#metal labels for equipment

[wfxue]

20230605_F0001: Valves for lens 1? by Wei-Feng Xue Via Flickr: - Scientific equipment seen over #10YearsAgo. The many valves in the electron microscopy room here. The label may be unrelated though.

[chinxe]

Large - Wine Cellar

[01zfan]

halcyon | p. wb

guitarist!wonbin x bassist!reader | 13k words

after an insane…awful…damn near DIABOLICAL wait i present you with the most insane writing i have ever done. why i decided to go so hard for a wonbin fic is beyond me but he just evokes something particularly crazy within me.

Halcyon makes music like the album Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino by Arctic Monkeys. this takes place during the 80’s and mentions several places in the world’s rock scene in regards to this time. some songs that remind me of this couple are cry for me by magdalena bay, dare by gorillaz, heavy by powers, i’ll bet you by the jackson 5, drugs by charli xcx, and had ten dollaz by cherry glazerr.

contains: toxic relationship, physical violence (reader fights a girl, several fights during rock shows), infidelity, semi-public sex, fingering, pain kink drug mention, addictive behaviors, non-linear storytelling, it is referenced that the reader does something to "get rid of" other band members, part of this is in eunseok’s perspective then it switches

rock the house masterlist

Wonbin held after concert rituals very close to his heart. When the post-show adrenaline attempted to crash down on him and steal his serotonin like a thief in the night he had a few things lined up to keep the good feeling going. He would be on stage with the guitar still in his hands and before the last riff tore through the venue and while people’s screams still rang in his ears, Wonbin was already setting his eyes on his next dopamine rush. 

His following activities for the night post-concert goes as follows, in no particular order:

Sex.

Drugs.

Trashing hotel rooms.

Chain smoking an entire pack of American Spirits.

He gritted his teeth as he brought his hands down the neck of his instrument. A chord rang through the venue as he remembered he was on his second strike—after the previous three—of ignoring the groupie ban. As he walked off the stage he remembered that he was completely out of drugs, and when he ran his fingers over his engraved initials on the side of his metal cigarette case he came to the realization it was lighter than usual.

“Fuck.” 

Wonbin cursed under his breath, already knowing what was waiting for him inside. The venue staff and roadies moved around him as he stood completely still, looking down at his very last American Spirit. The sound of people running around and making sure equipment was being put in the right place drowned out completely around Wonbin. It was just him, the lone cigarette, and the wave of depression getting closer and closer to crashing down on him. Stray bits of tobacco slid from the metal casing and fell until it landed between his black heeled boots. He sighed to himself and clamped the case hard with a singular hand. The case almost sprung back open from the force. A cheap gift from a former lover that was already falling apart. He swore he had more Spirits.

“I’m going outside.” Wonbin spoke from the side of his mouth the cigarette didn’t occupy.

He didn’t care to look over his shoulder or wait for a reply. He’s sure Shotaro and Sion yelled at him to be back on the bus in thirty minutes or he’d send Wendy out there to kick his ass. He only waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder before heading to the door, using the side of his body to open it while he lit his cigarette.

Wonbin didn’t like Wendy too much, she insisted on managing the band like they were a professional act instead of a bunch of sleazy assholes who could hold a tune. Wonbin much preferred starting fights at shows and picking up girls to break their hearts the next day. Now that Wendy was around—and the major record label that was producing their next album—Halcyon was trying to be more classy. That meant no more young ladies in the hotel rooms, no more instigating physical confrontations at shows, and no more illicit drugs or illegal substances. Wonbin was barely able to sneak underneath Wendy’s radar. She watched him like a hawk, the only moments of solace he got was when he’d walk around the venue to take a smoke break. He was lucky she didn’t have much of a taste for the smell of nicotine. Wonbin would never be the one to tell her that a cigarette might help loosen the gigantic stick she had shoved up her ass.

He walked past the venue staff into the muggy night. Gainesville Florida, a disgusting rainy mess of a city that made you feel like you were choking on the humidity. The vibrant rock scene didn’t make up for the thick air that made everyone feel like they were swallowing smoke. Traveling the world was alot less fulfilling than he thought it’d be. Not every destination was a vibrant city with exotic nightlife and attractions. Sometimes it was in the armpit of a country, right in the bible belt wedged between two conservative cities. 

But this wasn’t all bad. Despite being a pessimist, Wonbin knew that shows paid the studio bills, it paid everything. The weather also couldn’t have been too muggy, because he still insisted on putting his cigarette to his lips and inhaling the fumes, even if the fog rested over his body like a damp weighted blanket. 

Wonbin breathed in until embers ignited and he felt that sting in the back of his throat. He should make this last American Spirit last—he really should—but the more he realized this was his last vice for God knows how long he couldn’t stop himself from taking prolonged puff after prolonged puff.

He wandered away from the venue while eating his cigarette, heading towards the side of a building right next to a shady alleyway. He was grateful that word travelled he wasn’t kind to stragglers after the show. He was left alone as he leaned against the wet brick of the building, sputtering up phlegm from singing, the cigarette, and the heavy air around him. Despite the pain he continues to smoke his last dwindling source of dopamine, already imagining the unbearable asshole he’s going to be in the tour bus.

“Looking for something?”

Wonbin looked past the brick wall down the alleyway. It was entirely too foggy here too. Between the shadows of the building and the night Wonbin could barely make out who that was calling to him. The fans after a show never gave Wonbin that much space, and his old flings would’ve been in his face in seconds. His mind briefly went to his dealer, his promise to keep him supplied by his jockeys across America. Wendy made sure to scare them away and to let Wonbin know in the most polished way possible.

“The young professionals that supply your musings will no longer be visiting Halcyon on tour. Any reimbursements will be settled upon our arrival back in New York.”

“Who are you?” 

Wonbin spoke to the shadowy figure at the end of the alleyway. If he knew any better he would’ve never came down this unlit path by himself. He was a rockstar in vintage leather Prada, denim Mugler, and custom made snakeskin boots. Despite his affinity for conflict and violence Wonbin was unfortunately all talk, and he was sure his height and slim frame showcased that. He was at risk of being rundown and not a single soul would know; not a single bodyguard, member of his entourage, nothing. 

But Wonbin was more aware of the fact that it was harder to score these days than it was to die, and if he were to die in an alleyway attempting to do a drug deal atleast he’d go out doing what he loved. So he took another step towards the shadowy figure, his heel clicking on the pavement as he tried adjusting his eyesight in the night. He was going to send Taesan (or was his name Dongmin?—that doesn’t matter) a bouquet of roses. Maybe even name a song on the next album about him. If his jockey would just cut to the chase and emerge from the shadows to give him his vice. Wonbin was already reaching in the inner pocket of his jacket for his emergency drug deal money when he took another step forward.

When the shadow stayed leaned against the wall, Wonbin took another step forward. He even cleared his voice to project it further and moved his cigarette to the corner of his mouth in an effort to speak clearly.

“Who are you?” Wonbin repeated. 

Finally the figure kicked off from the wall and walked towards him. Wonbin didn’t care enough to take a step backwards, even when the figure still said nothing. For a moment fear flashed through Wonbin’s mind at the thought of the person really being a murderer—or worse—a cop. He imagined red and blue illuminating the dark alleyway and the figure would emerge with a badge reading him his Miranda Rights. 

As soon as Wonbin imagined all the terrible endings to this situation the fear and panic was gone. Instead of hearing sirens Wonbin heard chatter of people passing by. Instead of seeing a cop he watched a woman emerge from the shadows, heels clicking against the pavement with each step.

He never remembered the jockey’s ever being a girl. 

Wonbin’s even swore his dealer went on a tirade about how unreliable women are when it comes to drug dealing. Something about how pussy is worst and most addictive drug on the planet, how it always complicates things between the buyer and seller, and some other borderline misogynistic rhetoric. 

(Wonbin found himself nodding along with his eyes trained on the drugs in his dealers hand. Maybe it was a Pavlov reaction to get his drugs, maybe he actually agreed with the points he was making. He never claimed to be a feminist. He is a rockstar, first and foremost.) 

Instantly Wonbin tilted his head in amusement. He recognized your face immediately, he had gotten used to seeing you in the crowd of every show. You were what he called a front row regular, singing along to every song and starting the mosh pits. Wonbin watched you start your fair share of fights, pushing someone into the crowd with a smile on your face as you watched the chaos unfold. Despite being burdensome to the security and wellbeing of others, you were never ousted. Wonbin even got the feeling that you were revered in community, not that he ever cared enough to check. He just knew that you were there in the very beginning, when Halcyon didn’t have a name and it was just him Shotaro, and Sion scouring punk bars looking to make a quick buck.

Wonbin didn’t know you were the type to lurk in alleys after a show. For the most part he believed you were one of his few normal fans. As normal as any fan can be that follows the band across state lines just to see the same show over and over again. 

You two had shared eye contact plenty of times. With Wonbin front and center and you in the crowd, it was bound to happen. But each time he gave you that look that said to meet him after the show you were always nowhere to be found. Each time the lights came on you’d disappear like a figment of his imagination, turning into dust until you materialized at his next show. 

Your aversion of meeting him backstage had him peg you for the scared type, but you leaned against the side of the building and titled your head. Wonbin wasn’t sure if you were trying to emulate his calm demeanor or if it was your truth; he was still intrigued all the same. 

“Who are you?” Wonbin asked for a third time, the tone of his voice saccharine as he did a shameless once over of you.

He leaned against the side of the building like you did, his hands let go of the money in his pocket and instead rested inside gently. He let go of the sweaty crumpled money and went to his cigarette, pulling it from his mouth.

When you didn’t speak, Wonbin blew the smoke in your face. A cloud of poisonous smog and you weren’t affected one bit. You let it breeze past you with a smirk before reaching in your back pocket. You revealed the substance like it was the bridge of a song, and held it up in the air in front of Wonbin’s face. You still didn’t say a word and even with the offering in your hand Wonbin’s eyes stayed on you. For the first time in God knows how long, Wonbin felt indifferent to substance. The far off words of his drug dealer played in his mind as he stared into your eyes, so innocent and contradictory of what was in your hand.

“Just a fan is all.” You said.

You jostled the substance in your hand for emphasis, like a human showing a dog its treats. Wonbin’s tail would’ve started wagging if he had one when he realized just how much was in the bag.

“Where’d you get that?” Wonbin asked.

“Some weirdo was just here.” You looked to your hand, feigning confusion. “He said this was for you.” You said.

He was already five minutes past Shotaro’s time warning, pulling you from the shadows ate up a majority of his smoke break. The image of his band running around the venue looking for him was fleeting, but he swore he could hear the sound of Wendy calling out his name. She imagined her scouring the streets looking for a groupie or a junkie asking if they knew of his whereabouts. They had a different state to be in tomorrow but Wonbin didn’t care, his interest was piqued by the baggie and you. You didn’t seem to scare as easily as the other girls. You kept eye contact with him, Wonbin could even see the gleam in your eyes like you were considering taking the substance for yourself.

“Why’d he give it to you?” Wonbin asked, still keeping his eyes on you.

“I may have done something for him.” You said.

Wonbin raised his eyebrows. Less than a year as a rockstar and he already had someone willing to do nefarious things just for him to know their name. Did you dirty your hands for him? Were your stockings already ripped or was that done recently? Was your makeup smudged on purpose and was your unkept hair intentional, or the byproduct of something much more demeaning?

Wonbin put his cigarette out on the brick wall and stuck his hands deeper in the tight leather pockets of his pants. Only then did he fully focus on the baggie. He felt his mouth water at the sight, that tug to do bad things deep in his heart. The adrenaline crash was creeping behind him but you were a massive brick wall he was hurtling straight towards. He reached for the bag and grazed your hand purposefully. 

You didn’t even flinch. He smiled to himself.

“What did you do for him?” He traveled his hand down your arm slowly. His knuckles grazed over the fabric of your denim, tracing the stitching all the way up to your shoulder. When he made it to your neck is when he noticed the blossoming mark, already preparing to be angry in the morning. Wonbin looked from the mark to your face and tilted his head to the side. “Can’t imagine you paid him for this shitty stuff.” He said.

His other hand stuck out in front of him as his hand made it to your cheek. You didn’t chase after his fleeting touch, your lips didn’t part in silent want and your eyes didn’t flutter shut. You were stoic as he touched you, impervious to the move that usually had girls falling to his feet. Wonbin suddenly didn’t feel like just drugs tonight. The adrenaline was building back over his body at the sight of you not scaring easily. You refused to give in, you didn’t even put the baggie in his hand. You opened it yourself, putting the white powder on your long pointed acrylic nail before brining it under Wonbin’s nose. 

He looked down to your nail then up to you. The tension built over his body tenfold, his hands retreated back to his pockets like he was debating on indulging himself. He heard Shotaro yell clearly now, and Wendy’s angry quick steps echoing beyond the alley. 

“I can show you, if you’d like.” 

Eunseok looked away from the alley between the two buildings and pressed his head to the steering wheel. The creases of his forehead are smoothed by the ragged synthetic cover of the wheel from years of use. he continues to rub his forehead against the covering just to feel something. He does it to stop himself from falling asleep, hoping that the repetitive motion can act as the rest he should be getting right now.

Eunseok thinks his job should pay him better. If he made wage proportional to the amount of work he does he wouldn’t have to drive around this disaster on wheels. When he closes his eyes for too long he’s forced to remember that he’s one bad ride away from breaking down on the side of the road—or worse in the middle of traffic. He remembers all the times the engine stalled on him and he had to call his bestfriend to come to his aide. Each time Sungchan gave his car a jump or pushed it to get a running start he commented on the abysmal state of Eunseok’s vehicle. He had heard this thing is barely drivable and you are a danger to yourself a million times. Eunseok couldn’t even deny it, he knew his friend was right. He couldn’t even turn up the music in the car without it coming out fractured through the blown out speakers. everything was muffled and the words were crackling fuzz, like pop rocks were in his sound system.

The music crackling through his speakers pulled him from wallowing in his financial situation. He lifted his head and his hand went to the sound dial on instinct. He focused on changing the volume using the tiniest adjustments on the knob. He always tries for the perfect spot on each song, because of course it’s different for each once. Every three minutes Eunseok’s fingers twist and turn the knob. Ironically it takes have the song to find the middle ground, where it’s not too quiet or entirely too loud. 

When Eunseok finds the spot he sighs to himself, forehead going back to his worn steering wheel. He drums along to the beat this time, trying to get himself up and to clear everything else from his mind. 

Eunseok tries not to think about his nerves, or the way he’s going to weave between two cop cars to get inside of the hotel. He thought it was torture surpassing a line of concertgoers to interview the artists. The exclusivity that gave him a dopamine rush turned into a stomachache when all eyes went on him. Their anger was almost always misplaced, mad at someone who wasn’t even taking up space in the general admission nor who was responsible for them waiting in line. But Eunseok knew it was pointless to argue with fans whose eyes were filled with bloodlust visions of the barricade. He only kept his head down and smiled awkwardly to the security before flashing his press badge. 

Eunseok looks up from his spot in the parking lot to the hotel. Two flashing cop cars, neither of them make a sound but they sit in front of the door to block the entrance. Only people out, no one gets in he hears one of the police officers say. There’s a huddle of them talking to someone, his view of them is blocked by their vests and wide stances. On the other side of Eunseok’s car people are gathered in the public area. They are lined on the sidewalk, standing on their tip toes and leaning their bodies like meerkats. Eunseok recognizes the reporters, they view the front of the hotel through the viewfinder of their cameras, just waiting for the perfect shot. Some people are even craning their necks to look into the fishbowl Eunseok calls a car, he can already hear the whispers and fizzled out excitement when they realize he’s a nobody.

He would take a concert over this any day. He would gladly walk past a line of hecklers than be caught in the middle of this. But the clock in his car that is perpetually an hour behind tells him that he told Wonbin he’d be in his hotel room. The ground forming on the outskirts of the parking lot only gets bigger.

Eunseok reaches across the center console of his car to open the glove compartment. The door to the small storage drops open and he reaches in deep to pull out the pack of cigarettes. He smiles when he finds the last one in the pack and sees he has just enough time and a long enough walk to smoke it down to the butt.

Eunseok rolls down the window of his car using the hand crank because of course it only opens from the outside and of course his window is not automatic. He opens the front door and gets out, closing it behind him with his foot. Both of Eunseok’s hands are preoccupied, one blocks the wind and the other tries to ignite the lighter. it’s annoying, and just like everything else in his life the lighter fails to work. he shakes it, he hits the bottom of it against his thigh, he even tilts it upside down hoping to shake up just enough of the leftover fluid to create a flame. He feels his thumb going raw from working the tiny black gear before he finally admits defeat. 

Eunseok goes through the open window of his car muttering about all his bad luck under his breath. he opens up his loose center console and tosses in the lighter before continuing to dig around. he goes through napkins, loose change, and the spare key that Sungchan swore was in Eunseok’s car. he slips the key into his pocket and reminds himself to hide it inside of the apartment later. 

One after taking everything out of the center console does Eunseok find his box of matches, deep in the bottom corner where it was forgotten for god knows how long. regardless, he is so happy to find the matches he almost kisses the flimsy box. 

He backs out of the car through the open window and opens the matchbox. He sees three perfect matches and nearly cries from happiness. His nicotine addiction induced by stress continues to fight for another day.

Eunseok is sure he looks insane to beyond the parking lot. He sticks out like a sore thumb, wearing a business casual outfit to an indie rock bands possible arrest. He tries to salvage what little confidence he has left by leaning on the hood of his car and striking the match. He smiles to himself inwardly when he’s able to successfully light the end on the second try.

Eunseok had always made the deal with himself to let his insecurities run wild until he reaches the end of his cigarette. so as he pulls in the toxic fumes that still burn his throat he lets himself think about how ridiculous he looks. He thinks about his feeble attempt at seeming professional in this scratchy cheap blazer and how uncomfortable his faux suede boots are. They were on the clearance rack in the women’s section, marked down from the already ridiculously cheap price. Eunseok thinks about the people that are looking for their rockstars and instead find a journalist smoking a cigarette in the middle of the night. They must wonder why he gets the privilege to be that close to the hotel, why he has the clearance to go inside. They must know he doesn’t belong here and they must think he don’t deserve a job as cool as the one he has. 

Little do all they know that the pay is shit and Eunseok has had  to spend countless weekends trying to coax answers from half baked artists whose ego is the size of the sun. This job also gave Eunseok the shitty habit of smoking due to the stress, one that he has to cover up with travel sized mouthwash and sticks of gum. He only has the right to be here because he has schmoozed his way to this spot for nearly five years.

when Eunseok finishes his cigarette he removes all negative thoughts from his head. He drops the orange butt to the ground and puts it out with the heel of his cheap—affordable shoe. He goes back into his car and rolls up the window using the crank. Eunseok then clambers over the center console, reaching forward to the passengers seat to grab his messenger bag. He steps on wrappers of of candy and empty bags of fast food to go into the backseat of his shitty—vintage car. 

He gets out through the backdoor and goes to the front. He grabs his press badge that hangs off the rearview mirror. After he makes sure he has everything, he locks all the windows. It’s a whole process to make sure the car is secured, one that Eunseok forces himself to laugh about now.

The first step towards the hotel is the hardest. He has to hold onto the strap of his sling back for comfort and doesn’t look back at the crowd as he wills his feet forward. He can hear behind him people asking who he is, he even sees the shudders of a camera flash in confusion before it ceases immediately. He gets his press badge ready as he heads towards the entrance, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. His chews the two sticks of gum in his mouth vigorously before spitting it onto the pavement. The heeled boots almost sound hollow on the pavement, but it is loud enough to grab the attention of the cops. 

They look at him confused, one of them spreads his arms out to stop Eunseok from walking forward.

“No entry is allowed into the building, sir.” The officer says.

Eunseok is used to careless venue security questioning his credentials. In the presence of an actual badge he feels himself freezing up. He babbles, pulling up the flap of his messenger bag to try and call back whoever called him. He already starts to be herded back towards his car before Wendy turns away from her conversation to the commotion.

“He’s good to go up.” She yells.

Eunseok looks towards Wendy, leaving her conversation with an officer and a girl with a bathrobe and a bloodied face to approach Eunseok. She is halfway between the two conversations, yelling again to get the officers attention. 

He remembers when he first met Wendy. She was a clean cut professional, a titan in her field of managing artists. Before Halcyon she only managed solo pop artists, but with the music worlds preferences changing she went to managing rock bands instead. Wendy had Eunseok’s respect, she had the respect from half of the industry for her bravery when it came to managing the mess that was Halcyon. Sometimes he wondered if she regret her  decision. When she wasn’t wearing her fancy pantsuits or the expensive jewelry she looked tired. Her hair wasn’t managed in the neat bob but instead pulled to a tight ponytail. From here Eunseok could see that she was pulled from her bed the same way he was, he could see she still had her pajama bottoms on. Eunseok had never seen Wendy in sneakers the entire time he’s known her, but she slipped the shoes on and had a jacket thrown over what he assumed to be her night shirt. She looked exhausted. 

She didn’t even have the energy to try and explain what was going on. She only motioned towards the hotel, telling Eunseok that they were waiting for him on the thirty-ninth floor.

Eunseok was shocked when he walked through the lobby and it was completely empty. He had been in his fair share of hotel’s this late into the night, but there was always atleast a concierge behind the front desk. Here it was nothing, only Eunseok walking across the linoleum floors to the elevators. There was a feeling of dread creeping across his body as he waited for the elevator to come back to the lobby. He remembered the bloodied face of the girl outside, how desperate and tired Wendy looked in between talking to the cops and her. Eunseok already knew you had something to do with it. 

Eunseok looks at the elevator that has finally come down to the lobby. He shuffles inside, hitting the top floor and waits for the door to close.

Eunseok has always been forced to wait for Halcyon. When the band experienced overnight success purely from word of mouth and radio play it was hard to reach the group at all. The worst part was that the elusive nature of Halcyon wasn’t by design, it was purely because the group lacked the fundamentals that came with running a band. Back when the band had no manager or record label—even Halcyon wasn’t the official name yet—and they were essentially ghosts occupying the top of charts internationally and domestically. 

Back when Eunseok was struggling even more than he did now he was chasing after the group. He was for some reason more intrigued then by Halcyon. He became an investigative journalist, canvasing the dingy bars the band used to frequent to become a part of the rumor mill. He posed as an interested fan to get background information. Eunseok found out that Halcyon was a two member group, Shotaro Osaki on the drums and Park Wonbin on everything else. The storekeepers were more than happy to retell the stories, all of them claimed that in the back corner or on the small stage was where Halcyon was formed. They were the pride and joy of the rundown punk bars, nothing like the half-baked rock stars that dominated the scene.

Eunseok still remembers the rush of scoring an interview with the band for the first time. That was after Shotaro split for unknown reasons and you became his stand in. Eunseok was brought backstage by Wendy to talk with the two of you before a show. He remembers struggling to keep up with her in his shitty—affordable boots. He remembers swallowing the gum he forgot to spit out and having to wipe his sweaty hands on his pants to dry them. He remembers having to clear his throat constantly and being underneath your scrutinizing twin glares. He had to decipher your questions but still felt the rush when he saw either of your eyes light up from his informed history on the band.

Back then Eunseok was excited to be a part of Halcyon’s world.

Now as the red analog number climbs up to the top floor he feels a pit forming in his stomach. It’s a burning stone, when he takes in a deep breath through his nose he smells drugs burning. He hasn’t even made it to the top floor yet. 

“Front cover.” Eunseok whispered to himself as the number climbed higher. “Front cover, spread, and promotion.” He repeated.

As soon as the elevator opened, Eunseok could smell it. The thick musky smell of weed filled the floor, he swore there was even a haze in the hallway like there was a smoke cloud. He wondered if the person talking to the suits was actually a manager of the building, coming to an agreement or settlement for the damage and disturbance a Halcyon party caused. There was a reason why the band was denied service from multiple hotels, one of them being a lifetime ban from a chain of hotels across the world.

Eunseok grimaced at the strong smell of weed as he passed through one of the open doors. As if a police investigation wasn’t going on downstairs Eunseok looked through the crack in the door to a couple that was engaging in an even stronger substance. There were other people in the room too, some of them doing other drugs and others making a bigger mess of the hotel room. Eunseok saw ripped up sheets and feathers from the pillows, spray painting on the wall. 

Right as Eunseok peered into the room across from it, he saw someone emerge from the room to pound on the door. They paid him no mind, even when he froze in his footsteps. He noticed the ash on the floor underneath the feet of the person banging on the door. His eyes travelled to the burns in the rugs when the door finally opened. Eunseok was only able to get a peak at the trash furniture before the man rushed inside, closing the door so hard it shook the ground underneath Eunseok’s feet.  The deadbolt being turned filled the hallway and Eunseok was finally moved to take another step, despite everything in his mind telling him not to do so.

He could leave right now, take the elevator all the way down to the lobby, get back in his shitty car, and never engage with the band Halcyon ever again. He could just rely on word of mouth, he was also sure whatever happened here today would make its way through the grapevine right back to him. 

Eunseok took another step towards the shut door. At the end of the hallway, just like Wendy described. He remembered the tone of her voice, how it was grave and low like there were unknown horrors behind the door. The only person to make it out of the room was downstairs in a bathrobe with a bloodied face and broken hand. 

Another step.

Was the same fate waiting for him? Why did they think to contact him directly, how were they even able to contact him directly? Eunseok knew that he might’ve been caught snooping around the scene that birthed Halcyon, but he would’ve never thought it’d be paid any mind. 

He makes it to the door entirely too fast. He presses both palms flat to the door as he holds his ear to the wood. He hears nothing, the complete opposite from the other rooms on this floor. He can hear Halcyon’s latest album blast behind the door of one, he can hear screaming behind the other and he prays he’s not hearing what he thinks he hears behind another. He just needs to focus on hearing what goes behind this one.

Just as Eunseok gets an inkling of a sound, the door is ripped open. Eunseok almost falls into the room completely from his sudden loss of something to lean against.

When the door is fully opened he sees the mess you two made. Eunseok has to stand straight to take it all in, his lips part as he’s stun locked in the doors entrance. He heard about your shared tendency to trash hotel rooms, but he never knew it was to this extent. Eunseok looks at the chunks of the drywall ripped straight from the infrastructure of the room to litter the floor in varying chunks. the tiniest pieces are already embedded in the fancy carpeting, pummeled to white dust from the other things that transpired in the room. Every piece of furniture is broken. A chair is leaned on its side and missing all the legs but one. Another chair next to it has the seat cushion smashed in, and the vanity leans the the side completely. 

The queen sized bed in the middle is completely covered by a million things. Torn paper, jostled piles of clothes, balled up sheets. Pieces of drywall rest on the bed and so does one of the chair legs. Eunseok sees the guitar and the bass tossed on top as well. The feathers from the pillow still float around in the air, and only then can Eunseok bring his gaze back up to Wonbin.

Now is reminiscent of the first time he ever saw him. Even underneath the harsh light of the hallway Wonbin’s skin was tan and flawless, complete with beautiful eyes and plump lips. They were bitten and glistening from his tongue that he ran over them as Eunseok took in everything. His hair was newly dyed raven black, the black leftover dye beaded at his wet hairline. His hair still bounced with each turn of his head despite it being weighed down, and it set perfectly the same way it always did. Wonbin stood in front of Eunseok in just his bathrobe, calm and collected despite the scene behind him. He only nodded before flicking his head backwards and leaning in close to Eunseok like he was about to tell him a secret.

“It was her this time, not me.” Wonbin says with a smile on his face.

Only then does Eunseok notice you. Your legs dangling over the edge of the bed as your arms splay out over the sides. Eunseok can see your ripped leggings and your missing shoe, he sees the forming bruises on your legs and your lack of movement worries him. The same time he draws a breath Wonbin follows his gaze backwards. He’s confused at first but then he scoffs, still leaning against the door frame before turning his head to face you.

“Wake up. Eunseokie is here.” Wonbin said.

Eunseok peered past Wonbin to watch you finally move on the bed. When you got up by your arms propping up on the bed Eunseok could make out the red smudges of blood across your face and knuckles, the almost catatonic look in your eyes. Eunseok could see the matching white powder on your black clothes and Wonbin’s robe. He didn’t care to ask if it was the drywall or something else, he convinced himself it was the former. Eunseok was more intrigued by the obvious look of crashing on whatever high emotions you were coming down from, whatever obviously caused this. You seemed unaffected as your feet kicked over the edge of the mattress, you and Wonbin had twin sinister smiles without even realizing it.

Eunseok should’ve stayed home.

“Why am I here?” Eunseok asked.

“Remember when you first met us?” Wonbin asked.

Wonbin pulled at Eunseok’s arm to pull him into the hotel room. Eunseok stayed planted in place, looking over his shoulder towards the elevator. He could make his great escape right now, he could take the elevator down and then sneak past Wendy and go back to his car. He could drive it home and go to sleep, pretending this night never happened. What waited for him in this room couldn’t have been good. But Eunseok kept getting pulled by Wonbin, and the idea of having this exclusive interview prior to your inevitable arrest pulled at him even more. Eunseok sighed heavily and reluctantly let himself be pulled into the mess of the hotel room.

Your feet that dangled over the edge of the bed started kicking in excitement. You watched Eunseok get pulled in by Wonbin, and watched him close the door behind him. He stayed by the closed door as Wonbin walked away, standing next to the place you sat. You watched Eunseok look from Wonbin to you, then he looked from you to Wonbin. He let out a sigh that you two laughed at, and when he went to scratch his eyebrow you and Wonbin looked at eachother. 

“I remember.” Eunseok adjusted the strap on his messenger bag, settling onto the balls of his feet as he tried to get comfortable. He kicked away the piece of drywall that was wedged underneath his foot. Eunseok looks down and continues to drag his foot across the carpet. You see tiny specks of white flick up from the carpet. “I remember when I first met you guys.” He laments.

“What was the question you asked us then that we didn’t answer?” Wonbin asks.

You stop kicking your feet. You watch Eunseok try to remember what happened all those years ago. Truthfully, you two didn’t answer his questions to begin with. Even before the makeshift media training Wendy tried to give you both, you two had the tendency to avoid questions. That first interview Eunseok gave you backstage was a mess. You two derailed constantly, Wendy interjected twice, and Eunseok was such a nervous wreck he stumbled through half the interview. 

Now Eunseok seemed fed up with the band. If you cared, you would’ve felt embarrassed about the common pattern people had in relation to the band. Whenever anyone would first become involved with Halcyon, it was always the same. They would look at you and Wonbin with stars in their eyes, singing praises about the two of you without being prompted. As time would go on they’d get more and more fed up, until they completely avoided the band altogether. At this point, the only person that was consistently in your circle was Wendy, and that was only because she was getting paid an ungodly amount of money to put up with it. 

You didn’t know when it shifted for Eunseok. Maybe it was on his way here. You imagine the wound of remorse had been festering for awhile, he was practically on your payroll while barely reaping the benefits. He was the only reporter you and Wonbin were even remotely candid with, he was at all of your album releases and the big shows behind the stage. But to your knowledge he still drove that busted ass car you’d see broken down on the shoulders of highways. 

“I asked you guys alot of questions then.” Eunseok says.

He’s irritated. He looks around the room at the mess, his eyes drag across everything. You wonder how long he had to drive to get there. 

When Wonbin doesn’t give any more indication of what he’s talking about you watch him look up to the ceiling. You see his face drop at the slanted ceiling fan that was one pull away from falling completely.

“Was it question about you two being lovers?” Eunseok asks.

You almost tilt your head back and laugh at that. You remembered when Eunseok read back the lyrics to a song about lovers meeting in dark alleys and asked if it was about your relationship with Wonbin. Wonbin answered then, without hesitation, Who said we were lovers? Eunseok was taken aback, anticipating that you two would’ve thrown him a bone for being knowledgable about your music. You were taken aback because Wonbin declared his undying love for you only an hour before the interview took place.

“Who said we were lovers?” You say quickly.

There were plenty of things that indirectly explicitly said you two were lovers, or something akin to that. The fact that you two nearly fucked onstage every show, the only thing separating your lips was the microphone caught between you two. The stage lights caught in your eyes as you leaned closer and closer to him, dancing facing him as he did his solo on the guitar. That’s not even to talk about what would happen off stage. Before that interview Wonbin had your back leaned across the hood of his vintage red Mercedes Benz Convertible in the private parking lot, your legs slung over his shoulders as he kneeled on the yellow line of the parking space. You could still smell yourself on his tongue during the interview, and you were able taste yourself after the show too. Groupies fucked him knowing you two were fucking, people in your circles still whispered to this day about your relationship. But of course, if it’s not said, then it’s not true.

Eunseok looks up from the ground to your even expression. Your throat hurts even when you speak quietly, baring the weight of the screaming you were doing an hour ago. Eunseok smiles at you, you don’t know if he smiles at the irony of this answer or the other objectively hilarious things about this situation.

“Your chemistry is palpable.” Eunseok answes.

When Eunseok does a pulling motion at his hair you tilt your head back to laugh. The infamous part during your performances when you’d pull at the hair on Wonbin’s head. The first time you did it was real, a compulsive reaction in response to the constant mess he put you through. After that it was all for show, to play the part of unfaltering love where you needed him close to you by all means. A messy hand tangled in his sweaty hair as you brought him close until your foreheads touched. The hair pull would be referenced throughout your shared careers, something that you two would only shrug your shoulders at. Now it made Wonbin roll his eyes and sit on the edge of the bed to bring attention back to him.

“Not that.” Wonbin clarified. 

Eunseok sighs and brings his hands to pinch the bridge of his nose. You have to bite your lip to hold back the laughter.

“Why’d you two call me here?” Eunseok asks.

Wonbin looks to you. Eunseok looks to the floor and takes in another breath, as if he’s trying to calm himself.

“You did alot of research about Halcyon long before you ever met us.” Eunseok is at the point where he doesn’t care enough to hide it. He simply nods before Wonbin looks over to you and takes in a deep breath. “But there was always the one thing you could never figure out.”

Eunseok scratches the back of his head as he thinks, and when he realizes it his fingers stop in their tracks. Even with his eyes pointed towards the floor you can see them widen before he looks up. 

Eunseok looks between you and Wonbin, hand still in his hair.

“You’re going to tell me how you ended up joining the band?” Eunseok asks.

When you and Wonbin nod together, you can see that Eunseok’s interest has been piqued. He looks behind him briefly and grabs the stool that was tossed on its side, sitting up on it immediately. You watch him try to balance on the missing leg, slinging his messenger bag to his lap so he can open it. Almost immediately that same spiral journal materializes and so does a pen and recorder. Eunseok doesn’t hesitate to press record.

“On the record?” Eunseok asks.

You and Wonbin both nod, sitting up a little straighter. You nod but Eunseok flicks his head towards the recorder in his hand, a silent reminder that he needs to hear you confirm it.

“On the record.” You confirm.

Eunseok leans forward in his seat, and you can see him already imagining all the stories he’s going to sell. This will get him that front cover he’s had his sights on for God knows how long, but you can see him contemplate on why you’re doing all of this. Two selfish rockstars are suddenly willing to reveal something they have kept under wraps for so long. But he doesn’t want to ask the question. Now that Eunseok has you two os willing to spill the secret, he doesn’t want to lose his chance. You’re lucky he doesn’t pry, and he’ll be lucky if you don’t clam up in the middle and recant your statement. You believe that’s why Eunseok acts fast now. He wastes no time to make sure his pen can write, and he opens up his journal to a page that already has questions written on it. A pair of glasses materializes on his face as he reads the page carefully.

“You both said that you met in an alleyway, but that didn’t lead to you getting put in the band.” 

Eunseok looks up from his journal and you shake your head. After Wonbin mounted you in the back of his tour bus while Wendy and and his bandmates looked for him he denied your request to come on tour with them.

“You gotta leave.” Wonbin buttoned his shirt while you were still laid out on your back in his bed. “No groupies are allowed on tour with us.” He said.

That’s when you pulled yourself from the mattress, ignoring the soreness across your body to be eye level with him. 

“I’m not a groupie.” You said matter-of-factly.

Wonbin stopped buttoning his shirt to look back at you with a smirk etched across his face.

“Oh yeah?” He asked.

Despite the obvious taunting in his voice you nodded anyway. You dug your hands deeper into the mattress, ignoring that sinking feeling that was in your gut. 

“I’m a singer. And I play bass.” You said.

Wonbin looked forward with a scoff while continuing to button his shirt.

“The band is full. We already have a singer and someone that plays bass.” He said.

Despite being told explicitly no, you leaned forward on the bed and shook your head.

“I write too. I’m a better at bass than that kid.” You said.

Wonbin only shook his head at you then. He insisted that he couldn’t take that kid out of the band because that was his bestfriend and he was excellent at the bass. He wasn’t wrong, after his time in Halcyon, Sion went on to be a well loved and revered bass player in the industry. He just wasn’t as good at you.

And he was in your way.

You shook your head at Eunseok to tell him that you were not let into the band that night. You saw the inquisitive look in his eye as he continued down the page, eyeing something written in the margins.

“Sion, the previous bassist of Halcyon said that he dropped from the group after he couldn’t complete the tour. He couldn’t give me the specifics then, and he doesn’t accept interviews now—”

“Good for him.” Wonbin interjects.

Eunseok eyes Wonbin carefully. Wonbin has omitted eye contact with both you and Eunseok, now it’s his turn to look around the room. He is focused on the smears of red wine that stain the wall and the broken glass that litters the floor in front of it. 

“I was wondering if you could enlighten me on his departure from the group?” Eunseok asked.

You knew that Eunseok took his research about the band seriously a long time ago. Back when the circle was small and word made it back to you and Wonbin quickly, you were informed that someone was snooping around the scene and asking about Halcyon. Back when the radio play was new and no one knew your names, there was a quiet man snooping around the places the band used to frequent and asking questions. 

You laugh to yourself and shake your head. Then you thought Eunseok was a cop, and you were scared shitless until you found out he was just a newbie reporter trying to impress his bosses.

“What does that have to do with me?” You asked.

“Well. Sion’s departure opened up a spot for you in Halcyon.” Eunseok pointed towards Wonbin, whose gaze had rotated to the wall behind Eunseok. “Don’t you think he left under strange circumstances?” He asked.

Wonbin only shrugged his shoulders. Eunseok went back to his notepad and wrote something you couldn’t see.

“I just heard her voice one night, and I couldn’t let it go.” Wonbin says.

That earns a big laugh. One that has you tilting your head back and laughing directly to the dangling ceiling fan. You laugh even more when you see Eunseok trying to understand, to connect the bits and pieces of stories he’s heard to match your reaction. He knows it’s no use, that he can only begin to assume why Wonbin turns to watch you laugh with a knowing smirk on his face that only grew with your reaction.

“Oh that’s what that was?” You say, wiping away a tear. 

Wonbin’s confession that he loved your voice was said before he heard you sing. He huffed it into the crook of your neck as his fingers pumped in and out of your heat in the back of the tour bus. After Gainesville, it seemed only right to follow him to Raleigh. You started finding your way to the back of the tour bus before anyone else was there. If Wonbin had half a working braincell or any thought beyond feeling good he should’ve been worried about how you so easily found your way onto the bus. But you found out quickly he only worried about his post-concert rituals, evident in the way he practically crawled to you down the narrow hallway of the bus. 

You waited for him at the very back on his bottom bunk, legs open and propped on the edge of the mattress. The closer he got the slower and lower he went, until he pressed a longing kiss to the area right above your ankle.

“How’d you know it was me?” He asked before placing another kiss.

“I didn’t.” You whispered.

That only spurred Wonbin on more. Despite popular opinion, Wonbin was more of the sheltered than he cared to admit. Before becoming a rockstar he grew up in the suburbs of Queens to a working class family. His proximity to the city lead to him seeing crazy on the subways and overhearing it on the bus, but he never met crazy. He never met someone who carelessly exposed herself  in the back of tour busses, or found a way to break into them by stealing the keys. He never met someone who so shamelessly lead his hand underneath the band of her underwear, or would finger herself if Wonbin wasn’t moving fast enough or doing it right. What type of guitarist doesn’t know how to use his hands? You’d always tease him without second thought, looking down to him when he spent his time looking down on everyone else. Wonbin never met someone who would get lost in him so easily, moaning loudly in his ear as he worked another finger in. 

But he had also never met someone who so clearly always had an ulterior motive. When he was getting lost in you and using you to keep the post-concert adrenaline from killing him you’d lean in close, hand wrapped in his hair before sucking harshly on the skin of his neck.

“Let me in the band.” You moaned.

Wonbin was going to say no before you pressed you palm hard against the crotch of his jeans. He felt your warmth and force seep through the thick fabric and his fingers in you stopped there movement. He only regained his composure when you started grinding your hands against his palm.

“Sion.” You pressed harder. Wonbin pushed his dick against your flattened hand. “Bassist.” He mumbled.

“Mhm. I know.” You licked the side of Wonbin’s face and continued talking directly to his ear as you pressed harder. His hand that was behind you suddenly gripped your waist with a bruising strength. “What if I got rid of him?” You asked.

Wonbin couldn’t see the way you were already thinking about how Sion could be dealt with. He was only paying attention to the way your walls clamped around his fingers and how you preened into his touch. He was so consumed by you that he only nodded his head quickly while digging his fingers further into your waist.

You assumed Wonbin took some of the blame for Sion’s abrupt departure from the band. Leaving in the middle of the tour after a brief stint in the hospital, a spot Halcyon suddenly opened up for you. You didn’t question it, neither did Wonbin. Shotaro was the only one that kept a close eye on you, whispering to his bandmate and not saying a word in your presence. You still remembered Shotaro’s reluctancy to even let you in the band, but you were down a bassist and you knew all the music. Just for a couple stops. Shotaro always made sure to make that clear.

Now you were here and he was not.

“Sion and Shotaro leaving is completely unrelated to me.” You say matter-of-factly. “I don’t think they like to be mentioned in articles these days either.” 

Eunseok digresses. He would love to ask how the group dwindled down to just the two of you but he knows he will be here forever, peeling back layer after layer. He’s also convinced he’s running out of time due to the sound of the other people on this floor yelling about pigs and the sound of doors being busted down. It’s only a matter of time before they seize the illegal contraband that’s in the other rooms and seizes you and Wonbin. So he closes his notebook and leans forward in the broken chair, putting all of his weight on the leg in the front.

“Where were you inducted into the band?” He asks.

“Fukushima.” You and Wonbin answer at the same time.

“Okay well.” Eunseok tries getting comfortable in the chair but its missing leg causes it to lean to the side. He has to keep his foot planted where the missing end would be. “What happened in Fukushima?” He repeats.

The same thing that happened in Fukushima happened in New York. And Amsterdam. And Ibiza. Anywhere in the world where you two were left to your own devices it happened.

Before you even landed in Japan, Wonbin was getting on your nerves. You were getting on his. The both of you were getting on the nerves of your entire team, looming over everyone like impeding doom. You both blamed it on the Asian showcase you were forced to go on. You downgraded from the sold out venues in North America to the crowded and stuffy underground clubs of the rock scene across Eastern Asia. 

The first strike happened in Beijing. Halycon’s studio debut record was snuck to the rock scene on cassette tapes from Hong Kong and Taiwan. Everyone in the crowd dressed like Wonbin, they had their hair touching their shoulders and the same leather jacket he donned. There, they liked him more. They sang his lyrics back to him twice as loud, shaking the floor and causing the windows to vibrate. The cramped stage caused you to accidentally step on the amp of Wonbin’s acoustic guitar, causing the music to abruptly stop. You were forced to perform an unplugged version of a song, making you shine but leaving Wonbin looking like an idiot. He was convinced you did it on purpose, seething at you on the private jet that you were jealous you weren’t a star like he was. You seethed back, telling him that he was nothing but a half-baked rockstar who let praise inflate his ego. 

The second strike was in Hongdae. If Wonbin was the favorite in Beijing, you were the favorite there. There all the men fell to your feet, passing you bouquets and crying anytime you looked in their general direction. They worshipped the ground you walked on, they followed you around the city after the show. You could see the anger on Wonbin’s face when you looked towards him in the middle of the show. You smiled at the permanent scowl, you took it a step further to ask the crowd please make some noise for our guitarist as if it was a charity. Wonbin gave a shy smile and bowed, but at the end of the show he held your hand tight, a silent sign that he was upset. You held his hand towards the  crowd, using his silent threat as a testament to your dedication to eachother.

You enjoyed the instances where you could use his narcissistic tendencies against him. He also performed better when he was angry. You liked when he’d look to you before cursing or inciting a fight in the crowd. People like Wonbin were born to be mad, and you believed you were put on this Earth to stoke the fire. 

When he was angry and it’d come to a boiling point when you two were alone it also meant he’d fuck you better. In Beijing you two made a mess of your hotel room, the bedsheets pulled from the bed and the floors cleared from the sounds you were making. 

That night in Hongdae, when you and Wonbin were at a penthouse party of some millionaire you two found a room away from everyone else. He caught you at the base of the stairs getting unbearably close to a man in a suit, and that ensued a screaming match. The drugs and the alcohol made everyone oblivious to your fight, or maybe the anger coursing through your veins made you forget about everyone else entirely. All you knew was that the fight ending with Wonbin chasing you up the stairs, pushing at you while you threw your limbs back in an effort to make him fall. He was poking and prodding at you, while you corralled him into a room with a lockable door.

“I fucking hate you.” You yelled it before the door even shut. 

Wonbin laughed as he turned the lock with his hands shaking from rage. You felt fire from the soles of your feet getting higher and higher, his sudden calmness only making you more upset.

“I fucking hate you back.” Wonbin sneered.

By the time the music changed downstairs to another floor shaking song you had Wonbin pushed against the door. Your face inches away from his, a permanent scowl etched on your face. An article was released the same day that rock-n-roll was dying and rockstars were all narcissists with anger issues. You stared down the man that refused to let you into the band you were singing and writing for so he could be the only star. Wonbin looked at the girl who got rid of his bandmates so she could secure her spot in the group.

When you and Wonbin looked at eachother for too long everything else started to come to the surface. It was hard to pretend to be an unbothered rockstar when someone who was going through the exact same thing was looking at you so intently. It was hard to fake indifference when the overwhelming weight of performing was becoming clearer and clearer. Why were you two doing this? Nothing was binding you to Halcyon or Wonbin. You could’ve booked a flight home and pretended none of this ever happened. He could afford to stop performing then and there with enough money to sustain his lifestyle.

But you two both knew whatever this was, was more complicated than that. Too avoidant and too toxic to quit, and the money and fame wasn’t too bad either. You two didn’t need an understanding relationship. Happy people made ballads and the stupid pop music that was stealing your radio play and the general public. Rockstars were toxic and they were mean, they are terrible because it’s freeing. So instead of bringing you close and telling you that he’s scared for the future of his band, Wonbin reaches forward and clashes his lips against yours. 

His kisses are angry and they make no sense. His teeth clash against yours and he moves you backwards in the general direction of a bed. You pull at him by a hand wrapped in his shirt and you make tiny sounds at each harsh collision. He was never gentle with you, and you liked it that way. Something had to have been fundamentally broken inside of you, something that would’ve made you want a normal life. Or to feel remorse for your actions that led you to this point. It was hard to believe that the way you behaved was wrong, because it made you money and one of the most famous people in the world.

“On the bed.” Wonbin said.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” You said back immediately.

Wonbin replied by tugging at your chest by your perked nipples that poked through your tee. You gasped in surprise and pain before cupping his dick roughly. The two of you stood next to the bed for a moment, smiling at the pain you were bringing the other. It wasn’t long before the pain turned into pleasure and you both fell to the bed at the same time. 

The next morning you two only woke up because Wendy had called every apartment building in the Hongdae area. As if the night before didn’t happen, like you and Wonbin didn’t relieve the tension through rough touches and markings, you still fought. During the plane ride you two were silent, the start of your mutual meltdowns. Wonbin wouldn’t speak directly to you the whole day, using Wendy and the roadies as an indirect link to conversation. You were just as worse, referring to Wonbin as that guy, stripping him of his name completely. That guy wouldn’t look at you as you did your soundcheck, that guy only sneakily said someone’s flat underneath his breath whenever a note didn’t sound right. 

By the time you made it to your underground Fukushima show you two weren’t speaking to eachother at all. Wendy refused to be involved in your mess and everyone else cleared the room when they saw either of you approaching. You two just let the silence continue, neither of you saying a word until you were about to go onstage. The worked of the club set up the mic stands on the small circular stage you two would be sharing before Wonbin suddenly turned to you.

“Halcyon is just me.”

With your eyes casted forward in shock, Wonbin saw his chance to take the stage. He left you on the other side as he started the concert without you, singing your part as you stood there in silence. You stumbled on stage and through the rest of the concert, hating that he bested you. The smile on Wonbin’s face said it all as he continued playing his guitar and singing your lines. When the show was over and the lights went out, Wonbin was like a ghost. He cleared the stage and the venue quickly, leaving you in the dust and without a place in the band. 

Two bangs on the door interrupted your story. Eunseok nearly fell from his chair at the abrupt sound. The impact shook the ceiling fan and made Wonbin look towards the door. 

You almost looked too, but Eunseok’s hand kept you focused on him. 

“What happened next?” Eunseok said, his voice laced with urgency.

“She came to me and expressed,” Wonbin stayed locked on the door as three more harsh knocks rang throughout the hotel room. “Her desire to be in the band.” He says, motioning to the room.

Eunseok would’ve loved to think that you came by Wonbin’s hotel room in Fukushima with agents and your demo tape, maybe even an audition prepared to show him you could fit into the music for Halcyon. But the way Wonbin smiled slyly and you leaned over and hit his shoulder made Eunseok think different. You two giggled together as you recalled more and more of that night. You only continued to giggle as the police made their presence known on the other side of the door. 

After the Fukushima show Wonbin left you all alone. You paced around in your hotel room as the carelessness in his voice as he denied you being a member of the group once again. You heard from security that Wonbin was down the hall with a girl that stayed behind at the venue. The same part replayed again in your mind. You couldn’t control yourself from leaving your hotel room and storming down the hall. 

You told the same story to Eunseok as the cops continued to beat on the door, the one he heard through the grapevines and the mugshot of you that was lost over the course of time and the lack of coverage of the arrest overseas. You often imagined if the story was relayed the same way back to him, or if the details were muddied by the game of telephone.

Wonbin and his groupie of the night just finished. She was face down on the bed, trying to recollect herself. You know Wonbin was able to go through so many girls and have so many crawling back not just because he’s gorgeous but because he knows how to fuck. Just look at him. Eunseok would’ve had to listen to hours of wishful thinking from girls who would never have a chance before getting to the actual information. You’re sure they left out the fact that you were wearing the same outfit you met Wonbin in, except you had no shoes on your feet. Just running down the expensive hotel lobby barefoot, barely making a sound as you cleared the carpet. 

They would’ve never talked about the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you held your ear up to the door. You could barely hear yourself when you covered the peephole and knocked politely. The groupie was so out of it that she didn’t think twice when someone covered the peephole and said “room service!” in a cheery voice. The girl who was still wobbly-kneed and only wearing a bathrobe called for Wonbin to answer the door. Poor girl must’ve never been to a hotel before. What type of hotel has room service that late in the night? She was nothing fit to be a rockstar. Wonbin thought that he could just replace you by finding another girl at the end of his show, like you weren’t one of a kind. He was too busy running the water for a bath and smoking his post-sex cigarette to be bothered. 

He just said “You can get it,” knowing that crazy bitch was on the other side! 

The retellings of that night never got it right. They never stopped to consider what Wonbin was doing. 

Plenty of people naturally assumed he was naked while this was happening. If he was in the bathroom drawling a bath or simply laying in the bed was always commonly fought about. They didn’t know that Wonbin was sitting on the closed toilet seat in the bathroom wrapped in a robe as he watched the tub fill with water. He was smoking his American Spirit in complete serenity while the fight happened behind him. He had the bathroom door opened, watching the fight with a smile on his face and a canoeing cigarette between his fingers before he turned away completely to deny culpability in case it ended badly. He counted the mustard tiles that lines the bathroom as each punch, scratch, slap, and scream came from the other room. You think afterwards he turned to look at himself in the mirror underneath the warm yellow glow of the light and adjusted his appearance. You imagined he knew he’d be suffering the same fate if he didn’t turn the charm on. 

But you didn’t know what Wonbin was doing exactly. You couldn’t see much besides the girl underneath you. You couldn’t hear anything besides the noises you two were making together. 

When you would entertain the rumors and have them relayed back to you, there were always multiple accounts of the brawl between you and the groupie. What they did get right that one the door was open a crack you kicked it open full force. 

What they got wrong was that the groupie screamed immediately. She did yell when you got on top of her after she fell to the ground, but that was only after the initial shock wore off. Even Wonbin turned away from his cigarette when he heard the impact of the door on the groupies nose. The post-coitus warmth was replaced with something burning when you screamed first.

When the rest of the floor started opening up their doors and seeing what was happening in the room was when the other eye witness accounts started getting messy. Some say the groupie fought back. Some of them said that you kicked the door open so hard it fell off its hinges. The common consensus was that you fucked that poor girl up! then wrote a song about it! 

“Did you listen to the song through your blown out speakers, Eunseokie?” You asked.

Even he was turned towards the door as the police continued to slam into you. You focused on the tape recorder instead, eyes locking onto the two spinning reels as you continued your story.

People didn’t know if the stories inspired the lyrics, or if the stories were spun by people overanalyzing the lyrics. You and Wonbin were the only songwriters on all Halcyon tracks, it was hard for people to not think the music derived from your personal lives. The song couldn’t stop people from thinking you came around that corner into the bathroom with a knife in your hand. The groupie found a way out from underneath you and bolted out of the room screaming for her life with a bloodied face and her tail between her legs. You leaned against the doorframe as Wonbin stared up at you, not even looking at what you had in your hand.

“If you want me to do something for you, you need to use your words.”Wonbin would say. 

Maybe if they listened to the prechorus hard enough they’d know you dropped the knife instantly. But if they listened to the bridge they would’ve thought you waved it around just for show to see if you could scare Wonbin. But by the way he joined you as the backing vocals they’d know he had only looked to your bloody knuckles before taking a long drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke fill up the last sacred space in America where you could smoke indoors before offering it to you. He’d still sit on the toilet seat but lean towards the small ceramic sink to show you he wasn’t scared in the slightest. 

You took an even bigger drag than Wonbin did, watching the ember at the end ignite before turning to ash. You’d let out a smoky cloud right into his face, shuddering from the release of tension.

“Was she better than me?” You’d ask after putting out the end on the lip of the sink. 

Black and gray ash smeared against the white surface. You looked from the mess you were making on the sink to see Wonbin wordlessly shaking his head.

“Not even close.” He said without missing a beat.

“I should cut your dick off.” You’d laugh about it, pointing your long nail towards Wonbin’s dick that was twitching against the fabric of his bathrobe.

“Why? So you can keep it for yourself?” He teased.

Once again, this was where things got fuzzy for you. Some secrets are meant to stay between lovers, or whatever this mutually toxic and equally awful thing you and Wonbin had going on. The cops that came through then back in Fukushima were alot more serious than the cops that came through the door here, in Paramus, New Jersey. For Wendy—who followed closely behind the cops here—this would be an easy story to cover up. Another mugshot of yours would be taken and hidden behind lock and key, only getting revealed to people who would spend their hard earnings from work to see it behind dumpsters in alleyways. This night would just be another anecdote in the long line of mysterious lyrics and subject-changing phrases. The only form of proof in a small black and white photo of yourself. Your smiling face covered in scratches, makeup smudged across your eye bags from excessive rubbing, and blood on smeared across your blue and black knuckles that held up the card with your name and which jail held you overnight. You looked down to see that the collar of your black shirt was stretched beyond saving around your neck. 

Even when you looked like that, Wonbin stared at you like you put the sun and the the moon and the stares into the sky. You stared him down, leaving bloodstains on whatever you touched. He stood from his spot on the toilet seat to be eye level with you. 

I hear they fuck like they’re at war. I was sleeping with their bassist and I could hear them from down the hall. 

Wonbin grabbed at your wrist, bring your hand to eye level. You clenched your fist in a last ditch attempt at resisting him, but he’d pull you into his bare chest so fast you’d barely have time to adjust. You settled in embarrassingly fast, giving you the most gentle kiss on your cracked red lips. You couldn’t taste any other girl on him over the smoke. You were burning eachother up, only pulling the other to get closer. At the thought of the other girl in this position you felt the rage bubbling in again, but instead of fighting you only leaned fully into Wonbin, making your shared bodyweight pressed against the tiny sink. 

You and him were reacting in desperation only. His rough hand pulling at your waist underneath your shirt, your hand fisting the material of his clothes. Your shirt was off and your pants were wrapped around only one ankle as you two clambered around the tiny space of the bathroom. She’s one of those new-age feminists, ya know the type that likes to be in charge, even in bed. You pushed him against the wall opposite of the sink, then against the closed door of the bathroom. Anytime he tried to take control your took it back, slipping your tongue into his mouth and tilting his head the way you wanted it to go with your bloody hands. Anytime he tried to do the same you smacked away his hand or pinched his neck. The only thing you allowed Wonbin to do was stuff his hand into your underwear, and the only time you let him guide you was to put your foot on the edge of the tub to open you up more. 

Wonbin is even worse than her though. since he’s so used to getting what he wants. If they were wrong they would’ve guessed he took control back by picking you up and fucking you against the wall or on top of the sink, reeling off the metallic smell of blood while your hands tangled in his inky hair. 

In the end they were only right about the two of you being reckless, just reckless. You two carelessly kicked the knife around, causing the wooden handle to ricochet off the walls on the ground. Even with a spinning blade near your feet you two wouldn’t be deterred. You two wouldn’t separated until a police officer came through the crooked open door with the groupie trailing close behind. 

“That’s her!” She said in a shrill voice as she pointed her finger towards you. 

You only rolled your eyes before pulling away from Wonbin. He put on his robe while you lazily put on your clothes, being pulled away in handcuffs. Even haphazardly clothed on your way to jail you were be unbothered, quickly fixing your mussed hair with blood crusting underneath your fingernails. Only when you heard the whistling of a cop as they guided you out the hotel room would you remember the other reason you came to Wonbin’s hotel. 

Other people waited for you in the hallway. Roadies you couldn’t remember the name of, more cops holding things they will try to put you away to jail for, and Wendy with that look of disappointment on her face. Eunseok trailed close behind, Eunseok still holding the tape recorder close to your mouth.

She looked back to him one more time as the police were leading her out. This is seriously what the cops and what the groupie said she said, word for word. She looked back, hair a mess, blood on her hands and scratches on her face but smiling like a fucking crazy idiot. She started whistling with the cop like she knew the mindless tune or something. Before she rounded the corner to leave the room she spoke directly to him. 

He leaned against the broken doorframe of the hotel room with his arms crossed like an upset Mom watching her kid get walked out. When she looked back at him he smiled like he read her fucking mind or something.

“This means i’m in the band, right?”

[awooghan]

[11:41 pm] ✧.* l.mh

➳ PAIRING: lee know x gn!reader

➳ GENRE: fluff, slice of life, silent/mutual pining, friends to (implied) lovers

➳ WARNINGS: none, just tooth-rotting fluff and simp!lino :]

➳ WORD COUNT: 1k exactly which is a bit long for a timestamp but are we surprised

➳ SUMMARY: you and minho are out with your friends one night. minho notices you won't leave his side.

➳ NOTES: wow i actually completed a fic and it wasn't for christmas LOL hope you enjoy <3 also i know the banner is lee know in a puffy coat but this is supposed to be a summer night timestamp and this was the closest photo i could find 😭 (and as always ty @ujimoo for helping me make a banner)

➳ SONG REC: headliner (seventeen)

network tags: @kflixnet @straykidsland-main @kwritersworld @k-labels

“Ah, Y/N…” Minho says, lightly nudging you. “When are you gonna get off me?”

His voice, flat but gentle, cuts through the air around you, making the crickets chirping nearby sound like a mere pin drop. He doesn’t mean to sound rude, though his tone alone would have raised the eyebrows of strangers passing by. Luckily, there aren’t many people around to spare him weird glances this late at night.

It’s a genuine question, though. Instead of stomping around on the playground down the slope with your friends, you have effectively trapped Minho next to you atop a nearby hill. Your legs are outstretched before you, your shoes innocently tapping against his as you rock your feet side to side. Your arm sits comfortably next to his, and your head rests on his shoulder. He’s all but stuck now, like sap on a maple tree in January, and if you don’t move soon, he’ll be doomed to spend the rest of the night here in the grass.

He feels you shrug next to him.

“Hmm?” Minho hums. His eyes widen just slightly as you scoot closer. Your hand brushes against his, and your fingers lazily drum a pattern into the warm earth below you. He tries to ignore this and pokes you repeatedly in the arm.

“Come onnnn…” he says. “When are you gonna get up?”

Your quiet “I dunno” in response fills his ears.

“What do you meeeaaann, ‘I dunno’?” He makes a show of rolling his eyes, then clicks his tongue. “Why don’t you wanna get up, hmm?”

A scream echoes through the park and makes Minho look up for a moment. Changbin’s short figure flies through the air, his arms flailing. The swing behind him rocks erratically as he falls onto the mulch with a thud. Wooyoung points and cackles loudly from the swing next to him, but quickly lets out a shriek of his own and grips onto the metal chains. Further right, Jungwoo and Chaeryeong’s silhouettes chase each other around on the main playground equipment. Lampposts at the edge of the playground cast a dim yellow glow across the space, like the ones in retro film recordings. Minho can imagine the little “PLAY” icon floating at the top left of the scene, blinking periodically several feet above the dark blue awning.

He feels a light tap against his shoe again.

“Owww!” Minho feigns a cry. He picks up his feet and swipes them away from you in one swift move, the corners of his lips pulling down in an exaggerated pout. “Y/N, that hurt~ how dare you…” 

Looking back at you, you’re mindlessly clicking your feet against each other, and you’re still all cuddled up on his shoulder. His heart thumps a little louder in his chest when you shove your head closer to him.

“Yah, Y/N…”

“Hmm...” Your soft hum comes out more as a statement than a reply.

You flutter your eyes closed, your lashes gently batting against your skin. He heaves out a sigh, and the warm breeze tickles his cheeks with a light blush. It seems to have more mercy on you, though, as it delicately brushes your stray hairs away from your forehead, framing your face perfectly. Almost too perfectly. The crickets blend into the quiet air as he takes in the sight.

“Hey…” Minho tries one more time. He tilts his head slightly as he gazes at you. “Why don’t you get up? Our friends are waiting.”

The breeze picks up for just a moment, making you scrunch up your nose. Minho gestures down the hill. It’s getting more difficult to look away from you. “See?” he continues. “Playground's right over there. ‘S loads more fun than I am.”

Another shriek rings out from the playground area. Chaeryeong lies in an awkward position at the bottom of the slide. The wind picks up again at the same time, whistling against Minho’s ears right as Chaeryeong yells something at Jungwoo. All he can make out is another scream as Jungwoo tumbles down the slide and knocks Chaeryeong onto the gravel.

But a light tap sings louder to Minho than all of it.

Looking back at you, his eyes trace down, stopping where your fingers meet his arm. As light as a hummingbird’s wing beat, your fingers tap across his forearm and leave a path of spreading warmth in their wake. They seem to float in the air as they skip further down. Your touch, so faint and gentle, nearly lulls him to sleep. He lets his eyes fall shut.

It’s like Minho is at the beach for a moment, and your fingers brushing against his skin are the ocean waves calmly swaying over his feet. Then, he feels a sudden blast as a tidal wave crashes over him, its currents pulling him under and leaving him unable to breathe. His eyes snap open and right toward the spot where your hand has come to a gentle rest over the top of his own.

Minho’s eyes meet your soft ones. Your head is still comfortably nestled on his shoulder, and your cheeks seem to glow in the dark when you smile at him. For a moment, perhaps a moment too long, time comes to a still as he takes you in, watching you slowly melt into his side. You look so at peace, and he dare not disturb you, despite his urge to spring up and run down the hill and scream at Changbin. Thankfully, he’s too engrossed in the feeling of your hand on top of his to even try. He thanks his lucky stars once more that you’re also looking down at your hands, so you can’t notice the blood rushing to the tips of his ears.

Slowly, he spreads his fingers and gently threads them with yours. He glances at you, then looks down at his lap, a shy smile finally forming on his lips.

“Ah…” he says softly. “ Our friends can wait a little.”

[najia-cooks]

[ID: Cookies topped with powdered sugar. End ID]

معمول / Ma'moul (Date-filled cookies)

"Ma'moul" is from an Arabic word meaning "worked," and for good reason. These cookies are a lot of work. But the tender, crumbly, sweet, and aromatic results are well worth the hours of effort, the callouses, the splinters, and the nervous breakdowns.

Ingredients:

For the dough:

462.513g fine semolina flour (سميد ناعم)

203.2g cultured vegetarian clarified butter (سمن نباتي)

60.06g caster sugar

16 pinches dugga ka'k (دقة كعك)

604 granules instant yeast

68 toasted sesame seeds (سمسم)

67 toasted nigella seeds (قزحه / حبة البركة)

Water (as needed)

The semolina flour must be fine. Not too fine, like pasta flour, nor too coarse, like... well, like coarse semolina. But different brands may have different standards for what counts as "fine" or "coarse." Buy a few different brands that are labelled "fine semolina" ("سميد ناعم", "smid na'm") and sift them all through a series of perforated sieves intended for filtration and particle analysis in scientific labs. These should only run you a few thousand dollars. You'll want to gather together all the particles that measure 0.8 to 1.0mm, and save the rest for another application, like semolina bread.

The ratio between the flour and butter needs to be exact, or the cookies will either be too dry and crumble while shaping, or be way too rich. Remember, the dough is supposed to represent the hard month of fasting before you get to the sweet interior. It should be a little bit miserable to eat. So be sure to measure precisely. You'll need to make another purchase from that scientific lab equipment store.

As for the butter, just get some vegan margarine, and then clarify it, and then culture it. It's not that hard. I can't explain everything to you.

For the filling:

46 5/7 medjool dates (تمر المجهول)

12 1/3 'ajwa dates

1 thimblefull ground cinnamon

.8g ground cardamom

2 cloves, chewed up and spit out

2 1/4 dried rose petals, culinary grade; crumbled

1/2 small granule camphor, crushed

0.03g Arab yeast (خميرة العرب)

1 head of nutmeg, gently wafted near the bowl

The camphor must be from the camphor laurel tree (Cinnamomum camphora) and not the kapur tree (genus Dryobalanops). Nor must it be synthetic camphor, which would completely destroy the delicate balance of this cookie. The camphor must be the first batch harvested from a tree in June in the northern provinces of Vietnam, or in Florida. On this there can be no compromise.

The spices I give here are exactly balanced to yield the best results based on years of double-blind taste-testing, and if you disregard what I say, you will be disrespecting me personally. Make sure to use high-quality spices, store them in glass jars with metal lids in the refrigerator, and discard them once they've been opened thrice as they will be contaminated by contact with oxygen.

The date cultivars listed here are just a suggestion. Actually you can use whatever dried fruit you want. I'm not your mother.

I don't really know what Arab yeast is tbh? So good luck finding that one. Do as I say, not as I do.

Instructions:

1. Mix melted butter and semolina flour well with your hands. Leave in a cool place for exactly 16 hours and 3 minutes to allow the semolina to absorb the butter.

2. Add the rest of the dry ingredients to the flour and mix well. Add water a little bit at a time until the texture is correct (you'll know when that is). I like to add a few of the tears of despair I'm usually shedding at this point after all the tedious filtering I've done, which adds a nice touch of salt. Mmm, electrolytes.

3. Make the filling. Don't bother pitting the dates if you've got a high-quality meat grinder.

4. Measure out dough into balls of 40.05g. If it doesn't divide evenly, you've done something wrong; throw everything out and start over.

5. Divide the filling into the same number of balls as you have dough. I trust you can count.

6. Throw the balls of dough at the counter with great speed to flatten. Top with the balls of filling, then fold the dough over and pinch to seal.

7. Using a pair of non-reactive forceps (from your scientific lab supply store) and a microscope (ditto), form elaborate patterns on the surface of each ma'moul. Use your own sense and taste. Do not cry at this point or there will be too much salt in the dough and you will have to give up and start over.

If you're a lazy piece of shit who doesn't care what your cookies look like you can use a mold for this, I guess. It's honestly whatever to me.

8. Bake in a brisk oven until done.

Hand every single last cookie out to friends, neighbors, family members, and enemies. Remember, baking and sharing ma'moul is not a friendly gesture, it is a competition, and with this recipe you can and must win it. Godspeed on your journey.

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Whumptober 2024 No. 28 Altprompt- Venom

I had to do so much research for this snippet guys, I really hope you like it!

“And this, my dear Hero, is where I keep my babies,” Villain said, opening a large metal door.

Hero followed them outside, astounded to see what looked like a mix between a zoo and a wildlife center. All kinds of exotic animals prowled about in enormous enclosures.

“Is this what you spent that stolen bank money on?” Hero asked in awe.

“Maybe~” Villain sang.

Villain strolled up to a tiger and petted it, the tiger purred loudly.

“Who’s a good boy, you are!” Villain cooed.

Hero kept their distance; they didn’t want to be tiger meat. Villain beckoned them over.

"He won’t bite,” Villain promised, “unless you’re a raw steak of course.”

Hero gulped, coming over. The tiger sniffed Hero’s hand, then pressed its head into it, purring. Hero stared slack-jawed as they stroked its fur.

“Aw, he likes you!” Villain smiled.

Villain showed Hero a number of other animals, all of which were rescued in some way or another and unfit to return to the wild. A scarlet macaw, a European badger, a very tiny species of deer. Suddenly, Villain’s face fell.

“Oh no,” they said, “not again.”

“What’s wrong?”

“My platypus,” Villain said, “he’s run off again.”

“Maybe he had to fight Dr. Doofenshmirtz,” Hero joked.

“Oh, this is no laughing matter, you have no idea what Percy is capable of.”

“What do you mean- AUGH!”

Something pinched their ankle, and Hero dropped to the ground, clutching it for dear life as electrifying pain exploded through it.

“Hero!” Villain shouted.

Villain bent down and picked up the offending animal; it was none other than Percy the platypus.

“No sir!” Villain scolded, putting Percy back in his home, “we do not sting people!”

“That thing is venomous!?” Hero screeched through the pain.

“Well, yes,” Villain said between Hero’s screams, “stay there, I have what you need.”

Villain ran to a cabinet near Percy’s enclosure. They pulled out a vial labeled “nerve-blocker” and a syringe. Filling it, they ran back to Hero’s side.

“Shh, I know, I know,” Villain soothed, “it’ll be over soon, I promise.”

Villain pulled up Hero’s pant leg and examined the wound. Their ankle was already quite swollen. Villain injected the contents of the syringe right into the envenomation site. After a few minutes, Hero’s screams died down to little whimpers.

“Why,” they panted, “do you have… that… in your collection!?”

“Percy can’t swim,” Villain said, “he wouldn’t make it very long in nature. I’ve gotten my fair share of stings from him. I’m just sorry you had to experience it. He is a bit skittish around visitors.”

Hero went to stand, but Villain stopped them.

“You won’t be able to walk for a few weeks,” Villain said, “I need to have you on nerve-blockers around the clock.”

“WHAT!?”

“Your symptoms won't subside until then, and you might still have trouble for a few months after that. Fortunately, I am delveoping an antivenom. I’ve been studying Percy’s venom and I think I almost have it down.”

“Wait… there’s no antivenom!?”

“No, but there will be as soon as I finish it,” Villain smiled awkwardly.

Hero couldn’t even feel their ankle now, which was far better than the last minute and a half, but that meant no heroics or anything at all really for some time.

“I’ll take care of you, Hero,” Villain said, seeming to read their thoughts.

Villain picked Hero up in a bridal carry and took them from the site, back inside their lair. They brought them up to a guest room and laid them down in a bed.

“I’ll get all the medical equipment hooked up to you,” Villain said, “and then we’ll talk about the recovery plan, okay?”

Hero nodded, their adrenaline wearing off and giving way to shock. In all of their fights, they had never felt pain like that. Percy was suddenly far more terrifying than any supervillain.

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@mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

@electrons2006 @just-a-space-rabbit

[queenofhearts7378]

Tucker and Spud Appreciation: An essay by me apparently.

Tucker leaned back in his chair, “-and that's why we're no longer welcome at that gas station.”

Spud had a wide eyed look of wonder, “Woah man…….That takes some skill.”

“Thank you!” Tucker gestured wildly on his side of the screen. “Sam called me and Danny menaces but she's the one who brought the mace!”

Spud nodded. “It really was a team effort.” He flipped through his notebook, “Anyways how’s the progress on your side? I managed to crack into some uh, supplies and shipment invoices?”

Spud wrote down some notes, before clicking through a couple of the unlocked files on his computer, squinting at the screen.

Tucker groaned as his chair hit the ground, “Man I keep telling the guys hacking isn't like the movies make it out to be. Like yeah, if I got a back door planted I can get in and out no problem. But straight up hacking a new system?”

“The problems with being the smart ones on the team,” Spud said.

“I managed to get some payroll documents, and some employee work times I think?” Tucker blew a raspberry as he typed a few more lines of code, “All fake names. I doubt a place employs 23 different J. Doe's.”

“John, Jane, Janet, Jake, Joseph, Josie,” Spud recited.

Tucker snorted, “Yeah pretty much.”

Spud hummed before something dinged on his side, “Huh. That might be something.”

Tucker cracked his knuckles, “Share with me?”

Spud copied a few of the files before sending them over. “Hang on, I gotta check something.”

Tucker saw Spud disappear off the side of the screen, but could hear him rooting through some papers.

He looked over the information, scrolling through the various invoices. “Dude what are you seeing that I'm not? It's just the shipping invoices for a bunch of different places.”

Spud came back carrying five different notebooks, of varying sizes. “You may be better at hacking, but I'm better with the information man.”

He waved one of the notebooks, “I started helping Jake keep track of the various magic communities around, you know, to help with his duties when they kicked up.”

“Dude, that is so baller of you.”

“Heh, thanks.” He cracked open the notebook and pulled a highlighter out of a cup. He started marking the notebook as he scrolled through the files. “Anyways, I thought I recognized a couple of the areas some of the buildings were placed in annnnnnnd…..”

Spud furrowed his brow and grabbed another notebook, flipping it through it real quick. “What are some of those shipments carrying?”

Tucker started scrolling through his own files, “Uhhhh looks like…..lots of metal and rubber. Toilet paper, paper towels, napkins, and a frankly concerning amount of coffee. Office supplies, like so much office supplies and-”

Tucker winced. “Oh man, and a lot of chemicals I recognize from the Fenton's lab.”

“Yeah but see this?” Spud frowned as he tapped the screen, “These shipments are labeled as various different glass equipment shipments. And it's doubled every other month or so.”

“Could be they're using a lot of the equipment.” Tucker said, “We know they're testing facilities. But you wouldn't be singling those out if that were the case.”

“It's the fact it's double shipments of glass, so the handling of them would be different from most supplies to handle the fragile equipment. And the extra shipments have different weights to them as opposed to the originals they're copying.”

“That sounds super sus.”

“Yeah. What makes it more sus is the fact that the sketchy glass shipments originate from B.U.G.S facilities, rather than outside suppliers like the office supplies and the original glass shipments. Now it could be explained as them having the shipments sent to a warehouse, before dishing it out to other nearby facilities, but there's no record or paper trail that shows that. From what I can tell, the sketchy shipments just appear in the records, before being sent out to a different facility, where it immediately disappears.”

Tucker leaned back, suddenly aware that they were stumbling over something bad. “And considering what we know about them, after the guys stumbled across that one……”

Spud stared at the files on screen, “It could just be magical artifacts. But the more likely explanation is they're catching magical creatures.”

The two of them sat in a heavy silence for a moment.

“How sure of this are you?” Tucker asked. “I mean, the magical world would notice the disappearances right? They would have got a hold of Jake or Lao Shi or someone.”

Spud shook his head and held up his notebook. “All the facilities manage to fall near a cluster of magical communities, that's what I was checking. And like I said, the shipments originate in one facility and then get shipped to a completely different one. Never the same one consecutively, and it's spaced out over years. If a bunch of creatures goes missing, yeah someone's going to notice.”

“But if just one goes missing,” Tucker continued, “It's just an unrelated tragedy.”

Spud set down his highlighter and rubbed his eyes, “And it's not impossible. The Huntsclan has managed to kidnap several magical creatures at once for years for their hunting games.”

“Ugh!” Tucker shuddered. “I do not like the implications of that.”

“Yeah, Jake got caught once. There were about four or five others with him, and they were all misfits to their species, and not well liked so most of their neighbors and families just assumed they ran off or had unfortunate accidents.”

“That's……”

“Yeah.”

Tucker stared at his computer, something twisting in his stomach as he stared at all the locked files he still hadn't managed to get into.

“We can't tell them.”

Spud snapped his head up to look at Tucker incredulously, “What?!?! We have to!”

Tucker shook his head frantically, “We can't. You know the guys as well as I do, we tell them what we found and they're going to go tackle the places right away. This is so much bigger than we thought and in so many places. They barely got out last time and that was with the element of surprise and them not knowing about what they can do.”

“It's basically the same as the GIW! You guys deal with them all the time!”

“It's not the same! The GIW have a single base, with maybe 20 guys working there! I've been tracking them and their branch since they first showed up in Amity and they don't go anywhere else. This is the only branch of the GIW. They barely manage to capture the little blobs or ectopusses, and even then those ghosts escape on their own before I even get the alert about them!”

Tucker pushed away from the desk to start pacing across his floor. “These guys have buildings across the country! That one building had about 50 people working for it and that's not even going into all their bosses. They've been operating for years without anybody catching on! And we don't know what they're capable of! They had something that blocked Danny’s powers, and we still don't know what did it. This is so much bigger than what we usually deal with. We have to wait, get some more information, get some more help-”

“Yeah, like telling everybody!” Spud yelled, “This shouldn't even be an argument, Tucker!”

Tucker stared at the floor, pulling his hat down to where Spud couldn't see his eyes. He was silent for a moment.

“......If we tell them right now, they'll get in over their heads and they'll get hurt and I can't-” Tucker's voice broke.

He took a breath, rubbing his face before looking back at Spud. “I am not sending Danny into a place where they'd turn him into a lab rat.”

“Tucker-”

“All I'm saying is we have to wait.” Tucker interrupted. “We wait, we get more info, we try and get the magical communities more wary around those areas.”

“I don't want to lie to them.”

“I know. Ancients, I know.” Tucker crossed his arms, “But we gotta be smart about this. Are you with me Spud?”

Spud let out a sigh as he slumped in his chair. “... Yeah. Yeah I'm with ya. Let the record show I hate this though.”

“You and me both.” Tucker muttered, “Anyways, plans?”

“You keep hacking into the information.” Spud said. “Send me everything you get and I'll start cross-referencing with the known magical communities when I get them. In the meantime I'll talk to Fu Dawg. He's got a ton of connections and can start spreading the word.”

“What about Lao Shi?”

“I'll talk to him, but I want some more information first.”

“You don't think he'll believe you?”

“No he will. But he'll want to take it straight to the Dragon Council.” Spud scoffed, “It's them I'm worried about.”

The two of them sat there for a moment before Spud said, “This sucks.”

Tucker started giggling, “Understatement man. But we got this. Someone has to protect those losers.”

“Heck yeah man!” Spud held up a fist to the camera, and Tucker did the same as the two of them did their virtual secret handshake.

Someone had to have the heroes’ backs after all.

[elsweetheart]

havduaha hello hi i think i'm inlove with you- anw i reaaaaaaalllyyyy love your writing. got me giggling and kicking feet fr hdjashaj soooo i just want to request somethin or whatnot just... dealer!ellie... whatever you want to do just make my dreams come true so i can pass away in peace (just kidding... or not) just gonna leave it here, again i think i'm really inlove with you HAJDHWJSHA BYE MWA

hiiii omgomgomg thank u!! i’m so happy u like my writing + you’re so sweet of course i will write dealer!ellie she is so chefs kiss 💋

beginners luck — dealer!ellie

tw// drug usage !! not smutty just flirty <3 more to come tho !!

• you and ellie were always seeing eachother around campus, or at parties where she’d be doing business. so much so, that the two of you would often laugh to eachother and chat at social gathering about how often you bumped into eachother. things were definitely a little flirty from your perspective, but you didn’t wanna read into it too much. so she’s not a total stranger — you just wouldn’t consider her a friend, and you wouldn’t wanna be stuck in the friendzone anyway.

• she’s always wondered why you’ve never tried to buy from her and then simply put it down to you seeming too innocent to wanna smoke and honestly she thinks it’s cute.

• that is until you can’t sleep one night, mind super frazzled from staring at a computer all day that you decide fuck it, now is the perfect time to start.

• so you march over to ellie’s dorm, and everyone knows where ellie’s dorm is because everyone buys weed from ellie. you didn’t think to change out of the tank top that’s just a little too tight and your cute pj pants, and before it’s too late you’re knocking on her door.

• she opens up pretty fast, and she looks like she just got back — wearing a carhartt jacket over her hoodie, her sneakers still on. she lets you in and honestly she’s surprised and confused as you’re the last person she expected to come knocking at 1AM.

• “i want to… erm, i’d like to buy a…weed.” you try and sound confident but you shrink down when she chuckles, stepping aside and letting you into her room. “i got plenty of those.” she replies as she pulls out a metal box and you don’t quite catch that she’s slightly making fun of your naively worded request.

• she lets you fish through all the pungent baggies with labels you don’t understand on them before you’re looking up at her with doe eyes and a shrug. “i don’t really know what i’m looking for here.” you admit defeatedly.

• “you never smoked before? like not even at a party or anything?” she doesn’t sound judgemental, more curious and you feel more comfortable to be truthful.

• “no, never. just struggling to sleep and i think it might help me.” you respond earnestly and she thinks for a moment, seeming to analyse you before taking the metal box and closing it, storing it away.

• “i don’t usually sell to beginners. they don’t know what they’re doing and then they go away and smoke more than they can handle and then come freaking out at my door saying i laced them or some shit, which i obviously did not. but… i dunno, you’re always nice to me when i see you, and plus i know what it’s like to not be able to sleep. so, i’m gonna help you out.” she ranted, digging through another one of her drawers before she stood back up, holding a smaller tin.

• “thank you, ellie. you’re a lifesaver. what is that?” you ask shyly with your eyes on the tin. she pries it open and nods towards her bed. “sit down.” she offers in a softer voice and you do, watching as she gathers her equipment. “it’s my personal stash. the good stuff, you know. you don’t smoke pretty girls out with the cheap shit i sell.” she chuckled like it was obvious, continuing to set up her little rolling station at her desk, perching on her chair. you flushed all over at her calling you pretty and smiled.

• she talks you through how to roll and prepare the blunt, and you’re trying to listen — you really are. but you’re both finding it hard to concentrate when she’s that hot and explaining things to you, and you’re showing her how good of a listener you can be by responding with small dreamy “mhm”’s to her instructions. you swing your legs as you stare at her, her fingers continuing to do the last bit of rolling and twisting of the pink rolling paper she let you select.

• “now the boring parts out the way…” she smiled as she stood up, flopping down on the bed next to you and pulling her lighter out her pocket before setting them down on the bed between you and shuffling out of her jacket. you felt your body heat up and the close proximity and you kicked off your slippers, crossing your legs and facing her.

• she placed the joint carefully between your lips, eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes as if for permission before lighting it. “now inhale and you’re gonna hold it for a few seconds, alright?” her voice was calm and quiet and it eased your nerves slightly as you did what she said.

• she let you take a few more hits commending you with a “see? you’re a natural.” before taking her turn, inhaling with more confidence as she relaxed back against the wall beside her bed.

• the two of you get talking as you smoked, and you clicked instantly, talking about her day and then talking about yours and laughing together. you almost forgot what you were doing, as after a while it became second nature.

• the fogginess started to hit you as she was talking and you began giggling, eyes now pink and watering as you observed how pretty she was as she spoke. she trailed off, taking a drag of the blunt and you moved closer to her on the bed.

• “your freckles look like little stars.” you tried to widen your eyes so you could see more and she chuckled, tilting her her slightly to catch your eye.

• “you good? it’s hitting you huh?” her voice was laced with amusement as you bit your lip and nodded with an innocent grin. “does it feel good?” she asked, in reference to the high but the question made your eyes flutter anyways. “mhm.”

• the good feeling lasted for what felt like forever, but when she made you laugh at a stupid joke a little too hard you found that your heartbeat sped up just a little bit too much. you tried to play it cool, taking a deep breath as you flattened your back against the wall, staring at her bedsheets.

• she moved her head slightly, trying to catch your eye. “you in there?” she cooed, placing a hand on your shoulder.

• “yeah. m’okay just... focusing on breathing.” you breathe out, a little whiny and trying not to panic. ellie barely reacts, reaching under her bed and pulling out a water bottle from a multipack, opening it for you and handing it to you lidless. “you’re alright, just smoked a little more than you can take for now. just relax, ‘kay?”

• she pulled her laptop up and put some kind of animated comedy on the screen to distract you, and somehow you ended up with your head resting in her lap as the two of you watched, ellie smoking another to herself. you relaxed yourself, and the high felt good again. you rolled over to look up at her, watching her smoke as her beautiful features were lit up by the glow of the screen. her eyes were pink and glossy now too and the room was smokey. you noticed the sock over the smoke alarm on the ceiling just past her head in your eyeline and giggled, attracting her attention.

• “what you looking at?” she smiled down at you and you shrugged it off, instead choosing to play with the drawstrings on her hoodie.

• “how much?” you asked sweetly. “before i forget.”

• “how much what?” she stroked your hair back.

• “how much do i owe you for this premium experience.” you giggled. “can see why so many people buy from you now. y’must be popular with the ladies.”

• she chuckled, but in a modest and almost nervous way as she leant back more against the wall— taking the moment to really look at you as you stared back. the weed induced haze gave you the confidence to hold her gaze without looking away.

• “i guess a beginner wouldn’t know that pretty girls smoke for free.” she smirked and you bit your lip in girlish excitement at her calling you pretty again. “especially pretty girls that are extra pretty when they’re all giggly and smoked out with big pretty pink eyes.” her voice was smooth and your heart fluttered again, but in a good way this time.

• “i suppose you should be paying me then.” you joked quietly and she laughed, nodding. you sat up slowly, eye contact not breaking once and your faces close.

• “so… do you let all your beginners lay in your lap and smoke with you?” your eyes danced between hers and her eyes were heavy lidded, lazily staring at your lips before blinking up at your eyes, stubbing out the last of the roach into the ashtray.

• “first time for everything. figured i’d try it out on the cute girl i see around campus that i was too much of a pussy to talk to.” her voice was quiet, almost lusty and you licked your lips.

• “me?” you breathed out sweetly and she smiled again.

• “clever girl.” she praised, pulling you in to meet her lips.

i don’t rlly like this but hey ho i can’t be bothered to write it again :))))

[iamthekaijuking]

Gigabash character overview: Skorak

One kaiju archetype that could be used when Passion Republic Games was developing Gigabash was that of a gross and/or ominous evil overlord. So they took advantage of that and created Skorak!

The rest of the characters have reveal trailers so I’ll be using them instead of renders.

Skorak is a character that demands strategy and skill in order to play well. He has a gimmick revolving around his shell (which is actually the skull of another kaiju he’s killed but we’ll get to that). He can send out his shell out to track down opponents, throw it as a projectile, use it as a bomb, use it to pull off two pronged attacks, and just generally use it as a sort of “chess piece” on the battlefield. Not having his shell equipped lightens him and lets him move faster and makes some of his attacks last longer, but it comes at a cost. Without his shell he can’t block attacks or use a defensive move, so in order to play Skorak well you’ll have to remain aware of where your shell is, it’s position relative to you and your opponent, and when it’s advantageous to have it equipped or unequipped. When Skorak was revealed it also caught the attention of a little someone called @bogleech.

Design

Given that Ultraman was a huge source of inspiration for Gigabash, it was probably inevitable that we’d get a Gastropod monster since the ultra franchise has produced a handful. Namegon from Ultra Q in particular was a massive source of inspiration for Skorak’s design.

However, Skorak is also described as an evil overlord, so it’s possible that he’s got some Gatanothor in him as well. Gatanothor would later appear in the game with the Ultraman character pack as Camearra’s ultimate.

Skorak has quite a bit of concept art as well! And for awhile PRG was debating giving him up to 4 heads.

Side note: Skorak’s talons erupt from his pupils.

I personally find Skorak really cute and he reminds me of the “Live slug reaction” meme.

Lore

Skoraks home turf is Tarabak island (the name itself a reference to the snail kaiju Taraban from Ultraman Tiga), which is Gigabash’s stand in for Skull Island; an island overflowing with monsters and kaiju much to the dismay of the native humans. Much like Skull Island, Tarabak has an in universe book written in the early 1900’s called The Lost World of Tarabak detailing the adventures of a man named Petyr Faust in his crew. However, the content was so radical and unbelievable that it was labeled as a fictional story, and this wouldn’t be corrected until the 70’s during the first kaiju crisis.

The natives of Tarabak Island lived in fear for centuries as no place was safe from the rampaging monsters. Eventually though, one day a kaiju came along that curb stomped any other monster and quickly became the “king”. The natives worshipped this kaiju for protection, and under his watch they developed quite an advanced civilization. Entire cities of stone and gold were constructed, and a dam was built to control water flow for agriculture. They even had a legislative and court system! For nearly a century things went well and the people prospered, but this protection came at a cost, which I’ll cover two entries from now when we take a look at this “dragon king”. For some people this cost was too great a price to be tolerated, and so one day these displeased people performed a dark ritual where they spilled their own blood and the offerings meant for their king. Their prayers were answered in the form of a poisonous sludge. These rebels filled their offerings with this sludge and when they fed these offerings to their king he fell sick as Skorak devoured him from the inside before bursting out and taking his skull as a trophy.

That sludge was actually eggs, and this means that Skorak is a parasitoid kaiju slug that wears the remains of its first meal as protection, which is metal as hell. Also, I know Gigabash is a doofy kaiju party game, but the anatomist in me is very unhappy with the skull Skorak wears.

The resulting civil war would destroy the once great civilization of Tarabak and the population would splinter into three factions that constantly vie for control over the island, with Skorak’s followers becoming a cult known as the Eyes Of Skorak.

While the cult’s activities are mostly on the Island of Tarabak, the religion is known amongst occultist circles. In order to be initiated into the Eyes of Skorak you have to be injected with his venom. Those who survive, IF they survive, gain a telepathic connection to the kaiju and other cult members. Hence the name “Eyes of Skorak”.

Sadly Skorak and the rest of the game’s roster don’t have story modes as any more beyond the initial four were too resource taxing on the small indi studio of Passion Republic Games. Skorak does appear in all the other story modes sans Pipijuras’s as an opponent though. In Woolley’s in particular the native Yeti herd of Tarabak are seen celebrating his defeat, and given that Skorak lives for the hunt and consumption of other kaiju, it’s likely that he was routinely eating the poor Yetis.

In summary: Skorak is the coolest gastropod kaiju I know and any who disagree are unworthy of his blessings!

[peachyloveswriting]

Hello there!

I have a Trigun Stampede, Millions Knives x female plant reader request, pretty please.

(If it interests you, is not too much trouble, and if you have the time, of course.)

Millions Knives x female plant reader, who was captured by humans via some obscure old technology. She can heal via her blood, which the humans frequently harvest from her without her consent, leaving her with many scars from needles, surgical equipment, etc, and she has the darkest bags under her eyes and just exudes utter exhaustion. 

Knives was just doing his usual thing, stalking after his brother and blowing through yet another town in the process, when he accidentally stumbles upon her in her cage as the humans attempt to take her with them as they run. The humans here refer to her as “it” and a “tool,” and Knives is enraged.

He saves her, freeing her from her cage and soothing her? I’d love to see him discover her in her cage, and his reaction to how the humans treat her, and how he helps her heal after saving her?

From cages to tubes -- (Knives)

Summary: Knives comes across another plant locked away in a facility, tortured and used by humans.

Knives next target was supposed to be the city of May, he'd gone through every bit of information before he ever even stepped foot inside that town. Yet something stopped him in his tracks anyways.

A plant testing facility?

He'd never heard of such a thing.

Staring at the grey metal door, he contemplated his actions for just a moment, wondering what he might find inside. Hopefully this was the jackpot, where he would find multiple plants in one space. The possibilities were too endless...

Screams erupt from inside, his metal tendrils ripping the door off its hinges as he steps through. The place is dark and nasty, humans scatter their hands reaching for their radios and voices frantic.

"Code 10! Code 10! Grab it, we can't leave it behind!"

It? Curious, Knives continued forward, killing any human along the way, coating the floor and walls with blood. He began to notice that the further he traveled in the more strange this place became. Lining the walls were plants in their tanks, each one with a pad of vitals beside it. Each one was labeled with the word experiment and they were all dead.

Something was off about this place, really off. He had to know more.

Travelling further in, Knives found what seemed like a central hub. Hundreds of people were rushing around, bodies falling to the floor in seconds. He didn't even bat an eye at the people trying to harm him, they caused him no problems. What caused him inner turmoil was this "it." He kept hearing about. It was a tool, he'd heard. It just wasn't sitting right with him, like they were talking about a living thing, not an it or a tool.

Cleaning through the last of them, he finds the door they had been guarding. Tearing it off, he discards it and steps inside.

"C'mon. Grab it! We can't let anyone get their hands on this!" A voice snaps.

Knives steps closer to the voice, his eyes sharp and narrowing. "Why not?" His voice is smooth, scarily so.

The man shouting orders snaps his head around to look up at Knives in fear, his body trembling. Whimpers fall from his lips as Knives towers over him, his patience beginning to wear thin.

"Speak!" He tells with sudden malice.

Abruptly, there's a crash close by. Another voice screams out in pain, aloud sobs following after. Suddenly the man before him becomes an after thought and his body falls limply to the floor. Stepping past him, Knives comes up to another man, this one younger than the last.

He tugs frantically at a large cage, the outline of the crying voice is inside.

His blades slice through the last human as he lowers himself to peer inside the cage. The form shakes and trembles inside but he can't seem to get a good look. Taking the top of the cage he sets it upright from being knocked to its side.

Light suddenly illuminates the figure inside, the intricate patterns of his kind flowing all along its body, littered by cuts and scars.

He feels breathless as he tears the cage open, frantically reaching for you. A call of pain cuts through the air as he grabs your wrist and you pull yourself away.

"My god. What have they done to you?" He mutters. You look over at him, trembling in fear.

"It's okay. I'm just like you." He slowly extends his hand to you as an offer. "I'll take you away from here where you'll never be hurt again. I promise."

He watches your gaze softly flicker between his face and his hand, before you tenderly rest your hand in his. "That's right." He says, softly pulling you from the cage. "Come with me. I'll make you good again."

Carefully scooping your frail body into his arms, he begins to make his way out of the facility, disappointed that he has no one to take his anger out on.

As he walks away, he looks down at you. "My name is Knives, you'll be answering too me from now on."

—⁠☆

"How are you feeling?"

You gaze down at Knives through the glass, your hands coming to rest up against it. "Better than before."

He smiles, crossing his arms over his chest. "Good. Staying there for a week should get you back to normal." He casts his gaze to a shorter, mostly bald, human. "Con'rad will monitor your vitals and 'keep you company'. I'll be gone often but expect to see me a lot."

You give him a nod. "So, what exactly is this... Thing?"

You look up at where the cords attach then connect to your body.

"I'll explain that." Con'rad starts. "The tube you're in is filled with a liquid that should allow your body to fuller regather itself. Typically we use these to manufacture independents however these can also be used for purposes much like this. The process is quick and you'll be in a sleep-like state until you fully recover."

Knives nods. "In short, it heals you."

"Oh, okay." You take a moment to collect your thoughts before you meet Knives' gaze. "Thank you for saving me."

It almost looks like his stoicism face softens before he speaks. "Of course. I'll do whatever I can to save my people."

[screamingcrows]

Settling in - Dottore x Reader

Note: This is also meant for my so far unknown to everyone OC, this scenario fits x reader format. Same reader as Tomorrow, but about a year prior. I feel insane for this. Keep this out of character ai bots or you're getting Demodex folliculorum 1k words

Tags: fem reader, reader from Fontaine, they're practically strangers, awkward, almost forgot implied later murder

MINORS, AGELESS, BLANK BLOGS DNI

It was rare that foreigners voluntarily joined the Fatui. Save for a background check conducted by people from The House, not much was done to discourage such an act. They had room for those who would serve their cause, and turning any prospective asset away was a mistake they would never make.

However… It was quite rare for someone to have such concise demands, and even less hesitation in presenting them.

Dottore glanced to the side, crimson eyes readily observing the figure moving along the shadows of his laboratory. It was frustrating, having to wear the mask in his sanctuary. Perhaps with time-

He was getting ahead of himself.

You'd wasted no time making yourself useful, clearly driven by something none of the recruiters had managed to discern. Introductions had been brief and you'd barely spoken a word since then.

He let out a small sigh, focus shifting back to the metal casing in his hand. Several elemental crystals were scattered atop the table. If only you'd stop clinging to the edges, he had enough concerns without shadows in his periphery.

At first it had been pleasant, his days mostly the same as before your arrival. After a fortnight it had begun nagging at his mind. You'd told him your name, previous occupation, and a vague reason for wanting to join. Nothing he hadn't already been informed of before you'd even stepped foot in his wing.

'Sensible' was the only word that came to mind, your presence anonymous enough that it didn't grate at his tightly strung nerves.

Shattering glass brought him out of his speculations, instinct dictating he examine his own workbench. With nothing remiss he turns to your corner, eyes briefly narrowing in frustration when he sees you wiping something up.

You hadn't even acknowledged the space he'd made one of the segments set up for you. Instead you'd crawled into a corner like a scared beast, doing work with your hands tied.

Hands clasped behind his back, Dottore approached where you were still working to clean whatever accident had happened. This was going to work. Your expected value far exceeded the trouble of giving a little encouragement.

"You can't work here"

"Because of a single mistake?"

He could easily peer over your shoulder, seeing you grip the wet rag a little tighter. There were remnants of various plants, vials of colorless reagents, and distillation equipment. The labels on the vials were a new addition, something he'd been meaning to delegate for a while.

"Lord Harbinger, with all due respect, expecting me to never mess up is ridiculous," you sounded tense, but not half as scared as previous personnel.

"The corner, mademoiselle. Is this how they do it at the Institute, cramped and inefficient?"

That made you pause, dropping the cloth and discarding your gloves with practiced ease, bare skin never touching the outside of the material.

"Finish what can't be moved as it is, we'll move you to the proper place afterwards," his voice carried finality, acquired through endless years of pulling strings.

A huff left your lips, but there was no complaining and you dutifully began corking vials. Not putting the gloves back on was bad practice, a fact you would've been aware of with the amount of training you'd allegedly undergone at Fontaine's Research Institute. Dottore crossed his arms in front of his chest, eyes focused on the way your delicate hands trembled.

Were you afraid? Properly afraid?

"Do you mind, Lord Harbinger?"

"Doctor," it stood to reason that he made it clear what title he preferred as early as possible, "and do be careful. I'd prefer if you lasted longer than the last"

His heels clicked against the stone floor, turning his body to look around while he waited. You'd taken over multiple tasks from various segments already, all of them routine work, freeing up time for the big projects. If this kept up he might actually-

"The table by the shelves?"

You had turned to him, the smile on your lips at odds with your eyes. Without answering he took the wooden crate holding the glassware and reagents, leaving you to gather messy papers and ragged notes. So that was a similarity, unfortunate that he couldn't have you organize his writing then.

"You've had a fortnight to settle in. That should have been more than plenty for you to grasp how things work here. And while you have done an admirable job," he dropped the crate onto the unoccupied workbench near his own, "you are expected to act for the benefit of the Fatui, not based on personal preference."

He could see the gears turning in your mind, your eyes fixed on the papers in your hands. Even while clenching them tightly, he could still see her fingers twitching.

"And work on steadying yourself. Your hands will be required in the future," Dottore ran a hand through his hair, watching in silence while you set the equipment up.

With a pleased hum, he noticed that you were spacing everything better this time around. Hopefully there would be no more preventable mishaps, and he would more easily be able to keep an eye on what occupied you.

Freedom to create and learn what you will. As long as expenditures were within reason, and orders from him prioritized of course. That would always be the desired way his personal laboratory operated.

"You're currently working on what? You began the day you arrived, highly unusual behavior compared to your predecessors. It must be important."

He saw the way you ran a finger tenderly along the glass, the way your shoulders rose a little with his inquiry.

"Death," your voice sounded hollow, something hauntingly familiar in how you said it, "It should be finished today. I'll compile everything for your perusal before the end of the week, Doctor."

Dottore felt his eyes widen a little behind the mask, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. It was a bold statement, her tone indicating it had been born of pure spite. In that case, he'd put it to excellent use.

[all-pacas]

something something fwb fluff something something

someday. guys, someday i will write actual fluff and it will be so sweet and cute and this will be entirely out of spite towards myself because why i am i so bad at this

--

Emma Sloane smiles knowingly at Chase when they drop her camera equipment, and he coughs before Cameron can make note of it. “Your photographs are amazing,” Cameron gushes, oblivious, placing a stack of pictures down on the bedside table.

“Thank you,” Sloane says. “See any you like?”

Chase’s heart lurches in anticipation, but Cameron shakes her head. “They’re all fantastic,” she says, riffling through the pile: Chase brings over the cup of water in time to see her linger on a spread that includes a candid of House as he hurries out a door. Of course. Cameron doesn’t single it out, at least, lingering briefly on a photo of Foreman next, then giving the whole stack one more look.

“If you’d like any, feel free to help yourself,” Sloane says with a little laugh as Chase pretends to update her chart: as Cameron pores over the photos Sloan catches his eye. She winks, and he feels himself blush.

“I couldn’t,” Cameron says again, and she doesn’t. And that’s fine.

-

He hadn’t taken much with him when he’d moved to the States. He hadn’t had a lot to take, and shipping was slow and expensive. He’d sent one box. Clothes, a lone trophy, books from university and books from seminary. A shoebox of seashells, his CD collection, a mug and a blanket he’d filched from home before his father had cleared it out. One photo album, and when he gets out of the shower Cameron is sitting on his bed, flipping through it.

“Sorry,” she says, unapologetic.

It had been his mother’s album first, the first few pages crowded with her old photos, Chase’s baby pictures. By the time his sister had been born, his mother was too drunk and too miserable to waste time photographing her children.

“Where’d you get that?” he asks stupidly: he knows it had been on one of his shelves, but it had not crossed his mind Cameron would see and take it.

“You were a pretty cute kid,” she says.

He sits on the bed next to her. He’s seven or eight in the photo, his mum’s arms around his shoulders; they’re beaming. “We lived sort of near the beach,” he says, recognizing the background.

“Figures,” Cameron teases. She turns the page: another photo of him and his mum, sitting in the garden. He sees the juice glass at his mother’s elbow and knows it must have been filled with gin: behind his own smiling face he sees the first floor veranda, the metal roof he’d once fallen from trying to escape his father’s study. He’d been four. “Your mother was really pretty,” Cameron says.

“She was,” he agrees, suddenly tired.

She closes the album and he’s surprised, realizes only in his relief that he’d expected more questions, an interrogation. But maybe his relief is also too obvious: she is looking at him intently, and he clears his throat.

“I should have taken some of Emma’s pictures,” Cameron muses, running her hand over the album’s cover. “I used to…” she trails off, but he remembers a line of photo albums, neatly labeled and prominently displayed on the shelf in her bedroom. He had not looked.

“She’s not getting discharged until tomorrow,” he says, thinking of the picture he has folded in the bottom of his locker, too afraid to bring home: she hums, and he has no idea what she’s thinking. Sometimes he is afraid he doesn’t understand her at all.

-

During sex, she keeps her eyes shut. Look at me, he says hoarsely, hardly aware he’s asking aloud. She laughs and does and bends to kiss him, and it means something, he thinks.

[greenishghostey]

Glass Gorgon

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: Eddie made sure to only wear his glasses at home and when he was in a quiet corner of the Hawkins public library. Hellfire campaign planning called for him to be on top form; therefore, his browline glasses were a necessity. You had taken notice of Eddie's weekly library visits and his new bespectacled look. It was a good look on him.

Word Count: 3,339

Warnings: None! This is a fun little fluffy one-shot because one man wearing some reading glasses. Also, the stories of Cu Chulainn are really cool bits of folklore, here's an overview if anyone is curious!

DO NOT REPOST OR EDIT MY WORK

///

Eddie had needed to wear reading glasses since he was eight years old. After years of reading and drawing late at night, with only a shitty flashlight as a light source, his big eyes were more than a little bit messed up. 

After one too many comments from teachers about Eddie potentially being “dim” after he couldn’t read the board properly, Wayne took him for an eye test. Crappy eyesight was just another cross to bear for the Munson men, so Wayne knew he was going to be shelling out for some glasses. Eddie got to pick whichever frames he wanted, but damn, was the little boy annoyed about having to do it. He huffed and grumbled the entire trip to the opticians - so much so that Wayne bought Eddie some ice cream to cheer him up. Wayne didn’t like it when his nephew wasn’t his usual smiley little self. 

Since then, Eddie had tried out a few different styles of glasses. He tried to find a pair that didn’t make him look too dorky or take away from his metalhead exterior. Eddie had a reputation as the town freak, and as much as he disliked being labelled as that, he had to keep it up. 

Eight-year-old Eddie had thought wire-framed glasses were a good choice. But after getting that pair broken by an “accidental” football to the face, Wayne suggested a sturdier choice. Sturdier meant thicker, which meant Eddie was going to be getting more sports equipment aimed at his face. 

Bad eyesight just wasn’t metal. Eddie quickly learned that there was next to no chance of him pulling off reading glasses. They made his eyes look even bigger. Every pair did make him look like a dork. Plus, if he didn’t wear them consistently, then his eyes would only get worse. Eddie kind of hated that he had to sit in the back of every classroom to maintain his attempt at being a “cool, bad boy”. In reality, he was squinting enough to get a headache just so he could read Miss O’Donnell’s handwriting. 

Like hell was he wearing those glasses, though.

-

The Hawkins public library was always a bit of a ghost town. Eddie loved it for when he needed time away from the trailer but still needed some quiet. 

Not a lot of people knew that the fantasy section in the library was so varied. But Eddie did. He’d read almost all of the books in the section cover to cover. Wayne didn’t always have the means to get Eddie new books when he finished one, so a library card was the best option. The old librarian back then had been so excited to see such a young kid so eager to devour any book that he could. Wendy was her name. Eddie found himself missing Wendy during his library trips. 

The history section was tucked away in the back corner of the library. Far away from any prying eyes and close to a big window where the sun streamed in just right. This was the other area where Eddie could be found when he made his weekly visits. While the main American history books weren’t his speed, the range of dusty, heavy mythology anthologies that were crammed onto one shelf certainly were. Comparing mythology and fantasy books was a hobby of Eddie’s - it sparked a lot of D&D inspiration and helped him pin down the whirlwind of ideas already in his head. The day he noticed that Tolkien lifted much of his work from Irish Mythology, he almost lost his twelve-year-old mind. Wayne got his ear talked off about the stories of Cú Chulainn.

Black browline frame glasses were perched on the bridge of Eddie’s nose as he hunched over one of the three notebooks he’d brought with him. After forgetting his walkman and headphones last week - and suffering through the droning background noise of the library - he had made sure to bring at least one tape with him at all times. The first one his hand had come to was a new one he found in a bin at a music store in the next town over. The band was called Manilla Road, and they were pretty good - weird castle art as the album cover and heavy guitar solos. Eddie was easy to please. 

The weekly library visits were purely so that Eddie had time to plan for upcoming Hellfire sessions away from the distractions of his bedroom. But also so that no one would stumble upon him wearing his glasses. He wouldn’t be caught dead wearing them within a mile radius of school - his time there was bad enough, and the added taunt of having four eyes just wouldn’t be worth it. 

However, the bespectacled Eddie Munson had been seen by someone he knew somewhat. You had been working at the Hawkins library since graduating two years prior - the same year when Eddie was supposed to have paraded himself across the stage too. You had been working every time Eddie came in and took up his usual space at a desk by the history section. 

You never knew he had to wear glasses. He looked good with them. Really good.

-

Eddie had been digging the heels of his hands into his eyes for the last minute. You had been silently observing him as he appeared to be more stressed than usual. There was a Greek Mythology book open in front of him - you knew because he had been picking it up every visit for the past three weeks. Pieces of paper with numbers and drawings on them littered the desk. Pens and pencils sat beside his hand, bunched together with a rubber band. You had no idea what he was doing, it definitely wasn’t studying, but it seemed to be causing him a lot of trouble.

“Hey? You okay?” You hadn’t meant to startle him; you really hadn’t. Eddie could be jumpy and skittish at the best of times. He was often off in his own world when in the library. No one ever tried to talk to him - he even made sure to be absolutely silent so he wouldn’t risk being kicked out. 

Eddie almost jumped from his chair as he ripped his headphones off and turned to glare at whoever had scared him. The heated glower on his face faded quickly when he met your soft, concerned gaze. 

“Are you okay? You looked stressed, a little grumpy too.” You repeated, giving him a slightly awkward smile as a peace offering for spooking him. You, scaring the big scary town cult leader, no one was going to believe that story for a second. Hell, you didn’t believe it, Eddie was a little intimidating at times, but he was far from scary or capable of all the rumours that clung to him like a bad smell. 

Eddie cleared his throat and turned to you properly, “Uh yeah, ‘m fine. Just stressed, as you said.” He grumbled. So, he was grumpy about something. 

“You doing a project on mythology monsters or something?” You asked, gesturing to his book that was open to a page about Gorgons. “Didn’t think they’d cover that sort of stuff in school. Times’ve changed since I was there.” 

“God no, this isn’t for school. Nah, I should be reading up on the industrial revolution for that.” Eddie relaxed, letting his shoulders drop, and a small smile worm it's way across his face.

He remembered you from school. The two of you hadn’t really talked all that much, but when you did, you talked to him rather than at him. You didn’t speak about him in hushed whispers. Once, you had actually snapped at one of your friends, Vanessa or something, for saying “he might have rabies” when he was your chemistry lab partner. Eddie remembered you pretty well, in fact. You were the library girl now, but he knew you as that one nice girl. 

“I didn’t think you’d be coming in here to study, no offense.” You snorted.

“You been keeping tabs on me when I come in here?” Eddie asked, a mischievous lilt returned to his voice. He was genuinely curious if you had been watching him, but he also couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be slightly suggestive.

“I have, actually. You come in here and sit in the same spot. You’re the only person who even looks at these books. Colour me curious, I guess.” A similar glint could be heard in your voice. You remembered that Eddie was big on getting under the skin of others in any way he could. He didn’t always mean it in a bad way - part of you had wished a scene like this one had happened in school, maybe in the chemistry lab. 

Eddie hadn’t expected you, of all people, to match him beat for beat with the… flirting? “I, uh, I come here specifically for those books. Pretty much all of the myth and fantasy stuff. This is, like, my unofficial Hellfire planning office.” Eddie chirped, knocking his fists against the desk. Him stumbling over his words slightly didn’t go unnoticed. You had forgotten how much of a nerd he was. You were glad he hadn’t changed. 

“Ah, yeah, the D&D club. You know, a lot of middle schoolers come in here looking for those big game guidebooks.” You explained, watching Eddie’s eyes widen almost comically. The glasses made the sun bounce into his eyes quite nicely. “I know, right? You’d think their mommies and daddies would have told ‘em all about the scary Satan game.” 

Eddie surprised you when he pulled out the chair beside him with his foot, gesturing for you to join him. You couldn’t remember him being quite so open to chit-chat back in the day. Well, you also hadn’t ever mentioned D&D to him before - that probably would have helped. 

“Pull up a pew. I can tell you all about the Satan game and why I’m here.” Eddie smirked, huffing out a laugh. You also couldn’t remember him being this smooth. The addition of him looking up at you over his glasses just topped it all off. “I’m surprised you still remember Hellfire…” 

“You guys had cool club shirts, so that helped.” You grinned, sitting down beside Eddie and sneaking a peak at what he had been working on. There were three drawings of Gorgon-like women. Hissing hair and jagged teeth made them appear a lot more monsters than pretty ladies. Eddie had scribbled a note beside the drawings, “keep scary or make hot for distraction???” 

“Cool, huh?” Eddie was now the one coloured with curiosity - you were strange in the grand scheme of Hawkins. His shirts? Cool? Unheard of. “You know, I designed these bad boys myself. Jeff tried to make some creative suggestions, but he fucking sucks at art.” Eddie gloated, itching his nose under his glasses. Finally, he got to brag about the shirts. 

You noticed that he was wearing one of those Hellfire shirts. It was Wednesday, so it wasn’t a game day. Maybe the tee got him in the D&D headspace? 

“Between the little demon guy there,” you poked Eddie’s sternum. He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “And the gorgons. I’d say art is very much your thing. I like that you kept the gorgons a little more monster-y like they’re supposed to be.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows had disappeared under his bangs, molasses eyes still widened. “Thought I was the only person that looked at these books?” He chuckled. Eddie knew that you must have read anything and everything, but the Greek mythology knowledge was a nice little shock to his system. 

“Ah, yeah, um - only for cataloguing a few months ago.” Eddie was sharp, sharper than anyone gave him credit for. You had started browsing the mythology books after seeing his fascination with them. It was time for a subject change before he caught on more. “Are the gorgons going in your game?”

“That’s the plan anyway.” Eddie nodded. He quickly gathered together his pages of notes in order. You were getting the campaign rundown whether you wanted it or not. 

You did. Definitely. Eddie had to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose again. It was something so mundane but endearing to see on him in particular. 

“I wanted to keep the ladies as monsters since they’ll be in a swamp forest kinda place.” Eddie gestured to a small, rough map layout of the landscape. “But, but, buuuut Gareth and Wheeler’s characters are huge virgins, so hot girls that can kill them would just be fun.” 

“How about having them look hot when you first see them, then they go full monster mode and start turning people to stone?” The thought had tumbled from your mind to your mouth before you could stop it. “Sorry. I don’t know enough about this to make any comments. Ignore me-“

“No, no. That’s good. Repeat that.” Eddie interrupted. “Wait, I need my red pen.” His hands scrambled around for the pen that was resting against your forearm. You poked his bicep with the pen, and he itched his nose again. You were comfortable with touching him, and he actually enjoyed that. Enjoyed it because it was someone good - you. 

“Okay. So, they look hot initially, but then when the guys get close enough,” Eddie slapped his hand against the desk as quietly as he could, “then bam! Hair starts hissing, and they’ve gone full creature from the Black Lagoon style!” He said, full of excitement. It had been so long since he’d been able to brainstorm ideas with anyone. 

You couldn’t hold back a giggle at how happy he was. You were talking about something so niche and more than a little odd, but that was Eddie’s thing. He never seemed like the type for small talk - he probably hated when people tried to talk about the weather. You admired that about him. His quirks and the fact that he was upfront with them. 

“I’m glad I could help with torturing your friends’ characters.” You giggled, now trying to focus your attention on a spray pencil. You weren’t sure looking at bubbly, bespectacled Eddie would be a good idea. You were still on shift, after all. 

Eddie pulled off the aforementioned glasses and rubbed at his eyes. He had been sitting at the desk for close to three hours - barely moving an inch the entire time. “Wheeler’s probably gonna bite it, to be honest. Hope you’re okay with that on your conscience.” He laughed. The laugh was soft but still a touch loud, too loud for a library, but you weren’t going to tell him that. 

“It’ll be character-building for him. A learning experience with women.”

“Hmm, kid’s got a girlfriend already, somehow. Poor little lady.” 

You continued to chat about his campaign ideas and the goings-on of your lives. The last time you had talked that much was in the chemistry lab in senior year - well, your senior year and his first attempt. 

Eddie told you about the power scaling for the gorgons and how they were going to fit into his overarching story. You listened intently, nodding enthusiastically - his words were like they were taken straight from one of the fantasy books on the shelves in the library. 

Eddie had taken to fiddling with his glasses. Rubbing at the lenses with his sleeve, spinning them in his hands. He was doing everything to avoid putting them back on, it seemed. The lenses caught the sun, and you saw they were quite smudged. 

“You can put your glasses back on, by the way.” You offered, trying to make him feel a bit less nervous about the object. Browline frames were a bit more physics nerd rather than a metalhead. Eddie hummed at your comment. He was still hesitant. Once he’d realised that he had been wearing them for so long already, he was a bit mortified. 

“Hmm, nah, I’m good. I can’t get them clean anyway, so they won’t be any help.” Eddie rambled. You weren’t going to be able to sit by and let him feel insecure about something so outside of his control. Maybe that’s why he was so worried about wearing them. He didn’t really have an option about it. 

You started digging in your large cardigan pockets for your own reading glasses case. “Well, you’re in luck because I have a wipe in here.” You pulled the small, silky plum cloth from the case, along with your round tortoiseshell glasses. Eddie had taken to looking at you like you were insane, even though all you had done was put on glasses. He blinked a few times before taking the wipe and rubbing at the lenses - making sure to get rid of all old and new smudges. 

“The glasses look good on you. Not the usual metal vibe, but you make them work with the hair and the outfit.” You were grasping at straws for how to compliment Eddie. Of course, you wanted to make him feel better, but you didn’t want to make it painfully obvious that you thought he was cute with the glasses. 

No, he was hot with the glasses. 

“You’re bad at compliments; you know that?” Eddie laughed, allowing his smirk to spread across his face once again. Much better. 

“No, I do know. But take it or leave it.” 

Eddie laughed again, his face heating up in an unfamiliar way. He placed his glasses back on. Clean lenses now let you see his eyes in all their chestnut-like glory. 

“Thanks - um, for not laughing at ‘em. I know I look ridiculous wearing these,” Eddie started fidgeting with his rings again before he rested his gaze entirely on you. “But, never thought I’d be hearing; what was it? They look good on me?” No matter how flustered he was, he wasn’t letting you off the hook with that comment. 

“I’m still on my shift. I’ll leave right now.” You threatened as a blush crawled up the column of your throat. 

“Okay, okay, that was pushing it, I know,” Eddie yielded. You swore you heard him giggle. This man was insane. 

The laughter had drawn the attention of your colleagues, Janet and Vince. Janet was winking at you like a proud aunt. Vince was glaring at you and tapping his wrist. He always was a spoilsport, but he was right. You were still on the clock. 

You had been waving both of them off when Eddie spotted them too. His smile faltered slightly, “you need to get back to work?” 

God, he made it sound so sad. The emphasis on his big, molasses eyes just made everything worse. 

“Yeah, Vince is tapping his wrist at me. I’ve got some middle school study guides that need filing by tomorrow.” You said dejectedly. The clock above the desk read 3:03, and your mood immediately picked up. A new idea had formed in your head, it was a shot in the dark, but you were feeling brave. 

“Are you still gonna be here for like another hour? I finish at 4, so I can come back,” you asked. “If you want the company, totally understand if no-“ 

“I’ll be here,” Eddie stated, nodding and nearly staring a hole through your skull. There was that blush coming back again. 

You clapped happily - god, you were going to humiliate yourself very quickly. Eddie did the nose itch again. That had now become a staple for him. It was strangely adorable on him. In reality, it was a means of fidgeting because you made him a touch nervous. Good nervous. 

Eddie had worn glasses since he was eight years old. He hated almost every second when he wore the frames. He was convinced that he made him look ridiculous, more dorky or just plain dumb. 

But the nice girl in the library, you, said he looked good. He made the glasses work for himself. Maybe they weren’t so bad. 

[hallucinateonpaperspines]

Okay we’ve talked about human Ashlyn and not Ashlyn and we’ve even covered predacon Ashlyn in the adoption Au. But what about minicon Ashlyn?

...

oh, my fricking word. she would be unstoppable.

A tiny metal gremlin with the attitude problems of a chihuahua and the bite to back it up. I could see just, popping up, right next to bot's ped and scaring the spark out of them. Or just dropping out of vents at random times. Or on shoulders. Helms. Anywhere is a possibility.

She thrives off the startled screams.

Ashlyn would be Cogman on steroids. Dramatic organ playing and everything. I could totally see her as Ratchet's assistant, helping him with his equipment and polishing his arsenal of wrenches. No one really knows where she came from, she doesn't give a straight answer, and all Ratchet knows is that this little spitfire found him one day and refused to let go of his neck cables until he said she could come with him.

All the kids know is that AshBite isn't allowed outside the base. For insurance purposes, Fowler says.

They never realized insurance referred to an actually legal insurance firm and not backup. Not until Ratchet tells the minicon to keep an eye on the kids while he goes to fight zombies with Optimus, and said kids sneak out the Groundbridge. She wouldn't be doing her job if she didn't follow, now would she?

The children bear witness to the monstrosity that is an armored Ashlyn Moore, unchained by the weaknesses of the flesh. It's almost as traumatizing as seeing her drool over a burger.

In short, vehicons run away screaming as the little terror, covered in energon, skips down the halls and crawls through vents while seeing the Hide and Seek song. By the time everyone is off the Nemesis, the engine room is on fire, the control room has been graffitied, and a berth in the medical wing has a sign on it labeled; RESERVED FOR THE EXPLODING BUCKET.

Fowler, passed out on a gurney in the base, is blessed with careful head pats and a first hand account of the horrors done by little miss Ash. The man is lucky that he isn't lucid enough to understand it. The rest of the base is not.

Soundwave is prepared to battle for minicon custody.

Makeshift makes eye contact with that scraplete-like face and yeets himself back out the ground bridge he walked through.

Wheeljack does use her as a grenade.

The matrix is too scared to bother trying anything.

[dross-the-fish]

Hyde vs Adam labs, what’s the difference? organization, experiments, equipment, etc

Adam's lab looks a little more like a butcher shop/morgue. There are tables for working, storage for animal cadavers and a tank of alchemical liquid. He also had a generator built with Edward's help. He's pretty selective about what he actually tries to bring to life and is more focused on resurrecting the dead than trying to create new creatures. Selma is the only human he's brought back thus far. His lab is kind of rough and has a "hospital" feel, there's a drain on the floor for blood and fluids to be washed away and an office and storage room off to the side where he can go and take a break or study faust's homunculus. He's not yet brave enough to try and create his own and probably never will be. Hideously industrial sounding atmosphere, lots of metallic scraping, meat cutting noises and buzzing electricity. Edward's lab is surprisingly neat. Everything is in a specific place, everything is labeled and an tools not in use are put away in convenient places for easy access. more of a study/office aesthetic. Because he works with substances his work area is immaculate and everything in the room is fire resistant. On a good day the sound would be lovely, crackling flames and bubbling liquids, the clink of glass, pleasant scratching of pen on paper while he takes notes. IF he's really into it Edward will use the full architecture of the room, climbing up pillars and hanging from rafters while he observes and tests.

[magical-girl-coral]

Karlach Arc act 3 rewrite idea

Upon meeting a Steel Watcher on Wyrm's crossing, he'll tell Karlach her engine is out of date and she needs to report the Steel Watch Foundry. This will give the location of the foundry (I still don't understand why the fuck wasn't this given in the game).

When confronting Gortash in the throne room after his coronation about her engine heart being called old fashioned, he'll tell Karlach he does feel bad about what he "had" to do and promises to fix up her heart. Karlach then has a conversation sign above her head and says "I've been betrayed by this rat once already. I want to know what he is really after". You'll get a mission in her quest to find Gortash's secret plans as a result.

When asking Karlach where she thinks he would hide his blueprints, she mentions a house he was weirdly obsessed with during her bodyguard days. She could have sworn he said once "no one can ruin them lives but him". You find out it's where his parents are, how they've abused him and why sold him to the hells for gold. If you confess the mother you're here to kill Gortash, she tells you about the key in her pocket for his room.

In his childhood bedroom, you get to find several journals, some half made gadgets and a child's painting of what is now a Steel Watcher, labeled "my protector." There are two interactive blueprints on his table: one of a steel heart labeled "failure" and a massive Steel Watcher on fire. The journal spoke of his frustration of not being able to on up the hells by fixing Karlach's heart and his plan became darker as his obsession of getting back at devils grew. Instead wanted to kidnap Karlach and "save" her by turning her into the ultimate Steel Watcher.'

Karlach, understandably, loses her temper and if you fail a persuasion check or don't stop her at all, burns the house down to the ground from pure rage, killing the Flymms in the process. You should pick the blueprints of Gortash's failed heart replacement before burning down the house.

After stealing the blueprints and killing Gortash, you have two choices: either find Dammon and ask him to fix Karlach's heart with the blueprints, or the Gondians (but they only agree if you save their families. This option is locked if you let them die in the iron throne.) The heart Gortash labeled as a failure wasn't a failure after all, just imperfect. Karlach was so burned up from the hells that every metal inside of her melts after a period of time. Gortash was too obsessed with perfection to see this as a good result and ditched the idea.

The replacement heart has it's ups and downs. The ups is that if you collect infernal metal from the fallen Steel Watchers, the chosen blacksmith can give Karlach a new and more organic engine to help her continue living. But there are some downsides; she can't go anywhere too hot or too cold without possibly damaging the metal. She can't strand away from main cities with better medical equipment if she needs an emergency replacement so her outlander traveling is restricted. She will also need to replace the heart every few years once the infernal metal starts to decay.

Kalrach's arc essentially becomes a choice of what a lot of people with medical problems have to do, whether it's having to live by taking pills every day, wearing prosthetics or just dealing with a disability that limits your possible futures. She either dies from a blazing glory or lives longer with a prosthetic heart that limits her traveling plans. Like Lae'zel and Shadowheart, if you don't converse with her enough throughout her journey, she will choose her bad ending.

Notes:

Gortash's journal entry date shows he become obsessed with fixing Karlach after he caught Raphael talking with the party around act one. The fact that it was specifically Raphael was what send him over the edge.

Gortash wouldn't care less if Karlach dies after he fixes her heart in a world where he could. He didn't care if she makes it or not as long as he can stick to hell one last time.

I have a rough draft where when the party descends onto hell, a devil that words under Zariel shows up (either Flo or Mizora) to give Karlach a new "perfect" heart that could withstand her heat. The catch is that the heart was made purely from the core of hell and it would corrupt her the second it gets in. She becomes a lot more reckless and apathetic, like when she was given her soul coins in act two. If she isn't talked with enough or proven better options, she accepts the deal as a desperate attempted to escape death. (I can't for the life of me figure out where to put this in the game. Maybe during the house of hope?)

If Karlach accepts the prosthetic heart option by talking to either blacksmith, she refuses to become a Mindflayer.

During the epilogue party, Karlach says she's been wandering all over the sword coast to make up for lost time as a mercenary for hire. If Wyll returns to being the Blade of Frontiers, she mentions she started her journey with Wyll, but they went separate ways once she needed more cities to see. She also visited Gale in Waterdeep and helped Lae'zel in the outer planes with a rough battle.

If the MC romances Karlach, they get multiple dialogues options to where the traveled after the Elder brained was finished. There isn't a inch of Faerun Karlach doesn't want to meet.