi's voice in the distance. My head turned to see him talking to Mark Webber, possibly an interview with all those cameras around. The signature straight smile from Kimi appeared. Uncomfortable aura around him.

I nodded back to Seb only to see him already looking at me. 'What?' I silently asked him, only getting a knowing look back.

"Let's just buy those gifts before i regret even sitting here."

-

Giddy feeling in my stomach affecting my hold on the wrapped object. Looking at the usual secret santa interviewer making small talk, handing over the gift.

The wrapping contained a letter and an object Seb helped me pick. I feel kind of weird, specifically the fact that i don't know if he will like it is weird.

After half an hour, the interviewer approached me again, cameramen following close by. Small talk exchanged as she got ready for the video.

"Okay! One, two, and three, it's on!" A smiley voice came from her notifying me.

I was handed a gift box and the santa hat. Placing the hat on my head i examined the box, wrapped in pink wrapping paper which had hearts written all over it. All i gathered is that it must be one of my friends. I brought it up to my ears to shake and maybe smell.

The shaking part was unsuccessful since the box made nearly no noise, however the smell was gentle yet slightly familiar. Kimi's cologne. Versace eros eau de toilette. The one you recommended to him, because you liked it. Mint and lemon are dominant over the smell of paper.

"That's Kimi." I looked up knowingly, smiling a bit.

"Smells like him. Unless it's Seb and he's again interested in my business." Rolling my eyes, earning a snicker from the woman handling the microphone.

I start opening the paper gently, since i wanna save the heart on it. As soon as i take the top off, i see what i got. Caramel chocolate and snacks from my home country, paired with a bottle of jägermeister. Underneath these items there's a hoodie, unfolding it i see the embroidery on it.

'No. 7'

Holding it close to my nose, i smell it. Versace.

___

author's 🗒️'s: I kind of left it on a cliffhanger but im traveling 4 hours tomorrow im gonna do the end tomorrowww :PPPPP anyways cuties i hope my writing isnt a disaster im so sleepy rn its an actual nightmare...

taglist: @i-wish-this-was-me , @keii134 , @littlesatanicassholebitch <3

[kazz-brekker]

oh babyyyy we are back and in order to process my thoughts i must write my thoughts on hotd season 2 premiere:

i'm a little sad we only got to be in the north for about 5 minutes but, you know, they were a good 5 minutes. winterfell! the wall! ice! cregan teasing jace about being a southerner! i'm a house stark stan and always will be!

i like the new tapestry-like intro, i think the city/family tree concept of the original one was an interesting idea but hard to follow unless you had the whole targ family tree memorized.

i enjoy rhaenys not taking shit from daemon. that's my queen who never was!

rhaenyra mourning luke was good but rough. emma d'darcy actor that you are etc etc. very impressed by how much they were able to do with no dialogue.

alyn of hull sighting! and hugh hammer, later in the episode! however this plot goes, i think it's going to be interesting.

i feel like there is gonna be a lot of discourse about alicent and criston cole sleeping together but honestly i just liked the continued symbolism of criston taking off his white cloak when doing something that breaks his vows.

my sister was sitting next to me as i was watching this episode and can vouch for the fact that i very loudly said "OH NO" when helaena said she was afraid of the rats.

i bet i'm really going to enjoy aegon this season, tom glynn-carney has absolutely fantastic comedic timing and i'm intrigued by aegon's characterization of trying to be a good father and ruler but not really knowing what he's doing.

tyland lannister fighting for his life against a 4-year-old at the council meeting DID make me giggle.

didn't see a lot of aemond this episode but nothing so far has broken my headcanon that he lies in bed at night staring at the ceiling be like "what the fuck have i gotten have i gotten myself into" while pretending to be scary and cool in public.

weirdly excited that they showed rhaenyra dismounting from syrax because they never actually showed that in season 1 and i was starting to wonder how they got on and off the dragons.

mysaria's accent is so much better this season, god bless.

jace trying to get through his report to rhaenyra without crying and not managing it DID get to me.

"i want aemond targaryen" so true my queen i'll fetch him myself, anything for you.

my heart was beating incredibly hard during the last 15 minutes of this episode, not gonna lie.

the execution of blood and cheese is also something i think there will be a lot of drama about but i'll give my 2 cents and say that think it was well done.

vengeance is cool and all but i never really understood why the black used the ability to get men into the red keep to kill a kid when they could have tried to take out someone more important to the war effort instead, so aemond being the original target actually worked for me.

the scene cutting away when blood and cheese ask daemon what they should do if they can't get aemond reminds me of the "heir for a day" part from the pilot–we don't see what happens, but can infer his response.

i was also curious how they were going to include helaena being forced to make a choice if maelor doesn't exist, and i think that was probably the best way it could be managed.

i am so, so, SO glad that we didn't actually see the murder on-screen, the sound effects were bad enough.

that sure was a way to kick off the season! we are definitely back!

[4rtificialfolio]

It’s complicated, my darling - The Prologue

“Ada is an operative in the 1940s from Brighton in England, sent over to New York City to work with the Americans, uncovering secrets and spying on potential suspects. She meets a handsome young man, Nick Folio, on the train into the city; little does she know how that moment would change the trajectory of her life”

Parings: Nick folio X OFC

Word count: 1.4K

Chapter Warnings: brief hinting at death, explicit language

Series master list

(see masterlist for overall warnings, chapter begins below the cut)

Ada

May 19th 1941

New York City, USA

8:23 am

Dear Diary,

Spring is coming any day now, the chill has died off and flowers are beginning to bloom, but I’ll say the air here in America feels a bit thicker when you’re not by the sea. Oh, I miss the seaside, Dad says they closed the beaches back in Brighton last year after Dunkirk, it was too dangerous to keep them open. It’s a shame, our Peggy loved the beach. We used to buy her a 99 and take a walk down the pier watching the seagulls nick a chip out of an unsuspecting victim’s hand. This one time, Peggy laughed so hard she dropped her ice cream and made me and the old man march back down the pier to buy her a new one, just to do the walk up the pier all over again. I would give anything to see her smile again but for now, it’s back to business aye? 

Speaking of business, my dick of a boss, John, back in England assigned me a new mission yesterday. Something about money being stolen from one of the precincts in the city? I'm not sure, I haven’t gotten all the details yet but I guess I’ll find out more in today’s briefing at the head office. 

Anyway, must be off. My train into the city should be here any minute now and God knows my grumpy sod of a boss will have my head if I’m late to another meeting. 

Talk soon.

__________________

“Excuse me, ma’am, would you mind if I sit here? All the other seats are taken”

You avert your eyes from the book you’ve been engrossed in for the past 10 minutes; “The So Blue Marble” by Dorothy B. Hughes, a truly riveting thriller novel. Bookmarking your page, your gaze meets the handsome young chap standing before you.

“Oh yes of course, please, sit down” He’s a rather handsome fellow, clean-shaven with his hair slicked with a side part, perfectly framing his chiselled jaw. Heat flushes across your cheeks and you can’t help but feel a little flustered as he takes a seat in front of you.

“Thank you, Ma’am” He extends his arm for a handshake.

“Please, call me Ada”

“A pleasure, Ada” You can’t help but notice his peculiar accent, it appears to be a southern accent of sorts but you can’t quite place it.

“Is that a southern accent I hear- oh sorry, I didn’t ask your name?”

“Ah no, Maryland although I do get that a lot, and no worries. The name’s Nick but everyone calls me Folio” You tilt your head ever so slightly at the nickname, wondering how that came to be. As if he already knew your next question, he smiles.

“My surname Is Folio, there’s another Nick amongst my friends so over time I just became Folio”

“Aah makes sense. Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Folio” You flash a smile, trying your best not to blush too hard.

“Judging by your accent, you’re from England I assume? What brings you to America, New York City at that?”. It’s the dreaded question you always fear to answer. Although you’re trained to lie, to be deceitful, you can’t help but feel a little guilty each time you respond to that question. It’s not easy to live your life pretending to be someone you’re not, half of the time you’re not even sure what’s real anymore; but that’s the job. Everyone is doing what they can to help the war effort, you included and if that means putting up a facade each day, then so be it.

“My family evacuated from England, we would’ve gone to Canada but my brother is deployed here in the States” You feel your heart drop to your stomach. This isn’t a complete lie; your mother and youngest sister, Mary and Agnes, did evacuate from England, but the ship carrying them to Canada took a devastating blow and ultimately sunk; the total casualties are still unknown. No one knows the whereabouts of your brother, Dennis. You received a telegram in July last year to notify that he was M.I.A when he didn’t return to base with his aircrew. So, no, it wasn’t a complete lie but you have to carry the sadness on your own.

“So, what will a gorgeous lady like you be doing in the city? ” He leans forward on the table, raising his left eyebrow. His words make your heartbeat speed up a million miles an hour. Of course, he doesn’t know the real reason you’re in the city but a little fun can’t hurt, right?

“I’m looking around for a job but most businesses are shut and I’m not first aid trained, so that’s pretty much any job out of the question” Another lie.

“Well, I can’t give you a job but If you ever want some company, please feel free to come down to the 13th precinct. I’d be happy to keep you company” His flirtatious manner doesn’t go unnoticed, nothing overly forward but enough to make your face burn up. A high-pitched whistle blows outside of the train and it isn’t until you see passengers standing up collecting their belongings from the overhead shelves that you realise you’ve reached your destination. You both walk off of the train onto the platform, pushing through the crowd of busybodies.

“Well I must be going, I’ve got some job interviews lined up today. It was lovely meeting you, Folio”

“You too, Ada. Good luck with the interviews, I’m sure you’ll find something soon”. Folio, once again, extends his arm for a handshake. Saying your goodbyes, you make your way along the path towards the north exit gate but your attention is averted as you hear that familiar, not-so-southern, voice.

“I hope you take me up on that offer, Ada!”. He bellows. Turning on your heels, you chuckle thinking about the gorgeously mysterious man you just met.

__________________

“Ah right on time Chapman, makes a change. I was beginning to wonder if that pretty face of yours knew how to tell the time” Alfred, your other male chauvinist pig of a boss, says as you walk into the meeting room.

“Morning Alfred, Sir” Oh how you’d love nothing more than to punch his disgusting, smug face, but you need this job and you need the money, especially if you want to get your dad and Peggy over here in the States.

“As John mentioned to you yesterday, he has assigned you a new mission. The higher-ups believe that someone in the 13th precinct is stealing money from their funding-”

“Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but did you say the 13th precinct?” This can’t be possible, surely not?

“For fuck sake Ada, maybe if you spent less time dressing like a whore and more time paying attention you would’ve heard me. Yes, I said the 13th precinct now shut up and listen” Anger rises through your body as he berates you in front of your team, but you take a deep breath, reminding yourself not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Sorry, sir. Please continue”

“As I was saying, you will be tracking one man. We believe he is acting alone, stealing money to put into an offshore account. You will be working at the precinct undercover as an accountant, you will need to keep track of all the money that goes in and out of their accounts. You’ll be given a written brief with more details. Make sure to read it thoroughly after the meeting ends, if that’s even possible for that empty fucking head of yours. We will go over the target’s name and description so everyone is aware of exactly who the suspect is”. Annie, Alfred’s assistant, hands out copies of the brief around the table.

Flipping over the first page, which details the goal of the mission, you see the name of the suspect.

“Fuck” Is all you can mutter out under your breath as you stare at the page, mouth agape in disbelief.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” There’s no denying the name and image that’s staring right back at you. Is this a sick joke? A punishment for leaving your family behind?

“Billy, can you please read out the suspect’s name and character description” A part of you still hopes that you’re imagining what you’re seeing in front of you.

“Nick Folio, sir”

There’s no such thing as fate, but the universe has a funny way of deciding it for you.

________

AN: i genuinely loved writing this first chapter. I hope you guys will love this story as much as me, please let me know your thoughts! also please let me know if you’d like to be tagged for each chapter :)

reminder my inbox is always open if you’d rather send your thoughts anonymously (no fic requests)

[helionpegasus]

ceilings part 3

Azriel x Reader

Part 2

summary: Reader always had vivid dreams due her Seer heritage. But things take a twist in her life when she starts dreaming with a male she never seen, and wake up in a world that is not hers.

warnings: none :)

words count: 1458

author’s note: i’m sorry for not posting last weekend :( things gone out of plans. but i’ll update tomorrow as well!!! and the chapter will probably be huge lol. also, i changed the narration, do you guys thinks it's better this way? let me know. anyway, hope you all likes it! thank you for your patience :)

You woke up not feeling your hands. Not able to move them in fact.

With your eyes still heavy, your vision takes a while to steady and take the place you were in. Drawers on your right are full of little glass bottles and mixing pots, on your left side a window with a breeze slowly coming in, blowing the white curtain. The smell of flowers getting into your nostrils - It must be spring time - you think. 

Your wrists are strongly tucked into the bed by the sides of your body, ankles free but it is not like you have the strength to fight with your legs anyway. At least the cut in your ribcage was not hurting anymore, fully healed. The fact made you question how long you stayed unconscious.

A groan left your dry lips when the tiredness of your muscles settle in. The sound must have warned whoever trapped you because no long after you hear footsteps coming closer to the door of the little room you were in.

The person walked in covered by the shadows. Your eyes slowly adjust to recognize the creature that may be a threat.

First you see the wings. The huge pair of leather wings similar to a bat, both stiff in the back as if sensing something dangerous.

Then you see the leather armor, hugging the most muscular body you had ever seen and by that you know you have no chance of defense.

The blue stones shine more brightly once he starts to step into the room. There were seven of them. You wonder what the purpose of them is. Should you be scared of it? Is it just jewelry? Is it magical?

The last thing you glance at is his face.

His face.

Your head starts to spin. This isn’t possible right? This must be another vivid dream. You must look more pale than the sheets you’re laying in the bed, because you feel the blood stop running through your veins.

This was the male.

But not the male that you know.

His hazel eyes were not warm and did not bring comfort like you remember them doing. His brows were furrowed giving a hard glance towards you.

The full and soft lips were closed in a thin line. 

His muscular arms closed in front of his chest. A sign he was not open to anything or anyone. 

The shadow cripping in his shoulder and ankles don’t go unnoticed by you. The sight of them was almost comforting for you somehow.

“Who are you. And what are you doing here?” He says in an old language, startling you from your thoughts. 

You understood, from learning the language years ago. But hearing someone actually speaking it, was out of your expectations in life.

“I’m demanding an answer in case my tone didn’t make it clear enough.” He was harsher this time, sending goosebumps in your body.

“I-I’m sorry. I have never heard this language before.” Your throat hurts by sounding your voice out. Your strong accent is noticeable even by you. At this point it was quite clear you were not in your world anymore, you have no idea how you traveled through the portals.

A confused frown takes place in his face.

“My name is Y/N.” You said with more confidence this time. “I’m from Midgard. And I have no idea how I came to your world. I’m just confused as you are.” You say in an unsteady breath. A little breathy laugh coming off, not believing all this situation. 

The recent events coming all at once for you for the first time. You’ve never felt so vulnerable. And what a situation to feel that way. You must be looking pathetic in his eyes.

“Our High Lord is coming to talk to you.” He says and leans in the wall on your left, next to the window. Eyes never letting go of your frame, as you were about to do something tricky. 

The sunshines meets his face, exposing more of his beautiful facial features. You could help but stare. Mind still spinning wild about how this could be possible, how you could finally meet him, and him not having a clue who you o are, even with both of you living a whole life together in your dreams.

The dreams were just for you. Apparently.

You hear more footsteps approaching. Two more people, you recognize. The door opens revealing them.

High Faes.

Your breath stops in your throat when you take the male in. The dark hair, facial features and eye color. He’s exactly like Ruhn. But he has the same wings as the shadow male in your right.

The female beside him was just as breathtaking. Her blue and gray-ish eyes are warm and welcoming, but slightly tired.

The scent of their bond soon meets your nose. Strong and irreplaceable. How lucky they are, you think. The scent of a baby comes right after. A newborn, that explains why she seems tired.

“You kept her trapped in the bed?” The female asks, turning to the hazel eyed male. Her face is disbelief.

He only shrugs, the female only sighs and comes in your direction. Instantly going to the fabric strongly wrapped around your wrists, undoing them.

“You can sit by yourself?” She asked once you were free. Her words were slow, as if she knew their language was not the same as yours.

You nodded to her and used the last strength you had in your arm to sit yourself on the bed. You can’t help but contort your face at the feeling of the dried blood in your shirt.

The violet-eyed male comes to place himself next to her. His power is leaking from him, showing protectiveness towards his mate and mother of his child next to some stranger.

“I guess we need to present each other right?” He says with a forming smile. “What is your name?” He asked, meeting your gaze.

“I’m Y/N.” You said, voice low.

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I’m Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court. And this is Feyre, the High Lady.” Feyre gives you a small smile.

“The grumpy male on your left is Azriel. He’s the Spymaster of this court.” The male rolls his eyes at the High Lord.

 When you heard his name something clicked for you. You asked yourself if he felt the same.

“Can you say how you came here? What do you remember happening?” Feyre asks you calmly.

You open and close your mouth a couple of times. Not knowing exactly how to start explaining.

“You can take your time finding the words. We understand it must be hard to speak a language that’s not yours.” Azriel says getting your attention. Rhysand and Feyre looked at him as well, but you don’t understand what their gazes were saying.

“I heard a chord, like an instrument. Then everything went black and I woke up in a forest. Some creature started hunting me, I knocked it out and went to a cavern to hide.” You said slowly, remembering everything in your head. “I was going unconscious from the blood loss, and started to hear voices.” 

“What kind of voices?” Rhysand asks.

“They were almost like whispers.” Azriel shifts in his place at your answer. “I don’t know if I heard them when I blacked out. But it seems like it, because I was in a dark place. They asked what I needed help with, and I said for them to take me somewhere safe.”

They look at each other for some time. You don’t know how, but they were certainly speaking to each other at this point.

“I heard the same voices before hearing the chord.” You remembered. The three of them look at you expecting. “They were anxious, like they didn’t know what to do. And they kept saying ‘Save him’.”

“Save who?” The High Lord asks.

“I don’t know. It didn’t say a name.”

“When exactly did you hear the voices before the chord?” Azriel asks while getting closer to you. His tall figure towering and hiding the sunrays of your frame.

“Like 10 minutes before. It wasn’t much time.”

“Nyx.” He said. “The voices were saying to her save Nyx.” Rhysand and Feyre look at him at the same time. 

“But how exactly is this possible? And it didn’t work after all, right? Nyx don’t need to be saved anymore.” Feyre says.

You were so confused. Looking at each of them, like watching the ball at a tennis game.

“What I’m thinking is…” Rhysand starts, index finger coming to scratch his jaw. Putting his thoughts into place. “Maybe Azriel's shadows is more powerful than we think.”

taglist (users overlined i couldn’t tag) :  @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @valeridarkness @his-sweet-nightmare @leeknows-wife @mich0731 @kristalhi @marina568 @brekkershadowsinger @cafe-inaaa @lovierhys @kenmaisacinnamonroll @alt-ghost @marigold-morelli @thelightnddarkness @amysangel @thecraziestcrayon @fall-myriad @a-court-of-milkandhoney @hungryforbatboys​ @allison-rosewood-maximoff

[dwtsfun]

Dancing with the Stars Season 33 Week 8: Conrad, Come Here. Let's Talk

So we're back. This was an interesting week of competition. I don't think the dancing was as good as it could've been. There's a lot of factors, but I will explain the main one pretty soon.

Before I get there, Dwight and Daniella were eliminated. While it made sense, I was still a little disappointed as I found them to be some of the most entertaining people on this season. They should be proud as they figured out how to make a 1 and a half foot difference in height, work on this show. Contrary to popular belief online, Dwight was very good. He gave one strong performance this week and one where he was hosed. More on that later. So it was sad to see him go. I'm nervous for Chandler y'all. So tonight, if you like her, you MUST vote. Now let's talk about this instant challenge.

Instant Dance Challenge

I'm sorry but it was a flop. Conrad, bring that ass here. You KNOW better. In seasons 11 and 12, the instant dance round worked. You know why? You gotta remember why. You were EP back then. If you don't remember, let me remind you. The instant dance rounds worked back then because everyone was given the style that they were gonna do. The couples didn't have to put together 5 routines for one night of competition. It was also a rhythmic Latin dance. We didn't have to worry about the instant dance being a ballroom dance or a paso (of all dances). That means that we saw rumbas, salsas, cha-chas, jives and even a few sambas. Ballroom dances and a paso should've NEVER been in consideration for those instant dances. It is way too hard to figure out choreo on the spot for those while getting the technique somewhat right. Dwight and Daniella did well with what they had, but they were at an automatic disadvantage from jump.

Next, giving them their music 5 minutes before they got out on the floor was stupid! In the past they got their music after they finished with their first round, got changed (in private) and would work on putting their routine to that music before they got out on the floor. It wasn't a mad dash to change (let's not forget that those costumes could have ripped as they were putting them on right before the danced), listen to the music and figure something out in 7 minutes. You know how ridiculously unnecessary that whole ordeal was. The first way was a challenge. There would be drama and tension. But it was controlled and seemed possible. The show was nice to the couples. This was cruel. Imagine getting a song you never heard before and having to put something together without knowing any of the accents in the beat?

And let's talk about the stupid lie that they had to "choose" the right costume. NO! The show has their measurements. This cast in particular has varying different body shapes and sizes. Ilona can't fit what Chandler would wear. Neither of them can fit the pros' costumes. Rylee can't fit a Jenna/Daniella/Witney costume. Dwight is 6'10. Stephen is 5'7. Danny and Joey are the same height but Danny is much thicker than Joey. Brandon and Alan also have a similar thing with being the same height, but Brandon being thicker. They knew who had what costume. Just give them the costume after their first round dance so that they can change and get that out of the way. And the changing with the silhouette was so invasive and creepy and not family friendly AT ALL. Yeah we didn't see anything. But the fact that we're watching them change on stage, in the middle of the audience mind you, was so weird. Stop that. Conrad, you're clicking down. Get it together.

Also I wanna say that I agree with Cheryl about the iconic dances. They should've had to incorporate something from the old dance. Otherwise, you're just dancing to the same song.

Chandler and Brandon- These two had a night for the DWTS books. Both dances were perfect. That Argentine tango was especially amazing. Her lines are gorgeous. She moves with such power, grace and fluidity. That cha-cha was also an A+ dance, even with all the stupidity of that round happening. I think that Brandon's choreography has been extremely refreshing and underappreciated. He's been great all season, but especially for those two dances. Y'all. Vote for her please. I want them in the finale. I am so excited for a freestyle from them.

Joey and Jenna- So I don't care for contemporaries as always. This was a great dance. My critique is the same as CAI's actually (and I'm so glad she got her good sense back). Y'all know I don't care about the character of a dance unless there's an obvious gap in that and the performance. Well, that's what was happening here. There was nothing that he gave me from an emotional standpoint. And considering this was supposed to be inspired by Riker and Allison's contemporary, it was lacking. Even if it wasn't, it was still lacking. No perfect score there. As for the rumba, they handled it pretty well. I hated them not actually choreographing an end to it. He just kinda slid. Which okay. A lot of the instant dances were like that. He's still got feet problems. Is he pigeon toed? It might explain a lot. Yeah, he had a good night.

Ilona and Alan- I loved their quickstep. It was Ilona's best dance by far. A big critique that I have is actually for Alan. I don't think we needed to have them break hold. She was doing so well in hold and then was not as confident out of hold. It was a good decision for entertainment sake I guess. But I wanted Ilona to really stick it to us. And I believe that she could've gotten a perfect score if she was in hold for the whole dance. Their salsa was blah. I love Da Dip. But when you slow that song down that much? It sucks. And it wasn't right for a salsa. Why not use simple stuff, like Tequila or something. It's simple. It's been cleared in the past. It works. Just do that so the couples don't have to search so hard for the salsa beats.

Stephen and Rylee- I think Rylee and Stephen benefited a lot from having Mark come in. There was an ease of movement that I saw from Stephen that I saw from Stephen that I had never seen before. Mark had issues with Aly not being able to count music and I think he helped these two get Stephen over that hump. He still had some issues in that Viennese waltz where he stiffened up, maybe anticipating the next step. But he felt the music way better this time around and his technique was good outside of his frame in those moments where he got stiff. His jive was much better this time around. Still wasn't perfect, but the timing and his feet were much better.

Danny and Witney- These two definitely struggled the most with putting together 5 routines. While I think their quickstep was good, Danny started out a little behind the music and was moving a little small. As the dance went on, he settled into it more. The side by side sections were actually pretty good. He has to work on his frame and his posture. He hunches and he sticks his butt out. The jive started out as a disaster. But they ended up getting back on track and finishing strong. He should've gotten the same score as Dwight but oh well.

And that's it. Let me know your thoughts. Glad I got this out before the show started in the Mountain Zone. I'm trying y'all, but this has been a year from hell at my job. I'll talk to you all soon though and make sure you VOTE!

[themuseandantarctica]

* 𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏

sentence starters from christopher isherwood’s novel a single man. change however necessary.

tw: death, drugs, age gaps (between adults, no pedo.philia), some n.sfw text

i'm afraid of being rushed.

why? why? is it some cosmic entity, some arch-tyrant who tries to blind us to his very existence by setting us against our natural allies, the fellow victims of his tyranny?

such questions are hard to take seriously. they seem so academic.

intolerable old [name], always absolutely in the right, and crazy.

oh well, i expect it'll last our time.

the question "is this playacting or does he really hate us?" never occurs to them.

put them back, now! back! put them back!

i never hear the noise children make -- just as long as it's a happy noise.

do they know that they are afraid? no. but they are very afraid.

among many other kinds of monster, they are afraid of little me.

even when they are geniuses in spite of it, their masterpieces are invariably warped.

[name] wasn't a substitute for anything. and there is no substitute for [name], if you'll forgive my saying so, anywhere.

would you possibly be free tonight?

poor man, living there all alone. he has a kind face.

idiots -- fooled them again!

what is he up to?

these people are not amusing. they should never be dealt with amusingly. they understand only one language: brute force.

but does [name] want to be obeyed? doesn't he prefer to be defied so he can go on killing and killing -- since all these people are just vermin and the more of them that die the better?

no time to worry about that now.

it is a slander to say that they are identical.

the only ism i believe in is abstract expressionism.

is this some supersubtlety?

let's see if that old robot'll know the difference.

will any of them make it? oh, sure. one, at least. two or three at most.

you're always paying.

[name] wanted me to ask you, sir -- we were wondering if you could manage to get out to us again before too long?

won't this keep happening to him all through his life? won't he keep getting himself involved in the wrong kind of game, the kind of game he was never born to play, against an opponent who is quick and clever and merciless?

sorry, sir -- i lost you for a minute there.

they look as if they were ready at any minute to switch from studying to ditchdigging or gang fighting.

she has the look of a divorcee.

how can i impress, flatter or otherwise con this cantankerous old thing into giving me a good grade?

i must say, i don't see how anyone can pretend to be interested in a novel when he doesn't even stop to ask himself what its title means.

it's not much fun being beautiful for ever and ever, when you can't even wake up and look at yourself in a mirror.

well, what does [name] want them to say it's about? they'll say it's about anything he likes, anything at all.

wow! i don't dig that jazz.

what do we need eternity for, anyway?

the stupidest text in the bible is, 'they hated me without a cause.'

a minority is only thought of as a minority when it constitutes some kind of threat to the majority, real or imagined.

it's better if we admit to disliking and hating them than if we try to smear our feelings over with pseudo-liberal sentimentality.

why, you wouldn't recognize love if you met it! you'd suspect love!

well, after all, what else can you expect?

is this sheer idiocy or slyness?

i keep remembering that beautiful accent. it's like music.

i have to go down to the book shop.

you don't have any of those capsules left now, do you?

i bet, even if you had seen god, you wouldn't tell us.

someone has to ask you a question before you can answer it. but it's so seldom you find anyone who'll ask the right questions. most people aren't that much interested…

a place where the police are angels has to be an insane asylum.

the not-understanding, the readiness to remain at cross-purposes, is in itself a kind of intimacy.

isn't it some tiny satisfaction to be of use, instead of helping to turn out useless consumer goods?

just the same, it is a deadly bore and, to be frank, a wee bit distasteful.

want to go? we might ask him some awkward questions.

now we have with us a far more terrible fear, the fear of survival.

[name] stood me up. talk to me.

they're being cheated out of their childhood. they're being turned into junior consumers!

how can you talk such incredible nonsense?

that fills them with fury and loathing because they can never understand it.

essentially we're creatures of spirit. our life is all in the mind.

the nurses at the reception desk are pleasant, too. they don't fuss you with a lot of questions.

i am woman. i am bitch-mother nature. the church and the law and the state exist to support me.

i was screaming. they heard me clear down the hall.

it seems as if they can't bear to leave anything the way it used to be.

where's that fucking nurse?

if you'll just step outside for a moment. this won't take any time at all.

did she mean goodbye?

it will be a good christmas, the merchants predict.

i am alive, i am alive!

you old ass, who are you trying to seduce?

there is always an atmosphere of leisureliness in this place.

these things just kill me. man!

nobody is bitchy here, or ill-tempered, or inquisitive.

even up here, they are building dozens of new houses. this area is getting suburban.

the supermarket is still open; it won't close till midnight.

who says i have to be brave? who depends on me now? who cares?

look -- is it too late to change my mind? about tonight?

who can it be at this hour?

they might notice something queer about me, and you'd feel ashamed.

hey -- you can't die here! ain't this heaven?

the author gets slightly vague, so i've had to improvise a bit. i mean, he doesn't come right out and say so, but i have a suspicion that one's supposed to make it with human flesh. actually, i've used leftovers from a joint…

i've already made two new year's resolutions -- only they're effective immediately. the first is, i'm going to admit i loathe bourbon.

you know, i sometimes think, about you, whenever you do something really sweet, you're ashamed of it afterwards!

how many times, when [name] and i came to visit you -- sulking, avoiding each other's eyes, talking to each other only through you -- did you somehow bring us together again by the sheer power of your unawareness that anything was wrong?

he has made up his mind, really and truly. he wants a complete break.

i know you think he hasn't behaved well to me, [name]. i don't blame you for thinking that.

i betrayed you, [name]; i betrayed our life together.

i keep wondering just when it began to go wrong.

so here we are, just the two of us. just you and me.

i mean, until i've done that, i won't feel everything's really over. you have to do something to convince yourself.

i never wanted to live alone, [name].

how can you pretend you don't love it? and you miss it -- you wish you were back there -- you know you do.

i'm not sure how i should like that part of it.

whatever you say about it, darling, you always make it sound so marvelously romantic.

what's the harm? it's fun. it adds a new dimension to being drunk.

[name] not enjoying himself? he was having the ball of his life!

we were always making plans like that. we hardly ever told other people about them, even you. maybe that was because we knew in our hearts they were crazy.

no, [name], cross my heart, i am honestly not being bitchy!

feeling guilty's no reason for staying or going. the point is, do you want to go?

i think i shall go back, [name]. i dread it -- but i'm beginning to think i really shall.

i had to tell her at once, right after it happened. otherwise, i'd have been so afraid she'd find out for herself, in some uncanny way, and that would have been too shaming.

the past is just something that's over.

i can't stand anymore indecision. i've got to burn my boats, this time.

i should hate so to leave you, [name].

we could get drunk and earn money at the same time.

do women ever stop trying?

you are drunk. oh, you stupid old thing, how dare you get so drunk?

oh, the bloody battles and the sidewalk vomitings!

seashells are still less easy to find here than discarded rubbers.

it was nothing. only a poem.

but imagine your happening to pick on this particular bar!

do you really think i'd be such an idiot as to try to buy drinks for a minor?

you could invite him to stay the night at your place. tell him you'll drive him back in the morning.

you can talk about anything and change the subject as often as you like.

that's the trouble. i don't know what is important and what isn't.

the past doesn't really matter to most kids my age. when we talk like it does, we're just being polite.

maybe i will. maybe i'll get mad at you.

if you and i are no different, what do we have to give each other? how can we ever be friends?

whatever made me tell you all that? am i drunk or something?

i, personally, have gotten steadily sillier and sillier and sillier.

well, i'm not bluffing -- so what are we waiting for? you weren't bluffing, were you?

that's enough for now!

they ought not to let you out on your own, ever. you're liable to get into real trouble.

don't be an idiot. you'd get pneumonia.

you don't even have a cat or a dog or anything?

i believe you've discovered the secret of the perfect life!

getting married? no. that's out.

i don't believe you're that much interested whether i marry [name] or not. i think you want to ask me something different.

so now she's called the whole thing off?

you aren't exactly sober, if you don't mind my saying so.

and now get me another drink.

i suppose you've decided i'm a dirty old man?

don't you have a glimmering of how i must feel -- longing to speak?

the point is -- here am i and here are you -- and for once, there' s no one to disturb us.

it's the enormous tragedy of everything nowadays: flirtation. flirtation instead of fucking, if you'll pardon my coarseness.

thought maybe i'd better split, after all.

that was great, this evening. let's do it again, shall we? or don't you believe in repeating things?

quick -- we need a substitute!

yes, i am crazy. that is my secret; my strength. and i'm about to get much crazier.

what if [name] has been scared off? what if he doesn't come back?

this is where he found [name]. he believes he will find another [name] here. he doesn't know it, but he has started looking already.

but is all of [name] altogether present here?

how can such a variety of creatures coexist at all?

both will have to be carted away and disposed of, before too long.

[whisperthatruns]

Jail Poems

1

I am sitting in a cell with a view of evil parallels, Waiting thunder to splinter me into a thousand me's. It is not enough to be in one cage with one self; I want to sit opposite every prisoner in every hole. Doors roll and bang, every slam a finality, bang! The junkie disappeared into a red noise, stoning out his hell. The odored wino congratulates himself on not smoking, Fingerprints left lying on black inky gravestones, Noises of pain seeping through steel walls crashing Reach my own hurt. I become part of someone forever. Wild accents of criminals are sweeter to me than hum of cops, Busy battening down hatches of human souls; cargo Destined for ports of accusations, harbors of guilt. What do policemen eat, Socrates, still prisoner, old one?

2

Painter, paint me a crazy jail, mad water-color cells. Poet, how old is suffering? Write it in yellow lead. God, make me a sky on my glass ceiling. I need stars now, To lead through this atmosphere of shrieks and private hells, Entrances and exits, in . . . out . . . up . . . down, the civic seesaw. Here — me — now — always here somehow.

3

In a universe of cells—who is not in jail? Jailers. In a world of hospitals—who is not sick? Doctors. A golden sardine is swimming in my head. Oh we know some things, man, about some things Like jazz and jails and God. Saturday is a good day to go to jail.

4

Now they give a new form, quivering jelly-like, That proves any boy can be president of Muscatel. They are mad at him because he's one of Them. Gray-speckled unplanned nakedness; stinking Fingers grasping toilet bowl. Mr. America wants to bathe. Look! On the floor, lying across America's face— A real movie star featured in a million newsreels. What am I doing—feeling compassion? When he comes out of it, he will help kill me. He probably hates living.

5

Nuts, skin bolts, clanking in his stomach, scrambled. His society's gone to pieces in his belly, bloated. See the great American windmill, tilting at itself, Good solid stock, the kind that made America drunk. Success written all over his street-streaked ass. Successful-type success, forty home runs in one inning. Stop suffering, Jack, you can't fool us. We know. This is the greatest country in the world, ain't it? He didn't make it. Wino in Cell 3.

6

There have been too many years in this short span of mine. My soul demands a cave of its own, like the Jain god; Yet I must make it go on, hard like jazz, glowing In this dark plastic jungle, land of long night, chilled. My navel is a button to push when I want inside out. Am I not more than a mass of entrails and rough tissue? Must I break my bones? Drink my wine-diluted blood? Should I dredge old sadness from my chest? Not again, All those ancient balls of fire, hotly swallowed, let them lie. Let me spit breath mists of introspection, bits of me, So that when I am gone, I shall be in the air.

7

Someone whom I am is no one. Something I have done is nothing. Someplace I have been is nowhere. I am not me. What of the answers I must find questions for? All these strange streets I must find cities for, Thank God for beatniks.

8

All night the stink of rotting people, Fumes rising from pyres of live men, Fill my nose with gassy disgust, Drown my exposed eyes in tears.

9

Traveling God salesmen, bursting my ear drum With the dullest part of a good sexy book, Impatient for Monday and adding machines.

10

Yellow-eyed dogs whistling in evening.

11

The baby came to jail today.

12

One more day to hell, filled with floating glands.

13

The jail, a huge hollow metal cube Hanging from the moon by a silver chain. Someday Johnny Appleseed is going to chop it down.

14

Three long strings of light Braided into a ray.

15

I am apprehensive about my future; My past has turned its back on me.

16

Shadows I see, forming on the wall, Pictures of desires protected from my own eyes.

17

After spending all night constructing a dream, Morning came and blinded me with light. Now I seek among mountains of crushed eggshells For the God damned dream I never wanted.

18

Sitting here writing things on paper, Instead of sticking the pencil into the air.

19

The Battle of Monumental Failures raging, Both hoping for a good clean loss.

20

Now I see the night, silently overwhelming day.

21

Caught in imaginary webs of conscience, I weep over my acts, yet believe.

22

Cities should be built on one side of the street.

23

People who can't cast shadows Never die of freckles.

24

The end always comes last.

25

We sat at a corner table, Devouring each other word by word, Until nothing was left, repulsive skeletons.

26

I sit here writing, not daring to stop, For fear of seeing what's outside my head.

27

There, Jesus, didn't hurt a bit, did it?

28

I am afraid to follow my flesh over those narrow Wide hard soft female beds, but I do.

29

Link by link, we forged the chain. Then, discovering the end around our necks, We bugged out.

30

I have never seen a wild poetic loaf of bread, But if I did, I would eat it, crust and all.

31

From how many years away does a baby come?

32

Universality, duality, totality . . . .one.

33

The defective on the floor, mumbling, Was once a man who shouted across tables.

34

Come, help flatten a raindrop.

Written in San Francisco City Prison Cell 3, 1959

Bob Kaufman (1925--1986), Collected Poems of Bob Kaufman (City Lights Books, 2019)

[liarist]

Comedy

Chapter 1: The Great Escape

No Warnings

Once again, I found myself running, fleeing from the place I was in search of a new refuge. I had no choice, I never did. Years ago, I made a decision and I couldn't go back on it. It was dangerous, both for me and those around me, but it wasn't just that. Someone had to sacrifice themselves, someone had to do the dirty work.

They had tried to eliminate me numerous times. Information is a powerful weapon, but also dangerous, especially when there are powerful people who don't want that information to be known.

I adjusted my hood as the raindrops began to fall. I looked at my phone; it still had plenty of battery to last the night before continuing my journey. I entered a hostel and asked for a room for the night. I collapsed onto the bed; I needed sleep.

I continued my journey to reach a secluded town. As I approached the city, I ventured into the forest. I had never been in one like this before. I had grown up surrounded by monocultures, so this was completely new to me.

I arrived at an old house and saw a girl there. She seemed a bit frightened.

"Are you lost?" I asked her. She jumped and then turned to face me.

"No, I'm just… waiting for someone," she replied.

"In the middle of a forest at this hour?"

"You could ask the same of yourself. From your accent, I can tell you're not from here."

"You're right," I said. "I'm Rebekah."

"I'm Hannah. Would it be too much to ask you to stay with me for a moment? I'm trying to contact someone, and I don't want to be alone in the meantime," she asked.

"Sure, no problem," I said, watching her constantly checking her phone.

"JAKE!" I heard her shout into the phone. "Finally, I managed to reach you… Thank you for accompanying me, Rebekah. Now, I'll be fine," she said. I nodded and said goodbye to her. It was more fleeting than I had thought.

I returned to my vehicle and spent the night there. I heard the distant sound of sirens. I gathered all my belongings and left the car there before running into the forest. I brushed away the blonde hairs that were falling into my face and bothering me as I ran.

As I ran, someone grabbed me from behind and covered my mouth. I tried to break free from their grip, but they whispered in my ear.

"Shh, calm down. It's me, Jake, Hannah's friend," he said.

I was taken aback and tried to strike them to free myself.

"Damn, you hit hard," he whispered.

"Well, you deserved it. You have no idea how scared you made me," I scolded. "Can you please tell me what's going on?"

"I saw you running like a fugitive; I thought you needed help," he said.

"Yeah, well, you're not entirely wrong."

"Well, they're not here for you, so you can relax."

"So, what's going on? I'm completely out of the loop," I said, their piercing blue eyes momentarily averted and they sighed.

"Hannah has disappeared. Come with me, and I'll give you more details," he said.

"Why should I trust you?" I asked.

"I don't see that you have much to lose, and I don't see that you have anywhere else to stay, Rebekah."

"Well then, let's go."

I followed them to a place not far from Duskwood. They got into a car, and I sat in the passenger seat. We drove for a couple of hours until we reached a city. There, we went to a building that seemed almost in ruins but was still functional. It could easily collapse in an earthquake.

"Make yourself at home," he said.

I placed my things on the side and took off my blonde wig, stowing it in my bag.

"Well, that's a surprise," he commented, sitting down at their desk.

"Everyone has their ways of staying safe," I winked. "From what I see, you've got a good setup here. Will you explain what's going on?"

"Just after you left, I was talking to Hannah for a while. She got restless, and then someone came up behind her and… took her away."

"Damn, you witnessed a kidnapping. It must be tough," I said.

"Didn't you notice anything strange at that moment?" he asked.

"Well, besides the fact that she was alone in the forest? I wouldn't know; I'm not from here, in case you haven't noticed. So, I don't know if the forest is usually like this or not," I replied.

Messages started coming in on my phone. I thought about turning it off or smashing it against the wall, but I knew it wasn't the best idea.

Someone named Thomas had added me to a group.

"Lo siento, número equivocado" I wrote in Spanish, then turned my gaze back to Jake.

"By the way, how did you know where I was? Was it through all this?" I pointed to the computer.

"Perhaps," he replied, opening multiple tabs.

"You're a hacker," I concluded. "How intriguing you are. You're definitely someone I'd like to have in my contact list."

"Not a very long list, it seems," he responded, and I laughed.

"Before, you mentioned, or rather didn't deny, being a fugitive."

"Do you know when they say children imitate behaviors they see? It's true. Most kids I knew wanted to be soccer players, actors, singers, doctors, etc.," he looked at me curiously. "You're going to laugh, but I wanted to be a magician, and unlike the other kids, I actually became one."

"So, you do magic tricks?"

"I steal and reveal secrets with the help of magic tricks," I corrected as I pulled out his wallet.

He hurried to take it from my hands, and I burst into laughter as I saw him put it back in his pocket. I approached them and sat on his lap to see what was on the computer screen. I saw him visibly get nervous and raised his hands to avoid touching me.

"What is all this?" I asked.

"I'm trying to find Hannah, and for that, it's necessary to have access to all the accounts of the people around her," he explained.

"Why don't you go to Duskwood to help? You'd surely be very useful, considering you saw everything," I watched him sigh.

"The government is after me," he admitted.

"Can you tell me why, or is it a secret?"

"Let's just say I also reveal things about people, and the government doesn't like that."

"They don't like being exposed for the bastards they are," I whispered. "I'm glad to know it's because of that and not because you're a serial killer."

"Do you feel relieved that I'm not going to kill you or because we're, in a way, on the same side?"

"You're very perceptive, Jake. I like you. Perhaps we can work together in the future," I suggested.

"That sounds interesting. What do you have to offer?" I saw his hand move towards the mouse and start scrolling through the screen to view the data. I paid close attention to anything that might be useful.

"Besides magic tricks, I have contacts. Contacts that can be useful to both of us. Need a car at a good price and no questions asked? I have a contact for that. Need documentation, any type of documentation? I have a contact for that too. Let's not forget that I can easily get money."

"The documentation part is quite intriguing," he said.

"I figured as much," I smiled. I continued reading the rest of the screen until I noticed a name. "Thomas?" I asked.

"Does that name mean anything to you? It's a pretty common name around here."

"I wouldn't have given it much thought if a guy named Thomas hadn't tried to contact me recently." I unlocked my phone and saw that Thomas's messages had increased.

"It's him, the same guy," Jake said, taking my phone. I let out a laugh as I watched him read the messages.

"Are they too trusting," I said to Jake.

"They are. Do you consider them a threat?" he asked.

"If they continue being so trusting… they will get into a lot of trouble."

"I see. I have a surprise for you; look at your phone."

I did as they said and saw a new chat. I was looking at a conversation between Jessica and Daniel.

"Dulce y santa madre" I whispered. "You're brilliant, Jake."

"Are you going to keep sitting on… well, my lap?"

"I'm sorry!" I stood up and went to where my things were. "Where can I stay?"

"Anywhere you feel comfortable," he blinked a couple of times and nodded.

I didn't expect much, so I took my things and went to an empty room. I had a camping set, so I had a sleeping mat and a sleeping bag, as well as a few things for cooking outdoors. I arranged everything neatly and returned to my "duties."

[authortobenamedlater]

Hitting you up with a triple whammy. :)

Tom/Chyler, 22

Anakin & Rex, 83

John & Angel (your oc), 60

(send me two characters romantic or platonic and I'll write a little fic)

FINALLY getting here.

So uh. This got angsty. Sorry? I also had a hard time making the prompt work for these two. Then I realized I had forgotten to use the first sentence in the prompt. Sigh. Fic already written, so here it is.

Will do the other two prompts in reblogs.

"It's not heavy. I'm stronger than I look."

Tom blinked until the display in front of him stopped blurring.

They’re all gone.

A whole frigate, sent out on his orders, blown out of the sky right in front of him and the entire bridge crew.

A frigate and six hundred bodies the Navy could hardly spare, as Secretary Boginskaya had reminded him. Tom had managed to keep his breathtaking lack of interest in SECNAV’s numbers game to himself.

Six hundred.

Six hundred men and women, some of them barely old enough to be called such. Kids. They looked more like kids every year.

I sent them out.

Lives ended before they could even begin.

They’re all gone.

The intel had looked good. Everyone had thought it was good. But everyone had been wrong, and now Tom had six hundred condolence letters to sign.

He dragged his sleeve across his nose. It comes with the job.

But oh, if the job didn’t hurt sometimes.

“Tom?”

Tom glanced up as Chyler entered the ready room. Her naturally fair complexion looked even paler than usual and dark circles accented her bloodshot eyes.

Tom realized he hadn’t seen her since rushing off the bridge to call Admiral Hood. He’d spent the day putting out fires. FLEETCOM, ONI, SECNAV, the Senate UNSC Oversight Committee, the Infinity Oversight Subcommittee, committees he hadn’t even known existed, his own crew.

The media, at least, hadn’t come knocking yet.

Chyler had taken over without hesitation, ensuring that Tom’s ever-growing list of worries didn’t include keeping his ship running. A small ray of thankfulness pierced his gloom. Tom knew opinion of his bride as the best first officer in the fleet was hardly objective, and he also knew it wasn’t wrong.

“It’s late. You should rest,” Chyler said.

Tom had no idea what time it was, but it must have been later than he would have guessed. Chyler taken off her jacket and sidearm.

Whatever the hour, Tom had no delusions about resting tonight. He looked back at his work.

Chyler crossed behind the desk and looked down at the tablet. “You know you don’t have to do this.” She rubbed his back.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Tom.”

“They deserve more than a copy-paste signature.” Tom swallowed the tears back. Again. “I should at least read their names and sign the letters.”

“You’re not blaming yourself for this, are you?” Chyler asked gently.

“I gave the order, honey.”

“If I remind you nobody thought the intel was faulty, will that make a difference?”

Maybe it would, someday. Just not today. Tom looked up at his wife. “Go get some sleep, Chyler. I’ll be OK.”

Chyler sat on his lap and slid her arms over his shoulders. “Do you really think I’m going to sleep while you’re in here tearing yourself apart?”

Tom leaned his head on her shoulder. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m cut out for this,” he confessed in a whisper.

Chyler picked up the tablet. “Condolence letter…fifty. Of six hundred.” She put the device down. “Nobody’s cut out for that. Anyone who is has paid far too high a price.”

Tom scrubbed his hand over his cheeks.

“All right.” Chyler unclipped his duty vest and lifted it over his head. “Come on. Take off your jacket and come with me.”

Normally Tom would have had a lewd comment, but it wasn’t in him as he unzipped his jacket and locked his sidearm in the desk. He let Chyler lead him to the couch on the opposite end of the ready room and wrap her arms around his neck.

How many husbands don’t get to hold their wives tonight?

Tom took a shaky breath. “Oh, God, Chyler.”

“It’s OK,” Chyler murmured. “Just give it all to me. I can take it.”

“Good, ‘cause I can’t.” Tom buried his face in her neck and let the tears fall. "I can't."

“You don’t have to,” Chyler said simply. “That’s what I’m here for.” She stroked his hair. “I’m stronger than I look.”

--

SECNAV = Secretary of the Navy. I assume the UEG has one of those.

[jonathanvik]

Luyten V - Chapter 5

“You must understand, your daughter is the world’s only defense against the Altair,” Director Shapley said, his tone measured.

“I don’t care!” Her mom’s voice raised to a fevered pitch. “You’re not making my Rose a soldier! Besides, it makes no sense. Why is my daughter the only one that can pilot that demonic monstrosity?”

The two adults continued to argue, neither giving an inch. As usual, nobody seemed to care what Rose thought. At least her father was more understanding about the reality of the situation. He tried to intercede on her behalf, trying to calm down his wife. Still, getting thrust into a war didn’t thrill her, either.

“Thanks, future me! Thanks a lot!” Rose scowled. Still, if she didn’t have a choice, she’d fight. She could do this. After all, she destroyed those Altair without issue. An entire invasion? Piece of cake! She hoped.

“I’m going to the lady’s room.” Without seeking permission from the adults, Rose abandoned the room and its tiring conversation. She wandered the government facility, curious about its workings.

“Wow,” Rose stared wide-eyed at the facility they used to conduct Luyten V’s maintenance. Despite its flat, implacable features, the robot seemed to watch her with interest as she entered. The tech was bleeding edge, far beyond anything she’d ever seen in her dinky little town. Some scientists eyed her with curiosity, but continued with their work.

“Fascinating, right?” A nearby scientist at a workstation said, interrupting her gawking. He was tall but well-built, with a bushy mustache fluttering as he spoke with a thick Russian accent. He smiled at her and waved for her to come closer.

On the man’s terminal were computations that boggled the mind, Rose having difficulty absorbing it all. “Wow.”

“I heard you have quite a knack for the mechanical,” the scientist gestured to the project he was working on. “What do you think?”

Rose peered closer. It appeared to be Luyten V’s mechanical skeleton. “It’s masterful. The legs are thick and strong to support the Luyten V’s weight, yet light and delicate enough to move like a human. I’m amazed anything that size can even stand. Wouldn’t the square-cube law work against it?” The larger an object gets, the greater the strain on the structure because of its increased mass. 

“Clever observation,” the scientist replied, pleased. He extended a hand. “Doctor Vasiliy Idelson.”

“Rose Brahe,” she grabbed the older man’s hand and shook it. “What is the Luyten V made from? Steel couldn’t hold that much weight.”

“That’s still a mystery,” Idelson admitted sheepishly. “An alloy of unknown composition. Very unusual.”

Rose nodded and asked other technical questions. Much to her satisfaction, Doctor Idelson was happy to supply the answers. While the advanced scientific principles were difficult to understand, Rose gained a vague understanding of how the robot worked.

“There you are,” an annoyed Sandage said, walking up to them.

“Just exploring,” Rose said without shame. If she designed this stupid thing, she deserved to know its inner workings.

“I’m showing her how the Luyten V works,” Idelson said.

“Doctor Idelson, that confidential information,” Sandage scowled. He eyed the Russian scientist with a guarded, suspicious expression. Old prejudices died hard, she supposed. They were at war with aliens. Shouldn’t they all be friends as fellow humans?

But like Rose, Idelson held no shame. “Ms. Brahe is a talented young lady. We should recruit her to the research team. Her input would be highly valuable.”

“Funny,” Sandage said, unamused. “Come, Rose. Your parents are ready to leave.”

“Fine.” But she smiled as Idelson gave her a conspiratorial wink. If she returned, she’d love to speak more with him. It was rare to meet someone with a similar love for the unknown. She burned with the desire to tear apart the Luyten V and see how it all worked.

“You’ll be happy to know your mom ok’d you to pilot the Luyten V,” Sandage said without preamble as they walked down the halls.

“Really? How’d they convince her?”

“Director Shapley can be quite persuasive.” Yet, Rose detected this development didn’t please Sandage.

“Is something wrong?” Was he convinced she couldn’t do it? It was an odd change, considering his encouragement when she fought with the Altair scout. Was something going on?

“I argued against it, but they went ahead anyway,” Sandage fought back the bitterness in his voice. Rose pressed the point, but the government agent refused to elaborate as they walked down the halls.

“Okay.” An awkward silence hung between them as they walked. It broke as Sandage said something else.

“Just know this, Rose,” Sandage hardened his jaw, his face filling with determination. “We will do whatever it takes to protect you. We have your back, always.”

“Sure.” Rose blinked in confusion. Wasn’t he against her a second ago? Whatever. Adults were weird and often contradictory. Still, the encouragement heartened her. With this awesome team behind her, how could she lose?

---

“I’m fine, Georges. You don’t need to worry about me.” Rose stuck her head further into her book.

“I’m just worried about you, Rose. Apparently, they’ve recruited you to mold you into their personal soldier, brainwashed to do whatever they want!” her friend said, scowling. 

“That’s not true!” Rose snapped back. It wasn’t like she wanted this. 

“Just leave her alone, Georges,” Vera said, rolling her eyes. “Stop being so pushy.”

“So, it doesn’t bug you that the government has a jack-booted thug trailing Rose wherever she goes?” Georges whispered, pointing to the black-suited man in the corner of their study hall.

“Mr. Brown? He’s cool,” Rose waved towards her bodyguard, who responded with a slight nod. While on duty, the granite-faced man seemed more like a stone carved statue. While alone, however, she found him friendly and easy to talk to. They shared similar interests and enjoyed bouncing ideas off him.

“It’s like Grandpa says, they’re always tracking us.” Georges took on a conspiratorial tone. “Did you hear about the secret chips they install in microwaves? Totally a way to spy on us.”

“How would that even work? Why would you even spy on someone from their kitchen?” Rose said, exasperated.

“I’m just saying,” Georges replied. “Trust me. Things are going to get bad soon. They’re already talking about a world government!”

That particular conversation had recently gained some major steam, trending on many social media sites. With people scared about the Altair, some proposed that a single world government would better pool humanity’s resources to fight them. Politicians were throwing their weight around to strengthen ties with their allies and once-rivals. While Rose didn’t give it much credence, it was an interesting thought experiment.

“It’s awfully convenient that the Altair showed up when our relationship with the Russians was at an all-time low. Grandpa says we’re way too friendly with the Russians now. It isn’t natural!” Georges continued.

“Georges, stop parroting whatever your grandfather says,” Rose said, annoyed. Since Georges’ parents died when he was three, he’d lived alone with his grandfather almost his entire life. While a nice enough man most of the time, he seemed somewhat unhinged sometimes. 

Georges opened his mouth to continue his rant, but Hans stopped him in his usual curt way. “Shut up, Georges. No one cares about your ridiculous theories.”

Thank you. Rose sighed in relief. For once, they were in total agreement. Georges grumbled to himself, chastened.

“Anyway, I’m surprised they’re still allowing you to go to school here,” Vera said, changing the topic. “You’d think they’d lock in some lab somewhere.”

“Eh, they want some stability in my life. They said the normality would keep my spirits up.” 

“Are they having you train?” Hans suddenly asked. “Piloting the Luyten V can’t be easy on your body.”

“Don’t remind me. They have me up three hours early every morning for physical training.” Rose’s muscles ached from being pushed far past their natural limits. Worse, they promised to amp up the difficulty. She really wanted to complain to her future self for putting her through this nonsense.

Much to Rose’s surprise, Hans’ expression softened. “Keep with it.”

“Huh?” Rose blinked, surprised by the sudden kindness. Before she could comment, Hans had disappeared. She only shook her head. The world was getting crazy lately. It seemed like anything could happen. For reasons that ashamed Rose somewhat, she wished they remained that way. Despite the ever-present dangers, it was exciting, 

“Hello, class,” Ms. Sagan said as they entered math class. They each took their seats, but their teacher didn’t start the class as expected. Instead, a girl Rose had never seen before entered their classroom. The first thing that struck her was the newcomer’s unusual size. Rose almost assumed the newcomer was a high schooler, the girl reaching almost her father’s height.

“Hello. My name is Cecilia Burbidge. It is nice to meet you,” the tall girl gave the class a bow.

“What’s with the formality?” Vera whispered to her. How the girl spoke was odd, stilled. The newcomer’s clothes were simple, baggy pants and a pink sweatshirt. It was an unusual contrast to the prim and proper way she spoke. She didn’t seem like someone from high society.

“I wonder if she was homeschooled,” Rose wondered. The newcomer seemed oddly wide-eyed as she entered the classroom, like she’d never seen one before. While everyone was whispering about how strange their newest classmate was, Rose’s heart warmed to the girl. The poor thing seemed lost as class began, having trouble concentrating with so many strangers around. Rose swore to lend Cecilia her notes later.

“Is this seat taken?” Rose said, sitting next to their newest classmate. The lunchroom bustled with activity, each student rushing to their usual click or friend group. Rose, however, chose a different option. 

“Oh, Brahe. Um, hi!” Cecilia said awkwardly. “Sure, why not!”

“Good. Are you adjusting well to Dee Middle?” Rose asked, biting into her garlic bread. While the lasagna wasn’t anything special, garlic bread was impossible to mess up.

“Perfectly,” the other girl replied. “Shouldn’t you join your other friends?” The other girl pointed to her pair of friends waving her over. But Rose only dismissed them with a shake of her head.

“Nonsense. I’m more interested in you. You’re attending a new school. It can’t be easy. Were you homeschooled before this?”

“Yes, you could say that, Brahe.”

But Rose only laughed. “No need to be formal. We’re all friends here.”

“Friends, but we’ve just met?” The other girl looked down, blushing. Had this girl never had friends before? From her stilted position, Rose supposed Cecilia didn’t hang out often with others her age. 

“Nonsense. We’ve talked, so we’re friends now.”

“I’ve read it takes years to develop a deep connection to someone. Yet, you’ve only known me for seconds before calling me a friend?”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it.”

The girl looked down, fidgeting somewhat. “Thanks. Everyone’s been staring at me. They think I’m some oddball.”

“They’re just not used to you. Give it a few weeks. You’ll just be another part of the furniture.”

Cecilia stared at her hands before replying. “You’re not what I expected. You’re upbeat, considering the scary stuff that’s happened to you.”

“That?” Rose snorted. “I’m not worried about the Altair. Luyten V and I are becoming a great team. We’ll smash them like the others.”

This comment made Cecilia go quiet, her face going pale. She started quaking.

“Is something the matter?”

“Aren’t you worried that you’re in over your head?”

Rose saw the worry and sensitivity in the other girl’s eyes. “Look, I’m just trying to make sure everyone’s safe. With the Altair threat hanging over us like a noose, people need to know I’m standing firm, that I’m invincible.” 

This comment made Cecilia speechless. She stared down at her hands, troubled. Rose wanted to reassure the girl everything was okay, but Vera had lost patience and butted onto their table. Vera introduced herself and asked hundreds of probing questions that Cecilia had trouble answering. After the rather grim nature of their conversation, it was a comedic and welcome relief.

“And who dressed you?” Vera said, picking at the shoulder of Cecilia’s plain sweatshirt. As usual, the girl liked to speak her mind and forgot about tact. “They have no fashion sense.”

“Really?” Cecilia looked down at her outfit. “I suppose so. The doctor thinks that function takes precedence over appearance.”

“Doctor?” Vera asked, perking up with interest.

“I don’t really have parents, so Doctor Burbidge raised me,” Cecilia replied. It explained the girl’s remarkable intelligence. While socially awkward, she’d answered every question the teachers had asked her with perfect accuracy. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Though it must be nice not having parents muck everything about. While she loved her parents, Rose had to admit they were often difficult. In their rush to attend to her other siblings, she’d regularly get missed in the rush. 

Vera clicked her tongue. “Yes, this won’t do. After school, we’re having an emergency shopping session.”

“Fine,” Rose said, rolling her eyes. While she enjoyed shopping, she didn’t share her friend’s passion for fashion. “Then we can watch Stella afterward.”

It was her friend’s turn to roll her eyes. “Must we?”

“Stella?” Cecilia asked.

“She’s an indie vTuber.” When the new girl responded with a blank stare, Rose clarified. “Basically a streaming celebrity, but with more anime.”

“Oh, it’s an internet thing,” Cecilia replied. “I’ve never really used the internet growing up. I was more interested in reading and drawing.”

“What?” Both Vera and Rose stared at the girl like she’d grown a second head. Did Cecilia live in a cave before today?

“Then you must watch Stella’s stream with me,” Rose said, declaring this like it was a holy decree. “She’s doing karaoke tonight.”

“Oh.” Cecilia showed little enthusiasm to this pronouncement. She sighed as her new friends rambled at her excitedly, ignoring her meek protestations.

---

Ever consuming nothing pressed against them as they traveled through the void. Nothing existed here, not even time. Even to the implacable Altair, the void was oppressive and lonely. To less single-minded and focused beings, they would’ve long broken their sanity. But to the Altair, it only heightened their appetite when they arrived at something. There, they’d gorge themselves on reality. This newest universe seemed the most appetizing, full of life and vigor. They’d feed well. All they needed to do was wait for the scout’s report. 

The odd, unknown scout had led them to a world brimming with intelligent, industrial beings. While their technology seemed primitive and non-threatening, the Altair wanted all their children to enjoy the fest. It won’t throw away its numbers for only minimal gain. So it’d sent the scout to soften up their defenses, filling the planet with despair, as they failed to fight even a single of their number. 

In the void, the Altair slept, conserving their energy for the feast. Only the Grand Intelligence stayed awake, planning and scheming until the Altair scout returned with news of its success.

“Impossible!” A jolt slashed through the Grand Intelligence’s mind as its child died, consumed by fire. It wailed in pain and grief over the loss of its child. It’d bravely thrown itself into an unknown world to gauge its strength. Rage filled the Grand Intelligence, lashing out in fury at the outrage. How did these tiny beings kill such a formidable foe as the scout? 

As the Grand Intelligence’s outrage subsided, icy, frigid logic replaced it. Clearly, this planet has sharper teeth than it’d first suspected. They would need to handle this Earth with delicate care to avoid senseless Altair loss. It read the flashes of insight the brave scout had sent through the void before its death. While fragmentary, the images of the Red Demon were clear to the Grand Intelligence. 

The countenance of this terrible foe was quite fearsome, its power mighty. But its readings were odd, of an almost familiar color. The demon didn’t belong, somehow alien to this reality. 

Grand Intelligence projected a command to one of the mightiest of its three generals. And Okab the Terminator answered the call. Green floated before the Grand Intelligence, subordinate to its wishes. It nodded its understanding, compiling in perfect obedience. This child won’t fail. It’d destroy this new enemy through cunning instead of brute force.

The Altair shifted in the void, waking from their slumber. They hungered after their lost voyage, eager to hunt. The Grand Intelligence coxed them, working them up into a frenzy. Once Okab’s mission was complete, they’d feed. 

[manwalksintobar]

Jail Poems // Bob Kaufman

1

I am sitting in a cell with a view of evil parallels, Waiting thunder to splinter me into a thousand me's. It is not enough to be in one cage with one self; I want to sit opposite every prisoner in every hole. Doors roll and bang, every slam a finality, bang! The junkie disappeared into a red noise, stoning out his hell. The odored wino congratulates himself on not smoking, Fingerprints left lying on black inky gravestones, Noises of pain seeping through steel walls crashing Reach my own hurt. I become part of someone forever. Wild accents of criminals are sweeter to me than hum of cops, Busy battening down hatches of human souls; cargo Destined for ports of accusations, harbors of guilt. What do policemen eat, Socrates, still prisoner, old one?

2

Painter, paint me a crazy jail, mad water-color cells. Poet, how old is suffering? Write it in yellow lead. God, make me a sky on my glass ceiling. I need stars now, To lead through this atmosphere of shrieks and private hells, Entrances and exits, in . . . out . . . up . . . down, the civic seesaw. Here — me — now — always here somehow.

3

In a universe of cells—who is not in jail? Jailers. In a world of hospitals—who is not sick? Doctors. A golden sardine is swimming in my head. Oh we know some things, man, about some things Like jazz and jails and God. Saturday is a good day to go to jail.

4

Now they give a new form, quivering jelly-like, That proves any boy can be president of Muscatel. They are mad at him because he's one of Them. Gray-speckled unplanned nakedness; stinking Fingers grasping toilet bowl. Mr. America wants to bathe. Look! On the floor, lying across America's face— A real movie star featured in a million newsreels. What am I doing—feeling compassion? When he comes out of it, he will help kill me. He probably hates living.

5

Nuts, skin bolts, clanking in his stomach, scrambled. His society's gone to pieces in his belly, bloated. See the great American windmill, tilting at itself, Good solid stock, the kind that made America drunk. Success written all over his street-streaked ass. Successful-type success, forty home runs in one inning. Stop suffering, Jack, you can't fool us. We know. This is the greatest country in the world, ain't it? He didn't make it. Wino in Cell 3.

6

There have been too many years in this short span of mine. My soul demands a cave of its own, like the Jain god; Yet I must make it go on, hard like jazz, glowing In this dark plastic jungle, land of long night, chilled. My navel is a button to push when I want inside out. Am I not more than a mass of entrails and rough tissue? Must I break my bones? Drink my wine-diluted blood? Should I dredge old sadness from my chest? Not again, All those ancient balls of fire, hotly swallowed, let them lie. Let me spit breath mists of introspection, bits of me, So that when I am gone, I shall be in the air.

7

Someone whom I am is no one. Something I have done is nothing. Someplace I have been is nowhere. I am not me. What of the answers I must find questions for? All these strange streets I must find cities for, Thank God for beatniks.

8

All night the stink of rotting people, Fumes rising from pyres of live men, Fill my nose with gassy disgust, Drown my exposed eyes in tears.

9

Traveling God salesmen, bursting my ear drum With the dullest part of a good sexy book, Impatient for Monday and adding machines.

10

Yellow-eyed dogs whistling in evening.

11

The baby came to jail today.

12

One more day to hell, filled with floating glands.

13

The jail, a huge hollow metal cube Hanging from the moon by a silver chain. Someday Johnny Appleseed is going to chop it down.

14

Three long strings of light Braided into a ray.

15

I am apprehensive about my future; My past has turned its back on me.

16

Shadows I see, forming on the wall, Pictures of desires protected from my own eyes.

17

After spending all night constructing a dream, Morning came and blinded me with light. Now I seek among mountains of crushed eggshells For the God damned dream I never wanted.

18

Sitting here writing things on paper, Instead of sticking the pencil into the air.

19

The Battle of Monumental Failures raging, Both hoping for a good clean loss.

20

Now I see the night, silently overwhelming day.

21

Caught in imaginary webs of conscience, I weep over my acts, yet believe.

22

Cities should be built on one side of the street.

23

People who can't cast shadows Never die of freckles.

24

The end always comes last.

25

We sat at a corner table, Devouring each other word by word, Until nothing was left, repulsive skeletons.

26

I sit here writing, not daring to stop, For fear of seeing what's outside my head.

27

There, Jesus, didn't hurt a bit, did it?

28

I am afraid to follow my flesh over those narrow Wide hard soft female beds, but I do.

29

Link by link, we forged the chain. Then, discovering the end around our necks, We bugged out.

30

I have never seen a wild poetic loaf of bread, But if I did, I would eat it, crust and all.

31

From how many years away does a baby come?

32

Universality, duality, totality . . . .one.

33

The defective on the floor, mumbling, Was once a man who shouted across tables.

34

Come, help flatten a raindrop.

Written in San Francisco City Prison Cell 3, 1959

[jollyreginaldrancher]

Yellowjackets S2 e3

So that all happened.

Everytime a non-main character starts to get flashbacks, they've died so that coach Ben guy is probably next, if the pattern continues.

Are we to really believe Taissa was sleep-eating with the gals? Not that it matters but I feel like this is just denial. She was wide awake when it all happened. Like I can rewatch to check but I remember her and Van hand-feeding each other at some point. That doesn't exactly scream sleepwalking to me. I think she just doesn't want to cope with what has happened.

I was thinking if Van is alive, why wasn't she with Taissa? I know high school relationships rarely last but come on. They've gone through so much and they're trauma bonded so something big must have happened. I wonder if it's the cannibalism of Lottie's clan stuff.

I'm starting to like adult Nat again but she's on pretty thin ice to be honest.

What was with the bleeding bush? Was that from Lottie's compound or part of the next scene with Taissa? I honestly stayed up just to see what happens to her and Simone. I couldn't tell if she intentionally got in that accident or if it was an actual accident. It's hard to tell when she switches between her normal self and her other personality.

Which begs the question is it just sleepwalking and a response to stress and trauma or another personality that surfaces in high stress situations?

I cannot stand this new Walter guy.

I honestly don't care much for Shauna and Jeff's midlife crisis stuff either.

I love Shauna though. She would be that old lady at the retirement home who casually reveals she killed a guy.

Lottie is getting within romantic distance of Nat and am I going to ship this? No, I'm too invested in Nat X Misty, but in another life maybe.

Lottie doesn't seem to have that accent anymore so maybe she just sounded a bit weird in that one scene.

It's sweet what Nat is trying to do but wouldn't the scent just attract every vulture or other predator to the airplane? Or worse, would it not bring everything to her location?

I'm really worried about that baby now. For starters how did it survive all this stress? And for second, wouldn't it be extremely fucked up by the mom drinking alcohol and eating human meat? Also the starvation and the cold. I don't think this baby will survive.

Misty is adorable. Her new friend is funny. I still don't like Mari.

It's nice to see someone other than Shauna show a sympathetic side to Jackie, even though she's already dead. A lot of time she'd been treated like a burden. The way I imagine they treated Misty before she turned out to be invaluable. I imagine Shauna realised she was in her shoes and that's why she was kind to her.

I have to give it to them though. Not a lot of shows can make you terrified of an Elk. Rightfully you should be scared of them but they're generally seen as a symbol of youth or freedom and dignity. They're seen from afar and give the protagonists courage. They don't scare the shit out of them and nearly knock them off the gene pool.

Is the one with no eyes tied to that funeral flashback? I don't remember much about it but it had something to do with maybe her grandma's funeral? Maybe she saw a dead body being prepared and that image stuck with her and that's the man with no eyes? I really don't remember much about that though and I don't want to google it and get spoiled.

Also Jeff said he's been married almost 25 years. Callie is definitely not the baby she had in the woods cause she's still in high school, isn't she? That baby definitely didn't make it 🥺

Shauna rolled a crit on that intimidation check ☠️

Is Misty spoiling Steel magnolias for me right now? 😭 It was totally in my watch list. I have to give her credit though cause it sounds like she's putting her whole ass in this performance.

What's Taissa miming? It kind of looks like those masks she and Van wore at Doomcoming. Are we finally gonna see adult Van?

Rachel Berry has nothing on Misty 😅

Does this guy know Moriarty was the villain?

Aww the teddy bear 🥹

I guess what tore them apart ultimately was Van's devotion to Lottie.

And Lottie is still having visions? Or she's just started having them again. Either way shit is probably going to go down again.

It does a great job of tiptoeing around the supernatural. There's definitely hints but also scientific explanations of things but when you're alone in the woods and you don't have those explanations it's easy to believe anything, and especially easy to put faith in things when you have nothing else.

The takeaway here I guess is that Taissa has lost Van and Shauna and Nat and Taissa are maybe the last non-believers. Aside maybe from Trent but I don't think he really matters.