#judging me for butchering her husband's work probably

[myname-isnia]

Ever since I first read Eugene Onegin two years ago, and even more now that I had to reread it for school recently, I've been saying that I've never related to a fictional character more than I relate to Tatyana Larina (not counting my own characters, that is, as they are intentional projections). Particularly the verses about Tatyana's childhood hit very close to home. I've been wanting to talk about it for a while but couldn't find a translation of the book that I liked. So, instead of sleeping, I spent 2 hours absolutely torturing my own brain by coming up with my own translation and I'm way too proud not to share.

Eugene Onegin, chapter 2, verses 25, 26 and 27, translated with the original temp and rhyming scheme intact, by yours truly <3

—

XXV

And so, her sister's named Tatyana.

She seldom catches someone's gaze,

Lacks Olga's beauty, lacks her glamour,

The pink-cheeked freshness of her face.

She's almost feral, quiet with woe,

So quick to startle, like a doe.

And even in her family home

She seemed a child not quite their own.

She hardly ever showed affection,

Both mom and dad would often say.

By window she would spend her day

Alone but for her own reflection,

She judged the children running wild,

Though she herself was still a child.

XXVI

Imagination was her close friend

From infancy. As village days

Kept dragging on without an end,

She'd get lost in her fantasies.

Needle and thread she too avoided,

Fabric was never once embroidered

By her unblemished fingers, for

She found needlework a bore.

An average girl would take her doll,

Sit down with it and start to talk,

Prepare it for the time to walk

Into an upper class grand ball –

To silent dolls during these sessions

Young girls repeat their mothers' lessons.

XXVII

Tatyana never had discussions

With dolls, nor did she play with them;

She never told them of the fashions,

Of city news, and even then

Of toys and games she was quite wary,

She'd rather read of something scary.

In winters, in the dead of night,

Her heart learned how to take a fright.

When for young Olga their old nanny

Would gather up the neighbours' kids

To run and play out in the fields,

Tatyana would act most uncanny:

She never played or ran around,

And found their laughter far too loud.

—

[relaxxattack]

(i dont care to do c! tags bc theres. so many characters. if i dont say cc! then im talking abt the characters) normally i am not one to think much about the syndicate bc outside of ranboo being there to protect tubbo the syndicate Frustrates me a bit but. if phil starts to realize just how fucked over tubbo got by schlatt being erased from the narrative (and especially how shittily techno has treated tubbo) then i really hope they lean into like. the fact that the syndicate may soon turn into phil, niki, ranboo, and possibly the mystery member (im including mystery member mostly because i think tubbo is on good terms with almost everyone except like. dream, possibly wilbur but we'll see, and like the eggpire ppl but none of them are likely options but it is possible that the mystery member could just be neutral) all like. wanting tubbo to be safe and phil is *just* reasonable enough that i think he'd realize how unfair it is for tubbo to have been subjected to so much shit just for techno to introduce even more fear and the need to hide in his life

like phil already keeps the bee duo marriage and michael a secret, he lets tubbo come over and while of course its mostly from the semi lore vibes phil seems vaguely fond of tubbo already (i dont think phil and tubbo have father/son vibes tho, more just like. tubbo is just That Kid that adults cant help but adore even though the kid will rob them of house and home. slightly amused elder watching a tiny fucking gremlin make sex jokes and talk about soviet russia), niki from what i remember still cares about tubbo (probably because she cant redirect any anger towards him without realizing how unjustified it would be kcnsks she can come up with excuses for hating tommy but tubbo didnt do anything that niki has a problem with outside of her maybe having a bad view on butcher army if she knows about it?), ranboo is. ranboo. i dont need to clarify. and then like said theres a very low possibility of the fifth member *disliking* tubbo or being unable to sympathize with him.

people talk a lot about how techno needs to lose in a way that he cant easily come back from without introspection and i think while the rest of the syndicate standing up for tubbo would increase technos grudge against tubbo initially its also like. something that i think would maybe force techno to see tubbo as a person because now theres nothing techno can box (haha gettit. tubbox tubbo in a box tubbo getting boxed into certain roles by people who refuse to let him out techno esp doin this teehoo) tubbo into that wouldnt just. acknowledge that tubbo is a person. hes not apart of the government anymore, not planning any failed revolution, the most negative title to his name is being one of the nuke makers but even then thats out of fear and safety and techno knows that. otherwise tubbos current crimes are nothing thats special to tubbo (like. stealing and searching for evidence in ppls homes and stuff, the latter of which techno doesnr even know about). right now tubbos a husband, a father, a friend, a kid, *ex*-government, a person. and just.

i think that with how much foreshadowing about tubbos execution no longer being a secret amongst the witnesses and tubbo himself and soon being something that people close to techno like phil and ranboo know about as well (in that i want phil to learn that techno did it and for ranboo to learn about it in general bc hes just biased enough for tubbo and just smart enough that i think even if somehow he wasnt told who did it he could figure it out), and with the fact that tubbos lore has been confirmed to now be something thats actively going to be played into? i think (or at least hope) that it might spur phil and techno into finally seeing tubbos side of the story (and probably also get into the possibility of tubbo opening up to tommy and ranboo but i do think realistically either tubbo will try to play it off/not truly open up about how much its effected him or tubbo will at first shut down or go into complete repression mode, especially if phil and ranboo get the story from other people rather than tubbo himself [but god do i hope they confront tubbo himself]. either those two or tubbo talks about his emotions through fucking snapping at something/someone like he did at quackity when reminded of his execution, which as long as its Not tommy or ranboo ill absolutely be cheering on him for)

which is all a very convoluted way of saying uhh. *grabby paws at the ccs currently involved in the arc of clearing up personal misconceptions about l'manberg (and especially tubbos involvement and how easily those around him judged him based off of their versions of the story)* tubbo lore? tubbo healing tubbo talking about his problems? characters learning to see him as a person and recognizing how traumatized he is and that hes not uneffected but actively repressing any effects? please? (also ending note as the cherry on top of this essay that im sorry for dropping into your inbox: im kind of glad that tommys healing arc and tubbos possible healing arc are going to happen at similar times but are still separate. something something its nice to see acknowledgement that tommy and tubbo wont heal in the same way and arent going to know how to help each other but theyre still going through it together. their arcs are intertwining without removing their individuality and as someone w major co-dependency issues its kind of nice idk. you can be there for someone and still acknowledge that you have your own things to go through too and that while you wont be alone you shouldnt force those around you to support you. the bench trio are all helping each other out of free will and genuine love for each other while still realizing they have some problems they arent ready to talk about yet that arent forced to the open because theyre all doing their best to handle each other with care and i just. bench trio my beloveds. the kids are alright.) -🎭🎪 (also as the actual end note if theres ever a need to refer to me as something other than the emojis mask or eyez works fine but the idea of my name being the emojis is also Very Funny to me so do what you will)

im working on my aperture camera college assignment rn and my brain is sort of fried so i dont have an intelligent answer, but i got the happy chemical reading this.

yeah. i think we all know here that my favorite character is tubbo, and i REALLY hope we get him addressing anything that’s happened to him in canon. pretty much all of what you said sounds very good. *grabby hands* spare tubbo lore? please? spare tubbo lore?

perhaps during the three weeks wilburs off in the fucking woods (/lh) we could have a the-others-find-out-what-happened-to-tubbo-(and in DETAIL)-arc. pleaseeeeeeeee and ty

[jemej3m]

hi i love love love your writing! sorry if people have been asking this but ive been looking for a part three of your lawyer!andrew and neil is on trial for killing his father and I wasnt sure if I missed it or if you haven’t continued it. Just wondering thank you ❤️

well GUEsS WHAT MY FRIEND 

its here!!!

(p1 / p2)

*

Andrew didn’t like to drag things out, but the prosecution did. They always did. It was their only joy in life, especially in appeals: tease every possible fraying strand of a case till they were three weeks into the trial and the jury was dead on their feet. 

And yet, here he was, on the second day of his closing. He’d never made it to a second day: once he’d finished a closing in five minutes. 

Neil had grown progressively more antsy over the three weeks, desperate for a resolution. Every time he was scanned into court, Andrew took his favourite key and slipped it into his pocket. Every time he left to be escorted back to his temporary holding cell in Baltimore’s central policing station, he gave it back for safekeeping. Andrew would hold it, the metal still warm to the touch, the teeth of the key worn with how many times Neil would run the tips of his fingers over it. 

Professionalism, Betsy had warned him. 

But damn it all to hell: Andrew was gone. 

“Mr Minyard, if you would continue where we left off last night?” the judge drawled. Andrew could read people better than books: it wasn’t looking good. This was his last chance.

He stood up, shoved down the strange anger that had simmered beneath his skin every time the prosecution slid their pompous gazes over him, and closed his laptop. His briefcase. Put away his notes and hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his slacks. 

“Your honour,” he said, with as much grace as his perpetually bored tone allowed. “This case is beyond that of my client. That much we can all agree upon.”

He waited for an answer. 

The judge cocked her head. “Yes, Minyard.” 

“It is a gruesome story of a luckless, loveless marriage, made for the sakes of alliances and blood money. Mary Wesninski paid that price with her life, when her husband took his favourite weapon - a cleaver - to her throat. My client was 17 when that happened. He was a minor. A child.” 

He turned to the jury. “Over and over, I have rebutted the prosecution’s solitary and feeble argument that my client is Nathan Wesninski’s son. The very Nathan Wesninski who earned his name, the Butcher, through bloody campaigns and fearmongering. That Nathaniel Wesninski was destined to follow his father’s path and continue his legacy.” 

“If it weren’t for his mother, perhaps he would have,” Andrew said, rocking back on his heels. “Without intervention, there’s no doubt that Nathaniel Wesninski would have been a carbon copy of his predecessor, and just as bloodthirsty. But that man -” he pointed at Neil. “That man is not Nathaniel Wesninski. Not in the way his father wanted him to be.”

“We’ve seen the pictures of my client’s torso. The bullet wounds and gruesome knifings that he earned whilst clawing desperately to free himself from his father’s iron grasp. Worse still: we’ve seen the proof of a tormented childhood, skin torn off by a hot iron, stitches from misplaced butter knives at the dinner table when Junior, seven years old, didn’t sit still enough. A crooked nose, broken three times before he managed to escape.”

He looked to the one woman who he knew would recognise this pain, this trauma. 

“You should have no doubt in your minds that this man here, my client,” Andrew said, voice lowered down. “This man was simply fighting for his life. He was running from his worst nightmare, clawing desperately for freedom when all he’d known was pain, chains and despair. He fought against what his father wished for him, every step of the way. In self-defence, he rid the world a serial killer. A rapist. A man who had committed every atrocity known to humankind. If anything, we should be thanking him.”

The room had gone deathly quiet. 

“Ask yourselves,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Is purging the world of a monster that monstrous of a thing to do?”

He turned back to the judge. 

“My client has served his time. He’s done twice as long as he should have for manslaughter, which is the true nature of this crime. Repeatedly, my client has expressed his willingness to comply with parole measures and prove himself a functioning member of our society. If you have any humanity left within you,” 

He looked over his shoulder at Neil. The man held his gaze, blue eyes so intense that Andrew nearly lost his train of thought. 

“Any humanity at all,” he continued. The judge looked down at him, face blank. “You would grant his mother her dying wish, and finally let this injustice rest.” 

He returned to his desk. “That’s all, your honour.” 

It took her a few moments to clear her throat and call: “Court adjourned.”

Two policemen came and cuffed Neil’s hands behind his back. Andrew had done everything he could: it was out of his hands now. He mightn’t ever see Neil again, if by the afternoon the jury had decided Neil’s pleas were worthless and had him sent him right back to maximum security. 

“Thank you,” the man said, just before he was turned away. “You were amazing.” 

Andrew remained very still until the courtroom was empty. 

Now all he could do was wait.

*

“The ‘dying wish’ thing was intense,” Matt commented around a mouthful of falafel. Dan flicked a crumb off his tie, looking at him with an irritated fondness. Both of them -  Wymack too - had sat in for both days of his closing. Dan because she pretended she had any sense of authority over Andrew, Wymack because he was Andrew’s boss, and Matt because he was fatally friendly and had never missed a closing of any of his coworkers, even Andrew. 

“The whole thing was intense,” Dan grumbled. 

“I bet the sexual tension was off the charts,” Allison called out, kicked up her feet onto her desk as she ignored Renee’s unsubtle shushing. 

Andrew ignored them all. 

“We’re just waiting for the verdict?”

“We’ll be called in when the jury’s ready.” 

“It’s been two days. They’ve dragged this on long enough.” 

The phone on his desk started ringing. He shoved it against his ear and said “What.”

“Mr Minyard? This is Amy Johnston from the Post, I was just wondering if you wanted to comment on the outcome of your most recent case -”

He slammed the phone back down onto the receiver, jolting his coworkers out of their idle chatter. He was going to kill Nicky for letting the press through. His cousin was useless, and the press were even worse: there was no outcome. The jury had been silent for 2 days, and at this rate, it’d probably go into three. 

Wymack texted him. I know you’re still at the office. Go home. 

 Andrew didn’t need to be told twice. 

He careened his ludicrously expensive car into the driveway of his small home. Being a lawyer did have its perks, even if his fellows were curious busybodies and he got attached to impossible cases. He’d crack a better whisky tonight and herald in the news of him impending failure half drunk. 

He was never taking a case like this again. Of course, there was no case quite like Nathaniel Wesninski’s, but the point still remained.  

He unlocked his front door, stepped inside, and immediately stilled. 

The heater was on. 

His briefcase, blazer and tie came off, thrown haphazardly in the general direction of Andrew’s study. When he entered his kitchen, he skidded to a stop. 

“Hi,” Neil said, skin far more bronze without the gaudy orange jumpsuit. Andrew just stared. The man ducked his head down, lacing his fingers behind his back. “I - uh, I got Wymack to call you in sick for the verdict. Wanted to surprise you.” 

“You knew,” Andrew said. “You knew the outcome?”

“Of course,” Neil snorted. “Had to do something with the bloodmoney. Don’t worry, it was only two of them. The rest you had hooked.”

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Andrew said flatly. Neil’s grin flashed, but he was clearly way out of his depth here. Free and nervous about it. Here, because he thought that Andrew would be the only one that cared. 

And he did. For the first time, he did. 

The man gestured at his ankle. “18 months parole. It’s a bit heavy but I’ll get used to it with time, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck, curls bouncing. “Gotta find somewhere to live, I suppose. Figure out how normal life works. I’m applying for a name change: the first random name generator on Google gave me Josten, so that’s probably what I’ll go with.”

“You’re a disaster,” Andrew managed, fighting every urge not to reach out and comb his fingers through the man’s hair. 

“What else is new?” Neil joked. 

“You said you’d go to law school.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You’re holding me to that?” 

Andrew shrugged. “It’s your life.”

“I suppose you’ll regret taking me on when I end up stealing your cases,” Neil teased, leaning a little closer. 

Andrew reached up and tugged on Neil’s collar. “I don’t believe in regret. But I sure as hell will give you the challenge.”

Neil’s lips quirked up at the side, warping his scars and making Andrew’s chest ache.

“Stay,” Andrew said, softer than he intended. 

And, now that he could choose to, Neil Josten, freshly minted and definitely real, whispered: “Okay.”

*

wow only months later did i finally figure out what i wanted from this 

srry its so short!!

[wastelandlovingscenarios]

Hey! I am really excited for seeing your blog grow and I wish you the best of luck!💛💛💛 I'm bad at requesting, so if you don't feel like doing this one - that's fine~ How would all companions (inc. X6, Preston & Codsworth) react to a Sole being a handywoman on Liziqi level and finding out she spent her childhood in a village after she casually explains to some settlers how to make booze from fruit or how to butcher and smoke brahmin?

i saw her channel and i was like :0 the whole time. i have no time or patience for that kinda stuff, haha. that girl got mad skills. ill make them react to the food she prepares, if it’s okay!

i’ll do this as regular companions and kept it short and simple!

anyways, i hope you enjoy! ❤️

-

he leaned on the wall, watching as sole grabbed a basket of mutfruit from under the table/dragged a brahmin corpse on a rug. he wondered why the people of sanctuary gathered around sole and was interested himself. he decided to observe from afar to avoid interrupting whatever she was doing, she seemed to have a passionate look on her face after all. he pondered on whether sole could cook or not, seeing that all the items near her were food related. his ears perked up, hearing her voice ring throughout the crowd, “okay guys! i’m gonna teach you some stuff i learned when i was a child back at my village. i’m sure this will be useful to you all and sanctuary itself so be sure to carefully look!”

sole grew up from a village? he had no knowledge of that for sure but made a mental note to ask her after her demonstration. sole looked at the settlers happily and demonstrated how to make wine from mutfruit/butcher and smoke brahmin meat. the crowd became invested in her displays, amazed sounds escaping their mouths as sole went through the process step by step in detail. it was beyond unique and something that many people don’t see often in the commonwealth; an art of the prewar times, truly.

Danse:

he would think soles skills were definitely astonishing, seeing that he’s never seen anyone do something like that before. danse would be incredibly impressed and would even jot down those notes mentally to maybe learn it himself one day. as much as he wanted to try and attempt to replicate her skills, he knew he would never be able to but on the other hand, he was way too awkward to ask sole to teach him. lost in his thoughts over soles amazing abilities, danse wouldn’t notice her striding up to him with a smile on her face. “what’s with the look, paladin?” he would jolt on surprise, a small blush spreading across his face as soles eyes traveled to lock with his. it would take him a few seconds to muster a reply. “uh- i apologize if i’ve offended you.” he cleared his throat, adjusting himself so he could stand straight, “it wasn’t my intentions. it’s just.. your skills are certainly impeccable soldier, i’m sure the brotherhood could use your abilities back at the prydwen. they seem to be proven useful.” he then look away elsewhere, hoping his voice didn’t falter in the process. “it would be much appreciated, if you don’t mind.” much to danses content, sole immediately agreed without a second thought. he would then bombard sole with questions about her life while living in a village.

Deacon:

he would be immensely amazed by soles skills and would definitely be gawking at her presentation. how she gained the skills or who she gained it from would be a mystery to him but that was the least of his worries. his priority was to ask sole to teach him how to do something as complicated as that. as sole began putting away her finished products, he walked towards her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. sole looked at him with a raised brow and rolled her eyes at the smirk present on his face. “what is it this time, deeks?” deacon would use his free hand to make over dramatic gestures as he replied, “you gotta teach me that some day, charmer. who knows, maybe one of these days we’ll open up a restaurant named-“ deacon blabbered on for minutes, making sole chuckle occasionally at his silliness. she turned to face him, resting her hand on her hip. “fine deeks. i’ll teach you on one condition.” he would let out a small, ‘hm?’ as sole continued. “i can name the restaurant if we open it one day-“ sole shushed him as he opened his mouth to retaliate, “- and no. we are not naming the restaurant any of those names that just came out of your mouth.” deacon would throw his arms in the air dramatically but send sole a small smile, “fine, fine, you win..! but you still gotta teach me.” he was totally gonna name their restaurant one day with or without her knowledge.

Maccready:

he’s a child about it. it’s clear that there’s a flabbergasted look in his eyes and mac lets himself become completely submerged in it. he was so excited to see new and foreign ways food could be executed, especially since he’s been living off sugar bombs, nuka cola, and cram his whole life. maccready knew from his core that he could not cook for the life of him and could only go as far as preparing a box of blanco mac and cheese at somewhat decent standards, so something like this easily drew him in. god, he wondered how hard sole worked at her village when she was younger. after all, he didn’t really do anything as a kid and didn’t teach himself many skills that would benefit him in the long run. soon enough, the sound of soles voice dragged maccready out of his daydream. she signaled him to come over to where she was at and grinned as he approached almost shyly. he’d try to act all maintained and calm but sole already saw the excitement he showed during her demonstration. “yeah? she grabbed a bag of already cooked and sliced brahmin meat from the box near the table and opened it. he would feel himself grow hungry at the smell of the smoked brahmin meat. sole popped a piece in her mouth and hummed contently, nudging the bag towards maccreadys direction. “it’s so good, you should try it!” hesitantly, but surely, maccready grabbed a piece and slightly bit it, only to find himself eating the whole thing within seconds. it was amazing! how did sole manage to keep their talent away from him for months?! with a full mouth, macready excitedly sputtered out words that sole couldn’t quite comprehend. she sent mac a confused look, and he blushed in response, rubbing the nape of his neck timidly. “sorry- uh, it was just really good.” sole would shove the bag at him gently, a small smirk playing on her face, “would you like more, mac?” silence filled their air for only a mere second- “yes, please.”

Hancock:

as the applause ended with the crowd, there was only one left that continued to clap loudly, attracting soles attention. she would wave at hancock who looked at her with an entertained and impressed expression on his face. “and just when i thought i knew everything about ya.” sole would giggle girlishly and walk up to hancock, wiping her stained hands with her jacket. “i’m full of surprises, hancock. you’re gonna have to dig harder if you want to know everything about me,” hancocks grin would grow wider as sole bantered on with a cheeky smile, “being over 200 years old makes me far more interesting than many people.” a laughter was shared between the two for a moment. “guess you’re right, sister. i’m guessing you hold a lot more secrets than i expect.” sole would fold her arms sassily and stare up at him with a sly look in her eyes, “you are absolutely correct, mayor hancock.” hancock would immediately detect the friskiness in her voice. “i have no choice but to earn it then, huh?” he said in a joking tone. sole would feel his arm wrap around her shoulder casually, “how’s about we go back to goodneighbor and take a sip of that wine you made? i want to know about your days at the village anyway. sounded interesting.” sole would return his friendly affection, draping on arm on the backside of his torso as she hummed. “that sounds great.”

Nick Valentine:

he was ecstatic to see that sole still attained some of their prewar skills, it was definitely a rarity nowadays in the commonwealth. it’s been a while since he’s tasted some authentic wine, the last time being with jenny, but even so, that was the old nick and not the one that existed right then and there. he was thrilled to learn more about his partner who often kept her life to herself - it was a nice change for once. nick himself has seen people work in villages back in his day, so he had an idea of what skills she could’ve picked up while living in one. sole caught him walking to her with a smile on his face and she decided to meet with him halfway. “what did you think, nick? i know my skills were probably a little rusty here and there.” nick shot sole a warm smile, noticing the small, shy flush on her cheeks. “rusty? i found it quite flawless,” sole felt her face redden more as nick continued, “for a 200 year old popsicle, you’ve done pretty good, kid. i bet no one could replicate what you just executed.” she chortled at his silly remark, feeling more confident in her own expertise. “i’m glad i was able to impress you. now let’s hope it’ll taste as good as it looks.” nicked grinned, perking up at her comment, “i don’t mind being the judge of that, if that’s what you’re implying.” she smiled softly; it was exactly what she had in mind.

Codsworth:

he already knew of soles upbringing and the impressive skill set she had. codsworth remembered almost everything she had told her husband about her times at the village and was always drawn into her interesting stories. despite that, she’d always use these skills during her times with nate, and codsworth often observed her from afar during prewar times. he’d remember the excitement in her eyes when she used to execute this hobby and had still caught the same passionate glint as she confidently demonstrated to the crowd. as the settlers departed with happy and content comments, codsworth made their way to them with a jovial tone in his voice. “it’s lovely to see that your skills are definitely top notch just like the old days, mum!” sole would grin at codsworth, a happy expression on her face. “thank you, codsworth! it means a lot coming from you.” codsworth would help sole clean up the aftermath of the presentation, rushing to do most of the work so she could rest, “anytime, mum!”

Preston:

he’d be almost speechless at soles talents, nothing more than a soft yet interested, ‘damn,’ escaping his mouth. though he knew sole was a hardworking, humble, and honest person, he was happy to learn that she did reside in a village at one point of her life. it could only mean that she had a vast amount of experience that many people nowadays aspire to have - farming, cooking in unique ways, etc. most people just knew how to use a gun and make money for a living during these hard times. seeing sole smoke a brahmin would definitely leave him awestruck, considering that he’s never seen anyone do that before. ”wow! that’s so cool, ms. sole! i hope to be like you someday.” sole shyly grinned at the child that beamed at her, opening her mouth to respond until prestons sounded throughout the crowd. “that’s the general for you. we couldn’t have found someone better.” sole chuckled nervously as everyone continued to throw strings of compliments at her. “yeah, for sure!” “we have the best leader in the commonwealth!” she would meet his gaze, embarrassed by all the attention she was receiving. preston would tip his hat as sole mouthed a timid, “thank you.” as the crowd cheered on. he would definitely have to try her smoked brahmin after her exhibition.

X6:

though a stoic expression would remain on his face, he would feel a sense of awe as sole calmly explained to the residents how to smoke brahmin meat. for sure, x6 has seen many displays of how to prepare food in the most exotic and unique ways in the institute but would be interested finding out that she had presented a new method of execution he hadn’t encountered during his lifetime. with his eyes fixated on soles hand movements and the materials on the table, he jotted down every action that she made with every second that ticked. his stillness and intimidating presence would creep everyone out and they would feel uncomfortable with x6 just blankly staring at whatever. regardless, the crowd seemed to enjoy the show despite the discomfort. after what seemed like eternity, sole finally concluded her demo and thanked the crowd for giving her their attention. the settlers applauded sole, giving her their final compliments and comments before dispersing. she smiled, proud of what she accomplished and decided to pack everything up before hitting the hay. “ma’am.” she jumped up, getting frightened by the sudden voice that rung behind her. looking over her shoulder slowly, she caught x6 staring at her with a blank expression. she glared at him. “next time, give me a warning, will ya? you almost gave me a heart attack.” x6 simply nodded before continuing on with his statement, “i believe your skills will be convenient to the institute. it’s almost remarkable to discover that you retain something from your prewar days.” soles eyes widened in surprise for a mere moment but collected herself, a small smile growing on her face. “thanks x6.” silence followed after, but x6s compliment was enough to tell her that he appreciated her talent.

[larinah]

August 20th, 19—. I HAVE HAD what I believe to be the most remarkable day in my life, and while the events are still fresh in my mind, I wish to put them down on paper as clearly as possible.           Let me say at the outset that my name is James Clarence Withencroft.           I am forty years old, in perfect health, never having known a day’s illness.           By profession I am an artist, not a very successful one, but I earn enough money by my black-and-white work to satisfy my necessary wants.           My only near relative, a sister, died five years ago, so that I am independent.           I breakfasted this morning at nine, and after glancing through the morning paper I lighted my pipe and proceeded to let my mind wander in the hope that I might chance upon some subject for my pencil.           The room, though door and windows were open, was oppressively hot, and I had just made up my mind that the coolest and most comfortable place in the neighbourhood would be the deep end of the public swimming bath, when the idea came.           I began to draw. So intent was I on my work that I left my lunch untouched, only stopping work when the clock of St. Jude’s struck four.           The final result, for a hurried sketch, was, I felt sure, the best thing I had done.    

      It showed a criminal in the dock immediately after the judge had pronounced sentence. The man was fat—enormously fat. The flesh hung in rolls about his chin; it creased his huge, stumpy neck. He was clean shaven (perhaps I should say a few days before he must have been clean shaven) and almost bald. He stood in the dock, his short, clumsy fingers clasping the rail, looking straight in front of him. The feeling that his expression conveyed was not so much one of horror as of utter, absolute collapse.     

There seemed nothing in the man strong enough to sustain that mountain of flesh.

       I rolled up the sketch, and without quite knowing why, placed it in my pocket. Then with the rare sense of happiness which the knowledge of a good thing well done gives, I left the house.

       I believe that I set out with the idea of calling upon Trenton, for I remember walking along Lytton Street and turning to the right along Gilchrist Road at the bottom of the hill where the men were at work on the new tram lines.

       From there onwards I have only the vaguest recollection of where I went. The one thing of which I was fully conscious was the awful heat, that came up from the dusty asphalt pavement as an almost palpable wave. I longed for the thunder promised by the great banks of copper-coloured cloud that hung low over the western sky.

       I must have walked five or six miles, when a small boy roused me from my reverie by asking the time.

       It was twenty minutes to seven.

       When he left me I began to take stock of my bearings. I found myself standing before a gate that led into a yard bordered by a strip of thirsty earth, where there were flowers, purple stock and scarlet geranium. Above the entrance was a board with the inscription—

CHAS. ATKINSON MONUMENTAL MASON WORKER IN ENGLISH AND ITALIAN MARBLES

       From the yard itself came a cheery whistle, the noise of hammer blows, and the cold sound of steel meeting stone.        A sudden impulse made me enter.        A man was sitting with his back towards me, busy at work on a slab of curiously veined marble. He turned round as he heard my steps and I stopped short.        It was the man I had been drawing, whose portrait lay in my pocket.        He sat there, huge and elephantine, the sweat pouring from his scalp, which he wiped with a red silk handkerchief. But though the face was the same, the expression was absolutely different.        He greeted me smiling, as if we were old friends, and shook my hand.        I apologised for my intrusion.        “Everything is hot and glary outside,” I said. “This seems an oasis in the wilderness.”        “I don’t know about the oasis,” he replied, “but it certainly’s hot, as hot as hell. Take a seat, sir!”        He pointed to the end of the gravestone on which he was at work, and I sat down.        “That’s a beautiful piece of stone you’ve got hold of,” I said.        He shook his head. “In a way it is,” he answered; “the surface here is as fine as anything you could wish, but there’s a big flaw at the back, though I don’t expect you’d ever notice it. I could never make really a good job of a bit of marble like that. It would be all right in the summer like this; it wouldn’t mind the blasted heat. But wait till the winter comes. There’s nothing quite like frost to find out the weak points in stone.”        “Then what’s it for?” I asked.        The man burst out laughing.        “You’d hardly believe me if I was to tell you it’s for an exhibition, but it’s the truth. Artists have exhibitions: so do grocers and butchers; we have them too. All the latest little things in headstones, you know.”        He went on to talk of marbles, which sort best withstood wind and rain, and which were easiest to work; then of his garden and a new sort of carnation he had bought. At the end of every other minute he would drop his tools, wipe his shining head, and curse the heat.        I said little, for I felt uneasy. There was something unnatural, uncanny, in meeting this man.        I tried at first to persuade myself that I had seen him before, that his face, unknown to me, had found a place in some out-of-the-way corner of my memory, but I knew that I was practising little more than a plausible piece of self-deception.        Mr. Atkinson finished his work, spat on the ground, and got up with a sigh of relief.        “There! what do you think of that?” he said, with an air of evident pride.        The inscription which I read for the first time was this—

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF JAMES CLARENCE WITHENCROFT BORN JAN. 18TH, 1860 HE PASSED AWAY VERY SUDDENLY ON AUGUST 20TH, 19— “In the midst of life we are in death.”

FOR SOME TIME I sat in silence. Then a cold shudder ran down my spine. I asked him where he had seen the name.        “Oh, I didn’t see it anywhere,” replied Mr. Atkinson. “I wanted some name, and I put down the first that came into my head. Why do you want to know?”        “It’s a strange coincidence, but it happens to be mine.”        He gave a long, low whistle.        “And the dates?”        “I can only answer for one of them, and that’s correct.”        “It’s a rum go!” he said.        But he knew less than I did. I told him of my morning’s work. I took the sketch from my pocket and showed it to him. As he looked, the expression of his face altered until it became more and more like that of the man I had drawn.        “And it was only the day before yesterday,” he said, “that I told Maria there were no such things as ghosts!”        Neither of us had seen a ghost, but I knew what he meant.        “You probably heard my name,” I said.        “And you must have seen me somewhere and have forgotten it! Were you at Clacton-on-Sea last July?”        I had never been to Clacton in my life. We were silent for some time. We were both looking at the same thing, the two dates on the gravestone, and one was right.        “Come inside and have some supper,” said Mr. Atkinson.        His wife is a cheerful little woman, with the flaky red cheeks of the country-bred. Her husband introduced me as a friend of his who was an artist. The result was unfortunate, for after the sardines and watercress had been removed, she brought out a Doré Bible, and I had to sit and express my admiration for nearly half an hour.        I went outside, and found Atkinson sitting on the gravestone smoking.        We resumed the conversation at the point we had left off.        “You must excuse my asking,” I said, “but do you know of anything you’ve done for which you could be put on trial?”        He shook his head.        “I’m not a bankrupt, the business is prosperous enough. Three years ago I gave turkeys to some of the guardians at Christmas, but that’s all I can think of. And they were small ones, too,” he added as an afterthought.        He got up, fetched a can from the porch, and began to water the flowers. “Twice a day regular in the hot weather,” he said, “and then the heat sometimes gets the better of the delicate ones. And ferns, good Lord! they could never stand it. Where do you live?”        I told him my address. It would take an hour’s quick walk to get back home.        “It’s like this,” he said. “We’ll look at the matter straight. If you go back home tonight, you take your chance of accidents. A cart may run over you, and there’s always banana skins and orange peel, to say nothing of fallen ladders.”        He spoke of the improbable with an intense seriousness that would have been laughable six hours before. But I did not laugh.        “The best thing we can do,” he continued, “is for you to stay here till twelve o’clock. We’ll go upstairs and smoke; it may be cooler inside.”        To my surprise I agreed.

WE ARE SITTING now in a long, low room beneath the eaves. Atkinson has sent his wife to bed. He himself is busy sharpening some tools at a little oilstone, smoking one of my cigars the while.        The air seems charged with thunder. I am writing this at a shaky table before the open window. The leg is cracked, and Atkinson, who seems a handy man with his tools, is going to mend it as soon as he has finished putting an edge on his chisel.        It is after eleven now. I shall be gone in less than an hour.        But the heat is stifling.        It is enough to send a man mad.

[marvelsavenue]

Sweet Little Mystery Ch. 1

pairings: steve rogers x reader

summary: y/n’s internship will take place at the stark tower. she has no idea there’s something as crazy as a supernatural team of people flying around in the city. steve is one of those avengers trying to save the world and bring justice to those where it is needed. steve and y/n happen to bump into each other on a night out. they hit it off right away, unfortunately they are torn apart with no way to contact one another. a series filled with lots of love, friendship, mystery and betrayal.

author’s note: hi guys! this is a new series i’ve been writing on. i’m gonna take you all the way back to the first avengers movie, this is where the timeline for my series begins and it will end somewhere passed endgame. this will be a very very long series. both the reader and steve will have multiple partners so please don’t butcher me when that happens. lol. the reader has no idea steve is captain america so this will be interesting. the first few chapters will be a little boring since i still have to introduce some characters. bare with me please!! enjoy!

warnings: swearing, drinking, mentions of blood but nothing too serious

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

It had been a while since you went out for some drinks however, today was the perfect opportunity. You couldn't believe your eyes this morning when you received an e-mail from your rector saying you were accepted for an internship at the Stark Tower by none less than Tony Stark himself. You weren't exactly a fan of the man, but the work he's done and put out there is a completely different story. He's a genius. Not to mention how amazing this internship would look on your future application letters.

It had just passed 9 PM when you could hear your best friend Maria's Mercedes pull up. You were still applying some finishing touches to your makeup. You grabbed your coat and purse, stepped outside and locked the door behind you. "Get in, loser. We're going drinking!" Maria yelled, obviously hyped up. You couldn't help but feel a little jealous of her. She's always had a good life. Maria never had to juggle two jobs at once, not even one. You had to work 10 times harder for the things she just got handed down by her parents. Your mom died when you were six years old and your dad ran off with another woman. Your aunt took you in as her own. She meant the world to you. She gave you everything she could afford. Until she died two years ago from cancer, just like your mother. You had no place to go or run to when her ex-husband threw you out of the house. No shelter, no food and no money. You entered the first fast-food restaurant you came across and asked for a job. You still work there to this day. Life's been tough on you, but you never backed down and were proud of the woman you'd become.

When you arrived at one of the local bars the place was packed with students like yourself and Maria. Everyone was either celebrating their grades or drowning themselves in regret and beer for not studying hard enough. Maria pulled you with her to the bar, eyeing the bartender. "Hey! Can we get two shots of tequila here please?!" She shouted. "Maria! You know tequila turns me into one hot mess!" You nudge her shoulder, frowning. She rolled her eyes. "Y/n, darling". Please just enjoy tonight. You got the Stark internship. You are allowed to be one hot mess tonight." The bartender placed two shots of tequila in front of you. You couldn't help but giggle, raising your glass into the air. "You're absolutely right. Here's to the Stark internship!"

Two hours and about 12 tequila shots in you and Maria are downright wasted. Unfortunately, Maria went home with some guy she knew from way back when and left you stranded at the bar. So much for being a good friend, you thought. You got up from your seat but immediately regretted the decision. You fell face-first to the ground, something was dripping down the side of your face. Fucking great, y/n. You really outdid yourself. Not only did you fall but you dropped your drink as well. "Hey, are you okay?" You looked up to see who would dare be associated with you after your performance you pulled off just seconds ago. He was beautiful. Tall. Dark blonde hair. Ocean blue eyes you could drown in. If you had stared a little longer you'd probably gotten lost in them. "What's your name?" He asked in a worried tone as he pulled you up from the ground. "M-my-" You tried, you did but the pain took over and you were unable to say anything else. "Doll, you're bleeding." Without hesitating he grabbed a towel from behind the bar and pressed it against your forehead. "I'm Steve. If you allow me I'd like to take you to the hospital." All you could do was nod, Steve didn't waste any time and drove off to a nearby hospital.

When you arrived you both sat down in the waiting room. Sobering up after the nurse already gave you some painkillers for the headache memories came flooding back to you. You were so embarrassed you couldn't help but hide your face in the palm of your hands. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you back there. I was there with a friend but she left me stranded at that damn bar." You glance over at him, biting your lower lip. He smiles, running his hand through his hair before giving you an amused look. "Hey, no problem at all. I'm not judging. What's your name, sweetheart?" You immediately turned red after realizing you still hadn’t given your name to him. "My name is Y/N." You said. "That's beautiful. I wish we met under different circumstances but it's nice meeting you, Y/N." He took a strand of your hair that was hanging over your face and placed it behind your ear. "T-thank you, Steve. It is Steve, right?" Steve smirked, gazing into your eyes. "I'm glad you remember that part. Would you like some water?" Ugh, yes. You needed water. You felt so dehydrated you thought you were about to pass out. You accepted his offer. "Alright. I'll be back in a minute." He got up, looking over his shoulder, shooting you a smile. Wait, was that a wink? Did he just wink at you? He definitely did. Steve disappeared down the hall, looking for water. "Miss Y/N?" You glanced up as one of the nurses said your name. You raised your hand just when she noticed you. "Follow me, please." You were panicking because Steve hadn't returned yet. "I - I'm just waiting for my friend to return so he can come with me." The nurse let out an irritated sigh. "M'am, if he's not a relative he's not allowed to come with you. Now follow me, please. There are more patients that need my help." You hesitated but knew you needed to be stitched because the gap wouldn't stop bleeding. You took one last look down the hall to see if he had returned yet, but no Steve insight. You stood up and followed the nurse into another room. You had no clue what Steve's last name was nor did he know yours. You had no number, no address. You still needed to thank him for bringing you here and taking care of you. Were you ever going to see him again? You hoped you would.

[some-ikemen-snob]

Pee Pee Poo Poo (Masaharu x MC) Fanfic

Proofread by: @the-voltage-diaries​ :D

Yes the MC has a name, I’m sorry to those that prefer (Y/N)

I was going to make a version w/ (Y/N) and w/o commentary but I just could not be bothered

“Please come with me to a party!” Rina’s hands are clasped tightly together in front of her. A look of nervousness covers her face. When she told me she had something serious to ask of me after work, I wasn’t expecting this. She knows how much of a risk it is for me to go outside, being a wanted fugitive and all. I don’t care about what would happen to me, I just don’t want her getting caught up in any of my problems. 

“You do know how ridiculous of a request that is right?”

“Yea… but it was worth an ask.” She sulks dejectedly, whatever the reason may be, I want to hear it. 

“Why do you need me for some party?”

“A few days ago, some new recruits were talking behind my back. They were poking fun at how I didn’t have a boyfriend at my age and claimed I was just into hook-ups.” If only they knew who she was dating, they would shut their traps. The thought amuses me but I know Rina wouldn’t like it if I threatened them to shut up. 

“I got fed up with their remarks and told them I’d bring my boyfriend to one of their parties.” Hachiko has always been the brave but stupid type. “I didn’t want to bring some random guy because I felt as if I would be betraying you..” God, the expression on her face was adorable. A fugitive like me doesn’t deserve someone as precious as her. “It’s okay, I’ll just tell them he was too late to make it.” I know what I’m about to say defies all rationality and common sense. But hey, a man’s gotta trust his gut, especially when it comes to his girl. “Alright, you win. I’ll come to the stupid party, but I’ll be in full disguise mode and lounging around in a corner.” A smile that is worth ignoring all the rationality in the world erupts on her face. “THANK YOU! THANK YOU!” Rina looks as if she just chugged a pack of Red Bull down. She gives me a peck on the cheek, much to my surprise. “I’ll text you the location and time when I get my hands on it!” Picking up her feet, she turns around and heads for her room. “Wait.” I grab her right sleeve. Confused, she turns her head around to face me and at that moment, I plant a kiss on her cheeks. “That’s payback for what you did,” I give her a smirk. She mumbles something underneath her breath but it’s inaudible to me. However, judging by her slight wobble back to her room, I can tell she enjoyed it.

The day of the party, Rina has instructed me to come meet her by the bookstore in front of the station. As I stare at my perfectly put disguise laid out on my bed, I get a knock on the door. Inui peeks his head into my room. “Can you go pick up some groceries?” “Sure.” I can make it back in time to change into my disguise then head to the party. “The least you could do is pick up ingredients since you don’t know how to cook a meal even if your life depended on it.” A mischievous Hino peaks his head in. As much as I would love to blast his head for making that comment, I could never while Inui was here. “What’s with the get-up?” Hino turns his gaze over to the disguise on the bed. “Nothing much, just don’t touch it, I’ll be leaving now.” I leave the base with a very clear feeling that Hino would definitely touch it. 

//

Moments later, I’m walking through the streets as strangers stride past by me. That took forever. I grumble with my hands full of groceries, making my way back to the car. The last item on the list were these stupid tapioca balls that I basically searched the entire city for. “She better make something good with them.” I tuck the list back into my shirt pocket, the name of the preparator was written right next to the desired ingredient. Rina’s scribbled name looks petite and rushed. She probably had the idea to make bubble tea at the last minute. I put the load of paper bags into the trunk and slam it down sturdy. “Now let’s go home and-” “Masaharu Ryuzaki?” What? “I think you have the wrong person, sir.” “Then turn around and let us see your face.” Crap, I don’t have time for this. Best thing I can do right now is… RUN! I break out into a sprint, hoping to get these men off my track. 

“There’s nowhere for you to go.” In the midst of the chase, I find myself face to face with an inescapable path. How did they manage to find me? This is the first time I’ve ever been recognized with my disguise in. These sunglasses should have hidden my identity completely! (No shade but that is actually his in-game “disguise.” A pair of sunglasses.) “Hear me out gentleman, I don’t want to fight you or anything.” “Do you not remember what you did to us?” “I don’t even remember who you are.” 

< Insert the mysterious men explaining a crime Masaharu committed against their group as he shows Masaharu a scar he gave him during their previous encounter. I can’t be bothered to write this up >

Finally, he finishes explaining. I look up at the sun which has already begun its descent. I’m going to be late at this rate. I wasn’t planning on shedding any blood today but my girl’s going to be waiting for me soon. 

//

I stuff the gun back into my pocket, the men lay in anguish on the floor. (Let the bodies hit the floor, let the bodies hit the floor). I didn’t kill them, just immobilized their movement. I look at my watch which has bits of blood splattered on it. Agh, damn! That fight took a hell load of time. If I didn’t have my gun on me, it’d have taken even longer. Rina won’t mind me being 15 minutes late to the party...right? I steer the car through the bustling city, not even making time to get home. The groceries and disguise can wait, hopefully they don’t mind seeing bits of blood on my outfit. I park my car outside of the train station, getting out to look around for Rina. Damn, she’s not in front of the book store, probably already at the party. The building is of walking distance from the station and with a parking spot already found, I begin my walk to the party. Entering the party alone must have taken her a lot of guts, even after what she told her co-workers. Plus, I don’t want to look like I just ghosted her on this meeting. I grab my phone out, I already told Rina that I would be late but she hasn’t seen my message yet. Rustling my hair in frustration, random thoughts enter my brain. Maybe forcing them to shut up wouldn’t be so bad an idea? (LET IT ALL OUT LET YOUR FEELINGS OUT, LET THE WORLD KNOW WHAT YOU'RE ALL ABOUT - Zela) No, get it together, Rina wouldn’t want you to do that. As I’m walking through the area, I hear a conversation that perks my ears. “We’re now officially husband and wife.” A couple snuggles together, leaving the marriage bureau.

“I can’t wait to see my lovely husband when I get home from work.” While their PDA makes me stay away from them, it makes me think. If Rina and I were married… when she came home from work, I would be able to welcome her home with a warm (yet deadly) meal, we could take a bath together and afterwards (insert something definitely NSFW). These fuzzy imaginative thoughts fill my head for the remainder of the walk.

//

This should be the right apartment number, I study the text Rina had sent me a few days ago. Light emits from underneath the door and I can hear chattering from inside. However, none of the voices belong to Rina. I knock on the door before opening it with caution. “Hello, I’m Rina’s husband, Rasaharu Myuzaki.” (can you tell I put much effort into creating the name?) 

“Husband?!” I can hear the shock come from a couple of girls. Crap! I got it mixed up with the couple’s conversation. (SPY X FAMILY REFERENCE, IF YOU GET IT, I LOVE YOU)

Before I could clarify the mix up, Rina speaks up on my behalf. 

“Yes, Masa- Rasaharu is my husband, so with this, can you stop talking bad behind my back, Chisaki?” I glance at who I assume is Chisaki, the one who started all of this. 

“Myuzaki, you’re covered in blood.” A gentleman offers me a towel which I kindly accept. “Thank you. I work as a butcher so I often deal with chopping up pigs, especially pigs that think it is okay to talk shit about my wife.” I give Chisaki a look that tells her she better leave this country or she’ll be dead by midnight. My plan works and Chisaki immediately gets down on her knees in front of Rina and begs for her forgiveness. Three other women who I can assume to be part of her posse also do the same. Rina looks relieved, having this situation come to a close, however, there’s a hint of unrest on her face. “Now that we’re done here-” I tug at her waist. “I will be taking my lovely wife away, I hope you all don’t mind.” The confusion on Rina’s face is clear as day but she still leaves with me after saying her farewells. 

//

The ride to the spot was a silent one, where Rina just spent the entire time trying to rub the blood off my clothing and face. (omg girlfriend goals <3) “Where is this place?” I stop the car near the edge of a cliff, the both of us get out and walk closer towards the edge. Before us is the city and the night sky. The lights create an orange like hue over the city, making it almost impossible to take my eyes off it. Compared to the noise and bustle of the city, the deafening silence here almost sounds unreal. “Found this place a while ago, thought you might want to blow some steam off here.” 

“How did you know I was stressed?” 

“As if you would be satisfied enough with just an apology from Chisaki.” Rina gives me a warm smile. “You’re right.” She cups her hands over her mouth and inhales. “EAT (doodoo) HONEY! I BET YOU CAN’T EVEN GET A DECENT BOYFRIEND WITH YOUR RAT ASS A T T I T U D E!” At the end, there’s a quick silence but then we both burst out into laughter. “That’s my girl!” I cup my hands over my mouth just like what Rina did. “TALK (doodoo), GET HIT.” At this point, Rina is doubling over with laughter. This little screaming session continued on for a while until our lungs could not scream anymore. 

“...I’m glad you came.” “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Well...before I even entered the room, I could hear them berating insults about me. I felt really down thinking that maybe you weren't really coming.”

“I sent you a text that I would be late.” Rina checks her phone and looks at me with a sheepish smile, “sorry,” she laughs.

“But luckily, your amazing husband was here to save the day, right?” “Husband? That is a very bold thing for you to say.” 

“Why? You can’t see me giving you a ring one day?” I throw a little joke at Rina but her reaction is completely different from what I expected. With her face beat red, she punches my arm. 

“Anyways, didn’t you say you were going to wear a ‘disguise?’” I can tell she’s embarrassed by my joke so I let it slide. “You’re not going to question the blood?” 

“I trust that you didn’t kill anyone?” 

“You’re correct, just had to deal with some guys from the past.” 

“Oooh, look at my hubby acting so brave and strange.” “Now look who’s saying husband.”

We spend the rest of the night just bantering as I think, ‘she’d make a lovely wife one day.’ 

EXTRAS:

“Shouldn’t we be going home soon? I’m hungry.” Rina asks me.��

Home? Hungry? Food? OH CRAP. I left the groceries in the car. I think of how much the car is going to stink because of the fish that was left in there for at least an hour. Fuck my life.

~

When I get home, I remember that I left my disguise on my bed. Entering my room, my disguise is missing. Instead, there’s a clown costume on my bed and all the clothes in my closet are missing. “What the ever loving fuck?” And there’s only one person on this damn earth who knew about this and would do it. “H I N O.” 

Rina’s POV: 

I come into work with a bright and cheery face. On my way to work, I got a free coffee for being the one millionth customer and got to pet an adorable puppy. So, tell me why, do I hear Chisaki blasting her mouth off first thing in the morning? “I heard Rina was spotted in the red light district with someone.” 

“And he looked younger than her, is she planning on being a cougar?” 

This isn’t the first time I heard this from them. I did not want to start a fight right then and there. 

“I was not in the red light district yesterday and I do have a boyfriend who is older than me, in fact. If you want to see him, I’m willing to bring him to a party.” 

“Really now?” Chisaki looks me up and down suspiciously.

“Then bring him. We’ll all bring our boyfriends too so they can all talk.”

“Oh how considerate of you, make sure to text me the details.” As I walk away from Chisaki and her grouper, I begin screaming in my head. IDIOT, IDIOT, IDIOT, I D I O T. Ahhhhh, how am I supposed to ask Masaharu?

~

After Masaharu gives me a surprise kiss on the cheek, my face instantly reddens. “That’s payback for what you did.” 

“I didn’t know revenge was supposed to be this sweet.” I mumble under my breath, hoping he didn’t hear me. My heart’s pounding a mile a minute.

~

Ah fuck, Masaharu didn’t show up at our designated spot. I’m standing in front of the door. I’m already late and even worse, my boyfriend isn’t here with me. What was I expectating? More than this being dangerous, it was plain stupid.

~

When Masaharu called himself my husband, my brain went full on meltdown. H-h-husband? Is he into marriage roleplay? Anyways, I can use this chance to finally shut Chisaki up once and for all.

~

“Why? You can’t see me giving you a ring one day?” YOU DON’T JUST RANDOMLY PROPOSE TO A GIRL LIKE THAT!!!!! DJDLDSSDF. I punch Masaharu on the arm to hide my embarrassment, THAT’S THE SECOND TIME ALREADY IN THIS FANFIC (yes I just threw a 4th wall moment in like that)

~

“Hey Masaharu?” “Hm?” “Why does the car smell like rotten fish?”

~

When I get to work the next morning, Chisaki comes up to me. “I’m so sorry for talking shit behind your back for a while now!” 

“It’s okay, let’s put it behind us now.” 

“But I do have to say, how come you never told me you had such a sexy husband?” Wait what, excuse the fuck me? You wanna fucking fight for my mans?  

[foxtophat]

/pant wheeze etc

sorry about that guys, i was going to post last night but like i keep saying, i got caught up in editing and soooo here we are!!  today’s chapter is all about kim, and kim’s teaching a masterclass in being a mom friend in your late 30′s.

as much as i strugged with this chapter i really REALLY like writing kim. she never got enough play in the games, so i guess i take liberties, but there’s something pleasing about writing an exasperated millenial mom going “please, dude, just get some therapy” to a guy like john seed lol.

i guess we’re all probably feeling kind of...uh, not awesome/active these days. which is fine! i’ve touched my face so many times writing this that i’m gonna have to go take a shower when i’m done here.  i hope you all are being safe, and i hope you work for companies that will allow you to be safe!  if your job is giving you shit about the virus, know that they’re the ones in the wrong, not you for wanting to watch out for your health.  oh, and tonight is the democratic debate, so go watch that and see if you vibe with my boy bernie, ok?  ok, be safe, i love you, wear a scarf if its cold outside

(below is the chapter text, so you don’t have to leave tumblr if you don’t want to! if you read it on here, could you like and/or reblog for me? i would appreciate it!)

Kim vividly remembers the day she met John Seed, just a few short years before the end of the world. He and his family had been in town all of a month when they had shown up unannounced to a potluck Kim and Nick were hosting, bringing along a last-minute macaroni dish. The three brothers were polite enough, and the big one seemed embarrassed by their offering compared to the other plates at the table, so Kim had let the party-crashing slide. Hell, she'd even let the strange brunette woman that accompanied them walk around her house like a second-rate psychic looking for ghosts. The rumor mill hadn't had time to chew much on them, so all Kim knew about the Seeds was that they were trying to put together a commune and the middle brother was some kind of preacher. It all sounded very tent-revivalist to her, but mostly harmless. Sure, they were weird, but they were hardly the only weirdos living in the county, so who was Kim to judge?

She had been standing alone by the cooler with a beer when John had sidled up to her. His reputation had already gotten a head start, having already stepped on Mary May's toes before showing his face to the town at large, and he was clearly attempting to avoid people who had already heard Mary May's take on the situation. Whether or not he realized Kim had already heard all about his unapologetic come-ons, he sure seemed interested in showing her his good side. He had been all smiles and charm, shaking her hand with both of his own and complimenting everything about the house and party and people. But, even as he coasted through the pleasantries and small-talk, John had eyed Kim like she was a piece of meat, one up for grabs by whoever flagged down the butcher first.

Just when he seemed ready to open his mouth and order himself a bad time, Nick had swooped in beside Kim with his hand extended, wearing his least genuine grin. Committing to another two-handed shake, John made more sweeping compliments and asked Nick a couple of questions about the airstrip. He may have even been genuinely interested in what Nick had to say on the matter, but in retrospect, all Kim can remember is the way he had looked at her. No longer was Kim a lifeless, prime cut of beef — now, she had teeth in the form of her redneck aviator husband, who wasn't buying anything John was selling.

Nick had smiled and waved at John as he excused himself, disappearing in the direction of his brothers. "What a fuckin' creep," Nick had declared through his clenched teeth.

Kim had thought then that they knew what kind of creep John was. By the time he began sending men to the house to intimidate them, she'd realized he was something much worse. He was something out of a schlocky psychological thriller, a sociopath with a rumored body count, who calculated each of his steps with pointed disregard for human life, gleefully buying up land for their cult and chasing all but the bravest away from their homes. There had been rumors about people disappearing, but Kim hadn't wanted to believe them. There had been a whole lot Kim hadn't wanted to believe. It was when John started calling, leaving desperate messages begging them to "just say yes, so I don't have to make you," that Kim had to stop hiding her head in the sand.

Kim barely had time to celebrate when he died the first time, what with Carmina being born and the world ending, and she had much better things to do in the years following than spare a thought towards him. It wasn't until Nick dragged John into their home eight years later that his name had even crossed Kim's mind.

She thinks about John a lot now, for better or worse. At first, all of her instincts had her thinking about him sleeping nearby. How much force it would take to break the bedroom locks. How strong and fast he might secretly still be. She would watch him work and think about all the awful things he would be putting Nick and her through, if their positions were reversed. She would question his every move, tired and sluggish as they might have been.

Nowadays, she mostly thinks about how tired he really seems. She thinks a lot about his eight years of solitude, and questions just how dedicated he really is to waving a white flag. The John Seed she used to know, the one she had underestimated a lifetime ago, he would never have willingly submitted himself to manual labor the way he does now. He would never sit silent and anxious until Nick or Kim bossed him around. At first, she had thought he was doing it out of necessity, being as sick as he was, but now... well, now, she's not so sure.

John is stronger than he has any right to be. Kim never had the opportunity to confront him physically before, so she has no idea if John has always been like this, or if it's something that happened in isolation. After all, eight years by yourself is a great time to workout — at least until your supplies run out, or you catch a sickness that won't go away. It should probably worry her more, but Nick's confidence has rubbed off on Kim, and all she concerns herself with is giving him jobs that measure up to his abilities.

Like today, for example. Nick and Carmina have started on a project together, putting together a hen coop worthy of housing Carmina's first pets, and with planting season practically here, Kim is ready to tackle her own construction project. Somehow, a tractor wound up on the runway, overturned and mangled as if it had been in a car accident — or a nuclear blast — and Kim has a plan for the thing's large, mostly-intact tires. With enough mulch and soil, Kim's sure that she can make them into reliable planters, and she might even manage to grow something worth eating this year. First, though, they have to come off the tractor — and that's where John comes in.

Kim watches John peel one tire off of the crescent-shaped wheel it's clinging to, thinking to herself again that John is stronger than he should be. He rolls the massive tire back down the runway towards her, looking mildly winded from the exertion, face red from the sun. He doesn't look anything like the walking corpse Nick had found a few months back.

Despite herself, Kim is impressed with his progress. When Nick had first brought him in, she hadn't expected him to make it through the night, much less the following day. It had been hospice care to her, at least for the first week — but then John had turned a corner, eating again and managing to stand on his own feet, and all at once Kim had forgotten about reading his last rites.

Slowing the tire to a stop, John wipes his arm across his brow and asks, "Here?"

"Yeah," Kim says. "That's fine. One more to go."

John nods, turning and retreating down the runway towards the tractor's mangled remains. Kim watches him go, waiting for him to realize how easy it would be to get away. She's a great shot with the rifle, but she's only got the pistol with her today, and Nick is all the way on the other side of the hangar. There's no fence on this side of the strip, and the overgrowth is thick enough to disappear into. It would take him a matter of seconds to escape, if he would just try.

But he doesn't. Kim has no idea why not — it's not like they're making much of an effort to keep him locked up. Nick does his best, but they're not a maximum-security prison. Hell, they don't even have an enclosed fence! With all of his experience managing a human trafficking cult, he has to see that they're woefully unprepared to hold him. There's no way he hasn't itemized every hole in their security and how he could use them to his advantage.

The tire has been partially popped off of the tractor wheel, but John's probably going to need a wrench or something to pry the rest of it free. Otherwise, Kim is going to be watching him strain uselessly, and while sometimes it can be gratifying to watch John struggle with menial tasks, Kim wants these planters done as soon as possible.

She marches toward him to size the problem up, only to pull up short as John tears the tire off of the wheel. Metal scrapes against itself as the axle twists, and Kim hears a pop when John finally leverages the tire free, leaving the wheel to hang limply from the axle. There's a long rip in the tire's lip, probably from where a security bolt tore through the old rubber.

"Jesus," she says, not realizing she's close enough for John to hear her until he frowns in her direction. She tries to mask for her concern over his uncanny strength, but all she has going for her these days is motherly frustration. "You could have hurt yourself," she scolds, as if that's going to cover it.

John huffs. "Why does that matter?" he asks.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but we don't exactly have a doctor to take you to if you slice your arm on rusted machinery and contract tetanus."

Considering how passive John's been, it comes as something of a surprise when he heaves a frustrated sigh, bracing the tire with both hands and doing his best to ignore Kim while she stands right next to him. It's just irritating enough that she sticks her foot out to block the tire, eyeballing him defiantly and mentally daring him to keep being a baby. Ugh, as if a man like him could be intimidated by a 40-year-old mom's unimpressed glare.

He ducks his eyes. "Alright, fine," he surrenders.

Kim lets him roll on, following with a furrowed brow as she tries to figure out what his deal is. The John she remembers would never put up with the kind of disrespect Kim shows him. He would be... seething, or something. Planning to murder her, probably. But if he was going to murder them, he would have done it already. He definitely would have done it when Nick let him sleep in their room. But every opening he has, he ignores in favor of the full surrender he'd willingly placed himself under.

Once John sets the tire down, wiping his forehead clear of sweat, he asks, "What's next on your list of petty tortures?"

If John thinks being petulant will get him anywhere with Kim, he is sorely mistaken. She raises an unimpressed eyebrow and asks, "Do you really think this is me trying to torture you?" She can't help but be a little offended — as if she couldn't come up with something worse than household chores if she wanted.

"I don't know what to think," John sighs.

Kim can count the number of times John has been honest with her on one hand, and that's including before the bombs dropped. A few minutes ago, she might've entertained his mild back-talking to dig at his motivations, but she's certainly not in the mood now.

"You don't need to think," she says. "Just do what I tell you."

It's as easily said as done with John, who shuts up with a deep frown and follows Kim mutely for the next hour or two, helping her shovel a mixture of composted leaves and topsoil into a wheelbarrow. They have to make three trips to get enough to fill the tires, which is sweaty, smelly work that Kim won't leave to John alone. Even if she didn't want to get her hands dirty, she would feel guilty if she made him do it by himself, considering it's a job she could easily do alone.

Once they've finished dumping the dirt into the makeshift planters, Kim turns to John with a critical eye. At last, she offers him more than a few curt orders.

"This isn't supposed to be torture, you know," she tells him. "Everything we tell you to do, it's because it needs to be done, not because we want to watch you suffer."

"It must help," John grunts.

"Honestly? Not really." Kim sits on one tire, watching John shift his weight between his feet. He somehow seems small, even as he stands over her. "I've seen enough suffering to last a lifetime. Haven't you?"

John doesn't respond. He turns his head to stare at the hangar — probably wishing he was putting the coop together with Nick, who loves it when John is quietly repentant, and who hates talking about this kind of stuff in general. If Carmina weren't over there, John would definitely be trying to excuse himself to her husband's side.

"I think we're done here for now," Kim says at last. "I'm going to start dinner. You can sit quietly with me, or go help Carmina and Nick with the coop."

She refuses to pick for him, leaving him to look between the hangar and the fire-pit and debate on his own whether he wants to deal with Kim's weak interrogation skills or being in the same room as Carmina for any length of time. Any time she gives him a choice, he usually goes for whatever will keep him busier, but he seems actively repulsed by the idea of spending any time around Carmina.

After a few seconds of consideration, John nods reluctantly. "I'll sit," he says, almost as though he's admitting defeat. When Kim leads him over to the fire, he sits on the same patch of dirt he usually does, even with plenty of seating options. He doesn't talk much, and since Kim has nothing to ask him, she leaves him to his own thoughts while she starts getting dinner ready.

When she catches him starting to doze, she can't help but sarcastically quip, "Some torture, huh?"

John shoots her a dark look in return, but it's going to take more than a mean scowl to bother her.

Nick and Carmina get up early one morning to go fishing. Kim sleepily sees them out of the bedroom, unwilling to face the gray morning chill herself, and wishes them as much luck as she can muster while half-asleep. Nick hesitates a whole lot by the bedroom door, still reluctant to leave Kim alone with John, but he knows better than to make a bigger deal about it than she does. Kim appreciates his concern, even if nowadays she doesn't think it's warranted.

They'll be back a little after noon, and Kim's list of chores has finally shrunk to something manageable, so she lazes for just a little bit before finally committing to the day. It takes her a little longer to commit to utilizing John outside, since she doesn't have any work for him and it would be great to have a morning to herself, but leaving him to stew all day feels wrong.

John's already awake when she goes to get him, dressed and sitting on the pallet-board bed that Nick let him piece together. He only looks mildly surprised to see Kim fetching him by herself, which means he probably heard Nick leave earlier. He isn't very talkative today, resorting to monosyllabic responses to her questions as they eat breakfast downstairs. He sits quietly at the table with Kim, not touching his food until he catches Kim staring expectantly at him. Kim shouldn't be surprised — after eight years on his own, he's probably more comfortable in silence. Either that, or he talked himself out of words down in that bunker of his. She would ask, but John avoids talking about his time underground at all costs, and she doesn't see today being any different.

Kim waits until they've gotten out into the yard to reveal her cigar box full of seed packets. "It's a little early to start planting," she explains, "But I have a good feeling about this batch of spinach."

John waits expectantly, his frown deepening as Kim fails to elaborate on his part in all of this. "You want my help," he realizes at last. "...With gardening ."

He says it with so much disbelief that Kim almost thinks he's making fun of her. "What did you think we were going to do after we filled these things with soil?" she asks. "They needed to sit, and now we need to plant. You're here, so you're helping me."

"I —" John stares at her, biting the inside of his cheek as though he's trying to mind himself. "That isn't going to work. You'd be better off letting me dismantle the tractor for scrap."

"I'm not asking you to do that," Kim points out, "I'm asking you to poke some holes in the dirt. This isn't rocket science. Even Carmina can do it."

"Then have Carmina do it ," John snaps, immediately clenching his jaw to try and prevent another outburst.

"If you're trying to give me trouble just because Nick isn't around, then I'll just put you back in your room."

John sulks for a few seconds, weighing his words now that he's out on thin ice. "Plants and I aren't compatible," he grudgingly admits. "I have a black thumb. And this is important work, I don't — I don't understand why you would risk it."

Kim tries hard to resist pulling on her kid gloves, and yet she still can't help but go easy on him. "John, it's an irradiated wasteland. You are the least of these plants' concerns. All you have to do is follow instructions. You can do that, right?"

She expects him to roll his eyes or get huffy at her coddling him, even just a little, but he only nods in return. "Yes," he says, falling back into what can't possibly be comfortable subservience.

Well, it works for Kim — he doesn't try to fight her as she shows him how to space out the holes, how deep to make them and how many seeds to put in each one. She watches him finish a row before she decides he's got it, and settles in across from him to start on the opposite side of the planter. John looks surprised that she's working with him, but she finds digging in the dirt relaxing, and she's got to pass the time somehow.

Kim enjoys gardening, getting her hands dirty while ensuring she and her family have plenty of food. She'd never really gotten the chance to practice before the bombs, but that didn't stop her from growing some sad looking carrots and potatoes last year. They plant spinach and beets, as well as some carrots that Kim doubts will survive. The other planter stays empty, but Kim has a plan to grow some soybeans later in the season, and if the seeds don't take, maybe corn will.

John is wholly focused on his side of the planter, meticulously careful, like this is some kind of exact science that he barely understands. A city boy through and through, Kim supposes — it isn't like a hotshot lawyer from Atlanta would spend much time at the local community garden, right? His history with gardening is probably littered with dead ferns and succulents that couldn't survive his negligence.

When he sits back to rest a minute, four straight rows like spokes in front of him, Kim throws him a bone. "Looking pretty good."

"Don't patronize me."

Kim rolls her eyes. Of course John would be incapable of taking even the most mundane compliment, no matter how genuinely Kim might give it. "I'm not. You're doing a good job."

John sighs heavily, still very much not believing her, but he doesn't argue the point.

Nick and Carmina return just after John finishes his final row. Usually, Carmina comes back looking pretty defeated, as fishing isn't something she's gotten the hang of yet, and Nick will try not to let on that he did poorly on purpose to make her feel better. Today, though, Carmina marches with a straight back and a big grin, and Nick follows her with a bucket of smallmouth bass.

"Who wants fish?" Nick calls triumphantly, visibly excited for Carmina to finally have a "big catch" story.

Kim stands, knocking the dirt off of her knees, and takes a look at the radial design left behind in the soil. She's going to have to water and keep a close eye on these little suckers, but with any luck, they'll grow at least enough to make for good compost. It would be nice to have some impressive produce to trade, though, so here's hoping that spinach turns out.

"Hard part's over," Kim tells John, who reluctantly follows her lead and climbs to his feet. "Now, it's a waiting game."

"I wouldn't expect miracles," John mutters. Kim pretends not to hear him.

John avoids the garden as much as he can once the planting is done. Kim doesn't need his help, so she doesn't press it, but she notices whenever he surreptitiously checks the progress the seeds are making. He seems happy enough to be done handling them, but Kim bets he's still keeping an eye out for any evidence of failure. Kim doesn't want to take away Nick's extra pair of hands, especially considering how hard work seems to comfort John more than long stretches of silence surrounded by dirt, so for the first two weeks, Kim handles most of the gardening herself.

Nick and him have been steadily chipping away at Nick's list of home repairs, their DIY solutions changing the topography of the family home bit by bit. The roof is dotted with white shingles cobbled together from old siding, the windows have been boarded up with full sheets of plywood instead of haphazard wooden planks, and part of the hangar's exposed roof has been covered by a quilt of stitched together pieces of tarp. They've even managed to clear back some of the vines that have been swallowing every structure in the valley. Nick has pretty much given up on letting John do everything by himself by now, although he definitely delegates the harder work to John and takes the first drink of water whenever they take a break. Nick has always been a hands-on kind of guy, though — sitting by while there's work to be done goes against his nature. It had only been a matter of time before he demanded to pull his own weight.

Kim checks the plants more frequently and obviously than John does. She had been expecting most of the plants to fail, considering the packets they came from are easily eight years old and thrown into an old box with no thought to preserving them, but a week in and they seem to have taken pretty well. Tiny, two-leaf sprouts have started to poke their way through the soil where the spinach was planted. The beets don't seem to have done quite as well, but surviving tiny sprouts have also started to show. Kim doesn't trust the carrots, but it'll be another week or so before they start seeing any results from them, so she withholds judgment for now.

"Been thinking about going into town," Nick mentions one night as the four of them eat dinner at the table. John still seems uneasy sitting with them instead of on the stairs or in his room, but at least he doesn't need someone to goad him into eating.

Carmina's face lights up. "Can I come?" she asks, practically before Nick has finished speaking. From the way Nick smiles at her, Kim's sure he was about to suggest that very thing, which makes it easy for Kim to agree.

"Sure," she says. "As long as your dad promises not to cut across the field this time. No," she scolds Nick as he opens his mouth to argue, "There's a herd of bison out there that are as big as the car, and you are not a matador, Nick."

"What's the point of an apocalypse if I gotta follow all the roads?" Nick complains, relenting with a theatrical sigh. "You're right," he admits, emphasizing for Carmina, "Your mom's right. The roads are a lot safer than any open field."

Kim glances at John, who has his head down over his plate, looking uncomfortable with the conversation circling so close to him. Nick follows her line of sight, frowns, and then asks, "So, uh, John... You got any interest in going into town?"

John swallows the bite he just took, wincing as it goes down wrong. "No," he croaks.

"Okay," Nick says, not at all upset to hear it. "That leaves just you and me, sweetheart."

Later on, once they're getting ready for bed, Nick can't help but circle back, horrified by his own gall. "What would I have done if he'd said yes?" he asks Kim. "He'd incite a riot just by showing his face. The second everybody knows he's alive..."

"It's going to happen eventually," Kim says. "I think we should at least let him make the choice about when ."

Nick accepts her reasoning with a petulant, "I guess, " but he spends another hour or two silently turning it over in his head.

They don't leave until after breakfast, which Nick lets John be part of. He's still sensitive about sharing his family time with anybody, much less John, but he's getting used to it bit by bit. Kim would blame it on the apocalypse if it weren't for the fact that he's always been very protective of his mornings.

John looks uneasy as Nick and Carmina head out, tensing at the sound of the car starting. Kim isn't all that used to it either, but at least they managed to find a car and enough gas to make the occasional trip to town possible.

Well, since there's nobody else around, and nothing left for Kim to do, she decides it time to bring John back to the garden.

"Ready to learn how to weed?" she asks.

To his credit, John waits until they're outside and facing down the lightly weeding planter to argue. "There's still a lot of work to do in the hangar," he says. "Doesn't that sound like a better use for me?"

"No," she replies. "You need to know how to do this." She sighs when he remains standing, staring up at him unimpressed. "Either you help me with this, or you can go pout in your room about it."

Kim waits until John reluctantly sits on his knees to join him. She walks him through the process of prying up the thin, quickly growing stems, tossing them into the bucket between them, and shows him how to pull out the root systems that might get left behind. Most of the weeds that are growing are small, but those pernicious vines have been reportedly growing like crazy in any and all soil and Kim doesn't want to give them a chance to cozy up to her produce.

It's not complicated work, so John picks it up fast, but he goes tediously slow, almost to the point where Kim thinks he's messing with her. Well, the joke's on him — Kim has raised one of the most independent children in the state, and she knows how to deal with petulance. She's fine with long stretches of silence, she's fine with dirt, and she's fine with leaving people to stew.

"Have you always been a gardener?" John asks after a length time, rushing the words as if he'd been chewing them over for too long and he just wants them out of his mouth.

John rarely ever asks questions that aren't about his so-called punishment, so Kim is inclined to indulge him. "No, not really," she answers. "My mom grew flowers, and I would try to keep those little starter herb kits alive every so often, but I never really dedicated my time to it." She hesitates, hopefully not noticeably, and adds, "We had some old gardening magazines in a box in the bunker. They turned out to be a good way to pass the time. You know?"

John hums neutrally in response. Kim hadn't expected much better; even casual talk about life underground shuts John up pretty fast. It's such an obvious psychological scar that even Nick can't miss it, and although the two of them will speculate, neither of them have so far pushed hard enough to find out more. Kim doesn't know if John's trauma is the Pandora's box she wants to open, but she has so many questions and so many worries that could be put to rest if she could just figure out how to interrogate him about it.

She's being too obvious, staring at him like she is, and John is quick to catch her. His brow furrows as he stares back expectantly. Probably waiting for her to drag the information she wants out of him, no doubt, the same way he would rip confessions out of people.

When she fails to do whatever it is he's waiting for, he turns his attention back to the remaining weeds. Frustration colors his voice when he eventually speaks.

"I wish you wouldn't stare at me."

"I usually look at people who ask me questions," Kim replies, trying not to be pedantic and failing pretty miserably.

"Just tell me what you want from me."

Kim sits back on her heels, wiping her forehead with a dirty hand. "I don't really know," she admits. She probably shouldn't be so honest with him, so open about her lack of motivation, but she can't see any reason to lie. Maybe telling him the truth will encourage him to do the same? She knows that's wishful thinking, but it's worth a try.

"I guess I want you to... prove you're trying. That this isn't all some kind of act. But honestly, I don't know what kind of proof would convince me. There's eight years of blank history that might help, but you don't want to talk about it."

She doesn't hesitate to bring up the bunker this time, even when it makes him squirm. She can see him working on a response and heads it off as best she can.

"Look," she says, "You don't have to tell me now. You don't even have to tell me . But eventually, if you're really serious about making amends, you're going to have to tell someone ."

For a moment, John rests his fingers in the dirt as if he might just go back to his work. He's staring at the green leaves, waiting for one of the plants to give him the right answer, the one that will make the conversation end before he has to get involved.

Finally, terribly lost and frustrated at himself for winding up that way, he asks, "Why won't you just make me ?"

His uncertainty settles in Kim's stomach like a lead weight. He refuses to look at her, and somehow that makes it worse. She knows Nick would probably scold her for being overly sympathetic, but she can't help it. She can't hide her worry when she answers, no matter how much it might chafe John to hear it.

"You have to want to get better to do it," she tells him. "Nobody can do it for you."

John doesn't respond. Kim doesn't hold her breath over it, returning to the remaining weeds. But as his silence grows, Kim finds herself checking on him in her periphery. Before the Collapse, John had been easy to read, his reactions unrestrained and sometimes bordering theatrical. These days, Kim can't pin him down.

John treats the fresh sprouts as though they're too fragile to touch, sincerely confused at the progress the garden has made despite his interference. Had he really thought that he could mess them up just by planting them? No wonder he was so sure that she was making a mistake, enlisting his help.

"Things are going well, given the circumstances," she says at last. "I guess you don't have a black thumb after all."

"I stand corrected," he replies. He looks at her briefly, but when he catches her watching him he's quick to look back to the dirt. Kim doesn't miss the way he continues to appreciate the small green stalks.

Later, after the weeds have been eradicated and dinner has been started, Kim hears the car coming down the drive. John is in the middle of dragging scrap metal out of the hangar, so he doesn't notice it right away, but there's no missing Carmina and Nick's raised voices. They aren't quiet by any means as they wander from the front yard to the back, talking enthusiastically about the monstrous bison they'd seen in the field on their way home. When John recognizes them coming into view, he stops working briefly, raising his arm to shield his eyes from the hastily setting sun.

"That's, uh, a pretty wide leash you're giving him," Nick says to Kim, having the good sense to at least kiss his wife hello before he starts in on judging her.

"He knows what you guys are doing in there better than I do," she replies. "How was town?"

Carmina is the one to answer, her excitement hard to contain. "We saw the bison!" she exclaims. "Pastor Jerome let me go to the top of the church tower! We got a bunch of stuff!"

She has a whole lot more to tell Kim, which she does in rapid-fire bullet-points before running off to unload supplies from the car. From all of her talk of apples, Kim hopes that some of them made their way home.

Nick waits until she's out of sight, checking to see that John hasn't yet come to join them, and then offers Kim a helpless shrug. "So, Jerome knows about John, I guess."

The comment shouldn't make Kim as uneasy as it does. "Oh?"

"Grace told him." Nick takes off his hat, tossing it onto the porch and running a hand through his hair. "He said he had to think about it more. But, uh... that he trusts us to do what's right. I dunno, he didn't quote any scripture at me so I couldn't tell how mad he really was."

He's watching John at the front of the hangar like he's surprised John isn't running. "I really thought this was gonna go differently," he says after a beat. "I thought for sure he'd have given us a reason to off him by now."

Kim chuckles. "Yeah, the same way you thought feeding the raccoons would make them go away."

"I couldn't help it," Nick sighs. "They looked so damn hungry."

John finishes unloading the wheelbarrow's contents. For a moment, he stands with his back to them, staring at the hangar. When he turns around, he straightens up, waiting. For what, Kim couldn't possibly say. She wishes he would just tell them what he thinks they ought to do already, but that's not going to happen any time soon.

Nick cups a hand to his mouth and shouts, "C'mon, I got a bunch of supplies you need to unload!"

John puts his hands on his hips, taking a brief rest before starting in their direction. Kim wouldn't believe he's the same man from a few months ago if she hadn't seen the transformation herself. She hopes all this change has been for the better, but she wonders if it's going to be enough.

[semperintrepida]

Three Hunts in the Shadow of Delphi

The ship lay broken against the rocks, the cracked shell of its hull exposed to the surf while its tangled rigging and torn sails flapped in the breeze. There were people climbing all over the wreckage, tossing bags and boxes onto the wet sand below, and they froze and stared at Kassandra as they noticed her approach. Judging by the rough homespun fabric of their clothes, they were merely villagers from a nearby settlement taking advantage of the luck that had dropped a loaded ship into their laps.

At the tideline, a man stacked boxes onto a pile as a woman and a small boy scurried between him and the wreckage, their arms loaded with goods. The woman noticed Kassandra first, and she whistled a warning to the man, who whirled around to face this incoming stranger.

His eyes flicked from Kassandra's face, down her armor, and then to her weapons, and he looked over nervously at the woman who was probably his wife. She watched Kassandra warily and pulled the boy behind her.

Kassandra held her hands open. "I'm not here for trouble," she said. "I just want to know where the figurehead of this ship went."

His head jerked in the direction of the bay behind him. "Somewhere out there, along with the crew."

"Do you know what ship this is?"

"No idea. They blew in here in a hurry and ran aground in the shallows. Most of it's out in the bay except for the stern here. But if it's treasure you're after, you're too late. Those soldiers dragged it all up to their camp." He looked up the hill behind Kassandra, where a fortified encampment of Athenian soldiers stood overlooking the water.

Kassandra wasn't here for treasure, though that would have been a bonus. She was looking for a particular ship, the Shark's Tooth. Its captain, Gelon, had asked Kassandra to find it along with her missing lover Gyke, Gelon's second-in-command. And once Kassandra found both ship and Gyke, Captain Gelon would pay her in information more precious than jewels and drachmae.

"I need to get to that wreckage."

"You're mad if you think you're going to swim out there. You'll end up food for the sharks like these poor bastards did."

The villagers had pulled their boats high onto the beach. She nodded at the nearest. "I'll give you coin if you let me borrow that felucca."

The man glanced at his wife, who gave him a quick nod. "All right, but you pay up front."

A short time later, Kassandra was knee-deep in the surf, pulling the felucca behind her into the shallows. The water was warm, and the white sand below gave it the color of a summer sky. On most days it would have been beautiful, but most days didn't involve a dismembered leg floating in the waves, or the sticky-sweet scent of blood in the salty mist.

She hopped up on the felucca's deck and poled the boat out to deeper water. Matted coils of rope, broken planks, and other debris bobbed gently on the waves, along with a growing number of human arms, legs, and torsos. Kassandra had seen blood and horror, but never anything like this: the sea like a butcher's soup. She fought down a queasy churn in her stomach as she guided the boat into the center of the floating patch of bodies. She couldn't see what lurked in the depths below. The water was too deep for the sun's light to reach the bottom.

It meant she'd have to go for a swim, against all reason and sense, for the Shark's Tooth and Captain Gelon were the only leads she had in finding Elpenor, the man who'd already tried to kill her once, and was bound to keep trying until he succeeded.

She gritted her teeth and reached for the first of the leather ties that secured her armor. It had to come off — breastplate, greaves, and bracers made of iron and bronze, all of it far too heavy to swim in. She stripped down to her underclothes, took a deep breath, and stepped off the side of the deck before she had a chance to think any second thoughts.

Thankfully, her tendency to sink like a stone in water quickly pulled her below the carnage floating at the surface. Shadowy forms too smooth to be rocks loomed in the darkness below, and she swam towards them as the pressure grew in her ears and the burn crept into her lungs. There: the unmistakable curve of a ship's bow. She rolled to her left and finned her free hand so she'd follow it around to the very fore of the ship. Her eyes began to adjust to the watery gloom, and then she saw it, a figurehead of a large shark, its mouth open in a toothy grin. This was the wreckage of the Shark's Tooth after all.

A dark line of shadow snaked across the figurehead and the bow. Her heart beat faster. She looked up just in time to twist out of the way of the lunging maw of a real live shark. Her back slammed into the ship's keel, the barnacle-encrusted surface slicing into her skin. She let herself sink, following the bow's wooden curve down into the darkness. Her lungs were burning. Fuck.

The shark swimming overhead was massive, dwarfing the one on the figurehead. She'd never outrace that monster to the surface, and there was fresh blood in the water now.

Think, Kassandra. She swam in the murk along the seabed, trailing a hand along the sand, looking for a sharp rock or a piece of wood, anything, when her fingers touched something cool and soft. She gave it a tug and her heart seized in her chest as the arm came free of the body it belonged to and she realized exactly what she was holding. And there, around its wrist, was a flash of gold and green stones. Could this be the bracelet Gelon had mentioned she'd given to Gyke? Apparently the second-in-command had gone down with the ship.

Kassandra was running out of air, and with it, time. She pulled the bracelet free and kicked upwards, saw the graceful, deadly glide of the shark overhead, let it pass by on its circular path, then kicked upwards again so she and the shark swam at roughly the same depth. It turned, spotted her, opened that great and terrifying array of teeth, and she somehow held her nerve as it swam closer and closer, and at the very last moment she surged out of its way and slammed her fist straight into its eye. Its entire body thrashed in surprise, creating a wave that pushed her away, and she kicked hard, fighting panic and a right now desperation for air as her blood pounded behind her eyes.

She broke the surface, took one great breath of blessed air, and swam for the felucca floating several body lengths away. Then she was lifting herself onto the deck, and she lay there on her back for a very long time, gasping for breath. When the fire in her lungs finally subsided, she looked down, saw the reddish tint in the seawater drying on her skin as she remembered Gyke's arm in her grasp — and then she rolled over and vomited into the sea.

.oOo.

Gelon surprised Kassandra by taking the bad news like a Stoic would, uttering a quiet, lamented "Oh, my Gyke..." before she shook her head and set her hardened mask back into place. She shed no tears as Kassandra handed her Gyke's bracelet. Instead, she sighed wearily and said, "I suppose I'm not much of a captain," as she slid the bracelet around her wrist. "Can't be a captain without a ship."

"I can help tide you over," Kassandra said. "But give me the information you promised me first."

Gelon glanced around, then gestured for Kassandra to follow her further up the beach, away from any unfriendly ears. "You're looking for Elpenor, right?" she said.

"Yes."

"That fucker's a snake. But unlike most snakes he's got a lot of friends. That's why no one here will talk to you. They're all afraid." Gelon uncrossed her arms and pointed at herself. "Lucky for you, I don't give two shits about him or this place."

"You know where he's hiding?"

"Nope. But I know someone who might. Her name's Auxesia."

"Go on."

"Sex-crazy, she is. She's probably fucked half of Phokis, but imagine the pillow talk she's heard..."

Loose hips made loose lips. "Indeed," Kassandra said drily.

"She's not usually one to kiss and tell, but if you help her somehow, you might get her to talk."

"Help her somehow?"

Gelon looked Kassandra up and down pointedly. "You're fucking hot. I'm sure you can figure out how to work with that."

Kassandra rolled her eyes. "If I must."

"I'll introduce you to her."

"Good."

"I gotta warn you, though. She's like a hundred years old."

.oOo.

Auxesia wasn't exactly a hundred years old, but she was old enough to be Kassandra's grandmother. It made for an amusingly awkward conversation where Kassandra got to hear all about an old woman's voracious sexual appetites while being openly ogled at the same time. It turned out Auxesia had plenty of drachmae and libido — and a husband who couldn't keep up. Might Kassandra help her find the ingredients she needed to make a potion to give him back his youthful stamina?

Kassandra never would have expected that finding a deer's tongue and a bear's scrotum would put her one step closer to finding Elpenor. The world moved in strange ways.

.oOo.

Kassandra sat high in the fork of a tree on the upper reaches of Mount Parnassos, where the stags had gathered to wage war amongst themselves for the best of the hinds. Their roaring calls echoed off the shoulders of the mountain, carried on an autumn breeze as crisp as frost on fallen leaves, and she could see them coming down the ridge line and up the river gulch individually and in contentious pairs, antlers already clashing, none of them the stag she wanted.

She leaned back against the tree trunk, the old oak's bark digging into the tender spots on her back she'd earned during her swim a few days ago. Her armor and sword were back on the Adrestia where she'd left them, prioritizing speed and silence over protection. And now, dressed as she was in just her chiton, armed with nothing else but her bow and broken spear, it was like she was back in Kephallonia, hunting deer to keep herself and Phoibe from starving.

But today she hunted no ordinary deer — only the oldest and most clever of the stags that lived in these mountains. The hunters in Delphi called him the Alpha, or First, and they said his antlers were as wide as a man's outstretched arms. No man would ever be able to track the Alpha Stag, they said, but Kassandra was no man, and she had something no other hunter did: her golden eagle Ikaros, who was just as adept at hunting big game as he was at hunting small.

Ikaros had led her here, and it was Ikaros she depended on now, as he flew somewhere above, his keen eyes searching for their quarry.

She sighed and idly drew her spear, studying the pitted metal surface of its blade while trying not to fidget. All this sitting around allowed her mind to wander back to places she'd rather it didn't go.

Just when she resigned herself to experiencing unwanted memories, she heard Ikaros's hunting call sound over the ridge. If that's where the Alpha Stag was, then she'd have to move to keep herself downwind of him as he approached. One breath of human scent and he'd flee, ending her chase in failure. She swung her leg over the branch and climbed down the trunk.

Her path cut an angle further up the mountain, and she shivered as the wind blew into her face. The chill didn't last long as she climbed up the steep hillside, the long muscles in her legs warming up after sitting still for so long. Ikaros called again, closer this time. The king was on his way.

He was far too canny to stand in silhouette against the treeless ridgeline, instead choosing to pass through a small copse of dwarf pines that clung to the ridge, their gnarled trunks twisted from years of battering by bitter winds. She knelt behind the trunk of a grand old oak and readied her bow with an arrow nocked. From here she had a clear view of the pines. The snap and clatter of breaking branches told her something big was approaching.

Kassandra's breath caught when the Alpha Stag finally emerged into open ground. He was easily the largest deer she had ever seen, his antlers spreading into a regal fan of points above his head. A crown worthy of his majesty.

Her bow hand did not move. The idea of killing this beautiful animal gave her no pleasure, nor did the possibility of inadvertently raising the ire of Artemis herself, whose punishments were swift and cruel. She had hunted before, when the stakes were kill or go hungry, and not a single scrap of those animals had gone to waste. But what now, when the priestesses in the Temple of Artemis had promised her a bear's scrotum in exchange for the antlers of the Alpha Stag...

Elpenor was out there somewhere, waiting for another chance to orchestrate an attempt on her life. It was kill or be killed. She raised her bow and lined up the shot, aiming just behind the crease of his shoulder where his heart beat and his lungs drew breath.

Forgive me, she thought, and let the arrow fly.

.oOo.

The priestesses of Artemis had accepted her offering of the Alpha Stag's antlers along with as much usable meat as she could carry. Bringing it all down from the mountain had been an arduous and bloody ordeal, but after everything was said and done, she had the ingredients she needed for Auxesia's potion.

Auxesia's husband Koragos was not particularly happy to see Kassandra when she arrived at their home, and he figured out the purpose of her visit the moment she handed the fetid-smelling package of ingredients to his wife.

"Oh no! We've already discussed this, Auxesia!" he said, backing away slowly. "I can't satisfy you anymore. You're going to kill me with your lust."

"Nonsense. I'm going to make you an elixir that will give you the vigor of a man a fraction of your age."

Koragos's voice pitched higher in desperation. "Gods save me. I can't do this anymore."

Kassandra held up a hand. "Enough," she said. She turned to Auxesia. "Your husband doesn't want this, and I'll not be a party to forcing him."

He looked at her with gratitude while Auxesia began to protest, "But—"

Kassandra cut her off. "No more potions. I'll satisfy your hunger instead." While taking Auxesia to bed was not something she would have considered in normal circumstances, what harm could there be? Maybe an older lover would teach her a thing or two — or several.

Auxesia recovered quickly from her surprise. "Very well, let's see what you're made of, misthios." She took Kassandra by the hand and led her inside the house, to a chamber lit by oil lamps with their wicks trimmed low. Even in the dim light Kassandra could see that the bed was richly dressed in silk and linen, and that the furnishings in the room were simple and elegant. A table holding jugs of water and wine stood next to the bed, along with a large basin of water. This room was clearly a place where Auxesia enjoyed spending her time.

And Auxesia was a gracious host, offering Kassandra a cup of wine while she removed her bow and her swordbelt and began to work on the ties that fastened her armor. She surprised herself by declining the drink. Her heartbeat had sped up and her neck and shoulders were suddenly stiff with tension. She had no idea how this was going to play out.

However, once Auxesia's clothes came off, it was apparent that though her hair had gone to grey and her skin held more wrinkles, she was still a woman, with the same parts and hidden mysteries as all the other women Kassandra had ever slept with before. Kassandra smiled at her misplaced apprehension.

"Something funny, misthios?"

"Just the foolishness of youth."

"Youth I'd like to see revealed. Now hurry!"

Kassandra slipped out of her chiton and underclothes and stood by the bed in full glory.

Auxesia took her in, smiling in delight. "Well, aren't you magnificent!"

It was always nice to be appreciated, and once their bodies met, age ceased to matter all that much. Auxesia was surprisingly strong and limber, and any worries Kassandra had about needing to be gentle were quickly dispelled.

Auxesia knew exactly what she wanted and exactly how to tell Kassandra to give it to her. Fingers, tongue, thigh, palm of hand: Kassandra used them all and more, as Auxesia came and came and Kassandra's own pleasure grew, in the giving and in the forgetting of the past and the future. There was no grand meaning to be found here, just two women sharing a moment, or in this case, a great many moments as the sun set and the night spun its wheel overhead and the dawn broke through and turned into day.

How long could they go before someone got tired — that became their game, and Kassandra was well served by her peerless stamina. All that running and sword swinging was paying off.

Finally, finally, Auxesia threw herself back against the pillows of her bed, saying, "By the gods, I'm done! No more."

"Are you sure?" Kassandra teased, drawing out her words as she slipped her hand between sweat-slicked thighs.

"Yes! No! Stop!" Auxesia said between gasps. "Now I know how it is to be ravished by a god."

Kassandra laughed, low and rich with satisfaction.

A short while later, Kassandra was mostly dressed as they shared a cup of wine between them, Kassandra sitting on the edge of the bed as Auxesia lounged languidly within her silks.

"I doubt you're in Delphi to pleasure old women in need, misthios. Tell me why you're really here."

"Have you heard of a man named Elpenor?"

Auxesia narrowed her eyes and set the cup down on the table. "That's a dangerous name."

"I'm a dangerous person."

"A lover and a fighter," Auxesia mused. She studied Kassandra, considering how much she would say, and then she mentioned a handful of places where a snake might make a hidden lair, if one were looking for such a thing.

Auxesia had given Kassandra exactly what she needed.

.oOo.

One by one, Kassandra crossed locations off of Auxesia's list, scouting caves and tombs and villas across Phokis. To her frustration, it appeared that Elpenor had hidden himself in plain sight all along, in one of the many ruined temples within the Valley of the Snake. The damned thing even had an enormous skeleton of a snake wrapped around it.

For most of a day she'd watched the comings and goings of the guards and servants from a hidden crevice in the cliffs that stood above the ruins. From their movements, it was obvious that there was someone of wealth living in the caves under the temple; she could see it in the number of guards posted at the perimeter and in the goods the servants delivered throughout the day: amphorae of Athenian wine, baskets of fruit and other delicacies. The master they served had expensive tastes, and Elpenor seemed the kind of man who expected luxury to follow him wherever he went.

She waited long past sunset, until the servants were sent home and only guards remained. At least she'd be helped by a moonless night.

The cornice she crouched upon was a perfect place to spy upon the ruins, made even more so by the long, thin crack that ran alongside it down the face of the cliff. She stuck her left hand inside the crack, twisted it until her fist jammed into a solid hold, then swung her feet off into space. For a few dizzying moments her life dangled by a single handhold, until her toes found solid footing against the stone below. Then she jammed her right hand inside the crack at a point just above her waistline, and began the long climb down.

By the time her sandals sank into the grass at the foot of the cliff, she was sweating lightly, and as she ducked out of sight between two boulders, a frisson of anticipation slid up her spine. The nearest guard, like all the others, stood with his sightlines facing out towards the river and the road. They'd forgotten that danger could come from within.

She pulled a length of black linen out from under her armor and looped it into a hood that shrouded her hair and face. She drew her broken spear. Then she moved like a gust of wind, enveloping the guard from behind and wrapping an arm around his chest, the blade of her spear resting against his throat.

"Leave here and take the others with you if you value your life," she said.

He apparently didn't, for he took a deep breath and tried to shout a warning instead. She cut his throat and let his air wheeze quietly into the night. These were no ordinary hired thugs, loyal only to themselves and fleeing at the first opportunity.

She quietly lowered the guard's body to the ground while her heartbeat surged and her body wrapped itself in a familiar warmth. Her spear hummed in her hand. She spotted four more guards at watch along the edges of the ruins, and one at the entrance to the cave. She'd have to be quick to get them all before they noticed their numbers dwindling.

The temple ruins were a perfect hunting ground. She flowed between dark places shadowed by crumbling marble columns and the twisted skeleton that arched above, and came upon each guard in turn, her spear flashing, leaving silence and blood soaking into the earth as she passed. No one would sound an alarm.

Only two men were left: a sentry walking a line between the temple and the path to the cave entrance, and a guard at the entrance itself.

The sentry's torch blazed in the darkness, and she approached him at an angle, careful not to throw any shadows from the lights behind her. Her spear cut a silver line into the night, and he died silently like the rest, his body folding to the ground as she eased him down. Then she picked up his fallen torch and walked boldly up the path to the entrance of the cave where the final guard waited.

"Hey! Wh—"

She hurled her torch at him and rushed him at a full run, and in the margins of his distraction she ran him through with her spear as if he weren't wearing armor at all. The Spear of Leonidas seemed to be growing ever more powerful, its keen edge now punching through armor that would turn aside nearly any other blade. Even now it seemed to pulse in her hand.

She turned and faced the mouth of the cave, pulling her shroud off her head as she stepped inside. Elpenor would know who killed him.

The upper tunnel was barely wider than the span of her arms, but it was well lit with candles and oil lamps. She could see its lower section opening up into a larger chamber.

She found Elpenor seated at a writing desk in the chamber's center. He did not seem surprised to see her.

"What a shame," he said, eyeing the spear in her hand. "We would have made you rich." His left hand curled around something in his lap.

She let him throw the blade, tilting her head at the last moment to let it fly past. "I'm going to enjoy killing you," she said.

He leapt to his feet and drew a short dagger from his belt. Instinct told her his blade was poisoned. It left no room for mistakes, and when she struck, her hands could not waver. A thread of memory loosened within her, and she heard her mother's voice. Hesitation hastens the grave...

The tight quarters of the chamber only added to the danger, and she backpedaled, trying to draw him out. She watched his hips and kept her spear at the ready, and when he shifted his weight to his back leg, she let him strike, neatly sidestepping his blade while grabbing his knife arm and twisting it upwards. She slammed her spear deep into his side, just under his ribcage, and then she stabbed him a second time for good measure.

His legs turned to water and he sank to the ground. She followed him down, keeping a tight grip on his arm, then slammed his knife hand into the rocky floor until he let go of the blade. A flick of her spear sent it skittering out of reach.

The pool of blood under him grew as he bled out, and he clutched uselessly at his side. "Killing me is a mistake."

"Trusting you was a mistake."

He smiled, showing bloody teeth. "I was the reason you left Kephallonia alive. The Cult wanted you dead."

"What Cult? Where are they?"

She'd get no answer from a dead man. She examined his body anyway, looking for something she might have missed. There, on the ground underneath his waist, was a sliver of a golden... something that had fallen from his belt. Out of curiosity, she poked at it with the point of the Spear of Leonidas, but the moment the spear touched the object's surface, it began to thrum with even more force than it had before, almost as if it were angry. She jerked the spear away reflexively, then reached down and picked up the object with her free hand, wiping Elpenor's blood off on his own robe.

The object was the size of her palm, triangular in shape, and about as thick as a knife blade. It gleamed gold in the lamplight, but was far too lightweight to be real gold, or even bronze. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen, and she realized that it hummed in her fingers the same way her spear did when she held it, like a whispered promise of power.

She tucked it into a pouch on her waistbelt and turned her attention to the rest of the chamber. The scrolls she found amidst the opulent rugs and furnishings detailed routine business deals from Phokis to Krete. Elpenor was certainly well connected, but that was hardly unusual for a merchant during times of war.

Kassandra drifted over to his desk. In an alcove, she found a dark set of robes and a white mask that could have come from any play in any theater from here to Athens. Elpenor had mentioned a love of theater, but there was something about the mask that put her on edge, and she decided to hang on to it and the robes while she figured out where they came from later. The rest of the scrolls in the alcoves were much like the others elsewhere in the chamber, listing ship manifests and accounts due and other transactions, but then she began to sift through the scrolls on top of the desk, and found a scrap of papyrus addressed to no one, written in a neat but delicate hand.

The situation is under control. Kassandra will be dead soon, and Deimos will find her mother. The Eyes see all. —E

She crumpled the letter in her fist. Every answer she found only seemed to create more questions. She was certain of only two things: that her mother was in danger, and that Elpenor was part of a much larger conspiracy that plotted against her and her family.

It was time to pay a visit to the Oracle of Delphi.

Author's Note: My original outline for this story began with the sentence "Kassandra punches a shark." Suffice to say, this story took a few unexpected turns while I was writing it. However, the biggest surprise was actually deciding to write Kassandra's encounter with Auxesia. I never planned on it, but here we are. The game plays this scene as a comedy but I chose to write it with a bit more sensitivity. I have no idea if I succeeded or not.

Part of the Elegiad. Go back to the previous story, or on to the next...

[mollymauk-teafleak]

So, it’s mine and @soft-bram‘s two day anniversary thingie once again! I hope you like your present, sweetheart, you reading this book on my recommendation a little while ago helped me feel so close to you and I loved sharing it with you. I love you lots and lots, thank you for changing my life inextricably for the better. I like who I am when I’m with you <33

“Now, before you become angry with me, dear, let me explain the full story…”

Percy put down the sheet music and looked at the man he loved, his heart of hearts, the light of his life, with an expression of boundless exhaustion.

Things never went well when Monty started off conversations like that.

“What have you done now, love?”

Monty came to the end of the sofa Percy was sitting on, staggering a little over the laces of his boots that had come undone at some point during whatever shenanigans had occurred during a deceptively simple trip into market for some bread and milk. His hair was also in disarray, dark curls falling out of the ribbon Percy had lovingly tied them back in just that morning. There was mud smudged on his nose as well and his forehead. Ludwig was similarly filthy, coming in just on his master’s heels and panting excitedly, wagging his brush tail and setting his head on Percy’s knee.

Clearly, whatever the story was, it was a good one. At least there was that.

“Right…” he looked like he was trying to marshal his thoughts into words, dropping heaving on the sofa with his working ear turned towards his love. Percy nudged his cup of tea across the coffee table, closer to Monty; he looked like he needed it. And, judging by the way, he pounced upon it and drained most of it in a few swallows, that assumption was correct.

None of their cups in their cottage matched. They were all chipped and mismatched, rescued from antique shops or the backs of peddler’s carts, there was no family pattern and no fine bone china or silvered edges. But Percy always thought the tea from them tasted better than any he’d ever had in his life.

“So, I went into market,” Monty began, moving his hands in grand, sweeping gestures as he always did when he talked, “All the stalls were there, as usual, the bakers and the milkman and the bookseller…”

Percy sighed, petting their young collie’s head, “Did you actually get the bread and milk?”

Monty froze, mouth working soundlessly for a few moments, answering Percy’s question for him.

“Well…I…I mean…you said you wouldn’t get angry with me!”

Percy sat back, rolling his eyes, waving a hand for his love to continue. Ludwig saw an opportunity and seized it enthusiastically, climbing up onto his lap. He wasn’t as small as he was when he was a puppy but he still insisted on being treated like one and neither of his fathers were going to say no.

“Where was I?”

“The market, dear.”

Monty often lost the thread of conversations, probably due to his poor hearing. As much as he didn’t like where this tale was going, Percy didn’t mind gently reminding him.

“Ah! Yes, so, the butchers stall was at the end, as it always is. I’ve never liked that man, he always struck me as a despicable sort. And today, he only proved it, the man had a poor young piglet tied up outside his stall. Freshly purchased, the vile man was boasting about how he was going to slaughter her that very evening, talking about how she was going to be tomorrow’s bacon…”

Percy began to see the path this story was taking and his heart sunk, “Henry Montague…”

“You promised you wouldn’t get angry!” Monty yelped.

“The fact that you’ve had to say that twice already is not a good sign!”

Monty jumped up, heading for the door, “Just wait until you meet her, Ludwig loves her already…”

Before Percy could say another word, his love had grabbed the handle of their front door, that was warped and buckled and didn’t really keep out the cold at all, yanking it hard to fling it wide and emitting something that he couldn’t see over the back of the sofa but which clattered along the floor on four small trotters and began instantly to squeak and squeal.

“Oh good lord…” Percy groaned.

Ludwig barked happily and bounded down, circling the now visible (and very visibly muddy) little piglet, looking almost as if he was trying to herd her. Unsuccessfully, of course, the tiny, black spotted thing went where she would, snuffling at everything excitedly and twitching her large ears.

Monty dropped back down next to Percy, taking his arm delightedly, “Look, they’re already friends!”

Percy huffed, “You can’t expect me to agree to this, surely?”

His love’s slender, boyish face became struck with dismay, “But if we don’t take her in, she’ll go to slaughter! She needs a safe place to stay, my darling, she needs us to protect her!”

Percy pulls a face, watching as the piglet ran circles around the coffee table, chased by their dog, before collapsing onto one of the cushions that had been thrown to the floor in amongst the bedlam, snuggling in contentedly.

He sighed deeply. Where else could a piglet escaping slaughter go than a lopsided, chaotic cottage that already housed a puppy that had been fished from a ditch and two young men living secretly as husbands? And he had to admit, she did seem to fit in, in amongst the musty carpets and mismatched cushions, the curtains hanging off the rail and shower that was just a spigot jutting from the wall. The place had been abandoned for quite a while before they’d bought it from a local former, using their (definitely gainfully acquired) pirate gold but together, he and Monty had painted and sewed and hammered it back together. Nothing here seemed like it would fit together and yet it did, into a messy and hurried, skin of their teeth kind of life.

One that Percy wouldn’t trade for anything. He was happier here than he ever remembered being.

Why not throw a piglet into the mix?

“Fine,” Percy sighed, leaning back and taking Monty with him, settling him resting on his collarbone, “Though I’m never letting you go to market by yourself ever again.”

Monty grinned, turning his head into Percy’s palm to have his hair petted, much like a cat would, “As you say, darling. What should we call our new roommate then, hm? I was thinking Felicity…”

Percy frowned, trying not to laugh, flicking that delicate, handsome nose that made such a tempting target, “That’s terrible! And more than our lives are worth, as you well know.”

“Alright, alright, I had to say it,” Monty sniffles, “Petals, then? She is a lovely rosy colour.”

Percy considered that, thinking of the rose seeds that they’d scattered around their new home when they’d first moved in, the seeds that would bloom when spring came and remind them of how far they’d come.

“Yes…that sounds perfect,” he smiled, “Though…how much did this new roommate cost us?”

Monty sucked in a breath through his teeth, “Ahhhh…well…who can really put a price on saving a life?”

“I’ll take that as a as answer enough. Another week of toast for us then.”

“Well…” Monty grins lopsidedly, “No because I forgot the bread, didn’t I?”

Percy closed his eyes for a long moment, taking a deep breath and getting the distinctive expression of someone counting to ten to try and restore their patience.

“I love you,” Monty grins, turning his face to Percy’s chest.

“I love you too,” Percy sighs, chuckling gently.

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

War of Attrition: Chapter 19

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Reader Summary: Best friends with Steve Rogers, renowned Howling Commando, and married to one James Buchanan Barnes, your life wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as it could possibly be in the middle of World War II. Then you fell from a train in the Alps, and everything changed. You spent nearly 70 years as a tool of Hydra alongside your beloved, though your past with him was more often than not forgotten. You and Bucky take steps to protect yourselves, which leads you back to New York. Warnings: Swearing (always), mentions of: past torture, death, blood, weapons. Allusions to PTSD. Word Count: ~4,557 A/N: Next Chapter will probably start the events of CA:CW. Also, I’ll probably be busy starting to write things for Spooktober. There will likely be a special taglist for Spooktober fics that will tag you in things including but not limited to Monster!Character one shots, A Night to Remember, and A Dance with the Devil. Keep an eye out for it!

Masterlist // Book One // Book Two

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

“Ready to go?” he asked a moment later as he stepped up beside you. His blue-grey eyes searched your face for any flicker of emotion that would set off warning bells, but for the first time in a long time, your head wasn’t a complete mess. Or, at least, you had one burden among hundreds taken from your shoulders.

“Yeah, Buck. Let’s go home.”

“I have the analysis you requested, Misses Barnes.”

You glanced up from the drone you’d been working on. Installing the new targeting algorithm was taking some time, but it would hopefully ensure they’d never fire with deadly force on any human... though the same could not be said for aliens and robots. Factoring in variables for mutants and other enhanced individuals had been especially tricky, but you’d enjoyed tackling the challenge with a single-minded purpose.

The screen in front of you was slowly rolling through information, finally ending on a summary:

Matthew Michael Murdock.

Hell’s Kitchen; New York, New York. United States of America.

Lawyer Daredevil.

You stared at the screen for a second, taking in his face in the professional and candid photos alike. It only took a glance at the first picture to notice he was blind. “That would explain the mask...” you muttered as a couple low-quality shots of Murdock with a scarf tied over the top of his head flicked across the screen. “You sure about this, Al?” you asked the air around you. A frown crinkled your brow. It wasn’t exactly easy to identify the blind lawyer as the nearly superhuman vigilante.

“Quite, madam. I believe Mister Murdock is one of the only people on the planet with the correct disposition, life experience, and skills required to assist you. He is, put plainly, your best option.”

That only made you frown harder at his picture, though. Talking to him- going to New York- it was a huge risk. You were so lost in thoughts you nearly missed Bucky walking into your workspace, but managed to notice his presence before you accidentally fried him to a crisp on reflex.

“Did Alfred get a hit?” he asked, voice hoarse and deep from having just woken up. You glanced at the clock, nearly wincing when it showed the time as 4:38 AM. He walked up behind you, wrapped his arms around your shoulders, and placed his chin on the top of your head.

You hummed an affirmative, though your frown didn’t abate. After a second, you could practically feel Bucky grimace, too. “New York...” he muttered, obviously perceiving the same issues as you.

New York was dangerous. It was where Hydra had recaptured you once before. Tony Stark lived there. The population was huge, which meant it was easier for people to blend in... and that it was all the more likely that you’d be recognized. Undoubtedly anyone looking for you would be keeping a close eye on the city.

“Even with possible dangers taken into consideration, I believe Mister Murdock will be the most likely to assist us,” Alfred insisted. You wondered briefly if he was capable of being upset with your and Bucky’s apparent lack of faith in his assessment. You’d have to check later and possibly apologize.

“If you’re sure, Al,” you said after a long minute. Bucky sighed deeply and squeezed you gently and you didn’t have to look at him to know he was discontent with the idea.

“Quite, ma’am.”

“Then ready travel plans for New York, please,” you said somewhat reluctantly. You reminded yourself that trusting Al was tantamount to trusting only your own best decision making skills, as you were the one that had designed the artificial intelligence in the first place.

You turned in the old rickety computer chair and Bucky loosened his arms enough to move, taking a small step back and straightening a bit. His eyes were stormy, concern obvious even with the dark circles under his eyes. “Did I wake you up?” you asked quietly as you reached up to run your thumb over his cheek. He leaned into the touch, eyes closing briefly at the light contact, then shook his head. “Nightmare?” you guessed with a frown.

A shrug, then, “Dunno.... Can’t remember. Come back to bed?” he murmured, extending a hand out towards you.

You smiled softly, ignoring the fact that you couldn’t come “back” to bed seeing as you hadn’t been there in the first place, and dropped your hand from his face to take his offered hand, standing with only slightly wobbly legs. You’d been sitting for... ten hours? It never felt like long when you got to work, but somehow the time always managed to flash by.

Time passing by in a blur hadn’t changed, even without the icy clutches of cryofreeze to speed the process along.

You expected Bucky to just walk into the other room with you, but he picked you up with ease and practically threw you over his shoulder. You smiled, surprised, and muffled your huff of laughter in your hand. Whatever had woken him up (it might have even been Alfred, telling him to come collect you), it definitely wasn’t a bad night. This was just sleepy, possessive Bucky, not unlike how he was before... everything.

You found yourself on the mattress on the floor not five seconds later, landing gently, as Bucky had been careful to lower you slowly before letting you fall the last few inches.

He was beside you in an instant, reeling you into his chest with one arm while the other grabbed the sleeping bag you used as a blanket and pulled it over both of you. It was just big enough to cover you two like this, though you were pretty sure Bucky’s feet poked out the end and over the bottom of the mattress (not that he ever complained).

“Goodnight, Buck,” you whispered even as you began falling asleep, more tired than you realized now that you weren’t in front of your bright monitors.

“Night, Doll,” came the immediate, nearly-incomprehensible response from your practically asleep husband. You smiled and let yourself relax in his arms. Like this, it was easy to ignore the anxiety of knowing that you’d have to go to New York tomorrow.

You fell asleep to the sound of Bucky’s soft snores.

Curvy cars, posters about the war, dames in modest dresses, and fellas in hats.

You blinked and the past vanished like fog chased away by the sun, revealing the truth- the present- underneath.

“That used to be a butcher shop,” you murmured, nodding your head towards a skeevy-looking pawn shop with bars over the windows.

Bucky paused his subtle scouting long enough to give it a glance before his eyes returned to rooftops and alleys and shadowed doorways. “You went to Manhattan a lot?” he asked quietly.

You pressed even closer to his side as a small group passed. You’d checked them for weapons the moment they’d turned the corner, but that still didn’t stop you from being wary around strangers. People didn’t need guns to be dangerous. As if sensing your distress Bucky’s arm went around your shoulder, leaving his left arm free if he needed it.

“Sometimes,” you admitted as soon as they were out of earshot. “I lived all over New York at some point or another. Most orphanages couldn’t get rid of me soon enough and no one in their right mind was adopting during the depression. It was better to explore the city and pickpocket greenbacks from rich jerks than sit in the orphanage and listen to my stomach rumble.”

Bucky stopped looking at the shadowy corners of Hell’s Kitchen at that, nearly slowing down as he processed what you said. “You... remember that?” His brows were pulled up ever so slightly in the middle and you fought the urge to look away. That was a pitying look if you ever saw one.

As if you had any right to pity anymore.

“More or less. I filled in the gaps the records left,” you admitted. It was almost a relief that the building you needed finally came into view as you and Bucky turned the corner. “Show time, sweetheart,” you said with what you hoped was a bracing smile as you stood on your toes and placed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek.

Judging from the conflicted look he gave you, you weren’t completely successful.

The door was between a residential building’s entrance and an old electronics repair place. The little gold and black placard on the red painted wall could easily be overlooked, but it was exactly what you were looking for.

“Nelson and Murdock,” Bucky murmured, giving it and the building a cursory once over. 

You opened the grating-covered door and led the way inside and neither you nor Bucky relaxed in the slightest until the door clicked shut behind you.

Four flights later you were greeted by gold lettering, “Nelson and Murdock Attorneys at Law.” You knocked on the door and opened it quietly when a voice on the other side called “Please come in, it’s open!”

A pretty, tiny blonde with blue eyes was sitting at the desk, smiling at you and Bucky politely.

“Hi, uh-” She fumbled a bit with the papers on her desk. Her cheeks tinged pink and you could tell she was growing more flustered by the second. “Sorry, I’m still not quite used to us having clients and- Did you have an appointment or are you here to-”

“They’re here for me, Karen. My two o’clock.”

All three of you looked up at the newcomer. Matt Murdock stood in the doorway, tense but projecting a sense of calm and control, likely to ensure the woman- Karen- didn’t catch on to the danger you and Bucky posed.

“Oh!” she smiled nervously and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She glanced at the old clock on the wall and then nodded. “I was so busy I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. Are you ready for them?” She directed the last question at Murdock, who took the entire situation as smoothly as he could.

You could see him work it through in his head: Get the threats away from civilians. Don’t make a move before you ascertain the situation.

“Yes, of course. Please, come in,” he said, stepping aside and sweeping an arm wide and gesturing both of you into the room.

You and Bucky gave Karen polite smiles and stepped quickly inside. The door shut softly behind you, but neither you nor Bucky missed the lock sliding into place.

“Please; the blinds, if you would,” Murdock said, voice only slightly strained as he maneuvered the room as though he had 20/20 vision.

You moved over to the window that looked out into the waiting room and flicked the blinds closed, turning them down until no one could see in or out of the room. Bucky and Murdock were already seated and, for all intents and purposes, staring balefully at each other by the time you took your seat.

Murdock’s jaw worked dangerously for a moment before he finally collected himself to speak. “I don’t know who or what you are but if you try to hurt-”

“We’re not here to hurt anyone. We don’t want to hurt anyone.” You felt a little bad for cutting him off, but he had to believe that before you could get anywhere. Your lips quirked up into a tiny sardonic smile. “I also find it a little hard to believe that you don’t already at least suspect who we are. We know who you are, after all.”

“Is that a threat?” Murdock responded instantly, and you kicked yourself for your poor phrasing and timing.

Bucky frowned and you could tell it was taking all of his attention to appear as anything but an aggressor. “No, but it is why we’re here.” 

You reached into your pocket and froze when Murdock practically teleported out of his chair and lunged toward you. Bucky’s hand shot out and stopped his hand midair and you stared at the two of them, tension coiling your muscles tightly. “Please, it’s not a weapon. It’s a device I created for you to use.”

Murdock didn’t back down and you could tell he was straining against Bucky’s cybernetic arm. Bucky was far stronger, but he’d stayed in his seat and, as such, had to work harder than he otherwise would have had to keep Murdock at bay. “What kind of device?” he spat, just quietly enough that you knew Karen and his associate- Nelson- wouldn’t hear.

“I call it RAR: Responsive Archive Reader. It will allow you to access every file we’ve managed to collect on ourselves. On... our past. On what we’ve done. What was done to us,” you nearly trailed off, but being able to talk about your tech brought you back. “Everything is sorted and tagged by date, organization, place, and just about anything else you could think of. It can either read it out to you or its surface can change to spell it out in braille. You can even ask it to look up certain information,” you said, voice regaining some of its confidence the longer you talked.

At that, Murdock finally stopped trying to get at you and took a half step back. “Your files. So you are...” he trailed off, as though he was unwilling to say those cursed names.

“The Winter Soldiers” hung unspoken in the air.

You weren’t willing to say them, either. Even after sweeping the building for bugs as you came in, it was too dangerous. “Yes,” Bucky confirmed quietly. 

There was a long pause where Murdock didn’t move. If you didn’t watch his chest closely you would have questioned if he was even breathing. “Why come to me?” he asked finally, still not sitting back down.

You gripped the cell phone-sized piece of tech in your hand and frowned, finally unable to look at him.

“Because we’re hoping you’ll help us,” Bucky said after a long pause.

Murdock frowned and canted his head ever so slightly to the side, which immediately piqued your interest, but you kept your mouth shut. “Before I decide what I want to do, you have to answer some questions for me.”

You and Bucky glanced at each other and he nodded imperceptibly. You both looked back and Murdock, but it was you who spoke up. “That’s fair. Go ahead.”

“Are you a danger to my friends and clients?”

Ah, shit. One of the toughest questions right out the gate.

But if your suspicions were correct, lying would get you nowhere. “Yes. We’re a danger to everyone, including ourselves.”

“But we don’t want to be,” Bucky added. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was frowning or that he was reaching for your hand. Your hands met halfway and your fingers laced together. It was Bucky’s left hand and, as you suspected, Murdock seemed able to track the movement more easily than he had any right to.

Murdock’s frown stayed firmly in place. “You know who I am? What I do?”

“Yes,” you responded instantly.

“Do you intend to blackmail me using that information?” he asked just as quickly.

“No,” Bucky rasped.

“Why me?”

“Because of what you do,” you said quietly.

“You mean being an attorney?” he asked, brow creasing just a little more.

You winced, knowing what he was hedging around. “Both.”

“Taking this case will put me in danger.”

It wasn’t a question, but you took it like one. “Almost indefinitely.” 

He took a moment to consider that, then, “Do you regret everything you’ve done the last seventy years?”

“Yes,” Bucky responded instantly, just as you said-

“No.”

Bucky turned to stare at you and Murdock tilted his ear a little more in your direction. “Care to elaborate?” he said just a bit flatly, menace creeping back into his voice.

“I don’t regret fighting against the people who tried to control me whenever I got the chance. I don’t regret trying to escape. I don’t regret forming a bond with Natalia Romanoff, or trying to save Mila Hitzvig and Ran Shen. I don’t regret stopping Hydra’s takeover of SHIELD or saving people in Sokovia. There’s more, but...” you frowned as your brain tried to conjure up more examples and failed. “I can’t... my brain doesn’t always cooperate. I’m sorry.” Bucky’s hand squeezed yours gently.

“I spoke without thinkin’. She’s right. There are things I don’t regret doin’ these last seventy years, though they’re by ‘n’ large the outliers,” Bucky agreed quietly, giving you a fond look before he turned a hard gaze on Murdock, who you knew Bucky still saw as a threat.

He gave you and Bucky a moment before forging onward. “Why not contact Rogers or Romanoff? Surely they’d be willing to help.”

You grimaced and knew Bucky’s face had probably done something similar. “Lotsa reasons,” Bucky began in a wary voice. “Some’a which will be answered if you listen to my girl’s device. The main reason is that contacting them brings in the rest of the Avengers...”

“And we’re poised to ruin everything Steve and Tasha have built for themselves,” you finished.

“Are you protecting them or yourselves?” Murdock asked shrewdly.

You and Bucky both had to fight back a wince. “Honestly? Probably both,” you admitted quietly.

He nodded as though that had answered a very pressing question. “And what are you hoping to gain from hiring me?”

You and Bucky exchanged a look. “We’re hopin’ it won’t come to you havin’ to do anything,” Bucky said quietly.

Murdock stared at him as though waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, you explained, “This is a doomsday protocol, of sorts. It’s our hope to just... hide. From everyone. Everything. Your services would only be needed if someone finally captures us. That someone being a government.”

“And if I decide I don’t want to help admitted murderers?” Murdock asked after a second. He shifted to his other foot, obviously ready for a fight.

You shrugged. “Then you throw RAR into the Hudson and pretend you never saw us.”

“That’s it?” he asked skeptically.

“That’s it,” Bucky confirmed.

A longer pause this time, then, “And if I try to bring you in? Alert the authorities?”

“We incapacitate you and anyone else who tries to stop us, then escape,” you said stonily. You prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

But Murdock only nodded again, looking a little grim. “I’m going to be honest- I don’t feel comfortable taking this case unless I know more.”

You tried to smile, but you knew it was a grimace. “All yours, Mister Murdock,” you said as you slid RAR across his desk. You took it as a good sign that he picked it up without hesitation. “You can tell it to turn on and off by saying ‘RAR’ and then ‘on’ and ‘off’ and tell it to look for specific tags by saying ‘RAR conduct search’ and then tell it what you want it to search. Switch between reading modes by saying ‘braille’ and ‘voice’. It’s quite intuitive, really.”

He palmed the device carefully as though searching for hidden traps or weapons but seemed to ultimately decide it was safe because he pocketed it a second later, still looking serious. “And how do I contact you if I decide to take the case?”

You blinked dumbly at him and it was Bucky who recovered first. “You can’t contact us, Murdock. It’s too dangerous. For all of us.”

Murdock raised an eyebrow at that. “Then how will you know if I’ll take your case?”

“We won’t,” you answered quietly.

“But we hope that you do,” Bucky added just as quietly but with an earnestness that had you squeezing his hand.

Murdock leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed. You expected him to say something, but he remained quiet for a long time- long enough for both you and Bucky to have to fight the urge to shift in your seats. “Why me?” he asked finally and just a little accusatorially.

Bucky blew out a long breath at that and sank back in his chair, having already thrown in the towel on this particular question. He did, however, give your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Because you’re our best option.”

Murdock only frowned deeper and leaned forward. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

You sighed and took a moment to collect your thoughts, annoyed at how long it took you to find the right words. Being out and in the open like this was really getting to you. “You’re good. As in, a good person. One of the best. Could give Rogers a run for his money. I looked into your work. Your hobby, too.” Murdock’s face darkened a bit at the allusion to his other identity, but you barreled on. “Our situation isn’t normal. Neither is yours. If your heart is even half as big as I think it is- or if you care about the truth at all- then you’re the only person in the world that will give us a chance... without Steve Rogers backing us up or Natasha Romanoff threatening you.”

It was a weak attempt at a joke and, as expected, Murdock’s lips didn’t so much as twitch. He did, however, seem to find your answer acceptable. “So what? I’m just supposed to build a case? Without talking to either of you? And that’s assuming I take the case to begin with.”

You nodded to his pocket, forgetting he couldn’t see you (though you had a feeling he “saw” more than he let on). “It’s all on that archive. Everything we can remember. Everything we’ve scrapped together from files and data. It’s a more reliable source than we are most days. Things- the memories- they fade in and out.”

“But the things on that drive- they’re things we’ve looked into. Things we both remember. Should be the most complete and accurate file on us anywhere. I’d recommend keepin’ it close,” Bucky said gravely.

Murdock nodded at that, hand making an aborted motion to his chest pocket before he returned his hands to his desk and fiddled idly with a pen (that you had no doubt he’d use as a weapon the moment the need arose). “I’ll review the file as soon as I can. Is there... anything else?” he seemed slightly off kilter, not that you could blame him. Two world renowned assassins had just sauntered into his office and asked him to defend them in court, after all.

“No, that’s ever-” you froze when Bucky gave your hand an urgent squeeze. You glanced over at him and he gave you an expectant look that sent you thinking. Then it hit you. “Oh!” you said quietly, lips twitching up at Bucky’s smitten half smile. “You just received a large anonymous donation to your firm. I suggest using it to fix this place up a little bit... or perhaps getting an air conditioning unit. It’s going to get hot soon.”

That, however, made Murdock prickle like a porcupine, but Bucky was already heading him off at the pass. “It’s clean money, Murdock. My girl made it from patenting some crazy energy efficient electric engine or something like that.”

“But I don’t even know if I’ll take your case yet,” he argued stubbornly.

You peered at him, gaze too old for your face. “No, but you and your partner do good work here. I’ve read about your cases. It’s a worthy investment of my money.”

Murdock still looked dubious, but he decided to let the subject drop. “Then our business is concluded?”

You and Bucky stood at the same time, as slowly and non-threateningly as you could, but Murdock still practically jumped to his feet. “Yes, Mister Murdock. We’ll be on our way.” You stared at him, hawk-like, for any sign that he’d try to stop you. He hesitated briefly before walking past both of you to open the door. Bucky tugged you close to his side as you walked out. You paused to give the secretary- who was looking at you and Bucky with a little bit of confusion- a wave which she returned with barely concealed surprise and a tentative smile.

You were almost out of their small office when the door opposite Murdock’s opened and a man with shaggy blond hair and an infectious smile (which almost immediately turned into something more professional upon seeing you and Bucky) walked out.

“Oh! You must be Matt’s two o’clock,” he said brightly, though you could see the small flash of greed in his eyes. “I trust your meeting went well and you’ll be using our services mister and misses...?” he trailed off, looking between you, Murdock, and Karen inquisitively.

Foggy Nelson. Murdock’s business partner. Good heart, but perhaps more practical than Murdock, which often comes off as unsavory priorities... namely, making money.

A quick glance behind you told you Murdock was as tightly wound as a spring. You turned what you hoped was a melancholy smile on Nelson. “I’m afraid Mister Murdock declined our case. We... didn’t see eye to eye on some issues,” you said softly. It was better this way- his coworkers wouldn’t pester him about your case.

But Nelson looked at Murdock with such disbelief and exasperation that you wondered if you’d made a mistake.

“We can’t pay anyway,” Bucky added smoothly.

At that, Nelson’s face turned the kind of fake polite that was usually only mastered by the most obnoxious, self-absorbed people.

“I see. Well then I’m very sorry Nelson and Murdock won’t be able to assist you. Please have a nice day.”

The secretary was looking between the four of you with confusion, but Murdock finally relaxed ever so slightly as Nelson herded you out.

“Have a nice day!” Nelson called. Just before the door shut you looked over your shoulder and saw Murdock facing in your direction, head turned slightly to the side.

You smiled and waited until you were a few steps away before saying softly, “Thank you for your time, Mister Murdock. Take care,” knowing full well he’d hear you.

It wasn’t until you were a few blocks away that Bucky spoke. “Think it’s done yet?” he asked as you turned the corner and ghosted between other New Yorkers going about their busy days.

You frowned as you thought about it. “Probably.” Admitting it made anxiety coil low and deadly in your stomach. As if sensing the shift in your thoughts, Bucky threw his arm around your shoulder and drew you close to his side, taking his eyes off his surroundings only long enough to press a kiss to your temple.

“Better hurry back, then. I’m... eager to know the truth, either way. Y’know?” he murmured.

You smiled up at him and your breath caught in your throat. He looked... good. Two years since you both escaped Hydra. Two years out of cryo. Two years together, healing. Eating actual food. Sleeping on a real mattress.

The change had been so gradual that you hadn’t noticed. It had taken being in New York again for you to really look at him.

Your smile was more genuine than it had been in a long time as you leaned up and pecked a kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, Buck. I do.”

Next Chapter

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[woildismyerster]

Hiii!! I really love your stories, you’re an amazing writer. Can I pleaseeee ask for one where the reader‘s parents arrange a marriage for her, but she is in love with Davey?

This turned out more depressing than I expected.  Jeez.

“Look at Y/N,” Race crooned.  “Out hunting for a husband.  The closest thing to a pirate we’ll ever know.”

“Aye,” you said.  “No treasure in sight.”

“I don’t know,” he said.  “I see plenty of booty.”

You laughed, appalled, while Davey shoved him.  Race practically skipped away, chortling all the while.  

“Teenage boys are degenerates,” Davey said with a withering smile.  He lowered himself onto your bench, leaning over to retie his shoe.  It looked tight enough to you, but who were you to judge?

“All of them,” you agreed with a pointed look.  “I’m not offended, though.”

“No?  Give it time.  Race will drive you away sooner or later.”

“No,” you said.  It was true; you could handle Race.  You wished you would have the chance to.  The trouble was, your days were numbered.  “I’d be fine.  I’m not sure I’ll have much time, though.  My husband hunt is over.”

“Oh?”  Davey’s brow furrowed, and he looked a little younger than he had before.  “I didn’t know you were seeing anybody.”

He casually stood from the bench, putting space between the two of you.  He hadn’t been close to touching you, but you were a little colder than you had been before.  You wanted him to come back.  “I mean, it isn’t like that.  My parents arranged the match.”

“An arranged marriage?”  Davey had been wringing his hat in his hand, worrying at a loose thread, but he froze when you uttered the words.  “What is this, the 1500s?”

You cringed.  “Maybe arranged marriage wasn’t the best way to put it.  I wasn’t traded for cows, or anything.”

“What is it, then?”

“An understanding, I guess.”  It had always been assumed that you would marry the butcher’s son.  There were many mostly-unspoken agreements between your family and his.  They would trade meat for produce from your family’s store.  When one couple wanted to go out, the other couple would watch the kids.  When you were of marrying age, it was assumed that you would be marrying Allan.

“Do you get any say?”

Say?  You frowned.  Of course you didn’t have any say.  Options were for people who could afford to have more than one choice.  Options were for people with money.  Your family didn’t have money; you just had the store.  Even then, it was only because of the trades with the butcher.  If it wasn’t for him, you might never have gotten meat at all.  You didn’t answer Davey, but the look on your face was answer enough.

“That sounds like an arranged marriage to me,” he said.

You took a bite off of your carrot, breaking a chunk of the opposite side off for Davey.  He bit into it thoughtfully, and you gave him an anxious grin.  “C’mon, Dave, it isn’t that different from anybody else.”

“Of course it is,” he snorted.  “Other people love their spouses first, Y/N.”

“Love comes later,” you frowned.  That was what your mother always said.  That you had your entire life to fall in love with Allan, that marriage was a necessity to help your family.  “People hardly ever fall in love before they get married.  Not real love, anyway.”

“Yes, they do.”  Davey didn’t look appalled anymore.  He wasn’t surprised or confused.  He just looked sad, and it made you sad in a way that you didn’t understand.

“All of these strikes,” Allan said bitterly.  “They’re terrible.”

“What do you mean?”  You forced a smile while you bagged lettuce and radishes for a customer.  Allan had come by to visit you during his break, and you were wishing that he hadn’t.

“People are complaining for something that’s their own fault,” he explained.  His eyes roamed across the newspaper, not straying to you once.  Maybe he didn’t want to be there, either.  “They wouldn’t be struggling this much if they just worked harder.”

Your customer service smile withered.  “You can’t possible mean everybody.”

“I do.”  He looked up at you, earnest.  “Everybody would be doing fine if they worked harder.”

“What about the Newsies?  They’re children.  Children shouldn’t have to work for a living.”

“Their parents should be working harder, then,” he said dismissively.

You gritted your teeth.  What of kids like Jack and Race, who had no parents to provide for them?  How much harder should they have to work, just so they could get by?  And then you had Davey and Les, whose father got hurt at work.  If the parents can’t work, if that their fault?  Should the kids have to pay for it?

“What about my family?”  You forced a grin, letting your bitterness seap in.  “What about our struggles?  They should just be working harder?”

Allan’s mouth slammed shut.  He had the good grace to look embarrassed, but not enough to look repentant.  “Well,” he said lightly, “you won’t have to worry about that for much longer.”

“No,” you said.  You struggled to keep your voice even.  “No, I suppose I won’t.”

“Ain’t you a little young to get married?”  Les looked you up and down appraisingly.  

You grinned, crooked and genuine.  “Sure feels that way.”

“So don’t.”

“Aren’t you a little young to be working?”

Les frowned, and for a second he looked almost like his brother.  “We have to.  For our parents.”

“Exactly.”

His frown deepened, then disappeared as realization dawned.  “You’s doing it for your family?”

“Sure.  Who else would I do it for?”

“I dunno.”  Les kicked a clump of dirt on the ground and took a drink of his water.  “Is he handsome?”

You considered.  “If you like sweat, meat juice, and big hands.”

“I don’t,” Les said.  He laughed, high and light.  “Do you?”

“No.”

“Do you like blue?”

“Yes,” you said, confused.

“Do you like the smell of ink?”

“I suppose.”

“That’s good,” Les said, satisfied.  “Because Davey thinks you’re pretty.  And that’s what Davey is like, so you can just marry him someday.  Later, though.”

Jack, sitting a few chairs down, snorted into his water.  “Kid, I don’t think you’s supposed to be saying that.”

“What?  It’s true.”

Jack shot you a crooked smile.  “The kid talks too much.”

“Or, maybe, everybody else doesn’t talk enough,” you countered.

“What, was that something you’d want to know?”

You bit your lip, thinking.  Did you want to know that Davey - handsome Davey, who sometimes let you read a paper with him before it was time to start selling them, and played tic-tac-toe in the alley dust when you took out the trash - thought you were pretty?

“Yes,” you decided.  “It’s Davey.  If he has - thoughts, or feelings, or something, I’d want to know.”

“Because it changes things?”

No.  No, probably not, but you wanted to remember this.  You wanted to remember good days with good people, and Davey was the best of them all.

It was the day before the wedding, and you were unhappy.

It’s fine, you promised yourself.  Love can come later.  You don’t have to love Allan now.  Maybe he likes to sing.  Maybe he smells nice, and he’ll make everything else smell nice too.  Maybe he’s wonderful with children.  Maybe he’s funny once you know him.

You knew him, and he never made you want to laugh.

It’s fine.  Love can come later.  You don’t have to be in love before the wedding.

You picked up a flower that had fallen out of somebody’s bouquet earlier in the day.  You carefully picked off the petals, startling when a hand came out of nowhere to snatch one out of the air.

“Finding out if he loves you or not?”  Davey smiled at you, but his eyes were distant.

“Nah.  I already know the answer to that.”

His grin faltered.  “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged.

“No, Y/N, seriously.”  He grabbed the hand holding the mangled flower and gave it a squeeze.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry that you don’t get to choose.  I’m sorry that you wouldn’t want to choose him, if you didn’t have to.”

“That’s life, I guess.”  Your chest ached when you saw him so unhappy, so you smiled.  “Hey.  Hey, don’t be sorry.  I have a really good life.”

“Yeah?”  He pulled the flower from your fingers and twirled it between his fingers.

“Totally.  I have -”  You faltered, looking around for something positive.  “I have - carrots.”  You trailed off, and Davey laughed.

“Carrots.  I can see why you’re so okay.  Carrots make everything better.”

“My snowmen are set for life,” you agreed.

“Your eyesight is stellar.”

“If I ever have a problem with a horse, I have a good solution.”

Davey was smiling again, so your smile came easier.  “You’re right.  All is well in Y/N-land.  Carrots.”

Heart stuttering, you threw out another perk.  “And I have you.”

“Awful lot of good that’s done you,” he said.  

“Hey,” you argued.  “Hey, that’s not fair.  It isn’t what you do, it’s who you are.  I can’t believe that this world is terrible when somebody like you came out of it.”

“That’s funny,” he said.  He tucked the broken flower behind your ear and backed away.  “I’ve always thought the same thing about you.”

It was the strangest thing; as soon as Davey was out of sight, you had to swallow the bile creeping up your throat.  You weren’t nauseous, exactly; it was like you had become afraid so rapidly that your body tried to expel it in any way it could.

You had fallen in love before the wedding, and it was not with your fiance.

It was not fine.

If Davey was surprised to see you on the fire escape outside his window, he didn’t show it.  He just crawled out to meet you.  “Y/N?  Is everything alright?”

“Nothing is ever all right.”

“Is everything sort of right, then?”  He normally would have teased you about the correction, but the usual light in his eyes had dimmed.  You could count the hours before your wedding on your fingers, and you wondered if maybe he was doing the same.

“Not yet,” you said.

“But in a few hours, it will be,” he said.  His words reminded you of Allan’s, and you cringed.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“So, what’s up?”

You shrugged.  “I wanted to ask you something.”

His eyebrows rose a little.  “Oh?”

“What are my options, here?  You know all of the reasons for me to marry Allan.”  Money.  To help your family.  Because people were counting on you.  Because if you said no, you had nothing.  “Can you think of any reasons for me not to?”

He swallowed.  The light from the moon wasn’t enough for you to get a good look at his face, but there was enough for you to see the way the muscles in his jaw twitched.  “Why?”

“I want a choice, and you’re better at seeing choices than anybody.”

“You could marry him, or you could leave him,” he said.  He avoided your eyes.

“Davey.”  His eyes met yours.  “If I leave him, my parents won’t see me again.  What are my options?”

“Become a secretary,” he said immediately.  “Join the Newsies.  Find somebody else to marry, posthaste.”

You licked your lips.  “I’m not ready to get married.”

“No,” he said with a small smile.  “No, I didn’t think you were.”

“I don’t love Allan, and I don’t think he loves me.”

“No, I never thought you did,” he said.

“I want to be in love with the man I marry,” you said, looking him in the eye.

“You should be.”

“At this point, that makes you the only option,” you finished.

His adam’s apple bobbed.  “Huh.”

You waited for him to continue, to shoot you down, accept you, anything at all.  There was nothing.  “I’m not asking you for today.  I’m asking you for someday.”

He gave a bark of bewildered laughter.  “You don’t know that you’ll want me someday.”

“If I do, what does that mean for you?”

“That I’ll marry you,” he finally said.  He clenched his hands around the railing, but you saw the way his fingers trembled.  You traced a finger along his knuckles, noting the way he relaxed them after.

“Until then,” you said, “I’ll find a place to stay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you said.

He leaned in, kissed your forehead, and crawled back through his window.  “That doesn’t mean I’m not.  Just to be clear - I’m not marrying you because I’m sorry.  I’m marrying you because you’re my favorite choice, every time.”

He closed the window, and you climbed back to the ground.  You headed toward the Lodge, figuring that it would be a good place to spend the night.  Maybe a lot of nights, if need be.  You were scared of the future, of course, but the idea of a future with Davey was the only one that made you think the future wasn’t such a bad thing.

[silyabeeodess]

Reflecting on BATIM: Chapter 5

I don’t really have any theories on Chapter 5, and there’s so much with the fanbase taking sides on this sort of thing that I don’t even want to really talk about them, but I do have a lot of thoughts that I feel like I have to get out of my head.  The biggest is that I, like a lot of other people, felt disappointed after the ending.  Not that the ending was bad, (Though it is incredibly annoying and insulting that people who like it want to say that people who didn’t “don’t understand or aren’t deep enough,” like they’re uncultured. No, honey, people have complaints for good reasons: You don’t get to invalidate them.) but that the overall chapter felt lacking. Now, I promise I’ll talk about more than just complaints in this--largely I’ll be bouncing off SuperHorrorBro’s own theories--but I have to get that out of my system first:

1.) We received a lot of hype at the end of Chapter Four and from the preview content for all of the new things that would be implemented into Chapter 5: New characters, new environments, new game mechanics, etc. And for all that we got to see... we barely had the time to see any of it!!  Maybe it was just too much to fit into the timeslot that they’ve been keeping to with the previous chapters, but I would’ve preferred a longer chapter or even waiting months for another one above barely scraping the surface of the new stuff. 

We got Allison Angel and Tom only to see them for that first, long cutscene that took about a fourth (a fifth at least) of the time it took to actually play the chapter, that one fight, and then a little bit at the end. The interactions with them felt rushed, because while Allison was on our side, Tom hated us, and then the next thing we know it’s, “Oh, you hate Sammy too? Here, have an axe. Yeah, bruh, we cool: Nevermind that we left you for dead and I tried to starve you.”  

The trailer made it clear how we would be navigating through flooded tunnels and we only got to use the boat once, granted it was a thoroughly horrifying experience.

We get to see where the Lost Ones are living, but just a small, little area that couldn’t even fill a town square. And not even the full square: I’m talking about that park-like area. “Well, it’s a studio, so it can’t be too big.” After several floors dropping into the center of the earth, I think we’re past that. Then, even with that big fight, we’re promised more chances to fight with Tom and Allison only to fall through the ground and have nothing to do with that ever again. I would’ve rather stuck with them and fought to Joey’s office that way it felt earned rather than play chicken with the Butcher Gang in that weird labyrinth of offices. (The labyrinth was bigger than the Lost One area... :,( )

Then Sammy.  Oh Sammy, I’ve never even really liked you, but you came out of nowhere after all this time has passed full of hints and Easter eggs in previous chapters to all the fans speculating how you’d be back, and then you’re dead just about as quickly and we learn little to nothing about you. 

2.) Ending that previous note with Sammy, I’m going a little further with him. In Chapter 2, the guy tries to sacrifice us (Henry) with the idea that Bendy will set him free if he does, then in Chapter 5... 

“Betrayed! Abandoned! I trusted you! I gave you everything and you left me to rot!” 

...Buddy, I seem to recall you wanting us dead: You don’t get to blame us for crap! If he was talking about Bendy, that’d be one thing, but then that raises some flags as to why he’s associating us with Bendy. I mean, no one else does and he didn’t at first. If he’s not associating Bendy, then he would have to be talking about Henry if he finally remembered him. And if he’s talking about Henry, then he could only be remembering him from a previous ring-around of the story (more on that later) in which Sammy possibly helped Henry under the idea that he was some kind of savior like Allison thought when she said she thought he “was the hope he’d been waiting for.” Seems unlikely, but that’s the only thing that makes sense to me for the 180 degree turn.

3.) Joey. Joey, Joey, Joey... I’ve been following BATIM with one thing primarily on mind: “If Joey isn’t in trouble, then he is going to be...” Whether it was Joey being the victim of his own, inky sins or it was Henry beating him over the head with a lead pipe, I wanted some kind of retribution. And what do we get? “You’re back already? Have a seat... It’s your fault I’m a terrible person because you didn’t stay, so do you wanna go back to your never ending nightmare?” Excuse me? Excuse m-Henry’s fault?! That’s worse than Sammy’s complaint card!!!  No. No! Joey, you do not get to sit around your house drinking coffee in a robe and bunny slippers, after everything you put everyone through, and blame it on Henry! Like, I realize the potential that none of what happened is even real from the storyboard on the desk and the real vs cartoon worlds, but that just makes it worse!!!  And here’s why:

4.) If none of it’s real and it’s just a story, then Joey’s still blaming Henry for all of his own terrible decisions running the company. If Henry’s dead and in some kind of purgatory created by Joey and the Ink Machine, then he’s literally suffering for Joey’s mistakes and getting the blame for them. And if our Henry’s a cartoon creation, then he’s not even the real Henry being blamed for things that Henry didn’t even do in the first place. That one line infuriates me more than anything else that Joey’s done, because it shows that he hasn’t changed at all: He’s still a complete monster!

Now, wrapping up and gearing toward actual analyses/theories, I actually want to bring up the one just released by SuperHorrorBro, as it makes the most sense out of anything else that’s been said.  If you haven’t seen it, you can watch it here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nf234EJT3Fo

I see some potential for this theory. First off, because we know the Ink Machine does in fact exist after we see it in the final clip, but also because it would make sense for Tom and Allison to fit the more perfected versions of them that exist in cartoon form if they were invited back to the studio after everything had fallen apart.  One of my concerns in the past was that, if Allison replaced Susie, then why wasn’t Allison the first “Alice” made from the Ink Machine? Yes, the credits show the order in reverse, but we know the demented Alice is Susie due to her own words:

“Dreams come true, Susie... Dreams come true...”

Anyway, what would make Joey resort to turning to Susie after he had already stabbed her in the back and wouldn’t likely be able to gain her trust beyond simply relying on Susie’s clinging to the part? Well, if Allison and Tom had already left the studio--either because of its financial downfall, dealing with Joey, or from their getting married--then they would’ve dodged a bullet while the experiments were taking place. Tom didn’t trust Joey or like being at the studio, so it’d make sense for him to clear out asap. Women in the 30′s tended not to work if they were married in Allison’s case, and judging from her strong personality, I don’t think she’d put up with Joey long either, especially if he wasn’t paying her enough. As for Wally, I’ve got no idea, but I imagine some similar case for him as well--likely that he was let go (I can’t imagine the nearly broke studio keeping a janitor for long given that the place was always a wreck with the ink machine anyway and it’s was probably one of the “least important jobs” at the place in Joey’s eyes. That, and Wally personally sounded like a clutz.) or changed jobs.  

Another thing to consider is the prominence of just Wally’s and Allison’s letters. Not only as people who could’ve potentially ducked out, but also the last few people who Joey had to turn to. Wally had a carefree spirit, and Allison’s also got a nicer, more trusting nature to her as well. Given how we know that Joey is a sweet-talker--though snake is more like it--he could potentially trick them both into coming back at the studio where others who also avoided death would likely hold a greater resentment against him.  Then there’s Tom’s behavior toward Allison: Caring and protective. Like a husband would be toward his wife.  While it’s confirmed that many of the people at the studio have lost their memories, others still at least possess fragments of them: From Henry’s writing on the walls, to Susie remembering who she was and saying she knew why Henry was there at the studio, to the unnamed individual who “still remember their name.” Tom also remembers who he was--or at least his name--and possibly might remember Allison as his wife or at least at he loved her. Which is really tragic and dang it, I want more on this!!   Finally, there’s the fact that you can see names on the coffins that are in Chapters 1 and 2: Norman and Grant.  If it’s all fake, then it seems unlikely that Joey would’ve storyboarded those coffins specifically for those people and even more unlikely that Henry would know even if he did since there’s no names on them without checking Henry’s own messages.  That, and while there’s the parallel with Norman potentially being the projectionist, we have no idea what happened to Grant beyond the fact that it sounded like he was attacked based on his audio log. So how would Henry know who they belonged to?  By potentially checking them in a previous run. 

I also want to bring up a bit of potential with the storyboards we see in the real world. We assume that Joey drew them, but what if Henry did?  I mean, he’s the artist, and we know from Joey that he has stayed long enough before to ask questions.  What if, instead of all of the interactions being planned, at some point early on, Henry drew the storyboards as a means of coping through the horrors he faced? Henry might be numb to them now based on his lax take to events, but one means of people dealing with their trauma is often by using art as an outlet. This lets them describe what happened better than words could and also help them cope with it. Henry made have done the same.

There’s one thing that tosses a wrench into this and that’s how Allison comments how different Henry is from everyone else, not only in his potential to save them, but also how he can wade through ink without it “claiming him.” I mean, we assume anyway that he would’ve had to have been born from the ink like the others, but if that’s the case then the theory wouldn’t make as much sense.  Still, if he was resurrected in this way, then I do have another idea: If Henry’s one of the last people born from the machine, after all of these tests and trials and experiments, wouldn’t that mean Henry is its most perfect product? He could be more stable than the previous experiments, which would explain why he doesn’t melt into the ink and is able to reform quicker/more often than the others do. Maybe he can’t linger in it for long, but he can survive it for extended periods of time. In the very least, we’ve seen other characters than have been able to travel through the ink, like Sammy and Ink Bendy, so I’d leave it open that as one of the final victims, Henry would have the ability to endure the ink longer than the previous creations. 

I can’t think of anything else to say right now, so I guess that about covers it.  Thanks for sticking around this long if you did.

EDIT: Nevermind, I’ve got one more thing to say with the multiple runs!  The note that what Henry needs is “in the vault” and him later acknowledging that Bendy has to have it.  We assume it to be “The End” tape.  What this would allude to is that, at some point, the tape was indeed in the vault, but some point in another run, Bendy eventually got his hands on it and would know to retrieve it before Henry could, or otherwise made that weird prison/throne room for himself that somehow doesn’t reset like everything else... 

[miscellaneous-oxy]

an update of my WoL map

As the coming episodes this week will take us to the halfway point of Wok of Love, I’ve decided to make a memo of hints, clues and puzzle pieces (literally some food for thought) in Episodes 1-16, and this actually turned out to be such a fun in itself that I’m enjoying the process immensely.  In the meantime, tonight’s the night for the episodes, judging from the preview, supposedly full of exciting scenes with bromance and espionage.  So, I’m updating my map of the story here.

One of the most exciting developments so far would be the possibility of Seo Poong’s revenge plot to be intertwined with CS’s exposition of the Giant Hotel’s corruption and his consequent possible takeover.  SP’s story will become more pregnant with significance than when it was a mere personal grudge against YSR (the CEO), with or without the love line (I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive the writer ever if she makes SDH return to SP), and finally DCS’s actions and behaviours (and the so-called gangster plot) will take on so much weight as the major force central to the main plot of the story. CS’s backstory will probably figure significantly in this, too, unveiling the mysterious identity of the gum-peddling lady in the process.  I’m sure DSW’s father’s imprisonment is a related matter as well, which makes the whole thing all the more stirring.  I’m guessing that the one who offered to buy CS’s building (which DS talks about in Ep.1) might be SW’s father, too.  It might also give us explanations as to why Na O-Jik had to cease communication, since it’s most likely that his parents’ law firm has dealings with the Giant Hotel or something.

Personally, I wish the writer would settle the love triangle quickly and get on with this hopefully fully-developed revenge-corruption plot where all these characters should be neatly tied together.  I’m sure most of the viewers would be happy to see DCS released from playing the agonising third-wheel to be elevated as the mastermind protagonist at the centre of the story.

In regard to this runaway groom, there is one thing that is stopping me from thinking he’d be SW’s ultimate partner despite his unwillingness to leave Korea again and his seemingly genuine affection towards SW: When he was trying to convince SW that they should register the marriage first (in SW’s flashbacks in Ep.9), he said that he didn’t want to go to work -- as if getting married to SW would save him from working.  Since there is a clear association of hard-workers as good and non-workers as lacking in this drama, I feel that this line by NOJ marks his character.

The gum lady remains a mystery for sure, but SW’s mother is not less mysterious -- not just because the gum lady and JJH are lookalikes.  (There must be something between them, although JJH does not seem to know the gum lady.  As for the gum lady, I have long decided to doubt everything about her.)  We are introduced to JJH in Ep.3, as she looks for a box of condoms, saying that it would be a problem if he has another baby. This is indeed a strange way to introduce a beautiful wife of a chaebol.  Can we assume she is referring to her husband?  What about “another baby”?  Was there a baby problem before?  Does he have illegitimate children?  With whom? Would there be a possibility that CS is in some way related (by blood or not) to SW or SP?  I don’t know why but I’ve had this idea for some time now, that two of the three could be siblings.  (Maybe I’ve watched too many kdramas with those birth-secret clichés, but once I had this idea, more similarities than differences between the characters started to hit me.) I’m thinking JJH’s wimpy character can be another piece of puzzle -- even if we accept her naivete as a sign of having lived a life without worries under the protection of her husband and daughter.

Other characterisations that seem to have a backstory or something are IGJ’s limp (Could it be related to Chef Wang’s dropping-a-knife-on-your-foot-challenge?), GDS’s dislocated shoulder (or is that one already solved?), YGH’s dislike of studying (It was a bit strange to see CS telling him to buy books in Ep.2 when CS was giving all his minions money -- is he going to find a bright future in medicine or law?), the butcher with an extremely sharp knife in Ep.14, and so on and so forth.  We are also yet to be introduced to another character: Lee Ji-Kyung.  (Bottom right in the photo above.)

Love lines seem to create rivalries (and something more) between the Finishing Touch and Hungry Wok, and I have no problem with this as long as they make the kitchen battle more exciting and bring every member of Hungry Wok close together and united.  The development in the revenge-corruption plot and the love lines (of supporting characters) means that we can expect a lot of action in terms of Hungry Wok’s future, and that I’m sure is going to be quite exciting.  I hope.  I wish.  Please so be it.

[orbemnews]

Women say St. Louis County's family courts bring financial and emotional stress ST. LOUIS (KMOV.com) — The St. Louis County family courts can be an emotional venue for child custody battles. Multiple women are making their cases public to shine a light on a system they claim is all about the money. Cortney Nolan said her contentious divorce costs upwards of a “million dollars.” Much of that money was spent on attorneys, but she also said she spent tens of thousands on fees she didn’t expect. Nolan claims she was ordered to see Dr. James Reid for a mental assessment during her custody battle. Reid is a licensed psychologist in St. Louis County. She said she didn’t have a say in the matter and “that was a motion filed by opposing council and they selected him.” During her assessments with Reid, Nolan claims she was given written tests including one known as the MMPI or the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory. It’s a psychological test that assesses personality traits and psychopathology. Nolan said one of them “probably had 500 questions.” According to Dr. James Butcher, a retired psychology professor at the University of Minnesota, the MMPI test is an objective test. Butcher spent his career studying the MMPI test and said the results can “suggest diagnosis” for various personality disorders. Nolan said she was under the impression her written tests did not reveal anything extraordinary, but she was diagnosed with multiple disorders. She said she was diagnosed with major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, borderline and narcissistic. “It was purely subjective,” Nolan said. “It was given by Dr. Reid. He said there was no way those tests could have been right and made reference that I cheated on the test.” Evita Tolu says she can relate to Nolan’s situation and added, “I was completely naïve.” Tolu also saw Dr. Reid during her child custody battle. She said she was referred to Reid by her guardian ad litem, Elaine Pudlowski. A guardian ad litem (GAL) is hired by both parties in a child custody battle to look out for the best interest of the children. Like Nolan, Tolu’s diagnosis surprised her. “I was diagnosed as a sociopath,” Tolu said. “I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder.” Tolu said Dr. Reid did not explain how he arrived at the decision, but said, “we called him for a deposition. He could only tell us that was his subjective opinion.” When asked if Tolu was ever diagnosed with a personality disorder in the past she said “I’ve never heard of some of them.” Both women say the court-ordered therapy was not only emotionally stressful, but financially stressful as well. According to court filings, Tolu and her ex were billed $30,000 by Reid, another $5,000 to depose him and nearly $3,000 so Tolu could obtain a copy of her file. Nolan claims she spent $35,000 with Reid, another $50,000 hiring experts to challenge him, and then nearly $17,000 to depose Reid. Tim Roldan represents Tolu and has filed a lawsuit on her behalf against Elaine Pudlowski, Dr. James Reid, and another therapist named Jennifer Van Luven. According to Roldan, Van Luven was hired to work with Tolu’s children. “We have alleged in general as a lay person term malpractice, each one of them in different areas,” Roldan said. According to the lawsuit, Dr. Reid released Tolu’s report to Pudlowski, and Pudlowski filed a motion to limit release of that report. Roldan is accusing Pudlowski of sharing Tolu’s diagnosis with Van Luven, the therapist seeing Tolu’s children. According to the lawsuit, Van Luven, “discussed the custody case in great detail” and “shared adult information” with both children and discussed Reid’s diagnosis. The lawsuit claims Tolu addressed the issue with Pudlowski. According to the lawsuit, Pudlowski stated that according to Van Luven, the children discussed the contents of the Reid report. The lawsuit also says Pudlowski failed to address Tolu’s concerns in “any meaningful way.” Tolu claims the impact was so detrimental she no longer has a relationship with her children. The lawsuit has caught the attention of those who work within the St. Louis County Family Court system. During a recent zoom meeting, approximately three dozen GALs (guardian ad litem) discussed the legal challenge facing Pudlowski. The zoom call was recorded and anonymously posted to YouTube. Sarah Pleban who also works as a GAL stated during the meeting, “one of the things I know is we all have each other’s backs.” Pudlowski briefly spoke about her legal challenge and said, “my motion to dismiss is basically about judicial immunity, quasi-judicial immunity.” As the meeting progressed the various GALs offered financial support to Pudlowski. It was also revealed there can be challenges to finding therapists like Dr. Reid to evaluate people like Nolan and Tolu. Pleban said, “we don’t have many people to do custody evaluations. The pool is this deep, so I’m sure everybody has some pros and cons about Jim Reid, but he is one of the substantial ones. If he’s knocked, or if says like Elaine does, and Jen’s getting ready to do. I don’t want to do this anymore it’s not worth it then where are we?” Pudlowski stated, “I already have tons of people that won’t call me back. I don’t take it personally, but when I call, ‘I’ve got a case are you interested?’ No, no, no, no. No one is going to if I mention the last couple of cases I referred people they got sued on, that’s a problem.” As for people like Nolan, she recommends couples find an amicable way to settle their divorce outside of the confines of family court. She said court-ordered therapy did nothing to help her emotional or financial well-being. “Ultimately it was the two of us coming back together and saying take them all out of it. This has been a nightmare,” Nolan said. “Let’s come together for the kids. Let’s get on the same page, with a different way of doing it, with the same goals in mind and we settled it.” Pudlowski’s attorney has filed a motion to dismiss Tolu’s lawsuit. The attorney added, “We are eager to argue our motions. As to many specific allegations in the lawsuit or the questions posed in your email it is my policy not to discuss such matters while litigation is pending.” Dr. Reid did not respond to News 4’s request for comment, neither did Jennifer Van Luven. Both parties have also filed a motion to dismiss Tolu’s lawsuit. As for Sarah Pleban, she did return an initial phone call, but did not return a follow-up call. At this point every judge in the 21st judicial circuit has recused themselves from hearing Tolu’s case. The case will now be transferred to the Missouri Supreme Court for reassignment. The ex-husband of Tolu reached out to News 4 prior to the airing of the story. He said he believes the money spent with Dr. Reid was well-spent, and only totaled a small fraction of the overall money spent during the custody battle. Tolu’s ex-husband said he believes Reid’s report ultimately protected him and the couple’s two children. !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s) if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments); if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0'; n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script', 'https://connect.facebook.net/en_US/fbevents.js'); fbq('init', '2164750607119309'); fbq('track', 'PageView'); Source link Orbem News #bring #civillaw #cortneynolan #countys #Courts #Emotional #evitatolu #Family #Financial #Investigation #jamesreid #Law #local #Louis #news4investigates #st.louis #Stress #Women

[im-abanana]

-The Demon and The Angel- ch.4

Wrote the fourth chapter of this Alice x Bendy (Benlice) One-Shot collection, too. Hope you’ll like it, folks. 

AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12736851/chapters/29045748

Oh, thank you a lot for the 800 followers, you’re all sweeties! 

Summary: Her ivory horns were what made Alice a fallen angel, and were her best natural weapon, too. But when you crash your head against a wall and get stuck, you could use some unwanted “help” from your dance partner. 

-Stuck-

Alright, maybe she hadn’t had the greatest idea ever this time.

“Dammit…” Alice weakly whined and panted to regain her precious breath, pressing her pale palms against the hard wall in front of her face and pushing against it with all her might, but nothing changed: she barely moved a single muscle, plus she failed to extract her ivory horns from the fragile plasterboard. Oh, and Bendy’s coarse laughing wasn’t helping her at all, obviously. “Shut your mouth, Bendy! This is all your fault!”.

“My fault, really? Yeah, that’s a good one, toots.” the arrogant dancer proudly smirked and lazily leaned against a wooden chair, watching the satisfying scene with interested eyes and his usual wide, smug grin. “Let me remind you what exactly happened just a minute ago, babe: you’re the one who ran towards me like a crazy bull, swinging those giant horns of yours like a weapon just because you can’t take a joke and, most important, you’re the one who got those so-called antlers deeply stuck into the wall when I dodged the attack.” the presumptuous star explained and gently rubbed his chin, sticking out his forked tongue in a funny way: revenge, sweet revenge. “Fair enough sweetheart, our dad Joey and our uncle Henry told you a long time ago to stop using those pointy things on your skull to threaten other people, because you could badly injure someone… or yourself, in this case. See what happens? Good job, Angel Cake!” he finally concluded, clapping sarcastically.

“Just wait until I free myself, I’ll tear that little cunt mouth of yours to tiny pieces.” the beautiful angel angrily swore and squirmed with more energy, perceiving a stinging sensation around her narrow shoulders and her dance partner’s laughter increasing as she pitifully dropped down on her knees for the umpteenth time, standing on all-fours and grunting in defeat. “And I can’t fucking take a joke, you say? You call throwing hot coffee at me a joke? How stupid can you be? You jackass, disgusting, foolish, retard son of a b-”.

“Woah, watch your language Alice, you’re the angel here.” Bendy shushed the irritated angelic cartoon and slyly winked, removing his white gloves and placing them aside, on the nearby table. “What would your beloved fans think about it? Those poor, innocent children…”.

“Bendy, for the last time, I’m definitely not in the best mood to joke around with you right now. My neck, head and back hurt, and I just can’t get my horns out! I’m stuck!” Alice angrily yelled and squirmed wildly, trying to back up and possibly break free from that awkward position, her ivory horns still deeply lodged in the plasterboard wall. Grunting furiously and knowing that she needed to change her strategy if she wanted to resolve the situation by herself, the fallen angel watched the short demon, who was standing (now silently) right behind her with his arms crossed, immediately noticing his naughty expression and realizing what he was looking at. “Could you please stop staring at my ass for a moment and help me, you stupid little cretin!? Or call the others, at least!”.

“What should I do? Joey, Boris and Henry left, so I can’t do anything for you, Angel Cake. Nice view from here, by the way.” Bendy smugly chuckled and lifted an eyebrow as he admired her currently defenseless body, a mischievous idea making him grin and approach the wary singer carefully. “But now that I think about it, I guess I could make our waiting a little more enjoyable, toots~” the devil maliciously licked his dry lips and two of his fingers, his other hand grabbing the soft edge of her black dress and quickly lifting the refined fabric without asking permission. “It’s the least I could do, right? Relax, baby girl~”.

Guessing his not-so-chaste intentions and gasping loudly in realization, the angelic cartoon growled and frowned, staring at the discolored wall in front of her visage and perceiving her co-worker’s wet fingers caressing her pale thighs, slowly traveling up to stimulate her off-limits areas. “Bendy, I swear to God: touch me again and I’ll murder you. As I said, I’m not in the right mood for-! M-mngh~” Alice blushed and bit back an instinctive moan, her spine arching elegantly as her partner boldly brushed a sensitive spot, ignoring the threats and snickering in satisfaction. “G-get your filthy hands off me, now!”.

“Com’on Angel Cake, don’t tell me you’re shy! We did this plenty of times backstage, after our performances, remember?” the arrogant black-haired dancer cooed and looked at her beautiful form with a pretty dumb face, hungrily drooling on the ground and sticking his forked tongue out, the temptation simply too strong for him to overcome. “And you totally loved it, right?” Bendy shamelessly added, but when his sneaky hand cupped a particular area he shouldn’t have touched, the killer look on the fallen angel’s face, and especially the frightening, dark noise that escaped from her throat, made him understand that he maybe fucked things up.

“Holy fucking Trinity, Bendy! I SAID GET OFF!” Alice literally screamed at that point and used all her strength to strike Bendy in the face with her left leg, hitting his nose and causing it to bleed copiously, black ink dripping everywhere. In the powerful process, the singer’s entire body managed to violently jerk backwards, her sharp horns destroying the remains of the wall and pulverizing that plasterboard prison: she was free, she was finally free! Oh, but not pleased at all. In fact, the young and majestic singer looked a lot more like a demon than like a flawless angel, actually.

Getting up ponderously and shaking off the grayish powder, the angelic cartoon lowly growled and walked decisively towards the poor Bendy, her pitch black orbs turning reddish for a moment as she met the terrified gaze of the tiny devil. “Bendy, my dearest.” Alice gave him a fake smile and swung her dangerous white horns, chasing after the dancing demon as he immediately ran off, screaming in pure fear and knowing he’d better retreat. “If I catch you, you’re a dead man! Get back here, you coward! I said come back!” the infuriated young woman promised, rushing in the empty corridors to catch her co-worker and preferably beat the living shit out of him. “No, listen up, I have a better idea! I’ll return the favor! I won’t kill you, I’ll simply shove my own, dry fingers up your ass! Let’s see if you like it!”.

“DAD JOEY! UNCLE HENRY! BORIS! SOMEBODY HELP MEEEE!” Bendy desperately shouted for help and literally threw himself inside his private room, rapidly locking the thick door on the inside and breathing a liberating sigh of relief as he believed it was finally over. Or so he thought: after just a moment of complete silence, the solid layer of wood that separated the scared demon from the pissed angel broke down because of a brute kick of hers, and the last thing Bendy saw before letting out a girlish scream and crashing down was Alice jumping on him with an aggressive yell. 

In the meantime, inside the nearby room, Barley let out a resigned sound as he heard those high-pitched noises coming from the changing room of the star of the show, guessing what was probably going on: troubles, blood, kicks and punches, nothing new after all. He picked a random card from stock, playing poker with his boss Charley and with his buddy Edgar, sipping his beer and rolling his concentrated eyes as another irritating scream reached his ears. “Do ya guys think he’s already dead?”.

“Pff, maybe, judging by the sound of it. Actually, I sure hope so. I can’t stand that arrogant little shit.” Charley coldly replied with poor interest and lit a cigar, not really caring about the other two characters’ conditions and focusing on the complicated game while smoking. “Not that I give a freakin’ damn about that foolish devil, that cunt girlfriend of his or that pathetic excuse of a dog.”. 

“I don’t really understand Bendy and Alice, gang. I mean, one minute they’re beating each other to death, just like now, the next they’re all cuddly and making out in a shady corner.” Edgar shrugged it off and slightly grimaced as he recalled the number of times the unaware crew caught the devil and the fallen angel kissing, scratching the smooth top of his stylized head and huffing out, giving up and putting a card on the messy table. “Oh, well. Like Joey always says: <Don’t meddle in a quarrel between a husband and his wife>, I guess.”.

“Well said, Edgar.” the other two members of The Butcher Gang nodded promptly and agreed to those wise terms, trying to ignore the desperate, muffled whines that were echoing in the whole studio and probably even outside. “Well said indeed.”.