#like. They godda share what they know right?

[screwpinecaprice]

Another random pencil sketchdump while I wait for my laptop to charge.

Oval-shaped faces are personally tricky to do digitally compared on paper. And guess who has an oval-shaped face??

On the third pic's bottom left, I tested giving Connie a little heart-shape to see how it looks because heart-shapes are relatively the easiest to me digitally; maybe I can cheat a bit there, you know? (And it works great for others.) And to be honest.. I'm really not sure about it. :/ I definitely like the one on the right more. But how the heck is it so hard to do on the tabbbbb?

Oh! Also skitched @pogostikk's short-haired Connie and clown boi Steven. I love them. 🥺💕

[latibvles]

❛ if you called just to get off on my voice, i’m hanging up. ❜ for viv x bucky

STUDY BREAK.

... more frat boys au who is surprised. no one? good. they're so deeply unserious here. takes place sometime after the au within an au that is the ocean city trip. John Egan with his tits out on FaceTime will bring about world peace.

—

The roar of her laptop’s fans are doing a fairly apt job of impersonating Viv’s overfried brain. Multiple tabs are open, and she’s half wondering if Inez would lend her those blue-light filter glasses she had. The clock in the corner of the screen displays an offensive-looking 11:45pm. If she could go back in time and stop eighteen-year-old Vivian from being so insistent in majoring in fucking physics, she probably would.

Or maybe that’s just her frustration talking. She doesn’t care enough to make the distinction.

She groans, rubbing her temples. 

If Viv had any less pride she’d curl up under her covers and have a long frustrated cry about it, but she’d learnt at nine that crying about it just would end with a swat to the mouth. Not that she imagined anyone would come into her room to do that now, but she’s pretty sure that Brady’s in Willie’s room and they probably don’t want to hear her whipping her pencil case at their shared wall in a math-induced temper tantrum.

She takes a small breath, eyes squeezing shut and them snapping back open.

The PowerPoint still glares at her: cold, ruthless, and unforgiving — just like the ancient professor who’d alluded to another brutal pop quiz tomorrow. Viv curses her as she clicks the next slide, trying to make sense of it with her array of highlighters and color-coded gel pens.

She’s got maybe five ways to stage that woman’s death like an accident when her phone starts buzzing with a FaceTime call. Viv fixes it with a long, hard look, before sighing in resignation.

Bucky’s the last person she wants to subject to her anger-induced isolationism, since temper tantrums are out of the cards. She answers and snorts as she watches him blink blearily at his screen before reaching over for the lamplight and flicking it on.

“You’re a real sight.” She teases.

“I may or may not have woken up from a nap.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Nice cowlicks,” she chooses to omit that really it’s mostly from his voice — gruff and gravelly as he clears his throat, sitting up and running a hand over the planes of his chest where the camera cuts off. She elects to ignore the warmth blooming in the pit of her belly from the way he grins.

“Keep talking like that n’ someone might think you like me.”

“Don’t know what gave you that idea.” Viv’s smiling as he lets out a small whine, stretching out sleep-stiff muscles and propping himself up on pillows to look at her. Somehow without being in the room, he sends a shiver up her spine, staring at her with such blatant attraction. “So you’re getting no sleep tonight, huh?” He chuckles and shrugs.

“Small price to pay. Feels pretty worth it right about now.” He keeps making small noises as he shifts, getting comfortable in his plaid sheets but not enough to doze off again. Sometimes, she wants to tape his mouth shut.

“Y’know, if you called just to get off on my voice, I’m hanging up.” She warns.

“That the kinda guy you take me for?” She fixes him with a pointed look when he asks that question. Of course, Bucky’s never hit her with some stupid ‘U up?’ text, or any variety of eye-roll-worthy messages on social media. But acting like FaceTime wasn’t their preferred method when they’d inevitably been in Wisconsin and Michigan respectively was just dumb. She likes to think she knows her boyfriend.

“John.” Viv says, because it’s all she needs to say.

“Vivian.” He counters, in a half-mocking tone. And she kind of can’t stand the fact that he’s the only one who could make her name sound so intimate. Or maybe it’s just the last of her brain cells being killed off by the slideshow.

“I’m just saying I wouldn’t put it past you.” He laughs at that, low and rumbling and— goddammit, John Egan.

“Yeah, sweetheart, you talking about Sir Isaac Newton just really gets me going,” he drawls, but the hint of sarcasm in his voice falls a little flat in consideration to the fact that yes, it does. As do most things. Because he’s both flatteringly and amusingly easy to rile up. That makes her laugh, rolling her eyes as she returns her attention to her prior focus. She can feel his eyes on her as she prompts her phone up by her lamp. “S’that my hoodie?” She glances down at the dark blue Ocean City hoodie from this past summer.

“You left it in my car.” He’s grinning, she can hear it in his voice on the next thing he says.

“Looks good. Guess I should leave clothes behind more often.”

“If you don’t plan on getting anything back, then sure.” She shrugs. Bucky hums, a low sound, keeping his gaze fixed on her as they lapse into a comfortable silence. Or rather, something like it, because with every momentary glance up to him he’s looking at her intently.

Eyes darting across her neck and collarbones, as he eases into being properly awake. He cracks a joke every now and again when she grunts or huffs or makes any noise of frustration, goes about the business of putting a shirt on. Selfishly, she wishes that he’d kept it off even as she wills herself into not being distracted by him. Easy, brief praises falling from his lips as he mills about his own room; really just a handful of blocks away. She knows that room and all of its baseball decals and overloved laminated newspaper clippings. He rises at some point and she gets a flash of familiar plaid pajama pants hanging off his hips.

Dammit Bucky.

He’s just existing, really and all she can think about is how she’d much rather be pressing kisses to that broad chest of his as opposed to cramming for a pop quiz that may or may not happen.

“Viv?”

“Hm?”

“You look like you’re about to snap that pen in half,” he remarks sagely and - huh - she is white-knuckling it. She sets the pen down with a less-than-subtle thud and looks up at him.

“You should come over,” she puts plainly. He grins a little bit, and she tacks on at the end a very blunt “I miss you.”

“Am I bringing anything or just myself?” he asks, which is sweet enough to make her smile, but she shakes her head.

“Just yourself,” and then, fixing a gaze on the shirt he’s got on: a plain black t-shirt, she quickly adds “Actually, an extra shirt. I’m keeping the one on you.”

“Already undressing me? Geez, Viv, thought I was the impatient one.” Even as he teases her he’s moving out of frame to presumably grab his slides and rummage through his dresser. Viv rolls her eyes, setting aside her stuff to watch him, leaning forward to rest her chin on her hand.

“Blame physics.”

“I think I’ll be thanking it this time, actually.” Viv narrows her eyes at his wicked grin.

“You’ve got twenty minutes before I start reading from textbooks for you instead of anything else.” The last look she gets before she goes to hang up the phone is something disbelieving, amused, and smoldering that makes her laugh and feel warm all at the same time.

She gave him twenty minutes to get to their house. He’s at the front door in fifteen.

[nobodysdaydreams]

If Cutter and his little girlfriend are going to space, does that mean they're gonna get their hands chopped off too? (Also it looks like Duck Boy might be going for a redemption arc! Go Duck Boy Go!)

(or my reaction to Episode 47 and mini Episode 14 of Wolf359)

Welcome back dear readers! I managed to get another episode in as I pack for my vacation. Please enjoy!

Tagging the mutuals who got me invested in this, and if you want to be tagged or untagged from these posts, lmk, or you can follow my blog or simply follow the tag "#bods wolf359 reactions". Anyone who has followed me for a while knows my updates are inconsistent, so I apologize in advance for that and for any spelling/grammar mistakes in my posts.

@sophieswundergarten @oflightningandstars @acollectionofcuriousreblogs @herawell @commsroom

Episode 47: Into the Depths

I love Hera's narration, and I love the thought experiment. It reminds me of split brain patients. (For those who don't know what a split brain patient is, or haven't taken a psych class, if we were to surgically cut your corpus collosum (the part of the brain the connects your hemispheres), your consciousness would split and there would basically be two of you sharing one body (but same memories, personality, intelligence, etc.). This is only done if there are life-threatening seizures in the area and removing it is the only way to stop them, but it's an interesting thought experiment because if there are suddenly two of you, what happened to the one?)

And... now Doug is freaking out. I guess the slaps aren't working.

"You will understand Hera." Shut it Whiskey Boy! This also makes me wonder how many "Hera's" we've seen.

Kepler: "I have no idea what's going on Doug, but I just can't stop being ominous. I swear I don't know what's happening, this is just how I talk at all times."

Conan and Clippy? 😂 The names Lovelace gives them.

Yes. Kepler was rude Lovelace. He had so much Whisky and did he share it? No. No he didn't. Selfish.

Ah it seems even you weren't in the loop Jacobi. Perhaps you might fancy a mutiny now?

She doesn't know she's a clone? That's cruel. Think of Jacobi! He died thinking he was the real Duck boy! That's an awful way to go. No one should die believing they're someone so cringe.

Warm up act? Kepler, shut up. And what other clones have shown up over the years? Cutter? Pryce?

Good question. What about Jacobi? Was HE going to die too?

Kepler: "Start listening to me. The only person who knows what's happening." You're just blackmailing them Kepler, you're not good for much other than threatening people and swirling around your Whisky.

Weapon designed to appeal to humanity? But...how do you know she's a weapon? And how do you know she can't fight it even if she is? Maybe Lovelace is stronger than the evil aliens! If they even are evil.

TELL HIM HERA! TELL HIM!

Jacobi: "What could motivate me?"

Me: *Holds up a duck*

Ah blue part of the star. 💙💫 That does seem to be important. Scary, but important.

"Jacobi, any thoughts?" When does he have any?

His hands are shaking? Oh yeah, your friend died, you killed someone, and your boss who lies to people (GASP) LIED TO YOU TOO! Oh if only SOMEBODY could have seen this coming. Really, anybody with ears and a brain.

Oh right. The other Jacobi. This entire time he hasn't been sure? AND HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW WHAT FEAR FEELS LIKE? It's a NEW FEELING FOR HIM???

I guess everyone has their limit. Duck Boy needs a therapist. A team of therapists. The best therapists, and even then, I'm not sure it will be enough.

"You don't know what working at Goddard is really like" "You have a cool dental plan. Hooray." "It's not about that."

So...they do have a good dental plan? 🪥🦷

"Going new places. Meeting interesting people....LITTLE KIDS?"

Kepler. You didn't. NO. Oh my gosh they have Anne and Minkowski's husband at gunpoint don't they? And they don't even know.

Punch his lights out Doug. Good job.

Though to be fair that IS what working at Goddard seems to be about. Threatening the innocent for a 0.0000000000001% chance that you MIGHT get something out of this in the end.

Poor Lovelace. Hera knows what you're going through though. Exactly, see she does!

"Nobody do anything stupid" it's too late for that Kepler, you're here.

Good speech Lovelace! And nice punch!

"Can we get a break" Nope. Sadly no.

Huh. Hands are glowing. That's...interesting. Maybe she has some cool magic space powers? Is it too much to hope for?

Oh. It's the Dear Listeners. Well. Hello. 👋

Hush up Kepler. 😂 I love how they still talk like Doug.

That's right Kepler. Violence doesn't give you authority!

DISARMING HIM! DOES THAT MEAN HE IS LOSING HIS ARMS!

But...if he doesn't have any hands...

Then...how will he enjoy the feel of the Whisky in his hands?

Doug is hiding 😂 Why is Doug me?

What process are they talking about? “The door won't stay open, we are waiting.” Waiting for what? For what?

Well, at least the aliens don't like Kepler. That's a positive in my book. 👍

Glad Kepler and Jacobi are in custody. But...how exactly are they gonna put the handcuffs on Kepler if he no longer has hands...

Yeah, Minkowski, I'm with Lovelace. You SHOULD be in command. I know you think you're doing what is right, but Lovelace is an alien so...

DOUG. DO NOT SAY THAT THINGS CAN'T GET WORSE. TRUST ME THEY CAN.

Who is this? What is this? Who is Cline? Who is Jordan? What is this? Dr. what now? This is a lot of characters.

Full read out? Minkowski better send them a message warning them about Cutter. USS Hermes? OH NO THEY'RE NOT CALLING MINKOWSKI THEY'RE CALLING CUTTER. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!

Who is this? Who is the robot? Expunge the records? Ah yes, the black achieves. Oh Rachel.

"Say hi for me?" Hi to who? HERA oh no ew Pryce isn't it.

TRAVELING???

Please tell me Pryce and Cutter aren't coming to space. Unless it's to get blown up. In that case, they are welcome.

Mini Episode 14: One of Them

Oh they are listening to Jacobi and Kepler.

Looks like Jacobi might fancy a mutiny now.

Doug is me, I want snacks too 😂

"are you worried I can't get around Eiffel?" "Hey!" again, why is Doug me. 😂

Wow, Jacobi really DID care about Maxwell. Well then. Maybe the two of you shouldn't have been working for the bad guys then.

"What kind of officer have you been?" DANG DUCK BOY. GET THAT REDEMPTION ARC. GO DUCK BOY GO! 🦆

"I feel used. I feel experimented on. You treated me like one of them!"

Oh Duck Boy. Sweet silly little Duck Boy. Don't you get it? You've always been one of them. You, Hilbert, Maxwell, Kepler, even Rachel. You've always been one of them.

"You're addicted to gambling with people's lives and you lost!" EXACTLY!

"Neither one of us killed Maxwell." LIES! YOU COULD HAVE STOOD DOWN!

Jacobi is starting to realize that's not necessarily true. Good for him.

"I had my orders." So did Maxwell. So did Hilbert. So did Jacobi.

"You're just the middle link in the food chain" EXACTLY! YEEEESSSSSS!!! DUCK BOY IS FINALLY GETTING IT! AND THANK GOODNESS SOMEONE FINALLY IS BECAUSE HILBERT NEVER COULD! DUCK BOY! YOU'RE DOING IT! WADDLE YOUR WAY TO THAT REDEMPTION LITTLE DUCKLING! YOU CAN DO IT! 🐣

Thanks for reading dear readers. Sorry I didn’t have time to react to more, but I hope you enjoyed this!

[goldenonigiri]

GOLD’S CHRISTMAS SPECIAL

Title: A Yukon Christmas

Pairing: Buisnessman!Alfred x smalltown!Ivan 

Word count: 1138

Date: 12/24/22

a/n: sowwy guys i got bored.

( I’m using this post for heavy reference.. )

“Yeah, the cabin I rented should be ‘round there, I’d say-” Matthew said over the phone, an audible grin could be detected. “Hey, knock that off, Gil-” he called faintly, chuckling. 

“A’right, I’ll let ya go.” Alfred smiled, “Be safe,” he hung up, fingers tapping on the wheel of his rental. He was in the middle of the Yukon, driving to a small cabin his brother had rented for the holidays. The sportscar was probably a bad idea, he thought, with this weather… His thoughts were interrupted as a moose suddenly appeared from the underbrush and treeline just to his right. 

He swerved, just missing it and going into the ditch. The obnoxious tune of Jingle Bell Rock played in the background as he angrily threw his head into the steering wheel. He groaned and rubbed his head against it, picking his phone back up. “Goddangit.. There probably ain’t any service out here- I guess I’ll just look at it myself.” He grabbed his mittens and heavy coat from the passenger seat.

He quickly tossed them on, climbing out of the expensive car. Yikes. That’s gonna hurt.. He stared at the slightly dented front that’d bumped into a rock or something.  He leaned down, inspecting the tires. Great. One’s popped.. He grumbled to himself, looking back to the direction the moose had left in. “Darn that thing.” he uttered, getting back in. “Who the hell am I supposed to call.. This is the middle of nowhere.” 

Just as those last words passed his lips, a heavy pickup truck came down the dirt road, slowing to a stop just a few meters in front of his car. After a few moments, a burly blonde man got out and walked over to his car. Alfred stared at the beautiful man with a quirked brow. What the cheese.

Alfred rolled down the window a bit so he could interact with the specimen. “Hello!” an evident Russian accent rolled off his tongue. “What’re you doing out here with a fancy car like that..?” he looked a bit dumbfounded, staring at Alfred as though he’d grown a few more heads. 

“Yeah, well man, I didn’t know I’d be headed to the middle of nowhere!” he snapped. “Y’know of any trucking companies?” he questioned the large man. 

“One moment please.” the large Russian man walked back to his truck, hopping in. He returned a few minutes later in a green and red tartan sweater and an impact wrench. What th-

He crouched to the ground and seemed to inspect the tire. He came back up before concluding, “Yeah, I don’t have that type on hand. I could take y’into town though n’ set somethin’ up with the repair company, da?” he smiled. Alfred reluctantly nodded, reaching to grab his suitcases and valuables, hopping out and following the man back to his truck, who was miraculously in his original attire.

“So, uh, whats y’er name?” 

“Ivan Braginsky!” he smiled, putting some of Alfred’s bags into the back.

“Right, Ivan, so how long of a drive is it into town?” He checked his watch, fumbling with it. 

“Ah, well-” Ivan pulled over a bridge and a sign came up.

NOW ENTERING LAKEVIEW, CANADA.

GODDA-

He stared into the beautiful scenery, rage filling his insides. Stupid moose. Well, nothing he could do about it, he sighed. “I’ll take you into the repairshop so you can get your paperwork settled!” he stopped at a light, turning to Alfred. His beautiful violet eyes sparkled, making Alfred’s heart palpitate.

“Uh- right, thanks.” he turned, looking out the window. The beautiful man turned back to the road ahead, and after a few minutes, he pulled into an autorepair shop sharing a last name with Ivan..Small town, probably just nothing, he reasoned. He waited for Alfred to exit before following suit, back in his tartan sweater. Odd..

The bell rang as Alfred entered, Ivan shortly behind. He walked up to the front desk and rang the bell about three times before Ivan passed him and walked around the counter. He smiled, pulling out a folder and flicking through it. 

“Hello, mister..?” He paused, looking up towards Alfred in a kind yet businesslike manner.

“Ohh.. you work here..” Alfred nodded, pulling out an insurance card. The next hour passed filling out arduous paperwork. “Alright, it should be ready in about a week, since we’ll need to get the new tires in!” he smiled, taking the file to another room, coming back in his original attire. 

“..Look man, whats with the outfit changes?” Alfred quirked a brow pointing at him.

“Whatever do you mean, Fredchka?” he smiled, tilting his head like a puppy. 

“..Whatever, man. Can you take me to this address?” Alfred handed him a slip of paper Mattie had wrote the address on. 

“Ah, of course! Would you like to go anywhere else, first?” he lead the way, bell ringing as he held the door open. Alfred passed under his arm with ease, as the burly man was several heads taller than him. 

“Nah.. Jus’ wanna relax, man. Thanks for the help.” Alfred hopped into the passenger seat, clicked on his buckles, and fingergunned at Ivan as he got in.

~~

“Man, this place is empty!” Alfred cried, searching through the cupboards for any sign of food.. A single morsel.. Empty! His lip quivered as he collapsed onto the back of the couch..How could this be… Matthew wouldn’t be here for another few days, his plane had gotten caught up in Germany. “No.. I must take matters into my own hands!!” he yelled, leaping up. He threw his fist towards the sky- or, wooden ceiling- heroically. “McDonalds- or whatever else i can find-, here I come!” he lunged for the door.

He only made it about 4 paces before deciding, I think i need shoes. He clothed himself in his winter attire before he began his arduous trek towards the nearest fast food joint he could find. He walked into the Tim Hortons, entranced by the menu. 

“Hello! What can i get you?” A friendly yet familiar voice met his ears.

“Hi can i get an uhhh” Alfred stopped short, kicking the snow from his boots as his eyes met Ivan’s. In a pink and green shirt, this time. 

“Alright man, is there anybody else in this town besides you?” he scowled. 

“Why, of course there is, Fredchka! Otherwise, it wouldn’t classify as a town- you know, the minimum population for a town is 1,500!” He grinned. “So what would you like?” 

Alfred sighed at the cute man, listing off half of the menu. Whatever.. If he was spending the holiday season here, might as well enjoy it-

“So uh.. Y’wanna come over later? To hang out- there’s not good cell service up here and I brought some games-” 

“Da!”

[spacenutspod]

3 min read NASA’s Hubble Measures the Size of the Nearest Transiting Earth-Sized Planet This is an artist’s concept of the nearby exoplanet LTT 1445Ac, which is the size of Earth. The planet orbits a red dwarf star. The star is in a triple system, with two closely orbiting red dwarfs seen at upper right. The black dot in front of the bright light-red sphere at image center is planet LTT 1445Ac transiting the face of the star. The planet has a surface temperature of roughly 500 degrees Fahrenheit. In the foreground at lower left is another planet in the system, LTT 1445Ab. The view is from 22 light-years away, looking back toward our Sun, which is the bright dot at lower right. Some of the background stars are part of the constellation Boötes. NASA, ESA, Leah Hustak (STScI) NASA’s Hubble Space Telescope has measured the size of the nearest Earth-sized exoplanet that passes across the face of a neighboring star. This alignment, called a transit, opens the door to follow-on studies to see what kind of atmosphere, if any, the rocky world might have. The diminutive planet, LTT 1445Ac, was first discovered by NASA’s Transiting Exoplanet Survey Satellite (TESS) in 2022. But the geometry of the planet’s orbital plane relative to its star as seen from Earth was uncertain because TESS does not have the required optical resolution. This means the detection could have been a so-called grazing transit, where a planet only skims across a small portion of the parent star’s disk. This would yield an inaccurate lower limit of the planet’s diameter. “There was a chance that this system has an unlucky geometry and if that’s the case, we wouldn’t measure the right size. But with Hubble’s capabilities we nailed its diameter,” said Emily Pass of the Center for Astrophysics | Harvard & Smithsonian in Cambridge, Massachusetts.  Hubble observations show that the planet makes a normal transit fully across the star’s disk, yielding a true size of only 1.07 times Earth’s diameter. This means the planet is a rocky world, like Earth, with approximately the same surface gravity. But at a surface temperature of roughly 500 degrees Fahrenheit, it is too hot for life as we know it. The planet orbits the star LTT 1445A, which is part of a triple system of three red dwarf stars that is 22 light-years away in the constellation Eridanus. The star has two other reported planets that are larger than LTT 1445Ac. A tight pair of two other dwarf stars, LTT 1445B and C, lies about 3 billion miles away from LTT 1445A, also resolved by Hubble. The alignment of the three stars and the edge-on orbit of the BC pair suggests that everything in the system is co-planar, including the known planets.   “Transiting planets are exciting since we can characterize their atmospheres with spectroscopy, not only with Hubble but also with the James Webb Space Telescope. Our measurement is important because it tells us that this is likely a very nearby terrestrial planet. We are looking forward to follow-on observations that will allow us to better understand the diversity of planets around other stars,” said Pass. This research has been accepted for publication in The Astronomical Journal. The Hubble Space Telescope is a project of international cooperation between NASA and ESA. NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center in Greenbelt, Maryland, manages the telescope. The Space Telescope Science Institute (STScI) in Baltimore, Maryland, conducts Hubble science operations. STScI is operated for NASA by the Association of Universities for Research in Astronomy, in Washington, D.C. Media Contacts: Claire AndreoliNASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center, Greenbelt, MDclaire.andreoli@nasa.gov Ray VillardSpace Telescope Science Institute, Baltimore, Maryland Science Contact:Emily PassCenter for Astrophysics | Harvard & Smithsonian, Cambridge, Massachusetts Share Details Last Updated Nov 16, 2023 Editor Andrea Gianopoulos Location Goddard Space Flight Center Related Terms Astrophysics Astrophysics Division Earth-like Exoplanets Exoplanets Goddard Space Flight Center Hubble Space Telescope Missions Science & Research Science Mission Directorate Terrestrial Exoplanets TESS (Transiting Exoplanet Survey Satellite) The Universe Keep Exploring Discover More Topics From NASA Hubble Space Telescope Exoplanets Stars Stories Our Solar System

[anika-ann]

Attached: Hurtful Words Pt.2

Type: (mini)-series,  Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 3530

Summary:  Steve’s been hit hard with the events involving bad poetry on campus too. He thinks he knows what needs to be done; but sometimes, what people truly need is a really good friend who knocks some sense into them. 

Enter Bucky Barnes and Penny Cooper.

A/N: Attached: Hurtful Words is an addition that loosely followes the Attached series. You don’t necessarily need to read the mini-series as a whole, but you will understand much better.

Warnings: mentions of name calling and humiliation, brief violence, swearing, some angst and lots of talking

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

The friendship between Bucky and Steve had begun with a beautiful chain reaction.

On a cold November day many years ago, a six-year-old Steve Rogers witnessed a pair of stupid boys stealing a girl’s hat and tossing it around and he stepped in; a seven-year-old Bucky Barnes saw two jerks hitting a younger and obviously weaker kid and decided to take it personally.

That day, Bucky Barnes met Steve Rogers and instantly became a protective older brother, for he recognized that Steve had a brave and kind heart. That day, they became easy friends, because Steve recognized the same qualities in Bucky.

Even if they grew as people, they had their ups and downs, they never grew apart completely and stayed best friends for life – and the protectiveness over each other never disappeared. Which was only one of the reasons why Bucky felt an unbearable urge to punch someone – preferably the idiots who got his OTP into this mess.

Fairly enough, he wanted to punch you a little bit as well for keeping Steve in the dark and hurting him too, but hey – you were entitled at least, you were the target of the jest that the three antichrists came up with.

Hell, Bucky even considered reaching out to you himself since you kept ignoring Steve; not necessarily to scold you, god forbid actually punch you, but just to beg you to talk to his friend.

In the end, he decided against it, because it wasn’t quite his business and you probably knew better than him when you were ready to talk. God knew that seeing you broken and in tears would hurt Steve too and it would only feed his doubts and as Bucky suspected, misplaced guilt.

No one wanted to see that right? Bucky surely didn’t.

He truly just wanted his friend happy and the thing was, you made him the happiest Bucky had ever seen him, even with the complications and ‘controversy’ surrounding your relationship.

So when after days of silence on your end Bucky entered the office and saw a sombre expression on Steve’s face, somewhat more pensive than his recent usual, and a phone in his hand, he froze in the doorway, heart stopping in his chest.

Oh. Oh no, please don’t let that be it.

His heart kicked back in when he focused on Steve’s eyes – they were downcast, but visibly not teary and Bucky breathed a sigh of relief. Manly men and all that, but fuck, Steve would shed a tear or two if you two were completely definitely over. Oh, and he would probably devastate the office in a burst of frustration.

“Hey Steve,” Bucky hummed nonchalantly, closing the door behind him and making his way to his desk. “Who was that?”

He purposely didn’t look at Steve so the punk wasn’t shy about talking about whatever conversation he had. It happened on occasion, Steve keeping stuff to himself, when he was thinking he was annoying Buck – but joke was on him. Yes, Steve could be annoying as fuck, but Bucky could stand a few emotional talks when his friend was on the verge of losing what seemed to be the love of his life.

“Uhm… nobody,” Steve responded simply, putting the device away. He started going through the papers on his desk as if searching for something in attempt to look busy.

Bucky rolled his eyes. As if that would work on him.

“Right. Try again.”

The rustling stopped, a resigned sigh falling from Steve’s lips before he admitted the truth. “Penny Cooper.”

Bucky’s head snapped to Steve, eyebrows jumping for a second.

He did not expect that answer, but he couldn’t say he found it an unpleasant surprise. When Bucky had thought about contacting you, he considered getting in touch with your best friend too.

And yes, he knew Penn Cooper’s name; hell, he had met her on a sort-of friendly hang-out night where you and Steve tried and very much failed at not being a disgustingly-in-love couple when having a night out with friends. Bucky hadn’t complained nearly as much as he could have, mostly because he was delighted to see Steve so lovestruck for a girl who was evidently just as lovestruck for him.

Anyway.

“Ah, Penny. You finally decided to call her. Good. How did it go?”

Steve didn’t appear to share Bucky’s hopeful sentiment, running a hand down his face and turning his gaze to the ceiling.

Bucky narrowed his eyes; while his heart sank at what seemed to be no good news, he could tell that this was not a mourning Steve. In fact, looking closer at Steve as he approached his desk, it was dawning to him that this was Steve overthinking something he heard from Penny.

Great. That’s probably even worse.

In attempt to prevent a catastrophe in making, Bucky did the only thing that came to his mind. He probed.

“That bad, huh?” he stated more than asked, crossing his arms on his chest. “She told you to leave her bestie alone?”

Steve grimaced, his eyebrows furrowing; a clear sign that he was digging deeper into a hole he was creating for himself in his head. The pit of misery and gloom. The pit of despair.

“Not exactly… I think.”

That was the problem with Steve really – sometimes, he thought. Steve Rogers was in fact known for occasional and epical impulsiveness, but so the gods above help if he sank into a well of overthinking. Because that usually led to a stupid decision, which was practically irreversible due to Steve’s infamous determination and stubbornness. It was next to impossible to talk him out of something once he made up his mind.

“Stop that, punk,” Bucky warned him silently, uncrossing his arms and giving Steve a glare.

“Stop what?” Steve asked with a sigh, as if he didn’t know.

“Overthinking. Get out of your head. It just produces loads of bullshit right now.”

“Bucky-“ was all that Steve said, sending his friend an imploring gaze, but Bucky was not fooled. The wheels of doom were still turning in Steve’s head, inevitably leading to the aforementioned bullshit.

And as Bucky had learned the hard way, once the final stage of decision-making was reached, there was no going back. Not with Steve. Which meant he had to stop that disastrous thought before Steve’s stubborn ass grew it into an apocalypse plant.

Then, Steve’s expression shifted; a minor change, yet all too visible to a man who knew him since he was a kid.

Bucky recognized what just happened… and he panicked.

When Bucky Barnes was panicking, he did things he wasn’t necessarily proud of later, but of which he was certain would work.

Plus, the quickly set-up plan was bound to kill two birds in one stone, giving Bucky’s unbearable urge lasting for the past few days an outlet. Win-win, crisis averted, right?

“Get up off your ass,” Bucky ordered, earning a half-heartedly invested surprised and confused raise of eyebrows from his friend.

However, Steve did not stand up.

“Get up, Steven.”

Slightly annoyed but resigned, Steve rose to his feet, the movement a testimony of how exhausted he was. How much energy the past few days had stolen from him… how much of energy he had spent on navigating through the maze of confusing and self-doubting thoughts.

But that was ending now; Bucky was going to make sure of that.

“What?” Steve sighed, clearly expecting more of the pep-talk, possibly more intense since he was asked to stand upright.

He was wrong.

Sorry, Steve.

Like a lightning, Bucky’s fist shot up to Steve’s nose and connected with it with a snap.

Steve stumbled back into the chair, barely catching himself and his nose, staring on Bucky wide-eyed and hurt.

To be fair, Bucky was hurting too – fuck, he forgot how punching people without boxing gloves felt.

“The fhuck-“

“-is wrong with you?!” Bucky finished as he was wondering the same, shaking his hand in hopes to distract himself from the pain.

For a brief second, satisfaction flashed in Steve’s eyes; but Bucky could tell that his get-out-of-your-head technique worked, so he was pretty satisfied himself. Not to mention that Steve probably felt that punch in the back of his skull, having literally rocked his world.

“I wah jugh godda hask!” Steve mumbled, checking the fingers hovering around his nose for blood, frowning as they indeed stained in some crimson – but nothing terrible, Bucky thought.

Then again, he wasn’t the one with cracked nose.

“Outta your head now?” he asked, unable to hide all of his smugness.

Steve frowned at him, clenching his jaw, but didn’t try to punch him back as he probably realized which purpose the unexpected and unusual violence served.

“Bhacky, wah ta hell-?”

“Right before I punched you – you decided to give up on her, didn’t you?” Bucky questioned, being 95% sure about it. Steve’s face told him it should have been 100%. Idiot. Sad and having the right, but still an idiot. “The Steve Rogers I know wouldn’t give up.”

“How did you even-?” Steve asked incredulously, not trying to deny it, not even with his words.

As if Bucky still needed words with him. He knew him almost better than himself.

Also, it was funny how quickly Steve’s punch-induced mumble disappeared.

“You kidding? You’re acting like I didn’t know you since you were six. And during all that time, I didn’t see you give up, not fucking once!”

The slight raise in volume of Bucky’s voice stirred something in Steve – or perhaps it was the accusatory tone by which Bucky was shamelessly trying to provoke a reaction. Because really, Steve desperately needed to leave his overactive brain behind and experience some new emotion besides pure misery and guilt. Anger was okay, Bucky supposed – not great, but okay.

“Jesus, Buck! You know this isn’t it! Look at the mess we already made!” Steve exploded, throwing his hand in the air. “What about in the future? She was planning doing her master’s here! And what about in her future job? It was on the Internet – it never goes away! It will stay with her like a fucking plague, a bomb loaded with C4 ready to be set off! They’ll do a background check and come across it and decide that it would send a bad message to people. Or they’ll humiliate her again, mock her that she’s gonna start an affair on the workplace too. She won’t get the job just because of being with me and they’ll call her a whore on top of that--she doesn’t deserve that!”

The name you had been called stood out even in the long passionate monologue – Steve spited it out with so much venom and hatred towards anyone who would dare to call you that that Bucky nearly had to take a step back from the intense crackling in the air.

He watched Steve take a deep breath in silence, frustrated and sorrowful blue orbits watching with a silent plea to understand.

And Bucky did; he really did. To a point.

“She doesn’t deserve that, Buck,” Steve echoed in a whisper.

A whisper of a broken man, torn between seeking his own happiness on expense of someone else’s and doing what was right in his mind.

Bucky reciprocated the stare, simultaneously impressed and unimpressed as his mind had already put together what Steve had been thinking before saying it out loud. Steve’s speech only confirmed his fears of how Steve would twist what was happening into something he was to be blamed for completely... and would come up with doomsday scenarios.

Except there were always two people (well, sometimes more), when it came to this sort of thing, weren’t there? Two people who were equally participating in this relationship, both very much willingly.

“…you done?”

The plea in Steve’s eyes seemed to deepen before he averted Bucky’s gaze in shame.

Like Steve should be ashamed for the crimes against human decency others committed. Crimes like writing bad poetry and putting in on walls.

“No. You know what else is there. I know you know.”

Yes, Bucky knew.

“You bet your perfect dramatic ass I do, Rogers. I figured they weren’t exactly love letters, because you have zero poker face. How many times? What did they call you? A perv? A molester?” Bucky grinded his teeth, the urge to hit someone returning instantly, hungry and thirsty for blood – and Steve’s nose wouldn’t do this time. He needed a real asshole so he could feel like he made a difference.

Bucky was aware that Steve had started receiving the hate letters almost as soon as the whispers about the relationship started. He had never said a word about them to Bucky and at first, Bucky had been thinking they might have been love letters from someone else, causing him to frown, because in which universe wanted Steve someone unhappy, let alone because of him?

But it soon dawned to him; precisely because Steve hadn’t shared them. Not with Buck and not with you, he suspected. He couldn’t decide which was worse.

“…among other things,” Steve sighed and shook his head. “It would be tiring, it is, but… you’re right. I don’t give up easily. That kind of hate letters… those I can handle. But they said I’ll ruin her future too… and they’re right, it’s already started. I can’t-- not her, Buck. I can’t watch her deal with that bullshit. This can never happen again. I—I have to let her go.”

Weren’t they just over it? That Steve’s head was in no state to make reasonable choices?

“You cannot unring a bell, Steve. It’s done. You said so, it’s on the internet. Tony’s done his best to delete the trail, so the digital print is practically non-existent, but it’s done,” Bucky remarked matter-of-factly. “The things you’re saying, they might be true to some extent, not as tragic as you paint them though. The question is – are you gonna fight for the two of you, so the good stays too… or are you gonna leave like that, on that real fucked-up note and regret it in few years’ time when you look back at this?”

Bucky could pinpoint the exact moment all fight left Steve’s body – his shoulders slumped and his expression turned resigned, almost desperate as he looked up into Bucky’s eyes, his gaze speaking thousands of words.

“It doesn’t matter,” Steve whispered, averting Bucky’s gaze then, focusing on his desk instead, staring blindly ahead. “She wouldn’t talk to me, Buck. I tried, you know that. She’s done with me.“

Bucky sighed and leaned his palms onto the desk, easing the pressure on Steve’s poor tormented soul by softening his demeanour. In the end, all he was trying to do was to help – no matter how frustrated he was getting.

“Of course she wouldn’t talk you, Steve. She’s probably just as caught up in her head as you are in yours. I just hope that Cooper is working on getting her out. What did she tell you?”

Steve gulped and bit on the inside of his cheek. Bucky would swear he saw a hint of a blush on his friend’s cheek and an unpleasant hunch crept up on him.

Oh no, he didn’t.

“…that I shouldn’t come over so I don’t push her too much. That she might not be responding, but she’s listening to all of my voicemails and reads all the texts and e-mails, so until she explicitly asks me to lose her number, I should keep trying,” Steve mumbled, traces of both hope and shame lacing his voice.

Bucky pushed off of the desk and huffed loudly, looking up to the ceiling and pleading God for strength.

A dumbass. His friend was a complete and utter dumbass.

When Bucky spared him a glare that told the blond what he was thinking, Steve sunk further into his chair.

And Bucky was honestly so so done.

Hadn’t he been delighted at the turn of events and Penny, the best friend, giving them hope, he might have punched Steve again for being a dramatic fool. And for being an idiot.

“Sometimes I think you like getting punched, Steven, I have no other explanation,” Bucky deadpanned and then closed his eyes and went to massage the bridge of his nose to ease the headache that was starting to build up in reaction to stress. He loved Steve to bits, honest to God, but he really could be an idiot sometimes. “So you talk to the friend, who probably knows her through and through, she tells you this and still you go: nah, let’s leave her alone, let’s break things off, let’s give up. Jesus, Steve.”

Steve held up his hands palms up, apparently lost and clueless.

Okay, Bucky felt for him. But still.

“I don’t know what else to do, Buck. I- I love her. She’s everything I could ever want, I cannot imagine losing her. It’s… it’s making me sick to just think-- but I don’t want to ruin her life either, Buck, I don’t want to-“

“Be happy?” Bucky interrupted, earning a deadly glare from his friend. “Don’t give me that look. I told you. Now, she’s probably still processing, just like you. Her head is probably a mess… just like yours. I know it’s hard, fuck, I know. But try and do what Cooper is telling you and stay patient. Oh, and I don’t know, maybe just-- don’t. Give. Up.”

Bucky had to gather his next thoughts, not at all happy about what he was about to say next, feeling like he was undermining the message he was trying to get through. But he believed that Steve needed to hear that too – his righteous side would love it, in fact.  

“And then, let her make the choice. It will hurt like a bitch if she decides to break up, but at least you won’t be making her choice for her. I think there’s a fair chance that she’ll come around. She likes you a lot too, you know.”

“She said anything to you?” Steve’s head snapped up automatically, his face lighting up with a hint of an eager smile.

Hadn’t he been so cute, Bucky would have rolled his eyes at him. Instead, he shared his observation that took zero effort to gain. Everyone who had at least one functioning eye would notice… which included Fury. Anyway-

“She didn’t have to. It’s written all over her face, in her body language. Shit Steve, you practically live together, how can you even doubt her feelings for you? I thought you were like… soulmates almost. Shared everything and stuff…” Which lead him to another thought, a brief surge of fear that there was one thing that might complicate this matter further if possible. “But she doesn’t know about those ‘love’ letters, does she?”

“God, of course not!”

“Good, then she can make a decision to overcome this on her own, just like you decided to deal with your problem alone,” Bucky offered and a smile slowly spread on his lips. “Just… share it with her once things are a bit calmer, will ya’? You don’t want her to find out on her own.”

Steve mirrored his expression, the tension in his body visibly easing. Bucky could kiss Penny Cooper at that moment. Hell, maybe he would the next time he saw her, just because.

“…you really think I should keep trying?” Steve asked, genuinely curious, but obviously knowing the answer already, seeing as his bashful smile widened.

Really?!

“Steven, my hand hurts, don’t make me punch you again.”

“…point taken,” Steve chuckled, turning his palms to Bucky in a show of meaning no harm. And not wanting to get hit again, probably. “I can’t believe you hit me.”

Bucky had to admit that it wasn’t his brightest moment – but hey, it worked, so guess it was sort of a genius move after all.

His eyebrows jumped suggestively, teasing. “Didn’t think I’d see the day you’ll be on the receiving end of the infamous Barnes’ super-jab.”

“Oh, quit bragging.”

“Blah blah blah, you’re just mad because my fists are like made of iron,” Bucky exclaimed, clenching them and showing them off, causing another chuckle bubble in Steve’s chest.

Bucky’s heart jumped in joy – it was like gift from heavens to see Steve like this after the days of gloom.

“Jerk.”

“Punk.”

“Thank you,” Steve retorted in the same manner, but Bucky read honest gratitude in the two simple words.

“You’re welcome,” he replied with the similar simplicity and depth they both understood. “Drinks?”

“God, yes.”

“No hard liquor tho, we need you in good shape when your girl calls you back,” Bucky pointed out, satisfied when Steve’s smile widened a fraction more.

“You got yourself a deal, Buck.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

The night before graduation ceremony, Steve forwarded one of the strangest texts he had ever received to Bucky: Come. Incognito. Blend with the crowd till you get a signal.

Steve apparently wasn’t sure what was your best friend trying to say – or he rather had no clue why would she ask him to do that, why come to the graduation (which made him hopeful) and why in secret (which confused the heck out of him).

He and Bucky agreed that Steve should listen to the advice though; what did he have to lose anyway?

Few minutes before midnight, Steve sent a simple answer: OK.

Several moments later, somewhere in the campus, another phone beeped on a young woman’s nightstand.

Operation: Morons is on.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Part 3 (final for Attached: Hurtful Words)

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Thank you for reading! 

It got a bit out of hand... I really had planned this to be a two-shot for the series, but my usual longwinded writing got in the way. I hope that’s okay and that you liked the Steve-Bucky bro moment at least a bit :)

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2010s: 65 - 61

65. Michael Schulte - “You let me walk alone” Germany 2018

[2018 Review Here] (shared with Eugent)

When Germany revealed this homely carrot top  as their entrant I of course IMMEDIATELY rolled my eyes at it. Discount Ed Sheeran, GTFO!! Idk what the general lowdown on Ed Sheeran is, but good lord that man is responsible for some really BORING and GENERIC music (I will never get the obsession with “Perfect”, ever.) and as you can expect that also bled into my initial opinon of Michael.

However, two things. A of all, “You let me walk alone” is a much better song because it is actually VERY catchy, in a good way. ONE love / TWO hearts /  THREE kids / LOVING mum is among the more memorable hooks in this decade. 

Secondly, Michael’s emotion is *real*. This is a song about his coping with his dead father and well... I am not made from stone. Dude was in GENUINE TEARS during the endgame!! And as someone who deeply loves his father, I can definitely empathize with that message on a personal level.

There are better songs around. There are better performers around. There is better emotional pull left in this ranking. Regardless, Michael was able to stun me into teary-eyed silence and that is a feat which earns nothing less than RESPECT.

________________________________________________________________

64. Softengine - “Something better” Finland 2014

FANTASTIC INDIE ANGELS <333 The appreciation I have to Softengine I have is obvious, yes? Highly energetic indie rock song from one of my favourite Eurovision countries. 😍 That also did VERY well because it’s genuinely that good. Take THAT Finland bullies!!! #HeyaSuomi

However, Softengine offer even more than just a kickass rock song. They offer some of my favourite song lyrics ever? They are both puzzlingly weird and endearingly ESL Even Human Bound People Rolling Dice Such A Novel Life She Thought While Knowing Nothing At All~

What on earth is Topi singing about? 😍 Well actually, it’s the story of an old man looking back at the life he’s had and.. It actually has a LOT of emotional pull wtf? Take a look at the bridge: 

ALL THESE WORDS SHE MEANT TO SAY TO ME

ALL THESE WORDS AGAINST MY FAITH

ALL THESE WORDS BEFORE SHE PASSED AWAY

ALL THESE WORDS  WILL NEVER NEVER NEVER CHANGE

A wonderful display of juvenile energy that has me coming back craving for me. SHOULD HAVE BEEN TOP 10 but lol it’s Finland when is Finland not getting bullied by people with no taste. 😭

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63. Litesound - “We are the heroes” Belarus 2012

More rock angels. 😍 However, Litesound rank on the other end of the quality spectrum, being great because of their incompetence.  

Honestly, I don’t think there’s anything more endearing when the inept give it their all, completely oblivious to their amateurism, a description which -let’s be honest- is “Belarus in Eurovision” is in a nutshell 😍. Well that plus the hilariously rigged NF, remember that ALYONA LANSKAYA originally won Litesound’s NF and then had to bequeath her spot to them when her voting fraud was exposed. 😍 It’s not even the most hilariously rigged NF of the decade though, omg YES we shall discuss that whenever it’s “Samo shampioni’s” turn. 😈

Anyway, Litesound bring the a double whammy of hilarity with some A+ Bad English diction (let us all sing along)

WONEVER STEN INDO AR WEH WHEEL MEK IT FRU DE DEH CUZ WE AR DA WEINERS WE AR DA GEEROS

WIR BRACKING DOWN DA WALLZ GODDA HIT DE MALL CUZ WE ARE DA GEEROS WE ARE DA DRIMURS

and the fact that all Litesound members look like animals, introducing:

The seahorse

The afghan greyhound

the mongoose

and of course Dima who might be the lovechild of Alsou and an ostrich. 😍

All of this may make you believe I merely stan Litesound on an ironic level, but I actually LOVE them on an unironic level too. “We are the heroes” is a fun, futuristic electronic rock rollercoaster and Litesound strike a perfect balance between good song, disarming incompetence and going ALL OUT in proving themselves as high quality, laced with high voltage addictive rock beats. SO, NO MATTER WHAT THEY SAY, NO MATTER WHAT THEY DO, I’LL MAKE IT ALL RIGHT! I’M BRACKING DOWN THE WALLS, THEY ARE THE *HEROES*

________________________________________________________________

62. Justs - “Heartbeat” Latvia 2016

AGE OF AMINATA <3 what a glorious two-piece act in the herstory of Latvia. To Latvia’s credit they completely reinvented themselves in the Supernova Era, usually resulting in bold entries (and Carousel). 

If "Love injected” was the earthquake that shook Latvia AWAKE with her experimental masterpieces, then "Heartbeat” is the aftershock, providing the same avant garde novelty, but not as impactful with a lesser impact. 

However, to recycle a phrase i’ve already used multiple times, a lesser Aminata is still fucking awesome. “Heartbeat” packs a massive emotional punch, being more aggressive and volatile than its predecessor, which... works out fine actually. Killer lines such as:

YOU’RE MY DESIRE AND MY PAIN BUT ALL THE BATTLES ARE IN VAIN YOU MEAN MORE THAN ANYTHING TO  MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

need an emotionally intense delivery and Justs fucking GOES for it without any inhibitions for his own health and safety 

and with every passing second

he gets more into the zone

right until the end, when he LOSES his voice and is reduced to panting an aspirated ”thank you”. 😍 If you’re going to sing about lost love, you’d better do it by also SCREAMING YOUR LUNGS OUT <3

________________________________________________________________

61. Hatari - “Hatrið mun sigra” Iceland 2019

God I’ve been dreading this write-up. Not because of the Hatari stans (lol who is going to complain about getting ranked 61st out of 408), but can I do Hatari justice in print? Hatari weren’t as much as an entry as they were the fiery spirit of mischief, an existential manifestation of defiance, a gestalt of provocative resistance, all contained in the tiny package of two asshole hellraisers.  Yes, assholes.  You see, the one thing you NEED to understand before everything else is that Hatari’s poetic palestine shawl moment is one of grade A assholery. Pulling that at the last sec towards their hosts WAS a dick move and Hatari were fully aware of it. We MUST see this as a fact before we discuss anything else that is also Hatari-related.

However, that’s precisely the point? Provocation was the sensation that swept the icelandic nation and its idolization became Hatari’s vocation with dedication and its application in the humiliation and the vexation of the Israeli station in support of the Palestine civilization, leaving KAN in devastation after months of the rabid disorganization was a justification well worth the potential probation. In other words: GET REKT KAN SHIT HOSTS HOPE U GET BLACKLISTED LOLOL #Hatredwon 😈 😈. 

ps: still getting the Israelis to cheer for them despite being OPENLY pro-palestine when will ur faves.

~My reasons~ for ranking Hatari lower post-show are less grounded in the politics (again, they were jerks but... that’s also the entire point of sending Hatari lmfao) and more determined by the actual live performance: I thought Klemens was underwhelming and his parts of “Hatrið mun sigra” were also the fave bits. 😭 On the flipside I thought Matthias was excellent (when he didn’t miss his cue) and I legit laugh out loud each time I see his hilarious OTT facial expressions.

What a justified use of guyliner <3 The act was yet again a diabolically brilliant clanging of chains, bashing of mallets, grinding of gears, steaming of punk, a satanic cirque du soleil come to rain justice and brimstone down on our hopeless souls. Hatari were the anti-heroes we needed and don’t deserve.

ps: i hope i will ever find someone who loves me as much as Klemens loves Teresa May. 

Iceland’s chart looks much better than I thought it would, but the averages actually put them somewhere in the middle on average. Iceland are always hit-or-miss for me, much moreso in the 2010s than in any other decade and it’s largely down to them failing to pick the best available option because, you know, BadTastitis. 

the next update... will be the FINAL one in this shade of green :o  Yes, we are about to move on to the highest, upperest, bestest tier of Eurovision entries. The mind-blowingly amazing entries that are not off this fucking world. Find out who makes the cut and who doesn’t TOMORROW :o

[aggedyann]

1 Cold 4 Stories part 1

Actually 1 Cold, 4 Stories, 2 Interludes and 2 Epilogues

Fluff featuring all my OCs

1 Cold, 4 Stories

1. Freddie

Freddie woke up feeling significantly worse than yesterday. He had found himself in the early stages of a cold yesterday and had spent all of Sunday in bed, hoping to head it off. That had done little good, it seemed. “HuhhhChuusshh.” A powerful sneeze jerked him forward, and he sat up, grabbing a tissue to catch the three that followed in. “Huhhchushh, uhhchishh, huhhchusshhmmphh.”

He looked over next to him, expecting to see Jamie there. Instead, there was a note on her pillow. ‘Hey, Sweety, reminder, I had to go into work early so I could leave early. Hope you’re not feeling too awful. Love you.”

He blew his nose again and got out of bed, ignoring the few seconds of dizziness when he stood up. He grabbed clothes and headed for the shower, hoping that and some DayQuil would clear out his congestion. He sneezed twice more while getting ready, then headed down to make breakfast.

He picked at a slice of toast, sneezed again, drank his orange juice and headed to work.

An hour later, he was in the office he shared with Tim, Ella and Sam, stashing a fresh box of Kleenex in his desk.

“Got a cold?” Tim asked, sympathetic look on his face.

“He always has a cold.” Ella pointed out, less sympathetically. She’d been brought down by his last one.

“It’s been at least a..a..a..uhhchusshh..a month.” Freddie protested, face buried in his sleeve. He kept his face there a moment. “Ugh...thought there were gonna be more.” He sniffed.

“Here.” Sam tossed him a bottle of hand sanitizer she’d pulled from her purse. “I swear I’m buying you some for Christmas.”

“Thanks.” Freddie caught it easily, blew his nose and used it. “Can we just get to work?” He coughed, reaching for his water.

The four of them started throwing topics around for the show that night and working on jokes, Freddie primarily contributing coughs and sneezes to everyone’s dismay.

Alex came in a few hours later to see what they were working on for him.

“Hey guys? Whatcha got?”

“Hey Alex” came from Tim and the two girls.

“UhhhChushh! Chushhh!” Came from Freddie.

“Don’t tell me you have another cold.” Alex groaned, noticing that everyone was sitting as far away from Freddie as they could.

“HuhhhChuushoo.” Was Freddie’s response, followed by several harsh wracking coughs.

Alex sighed, noticing no one moved their chairs to make room for him at the end of the table where he usually sat. Inwardly groaning, he dragged his chair over by Freddie, noticing Tim at least move closer to Ella.

The group tossed out the current events of the day for him to review and the jokes they had written about them, Freddie sneezing at increasingly more frequent intervals followed by harsher and more prolonged coughing.

At 1:00, the group left for rehearsal. Freddie got up slowly to follow them when Alex stopped him, grabbing his elbow. “Dude, you got 2 choices, you can go home or you can stay in here preparing jokes to replace the ones that don’t work. But you’re not going in there with everybody. I don’t give my guests colds as thank you gifts.”

Freddie nodded, coughing. “I’ll stay back here.”

“I’ll have someone run you notes every 15 and pick up what you have.”

Freddie stepped back from Alex and turned away. “Huhhchushh. Uhhchussh.” He grabbed a tissue off the table and blew his nose.

“Bless you. I’ll see you after rehearsal to go over jokes again.”

Freddie sat down at his desk and waited. His fellow writers rotated through, bringing him stuff to fine tune and picking up what he had already fine tuned for Alex to try. At 2:30, they came back to the room, catching him in the midst of a sneezing fit. “Uhhhchussh, Chushhh, huhhchusshhh, huhhhchusshoo, chusshhmmphh, huhhhchussmmphh, huhhhchuhrsshhooo.” He turned to grab a fresh tissue and found them also standing there. “Ub, hi.” He said, blowing his nose loudly a handful of times.

“Bless you.” Tim ventured. “You sure you’re ok?”

Alex nodded. “You don’t usually sneeze like that.”

“You didn’t hear half of it.” Freddie admitted, stuffily, rubbing his neck.

Alex gave him a firm, but gentle look. Freddie sighed. “Let’s review the monologue and topics. Then I’ll go home.”

He didn’t make it back to work that week.

Interlude

Freddie didn’t make it back to work that week, a gesture his colleagues appreciated, however they wondered exactly how sick he was. He wasn’t one to call out, and certainly not for 3 days.

Wednesday, Sam came in sick. She spent the day repeatedly sneezing, coughing, using hand sanitizer and wiping everything she touched down with bleach wipes. Alex finally sent her home at rehearsal when the scent of bleach started making him sneeze and gave him and Tim headaches, reminding her he needed to be in top form for the show.

She didn’t make it in on Thursday, leaving Tim and Ella to handle that night’s show. Tim was sneezing when Ella walked into the office. “He got you too?” Was her only comment.

“Too?” Tim blew his nose and turned to look at Ella who was paler than usual, red nosed and sniffling. “Well, at least he hasn’t gotten Alex yet.”

He had no further finished that statement when they heard Alex’s familiar “Huhchuh” from the doorway.

“I hope that’s just your allergies, for your sake.” Ella sniffled.

Alex shook his head, coughing. “I see he got you both,” taking in Ella’s appearance and the tissues in Tim’s hand. “Let’s get to work. I’m joining you two today.”

The three of them sat around the table, working between coughs and sneezes. Around noon, they realized none of them had cold medicine for that afternoon.

“I can send someone out to get some.” Alex said, looking at the pile of tissues by Ella and Tim wrapped in his coat.

“Hiichiew! Check Freddie’s desk. As much as he’s sick, he’s gotta have some in there.” Ella suggested.

Tim walked over to the desk and started checking drawers. Hitting the bottom drawer, he came up with a box of cold medicine and a bag of cough drops. “Jackpot,” he said congestedly. He held up a box of tissues. “How are these holding up?”

Alex looked at the remaining box on the desk - they’d had 3 partial boxes this morning. “Bring it.”

Tim carried the bounty over to the table and dropped it there, turning away from the table. “Hayahhshoo, hahhshoo! Ahhshoo! Heyyahhshhehh.” He sat down and blew his nose, taking a cough drop and a blister pack of cold medicine, then passing them on.

By grace, they made it through rehearsal, Alex sneezing minimally. He managed to make it through rehearsal, sneezing once on a commercial break. Tim and Ella didn’t do that well on the headsets, but they all got through it.

At the end of the day, Tim handed out Sam’s bleach wipes and told Alex to wipe down his office while he and Ella did the writer’s office.

They headed home, knowing how sick Freddie and Sam were, and what lie ahead for them.

Interlude 2

Freddie didn’t sleep well Monday night, despite the NyQuil. He kept waking up to sneeze and waking himself up coughing. At midnight, Jamie put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sweety. I need to go sleep in the guest room. I’m not getting any sleep in here.”

He nodded, blowing his nose. “Go.” He understood, and settled himself in for a long night.

Tuesday would be his true test. He woke up coughing so hard he could barely catch his breath. When he finally stopped, Jamie was standing there with a glass of water. “You are *not* going to work today.” She informed him. He protested weakly. “I already called Alex.”

He tried to glare at Jamie. “HuhhChusshh, uhhchushhh.” The effect was the ruined, and she smiled sympathetically.

She finished getting ready for work. “Just rest, ok. I want your butt here or on the couch, ok.” He nodded, trying not to sneeze again. “I’ll call and check on you.”

He couldn’t hold back the sneezes any longer. “Uhhchusshh, Huhh-huhhchushh, huhhruhhCHUSSHshehh.”

Jamie raised her eyebrows at the the violence of the last sneeze. “When can you take DayQuil?” She asked, picking up his phone and punching in his security code.

“Ted.” He sniffled, blowing his nose and wincing at how tender it was. She set the alarm on his phone, reminded him of the soup in the fridge, to stay hydrated, and left for work.

Freddie’s spent the morning in bed trying to sleep, but mostly tossing and turning, coughing and sneezing.

Jamie called at noon to check in him. “Hi.” He said breathlessly. “Ihhchussh, CHUSHHHooo.”

“Bless you. I’ll take that as an answer on how you’re doing.”

“Still sdeezig ad coughig dodstop.” He snuffled. “Hag od.” He set the phone down and she heard a wet, gurgling blow.

Lord was he stuffed up. “Gotten any rest?”

“A little. I was godda eat ludch dow.”

“Good. Need me to bring you anything when I leave work?”

He coughed roughly for a good 30 seconds, a persistent strong cough. “Cad you brig those tissues with the lotiod? By doze is really sore. OJ. Cough drops. I thik we’ll deed bore cold bedicide.”

She laughed. “So everything.”

“Yeah. Hehhruuhhchoo.”

“Bless you. I’ll see you tonight.”

Freddie managed a bit more sleep after lunch, but it wasn’t restful. His nose has decided to drip nonstop, saturating his pillow.

Jamie was home by 6. She handed him 2 bags of tissues. “Soothing lotion, cooling lotion, and Lotion with Vick’s. I wasn’t sure what would work best for you right now. 2 gallons of OJ in the fridge.” She handed him the cough drops. She held up the other bag. “Cold medicine. Daytime capsules, nighttime liquid and capsules.”

He looked at her gratefully, grabbing a tissue from the box on the coffee table. “HuhhCHUHMMPHH.” He tried to muffle the sneeze in the tissue, then tenderly wiped his nose.

“Chili in the crockpot, then back to bed.”

He nodded. The ate dinner; well, she ate, Freddie picked at his chili and sneezed, apologizing the whole meal. He hated sneezing at the table. Jamie just kept reminding him he couldn’t help it right now, that she did it plenty.

After dinner, she brought him upstairs, set his alarm for NyQuil, put eucalyptus and wintergreen oil in the essential oil burner on the humidifier to try to relieve his congestion, and tucked him in.

“I’m sleeping in the guest room again,” she told him. “I can’t catch this.” She brushed his hair back. “Love you. I hope you sleep.”

He did get slightly more sleep that night.

Wednesday was slightly better.

But Freddie spent the rest of the week in bed. He hadn’t been this sick in a long time. Thursday, he crashed and did nothing but sleep. Friday, he woke up, feeling somewhat human. Still a little tired, sneezing, and coughing, but human.

Which was good because that’s when the phone calls started.

[saintheartwing]

Ingrate

Kris has had enough of being controlled. Now the SOUL that's been making use of him is going to learn what it feels like to be powerless. Or so he thought. Because the SOUL has something to say. It's going to speak its mind, and Kris is going to listen.

It had been an amazing day indeed. How often did a teenage kid like Kris Dreemurr get to go a whole other world, hidden away inside a school closet?

But that had been what happened. The brown haired, half Asian-American kid with dark brown eyes had dreamed of fantastic worlds along with his adoptive family, the Dreemurrs, a family of monsters, "puca", specifically, a goat-like monster with adorable white fur, floppy ears that hung down, little horns atop their heads, and lots and lots of love in their hearts. He and Asriel Dreemurr had been dear brothers for well over a decade, and Kris had been surprised as all heck to see…

An all too familiar figure had been waiting for them inside "The Dark World". Clad in a big fancy green magician's hat and cloaked robe and with a scarf of pink, Ralsei, another goat-like monster had greeted them, with his face so obscured by the big hat he wore that cast such a large shadow that, combined with deep depths of the Dark World he'd been in, it had been impossible to tell what Ralsei had truly looked like, but when he'd taken the hat off, it was clear Ralsei was that doll, that special Doll Asriel and he had played with as a child. The doll they'd drawn glasses on and played with along with little checkers and chess pieces and playing cards and other toys.

Somehow, Kris wasn't sure how, those toys they'd loved and cherished as children were alive, and real. Truly, genuinely real, and they'd missed the "Lighteners" from the other side of their world, who had once played with them so long ago. And so, Kris had decided, along with his surprising new friend, Susie, a purple-scaled, dinosaur-esque monster with long, frizzy hair, to come back tomorrow and have even more grand adventures with Ralsei and with that adorable little tub of silly lard, Lancer.

It had been dangerous, to be sure. They'd had to fight off laser eye blasting rook-like monsters and bust out of jail, and fight off three-headed cat-like monsters and hordes of creatures themed after chess! It was like Alice in Wonderland but twisted! And all that just to head back home! Granted, being in the Dark World had changed Kris's appearance, given he and Susie a new change in dress, giving Kris knightly armor and a majestic sword, far different from his long-sleeve, light green shirt with a yellow stripe across it and dark brown pants to match his brown loafer shoes, but it'd still been hard just to not outright die! He had been sure he was going to die at the hands of Lancer's father, the cruel, unjust and downright meanspirited and cowardly king, but thankfully, they'd managed to not only beat him, but get the rest of his kingdom to overthrow him.

After all, Kris had continuously spared monster after monster he'd fought. The king wasn't so merciful.

Now though, as a quilt of dark clouds covered the town, it obscured just about everything but a very faint spot where moonlight shimmered down, casting a single soft beam into the bedroom Kris Dreemurr slept in for the briefest of moments, the room he'd shared with his beloved Asriel. His brother's side was still covered in glow in the dark stars, fancy pancy winner's trophies, a desk with a clock and a lamp, and a high school diploma. Asriel was off at university, it'd be several years before Kris graduated.

On Kris's side, there wasn't much but his desk, his lamp, his bed…and a banged up little red wagon with a cage in it. A cage that had some blood splattered all about it on the carpet.

Why?

Well, when the moonlight faintly filtered in through the window, Kris stirred. He shuddered and quaked, a spasm rippling through him as he flopped out of bed, shuffling as if he was an undead, seeking the brains of the living, taking a few shambling, stuttering steps forward. He took in a deep breath, a croaking, horrific groaning noise rising out from his mouth as he held out his hand, flexing his fingers, and then…

He plunged them into his chest. He suppressed a scream of pain, yanking it back out as he held up a distinct red heart that softly pulsated in his grip, throbbing. BA-BUMP. BA-BUMP.

He trotted towards the wagon, moving slowly, and then he tossed it into the cage, the door to it slamming shut behind the soul as it flitted around within, desperately flailing about as Kris returned to the middle of the room, shambling back, his footsteps ringing through the room as he held up his hand again, and slowly but surely manifested a horrific-looking knife with a gleaming white blade and a dark brown handle. Evidently that sword he had had in the Dark World hadn't come from nowhere after all.

He turned around, his red eye fixated upon that cage, and the heart, the red SOUL of "Determination" that laid within the cage, and he grinned, his smile the work of demons.

"At long, long last." He whispered out. "Now I can get even. Now I can have my revenge for what you did." He murmured. "Making me do what you wanted. Speaking for me. Using my body like a puppet. The entire time we've been in the Dark World, time after time, moment after moment, I had to watch as my body was ridden like a car by somebody else. In this world and the Dark World, to my own family, my friends, my enemies, I had to do what you made my body do, and I had no say in it. Well, now I do. And now you're gonna pay, and you're gonna pay hard." Kris darkly growled, grinning foully. "I've had enough of you exploiting me. Had enough of your stupid little puppeteering. You think this is all a game? You think you can strip my choices from me? Well, you're the one without any choices now. All you can do is sit in there and suffer and DIE!" Kris roared out, holding the knife high as he approached the cage. "I want to see how many times I can stab you before you finally-"

"Ingrate." The SOUL said, the red, heart-shaped thing pulsing strongly, almost blinding Kris with its light as Kris's dark brown eyes that had briefly flared red with his own faintly murderous rage blinked.

"…what…did you just say?"

"You're an ingrate. You should be thanking me."

"For-for what?!" Kris gasped out. He couldn't believe the gall, the audacity, the sheer balls on this stupid invasive soul for what it was saying. "For using me like a big old mascot suit?!"

"For saving your life over and over. When Rudinn and Hathy and their ilk showed up, who convinced them to stop fighting us, to spare us, and to go on their way? I did." The Soul told him. "Who helped you heal up from those awful battle wounds? I did. Who figured out how to solve those clock puzzles? Who found those secret items that helped you so much in the fight against the King? Who figured out how to spare the various monsters from the Jigsaws to the Checker King to the Ponman? Who helped you dodge all those horrible attacks from lasers to missiles to just outright keeping from being stomped on by a giant checker piece? I did, me, yours truly, so what can I say except…you're welcome!"

Kris couldn't believe what he was hearing. His mouth hung open. His hand dropped the knife and it fell to the floor with a clatter as he stared, outraged at the nerve of this dumb thing.

"You were using my body as a puppet! I had no control over any of it! How would YOU like it if somebody was forcing you to do things against your will?!" Kris snapped angrily.

"Would you prefer I let you die?" The Soul inquired angrily.

"You don't know that I would have died!"

"I didn't have any control over you when the King tried to "surrender". That was all you, Kris. And sure, you saved Susie, and then what happened? You almost got strangled to death by the king. You didn't notice he was about to attack you when he did his sneak attack, didn't have the strength to fight back against him when he plucked you up, and who do you think was giving Susie help when she was separated from you two and Ralsei and in the other jail? Yeah, that's right, me, reaching out to her!" The Soul told him. "You're a fifteen year old kid, you got NO game when it comes to this stuff!"

"Oh, and you somehow do? Because that's what all this is to you, a game?" Kris inquired, hissing angrily, getting up in the cage, in the SOUL'S face, shaking it about. "My life is just a game to you?!"

"You think you're the only one without choices?" The Soul finally roared back, Kris dropping the cage, staring in surprise, as real sorrow and rage seemed to rise up in the thing's voice. "I didn't ask to be put into you, Kris! Nobody told me I was gonna get stuck in you! I wanted a body of my own. I wanted to be a part of your life, sure, but to help you as myself, and I couldn't do that! So you know what I didn't do? I didn't sit around feeling sorry for myself, whining about how I didn't get what I wanted. I got off my ass and I took action and I made what choices I could to save your life. Because just waking up in the morning and going out there, putting yourself out for others, that's a choice. It's a big choice, a choice to keep going. The choice to do the right thing! People get it every single day, and I try to choose to do the right thing. I'm sorry I had to take control of your body! But I didn't have any choice about it either! You should just be glad that what I did helped you! There were a dozen times I could have had you do something to hurt people but I didn't, Kris! But not once did you ever think that maybe I wasn't such a bad person. All you've ever done is yell or whine or complain about everything I've done, even when I was saving your life! Couldn't you just be grateful once?!" The Soul cried out. "All I want to do is help. All I've ever done is help, and you act like I'm the monster, when you're the one trying to murder someone helpless and scared and locked in a fucking cage, you goddamn coward!"

With that, the Soul's frame stopped pulsating, and it seemed to flop backwards, almost panting and heaving, having finally worn itself out as Kris quietly stared back. He looked deep at the Soul, staring for what seemed to be a long time before he finally looked to the side, chewing on his lip a little.

"I…I get that…you did a lot that helped me. And…let's say I buy that you didn't have a choice. But…that doesn't mean I don't feel used and forced into doing things against my will. It doesn't change how I feel."

"That's fine." The Soul said. "I'm sorry. I really am. But you're acting like a real jerk right now. How you feel doesn't change the fact I saved your life a bunch of times. And my feeling that you ought to be grateful for that is just as valid as you feeling you've been used, isn't it?" The Soul said. "I mean, you didn't even ask for my name." It went on with a sigh.

"…okay. What is your name?" Kris inquired as he rose up slowly and dusted himself off.

"My name's Frisk." The Soul told him. "Where I'm from, Toriel, Asgore, Mr. Sans, Mrs. Alphys, they were all dear friends to me. I've got a lot to talk to you about."

"Maybe in the morning." Kris remarked. "I am dead tired."

And with that, he flopped backwards on the carpet, and drifted off into slumber, the moonlight softly lilting in through the window on his face as Frisk's SOUL, in turn sighed.

"…goodnight, Kris." He intoned. "Goodnight room, goodnight moon."

[lionheartslowstart]

What Would I Do? (Part 2)

When my goddaughter’s mother began to violently push me away, by which I mean ignore me, invalidate me, fight with me, belittle me, insult me, and gaslight me, among other things, I immediately knew why.

She got engaged.

For the first three years of my goddaughter’s life, I was like a second parent to her. Her father wasn’t in the picture, and her mother has serious medical issues that incapacitated her three days a week. So three days a week I drove two hours each way and spent the day taking care of my goddaughter. I spent some weekends there too. Yes, partially to help my friend, but also because I love my goddaughter. I also bought her clothing, food, and a copious amount of toys. Not to mention all the money and emotional energy I spent on my friend, her mother. Of course, all of that was never enough, but I’m done giving her mother that kind of attention on my blog, so we’re going to skip that part.

Even when I came back into my goddaughter’s life a year later, I once again began spending money on things I shouldn’t have, and exhausting, no, depleting, my emotional energy on her mother, despite promising myself otherwise. The point being that, for a long time, my goddaughter’s mother depended on me, mostly emotionally, but sometimes financially, and often asked me for favors that were, at best, uncomfortable, and at worst, wildly inappropriate. The last thing she asked me before I walked away for good was if I could GIVE HER MY CREDIT CARD INFORMATION. On a vacation. For her and her boyfriend and my goddaughter. That I was intentionally not invited to.

Bottom line, suddenly she’s engaged, and she doesn’t “need me” anymore. She has someone who can provide for her emotionally and financially. She has someone to take care of her, and more importantly, someone who can take care of my goddaughter in the ways I used to.

So she pushed me away, HARD, because now my goddaughter doesn’t “need me” either. She has a “real parent” now. Even if that was true, I guess just loving each other and having a good relationship isn’t enough to keep me around right? Because my goddaughter’s mother doesn’t think like that. She doesn’t think about what’s best for her daughter. Not really. Otherwise she wouldn’t keep pushing away the people who love her daughter. I’m not the first and I’m certain I won’t be the last.

I say “even if that was true” because it’s not true. This guy, he is not her happily ever after. And I say that for two reasons:

1. My goddaughter’s mother is a fucking narcissist. She is severely mentally ill and refuses to actually try to heal herself. She blows up every single relationship she ever has, whether it be romantic, platonic, or familial. She will be incapable of being in a lasting, healthy relationship of any nature until she actually accepts that she’s a narcissist and does the fucking work.

2. Her “fiancé” is abusive. As far as I know, he only put his hands on her once, but once is once too many, and it was extremely, EXTREMELY violent. He almost killed her. Apparently he swore up and down he’d never do it again, and he hasn’t since, at least, according to her. I’m not saying people like that can’t change, but it’s definitely pretty rare, especially for it to just magically happen overnight. Besides, I know from things she shared with me that he’s still emotionally abusive, which can always lead to more. Even if it doesn’t, emotional abuse can become pretty virulent, and is still not a good situation to have your child be around. And yes, I am worried about my goddaughter. If you’re willing to abuse one person, you’re willing to abuse another.

Bottom line, this is not the “happy ending” my goddaughter’s mother thinks it is. And I know what’s going to happen. At some point, could be a few months, could be a few years, I am going to hear from her.

It’s what happened last time too. A year passed and suddenly my goddaughter’s mother was all alone, so she reached out to me to “apologize” and “invite me” back into my goddaughter’s life. I was young and stupid and desperate for a relationship with my goddaughter, so against my better judgement, I leaped at the opportunity.

I won’t make that mistake again.

Yes, I am absolutely heartbroken. And I would love if my goddaughter reached out to me one day. I would be completely honest and answer any questions she had. (This would be, of course, dependent on the fact that she be an adult.) But as much as I miss her, as much as I want to be in her life, and I really, really do, I can’t. I can’t ever go back to being anywhere near that poisonous, emotional vampire. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t think. I was anxious and miserable and angry and completely filled with adrenaline literally all the time. I would have several hour long panic attacks. Sometimes DAILY. I had to walk away, before I lost my sanity completely.

So when I do inevitably hear from my goddaughter’s mother, even though it will hurt, even though I wish it were different, I’ll have to ignore her.

It’s true I would give almost anything to be able to see my goddaughter again. But I cannot give my safety, my integrity, my dignity, or my stability. I won’t lose myself to another narcissist. Ever again.

[the-voice-of-hell]

The Septagram

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-   Previous   -    First   -

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***

Rosemarie Miller was walking a cart of looted groceries home through relatively barren streets.  A few homeless anarchists were grooving at a public fountain, hopping through the water to cool off as needed.  She was jealous of their easy-going ways.  The reason the pigs all high-tailed out of the region was always on her mind.  Would she see the murderers?  Would she have to deal with them?

The only reason she’d stayed behind was because she was trying to find her best friend, Jennifer Smith, and ended up missing a window of opportunity for an evacuation escort.  She certainly wasn’t going to risk the wilder stretches of highway without an armed guard, so it was safer just to stay at home, in the flat part of Renton.  The worst part of missing the opportunity was when she finally did find Jennifer, and learned the weirdo had stayed in town for the chance to rip wicked bicycle moves.  Thanks, Jen.

The sky was hot and blue.  That part of Renton was so flat that it felt like being at the bottom of a bowl, decorative hills off to the sides, infinite scorching void above.  She looked at the new stainless steel apartments along the way.  Should she just steal one?  Was that where the anarchists were sleeping at nights?  There was no evidence the door had been jimmied, so probably not.  She reached her apartment, set down the groceries, and fished out her keys.

Suddenly, a distraction.  That dragonfly sound of a bike chain speeding her way.  As much as she knew it was Jen in her head, in her heart it was the murder clubs.  She whipped around to see that goof zipping her way, dorky chipmunk teeth smiling, bleach blonde bob whipping the breeze, big light eyes behind dark-framed nerd glasses.  Her frame was typical of a short, slightly pudgy person, but her limbs were bulging with creepy muscles.  If she dehydrated enough she could do bodybuilding competitions.

“ROSIE!  WHAT DID YOU GET ME?”

Rosemarie wasn’t going to play the shouting game.  She waited until her friend was close enough to hear above the chains.  But Jen didn’t stop, was heading straight toward her now at full speed.  Rose cringed, falling to one knee.

Jen hit the brakes and twisted the bike’s frame in just the right way to spring off the ground with the momentum, spinning three times horizontally as she flew over Rose, and landed with her bike across her shoulders like Jesus carrying the cross.

“WHAT THE FUCK JEN!?” Shouting after all.

“What?  That was fucking sick.  You used to like my stunts.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me!”

“I hope not?  I’m still sorry about that, and I’ll say it as much as you need me to.”  She dropped the bike and sent it rolling to rest by the building’s stoop with one hand.  “I wub you, come on!”  She went in for a hug.

“No!”  Rose held her back with a talon-like finger.  “You’re sweaty and disgusting.”  She relaxed.  “I’ll make you something if you want.  But you need to shower first.”

“Bossanova.”

Suddenly out of the clear sky they heard a thunder crack and peal.  It rumbled and dissipated.  Strange notes played in the wake, like the brass section of the world’s worst marching band, but weak as if from miles away.  They were both looking north to Seattle proper.

“Doesn’t look like a storm,” Jen said.

“Maybe they’re gonna drop the bomb.  Come die with a full stomach, loca.”

***

Clark Upton was a fortunate man.  He had lived a long life of excitement and romance as a dancer, dance instructor, and choreographer in some of the gayest cities in the world.  But this was Seattle, and it was starting to feel like the end of his run.  Although his coughing had cleared up since most of the people evacuated (had he just been allergic to exhaust all this time?), there was apocalyptic air about the events that precipitated the change.

And now there was an apocalyptic air in the literal air outside his apartment.  It had been a sunny summer day one minute, and then clouds began to rapidly form - between the buildings themselves.  He was below those clouds on the seventeenth floor, but he could see that there were apartments in taller buildings that would be above them.  The thunder began as soon as the clouds had, as a rumbling vibration through all the buildings, through the bodies of those still living there.  It was building to a climax of some sort.

“Thurston?  Thurstooon?”  He called for his friend, but couldn’t make himself release his grip on the balcony rail.  This wasn’t right.

Thurston Connor was another gay dancer and friend, staying with him while in town.  The tall beautiful black man with his perfectly shaved head did not come to his call.  Clark began to fear he wasn’t even in the same dimension as the guy.

Then the thunder burst out in a great crescendo and red sheet lightning bridged the clouds and the bus tunnel entrance on the streets below.  Something began spilling out of the bus tunnel.  Dark forms, tumbling and spinning and leaping, shiny instruments in their grips.  It was like someone had taken a paper bag full of different noxious species of insects, shook them up to instill anger, and dumped them onto the ground.

The thunder subsided into a rolling menace, but less deafening than its initial burst.  And under that sound he could hear them.  It was a marching band.

“Oh dear.  I’m having a stroke.”

He laid down on the grate floor of his balcony, amid clay pots and chair legs, and he waited to die.  It was a lonely feeling.  As good as his life had been, he’d known many moments of loneliness and he did not love them.  He wished that he’d had a husband - someone who would be there for this.  But then, it was never in his character.

The wind whipped wildly below him, carrying the discordant notes of the hellish stroke band.  What was that tune?  “Inna Godda Davida”?  Yes, it was definitely in there, scored with the skill of Souza and played with the skill of Bob Log III.  But there were other tunes being played simultaneously - pure torture.  Oh no.  One of the tunes was Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire.”

Clark made up his mind.  Death was horrible, and he couldn’t stand it.

***

A thunderstorm had started in the north.  Must be that summer thunder - not very common in the Puget Sound region, in Park’s experience.  It didn’t look like there were enough clouds to cause any kind of rain, but it was hard to tell because it was very far away.

The headache was getting worse.  He was in a previously vacant house they’d commandeered for barracks.  Normally as evening began to fall, he’d be on the roof.  He’d set up tall chair there so he could get a good view of the neighborhood and radio to get extra attention on anything suspicious.  But this night, he found he was needing rest more than usual, and came down after just a few minutes.

For unit cohesion the guys were living with members of their respective agencies.  All the Tacoma PD plus a few State Patrol and other local cops were sharing this house and the one next to it.  More than half of them were on patrol or other tasks at the moment, leaving just a few guys behind.  They were taking nightcaps and gambling in the living room.

“Hey guys.”

“You want in, Park?”

“Not right now.  We got any good painkillers?”

“Legal or otherwise?”

“Watch it, Rickard.”

He ended up taking some Excedrin from one of the first aid kits on the kitchen counter, washing it down with a beer, leaning there under a bright kitchen light.  He thought about joining the guys out there but really he didn’t want to play.  He just wanted to hang out with Infante.  He was afraid he’d made a bad impression earlier.  Why was he being so weird?  He shook his head, regretted it, then gulped more beer.

Infante came in, grabbing a half-empty bottle of Grey Goose out of the refrigerator.  “Hey boss.”

“Hey, Infante.  You don’t have to call me boss.  Hell, I think we have the same salary.”  He tried to smile but it looked like something crinkled and painful.

“Eh… It’s just easier.”

“I don’t recommend drinking that all by yourself.  Gotta stay in fighting trim.”

“I know.  I was gonna split it.  We got glasses on the table.”

“Good man.”  Why do I keep saying that?  Christ.  He had to get some air again, but up on the roof was too much tension, scanning the horizon for any sign of mischief.  He went out the front door without saying goodbye.

The sky was getting dusky.  People were having a lawn party across the street.  A few children waved at him but mostly they didn’t like police.  One even put his hand on the top of a baby’s head and turned it away from him.  It didn’t bother him too much.

A dark-skinned woman in badly stained clothes staggered in the direction of the party.  Her hair was long with puffy curls of varying sizes and shot through with little bits of plant matter.  She was holding a hammer.

Park resisted the urge to pull his gun and quickly stepped between her and the party.  “Ma’am, please.  Stop.”  Palms up.

She looked at his gun then looked at his face, scowling deeply.  “I need to go.”

“That’s fair but maybe you should lose the tool and clean up a little.  There are children over there.  You’ll scare them.”

“Don’t care.  I need to see Elijah.”

She started walking again and he hustled in front of her.

“At least give me the hammer.  I’ll hold it for you.”

She looked confused, thought about it, picking up the hammer as if she’d forgotten she was carrying it, and then handed it to him.  “I’m gonna need that back.”

He nodded and mutely accepted it, then followed about fifteen feet behind her.  The hammer looked like it had been used to smash up a green compost heap.  New, but recently rendered disgusting.  He shook his head.

She walked up to one of the houses, stood at the porch for a moment scanning the crowd, then went inside.  He hustled to close the distance and stood inside the door, trying to hold the hammer out of sight.  Two little black kids played video games, but the house inside looked too nice to have children.  Visitors.  Park just watched her walking the house, looking for someone, listening to hear if she got in trouble.

Someone almost bowled him over coming inside.  “Excuse me officer.  Need more soda pop.”

“Elijah?  Eliijah?”

The pop seeker yelled.  “He ain’t here!”

She came back into the hall and stepped closer to her.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well what the fuck are you doing in his house?!”

“Hey!  Calm down!  There’s a cop riiight theeere.”  She pointed at Park.

The messy lady was a little more clearly visible where the light of the kitchen came into the hall.  She was thin, with thick and strongly curled eyelashes but thin eyebrows.  She looked like she hadn’t changed clothes since the evacuations began.

“OK, fine!”  She gestured angrily as she spoke.  “Why are you and these boys in Elijah’s house?  Why are those people on Elijah’s lawn?”

“He knows us.  We’re just usin’ his food and nothin’ else.  He wouldn’t mind.”

Park waved from the entrance.  “We’re here but our priority is keeping people safe in the neighborhood.  You’re not from around here, but you knew the owner?”

She scrunched up in impotent fury.  “Yes I know Elijah.  I don’t know her!  I don’t know them!”

The boys didn’t like the look on her and jumped up, running past Park out to the lawn.  The game beeped and yelled at nobody, controllers on the scuffed up old hardwood floor.

Park took a step toward her and offered a calming gesture, palm down.  “You’ve been out there, right?  Fighting your way here to find your friend?  Listen.  You can just stay in this house.  Take a bath, wear some of his clothes, catch some real rest, OK?”

The soda hunter said, “Mm-mm, that’s between y’all.  I’m just gonna get this soda pop and get, alright?”

The skinny lady blew past Park to head outside again.  He turned to follow her.  She started asking party goers.  “You know where Elijah is?  You know where Elijah is?”

Park held the hammer behind his back and offered a sympathetic look to the people.  To a woman nearby, he quietly offered, “I can do something about her if you need me to.”  She shook her head.

“Ippy.  I know you.”  A Q-balled thirtyish guy with strong arms regarded the skinny lady.  Nobody turned down the music - some R&B diva going off the rails.

“I don’t know you.”

“We went to high school together.  You me and Elijah.”

“I don’t remember you.  Do you know where Elijah is?”

“Maybe he was at work when the shit went down, ended up evacuating before he got home.  I haven’t seen him since it all happened.”

She shook her head slowly and looked stricken.

The bald guy looked kindly, “Aw girl, it’s OK.  He’s probably fine.”

“I don’t have anyone.”  She turned around and went past Park back to Elijah’s house.

The guy looked hurt.  “What am I?  Chopped liver?”

Park followed her into the house.  In the living room, he got assertive.

“Ma’am, stop.  Look at me.”

She stopped in the hall and slowly turned.  Park did not like the look on her.  He’d seen the expression on other people before - like they had their own lives, whatever was going on was the most important thing in the world, and that every cop in the world could blow away and they wouldn’t care.

“You don’t have to stay here, you can do what you want.  But get a grip.  Clean yourself up.  I am not gonna let you have this hammer back unless you show me you aren’t unhinged.”

“Then keep it.  Go away.”

He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

Iphigenia was glad to be rid of the cop.  A chance to go cry in peace.  She knew she’d never see her people again.  Everyone died or left her behind.  Her mind was spiralling the drain.  She went to Elijah’s room and walked toward the bed.

There was a big dark shape there - another woman, old, sleeping?  She had her eyes closed, head on a pillow.  But her breathing was steady and easy - not the kind of racket the average person made in their sleep.

No, Ippy did not have time for other people, awake or otherwise.  She went to the poorly maintained guest room.  It had a bunch of half-folded laundry on the bed and she just flopped across the top of them in that slimy stinking condition.

Park had dropped the hammer in a garbage can on his way back to the cop house.  Inside, he saw the poker game had ended prematurely.  Only Infante and Rickard remained, sitting on the couch and looking through a book of DVDs.

“Wanna watch a movie now?  What happened to the game?”

Rickard said, “I don’t know if I wanna watch something, really.  Just...”

Infante said, “The game just got … not fun.  We all started to get the creeps.  Maybe just ‘cause somebody mentioned it, then we all started feelin’ it.”

“Huh.  Yeah,” he looked at some kind of green stain on his hand from the nasty handle of the hammer, “It’s pretty creepy out there.”  He looked back to them.  “But that’s kinda strange.  You guys alright?”

Infante dropped the book, leaned back, and looked at Park.  “You alright?  You look like you’re sleepwalking but somebody wired your eyes open.”

Park felt like he was blushing and looked away.  “That bad, huh?  Fuck it, I’ll try to go to sleep.”  He made a few stops along the way, grabbing a harder beverage from the kitchen and looking around for more useful medicines.

There was still daylight coming through the windows and he shut the curtains as well as he could.  He took off his gun holster and hung it near the bed with care, then stripped to a tank top and boxers.  He turned off his radio, swallowed a ZzzQuil with a glass of ill-tasting rum, and settled down.

A few minutes later, still wide awake.  It was like his eyes didn’t want to shut, were made of lighter material than that.  He sat up, went to a corner and turned on a fan, then returned to bed.  The white noise helped, and eventually the chemicals did too.

***

Maddy and Jason had to hike up a very steep hill to get out of that neighborhood.  Exhausted, they took a rest stop at a lake.  It was surrounded by private residences and they didn’t know which might have some paranoid lingering homeowners with guns, but there was also a senior care home on the lake, and it felt a bit more safe.  There was just nobody in sight.  Not a soul.  Only a few ducks and geese wandered the surface, off in the distance.  Jason felt like splashing some of that water on his face, but knew it would be full of bacteria - and he still had open cuts from the crash.

“A place like this has gotta have a nurse, right?”

“Safe to say she’s out of town, daddy.”

“Ah, but I bet she left some supplies in her office, right?”

“I don’t wanna break and enter.”

“It’s alright.  Anyone would be understanding, given the circumstances.  We can’t exactly motor on over to the nearest urgent care clinic and get patched up, can we?”

“I guess.  But let’s do our best to not surprise anyone, OK?”

They knocked, they yelled, and they broke and they entered.  The place was bereft of human life.  Fortunately, as with most of their journey, there weren’t any corpses either.  Safely evacuated.  They improvised some medical treatment, ate some food, drank lots of water, and ultimately decided to call it a night.

In a room with two beds alongside each other, they laid themselves out.  Maddy insisted to leave the light on, but they lowered the blinds.

“We’re doin’ good, hon.”

“Oh really?  I don’t think so.  I messed up pretty bad today.”

“I would’ve done the same thing at the wheel.  Don’t think about it.  Listen.”

“What?”

“We should steal a car tomorrow.”

“Whaaat?  No!”

“It’s gonna be a reeeally long hike down I-5, Baby.  We shouldn’t have to do that.  You know I avoid talking about the … bad men, but do I have to remind you?  The plan was to breeze by them.  Eighty em’s pee aitch.  Can’t do that on your Keds.”

“They’re New Balance and… I just don’t think it’s good.  Everyone is going to come back, and lots of people are gonna find stuff stolen.  We shouldn’t make anyone go through that.”

“Well listen then, I got an idea.  When we take the car we write down the license plate and make, all that.  And then we use the information to find the people, let ‘em know we’ll cover the damage.  Right?”

“...I guess.  I guess so.”

“OK, snuggle up buttercup.  Let’s catch every Z and make ‘em our bitches.”

“*snrk* That’s horrible.  Good night, Daddy.”

“Good night, Princess.”

Outside the blinds, outside the glass, the night air swirled in an unnatural miasma.  The world was changing.

***

Ippy had cried herself to sleep, hugging Elijah’s clean laundry, making it filthy.  But in the night, her eyes popped open.  Somebody was mumbling.  The old lady in the other room.

She sat up, felt like her body was turning into a statue and she interrupted the process rudely.  It protested by making her movements embarrassing and stiff.  She staggered into the hall, footsteps as light as she could manage, and leaned against the wall outside Elijah’s room, listening.

The lady’s voice was quiet as if she wasn’t talking to anybody, expecting anyone to hear.  And yet, she said, ”Iphigenia.  Come and hear.”  Ippy’s body threatened to freeze solid, her eyes widened.

She went inside, feeling along the wall, not sure if she should turn on the lights.  She decided not to.  “Yes?”

“The Sibyls sing.  Will you listen and understand?”  Her body was still.  A shape.  She was breathing evenly between her quiet pronouncements.  Eerie.

“Not like I have anything better to do.”  Ippy almost choked on her words, but then she took halting steps forward, tried to bend her ear.  The old lady was so quiet.

“They never mattered.  You do.  The murderers will come to you, come to die.  They will break upon you like water.”

“What?  How?  What do you mean?  How can I--”

“It doesn’t matter.  They didn’t matter and their deaths will not matter.  But you do, Iphigenia.  If you only think of them you won’t understand.”

She was standing loose in a midnight blue void.  No light, no understanding.  “Fine, fine.  What do I need to understand?”

“The murderers opened the door.  What comes through will change the world.  But you will decide.  Your hand will decide what that means.”

“I don’t care what it means.  Not now.”

“The die is cast.  Alea iacta est.”  She moaned louder than anything she had said, moved fitfully.

“Ah, are you OK ma’am?  You need help?”

The moaning almost sounded like crying for a moment, but then faded away.  She propped herself up.  “Oh girl.  Can you help me get to the bathroom?”

“Yes.  I can do that.”

It wasn’t easy.  The old lady was closer to four hundred pounds than three hundred, but she put in enough effort of her own to make the move possible.  “Oh Honey,” she said.  Her voice had dropped to the soft tone of her prophesying.

Ippy listened close in case there was anything else to glean.  “Yes?”

“You smell really bad.  God love you, but you need to wash yo ass.”

***

Park’s skull was a house and he was living inside.  He had no curtains.  The miasma of the changing world could pour right in if it wanted to.  Maybe surface tension kept those clouds at bay.  There was a light behind them as well, like the brightest sun trying to get through.  He didn’t want to experience that sun.  He knew it was going to hurt.

He sank into the bottom of his cranium, ass wedged into the dip where the brain stem passed the bony cage.  He covered his eyes and hoped it would go away but the light was getting stronger.  He dared to look and up above, his fontanelle was opening again.

The plates of the upper part of the skull were coming unseamed, a star-shaped light streamed through.  The miasma didn’t reach up there, only that illumination.  With the photons came sound waves, rippling through his body, pinning him in place.  A ring of swarthy old white men stood at the edges of the opening, looking down on him.  They were wearing various togas or standing nude but for sandals.

“What the hell?  I’m trying to sleep!”

One opened his mouth, then another, then another.  A humming sound increased.  He began to know things.  He knew they were the Oracles and that their light was going to consume him whether he wanted it or not.

The light, the knowledge, took shape.  He beheld a vision.  At first it was a relief to escape the weird scene in his head, but he still felt the vibrations and heat passing through his body, and knew it was just a vision of the future.

He was in a throne room.  Infante was suspended from his wrists, stripped to the waist, sweating.  A pale, smiling, red-haired white woman was seated on the throne towering above him.  The throne itself was carved to resemble a camel, head snaking up from between her legs, and a massive bone crown sat above her heavily painted face.  She looked ten feet tall, wide at the bottom with huge thighs, spoke in an unknowable voice.  Every word she said caused Infante pain and he jerked on his chains.

Another creature was behind her, even larger, horned, cloaked in shadow.  And then someone stepped in front of her, holding a familiar hammer.  Park couldn’t see her face but he recognized her big black hair, her dark brown hands.

Then Infante began to scream, distracting him.  He turned around and saw the young man’s body tense, muscled, dripping with sweat.  And his face was taut, wracked.  Something terrible was going to happen.  Park felt his pain and his heart almost burst.

Snap.  Back in his skull, then rolling out of bed.  He hit the floor face first and hurt his mouth and ribs.  Did he bite his cheek?  No, but the inside of his lower lip was pressed between teeth and the floor enough to break skin.  And he needed to go to the bathroom badly as well.  He used the bed to climb up to his feet and staggered that way clutching his belly.

After finishing his business there but before cleaning up, the cop sat on the toilet, his head in his hands.  Must’ve been the ZzzQuil.  He’d never used that stuff before.  But somehow he knew that wasn’t true - knew that he’d seen the future.

“The oracles sing,” he said quietly.  “The story is already written.”

Somebody knocked on the bathroom door.  “You alright in there?”

“It’s occupied, Rickard.  Fuck off.”

***

Morning sun coming from on high in the east, streaming over the hill down into the valley of ghost cows.  The red manure haze hadn’t been kicked up yet, fog still clung to stands of trees near houses and around the road.

Blood and glass covered the road like marble.  Alongside the road, along and under.  The mud was red.  It could all be blood.  There could be so much blood that it would mean somebody was surely dead, and you wouldn’t know because the mud was so red.

Tangled roots in the embankments just teased at a notion of escape but there could be none.  They were too thin and the earth too loose to offer a sure grip.  You’d just be pulling carrots too easily, like Bugs Bunny having a good day.

Maddy was in that muddy ditch again, but it was deeper and the car was more mangled.  She was so worried about her father but he was hard to see through the spiderwebbed glass and maddening distortions of the twisted metal.

Plus she had the monster up on the road to deal with.  What had it been?  Had it lived?  Would it come for them?  She kept glancing up there, half sure she was seeing glimpses of it.  No, she thought.  She would get daddy out and he would be able to stop it.  She knew he would be OK because she had already done this before.

“Just another minute, Baby.  Gotta adjust my baby seat, haha.  That’s all.”

He just kept making inane statements of blithe positivity.  Things that didn’t even make sense.  Was he crazy from blood loss and shock?  Would he go into a coma?

“Nobody keeps a good man down.  I’m like a rodeo made outta dynamite.”

“...I’m working my way up to it.  I’ll get out of here and do a tap dance just to show you how OK I am.  Or make a sausage outta one of these cows.”

“You never knew your mom as well as I did.  She could turn a Vietnamese submarine into a pretzel with her nose.  She was my queen, Princess.”

She banged and slapped the metal, shrieking, hoping he would hear her over his mad droning, knowing he wouldn’t.  She left red handprints up and down the car doors.

Suddenly the car door popped free and open.  She fell against the embankment, looking in at her dad with a sense of fear that she didn’t understand.  He was just sitting there coyly, hands in his lap, thumbs together, smiling.

“Hi, snookums.”

“You have to… to get out...”

“I told you I could do it.  Just let me stretch my legs for a minute.”

He started pushing himself free of the driver’s seat using only his legs.  He kept his hands clasped over his belly, body leaning back in that casual pose.  His legs finally popped him free of the dashboard and began lifting him into the air.  They were too long, too thin - and covered in bark like birch trees.

Maddy woke in a panic, but settled down once she remembered where she was and once she realized she’d been dreaming.  She composed herself and dragged Jason out of bed.

As she tried to penetrate his foggy morning demeanor, she became possessed by a worry that the longer they took getting to the Beacon Hill safe zone, the more things could go wrong - the worse the situation would get.

Jason kept up his sunny demeanor, but went along with her demand for urgency.  They decided that cars from businesses or apartments would be less likely to have angry shotgun grandpas protecting them, and set to finding one.

At last they found a business with a garage that they were able to break into.  The sun outside had just finally fully risen, but they were in relative darkness.  Jason found the key that corresponded to the company car they were going to steal - a charcoal grey Prius advertising pest control on the doors - and pushed its buttons.  With a beep the thing came to life, signal lights gleamed on their lowest setting.

“Paydirt.  And the phone number for the owner is right on the side.  How do you like that, Baby?”

“Thanks for listening, dad.”  She poked around in the gloom for a button to open the garage door.  They were able to get their bodies in through a side door, but would need the big one rolled up to get the car out.

Suddenly they both became aware of a sound growing, coming closer.  A marching band?  One so big it shook the earth.  Maddy had found the switch she needed, but she didn’t dare flick it.  Instead, she gripped an exposed structural beam for dear life, half expecting it to grow into an earthquake.  She looked at her father and he looked at her face, etched in confusion and fear.

The rumbling definitely was coming from whatever was making that music.  It was a cacophony of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” “March of the Gladiators,” and … Miley Cyrus’s “Wrecking Ball”?  The sound and the vibration made it clear, this band wasn’t just marching down the thoroughfare - they were a line stretching from one horizon to the next.

At its horrid climax, the sounds were from all around them, they could hear bodies and metal slapping against the outside of the garage, hear feet running over the roof.  Maddy jumped and collapsed as shadows began to fall in front of the nearest window - the players leaping down from the roof to continue their mad dash over the world.

And just when they thought it was for sure moving away, that their fear could diminish, they heard a joyous voice cry out - echoed by another a hundred feet away, and another.

“QUEEN BYMAAN WALKS THE EARTH.  THOU ART HEREBY SUBJECT TO THE AUTHORITY OF EXALTED LUCIFER!  YOURS IS NOW THE KINGDOM OF HELL!”

The voices died down, piping up again barely audible in the distance, following behind the line of the great unholy band.

“Baby, um… Oh no, Baby!”

She was collapsing under the weight of terror.  He jumped over the car hood to get to her as fast as he could.  Her eyes were wide, her mouth agape, head lolling.  Jason took his daughter in his arms, kissed her sweaty temple, held her close.

“Don’t worry about that, Honey.  It’s nonsense.  Just some… nonsense...”

***

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[mininuked]

A H N L E H (and D E L K A Z E if inclined!)

Ahnleh + DelkazeA: What are/were this character’s best subjects in school? For sole ahn… Anything that is her using her hands, woodshop and Science. H: What is their deadly sin? Mojave!ahn would be; Wrath. She has a ton of pent up shit she’s godda work throughN: What do they usually eat for breakfast? Back home? Da’s breakfasts consist of brahmin & big horner sausage/steak, gecko/rad chicken eggs, cactus bits with all that good southwestern spice. On her own whatever she can make. Likes to make her own breakfast burritos if she can. L: What is their favourite board game? Risk & Trouble.E: How are they with children? Depends, she hasn’t been around many, She’s just very confused. She isn’t going to go out of her way to hurt them/be mean to them. She does have a protective side when it comes to them however. When she meets duncan for the first time he dislikes her [she’s sorta scary looking], and it’s the first time she tires when it comes to a child. She bribes him for his love with a giant box of pristine crayons.  D: How they react to being flirted with? You’ve opened this can of worms now lay in it. She flirts right back, a little on the heavier side and doesn’t shy from letting whoever it is flirting with her she is more then willing to find a dark corner.K: How do you know when you’ve upset them? Silence. She will interact with whoever, but she will not speak to them. Z: How do they sleep? Starfished on her stomach or back. She’s a bed hog and if she’s godda share, shes sleeping curled around said person.