#popular noise magazine

[icewindandboringhorror]

I've referenced before how I have a big google document to keep track of every media I've ever seen in my entire life (just for reference because I like to track everything possible lol… I am the Data Collector), but recently as I was updating it, I thought of actually evaluating them to find out random percentages (like for example, out of Total Shows Watched, what percentage did I finish vs. stop watching, what percentage did I like or dislike, etc.)...

Evaluating these things is made easier by the fact that I already place everything on each subsection of the list into 6 broad ranking categories, so I don't have to go back and guess to figure out how I feel about them or anything. The categories are: Ranking 5 - overall best* (despite some criticisms of course because I'm too much of an Analyzer to ever find anything Perfect lol) Ranking 4 - more positive than neutral, but not good enough to be 5 Ranking 3 - either the good + bad negate each other, OR it's just not memorable/interesting in any way enough to be ranked higher or lower (this is the Default category ALL things are placed in if no other rank applies) Ranking 2 - maybe a few redeemable elements but largely more negatives than positives Ranking 1 - So bad that it circles around to being fascinating to observe in some way (not necessarily Funny, or Good, but just interesting somehow) Ranking 0 - Bad in a genuinely frustrating or obnoxious manner

*("best" primarily defined here as most interesting, rather than most good in a technical sense, or some other measure. I tend to value more highly whether there's something novel or thoughtful about the worldbuilding, tone, writing, base premise, etc - than about whether it's actually executed perfectly.)

And here's the amount of shows that have so far been placed into each category -

TV shows ~ Rank 5 (highest) - 20 shows ~ Rank 4 (mid-high) - 28 shows ~ Rank 3 (neutral/default/meh) - 114 shows ~ Rank 2 (mid low) -33 shows ~ Rank 1 (low low but intriguingly so) - 14 shows ~ Rank 0 (iredeemably low) - 2 shows

This would make for a total of 211 TV shows overall. However, there are 57 shows within these list marked as "didn't finish" (typically meaning I quit on the very first or second episode - but log them still to keep a record that I at least had a brief view of them).

So my total of genuinely fully watched shows would be more 154. 211 Total, but a More Accurate Total of 154.

Counting them all and using the Total Number Of The List (211) -- that means roughly 9.5% of all total shows I have ever watched (or at least attempted to watch) have been Mostly Good, 13% have been Moderately Okay, 54% have been either entirely Forgettable or some mix of good + bad that lands them right in the Neutral Middle, 15.6% have been Mostly Bad, 6.6% have been Bad (but in an interesting way), and 0.9% have been Terribly Bad.

Additionally, I didn't even get past the first two episodes of about 27% of the total.

Sooo, discounting ones I didn't finish, my total TV shows ever watched in my life would be about 154 (maybe give or take a few, assuming I might have forgotten some from very long ago).

But instead of entire life, let's just say this is the total for 'About 20 Years' (so, not counting very early childhood when I likely wouldn't remember things I saw/have no detailed recollection of them (like for example, I'm sure at some point when I was like 4yrs old I must have seen an episode of Spongebob or something, but I have zero distinct memories of it, can't quote anything of it, and barely recall the premise - so I don't count it on the list, etc.)).

In that case, 154 divided by 20 would be roughly 7.7 shows a year.

Which is actually surprisingly low considering that I often have stuff on in the background for hours whilst I make sculptures and do costumes and stuff (maybe I should have also marked some distinction between 'things I fully paid attention to' and 'things I kind of half listened to whilst sculpting', but that would further split the categories too much probably lol), but I guess a lot of that is youtube videos or random documentaries, so .. eh.. maybe I get it being lower.

Now, doing the same thing for movies-

Movies ~ Rank 5 (highest) - 4 movies (3.4% of total) ~ Rank 4 (mid-high) - 12 movies (10.3% of total) ~ Rank 3 (neutral/default/meh) - 91 movies (78.4% of total) ~ Rank 2 (mid low) - 8 movies (6.8% of total) ~ Rank 1 (low but interesting) - 1 movie (0.8% of total) ~ Rank 0 (irredeemably low) - none in this category (0%)

That makes 116 for a Total (Actually Remembered) Movies Watched In Lifetime (Or At Least In 20 Years).

116 divided by 20 is roughly 5 or 6 movies a year (I feel this has probably been skewed though by adding everything since like elementary school onwards, as I remember a lot more movies from child/teen years.. Whereas, the past 3 years I feel like I've barely seen maybe even 5 movies?? lol). I also have "Didn't Finish" marked on 18 of them. Which means I quit halfway through about 15% of the total movies.

So, a for broader summary stuff..

I seem to be less forgiving to movies than tv shows, by far. Which makes sense to me, I guess, because I love elaboration and details, so "short form" things that only last an hour or two are often lost on me a bit. My biggest complaint with movies is indeed usually walking away just wishing there had been more exposition, more scenes where characters are doing nothing, more "mindless bantering" conversations, more Quiet Downtime and Lore Elaboration and so on lol, so... of course most 1-2hr films end up feeling a bit Not Enough To Draw My Interest/Nothingy to me.

If you count 5 and 4 as "like" and rankings 2 to 0 as "dislike", then for TV shows I at least somewhat liked 48 of them, and at least somewhat disliked 47 of them.. So it's almost exactly the same lol. I'm just about equally as likely to find something bad as I am to find something redeeming about it. But overall, the largest chance is that I just won't really care much for it at all and it will be tossed into the 'neutral' pile, forgotten forever. Movies have a bit better of a balance, "liking" 16 of them, and "disliking" only 9 of them. So I'm slightly more likely to enjoy a movie than to find it annoying - though still VASTLY more likely to just not find it anything in particular, possibly not even finishing it.

ANYWAY.. this is vague and literally pointless, but like I said, I just really find information fun. Like my document where I've rated every apple flavor I've ever tried (like 40 of them now?), or reviewed every oreo flavor (32?), or ranking data from my entire 10 years of Trying To Make Friends process (out of 100 people, roughly 8% chance of a moderate compatibility, 3% chance of high), or etc. etc.. I love to have random pointless things to analyze I suppose lol.

I doubt anyone tracks things in their life in this same exact way, but I'd be interested in hearing any at least somewhat similar data !!! (like, how many TV shows you watch a year on average, and what percentage of those you like vs. dislike (if you keep track of that sort of thing), etc.)). I guess it might be easier with movies, since I think some people use those websites where you curate a list of movies you've seen and you can rate them or something, so maybe the numbers are already available on those places. :0

[spectorgram]

FAN BEHAVIOR

characters: dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake summary: batboys with a celebrity! reader content/warnings: fem! reader, fluff

DICK GRAYSON

You’re an actress who has had a meteoric rise, moving from doing small, one-off parts in TV shows to becoming a breakout star on a particularly popular series to being cast in major movie productions

Your stardom is still a little surreal to you and when you’re invited to a wayne enterprise charity gala, you contemplate not going — what business do you have being somewhere with people far more famous than you? But when you tell your agent this, she gives you a look that says you’re insane for even considering declining

You’ll forever be grateful that she urged you to do so because that’s where you meet Dick

He’s standing with Bruce Wayne, chatting with some frequent donors, dressed in a perfectly-tailored navy blue suit when he sees you out of the corner of his eye and he lights up. He approaches you first with that megawatt smile and introduces himself with an extended hand and says, “I’m a huge fan! I’ve been watching your stuff since you were in Legends of the Kingdom!” And the rest is history

Dick goes to every red carpet event you invite him to and he makes it a point to attend every private premiere screening and public opening night

He definitely shushes anyone who talks during your movies or TV shows and does not care if people think he’s obnoxious.

You’re definitely the ‘it couple’ and your faces are plastered constantly on magazine covers and two-page spreads

There are people who try to sow discord in your relationship and their go-to is either pointing out how different you are to Dick’s former girlfriends; that you’re not his type, that this isn’t going to last, etc., or that you’re not talented enough for the fame you have or to be dating Dick Grayson

It definitely gets to you and does nothing to whatever lingering imposter syndrome you harbor but Dick is such a grounding force, reminding you that it’s all just noise and that he loves you completely and unconditionally

At home, he likes to rewind your scenes in shows and movies, and it flatters you as much as it flusters you

He also likes to read through scripts with you when he can and his voices for the various other characters bring you to tears from laughter 

So many intentional and unintentional thirst trap couples pics. Like, a selfie you post one morning — Dick is shirtless and you’re in one of his old t-shirts and its sliding down your shoulder and showing your collarbone and you’re both laying on your stomachs in your shared bed, hair sleep (and sex) tousled with the morning sun making both of you look like you’re golden and glowing 

JASON TODD

You meet Jason as Red Hood first when you’re running from the paparazzi but you don’t know it’s him

They chase you down a couple of blocks before someone tugs you into an alleyway and you’re about to scream for help when you see who it is. Red Hood shields you as the paparazzi pass and when you ask him why he helped you, he simply says, “I hate the paps and you looked like you needed a hand.”

Once he’s sure the coast is clear, he walks you back to your hotel using the back alleys of Gotham. You make several attempts to strike a conversation up with him in the first few minutes of your walk but what seems to catch his interest is when you start rambling on about just finishing Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. 

You’re disappointed when you arrive at your hotel and you’re rush inside to find a pad to scribble your number on but he’s gone when you return, disappearing into the night

It’s by chance that you meet him again (unbeknownst to you), this time in his civilian identity as Jason Todd. You’re in disguise at a bookstore in Gotham when you bump into him and spill his iced coffee all over both of you, apologizing profusely and offering to buy him another drink, which he accepts. (His voice is oddly familiar to you but you can’t put your finger on why) 

You two keep in touch and start dating privately. The long-distance is difficult at times given your very different and busy schedules and Jason is pretty cagey about what he does but you both make time for each other as much as possible

He tells you that he listens to your music during his workouts and in the background while he’s doing stuff around his apartment. He hums along too.

He recommends your songs to anyone who listens, which raises suspicions in the Batfam, and it obviously doesn’t take long for them to figure out that he’s dating you but he makes them promise to keep it to themselves. 

Whenever you have a concert in Gotham, which you make a point to do frequently, Jason is in the VIP box, bobbing his head and mouthing along to your songs. When it ends, he’s right there backstage with flowers and a thermos of tea for your throat

Your relationship goes public when fans capture of video of you two leaving one of your concerts together, Jason’s leather jacket draped over your shoulders

You eventually move to Gotham to be closer to him and the two of you spend every free moment either of you have together, making up for lost time. 

You still try to keep your relationship as private as possible but fans eat up any crumbs they get, including the occasional selfie of you both 

He is your biggest inspiration for songs and also your biggest help. You love bouncing ideas off of him and he likes sitting with you when you pick at your guitar strings and mumble a half-formed melody

(You eventually do find out that he’s Red Hood when he tumbles through the window of your bedroom, bleeding profusely, and you have to take his helmet off to assess the damage)

TIM DRAKE

You’ve known Tim since you were kids given that your parents ran in the same social circles

You started out as a child model in department store clothing catalogs. Tim did some shoots with you too but while his parents eventually stopped auditioning him for such jobs, you continued until the present day, and you’re now a well-known supermodel 

You two have been friends forever and the internet laps up your interactions together. There are compilations of videos and photos of the two of you at banquets and red carpet events and memes with text like “when will someone look at me like that?”

Before you two even started dating, there were articles about a supposed romance and sexual tension between you two. In interviews, you would vehemently deny anything asked about it and reiterate that you two are just good friends

At some point, however, you start seeing your childhood friend in a different light. He’s kind, brilliant, funny, attentive, and very handsome. It’s not that you didn’t know that before but it’s different now. You find yourself shying away his casual touches and suddenly conscious of your actions around him — did you laugh too loud? Is your hair in your face? Does he know how you feel? Can he tell?

You don’t want to ruin your friendship, as cliche as it sounds, so you did your best to keep your feelings under wraps, which resulted in you distancing yourself. When Tim would text to congratulate you on your latest Vogue cover or runway show, you would simply shoot a simple ‘thanks!’ text back instead of the usual ‘THANK U’ followed by five heart emojis. 

He confronts you about it one day and you’ve never really been a good liar in front of him so you tell him, bracing for a gentle rejection but instead receiving a kiss. 

You made a hard launch post with him on Instagram and received hundreds of DMs of people saying they were vindicated in believing that “friends don’t look at each other like that”

Tim is in the front row at every single runway show you have, dressed impeccably in an expensive suit. He takes pictures of you and visits you backstage with your favorite sweet treat.

After fashion shows and other events, you return to his apartment to let your hair down and put your feet up. You do your skincare routines together, sheet face mask and all, and snuggle on the couch for some TV or just to hang out and talk endlessly

You’re very active on social media with him and you two have a lot of couples posts together. When you both have time, you do Instagram lives where people watch you two make dinner together or answer some questions from viewers. A fan favorite is when you choose outfits for each other.

During a runway, you blow a kiss at Tim in the audience and the camera zooms in on his face, where he just watches you with a lovestruck expression and bright red ears — it’s in almost every video compilation that’s titled something like ‘15 minutes of Tim Drake being a simp’

[bestiarium]

Am Fear Liath Mór, or the Big Grey Man of Ben MacDhui [Scottish cryptid]

The high passes of Ben MacDhui – the second largest mountain in Scotland – are haunted by tales of a mysterious creature that supposedly stalks hikers. Usually it is described as an impossibly tall, grey spectre, thereby earning it the name ‘Am Fear Liath Mór’, meaning ‘the big grey man’.

The story starts in 1891 with professor Norman Collie of the Royal Geographic Society, who happened to be a passionate hiker as well. The professor had just climbed the cairn on the summit of Ben MacDhui when he heard something that vaguely sounded like footsteps. I should mention that this area is notoriously misty, so you can imagine how easy it is for a lone hiker to get anxious when hearing strange noises.

The footsteps continued, but they were oddly spaced: for every ‘step’ the professor heard, he himself took three or four. It was as if this mysterious spectre was taking giant leaps or had huge legs. Eventually the professor was overtaken by panic and fled. Much later, in 1925, he recounted his tale and shared it with the newspapers, who were eager to publish and often exaggerate the story of a supposed monster or cryptid living in the Scottish mountains. At the time, the mystery creature was dubbed ‘the Ben MacDhui Ghost’ in the media.

Afterwards, multiple people came forward with claims about the mountain ghost, some of which were believable (hearing unidentified sounds) and some were more fantastic (Richard Frere and Peter Densham claimed to have had a conversation with an invisible, psychic creature).

Richard Frere would later claim that while he was hiking on the top of the Ben MacDhui, he had an unshakeable feeling that someone else was there with him, and he would hear a strange high-pitched noise that seemed to come from the soil beneath his feet.

Frere also gave a physical description of a creature he claimed to have seen (but it is difficult to verify whether this is the oldest actual ‘sighting’ of the supposed ghost): a large, brown creature was seen swaggering down the mountainside. It stood about 20 feet (6m) tall, was covered with short brown fur and had a disproportionally large head supported by a thick, muscular neck. It had broad shoulders but walked upright and did not resemble an ape.

Interestingly, only a single sighting happened on a nearby mountain, rather than on the Ben MacDhui itself: in the 1920’s, Tom Crowley, the president of the local Moray Mountaineering Club, claimed to have seen an apparition while descending from Braeriach to the Glen Eanaich. It was a very tall, misty grey figure with a humanoid shape, albeit with long legs that ended in strange talons (described as resembling fingers more than toes) and a head with pointy ears.

Dr. A. M. Kellas, himself a famed mountaineer, also claimed that a giant grey humanoid creature haunted the mountain. Among the many supposed sightings, I am uncertain which one is actually the oldest description of the ‘Grey Man’ as a tall, grey spectre, but it is certainly the most popular one. The grey apparition had cemented itself as a local cryptid and urban legend and many more supposed sightings followed.

Though it is often claimed that the creature is connected to ancient Scottish or Celtic mythology, this is most likely false. Gray Affleck, the author of ‘The Big Grey Man of Ben MacDhui’, attempted to research this link but could not find a single connection with actual Highland mythology.

In 1958, the June edition of ‘Scots Magazine’ told the story of Alexander Tewnion’s 1943 expedition to the mountain. While he was descending the mountain, a giant grey shape suddenly loomed over him. Having none of this bullshit, Mr. Tewnion immediately pulled out his revolver and fired three bullets at the thing. The mysterious apparition seemed not to notice, however, and kept walking towards him, upon which Tewnion fled.

Sources: Barrie, A., 2005, Sutton Companion to the Folklore, Myths and Customs of Britain, The History Press, 480 pp. Gray, A., 2013, The Big Grey Man of Ben MacDhui, Birlinn, 183 pp. (reviewed edition, first edition published in 1970) (image source 1 : Attila Nagy on Artstation) (image source 2: ManthosLappas on Deviantart, ©Fear Liath)

[the-nosy-neighbor]

Poe

So, still digesting this information. 

Also, I just realized that the wiki has links to Clown’s past comments about each character, so I have been enjoying reading those.  I did a deep dive a while back, but didn’t see some of the things added.

The main thing I see here, if people aren’t familiar with the works of Edward Allen Poe, is the fact that two of his stories are referenced in the book.  I assume most people are going to know, as his stuff is pretty popular and references abound.  Sally has determined that they are going to do her version of “The Tell-tale Heart.” I wish we got to hear more about what her version was like, but we do get a small idea.  The second references is “The Cask of Amontillado.”  I’m going to do a super basic description of each story—I have read these in the past, but I’m using general info from Wikipedia as a source.

In “The Telltale Heart” (which I saw a feminist play version of recently), the story follows an unnamed person who lives with an old man and becomes obsessed with the idea that his “milky” eye (probably cataracts) is watching him at all times.  He decides that he is going to have to kill him to get rid of this evil eye.  He goes in at night with a shuttered lantern to observe the old man while he sleeps.  For seven days, he doesn’t see the eye.  On the eighth, the old man wakes up (I think the main character makes a noise) and then when the shaft of light lands on his unusual eye, decides that this is the sign he needs to go ahead and kill him. 

Check out this awesome art from Wikipedia, an illustration by Harry Clark in 1923

He hears the old man’s heartbeat at this point.  The old man cries out once and then dies.  So he kills him, dismembers him, and buries him under the floorboards of the old man’s room.  But someone heard the scream, so the police come.  He has taken care of everything suspicious, so he doesn’t think that they are going to find anything, but he keeps hearing the heartbeat.  He brings chairs to the old man’s room, and they sit there.  The heartbeat keeps getting louder and louder, but the cops don’t seem to hear it.  Eventually, the sound of the heartbeat breaks him, and he confesses to the crime.  He tells them where the body is hidden. 

The story was published in January of 1843 in a magazine.  Interesting tidbit, it was published with a poem claimed by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, called “A Psalm of Life” but when Poe’s story was republished, he had them drop the poem, because he thought it could be plagiarized.  It was first published anonymously, and some felt that if it was Wadsworth’s, it could be a translation of Goethe.  The poem is about seizing the day, doing great things. 

Now, the second piece, “The Cask of Amontillado” is also a story about premeditated murder.  In this case, it follows an Italian noble who has fallen on hard times, who hates a man he blames for his bad fortune.  The hated man is called “Fortunato,” and the murderer is called “Montresor” which is a family name.    So, it’s Carnival (Carnevale), which has parades, costumes, masks, games, pranks, theatre performances among other celebrations.  Mardi Gras is descended from this festival.  Montresor finds Fortunato wandering around drunk (and it is insinuated that while he is called a connoisseur he could be a garden variety alcoholic).  Having planned for revenge against the guy, he asks him to come to his house and check out this rare wine he bought, known for being counterfeit most of the time.  Given that Fortunato has a taste for wines, he is going to give his opinion.  Monstresor thinks with carnival happening around them, and both of them in carnival garb and masks, no one will notice them going to his house. 

He takes the guy down to his basement, giving him some wine on the way down to keep him drunk, and instead of wine, there is a chain on the wall with a lock on the other side.  Montresor locks him in, and starts to build a wall around him.  Fortunato tries to take it as a joke, but it becomes apparent that Montresor is going to leave him there.  Fortunato begs for them to leave and drink the wine together, while his murderer agrees with everything he says, still building the wall.  With one brick left, Montresor looks at him, and calls his name twice:

I heard no answer.  “Fortunato!” I cried.  “Fortunato.” I heard only a soft, low sound, a half-cry of fear.  My heart grew sick; it must have been the cold.  I hurried to force the last stone into its position.  And I put the old bones again in a pile against the way.  For half a century now no human hand has touched them.  May he rest in peace!

Also notable in this story is the imagery of Montresor’s family crest, which shows a foot crushing a snake, while the snake has its fangs in the heel of the foot.  I read a discussion on the somewhat circular nature of this image, because the viewer can’t tell who the aggressor is there.  Did the snake bite first, or did the heel crush first?  “Montresor” means “my treasure;” “Fortunato” means “lucky, fortunate, blessed, or happy.”  Fortunato is also the name of many Christian saints.

What does this mean for Poppy? And Sally?  In our story, Sally is distraught that she suggested that Poppy act in the play, having forgotten (somehow) that Poppy is scared of everything, until everyone reminds her that Poppy is scared of everything.  Barnaby says “brick by brick,” which gives Barnaby the idea to brick Poppy into her barn.  Truly bizarre.  So all the neighbors (minus Home) set to work bricking up her window with school glue and bricks.  Interestingly, all the neighbors appear to be there, but you don’t see the hands of Frank or Sally, just trowels. 

You see a shot of the interior of the barn with just a small part remaining open, with Sally’s face in the hole.  Then a line says “Never had a home look so safe and cozy!” (sic, not sure about that, typo?)  Agree to disagree, that sounds terrifying. 

Poppy being out of the play altogether means that Home is in the play.  We see the other neighbors prepping, so I assume that the page where they are all in windows shows what each one is doing:  Wally is painting (scenery?), Frank is brushing Julie’s hair, Howdy is putting chairs out (?), Barnaby is eating a hot dog, home is staring directly at us, and Eddie is studying lines.  Sally, in the center is being bummed that Poppy isn’t participating.  Given that Home is in the background of the play itself, I am going to assume that Julie is the main character, Eddie is Cop 1 and Home is Cop 2.  The play ends with the confession scene, but Julie confesses burying her alarm clock in a garden, not a murder.  Home has three black dots on the front, but I can’t tell if that is some kind of decoration for the play, or if it is more of the black stuff that is on everything. 

After the play, we are treated to silhouettes of the audience and cast, but we don’t have the audio of the lines there, instead, we are hearing Poppy’s panic.  But it does have the line, “Most important of all, not a single peep was heard out of Poppy.” Then there is a page of a feather on a brick page (that reminds me of the old missing art that isn’t canon. 

The book ends with an image of the bricked over window.  While the audio tells us she is fine, the images themselves are suspect.  More to come later.

[formosusiniquis]

Lineage

Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington WC: 2173 | G | Day 4: Middle Names | AO3

“What are middle names for?” The question bubbles out of Steve as he takes in the picture of Michael J. Fox in Tiger Beat.

It’s the kind of question he thinks of a lot. The kind he’d normally bury in the back of his brain to ponder over on his own when sleep is a far off concept. But Robin is different. They’re so much a part of one another that Steve has stopped holding those questions in his own brain, realizing she likes to puzzle them out and tear them apart like he does.

Only Robin’s base of smarts is a little different, sometimes these questions he has actually get real answers. 

He can feel Robin go still beneath him, his head on her shoulder just like hers is on his. With anyone else the position they’d found themselves in this afternoon would probably be uncomfortable. Sprawled out on his bed, technically back to back, Steve is using the bony knob of Robin’s shoulder to raise his head just enough that he doesn’t have to hold the magazine he’s reading up in the air. Robin has taken the top of the bed, her legs make an L where she has them stretched out against his bedroom wall, toes pointed toward the ceiling. Whatever book she’s been reading is propped up against her thighs, too far to actually read without using the binoculars Dustin left behind last week.

He flips another page in the magazine, content the way he always is with Robin, knowing that when she has finished puzzling out the order that she wants to respond to him in that she’ll speak. Steve thinks it’s probably to tell the difference between people. There are so many in the world, eventually you’re going to have two Tommy H.’s in a room and have to use that middle name.

Tommy Allen, the thought of spending two years of junior high and two and a half in high school calling Tommy that in public drags a little giggle from Steve. That would have made them losers of the highest order. Robin makes a noise that reminds Steve of Mrs. Johnson’s cat whenever he’d feed it for her when she was out of town, inquiring but also a little annoyed that you disturbed whatever it was doing before.

He shimmies his arm just enough that she knows he’ll explain it later. Once he figures out a good way to explain how much of being popular is being good at being perceived the right way. Tommy H’s can be popular, Tommy Allen’s get their slightly bucked teeth and bad laughs noticed. She isn’t going to like that, but Steve learned pretty quickly Robin doesn’t like a lot of things about how popularity actually works.

“I think,” Robin says slowly, she’s talking a little funny and Steve wonders now if she’s let the binoculars rest against her chin instead of just putting them down like a normal person. He could turn and look but figures all he’d actually see is the blurry, too close suggestion of Robin’s face. It’s better in his imagination. 

“I think,” she repeats, in his head the binoculars wiggle down her chest a little further every time her mouth moves, “it's to continue the family line. That used to be a big thing you know, it’s why men didn’t want daughters because then the family name would die out. So you’d give your kid a middle name to help continue one of the old names from the family that was just going to die if you didn’t keep making your wife have more and more babies that she probably didn’t even want.”

“Oh like JR.”

“JR?”

“Yeah, you know JR. He’s that football player that graduated two years ago. His ears stuck out weird and he always seemed to have, like, a Rudolph zit on his nose.”

“You mean Mark Williams?” She shouts, incredulous.

“Sure, I think it was Mark. His dad was definitely Mr. Williams, but they had the same name so whenever they went anywhere he always called him JR. ‘Hey JR wouldja get that for me.’ ‘If you ever wanna go pro, JR, you’re going to have to learn how to take a tackle.’”

Robin is in fits beside him, the impression is terrible but it’s also exactly what the guy used to sound like gruff but also whistley somehow.

“Wait, wait,” the bed shakes as she adjusts herself, he can feel the weird shape of her ear and the uncomfortable poke of her earrings in the cradle of his arm. “What’s your middle name?”

“You mean you didn’t see it when you rifled through my employee file to find my birthday and social security number?”

“I was looking for important information.”

“So you could steal my identity.”

“So I could make fun of you less on your birthday if it was in the summer or maybe just take the whole day off so I didn’t have to deal with the cavalcade of pretty blondes coming in to fawn over Steve Harrington, real adult man.”

“Ew, the worst way anyone has ever described me. You make it sound like I’m some kind of pervert.”

“They would want you to be,” Robin agrees, “I think it would be part of the appeal.”

“Richard.”

“Theodore.”

“No, dingus,” he relishes the moment that he gets to turn her favorite pet name against her, “my middle name is Richard.”

Robin takes that new information and digests it for at least thirty seconds, but that’s just a guess since she’s laying on the arm that has his watch on it. “Stephan Richard Harrington,” she tries out.

“The one and only.”

“It feels like there should be a number at the end. Stephan Richard Harrington the Sixth, best of his line.”

Maybe if he were a Sixth he’d like it a little better, he thinks. “No, it’s like what you said, continuing family names? Mom named me after her brother that died in the war, and Dad hated that or him or probably both knowing him so I got stuck with Richard so he could be included.”

“Robin Marie Buckley,” Robin offers in exchange.

“Ew.”

“I didn’t ew yours even though it makes you sound like a fancy little rich boy.”

“I am a fancy little rich boy,” Steve says, flipping the front of his hair with a half assed toss of his head, “you’re lying here in my ivory tower.”

“I think ivory towers have less blue plaid.”

“I like the blue plaid, it makes hanging things up easy. I’m sorry we can’t all have this season’s Laura Ashley-”

Robin is, unfortunately, at the perfect angle to punch him directly in the chest. “My parents did that to surprise me when I came back from bandcamp two years ago so I could have a more mature room as a high schooler.”

For all that it’s worth he tries not to sound mean when he snorts, the Buckleys are nice and mostly well meaning or at least they have been every time he’s visited. “And they somehow missed the dresser covered in spiky bracelets and the closet full of grandpa suspenders while they were in there.”

“They mean well,” Robin unintentionally echoes Steve’s own earlier thoughts. “They just don’t… really get me.” Her voice trails off, a little lost, and he hates himself for being the person who made Robin feel like that.

“We should change our names.”

“What and go on the lam?” Robin asks.

“We can, but I don’t think any lambs, sheep, or goats need to be involved.”

Steve sits up in bed, forcing Robin to do the same as he pulls his arm out from under her head. It only takes a quick spin before he’s facing her, grabs her arms so she can’t pull away from how totally and completely serious he’s being. “It’s like you said, it’s about family right?” He says, “You’re more family to me than my douchebag dad has ever been so why do I have to be stuck with his name when I could be Stephan Robert.”

“Not Robin?”

“Don’t wanna make it too obvious, and Robin Stephan probably wouldn’t fly at the name changing place.”

“Robin Stephanie,” she tries slowly.

“I mean obviously if I were a girl I’d go by Stevie,” he jokes.

“We can’t just change our names!” Robin says, she doesn’t sound like she believes it though so Steve is pretty sure he’s winning.

“Why can’t we, people do it all the time, I bet it’s super easy.”

“When they get married! Or like adopted. People don’t just change their names on a Tuesday because they feel like it!”

He tries to give that the thought that it deserves, but he mostly just feels like Robin is making excuses because she’s scared. Maybe it’s the leftover fear from Starcourt bubbling out in a place where she can control, or maybe she just likes her parents enough to be scared of hurting their feelings. One of those things he can relate to more than the other.

“Well Thursday would work better for my schedule.”

“Steve!”

“What! So we get married then, is that the problem? I mean I know I’m not your first choice romantically, but didn’t you say people do that so that they’re safe from people knowing they’re gay.”

Her arms are already out, ready to make a point that would probably be big and dramatic and a little long winded the way Robin likes to be when she’s all worked up like this. But he’s stopped her in her tracks. Face to face he can watch as the outrage melts into something sticky and wet like melted ice cream.

“You’d do that for me?”

“I would pretty much do everything including die for you, getting to be Stephan Robert Buckley would really be more like you doing me a favor.”

He’s getting pulled into a crushing hug before he can blink. He doesn’t mention how he can feel the wet fall of her crying against his neck, if it didn’t embarrass her, it might stop Robin from doing her best to climb inside him like she’s Luke and he’s that weird ice kangaroo. Mascara stains on the neck of his shirt are a small price to pay for a Robin Buckley embrace.

They hold each other for as long as it takes for Robin to feel regular again, and it’s nice. Steve thinks they’ll have to have a different conversation about how rarely he gets hugged just for the sake of it later. Right now this is about family and names and because Robin is family in every way that matters he doesn’t say anything when she wipes away those tears and a little snot with the back of her hand.

“You’ll have to wait until March,” she says, “I’m not getting married until I’m at least 18. I don’t want people thinking it’s some shotgun thing after working with you this summer.”

“As long as it’s before you get your dorm assignment for whatever fancy school you get into. If we’re married I’m pretty sure they have to let us live together.”

“Yeah? Even if I go somewhere like Bryn Mawr?”

He pretends like he’s giving that careful consideration, like he doesn’t already know she really wants to go to some big city where the schools might have a language program and she has a better chance of finding other people more like her.

“Well I guess we could live off campus then, if you really want to go to the lesbian school for lesbians.”

She punches him again. “It is not.”

“I wouldn't want the other lesbians to bully you for being married to a really hot guy.”

“One, I never said yes, dingus. Two, I have a whiteboard that questions how hot you are hotshot.’

“Pretty sure that got burned in the fire so you can’t use that as proof anymore you’re going to need more dates.”

“Data, you need to try to land dates.”

“Same difference.”

She pushes him until he’s laying down, grabs her book from his pillow and he takes that as his cue to go back to his magazine. It takes her a minute to decide how she wants to lay down again, he’s already back on his page about this month’s Hollywood Heartthrobs before she’s decided that his chest makes the best pillow and his arm can prop her book up for her. He isn’t sure what it is today, he wonders if she’s close enough to the beginning that he can get her to read it out loud to him, this month’s Tiger Beat really is lacking.

“Why does anyone think these guys are hot? The guys in Rolling Stone are usually better looking than Alex P. Keaton or the guy from Growing Pains. Johnny Depp is kinda okay, I guess.”

“Stephan Robert!” Robin sits upright again, and Steve thinks he might have accidentally started another capital C Conversation.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Analysis: Cannery Row (Cultural References)

John Steinbeck’s Cannery Row (1945) opens with the following declaration:

“Cannery Row in Monterey California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream” (1).

Set in a fictionalized version of Cannery Row in Monterey, California, Steinbeck uses his cast of homeless people, drunks and prostitutes to express profound truths about humanity. 

Abacus (6): A counting device that was used before the creation of calculators.

Belles-lettres (64): A type of literary work, one that is usually expressed in essays, poetry and deals with intellectual subject matter.

Beret (123): A soft hat that has no bill and no brim. Often worn in the military.

Billings, Josh (61): The pen name for Henry Wheeler Shaw, a respected humorist of the 20th century.

Black Marigolds (171): A poem written by E. Powys Mathers.

Bloomer League (140): A baseball league that was comprised primarily of women that started during the early 1900’s.

Carborundum (90): Another name for silicon carbide, which is the sole chemical compound of carbon and silicon.

Chalmers (154): A type of car that was created and sold during the early 1900’s.

Chorea (144): An illness that causes involuntary movement in various parts of the body.

Collier’s (magazine) (139): Founded by Peter Collier, Collier’s Once a Week debuted in 1888 and went on to become one of America’s most popular magazines.

Count Basie (114): A prominent figure during the swing period of jazz, as well as a good example of big band style.

Dadaist (122): An artist or a writer who practiced Dada, a movement that rejected traditional art and contemporary culture.

Daisy Air Rifle (104): A brand of rifle created by the historic Daisy company.

Distemper (134): An infection in dogs that can be diagnosed through symptoms of a runny nose, poor appetite, and coughing.

“Fighting Bob” (111): A reference to Robert M. La Follette Sr. fight against Washington and other politicians who choose to enter WWI.

Ford Model T (61, 106): A truck built by Ford Motor Company.

The Great Depression (16): A result of the 1929 stock market crash, which left many Americans without money or jobs.

Great Fugue (163): A musical work by Beethoven.

Goiter (97): The enlargement of the thyroid gland.

Influenza (89): An infection more commonly known as the “flu.” It was responsible for claiming the lives of millions worldwide before effective vaccines were created to treat and prevent it.

Knights of Columbus (130): A Catholic organization that seeks to aid family members within the organization who are in financial need.

Knights Templar (130): A group of knights who originated in Jerusalem during the year of 1119. Though shrouded in mystery, the Knights Templar are believed to have protected the Holy Grail.

Laudanum (107): A mixture of opium and derivatives of alcohol.

Masonic Lodge (104): A meeting place for Freemasons or former Freemasons.

Mastoids (89): The skull bones that house the ear.

Mastoiditis (90): Mastoiditis occurs when an infection in the middle ear spreads to the mastoids and then causes an infection that produces fevers and headaches.

Monteverdi’s Hor ch’ el Ciel e la Terra (119): A song by the Italian musician Claudio Monteverdi, who lived in the 16th and 17th century.

Novena (88): A prayer that is said over a nine-day period that requests a special favor from God.

“Panama Pacific International Exposition of 1915” (111): The 1915 Worlds Fair that was held in San Francisco, California.

Petrarch (119): A famous writer of the 14th century who is credited with being the founding father of Humanism.

Point Lobos (64): A state reserve on the central coast of California in Monterey County.

Prohibition (72): A move by the United States government to reduce the amount of alcohol consumed in the United States through limiting individuals and businesses who sold alcohol.

Purse Seiners (67): Fishing boats equipped to fish with a purse seine, a kind of fishing net.

“Remember the Maine” (111): The sinking of the U.S.S. Maine, which was the catalyst for the Spanish-American War.

Rimbaud (124): A 19th century French writer who is most remembered for his contribution to the symbolist movement.

Robert Louis Stevenson (61): A Scottish author who is most famous for works such as Treasure Island and The Black Arrow.

Saturnalia (112): The week of December 17th-23rd during which a feast was held by the Romans to celebrate their dedication Saturn’s temple.

Scarlatti (129): Last name of Giuseppe Domenico Scarlatti, an Italian harpsichordist born during the 17th century who later moved to Spain and continued to practice music there.

Sculpin (135): A kind of small fish.

St. Francis (of Assisi) (144): A saint in the Catholic church who is known for his great love for God, animals, and the sick.

Treasure Island (64): A book written by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Vaudeville (109): A form of American variety entertainment that marked the beginning of popular entertainment as a lucrative business.

“White Sale” (103): A sale either of household goods, or when a store drastically reduces their prices for a short period of time.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

[whatsnewalycat]

Passenger / Chapter 6

Pairing: Trucker!Din Djarin AU x OFC Charlie Wanderlust

Wyoming (Part Three)

[ Previous Chapter ][ Series Masterlist ][ Next Chapter ]

Chapter Summary: Charlie strikes a deal with the mechanic.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.3k+

Content / Warnings: yearning, slow burn, horny thoughts, food mention, eating, handcuffs, one bed, shower, dog grogu, guns

Notes: None really. Hope you like it, thank you for reading!

A bell chimes when Din pushes open the door to Giddyup Auto, and again when he lets it swing shut behind you. 

It’s just as cluttered inside the shop as it is outside. Pornographic magazines have been stacked alongside NAPA catalogs and tattered notepads on top of tool boxes. Promotional branding from popular auto parts manufacturers patch the steel walls, occasionally broken up by snarky signs that read things like KWITCHERBITCHIN AVE and I CAN FIX ANYTHING EXCEPT STUPID. 

Country music crackles from blown speakers at the back of the shop, echoing off the tall ceiling. The rough, strained sound blends horribly with a high-pitched whir coming from beneath a 1989 Dodge Ram 250. 

Din inhales the scent of motor oil and metal shavings. Adolescent nostalgia wells up in his chest like pride, some vague understanding of what it means to be a man. The responsibility of maintenance. Caretaking and custodianship. 

He catches a glimpse of his adoptive father wringing his hands with an oil-soaked rag while rattling off the basic components of an internal combustion engine. Then he blinks it away.

Out of the corner of his eye, you adjust your grip on the wriggling dog, slipping one hand beneath his bottom and the other across his chest. Grogu huffs at the intrusion, but once he’s steadied to a higher vantage point, he seems pleased. His ears stand at attention, jowls sealed shut, the tip of his snout twitching with curiosity. 

Both you and the dog look around the garage with the same kind of wide-eyed wonder. Two explorers ready to investigate this whole new world. Din leads the way deeper into the automotive bay, following the shrill grinding sound to the old rusted-out truck. 

When he comes to a halt, so does the noise, then Paul slides out from under the truck on a creeper. 

“Hey there! Sorry, I didn’t hear y’all come in,” he gestures to the impact wrench in his hand as he sets it down. 

“Hi, Paul,” you greet him with a cheerful smile.

Rising to his feet, he beams, “Miss Charlie, how’re you today?” 

The twinkle in his bright eyes makes Din feel uneasy. Strands of gray streak his dark beard and pepper his slicked-back hair. Hard-earned wrinkles crease his face. He’s twice your age at least, and Din can’t quite determine whether his intentions are cordial or flirtatious. 

Either way, you hardly seem to mind. You perk up at the attention, taking a step towards him as you reply, “Can’t complain. Yourself?” 

“Oh, just fine. Annie get y’all set up at the motel?” 

“She sure did. It was nice to sleep in a bed for once, y’know, after being on the road for so long. Thank you for recommending it to us.” 

“‘Course. Yellow Seed’s been treatin’ you alright?” 

“Yeah! We got to poke around a little yesterday. Went and got supper at the Outlaw Saloon, which was good,” you glance at Din and chuckle a little, “The locals didn’t seem too keen on us. Got a few dirty looks, but that’s not surprising.” 

Paul laughs at this, crossing his arms as he leans back against the truck, “Well, you know, we small town folks don’t always like outsiders.” 

“I’m used to it,” you shrug dismissively, then your face lights up, “But, hey, I talked to the owner and they’re gonna let me play a couple sets tomorrow night if you wanna swing by.”

“No shit?” Paul grins and catches himself, “Pardon my language—”

“It’s fine,” you wave it off. 

“Playin’ a few sets at the Outlaw Saloon,” Paul repeats, shaking his head with amusement, “What kinda music you play?” 

“I know a little bit of everything. These kinds of gigs, I try to feel out the crowd. I catch a country music kinda vibe around here, so probably some Hank Williams Jr, Alan Jackson, Johnny Cash. Stuff like that,” you tilt your head at him, “Got any requests?”

“Know any Waylon Jennings?” 

“Sure, I have a few of his tunes up my sleeve. Any particular song?”

“Surprise me,” he winks. 

Din tries to retain his stoic demeanor despite the discomfort writhing beneath his skin. The dog must pick up on this, because he whines at his owner and starts to squirm in your grip. 

Struggling with Grogu’s protest, you ask Paul, “Is it ok if I set him down?”

“Go on ahead, darlin’,” Paul tells you, then turns to Din, “How about you? Settling in ok?” 

“How much will it cost to fix?” 

Paul raises his eyebrows and pushes off the truck, “Right down to brass tacks, huh?” 

“He’s not much of a talker,” you smirk as you set the dog on the cement floor and start roaming around the shop, leash in hand. 

“I can respect that.” His gaze lingers on your wandering form for a moment longer before he looks at Din and sighs, “Well, I had some luck calling around to a few junkyards lookin’ for salvaged or used parts. Found a good price for what I need. With that ‘n’ labor, it’ll run you twenty-five hundred, long as everything goes smoothly.” 

Din weighs the cost against his bank account, factoring in the motel room, gas to get to the next job, and food for a few days. It would run him dry. His stomach tightens and twists. Before he can formulate a response, you chime in. 

“Is there any way we can knock that price down?” 

Paul crosses his arms across his chest and gives you a sympathetic shrug, “Way it stands, ‘fraid I can’t.” 

You nod as you consider this, furrowing your brow at the floor, then look up at him, “What if we make a trade?” 

“A trade?” Paul frowns. 

“Yeah, or, you know. Some kind of a deal. We scratch your back, you scratch ours.” 

Paul’s blue eyes flick between you and Din, “Wha’d you have in mind, sweetheart?”

Din’s first instinct is to shut down the conversation. But when you glance at him as if searching for approval, he doesn’t protest. You turn back to Paul and nod over your shoulder, “I noticed your sign out front is pretty faded. I could paint it if you knock a couple hundred off?” 

Paul shifts his weight to one leg and wrinkles his nose. Not sold. You don’t let it deter you. 

“I’ve done murals before, so this would be a piece of cake. It looks pretty shabby now, but I can make it,” you smack your lips, “pop. Maybe it’d bring in some more business for you.” 

Shaking his head, he smirks at Din, “She’s persistent, ain’t she?”

“She is.” 

“I am,” you confirm with a wide, toothy grin, “Whaddaya say? I do the sign, take off $500?“

Paul works his jaw from side to side, then slackens and sticks out his hand, “Five hundred.” 

“Plus the cost of supplies,” you add. 

“Plus the—” he cuts himself off with an amused chuckle, “You’re somethin’ else. Fine. Five hundred plus costs.” 

When you shake his hand, a victorious, blinding smile spreads across your face. The corner of Din’s mouth turns up at the sight. He fails to correct his expression as you take a step back and glance at him. His heart skips in that brief moment where his eyes meet yours, before you drop your gaze to your feet and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. Blush rises to your cheeks and neck, rosy splotches that bloom soft and full in his chest. 

“Whaddaya think, should $100 do it?” Paul asks. 

“I think we can make that work,” you nod, “Do you have paint brushes or rollers? Sandpaper?” 

“Reckon I do. Hang tight, I’ll get y’all some cash, ok?” 

Once he’s out of earshot, Din studies you, wondering out loud, “Why are you helping me?” 

“Rule number ten: Be a stand up tramp,” you shrug, crouching down to scratch Grogu between his ears, “Plus, I don’t know, it just seems like… the right thing to do.” 

Your answer perplexes him. He can’t come up with a response other than, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” you grin up at him, then rise to your feet and change the subject, “I’m hungry. We should get lunch. And maybe get some groceries, too, so we—er, you don’t have to spend as much on eating out.” 

The authority with which you suggest this causes him to chafe. He wants to push back for no reason other than to reclaim the upper hand. Your reasoning is sound, though. It’s not a bad idea. 

“We can do that.” 

“Yeah?” 

He nods. 

Your gaze lingers on him for a moment, lips curving into a delicate smile. Something flutters in his stomach, frantic and timid, urging him to put up a wall between you. But he keeps his eyes anchored to yours despite his internal warning bells. 

The tight wire of tension slackens as Paul returns, counting a stack of wrinkled bills, “Here you go.” 

You step forward to accept the cash, “Perfect. Thank you, Paul.” 

“Are y’all gonna be able to carry everything back here, or do you wanna borrow my truck? Might be a little easier that way.” 

“Really?” you grin and knit your brows together into a gracious expression, “We were thinking of grabbing lunch and getting some groceries, too. Would that be ok?” 

“Fine by me, just bring it back in one piece,” Paul answers, fishing a set of keys from his jumpsuit pocket and handing them to you, “Ford F-150 out front.”

“Thank you, Paul. I—we really appreciate it,” you tell him, then look at Din and raise your eyebrows expectantly. 

“Yes, thank you,” Din nods in agreement. 

“Don’t mention it,” Paul says, then ambles back to the old rusted-out Dodge, whistling along to some old country song. 

Keeping pace at his side as he starts towards the exit, you jangle the keys and ask, “Do you want me to drive?”

“Dream on, kid,” he scoffs, holding his hand out. 

“Worth a shot,” you grin and place them in his palm. 

“Would it be too predictable to put a horse on the sign?” you ask, frowning at your rough outline, “I feel like there are a lot of places out here that lean into the western motif, so it might be overdone. But the place is literally called Giddyup Auto, so…” 

When Din doesn’t respond, you glance up and can’t quite tell if he’s looking at you or something in your general direction. 

Stupid goddamn aviators. 

“You know, it’s considered polite to take off your hat and sunglasses when you go indoors.” 

Again, nothing. 

‘Off in lala-land’ if you’ve ever seen it. 

You blink at him a few times to no reaction, then raise your voice, “Did you hear me?” 

This seems to do the trick. 

It’s difficult to explain how you know his eyes are on you when they are. Maybe the microscopic tilt of his head or the twitch of his eyebrows. Mostly though, you would say that his attention carries a force. One minute you’re sitting there wondering if he’s looking at you and then—bam! It hits you. Absolute certainty.  

Anyway, he looks at you and asks, “What?” 

“Why do you insist on wearing your Unabomber costume all the time?” 

He frowns and shakes his head like he doesn’t understand. 

“You know, because—Oh for cripes’ sake, nevermind,” you scoff and sit up in your seat, turning your notebook to face him, “Here. Tell me what you think.” 

He looks down at your notebook and pulls it closer. As he quietly studies the sketches, discomfort twists your skin raw. Imagining all the criticisms lingering at the tip of his tongue, you can’t stop yourself from speaking preemptively. 

“The first one is pretty boring, but I think the font adds a little flair. I’d blend shades of orange for the background to make it stand out and white for the text.” You prop your chin up on the heel of your palm and lean forward, pointing to the second option, “I like the covered wagon as a concept, but it would take me a long time and I’m not sure if it fits the vibe since wagons are kinda slow. The horse is fast, obviously,” you tap the third sketch and shrug, “But, like I said when you so rudely ignored me, the western motif is sort of tired in this neck of the woods.” 

Nodding, he comments, “They look… nice.” 

Such a way with words. 

You stare at him for a moment, waiting for additional input to no avail. Raising your eyebrows, you release a big sigh and fold your legs up into the booth, “‘Nice.’ Ok, sure. Well, let me ask you this: Which one is your favorite?” 

After a few seconds of contemplation, he taps the bucking bronco silhouetted over a mountain range, then pushes the notebook back across the table. 

“Why that one?” 

He shrugs, “It’s called Giddyup Auto.” 

Instead of pointing out that you said the same thing earlier, you mutter, “Sure is, big guy,” and flip your notebook to a blank page, then start jotting down a shopping list, “We should get something for the pup while we’re out. I feel bad for leaving him behind.” 

You wrinkle your nose at his silence, looking up to confirm that once again, he has drifted away. 

Curiosity gets the best of you. You follow his line of sight, craning your neck over your shoulder to see the waitress approaching with a serving tray. Din straightens when she sets a plate in front of him. 

“Ok, we have a breakfast platter number two,” she sets another plate in front of you, “And french toast with fruit.” Tucking the tray under her arm, she smiles between you and him, “Anything else I can get for you guys?” 

“We’re fine, thank you,” Din tells her, a small smile gracing his lips. 

She nods before turning to go, dragging his attention along with her. You watch him watch her, studying his wandering gaze. A grin spreads across your face. When he notices you staring, he immediately becomes defensive.

“What?” 

Dead giveaway. 

Suppressing a smile, you grab a butter knife and shake your head at your plate, “Nothing.” 

“What?” he asks again, this time more pointed.  

“I didn’t say anything!” 

He scoffs and hunches over the plate to shovel scrambled eggs into his mouth. 

After smearing whipped butter on your french toast, you pour syrup over your plate, glancing up at him when you ask, “Do you have a crush on the waitress?” 

“No.” 

Denial sours the word in the most obvious way. 

Raising an eyebrow, you cut your food into bite-sized pieces as you tease, “I didn’t take you for a liar, Din. But I also didn’t take you for the kind of guy who has a soft spot for pretty service workers, so what do I know?” 

Of course, he doesn’t say anything. And of course, you decide to push the conversation further. 

“I just mean… If you do—you know, like her or whatever—you should ask her for her number. Take her on a date. See if you can’t live a little while you’re holed up in this town.” 

“And what am I supposed to do with you in that scenario?” 

Twirling a chunk of french toast around on your fork, you shrug, “Maybe she wouldn’t mind your prisoner third wheeling. That’s probably not a red flag, right?” 

“Not at all.” 

You snort at him and he lets a small smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. It seems to soften the atmosphere, both of you relaxing back in your seats. While chipping away at your food, you ponder a little to yourself, then out loud. 

“Suppose your line of work, you don’t go on many dates, do you?” 

Frowning at the strip of bacon pinched between his fingers, he tells you, “Not in the traditional sense.” 

“What does that mean?” 

Instead of answering the question, he pops the bacon into his mouth. When he swallows and you’re still staring at him, he shakes his head, “Forget I said anything.” 

“Come on, Din,” you meet his flattened expression with a grin, “You so know I won’t let this go. Might as well just spill the beans.” 

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and stares at you like a challenge. You narrow your eyes at him, tilting your head with equal determination. 

“‘Not in the traditional sense.’ So you do have romantic or sexual experiences, but society wouldn’t typically deem those experiences ‘dates,’ right?” 

He says nothing. 

“Hmmm… interesting,” you lean your elbows on the table, studying him, “You seem reluctant to talk about it, which indicates… Maybe you’re ashamed of it? Although, you’re pretty reluctant to talk about everything, so I don’t know how much weight to place on that. But you’re a trucker. Transient. Don’t seem like much of a ‘family man’ to me. So, what… you’ve gotta be a hookup guy or a sex worker guy, right?” 

The way he squirms at the question makes your chest tingle. 

“It could be both, too. I feel like you would be more of an opportunist than a strategist when it comes to fucking. Am I right?” 

His jaw shifts from side-to-side. He glances around before leaning in, “And you’re much different?” 

“No, not really.”

Most people would ask follow-up questions or awkwardly segue into a different subject, but not Din. He seems as content with your answer as you are with his. But where he goes back to eating, you feel a loose end rattling at the tip of your tongue and speak it into existence. 

“I think… I think people like us don’t lay down roots for anything less than the spectacular,” you search his face, “Right?” 

With his fork lifted halfway to his mouth, he pauses to look at you and nod, “This is the way.”

Din brings the shopping cart to halt in the middle of the aisle when you stop to examine jars of preserved nut and fruit spreads lining the shelves. 

You pull a big plastic container of generic peanut butter from the lineup and toss it into the cart, “Four dollars, twenty-nine cents.”

He jots down the price in your notebook and adds it to the running total while you wrinkle your nose at the ingredient list of strawberry preserves, then set it next to the peanut butter, “Three sixty-nine. Gotta love that food desert markup. What’re we at?” 

“Twenty seven, give or take,” he answers, crossing two items off the list. 

“What else we got here?” Sidling up to him, you peek at the paper, “Snacks. Wow, ok past me, very specific.” 

When you start walking again, he does too, and he wonders how you can possibly smell so good without the aid of perfumes. While not a definitive scent, it inspires a sensation much like when he’s parched and sets his sights on a glass of ice water. It’s enticing, like your very foundation radiates temptation. 

He cannot have this. This thing in his chest, gnawing at his bones, trying to escape. It snaps at the walls when you’re nearby, which is always. 

Maybe if he could relieve some of the pressure buckling under his skin it would quiet. But he can’t, so it doesn’t. 

It begs and pleads and promises to absolve him of consequence as long as he promises to move a little bit closer, hold his hand to your back a little bit longer—just one more second and I’ll be content. Maybe another. What if you slid your hand around her waist and pulled her body to yours? How would she react? I bet she would like it. I bet if you kissed her she would finally be speechless. Just a taste, please? 

He comes to a stop beside you and follows your gaze to the wall of chips. Hundreds of bags in all different sizes and colors, all of them glossy in the fluorescent light. 

“Well, big guy. What’s your chip of choice?” you ask without looking at him. 

Grinding his teeth together, he shakes his head. 

“Yeah, I don’t know, either. Too many of the same goddamn choices,” you step forward to narrow your eyes at a price tag, “Am I crazy or does that say five dollars?” 

“It says five dollars.” 

“What the fuck, that is obscene. Do we really need chips?” 

“Does anyone?” 

“I guess not technically,” you sigh and start wandering further down the aisle, so he follows you. “But we don’t have to be so utilitarian about it. Junk food is for the soul, not sustenance. And sometimes the soul needs something salty and crunchy, you know?”

Nodding, he comes to a stop and points to the display of microwave popcorn, “We could get this instead.”

“Six bags for four dollars,” you raise your eyebrows, “Salty, crunchy, and cost efficient. Hell yeah, I’m sold.”

He grabs the box of generic popcorn in question and walks it back to the cart while you meander towards the sweets. When he meets you in front of the cookies, you glance at him, “Original or chewy?” 

“Original.” 

“Ten four, good buddy.” You grab the blue package of chocolate chip cookies and toss it in the basket, “Do you ever get to say that on your radio? Have a real trucker moment?” 

“Yes.”

“Adorable,” you chuckle, catching his gaze for a moment before you look down and tuck your hair behind your ear, “Are you gonna help me with the sign today, or do you have other plans?” 

“What do you need help with?” 

You exhale through slack lips, then shrug, “Well, today is just prep. I have to scrape off the old paint, sand it down, and prime. It has to dry overnight, but I think I’ll be able to finish the rest tomorrow or the next day if we get up early…” Pausing to chuckle, you shake your head, “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. What I mean is, you could help me with scraping and sanding. It’s a real bitch and would be easier with your muscle. If—well, you know, only if you want to. You don’t have to or anything…”

“I can do that.” 

Your eyebrows draw together as you search his face, “Yeah?” 

He nods, “It’s the least I can do.” 

As the two of you near the checkout line, a frail woman with closely-cropped white curls shuffles from a back office to the one and only cash register.

“How are we doing this? Splitting it?” you swing the backpack off your shoulder and start rummaging through it, “I should have some money in my wallet. It’s not much, but it should—”

He holds up a hand, “I’ve got it.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m sure.” 

That thing in his chest whimpers when you smile at him, big and bright and gap-toothed, sparing him a polite, “Thank you,” before you start unloading the groceries onto the conveyor belt. 

Balancing the tips of your toes on the highest ladder rung, you stretch your roller towards the unprimed stripe of sign, but can’t quite reach it. 

“Goddamnit,” you mutter, returning all fours to the ladder with a huff, then look back at Din, “Hey, can I borrow your tall?”

Your question bounces off him with no reaction. 

Between the visor of his cap and the tablet glued to his face, you can’t quite tell if he’s ignoring you or if he just plain old can’t hear you. All that’s visible is his furrowed brow. So you shimmy down the ladder and set the paint roller in the tray, brushing your hands on your jeans as you approach his lawn chair, waiting for him to notice you. 

When the brisk October air nips at your dirt-caked, sweat-soaked skin, you skip closer, tapping your foot against his calf, “Hey.” 

He jumps as if broken out of a trance, then raises his eyebrows at you, “What?” 

“Can you help me with something?”

His mouth flattens into a straight line. He looks down at the tablet, then turns off the screen and sets it aside to look up at you. 

“See the top of the sign, how it’s all shitty still?” you point at the evidence, “Can you get it for me? I can’t reach.” 

“Use the big ladder.” 

“I didn’t think to grab it before Paul locked up for the night.” 

He releases a big dramatic sigh, glancing down at the tablet before rising to his feet. As he passes you the handle of the dog leash, you grin and plop down in the warmed-up lawn chair, “My hero!” 

“Uh-huh,” he shakes his head and starts towards the drop cloth. 

Beneath the lawn chair, the dog wakes from his nap and tries to follow Din, huffing and puffing when the leash goes taut, then walks back to your feet and sits on your shoelaces. His big satellite ears stand at attention while his person shimmies up the ladder with a roller brush in hand. 

The two of you sit there and watch Din with the same level of ardent attention, both perched on the edge of your respective seats, unable to tear your eyes away for a second. 

At first you try to tell yourself that you’re not even looking at him, just mapping out the illustration you’ll start tomorrow. But the truth is, it’s hard not to be drawn in by the view. By his panoramic shoulders and muscle-bound arms stretching out the fabric of his flannel as he rolls the brush up and down, back and forth, spreading thick white primer across the freshly smoothed wood… 

Despite the waning sunlight and icy gusts spilling off the mountains, heat bubbles up to the surface of your skin. 

You know that once he’s finished, you’ll go back to the motel for the rest of the night. Given the thick layer of grime you each accumulated throughout the day, showers will likely be in order. Which, of course, means stripping down to nothing while he’s in the bathroom with you. And vice versa, probably. 

Your imagination wanders to his naked body and how it would feel against yours. What if you argued in favor of water conservation, asking him to join you in the shower? What if he agreed? How would he look at you without those sunglasses covering his eyes? How would he touch you if morals weren’t involved? 

Din climbs down off the ladder and walks over, taking off his cap to wipe the sweat from his forehead, “Is that it for today?”

He replaces the hat and takes off his aviators, cleaning the lenses with his shirt as he meets your gaze. The full force of his big brown eyes turns your saliva tacky and makes your heart stutter. He raises his eyebrows at you expectantly. 

Fuck, did he ask you something? 

“Is that—? Oh, um,” you clear your throat, then nod, “Yep, that should do it. Thank you, I appreciate it.” 

Flicking his eyes around your face, he nods, then turns back to the drop cloth, where he starts consolidating all the painting supplies. 

With his legs stretched out across the perimeter of the bathroom’s tile flooring, back resting against the tub, Din types ‘Tom Boucheron’ into the search bar of a Portland-based web forum. 

The search yields 83 matches. He starts sifting through the results, scrolling past subject lines that indicate general complaints about property management like rising rent and evictions and gentrification. Every once and a while he comes across subject lines that take on a more conspiratorial tone, though, mentioning the weight of his influence or his ties to police presence throughout the city. When he finds these posts, he clicks on the thread, copying and pasting the urls into a separate document. 

He can delve deeper into these later, once he’s able to better focus. But right now, with the roaring cascade of the shower behind him and your enthusiastic rendition of Tiny Dancer by Elton John, this mechanical sorting is the maximum concentration he can muster. 

Squinting at the screen, he wipes away the fog forming on his tablet. Moisture reclaims the area just as soon as it clears. He sighs and turns off the device when your vocals start ramping up to a volume he can’t ignore. 

“—But oh how it feels so real, lying here with no one near. Only you, and you can hear meeee, when I say softlyyyy, slooowly—”

“Are you almost done?” 

“You ruined the best part.” 

“We’re going to get a noise complaint.” 

You scoff, then he hears the thunk of you turning off the water. In his peripheries, your arm stretches out from behind the shower curtain to snatch the folded white towel off the toilet lid. 

A few seconds later, the curtain pulls back and you announce, “I’m decent.” 

He climbs to his feet while you step out of the tub, one hand securing the bath towel around your body, the other grabbing his arm for balance. Once sure-footed on the pink tiles, you let go and murmur, "Sorry,” before opening the door and padding off into the motel room. 

Grogu runs into the bathroom to investigate as Din slips out and takes a seat at the foot of the bed. He tries to anchor his vision to the floor, but finds his gaze drifting towards your movements out the corner of his eye. Humming to yourself, you comb your fingers through dripping wet hair and pull a few articles of clothing from your backpack. 

“Are you gonna hop in too?” 

His eyes tick to yours as you turn around, clutching a pile of clothing to your chest. 

“Because, you know… if you need me to be in there with you or whatever, that’s fine,” you cast your gaze to the floor with a shrug.

He studies your bashful demeanor for a moment before responding, “I’ll have you sit in there with me once you get dressed.” 

Without looking up, you give him a nod and walk over to the bathroom. As you put on clothing, Din uses all his will power to stare at the ground. 

“What do you wanna do after that? We could watch a movie.” 

His eyes cheat to the mirror on the wall, where he watches your reflection wrestle with a t-shirt. He catches a glimpse of your bare back before returning to the floor and clearing his throat. 

“I thought you weren’t much of a movie person.” 

“Well,” your footsteps soften onto the carpet, then your voice is closer, “If you have a better idea of how to pass the time in a seedy roadside motel, I’m open to suggestions.” 

He meets your heated gaze long enough for something to spark deep within his belly. The air between your body and his thickens with a palpable magnetism. His lips part to respond, but only one suggestion plays over and over again in his head. The mad yapping of that thing in his chest. 

Before he can say or do something stupid, though, you look away and start fidgeting, “So, I’m dressed. Are you ready?” 

Swallowing his tight throat, he pushes himself to his feet and locks eyes with you, “Go sit where I just was and put your head between your knees.” 

“Wow, you’re taking this very seriously.”  

“Let’s just get it over with, ok?”

You roll your eyes a little, but acquiesce. 

Din trails behind you into the bathroom, shooing the dog from the room before closing the door. When he turns around, he finds you curled up on the floor, back pressed to the tub basin with your face buried in your knees. 

“Like this?” 

“Perfect. Stay like that, I won’t take long.” 

For some reason he expected you would stay quiet while he disrobed, but you just continue talking as if you were accompanying him on any other menial task. 

“I think it’s funny how you have me do this whole thing so I don’t see your dick, but when I need privacy, the most you give me is a turned back.” 

Din glances at the top of your head while unbuckling his utility belt, then turns to spread it out across the bathroom counter, “That’s not the only reason I’m having you do this.” 

“Then why?”

“Are you familiar with the concept of involuntary captivity?” 

While you scoff and most likely try to come up with a rebuttal, he shucks off his flannel overshirt, then unfastens his shoulder holster and lines it up on the counter below the outspread belt. His hands work without much thought as he systematically unloads all three of his pistols. Eject the magazine, count the rounds, check the chamber.

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

Ignoring the question, he moves the unloaded guns and utility belt to a high shelf over the toilet, then pulls off his undershirt. 

“Can you at least confirm you’re not gearing up to murder me right now?” 

If he wanted to tear your frayed edges, he could mention that you were begging him to do exactly that less than 48 hours ago. But since you’re somehow more irritating when in a foul mood, he doesn’t. 

“If I was going to kill you I would have already.” He turns on the shower and takes a step back to make sure you’re still covering your eyes, then takes off his pants. 

“Would you do it if you had to?” 

The question gives him pause as he pulls back the shower curtain. 

“Why would I have to?” 

“I don’t know, because they asked you to do it.” 

He frowns, “I wouldn’t do it just because someone asked me to.” 

“You wouldn’t?” 

The hopeful air in your voice eats at his stomach lining. Instead of answering or clarifying what he meant, he steps into the shower. 

“Ok, but let’s say they gave you a good reason, and you were going to do it… kill me, I mean. How would you do it?” 

“I’m not going to tell you that.” 

“Why not?” 

He shakes his head and grabs a bar of soap off the shower ledge and starts to lather it against his skin. 

“Are you ignoring me or thinking?” 

“Ignoring you.” 

“You know, I appreciate the honesty.“ Then, after a few seconds: “I promise not to leak your trade secrets, big guy. Come on, how would you do it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

With this, you go quiet. 

Silence fills the bathroom for the remainder of his time in the shower, but Din’s thoughts are as loud and intrusive as your questions. 

His mind becomes populated with scenarios in which you would end up in the sights of his pistol. Under what circumstances would he pull the trigger? 

He imagines you stealing from him. He imagines trying to escape. He imagines it coming down to you or the money. He even goes so far as to imagine it coming down to you or him. 

But each time the imaginary him goes to take aim, he falters. 

While Din tosses a bag of popcorn in the microwave, you survey the Room 10’s VHS collection. 

“Ok let’s see,” you tilt your head sideways and read the titles, “Aladdin, Batman Returns, Twister—”

“You choose.” 

Beeps sound from the microwave, then it hums to life. 

You pull Aladdin from the shelf and admire the familiar cover art. Little flakes of deteriorated plastic break off the exterior and stick to your fingertips when you trace the title. You wince and mumble an apology to the inanimate object before prying it open to pull out the tape. 

After feeding it to the VCR, you press rewind and hold up the cover to Din, “Ever seen this?”

When he takes a step closer to examine it, you note the details you’re not normally privy to. His damp curls and the heat of his pulse. Mostly, though, you become fixated on his eyes. Those devastatingly dark and warm eyes. His heavy brow and hooded lids, all the lines of age creeping out from the corners. 

He meets your gaze and you swear you hear the snap of his full attention locking onto you when he frowns, “Can’t say I have.” 

Somewhere far away, the popcorn starts popping. You feel yourself succumbing to his gravitational pull, subconsciously drifting towards him, and can’t really remember if you had a point in mind when you asked. 

“It’s-it’s good,” you nod, letting your eyes drift to his mouth for a moment before you shrug, “I mean, from what I remember at least. I was obsessed with it when I was a kid. It drove my grandma crazy cuz I’d make her watch it on repeat…” 

It doesn’t really register how much information you’re disclosing until his eyes get all wide and doughy, at which point you take a step away from him and tuck your hair behind your ear, “Sorry, um, anyway. I liked it.” 

He chuckles, causing you to grin, “What?”

“Nothing.” 

His face tells you it’s definitely not nothing. It’s something if you’ve ever seen it. Something so gooey and hot it makes you ache. Dangerous, that’s what it is. 

The VCR clicks and shifts gears, then the TV lights up with disclaimers. Taking it as a sign from above, you start back towards the bed and tease, “I totally get why you wear the sunglasses, by the way. Your eyes give everything away.” 

Rather than admit you’re right, Din raises an eyebrow at you, then turns around to pull the microwave open before the timer reaches zero. While you slide under the covers and prop the flimsy pillows up behind your back, he pries open the steaming hot bag of popcorn and brings it to you. 

“Thanks.”

He grunts in response and disappears into the bathroom for a few seconds, returning with the shiny metal handcuffs, “Lights on or off?”

“Off.”

When the lights go out, the dog jumps onto the bed, spinning around a few times before curling up into an adorable white ball. Din tosses the cuffs to your side as he crawls into bed beside you. Once you think he’s settled in, you offer him some popcorn, which he accepts. 

“Do I have to put them on right now?” you ask, in reference to the cuffs. 

He frowns and shakes his head, “I can wait until you’re ready.” 

Nodding, you study his profile in the dim illumination from the TV. You don’t even realize you’re staring at him like a full-on creep until he says, “Stop giving me goo-goo eyes and watch the movie.” 

Embarrassment flares up your neck and cheeks. You scoff, “I am not giving you goo-goo eyes,” and wriggle deeper under the covers, diverting your gaze to the TV. 

I will not look at him for the rest of the night, you vow. Even if he asks me to, or talks to me, I won’t look at his stupid face until the sun comes up tomorrow. 

You almost fulfill the vow, too. 

Well… almost might be an exaggeration, but you make it to the end credits and that’s further than you really believed you could make it. 

With the motel room all dark save for the faintest glow from the credits rolling onscreen, he asks, “Are you awake?”

You remind yourself of your promise and try to ignore him. If you say something, you’ll look at him. And if you look at him, you lose. 

“Charlie?” he nudges you. 

Fuck. 

“Yeah,” you glance over, and of course you catch his eyes, “Is it handcuff time now?” 

He nods, almost apologetically. 

“Can I use the bathroom first?”

“Go ahead.” 

When you exit the bathroom and turn off the light, you find the room cloaked in darkness. The only reference point you have is the red glow of 9:12 on the alarm clock. You stretch your arms in front of you and start taking cautious steps towards it.  

“Oh my god, I can’t see shit.” 

“Want me to turn the lamp on?” 

“No, I’ve got it.” 

Your fingertips brush up against the bedspread, then you follow the alarm clock beacon to the side table. 

“Here.” 

His hand finds yours in the darkness. You grab ahold of it, trying your very hardest not to dwell on the warmth of his palm against yours as he gently guides you. When you finally settle between the sheets, he releases your hand. You almost wish he didn’t. 

“Ready?” 

“Sure.” 

He closes the cold heavy steel around your wrist, then his. For a while, neither of you move. Anxious energy buzzes beneath your skin. You close your eyes in an attempt to trick yourself into being tired, but it only makes you notice how fucking quiet it is. 

Resigning from your motionless state, you start wriggling around in an attempt to get comfortable. Din is accommodating while you do this, letting his wrist ragdoll wherever you drag it. You lie facing the wall for a while, fondling the knife you have tucked under the pillow. It doesn’t feel right. You flip onto your back and stare at the ceiling. Same problem. 

Then, when you can’t stand it anymore—the dark, the quiet, the nerves—you roll on your side facing him. 

“Din.” 

“What?” 

“I can’t fall asleep.” 

He doesn’t say anything. 

“Din.” 

“What?”

“I said I can’t fall asleep.” 

“I heard you the first time. What do you expect me to do about it?” 

You open your mouth to ask him to fuck you, but nerves rob your tongue. 

“Just talk to me for a while.” 

“About what?”

“I dunno, whatever you want.” You tuck your cuffed hand beneath your cheek and scoot a little closer.

His silence holds the weight of contemplation, so you prompt him, “What would your genie wishes be?” 

“Hang on, let me think.” 

A few quiet seconds go by before he clears his throat and rolls on his side to face you. The back of his cuffed hand rests against yours, which brings you a shred of comfort. 

“Financial security. Property rights to some land and a house, something out in the country.” 

“Like a farm?” 

“Something like that. Self-sustainable and off the grid. Maybe get a few animals and so I could live off the land.” 

“That’s the dream, right? Fuck off to the middle of nowhere and not have to rely on anyone?” 

“Yeah, that’s the dream.” 

You hum, then ask, “What’s wish number three?” 

“I… I’d rather not say.” 

Your gut instinct is to push back, but you resist the urge and instead tell him, “That’s fine.” 

“Thank you.” 

There’s enough sincerity in his voice that a tinge of guilt twists in your belly, and you feel obligated to bring up an earlier conversation. 

“I’m sorry, by the way. For pushing you to answer me when you were in the shower. Sometimes I don’t know when it’s time to shut the fuck up and let it be.” 

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” 

“Ok,” you wiggle around a bit and manage to find the perfect position, then close your eyes and release a content sigh. 

“What are yours?” he asks. 

“Mmmm… you know, I’ve thought a lot about this question—” A yawn swells in your chest, cutting you off. When it passes, your limbs feel heavy and warm. You continue, “I’d wish for the genie to be free.”

He lets out a disbelieving chuckle, “And what else, world peace? An end to climate change?” 

“I hear your snark, sir, and I don’t appreciate it. No, I wouldn’t wish for world peace or the end of climate change. I wouldn’t wish for anything. Tricky bastard can keep his wishes, I make my own luck.” 

“Tricky bastard, huh?” 

Another yawn takes over. Lethargy seeps through your body, making your worlds come out slow and murmured. 

“Yeah, y’know… all the, umm… the fine print. Too many strings attached, I don’t trust ‘em.” 

“You sound tired.” 

You hum, snuggling deeper into your pillow, “You sound tired.” 

“Get some sleep, kid. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.” 

“Mmmkay,” you mumble, “Sweet dreams, Din.” 

[stonemags]

SUGAR BABY AU

Ch.6 Mishandle

Characters in this series: Reader, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Carol Danvers, Darcy Lewis, Maria Hill, Kate Bishop, Pepper Potts, Valkyrie, Shuri

Summary:How much can you trust people that are the closest to you? Can you put any trust into strangers? After being tricked so many times, you can be sure to trust one person ... yourself. You should have left it that way, to bad you give second chances like fliers on the street.

Warnings: age gap relationships, sugar mommy/sugar baby relationships, swearing, mensplaning, all story is gonna be +18, you are responsible for your own ass. 

Word count: 8915

A/N: This one is coming out faster this time, to make up for the wait ive put you all on. I hope you will enjoy it. Feedback is always walcome! Previous chapter

Your desk is covered in papers, the screen too bright for your liking, your eyes are stinging after hours of sharp focus on the monitor, but this old computer is not really cooperating with you. Loud noises are distracting, making it hard for you to finish your tasks, and you have a lot of them. Your boss, Loki, has put on you a first adult-ish assignment. It's your chance to no longer make coffee, kind of work, even more that fresh inters came in so they are at the bottom of the chain right now. That's how it works. The amount of work stresses you out but you are not going to let the opportunity slide. You can finally edit a text that will end up in one of the less popular magazines, but it's still going to be out. Doesn't matter how insignificant it will be, your name will be on this work and you need to give a 100% out of you.

 It's been 2 weeks since Carol's party, you haven't seen her or any of her friends since that night and to be completely honest you thought about Natasha and Wanda …. not more than once. When you came home and changed the bandaid on your hand the next day, you reminded yourself of how caring and worried they were, but also very smug and self indulgent, after that… nothing. You had school, work, shifts at the bar and your friends to care about. Not mentioning your phone caller issue that you will have to address and take care of at some point. Your life fell back into place after that night, gym, school, work, repeat. You have to keep the flow going or it's really easy to get lost in this kind of lifestyle. It's like running at full speed, you can't trip. The faster you go the harder you are going to hit.

“You better do it right yn.” That low voice scared you coming from behind your shoulder. Loki was always creepy, not in a perverted way but still creepy. 

“Yes boss, on it.” Short and sweet, don't discuss with him, you have learned it the hard way. It's for the best to make him feel validated. You assume that he had a rough childhood by the way he treats other people and by the not so quiet conversations he has with his brother in the office. You can't help but hear them, all the workers do, and you learned to have some understanding towards him. 

You are at your last working hour, the phone is thrown into the drawer so it won't occupy you but your smart watch is vibrating with the amount of messages you are getting. You ignore every single one of them even when the vibration is traveling up your arm, leaving goosebumps on your skin. Last ten minutes you spend on cleaning your desk and putting your stuff into the bag. As you run down two flights of stairs you think about your plan for the rest of the day. You are done with work for now, you have spent half of the night doing extra work for school to get a little bit ahead and it worked amazingly on your anxiety, or the lack of it. You decide on visiting Steve on your way home, even if you don't have a shift at the bar, you enjoy spending time with him. As someone opens the door in front of you to let you exit first, with a short “thanks” you are outside, changing your plans immediately after you feel the warm sun. At this time of the year it is rare and you are planning on using that antidepressant window. The skin on your face feels like it is covered in a thin layer of warmth getting deeper inside of you, embracing your brain in an endorphin hug. You will visit Steve later, for now you are going to grab a nice coffee from the bike/coffee stand near the park and have a walk with your headphones on, ignoring the whole world. 

“Can you start picking up your goddamn phone!” You turn around just in time to stop an angry Darcy right in front of you. Her face seems worried just as she is angry. Right behind her there is Carol clearly having a laugh at her girlfriend's tantrum. When you see her smile you can help but join and embrace Darcy in a hug.

“Sorry Darcy, work stuff. What’s up, what's so important that you came here?” It's unusual for any of your friends to arrive at any of your work places, from your work friends they know only Steve as they hang out at the bar sometimes, but they dont push to get to know everybody around you and you are grateful for that. Darcy points at the car that her girlfriend is already entering and with a big sigh you throw behind you all the warm sunny plans you had and follow along. The car always smells new and you are wondering if Carol is actually exchanging her car for the same one, just new, from time to time. Seems like something she would do. Leather seats squeak under your touch and you take your place in the backseat and you hate every second of it. It's like wearing leather pants, for you it feels like biting a cotton towel, or having your sleeves getting wet, when you wash your hands. Uncomfortable at least. 

Carol starts driving and Darcy looks at you with a really excited expression on her face. 

“No.” You say to her, making her confused right away.

“I didn't even say anything.” 

“But you are going to, and you are excited, which means i have to do stuff, and you could text me what’s all this is about, but you didn't, so kidnapping me is the only way for me to participate in whatever evil plan you made.” She seems almost offended but it lasts three seconds before she starts laughing. 

“You know me so well.” She is slouching over the back of her sweet so she can face you and it makes Carol uncomfortable, worrying that if anything happens the seat belt would work correctly. With one hand on the wheel, Carol puts the other on Darcy's thigh and turns her around. She turns off music and with a steer voice starts talking. 

“Yn can hear your love, don't do that please.” Darcy takes Carol hand into hers not taking off her thigh, just to confirm that she understood and she is sorry. 

“Yes daddy, I'm sorry.” Carol is rarely mad at Darcy, she doesn't really have a reason to, they made for each other, at least in your opinion, but when she is Darcy will use any pet name she can to melt her girlfriends heart and get on her good side again, and it's clearly working wonders. 

“You are having a date Yn.” Carol informs you and you know this is a way of hers to mess with Darcy, the fact that she wasn't the one to share the news infuriates her. 

“I was supposed to, ugh…. I have an outfit for you at Carol's house and we will give you a ride to the restaurant.” 

“That's amazing, thank you very much… but I have work. My shift at the bar starts in-”

“In two days Yn, I have access to your calendar, don't try anything with me.” Feeling defeated, you slouch back a little bit and let your eyes follow the world outside of the car. Carol turns on the radio again after a minute of silence, assuming that everything was said and it won't be irritating for anyone. For a second you even let yourself sink into music and the outside world. Sun is peeking through the small alleys between the buildings, falling on your face in a pattern. You remember briefly that when you weren't able to fall asleep as a child your parents, or someone, you can't really remember, was taking you into the car and driving a couple of times around the block. Street Lamps or the sun flashing from time to time on your face was making you feel good, safe, comfortable, like there is something so bigger then you and everything around you. You found comfort in unlimitless nothingness and even now as an adult you feel safe. You are able to fight the sleepy state, well maybe you drifted away a little bit, and as you see Carol's house you are fully conscious again, anxiety of what's coming slowly creeping in. 

You enter the house, talk with Carol and Darcy about the last party and upcoming events, work stuff, your studies and Darcy's new projects at her school. You can never fully understand what she is talking about, too much chemical talk but you are so proud of her and happy that she can feel fulfilled with where she is. You are always interested in Carol's work and life, maybe that's why you are the closest to her among all your friends. She appreciates the way you treat her as her, not as Darcy's girlfriend or treat both of them as one, because as close as they are, they are still themself. They help you prepare, get your hair fixed, put a nice outfit together, and Carol even let you borrow some of her perfume. In no time you are back in the car going to the unknown location, to meet with a stranger. You are reminding Darcy that you agreed for half an hour of this show and then you are going to be even. She tries to extend it for an hour, using arguments like “ you can't get to know a person in half hour”, or “ you won't be even able to eat”. As you pull in front of the restaurant you see three Michelin stars in the front of it and you almost choke. 

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME? IN HERE I'M NOT GOING TO BE ABLE TO GET A GLASS OF WATER WITH MY BUDGET!” It was louder than you anticipated and the doorman put his focus on the car in front of him. He started going into your direction but Darcy opened the window at the right time.

“Everything is okay, we just need a second.” He smiled and without any words pointed at the parking spot a little bit further from the main door. Carol took a clue and parked there. Darcy took her seat belt off and turned to you, making you jump. 

“Darcy this is too much, and why do I even have to get so dressed up for someone I will turn down in the first two minutes?” You don't want to do this, and you can't be more clear than that. As bad as it sounds you are planning on being just as honest with your date.

“Give them a chance, Jesus, why are you so negative, they're gonna pay for you.” She got out of the car and opened your door rushing you outside. The restaurant is far enough from your house to have a real struggle with coming back, so you have to rely on Darcy and you are not enjoying this feeling. Just when you stepped outside it came to you what she said. 

“They!? What do you mean by They ?! Darcy is that -'' You can't even finish, Darcy closes your door, jumps back into her seat and as in a getaway car tells Carol to drive. You can only hear a faint have fun coming from her window. You run your hand down your face, taking a deep breath in and decide to get through it as ripping off a bandaid, fast but painfully. You straighten out your outfit, little crevices created by the short ride are easy to clean up and the cleaned up outfit helps you a lot with your confidence. You feel like you will need a lot of it during that dinner. Constant tag and pull with the redheads is exhausting and staying afloat as they try to drown you down feels like a survival chore. You can't help but be angry at Darcy, you know she wants good, you know you promised but you feel a little bit betrayed. You can't really pinpoint why but the feeling spreads uncomfortable through your body, or maybe it's just the cold that went back with the sun setting down. Beautiful purple color of the sunset lets you grab the last bits of energy, hope and the feeling of rest. You know it will end as soon as you turn around to enter the restaurant or when the sun will finally set. It's sad that you can't wait for the latter.  

“Half hour Yn, just half hour.” You talk to yourself hoping it will help you feel the back bone of your character and get through it smoothly enough. What 30 minutes can do right?

You enter the building, or rather you are led by the doorman through two sets of doors. After the second one you are met with a man in a suit, he looks important, you are wondering if that's the owner, maybe a menager, they are always around right? He looks so elegant that his status needs to be at a high level. Little lost in your head you hear him speak when the doors are closing behind you. 

“May I take your coat miss?” Miss? Coat? You thought that this man is… and he is just…. It's going to be long, thirty minutes.. This is not something you enjoy, not something that is a part of your world. You just need to survive this. You are wondering how the man will know which coat is yours. He didn't give you a number nor did he take your name. It's all strange and the coat belongs to Carol, you are worrying now about getting it back later. 

Restaurant seems much bigger from the outside. The building is huge but the dining area pleasantly small. The kitchen must take a lot of space, you think to yourself approaching a Host of the restaurant. Small wooden desk in front of him looks amazing. Golden leaves decorating the legs as a vine. The whole place is in darker colors but it gives a more elegant and fancy look to it. Smell is not overwhelming which is usually a problem for you in the restaurants, not in this. You can hear a light chatter around, 

“Welcome, do you have a reservation?” He asks you with his back straight, his tie carefully secured around his neck. Do you have a reservation? This whole thing feels so out of blue, catching you off guard in every single step, it seems. 

“Um… I….” You can't recall their last name, why can't you recall their last name? You fall back into the memory, you follow the steps of the day you meet them. You went to work, bus ride, Wanda opened the door for you, she had her suit on, her shirt was open, she had a messy bun on top, she had this nice perfume on her, the same she used last time you saw her at the Carols party. You could feel it clearly when she was tending your wound. Darcy introduced them to you. She said their names, they are both lawyers or Wanda is a lawyer and Natasha is in finances, yes that seems correct. Did she say their last name ? You remember now, she didn't but they gave you their card…. which you didn't even look at, before throwing it away. Then it comes to you, you were supposed to text them last time after the accident, they gave you a new card and you actually have it on you at the back of your phone case. It is very embarrassing trying to get your phone out of its case but also necessary. Host is waiting for you patiently, his face emotionless, he was definitely well trained for his job. 

“It should be on the name-” You finally take out a card and look at the last name. “-Romanoff, or Maximoff. One of those.” It's strange to see that they are married, but they still use separate last names, it might be just for business and you decide on asking them if you will have to speak at all. At least it's going to be something to talk about. You smoothly follow the host to your table, moving between the tables you can see all the food prepared for other guests and your stomach lets you know about its empty state. Smell coming from each of the tables will not be very helpful in the next 30 minutes, because there is no way that you are going to let them pay for anything, not with these prices. At the far left corner of the restaurant you can see Wanda and Natasha chatting between each other, their hands together on the table, Natasha is lightly smoothing her wifes hand with her thumb, laughing at something she said. It's the first time they don't seem like big, scary rich assholes, more human than before. You are afraid, or maybe you are sure it's going to drop as soon as they are going to see you. First to notice you is Natasha, she lets go of Wandas hand and stands up to greet you. You don't want to make a scene in the restaurant, so you kiss her cheek as her hand lingers on your waist and you do the same with Wanda. Looking at them, seeing how dressed up they are, you are glad that Darcy made you wear the clothes she prepared, if you would dress yourself, you would for sure stand out, not in a good way. You take your place on an empty chair when Wanda starts speaking to you. 

“I hope you didn't have any problems finding us?” She sounds soft, soft enough for you to find it degrading. 

“Except not knowing your last names it was pretty easy.” You say in a rough voice and that makes Natasha look back to the man that brought you to the table. 

“You didn't have you, I gave him clear instructions. It's not that hard to do the only thing you are here for. I'm going to talk to him.” She drops the napkin on an empty table and stands up. You are not sure how you find your voice, maybe it's the nervous atmosphere that Natasha is adding to, or maybe your empathy for a fellow customer service worker, but you speak up.

“Sit down!” To your surprise, she does with a shocked face, while her wife laughs a little. 

“Can we just order and get this over with? It feels like work.” You ask and that makes Wanda look at you quizzingly. 

“What do you mean baby? Get it over with?” You put down the menu that you were reading and look her in the eyes.

“I promised Darcy that I will be here for at least half an hour. It started five minutes ago and I'm counting the time. I didn't want to be here and I found out just when she dropped me off that I'm meeting with you both.” She looks hurt and you need to address that before it gets more messy, even more that Natasha looks angry. You look between them and continue.

“Look-” You run your hand on your face, as it is supposed to take off the worry. “-I’m sorry, but i'm not looking for dates, or relationships. Any kind of relationship.” You say pointing your finger between them. 

“Can we just spend this 25 minutes talking or whatever and I promise you won’t have to waste any more time on me.” That makes Wanda's face soften. She looks like she is about to say something but Natasha cuts in. 

“Sure, let's just order something.” In the next three minutes you placed an order and as much as they pursued you to get something to eat you didn't get anything. You got a coffee which cost twenty five dollars. You regret that decision, thinking that you would be okay with the tap water. Your stomach starts to hurt with how empty it is and all the smells are affecting it in a horrible way. Wanda and Natasha placed their orders and food came in faster then it took to order it. They are really at the top in this restaurant. They start eating while you enjoy your coffee. Wanda tries to start a light conversation, to make it a little bit less awkward for all of you. 

“So Yn, Darcy told us you were working today, was it a good shift?” 

“Decent, I got my first article to do a final edit to.” You say and take a sip of coffee, looking at Wanda enjoying her pasta alfredo. You feel yourself salivating and you probably look too long at her food, because it makes her wonder if you actually want anything.

“Yn, are you sure you are not hungry?” Wanda says and her wife finally joins the conversation.

“We know we picked an expensive restaurant, let us get you something to eat sugar.” She is about to call the waiter to the table again. 

“No. No, Natasha no, I'm really okay. Please don’t.” She looks at you, deeply studying your eyes, knowing that you are doing that because you are uncomfortable with the prices, but still she doesn't want to go against you, as much as she wishes she could. With each passing time she spends with you, she realizes that you can be destructive for yourself, and she would gladly take that away from you. You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket but you decide to keep it there for the next fifteen minutes. Time feels like it stretches itself, making you feel like it has been over an hour. You keep your fingers on the brim of your coffee mug, trying to make your legs stop shaking, and your muscles twitching. It's not that you are nervous, you are past that, but your medication is wearing off and you can feel it. At this time you would either take a second dose if you were at work, or with your friends, or just people in general, or you would take some actions to make yourself comfortable. Caffeine doesn't help, and it was a bad idea as it just makes you more and more sleepy with every second. Your left hand is laying on the table and the tablecloth feels awful against your fingertips. Material feels like it lingers on your skin even after you pick your hand up, it's too soft and too harsh at the same time, like a used sandpaper sheet. You wish you could pick your hand up but you can't. It feels embarrassing to do so, not because of the action but because of the reason to do so, so you force yourself to keep it that way. Only fifteen minutes longer. It feels like you said it to yourself an hour ago but with the time speed in your brain, it was only a minute. You are physically restraining yourself from counting seconds, numbers help you stay sane but you can't do that right now, if you would, everything that two woman in front of you are speaking about would go into the void, and as a center of entertainment for them right now you can’t allow yourself to drift off, they would notice. Clutter of silverware feels like it's happening at the front part of your skull, Lady at the table on your right has some good insights about new generations of doctors, she is a doctor too, she has her id clipped to her bag. Man to whom she is speaking is sweating a lot, he is nervous and it seems like they are on a date. One girl, a waiter, has had enough of today, she stands at the corner next to the bar, nobody can see her, or maybe nobody just pays attention, except you. Sometimes putting on a work uniform equals disappearing. She is running her hands on her thighs, looking up to the ceiling, she tries to stop crying. That makes you look around the room, a man in a big suit is red on his face, he was just yelling, or arguing since you didn't hear anything before. He shoves food into his mouth like it's going to calm his nerves. 

“Are you even listening?” Natasha calls out and just then her voice breaks through all the loud noise around you. 

“Hm? I'm sorry I just-” 

“Wasn't listening. Look, I understand you don't want to be here, but a little decency wouldn't hurt you. We are trying hard to get to know you, not use you, not sponsor you, not even embarrass you, just get to know you. I don't understand what's so awful about it.” She throws a napkin at the table and stands up. 

“I need to use the restroom, I'll be right back.” She looks at her wife when she speaks, she is mad, you didn't mean to make her mad, or disappointed, you really do appreciate the interest. 

“Nat, I really didn't mean to- '' You are trying to defend yourself but she is already gone, you lie your head low and massage your traps with your hands, it's painful but helpful. You get this uneasy feeling inside your stomach and you can't say if that's the lack of food or the nerves. Just then you realize that you picked your hand up from uncomfortable table cloth and you make a mental note not to put it down at the same place. 

Wanda swallows the food she just finished, your time is almost up and you are grateful for it, even more that since the moment you went into the restaurant you were doing nothing more but disappointing everybody, including yourself. You decide to speak to her, maybe try to explain yourself a little why you are acting that way. 

“Im sorry Wanda.” 

“I know.” A moment of silence lingers between you when she grabs her wine glass, not taking her back off of her chair, stretching her arm out. 

“I'm sorry about her, I’ m not saying she is not right yn, i feel the same way, but my wife is just very frustrated by you.” You hang your head low, like a child being scolded, you tell yourself that you shouldn't care about their opinion, but it matters, everybody's opinion matters and you hate that about yourself. 

“I wasn't aware that I was that irritating for her. That's just an additional reason for why you shouldn't waste your time on me Wanda.” She smiles at you and shakes her head. 

“Sexually frustrated Yn, emotionally frustrated. She really wants to get to know you, and she is being on her best behavior holding back every second we are spending with you.” That makes you even more confused. 

“What do you mean?”

“You are a precious one aren't you?” This time you can be sure it was degrading.You straighten up your posture. 

“That little stunt you did at the party?” She leans in, making you once again lost in the smell of her perfumes. You don't say anything but she can see on your face how oblivious you are. 

“You remember that moment when Natasha went to you to simply try and devour you? That little stunt you pulled with her belt? Please you had to see her reaction, she has the same look every time she looks at you, and to be honest i don't blame her. I had a fun night thanks to you baby, it's a shame you weren't there.” She finishes the sentence and then her wine. You feel like you have finished all the air, it's hard to breathe and it's too warm, and you don't understand those feelings, they put you in a fight or flight state, but at the same time you are glued to the chair, not able to move. Wanda puts her hand on yours and interlocks your fingers, you are not able to stop her or yourself. 

“Yn, breath.” She looks a little worried but at the same time highly entertained. 

“What's going on?” Natasha comes back to the table and her voice brings you back and makes you let go of Wanda’s hand like it's burning you. 

“Oh nothing love, I just told Yn how much fun I had because of her after the party.” 

“Wanda-” Natasha says in a scolding way, seeing the state Wanda put you in. “- I apologize for my wife's sugar. Sometimes she can't keep her mouth shut.” Their holding hands and being so tender with each other, it makes you feel like an intruder. 

“I thought you like it wide open.” Wanda's comment makes you choke on your coffee and it goes down the wrong pipe, sending you into a coughing spree. A girl, the waiter you saw before comes right in to check on you. You assure her that everything is okay, but she still leaves a glass of water for you on the side, sending you a warm smile.  Wanda and Natasha cut the topic seeing in what way it's affecting you and you fall into light conversation for the last couple of minutes. You ask them about work and they can't say much other than it’s classified sounding like from csi miami series, but either way you are very much interested in stories they encounter while being at work. 

Your phone vibrates a couple of more times and at the fifth time you can’t not pick it up. You assume who is trying to reach you but as you pull your phone out of the inside pocket in your jacket you can see that you were very wrong. You have ten messages and five missed calls, all from Shuri, and she never calls you. You immediately get this worried look and they can see it.

“What's going on Yn?”

“Is everything okay?” You don't even pick your head up to look at them. 

“I'm sorry I need to call back. I'm sorry.” You dial Shuri on your phone and call her back without getting up from the table. You just turn your body side to them to get a little bit more private. She pics up after two dial tones. 

“Shuri!? Is everything okay? What's going on?” You are holding your phone with your right hand and playing with the rings on your left hand. Your voice is low trying not to disturb anybody's dinner or conversations, fortunately your table is far enough from others. Natasha and Wanda pay close attention to you, their hands together in a caring manner. 

“Now?” You ask and look at your watch. 

“I'm really far away from the city-” You pinch your nose with your fingers. 

“- I can try to call a cab-” A moment of silence from your side let's Wanda slip a fast question. 

“Is something wrong?” She whispers to you laying her hand on the table close to you. You look at her apologetically. 

“-it's not about the money Shuri. I'm just limited right now. How much time do I have? An hour? Okay, yeah I'm going to figure something out, don't worry about it I got you, just send me the location.” With that you hang up the phone and start looking around to collect your things, which you don't have because everything is in your coat. You look at them and you don't know what to say, you are just about to cut short a 30 minute meeting in which you already disappointed them so much. They are both worried that much you can say but Natsaha is definitely clenching her jaw, it's not a good sign. You try to find in yourself the right words to turn them down one last time, but you can't, not with this level of stress. 

“I need to go.” You stand up looking between both of them. You take thirty dollars from your pocket and put it under your coffee mug. 

“I'm sorry.” With that you leave them and don't provide them any explanation, to be honest they didn't ask. You move into the exit and wait a second for the man to give you your, actually Carol’s coat. You thank him and go outside trying to figure out what you are going to do. 

Natasha and Wanda, a little disappointed with how things went, decided to finish dinner and head home. Fifteen minutes after you left they exit the restaurant and wait for their car to be brought. Just as they receive keys from the worker they hear a loud conversation on the side of the building. Natasha looks around the corner and sees you packing around with your phone in your ear, for a second she thinks about leaving you but her wife walks past her towards you. 

“I understand but I don't have enough cash! You know how far it is, i can cash app the money whats the problem?! No don’t- . Ugh!” Clearly someone hung up on you. You are looking at your phone typing aggressively, you seem worried out of your mind. 

“Okay Yn what's going on?” Wanda asks when her wife joins her and you are surprised to see them. You take a second before you reply.

“I can’t find a cab, it's nothing really. Again sorry it turned out this way.” Your phone rings again and you pick it up so fast that the second ring tone doesnt come. 

“Yes, yes I called. I need a cab to the city center-” You pace around not being able to stay in place, even more that you just got this feeling in your legs that you can't describe. Each night before sleep, when your medicine wears off completely your legs have this tingly feeling, like slight electric shocking waves going through your muscles. It's nothing pleasant. Usually a hot shower helps but the alternative is just to keep moving, so that's what you do. 

“- HOW MUCH? Okay yeah, yeah you too.” You sit down, cross legged at the curb, your left palm is open while your right is holding the phone, lightly tapping it on your left. Natasha crouches in front of you and tries to catch eye contact. You don't look up so she snatches the phone from your palm. 

“Hey!” You reach to grab it back but she already gave it to Wanda that stands behind her. 

“Tell us what's wrong, sugar?” You look between them, they look at you gently, worried, trying to read your expressions while you are breathing heavily with stress, your upper back is tense and you would love to shake it off of you. Without giving them too much information you speak up. 

“I need to pick up someone from the city center and I should be there-'' You look at your watch trying to figure out how much time passed from your conversation with Shuri. “- in forty minutes. I called a couple of companies but they either don't have anybody in the area, or they don't have a cash app and I don't have that much cash on me.” You explain carefully, trying hard not to sound crazy or overemotional, even if you feel your body shaking. Natasha is standing up, it makes you feel like she is hovering above you, and you don't have energy to fight for your phone. To your surprise she stretches her hand towards you and helps you stand up. You follow, and the feeling of her skin on yours is very different from Wandas. It's hard to tell if that's a good or a bad thing. With both of them your whole relationship, if you can even call seeing them three times, a relationship, you had an off feeling but at the same time some connection that wanted to be made. 

“Come on, we’re gonna drive you.” Natasha says with her face straight, she takes the space leaving no room for you to decline. You are in the tight spot, Shuri is counting on you and you are needed, there is a big possibility you won't be able to do this without their help, and oh god how much you hate it. 

“No, i'm going to- i will-” Wanda interrupts your protest already opening the front passenger door for you. 

“You will do what? You are out of options, Yn. Get in.” And you do, with her hand on the small of your back you take the space next to Natasha. For a second you are confused about why you are sitting in the front seat. 

“ Tell me where to go.” Natsaha doesn't even take a look at you, she seems pissed and you don't blame her, you would probably hate yourself in their position. ruining the date, making them do something for you, ruining their day schedule. They both probably have a thousand better places to be right now, and they are stuck with you. Awkwardness of the situation doesn't help the anxiety you have about the passing time, you are scared of running late, always, but in this situation even more. After giving them the address and helping with directions from time to time you are 5 minutes away from your destination. 

“So who is Shuri?” Wanda asks from the back seat, taking your focus off of the road in front of you. 

“Oh she studies at the university with me, she is Tony Stark’s best student.” You explain briefly. 

“That Stark? What a small world.” Natasha comments taking a fast look at her wife in the back mirror. 

“ That's nice, baby, but I meant who is she to you.” Are you imagining things or does she sound jealous? You can't help but wonder. You are not sure what makes you open up in front of them in any way, but you do. 

“She is my-” you make a little pause, wondering what words you should use. “-friend, a really good friend.” 

“Hm a really good one you say?” Wanda is pushing you a little bit trying to bring some more information out of you. 

“Yeah, we were together for two years, she is like family to me. Actually her whole family kind of took me in, as a part of them.” Too much Yn, too much, You bite your tongue, probably a little too late, you are mad at yourself for revealing that much about your past, to total strangers. That was always an issue for you, if someone was willing to listen you were eager to talk. That's unfortunately not a safe thing to do, at least usually. 

“So we went out to pick up your ex?” Natasha is straight forward, and strangely you respect that. At that moment you arrive in front of elementary school. 

“Actually no.” You answer quickly and get out of the car, looking straight at the little boy waiting with his teacher near the gate. You walk in their direction. 

“JUNIOR!” You yell out for him and the moment he sees you, his backpack is on the ground and he runs into your direction. You catch him into your arms and spin him around as he hugs himself close to your neck, securing his legs around your torso. You walk still holding him up to pick up his backpack. You didn't realize that both Natasha and Wanda got out of the car and were approaching you. 

“It's been a while since we saw you miss Yn. Have a nice day.” Teacher sends Junior T’Challa a wave and goes back into the building. You are written down on the list to pick up Shuri’s nephew. It's not the first time for you to do that, but it's true that it's been a while. Boy refuses to let you go as you try to pick up his backpack. Before you can do it, struggling a little bit Natasha snatches it from the ground looking down at you. 

“Yn? Who is that?” Junior asks you and to be honest you hoped that they would already leave. 

“This is Natasha and Wanda, they drove me here, which I'm very thankful for, but now they have to go. Right?” You hope that the hint is not too small. 

“Actually we have the whole day reserved for you Yn. You and this little boy now.” 

“Im T'Challa Junior.” He says proudly, getting out of your arms at the same time. 

“It's Shuris nephew.” You kneel down, fixing his jacket. The water proof material got stuck in the zipper. You take the piece out and zip it all the way up, trying to keep him nice and warm. 

“She got stuck with Profesor Stark.” Boy gets visibly sad after that information. You are thinking for a second if you should do something with him, or just get him home and take care of your responsibilities, which to be honest are piling up. You got three texts about essays that are needed for tomorrow. All for the same class and the same topic, which is the worst case scenario for you. 

“Don't worry, Yn here is actually taking you to the theme park. We are going to have a lot of fun.” Natasha throws information out of nowhere, without asking you, giving you any heads up, and taking full control over the situation, and you thought for a split second to get violent with her. How dare she use a little boy's emotions against you? Yes, sure, it's a nice thing to do, but you told them specifically that you don't have too much time, that you have half an hour for them and that's it, that you don't want to be near them or do more than necessary to keep your promise. Which part of that she didn't get? Wanda notices how angry you got after her wife’s idea, and as much as she thinks about resolving this issue, this also might be a good idea to show you that they are not so bad. She kneels down next to you to get to the boys and your eye level, her eyes are soft, apologetic almost. 

“It's going to be fun, Yn. You’ll see.” Junior gets excited and follows Natasha to the car, you are right behind them with wanda. How are you supposed to take happiness out of his hands? You are not a monster. 

“Cheer up Yn.” Wanda is walking on a very thin line. 

“Cheer down Wanda, this is hopefully the last time I have to see you both.” Leaving shocked Wanda behind, you get into the place with Junior on the back and let Natasha decide where to go. Make him happy, and survive. That's all that matters right now. You would give your life for this boy, what's one day, even if it means you staying up all night to catch up with your work, because of course you agreed to take those additional papers for tomorrow. You need money, lots of it, so you need to work… a lot. Just as you were getting nervous about it and your bank account your phone started going off with text messages. One after another, drilling a hole in your calmness. You don't even read them, you decide to call right away and you can't be bothered enough that you are not alone. 

“What do you want?” Wanda looks at you worried, but smiles at the little boy to keep him calm. 

“No.” Some arguing can be heard through the phone on the other side of the call. Even when you put it on the lowest volume, it's so loud that they can hear. 

“You do want me to starve, don't you?... At the end of the week, that's all I have to say to you. Leave me alone.” You finish your call and mute your phone, of course after filing Darcy and Shuri up on what's happening and where are you going. Wanda and Natasha didn't ask, hoping you will explain what the call was about, it didn't sound good. 

The rest of the day passed good but horrible slowly. Junior had so much fun, riding with Natasha and playing games with Wanda, or sitting down and eating corn dogs with you. Seeing him happy makes you happy, but the mental load that you are carrying with you is heavy enough that you can't relax or enjoy this for even a second. Going through stuff in your head is a normal thing for you, but at the end of the day, when you're actually sitting down to do what you have to do you feel like you went through the same task five times already. It's simply dreadful, not mentioning the lack of any satisfaction when you are actually done. 

Shuri tells you that she is already home, Junior is tired, and you are also so ready to go home. You asked Natasha and Wanda, who were trying so, so, so hard to get to you in any way, that it was irritating at some point, to give T'Challa a ride. Normally you would feel bad about it but it was their idea in the first place. 

Shuris home is a little bit outside of the city, not far from the subway thankfully. When Natasha parks her car at the side of the street, you collect your bag and get out of the car. Walking to the other side of it you zip your jacket up, goosebumps all over your body, reminding you physically how cold it is at this time of year. Street lights give off your favorite time of the day vibe, even if it's far till three am. You open the door on the right side and slowly unbuckle Junior from the seat. 

“Don’t.” You tell Wanda, seeing her undoing her seatbelt, also to go out and help you. Surprisingly she listens to you. You take the boy into your arms and let him hug you half asleep, you hold him up with your right hand and take his backpack with your left. It's heavier than it looks. Actually they both are, or maybe you are just really tired, it's been a long day. you go to the gate with him and Wanda and Natasha are watching your every move. You ring the bell at the gate and later the main doors are open. Two people go out of the house, the older woman takes the boy from your hands and the younger takes the back pack. Redheads can't hear a thing but they can see you talking with the younger woman. 

“I don't know how to thank you. He texted me half way throughout the day, how much he missed you and how much fun he is having.” Shuri is so genuine with you, she always was, pretty tough sometimes, but always real, and you respect that. 

“You know I love this boy, he is family.”

“And you are ours Yn. You have always been, and you will always be a part of this family.” These cheesy moments between you two is not something any of you are used to, even when you were together,” i love you” sounded more like a, “bye i see you later”, rather than “my heart is with you every second when we are apart”. Romanticizing your life much? Maybe, but how can you not, when you want to survive in this world, with your heart intact. Shuri hugs you for a goodbye, and gives you a light kiss on the cheek, which does not go unnoticed by your dates. 

“I don't like it, Wanda.” 

“Would you calm down Nat? You did everything today to push her away, and each moment I've been trying to fix the situation that YOU created, you were shutting me up.” That accusation is shocking for Natasha, and she will not back down from defending herself, even if it's coming from her wife. She almost starts talking again, giving her piece of thoughts on the topic, but she sees you walk away and that takes priority at this second. 

“We are going to talk about it at home.” She points her finger at Wanda, her voice sounds like flowing out through clenched teeth, and she is definitely not agreeing with Wanda. She doesn't even point out to her wife what's happening, she just goes out of the car and walks fast after you, Wanda confused but right at her heels. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” The force with which you turn around makes Natsaha stop immediately. Your eyes are dark, your jaw is clenched, as well as your fists. 

“Natasha, calm down!” Wanda joins you at the side of the road, it's really quiet in this neighborhood, the only sound slicing the silence is the roaring of the car that was left with the engine running. You pinch the bridge of your nose, irritation, exhaustion, this feeling of wasted day get to you, overstretching your patience to the fucking limits. You don’t care, you can’t find in yourself to care, and your promise was fulfilled. You respect and love Carol, but it doesn't mean that you have to feel the same way about her friends. 

“What are you, five?” This is definitely not something they expected of you. Even everything they have heard about you, always patient, collected, good, the view in front of them doesn't fit any of this. 

“How dare you deciding about my day, my plans, and using feelings of a little boy to get me to do something, just because your fucking ego is bruised?” Natasha makes a step to your direction, bringing her finger up to defend herself and her wife. 

“No! I'm not done!” Taken aback she doesn't interrupt you. As horrible Wanda feels about making you feel this way it's really interesting for her to see someone putting her wife into place. 

“For the whole day you are talking so much, about wanting to get to know me, getting close to me, but you did absolutely nothing to make me feel comfortable in your presence. When you gave me the ride, seeing the position i was in, i though, just for a second, this can be good, we can try this out,  and then…then you took your fucking place and made me feel like i have no say in my life.” 

“You are being so dramatic Yn! We gave you and this boy a great day, you should be grateful!” Natasha had enough. 

“I have a test tomorrow, an article to edit, and three essays to write, that should be done by now. And no, I don't have a second deadline, I don't have more time, and I will have to stay up all night, without sleep to get everything done on time. In the morning I have work, then a test at university and then my shift at the bar! You thought I had thirty minutes with you for fun? If that means that im being dramatic then fucking yes, I am dramatic!”

“You are working too much.” Wanda comments with this horribly soft voice of her, condescending reasoning, like it's so simple for her, like she can solve all your issues, if you are just willing to give them all control over your life. You scoff at her like she said something funny. Natasha takes out her wallet, and takes out  two thousand in cash, you never saw this amount of money in cash, well maybe once when you were working in black. 

“Is this enough to buy your time? Your pride? Is that enough for you to get over yourself and let someone take care of you or at least fucking try?” She steps close to you, so close that you feel warmth coming from her body, creating too much of a contrast with the weather, you feel sick. Wanda grabbed her wife's hand, but it wasn't enough to stop her from speaking a couple words too much. You look at the money in Nat’s hand. Couple of papers that would solve your issues for at least two months, something that means nothing to her, that she has too much of, something that would save you. The control that it has over you is not fair, but life isn’t fair, it never was, it never will be, and you are highly aware of it. You look her in the eyes, and you grab at the last bits of your control, pride you have for yourself, those bits of respect that you are trying to save.

“You ignorant fuck, you really dont get any of this do you? Fuck you Natasha.” You leave them and start your long way home, this was a mistake, and you are glad that it's over, finally you can focus on yourself again. All they did since the day you met them is make your life fall apart with every way imaginable. It's good that it's over Yn, you tell yourself and enter the subway, already starting writing your first essay on your phone, the topic power laughing at you, as the universe decided that you are its best comedy. 

Next chapter

tag list : @autorasexy @lizziejolsen @natashaswife4125 @sayah13 @romanoffskisser @lijo-8 @jjiiuuisssagcebrcw @natashaswife4125 @dumbassbitchwithnotits @teenybean, @marvelwomen-simp, @ripofflizzie

[taleofharrison]

AN: I wrote this ages ago and I randomly decided to expand on it lol and here we go.

Steve is a model, he moved to LA with Eddie the moment Eddie got his record deal. It was probably the easiest decision he had ever made, his parents still travelled a lot and his best friends had left Hawkins for college and other projects so he didn't anything left in Hawkins.

They lived in the cheapest apartment they could find near the record label's office, Steve got a full time job while Eddie had a part time job since he had to be free to record demos, talk to execs and essentially work towards releasing an album.

Eventually when the money became more steady and Corroded Coffin started making noise in the scene Steve got a part time job and started joining the guys on the studio and photoshoots. That's how he got discovered by a photographer who thought he'd look good in an upcoming fashion campaign and from that moment on Steve's career as a model just sky rocketed to the point he was considering acting too.

Steve became familiar to the fandom often being there and even could be found in music videos, he was as loved as the rest of the band was and Eddie couldn't have been prouder, that's why the decision made by their label of keeping his relationship private was devasting, hard and upsetting.

After the kiss at the sold out show, the press was crazy and fans connected all the dots. It made sense now why Eddie rejected all the groupies while it seemed like the rest of the group left the concerts with a different person every time.

Headlines were a mess. "EDDIE MUNSON OFF THE MARKET" "EDDIE MUNSON'S NEW FLING. DISCOVER WHO HE IS" "EDDIE MUNSON'S FIRST PUBLIC RELATIONSHIP: WILL THIS LAST?"

To the managers and PR team this was a mess and a crisis of sorts. The sex, drugs and rock&roll life they wanted to sell was broken. Eddie didn't give a shit though. He didn't pay attention nor care to listen to whatever the label had to say, it was his life and his career at the end of the day.

"You two" Greg, the manager spoke over the phone "have to give an interview together, make it seem like you got together during the tour"

The reporters from People magazine arrived to the their shared house in Beverly Hills. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn't a mansion. After growing in the biggest and emptiest house of Hawkins the last thing Steve wanted was a huge house and Eddie just wanted Steve to be happy. Their house had 3 bedrooms, enough to have Wayne or friends over a few days and an extra room for when they were ready for kids, it was perfect.

"How long have you been together?" The reporter asked once they sat in the living room.

"Straight to the point, I see" Eddie chuckled "since high school pretty much"

"Eddie!" Steve exclaimed. He had off script but it only took one look from Eddie to follow along "well he's a year older than me and I had already graduated when we got together"

"Well I was about to start my third try on my senior year, so to me we have been dating since high school" Eddie explained further "we got together summer of 85 while he was selling ice creams in the cutest sailor outfit"

"You said you wouldn't bring that up!" Steve groaned.

"I can't help it. That really caught my eye back then" Eddie "I have photos of that, do you want to see them?"

The reporter was caught off guard when Eddie suddenly addressed him, it didn't take much to notice that if they were together, they acted as if no one else was around them.

"Uh no, it's fine" he stammered "that's not the point of the article anyways"

"Thank you" Steve spoke again "so what else do you want to know?"

After the interview and the reporter left Eddie and Steve fixed themselves some snacks and wine.

"You went off script" Steve told him "your label is gonna flip"

"Yeah, well" Eddie said after taking a sip of wine "all I care about is finally getting to kiss you whenever and wherever I want"

Eddie leaned in for a kiss which Steve gladly accepted, he was so glad Eddie went off script.

"And just in time for the Grammy's" Eddie suddenly remembered "you'll be my plus one and we'll walk the red carpet together"

[piratekane]

26...+29? 👀

for you? sure.

twenty-six: you're so warm twenty-nine: you're everything to me

They pick places at random: a few weeks in Florence, some time in Stockholm. They go to the Mediterranean Sea, the Caspian Sea. Ava finds gelato everywhere they go and always orders their most and least popular flavor, giving the shop owners her honest opinions. She finds the most kitschy shop she can and buys postcards and terrible mugs and t-shirts. I'm building a collection, she tells Beatrice after every purchase. Ava loves it and Beatrice loves Ava, even if she feels like their luggage is made up of lime green t-shirts with the Eiffel Tower on it and misshapen mugs with when life gives you lemons make avgolemono written on them.

Ava loves it. Beatrice loves her. That's all there is to it.

They stay in hostels - for the experience, Bea - and take the cheapest sleeper cars on the trains. It's cramped on a good night and practically uninhabitable on the bad ones. But somehow, Beatrice doesn't mind this either. It gives her every excuse she doesn't need to pull Ava close, tangle their legs together, and curl her hands into the back of Ava's sleep shirt.

Because she doesn't need an excuse. They're not hiding anymore - not from anything, including each other.

Ava picked Valencia a few days ago off their worn map. She found it in a secondhand store in Brussels. The woman warned that it was outdated, but Ava called it exciting and happily handed over too many euros before bustling Beatrice off to see the Atomium, something she read about in the back of a magazine left behind on their last train ride.

The map takes up more than half of their bed-for-the-night, hanging over the sides of it. Ava screws her eyes shut and swirls her finger in a circle before jabbing it down at the map. They're closer to Cat's Cradle than they have been in months and Beatrice wonders if she picked Valencia on purpose, if she knows Beatrice is missing Camila and Yasmine. But she's Ava, so of course she knows. And Beatrice knows Ava feels the same.

They had spent the morning walking through Valencia and then all afternoon at L'Oceanogràfic. They went for the turtles - and then we'll do a fancy dinner, promise. A sit down kind - but Beatrice knew it would be more than just the turtles. It would be the jellyfish and the penguins and dolphins.

And it was. They spent an hour outside the penguins habitat while Ava talked to the aquarium worker in perfect Spanish, asking about migration patterns and what penguins liked to eat more, krill or cotton candy. Beatrice watched in amusement. No matter where they went, someone fell in love with Ava, charmed by her easy smile; and someone was always left brokenhearted when they packed their things and headed off to their next destination. But today, Ava had even managed to get them back behind the Employee Only door to see the penguins closer.

Ava insisted they take a selfie with a penguin named Yago so they could send it to Mother Superion. From one nun to another, Ava declared. Beatrice neatly stole the phone out of her hand before she could hit the send message button. They agreed on Camila.

She sits on the edge of the twin bed they're sharing and stretches her arms above her head, listening to the soft pop and rolling it back into place. Ava is carefully packing away her latest find, a L'Oceanogràfic mug with a penguin on it, but looks up at the noise.

"Shoulder bothering you?" She doesn't wait for Beatrice's answer, immediately reaching out to rub at the muscle between her shoulder and the blade. "You should have said."

Beatrice lets her head drop to her chest, eyes closing in relief. "It didn't hurt before now."

She hears Ava tut behind her. Her fingers dig a little deeper. "Do you want to pick the next place?"

Beatrice opens one eye, looking back a little. "We're leaving already?"

"Well, no. I still want to see Bioparc Zoo. They have giraffes."

Beatrice hides a small smile. "I'm sure they have an excellent collection of coffee mugs."

"They do, I saw-" Ava stops herself, hands pausing. "You're making fun of me."

Beatrice rolls her neck back, looking up at Ava upside down. "I am."

Ava scowls playfully and leans down, pressing a kiss to the space between Beatrice's eyes. She opens her mouth to say something but yawns instead, her dark eyes suddenly looking tired. She lets her hands drop from Bea's back and pushes her way back towards the head of the bed.

Beatrice watches her. So many things are different now, light years away from their apartment in the Alps, but this is still the same: Ava lifts her legs and pulls the top of the blanket out from under her, she slides both legs under, she shimmies down until her head is resting on her arms, and she looks expectantly at the other side of the bed.

What has changes is this: Beatrice doesn't hesitate.

Ava sighs as she settles into bed next to her, immediately rolling to the side so they're pressed together, knee to knee, nose to nose. Ava grins, the ends of her growing hair tickling Beatrice's chin.

"Have I told you how much I love this?" she whispers.

Beatrice smiles back. "Only twice every city."

"I've always wanted to do this. Travel the world. Get out of that room and experience life. And when the Halo found me, I thought I had a second chance to do all of that." Ava runs a fingertip down over the bridge of Beatrice's nose. "I'm finally getting to do it. And with you."

She shudders at Ava's touch and her cheeks flush. "Well, you could have done this with anyone," she says, ducking away from Ava's piercing attention.

"But I want to do it with you." Ava meets her eyes, holds them for a moment before she says, just loud enough that Beatrice can hear it over the sound of her heart pounding in her chest, "You're everything to me. If we went back right now, never went on another adventure, I'd still be satisfied, because I was with you."

She inhales sharply. Ava says these things so casually, as if she doesn't know how a simple sentence can dismantle all the hard work her parents did closing her off. But then, Ava probably does know. Ava probably works harder than her parents did to bring them back down.

Ava pulls Beatrice's arms around her, wiggles her way until Beatrice's chin and hums happily. "And also, you're warm."

Beatrice laughs unexpectedly and feels Ava grin against her collarbone. "Am I?"

"Better than those hot water bottles Sister Frances begrudgingly put into my bed on the nights where the heat went out." She feels Ava's scowl now and smooths it away with a hand through Ava's hair. "A better shape, too. An Ava-shape."

"An Ava-shape," she repeats. She feels Ava's cold toes press against her shin. "What is that?"

Ava scoffs. "The perfect shape for me to fit in, obviously."

"Yes, of course," she says lightly. She tips her head down slightly, touches her lips to the crown of Ava's head. "Goodnight, Ava."

Ava smiles again, pressing a kiss to her hollow of her throat. "Goodnight, Bea."

In the morning, they'll go to Bioparc and Ava will charm someone else into letting them touch a giraffe and they'll leave with a too-large t-shirt that Ava will wear to bed and Beatrice will pretend to protest when Ava makes her take a selfie with an elephant.

But Ava loves it. And Beatrice loves Ava. That's all there is to it.

[daffi-990]

Fuck it Friday

Here’s Buck and May’s first meeting from I’ve been sleeping so long in a 20 year dark night (now I’m wide awake). I’m so close to finishing this one. It was meant to be just a small 2K fic but it’s more like 5K now .. whoops 😅. Got a few things left to type and then I can edit and maybe get someone to read it and she’ll be good to go!

Prev snippet here.

Buck closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting the sea air fill his lungs to the brim. Evan Buckley has finally been boxed up, tape sealing the lid shut. This is his fresh start. He exhales, opening his eyes and setting off in search of breakfast and coffee, so much coffee.

The Main Street of town consists of different shop fronts including a grocery store, flower shop, hardware store, butcher and a cafe called Abuela’s. Buck sighs in relief as he opens the door to the cafe and it quickly turns into an appreciative moan as the smell of freshly brewed coffee hits him.

“If you’re letting out sounds like that just from smelling the coffee, we may need to put a warning sign up on the door for the noises you make when you actually drink some.”

A blush begins to creep up Buck’s neck as he looks behind the counter where a young woman is standing. She’s maybe 18 or 19 with warm brown skin, dark brown shoulder length hair and a face that should really be on tv or in magazines. She’s beautiful, and Buck can tell just from her kind eyes and warm smile that it’s not just a skin deep beauty.

“Uh sorry, it’s- it’s been a long couple of days and I’ve been living off of shitty gas station coffee and- and whatever they’ve had in their hot boxes.” He rubs the back of his neck, ducking his head sheepishly.

“Well today you’re going to be having fresh coffee and an equally fresh breakfast.” The young woman states, leaning casually against the counter. “I’d go with the chocolate chip pancakes, they’re extremely popular and for good reason.” She picks up a menu and slides it across the countertop towards Buck who steps forward to grab it, leafing through the pages. “I’m May by the way.”

May holds her hand out towards him and Buck accepts it, shaking her hand. “I’m Buck, and chocolate chip pancakes sound amazing.” She smiles at him and Buck is helpless but to return it with one of his own, a genuine Buck smile, not the fake one he’s had to wear for so many years. “And the biggest cup of coffee you have. I don’t care what kind, surprise me.”

No pressure tagging: @jamespearce9-1-1 @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @callmenewbie @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @wikiangela @lover-of-mine @rainbow-nerdss @giddyupbuck @devirnis @fortheloveofbuddie @loserdiaz @spagheddiediaz @malewifediaz @wildlife4life @weewootruck @exhuastedpigeon @eddiebabygirldiaz @theotherbuckley @try-set-me-on-fire @athenagranted @disasterbuckdiaz @fiona-fififi @homerforsure @hoodie-buck @honestlydarkprincess @jesuisici33 @jeeyuns @ladydorian05 @clusterbuck @captain-hen @bekkachaos @monsterrae1 @prettyboybuckley

[im-a-wonderling]

Speaking in Tongues, Part 2 ~ Harry Potter

Summary: Harry teaches Y/N, the wild Ravenclaw, how to speak Parseltongue. 

Warnings: none

Word count: 3.1k

Here’s part 1 if you missed it!

Native to Southeast Asia, Large-eyed Pit Vipers, also known as Green Pit Vipers, are unique for several reasons. When the viper’s fangs aren’t in use, they fold back into the roof of the viper’s mouth. The viper doesn’t use its venom every time it bites, as venom cannot be regenerated quickly and is usually reserved for prey. Even if they regulate their venom, these rare snakes are highly venomous and endangered due to their popularity in the exotic pet trade. Ironically, Large-eyed Pit Vipers are known to be moody and strike if– 

“Oi, Harry!”

Harry jerked his head up. “What?” he said breathlessly, adrenaline shooting through his body, making his heart pound. “What’s wrong?”

Ron and Hermione, sitting across the table from him, shared looks. “You’re muttering to yourself,” Hermione said. 

Harry blinked, reorienting himself away from the world of words. 

Lunch in the Great Hall was in full swing. 

Professor Sprout was trying to stop a food-fight over at the end of the Gryffindor table, and from the looks of it, she wasn’t being successful. An avid debate was taking place between one bench from the Slytherin table and one from the Ravenclaw table, about what Harry couldn’t surmise, while a pair of Slytherins were eating their food as fast as they could, perhaps racing each other. A group of Hufflepuffs were rowdily playing what looked like Go Fish in the corner while another group laughed hysterically. 

Now that Harry was aware of his surroundings, the noise was nearly deafening. 

The threads of life were all around him, and yet nowhere in this tumultuous tapestry could Harry find Y/N. He’d looked for her during dinner last night, this morning, and again now, but she wasn’t seated at any of the tables. Did she ever eat? Or in all her curiosity, had she discovered a way to bypass the need for sustenance?

A young Hufflepuff girl looked up, made eye contact with Harry, and immediately ducked her head, her cheeks flushed.

Harry rolled his eyes. Apparently, nothing said ‘eligible bachelor’ like saving the world, and the world never let him rest. Every magazine and newspaper ran stories about his love life (which was quiet), ads for glasses that were supposedly the kind he wore (when clearly they weren’t), or pictures of Harry shirtless (he still didn’t know how they got ahold of those). The only magazine that didn’t was The Quibbler, because Xenophilius Lovegood preferred to share musings about whether Harry’s cologne was derived from Bundimun secretions. 

Harry turned back to his friends to see both of their heads cranked to the side like their left ears were made of lead.

“All You Need to Know About Snakes?” Ron read off. “What are you reading that for, you haven’t had enough of snakes?”

“A class.” Harry returned to the book.

–strike if antagonized. Another distinctive trait of these vipers are the ridges on the edge of their scales, making them rough to the touch. 

“Harry.”

Harry sighed, holding his finger to the page to mark his place. “What?” 

“It’s lunchtime, mate,” Ron said slowly. “Not study hall.”

“I’m not hungry.” Harry looked down, but before he could resume, the book got tugged away from him. “Hey!”

Hermione reoriented the book, her eyes sliding down the page. Ron poked his head over her shoulder. “Large-eyed Pit Vipers?” Ron read. “They aren’t even magical creatures.” 

Harry reached out for the book. “Your point?” 

“This isn’t on our curriculum.” Hermione would know, she was taking nearly every class available to seventh years. “Why are you really reading this?”

“No reason.” Harry avoided looking anywhere in the direction of the Ravenclaw table, but a flush crept across his cheeks. The flush only deepened when Ron raised an eyebrow. 

“Harry,” Hermione said, looking very serious, “is there something you need to tell us?”

Harry made a face. Someday, if Hermione had kids, they would be on the receiving end of the same question, and they would like it even less than he did. “Nope,” he said shortly. 

“Harry.”

“Considering I’ve asked neither of you about the mark on Hermione’s neck, I think we can all agree that there are some things we keep private.” Ron’s ears went red while Hermione’s hand flew to cover up what was obviously a hickey a centimeter underneath her ear. Clearly it was recent as Hermione hadn’t used a charm or even muggle makeup to cover it up. 

Harry shook his head, getting to his feet as he slung his bag over his arm. “I’ll see you guys in the common room later?”

Hermione, face still flaming, muttered something under her breath while Ron scratched behind his ear. 

Harry strode out of the Great Hall, ignoring all the eyes that trailed him out the door.

The eyes that followed him everywhere.

He let out a sigh as he climbed the stairs to get to the library. From the moment Harry entered the Wizarding World, he’d dealt with publicity, first because of his name and then because of his adventures. But now that he was no longer a boy, the publicity had changed. The wizards and witches who’d been hungry for details about him, pictures with him, and his autograph were now hungry for other things. More invasive things. Things that after the war, Harry wasn’t ready to give anybody. Not even Ginny. 

Ron and Hermione were now famous too, but Ron had always wanted recognition and Hermione used the attention for all her causes, like S.P.E.W.

All Harry ever wanted was normalcy.

He chuckled dryly to himself. Harry probably couldn’t recognize ‘normal’ if it set his robes on fire.

He entered the library just as Madam Pince walked past. “Shh!” she hushed.

Harry didn’t bother to respond. He simply passed her and went deeper and deeper into the library, finding a table in the corner. If he was going to be communicating with Eleanor and teaching Y/N to do the same, they needed to be as far away from judgemental eyes as possible. How would his fame in the wizarding world change if he was seen speaking Parseltongue? If there was a chance at being forgotten, even due to disgrace, Harry should’ve tried to teach Parseltongue sooner.

Harry nervously tapped the table, glancing at the clock.

Had Y/N forgotten they were supposed to meet? She seemed the scatterbrained type, so Harry shouldn’t have been surprised that she hadn’t shown up. Except that…she’d been determined to learn parseltongue, so determined that she’d practically strong-armed Harry into doing it.

Harry’s eyes slid to his bag and the book inside it.

Glancing around to make sure there was still no sign of Y/N, he pulled the book out. 

Like every other snake, Large-eyed Pit Vipers possess an unnerving stare due to their lack of eyelids, but individual to the Large-eyed Pit Vipers are the two infrared-sensing pits for which these vipers are named for. These pits between the viper’s eyes and nostrils allow them to sense heat signatures while they hunt for their prey in the dark of night. 

“Sorry I’m late.”

“Finally,” Harry muttered, putting the book down. “It’s past–” He stopped. 

Y/N slid into the seat across from him, carelessly dropping her school bag onto the floor with a resounding thud that didn’t sound like books. Judging by the rosiness of her face, she’d just come out of the cold, but melting snowflakes weren’t the only thing stuck in her hair. Twigs, a bit of moss, and…were those…dried caterpillars?

“You, urm, you have stuff in your hair.”

Y/N ran her hands once through the tangled mess, causing the debris to shift. “Did I get it?”

“No, you just–here.” Harry reached forward, delicately pulling all the bits of nature out. Where had she been? And how had she reached the library before the snowflakes could fully melt? The library wasn’t close to the courtyard or anywhere in the grounds. Was it a secret passage or had she come through a window?

“Thanks.” Y/N reached into her pocket and pulled out Eleanor, placing her on the table. “Okay, let’s start.” 

Oh. 

No faffing about with pleasantries, apparently. Straight to business. 

“Okay, um…” Harry looked at Eleanor, who was watching him intently. The book was right; her stare was unnerving. SeethaaSsssHathehhHathehhAyaeeh. 

The end of Eleanor’s tail twitched. SeethaaSsssHathehhHathehhAyaeeh SeethaaaHaaHasseeyHasseeyHaaaaaah, she replied. 

“What did you say?” Y/N cut in. “What did she say?”

“I said hello, and she said hello.”

“Say it again,” she demanded. 

SeethaaSsssHathehhHathehhAyaeeh, Harry repeated, trying to say it slower this time.

Y/N looked dead-on into his eyes. Ssssssehhhhhhhhhhhathhhhhhhhh.

Harry coughed to disguise his laugh. Eleanor, however, was far from amused. She wriggled closer to Harry, away from her owner, clearly caught off guard to hear Y/N attempting to speak Parseltongue, even if Y/N hadn’t actually said anything discernable. 

Y/N looked at Eleanor, then at Harry, and then Eleanor again. “What? What did I say?”

“Nothing really.”

His answer didn’t seem to satisfy her. Her eyebrows drew close together, creating a somewhat adorable pucker in between them. Sseettthhhhhhhayaaaa, she tried again. 

Eleanor’s head poked forward and started excitedly rocking back and forth.

Y/N looked up at Harry. “What did I say?”

“Um, well, you sorta said hello.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Sort of?” 

“An improper hello,” Harry said. 

“Say it the proper way again,” she demanded.

And that’s how it continued to go.

It might’ve been odious to continually switch between having a conversation, translating, and teaching, had it not been for Y/N’s focus. She approached it head on, without a care for incompetence or imperfection. She didn’t even seem to pay any attention to their surroundings, wholeheartedly focused on Harry and Eleanor.

Had Harry been enjoying himself less, he would’ve noticed he felt some sort of safe haven, a bubble of sorts in that moment. But for the first time in a while, he wasn’t thinking about the war, his friends, Ginny, his safety, Quidditch, his failing heart, nor anything else of material consequence.

Harry’s hand lay on the table, palm up to allow Eleanor—who was still off-put by Y/N’s attempts to communicate—to curl around his fingers.

Y/N screwed up her face in concentration. SethaSsHatheHatheAyaeeh.

Eleanor abandoned Harry’s hand, slithering closer to her owner with great excitement. HassayHasseeyAayaaSsssSeyythaaSsaah! Y/N broke out into a huge smile, not needing Harry’s translation to know she’d successfully spoken Parseltongue. She affectionately rubbed a hand down Eleanor’s scales.

Harry grinned at the two of them, a swirling sense of accomplishment making him feel a bit giddy. Even if her pronunciation was a little off, she’d succeeded in saying something. Maybe it really was possible for someone to learn Parseltongue. 

Y/N looked up at Harry, opening her mouth to say something, but her gaze jumped over Harry’s shoulder. 

“Miss Y/L/N!” came a shout, and it took Harry a minute to realize it was Madam Pince’s voice, which he’d never heard louder than a stern mutter. 

Y/N scooped up her bag. “Time to go!” Harry had just enough time to grab his own bag before Y/N dragged him towards the winding staircase that led to the next floor of the library.

“Why are we running?” Harry asked breathlessly, trying to keep up.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs two at a time. “I’m technically banned from the library.”

Harry stopped to gape, but Y/N seized his arm and pulled him along just as Madam Pince came around the bookshelf. “Miss Y/L/N!” 

Harry hadn’t ever seen her look so displeased, and Madam Pince always looked displeased. He also didn’t know it was even possible for a student to be banned from the library, but if anyone could find a way to make the impossible possible, his money was on Y/N. 

“Miss Y/L/N, you have thirty seconds to leave, or I shall tell the headmaster!” Madam Pince screeched as they reached the second floor. 

“Maybe we should–” Before Harry could finish, Y/N sprinted towards the Restricted Section of the library. “Where are you going?”

The ravenclaw came to a skidding halt in front of the last bookshelf before the locked doors of the Restricted Section, reaching out to touch the shelves. 

“Are we hiding?” Harry asked, running to her side with a hand pressed to his aching chest as his overloaded and half-dead heart desperately tried to keep pace. 

Y/N shook her head. “We’re leaving.”

“Miss Y/L/N!”

Y/N glanced at Harry with a sideways grin. “Hold your breath.” Before Harry could ask or do anything, she pressed a notch in the wood, and then the whole world slid away as the ground fell out from under Harry. 

He let out a yelp as he slipped through a tunnel barely big enough to contain him. Indeed, as he rushed downwards through the narrowing tunnel, he wondered if he was going to get stuck.

He only just remembered Y/N’s advice and sucked in a large breath before the slick gray walls of the tunnel disappeared to reveal dazzling sunlight. 

And the next thing Harry knew, he was underwater.

He desperately held his breath, but he didn’t have much to hold. Already, his chest was building up in pressure, begging him for more air. But before Harry could get his wand, something large wrapped around his torso, trapping his arms. He fought, trying to free them, but the thing was pushing him upwards.

Then his head broke the surface, and he gasped, inhaling a great big breath. Looking down, he saw the thing around his body was a giant tentacle. 

The Giant Squid. 

Barely had the thought entered his mind before the giant tentacle propelled Harry through the water with so much speed, Harry nearly skinned his knees on the rocks of the lake when the water grew shallower. The tentacle released him, and Harry crawled the rest of the way, rolling onto his back on the shore. 

His chest was burning, the sign that he’d overdone it. 

“Thank you, Selva!” Y/N called from beside him, getting to her feet.

Catching his breath, Harry sat up and pulled off his right shoe, tipping it over to expel all the water. “The giant squid’s name…is Selva?”

“Squidish names aren’t like human names, silly,” Y/N replied, not even bothering to wring out her hair or her soaking robes. Instead, she drew out Eleanor from her pocket, who wound herself agitatedly around Y/N’s wrist.  “I call him Selva because he loves Selva shrimp. I had to bribe him so that he wouldn’t keep pushing me out of the lake when I was trying to talk to the Selkies.”

“I didn’t know–” Harry broke off with a wince, clutching his chest as his heart gave a particularly resentful throb. He took deep breaths like Madame Pomfrey taught him and the ache subsided. “I didn’t know you could feed the squid.”

He glanced up at Y/N to see her staring at him. “You have chest pain?” she asked. 

“Yeah.” Harry rubbed at his sternum.

Suddenly, Y/N was in front of him, dripping all over his robes. “Does it hurt worse with exertion?” she asked, reaching forward to prod Harry’s chest. “Do you ever feel lightheaded? Or dizzy?”

“Umm…” Harry looked down, feeling her fingers pressing down on the space between his collarbones. “Yes?”

“Does it feel like it’s beating out of your chest?”

“Er…sometimes?”

“What did Madam Pomfrey say?”

Harry just stared at Y/N, suddenly feeling suspicious. How would she have known he went to Madam Pomfrey? 

“You’re having chest pain, and you didn’t go to the Hospital Wing?” Y/N asked, arching a brow.

“Of course I went,” Harry snapped, not wanting her to think him any sort of idiot. “She doesn’t know what it is…exactly…”

Y/N lifted her brows. “She doesn’t?”

“No. It’s just one of the perks of coming back from the dead.”

Y/N froze, her wide eyes unblinking. “You came back from the dead?”

Harry stared back at her. Did…did she not know the story? Everyone in the Wizarding World plus their grandma knew Harry’s story. “Yes,” he said shortly, deciding he didn’t want to unpack it. “I did.”

Y/N didn’t react for a moment, and Harry feared she was just taking her time to figure out what burning question to ask first. Surely this girl, the most curious being he’d ever met, would ask him all manner of things about his strange resurrection. But then Y/N surprised him yet again: instead of asking anything or even opening her mouth, she sat down next to him. As he watched, she dug her hand into her book bag and drew out a jar. Then, with her eyes trained on the rocks, she started shifting through them, grabbing hold of a tubeworm that she must’ve spotted. 

Harry watched her, utterly bewildered by this person so much more concerned with a tubeworm than with a story about coming back from the dead. 

But then again…maybe it was wiser to focus on the living more than on the dead. 

As he watched her lift the jar to scrutinize the worm with her scholarly eye, Harry gazed at her, feeling his own curiosity rise.

Who was this girl, this student with such a violent hunger for information that never went to class and somehow got herself banned from the library? 

Y/N rotated the jar slowly this way and that as the tube worm wriggled so differently from how Eleanor moved. Harry had just decided that the Ravenclaw had forgotten all about him when she softly said: “We like to think we know all there is to know about magic.” She stowed the jar in her bag, fixing him with a grave stare. “We like to believe that when people invent new spells or create new potions or discover new creatures, it’s just us using what we already know in slightly different ways.”

Harry was extremely confused, but sensed she wasn’t finished yet and wisely chose to just stay quiet. 

“It doesn’t matter whether one is a muggle or a wizard…or a house elf…or a centaur or giant or vampire. It isn’t seemly to wonder so much about the unknown. And yet…” she trailed off, glancing out over the lake before her eyes roved over to the Forbidden Forest. Some sort of sparkle shone in her eyes, as if the very curiosity she spoke of was manifesting as diamonds. 

Harry got to his feet. “And yet?” he asked in spite of himself, so taken in by that sparkle.

“And yet,” was all Y/N said. “I’ll see you around, Potter.” And with that, she strolled away towards the forest, looking to all the world as though she was following a calling.

-

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle​ @valiantlytransparentwhispers​

[psychedeliclush]

( INFORMATION AND EXAMPLES OF EACH GENRE UNDER CUT )

NOISE ROCK !

Artists: Sonic Youth, Melt-Banana, Big Black, The Jesus Lizard, Boris

Most popular Era: Late 80s

Basic definition: Noise rock is a genre of music known for its abrasive and dissonant sound, characterized by extreme distorted guitars, feedback, and unconventional song structures (commonly associated with no wave). Rooted in punk and experimental music, noise rock pushes the boundaries of traditional rock music by incorporating elements of noise and avant-garde soundscapes. Bands in this genre often prioritize raw energy and intensity over polished production, creating a chaotic and rebellious experience for listeners.

Song examples:

POST PUNK !

Artists: Joy Division, Television, The Cure, Magazine, Talking Heads

Most popular Era: Late 70s - early 80s

Basic definition: Post-punk is a genre of music that emerged in the late 1970s, following the initial punk rock explosion. It combines the raw energy of punk with elements of art rock, electronic music, and funk. Post-punk bands often veer towards darker and more complex themes, both musically and lyrically, than their punk predecessors. The music is known for its dissonant chords and rhythmic intricacies. Some key bands associated with the post-punk genre include Joy Division, Gang of Four, The Cure, and Siouxsie and the Banshees. It's commonly associated with the rise of other sub-genres, such as gothic rock, no wave and synthwave.

Song examples:

[fimikoru]

GUIDE TO: AOPPELLA!?

(part 3!!)

Now, going to the next group... FYA'M' !!

Representing Kanadezaka high school

A unit composed of 6 members that are:

Maito Coresawa (Lead and 3rd part)

Mitsuo Ayase (Top part)

Akira Shigaki (2nd part)

Asaharu Soenji (4th part)

Yui Nekoyashiki (Bass part)

Fukami Shinkai (Percussion part)

Maito Coresawa (CV Ono Yuki)

The Lead Vocalist

He has a good instinct and skills at everything

He's not aware that his charisma is the reason he takes lead

He sees his childhood friend Hajime as his rival when it comes to a cappella even though Hajime doesn't see him in that way

- He subscribes to a motorbike magazine.

- Maito doesn't have any specific hobby. Since he thinks hobby is something you like to do, then he assumes that saving money is his hobby.

- He saves up because he wants to buy a motorbike. He wonders if he can buy it if he saves all of his money, including his otoshidama (new year's gift) and his part-time salary until he graduates.

- Maito is not good with scary stuff.

- Maito and Yui know each other because Maito often comes late to school and Yui, as a part of disciplinary committee, has to deal with it.

Other role of his seiyuu:

Koga Ogami - Ensemble Stars

Morihito Arihara - Tsukipro (Alive)

Fumiya Ito - Charisma House

Taiga Kagami - Kuroko Basket

Mike Enjouji - Actors: Songs Collection

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

Mitsuo Ayase (CV Toyonaga Toshiyuki)

The Little Devil

Mitsuo appears as a narcissist who loves being cute. He even says that "Cuteness (kawaii) is justice!". He uses his own appearance as a weapon towards other people and despite this personality, he hates people who bully weak people and acts on his own aesthetics.

Fukami who is like a diamond in a rough

- Mitsuo's older brother is a novelist that Akira admires.

- Mitsuo's mother is the editor-in-chief of a women fashion magazine.

- His hobby of photography is influenced by his father who is a photographer.

Other roles of his seiyuu:

Homare Arisugawa - A3

Nayuta Yatonokami - Paradox Live

Goshi Kaneshiro - B-Project

Ageha Karasuma - Hanadoll

Jiaoqiu - Honkai Star Rail

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

Akira Shigaki (CV Urata Wataru)

The Mood Maker

- His father owns a resort hotel.

- His favorite novelist is Mitsuo's older brother.

- He has good grades. According to Mitsuo, Akira is one of the highest ranking students in his class.

- Akira is weak with scary stuffs too, like Maito and Rin. But when it comes to girls, he pretends to be calm because he doesn't want to show his uncool side.

- Akira's birthday is on White Day.

He loves girls more than three meals a day! He's a popular guy who notices the smallest things about girls like the length of their bangs or change in their lip shapes. Even his reason to join the a capella club is because he "heard that guys who are good singers are popular.

He is a philanthropist that he doesn't have a specific partner or settle on one favorite, everyone is his important princess.

He is Luka's childhood friend and is the person responsible for Luka's transformation. Being adored by Luka, bashed by Mitsuo, scolded by Yui-there's always some kind of noise around him.

Other roles of his seiyuu:

Uratanuki - Utaite

Agito - CORDGEM

Shohei Haizono - Tokyo Debunker

Sousuke Kagura - Actors: Song Connection

WHEN I CATCH YOU HARUTO WHEN I CATCH YOU. ARGHHHHH WHEN I CATCH YOU.

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

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

[obae-me]

Upside Down- CH 12

Warnings: Allusions to mental illness, mentions of death. As Always, Read Safely.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Missing Pieces

---

“Aaaaand…” The moment was drawn out, the slight suspense hovering over everyone’s heads as the gentleman with the devilish smirk flicked his wrist. The final card swirled over onto the pile in the middle of the table. “I win, suckers!” Mammon leaned back in his chair with a bright grin on his face as everyone else groaned. He tilted the chair back a bit, balancing the furniture on its back two legs as he kicked his own up onto the table. His body was quickly shoved off the tabletop, almost sending him to the floor as Levi huffed. They got into a little spat, Levi claiming Mammon was cheating. Their argument seemed to be so natural, Beel and Asmo treated it as simple background noise. You were starting to learn to do the same.

With a sigh, Asmo chucked the rest of his cards on the table and shrugged. Perfectly painted nails ran through the strands of his hair. Locks shimmered, and you could’ve sworn you noticed tiny sparkles of glitter here and there. “And with that, I’m out.” He stood from his seat and strutted off, turning his head over his shoulder towards you as he waggled his fingers a bit. “Bye,” his voice cooed a little. “It’s been fun.” But even with that not-so-subtle flirting, he left as if he was dying to get out of here. Your brief time spent with him was already over.

The sound of the door shutting seemed to bring Mammon and Levi out of it. Your first pact-mate was still riding the high of his victory, even if he didn’t seem to be winning anything from it. “Well, want to go again?”

“No,” Levi groaned, settling back in his seat with slumped shoulders, Envy radiating off of him. Still, he showed no signs of leaving at the moment, and leaned forward to take his drink in his hands. “We should play something else. You win any card game because you cheat.”

“I don’t cheat!”

The heat of the second fight was snuffed out by an almost amused hum as Beel spoke. “I don’t care what we do. But maybe Levi is right, we should switch it up a bit.” The youngest of the humans present continued to eat the spread on the table. Frankly, you agreed with the other two. All of the snacks were nearly gone by now. You had spent the better part of the evening playing this colored-card game. You were trash at it, even though the rules weren’t too complex. Blame it on your frazzled mind. The day up until now had been rough, and you still couldn’t shake the lingering feeling of anxiety that had clung to you ever since you saw that flash of the camera. Mammon had continued to try to convince you it was simply someone following after them, but that didn’t make you feel any better. If anything, it made you feel worse.

Apparently Lucifer wasn’t the only famous one out of the seven. They all had some fame in their own right. Part of you had to wonder if it was due to their enormous influence in the Devildom. Mammon, as he said before, was a model. Posted on websites and magazines, adorning some of the most expensive brands on the market. Levi was a streamer, more popular online than in public, but people still knew his face. Satan was quite the brilliant prodigy, famous for entering competitions he’d had no previous history being in just to wipe the floor with everyone else, reveling in their wrath. Asmo was another influencer. Vlogging, photo-shopping, graphic design, interior design, dipping his hands into the fashion and makeup industries, he dabbled in quite a few areas, his following garnering huge numbers. Beel apparently was a famous football player, but had recently quit and left his team. Probably due to Lilith. And Belphie… well, actually, you still didn’t know a lot about him. No one wanted to talk about him almost as much as they didn’t want to talk about Lilith. So, yes, at the end of the day, the picture could’ve been centered around any one of them. To the outside world, you were just a sudden random stranger hanging out with the Morningstars. You could imagine the rumors now, being painted as some sudden love-interest that would cause the drama and intrigue that humans couldn’t live without. The thought made you groan.

“We should play a video game!” Levi announced, suddenly brightening at the thought.

Mammon scoffed. “No, because you always win those.”

“We should go outside and—“

“No,” both Levi and Mammon buzzed, cutting poor Beel off before he could even get his thought out.

Gluttony looked downcast for just a second before shaking it off, his head raising to look towards you. “What do you feel like doing?”

“Hm?” You straightened your back a bit. “Me?” Beel nodded and you fell silent as you thought about it. “I’m not sure,” you said honestly. “I haven’t done anything like this in a long time.” That seemed to send all the other humans into their own thoughts. You could read the same expression on all their faces. They hadn’t done anything like this in a long time either.

“We should probably clean the dining room up before Lucifer comes home,” Beel finally announced, picking up empty boxes and bags and eating the last few bites of everything while piling the trash into his arms.

“Don’t think Lucifer’s comin’ home tonight,” Mammon stated, but hopped up to his feet, grabbing his drink and his own bags off the floor, leaving his spot cluttered. “If he’s not home at this time of night, he’s not comin’ home at all. So we don’t hafta worry about it. Besides, it’s not like he ever comes here anyway.” A swift kick was made under the table, Levi’s foot coming into contact with his brother’s ankle. That’s when you both caught a glimpse of the deep-rooted sorrow on Beel’s face. Mammon got the message.

“I hope he comes back home soon,” Beel muttered. The way he said it, it sounded as if this sort of thing happened often. Lucifer was gone a lot. The red-haired human took a breath as if he was going to say something, but then changed his mind, taking himself and some of the trash out of the room. Beel vanished out into the hallway without another word.

“Way to go, idiot,” Levi hissed.

“What?!” Mammon bared his teeth for a second. “I… I was just being honest, ya know? It’s not… I don’t like it either! I…” He gestured angrily towards the door Beel left from before letting his hand drop, his arm swinging limply back to his side and hitting his thigh. You turned your head a bit, the last threads of intense sadness fading from the room. That human… was not okay.

Levi finally stood up, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket. “I’ll go check on him.” He walked away from the table and stopped for a second to look back at you. “I- uh- hope you like w-what I bought you. If you hate it, you can just throw it away!” After he was done shouting, he skittered away like a nervous lizard.

A frustrated hiss of air was pushed between Mammon’s teeth. The human muttered something about ‘unfair’ and ‘my gift was better’ and ‘I thought of that too, he just got to it first’. You rolled your eyes a little. “It’s not a competition.” While shopping, apparently Mammon and Levi both had the same grand idea to get you matching gifts. Mammon had so graciously gifted you a wallet. Apparently it was some popular brand, as if that meant anything to you, but it seemed to mean wonders to him. He claimed that he figured he’d might as well snag you one as a thank you, and as a means to finally have somewhere to place your money that Simeon gave you. Supposedly it was pretty dangerous to just have that piece of plastic just floating around in your room and pockets. Levi on the other hand, had bought you a phone case. When he finally noticed your device was ‘naked’ as he put it, he almost had a panic attack. So, he purchased you one. Stylish and functional, he claimed. Supposed to protect this little rectangle from cracking. Make it easier to hold. And he made sure it was one like his. It was rather amusing if you thought about it hard enough. Humans had the strangest ways of marking.

Greed couldn’t seem to find a proper reply. “Yeah…well…whatever.” Seemed like his mind was on other things.

“Is your brother going to be okay?” You curled your legs up, heels planted into the seat as you held your ankles. Every time you had met Beel so far, a simple phrase was all it took to send him away. Like it was painful to be around everyone. But a look in his eyes suggested that it was more painful to be without anyone. A dangerous double sword.

Mammon occupied his worried gaze by trying to admire some of his items in his many bags. “Beel? Yeah. Maybe… I dunno actually. He’s been having a real rough time ever since… You know.”

Lilith. “You’re worried about him.”

“Of course I am! You think I wouldn’t be?” His lips pursed a bit in thought, not noticing that you’d gotten to your feet. “We all suffered, but Beel… is taking it extra hard. Doesn’t help that Belphie… he’s not here right now. And they’re usually attached at the hip.”

You lowered your head a little to look straight into his eyes. It unsettled him, his pupils dilating as he flicked his sight away. “Mammon,” you coaxed, waiting until he eventually stared back at you. “I think it’s time you told me about Belphie.”

The house had gone quiet. It surprised you a little. Typically with so many people in one home, you could hear at least one person staying up with the moon. Yet, tonight, it appeared as if everyone was getting decent sleep. Even Mammon and Levi were resting. They were still recovering it seemed. And while you had strict orders now to do the same, you figured you would start taking this… job of yours a little more seriously. Seven whole humans were under your care now, and yet there were several brothers you’d only really met once.

Cloaked in your power, feeling a bit better after the prince’s intervention, you stepped through the halls. You were only just now starting to get a feel for the home, for all its twists and turns. But other than Mammon’s, Levi’s, and your own room, you had no strong sense of which doors led where. You hadn’t particularly cared to map this place out before, but now… this all felt much more real. Every day away from the Devildom cemented it further into your head that this wasn’t a joke. You were meant to stay here. A full year. Watching over these humans as if they were treasures. And now you had a pact with two of them. Perhaps you even felt… okay with staying here. There were worse places to be.

Silently, you started opening doors. The room right across from Mammon’s opened easily and without any noise. Faint little glowing lights illuminated certain spots of the room. The scent of vanilla and rose wafted out into the hall. Flowers and fabrics and elegance. Asmo’s room. You moved on. The next door stood out to you a little. It seemed slightly different than the other doors, not quite matching the house. A replacement for an older door perhaps. Inside was a mess of books and random objects of curiosity. Whoever was sleeping inside was tossing and turning. Satan. You’d leave him to his restlessness. The next discoveries were pretty uneventful. A storage closet, the bathroom, a little entranceway into an attic. Down at the other end of the hall, you entered into a vast bedroom. A master bedroom if ever you saw one. Empty. No one was inside. The stale fading scent of coffee beans and rustic wine. Lucifer’s domain. Although, much like Mammon’s had been, the bedroom hadn’t been used much in recent days. It felt cold. Empty. Mostly there for presentation’s sake. Much like the man himself.

Turning out of the room, you headed towards the last door on the upper floor. Before even peeking inside, gentle snoring could be heard from out in the hallway. Inside had not just one, but two beds. Each side of the room mirrored each other in layout, but had opposite designs. One bed had a lump of a human inside, the other was completely vacant. Without making a noise, you walked inside. Stepping over to the empty bed, you stared at a picture frame hanging from the wall. It was the same photo Lucifer had in his office… The one with all of them together and the sibling you could only conclude was Lilith. Now that you had some more time on your hands, you took a closer look at the picture. Lucifer was standing tall behind everyone, looking at the camera like one would properly pose. His hands were on the brother in front of him- Levi- keeping him from dashing away. Mammon was by Lucifer’s side, and Asmo by Mammon’s. Both of those two were doing their best to make the other one look the least photogenic as possible. Beel had pulled two others into his arms. Lilith… and another one. A younger boy with darkened hair and a soft look in tired eyes. Belphie? And now that you were looking at it, you realized you had been mistaken. Each brother was not there. You had counted seven people and your mind had filled in the blanks. But one person was missing. Satan wasn’t here. You did remember saying that Satan had been brought into the family last… perhaps this was before he came to be a Morningstar.

This side of the room had no scent… other than the lingering smell you associated with Beel. Belphie had been gone for a long time… You turned your head away from the photo and sat on the bed. The mattress squeaked a little, causing Beel to turn in his spot, waking a little. “Belphie?…” He muttered, half-asleep. His eyes stared past you at Belphie’s empty bed. The human laid there quietly before turning back on his other side. The snoring didn’t kick back up.

“Hospital?” You had asked when Mammon finally gave you an answer. “Is he sick?”

Mammon had struggled finding the words to say. He had fiddled with his hands, walked around his room, touched nearly everything he owned in a form of distraction. “In a way… Guess his mind wasn’t doin’ so well after Lilith died. He had always…struggled, but it got worse. And then one day… he just wasn’t home. Lucifer told everyone he was bein’ looked after and he’d be back home soon, but… that was a whole year ago now. Although we’ve finally heard that he’s coming back. Prolly within’ the next month or so.”

And that was that. No more information. No way of being able to check on Belphie. Lucifer seemed to be the only one with that information. And there was no way in heaven or hell that the eldest would give you permission. Hadn’t even let Beel see his own twin. Mammon had said Lucifer explained that it would be ‘better for Belphie’s recovery’ that way. Forced isolation. There had to be some way to find Belphie. For all you knew, some demon was already getting their claws into him. But… that would not be a problem for tonight. For the rest of tonight… maybe you’d do what was asked of you and let your body recover. Standing up from Belphie’s old bed, you snuck carefully past Beel and left.

The guest room… your room, felt strangely… different than normal. It was a well furnished guest-room. A bed, a nightstand, a wardrobe, a small table and chairs, some shelves, a bookcase. More than one might need for a temporary guest, but perhaps it had been created in the event the Morningstars added another person to their family. However, even with these things, something wasn’t quite… right. It was empty. And… while you really didn’t particularly care for human things… a new sin inside you couldn’t help but compare your room to every one else's. Levi’s envy… a pesky thing. A constant nagging in the back of your mind, complimented by Mammon’s greed. You needed something. Something that would now mark this room as yours officially.

Mammon’s room was quiet. The only lights that were on were a few soft display lights positioned above the car in it’s special loft. The shine from the metal sent glittering silver rays streaking across his ceiling. Must be comforting to him to open his eyes and see his room shining. His room definitely seemed much more lived in than the first time you’d been in here. Not as…empty. Although most of that was due to Mammon’s recent spending fervor. Bags and open boxes lay clustered by his couch, covering a good portion of the floor. His spending spree from earlier was… self-indulgent to say the least.

Your pact-mate was fast asleep, sprawled out under his covers. The aroma of his cologne was especially prominent. You stared at him for a while, little flashes of Greed and Envy flowing through your veins. The jacket that he had worn earlier was still draped over the end of his bed, slowly sliding off the mattress every time Mammon moved his foot. You snagged his jacket and left.

There was still light coming from under Levi’s door, but you heard no sound. A quick twist of the doorknob and you looked inside. Envy was resting curled up in a little ball on his bed. Seemed to you like he’d fallen asleep over his covers playing a game on a handheld device. He’d passed out during it apparently. You rolled your eyes a bit, padding over to him to take the game from his hands and set it on his nightstand, taking a bunched up blanket settled in his computer chair and draping it over the sleeping human. Strange troublesome creatures. Didn’t temperature greatly affect them? What if he got cold and died in the middle of the night?

Levi had a great many things in his room to choose from. None of which really stood out to you. You didn’t care for the figurines or the posters or the novelty items. There was a cushion of sorts on the floor, one in front of the TV in the corner of his room. A controller was settled on it, specific bumps and indents that suggested he rested his arms on it while playing. You crouched over and put the game controller aside, picking the cushion up to look at it. It was a pastel blue, almost minty color, with some kind of design on it that you were sure had some significance to Levi, but one that was completely foreign to you. You tucked it under your arm and walked out.

It was only fair. You had made two pacts, both without asking anything from them. They owed you more than they could ever pay back. These little trinkets were fair game, and frankly you felt as if you deserved it. You took your newly purloined items back to your room and put them both on your bed. Now it felt… more right. Greed and Envy were satisfied in you for the moment. Annoying little sins… Good thing you wouldn’t have to deal with any more of them.

You settled yourself into bed, able to close your eyes without having to worry about anything tonight.

A distant door shut.

The sound woke you instantly, every nerve in your body blaring. High alert. It took a moment for your memories to trickle back into your sleep-addled brain. But still. It was late. Well, for humans anyway. And for the Morningstars, it was well past Lucifer’s lockdown curfew. Unless it was the accursed man himself finally slinking home. But the codes… Maybe… was someone leaving? With a little groan, you got up to your feet to investigate.

The entrance hall was quiet. No new shoes were thrown near the front door. Someone must’ve left. You closed your eyes, reminding yourself that you wouldn’t overdo it. Nothing big enough to send Simeon snapping back at your heels. Just a little magic once more to make sure everything was alright. The skin across your body tingled as you went invisible, opening the front door and scanning the front yard.

A person was tapping away at a security lock on the inside of the gate, raising his head as the entrance to the property was opened. You jogged down the driveway and out of the grounds just before the gate shut behind you. Feet shuffled away. A glimpse of ginger-hair before a hood was pulled up over his head. Beel? Did he do jogs this early in the morning or something? His pace was steady though, rather slow. This wasn’t a mindless walk either. You had assumed for a moment that he had been antsy, perhaps walking off some anxiety, but every turn he made seemed intentional. Easy to keep up with at least. You tagged a few feet behind him, constantly turning your head, making sure no more eager demons could get the best of you.

Neighborhood homes eventually dwindled, approaching a more quiet side of town. There weren’t any towering buildings and crowded streets this way. You both passed a park, a little school, a pond. And then you approached a large gated off property. A tall mental fence curled up from the ground. Sharp metal arrows studded the top, a few bent in wrong directions from time and abuse. There was a large metal gate, two swinging doors frozen in place with a chain and lock. A pretty simplistic security system even for demonic standards. Even if you were from a different world, there were still universal signs and signals that you could pick up on. Do not enter. Not in the dead of night at least.

Beel turned, following the fence along it’s side, moving away from the gate. Curious… The both of you rounded the corner, at the back of the grounds now. Beel stepped off the sidewalk.

A stump sat near the pavement. Based from the size, it must’ve been a grand tree in it’s time. Now it waited for someone to finally pluck it from it’s eternal home in the ground. Although until then, it seemed to serve another purpose. Beel stepped up on it, looking over his shoulder. You pieced together what he was doing just as he gripped the top of the fence, his fingers snug between the spikes. Somehow, you kept yourself from hissing his name, remembering at the last moment that you were a shadow, nothing more. In a easy fluid motion, Beel hopped the fence. You were rather surprised to see how agile he was, even with his bigger frame. Either he was more skilled than you gave a human credit for, or he’d done this before. It was possible it was both. He landed on the other side with hardly a grunt, straightening his jacket before moving further across the lawn. You sighed softly to yourself. Even Beel, the one who you had assumed would be the least problematic… was trespassing… Could you have a single easy night? Was that too much to ask? Yes. Apparently it was.

Quickly following after him, you leapt, toes just barely touching the stump before you spryly hopped over the barrier without needing to use your hands. And while you scarcely made a sound, Beel still turned, stopping in his tracks, scanning the area. A few seconds passed before he continued on, looking rather relaxed for someone on forbidden grounds. You couldn’t help but seem to notice he knew where he was going too. Even with your stellar vision in the dark, you had almost tripped on several headstones while keeping the human steady in your sights. Meanwhile, Beel swiveled around graves in the dark, continuing towards his destination.

Eventually, Beel slowed. He stood in front of a pristine slab of stone, a name etched into it, a depiction of angelic wings cut into marble. He settled, sitting on the ground right in front of the headstone, crossing his legs under him. He adjusted the flowers that were there, noting with a crushed petal between his fingers that they needed to be replaced. You felt the lungs in your chest shrink a bit tighter. All you could do was watch. Yet, even as hellish as you were, invading his space and eavesdropping felt… too wrong. This was meant to be a private moment. So, instead, you’d simply make sure he was safe. A nearby tree suited surveillance purposes, just out of earshot of the human. Your claws dug into the bark before you pulled yourself up onto a branch, settling in with your back against the trunk, one leg dangling down as your tail served as proper support.

So this was where Lilith was…

Beel hunched himself over, his lips moving as he began to talk to the dearly departed. There was no smile on his face. There were things he needed to get off his chest, things he perhaps thought only the dead would listen to.

The fluttering of feathers caught your attention. A beautiful stark-white dove landed beside you, sharing your branch. Its head turned and twitched as it observed Beel in the distance, then turned its focus towards you despite your invisibility. It blinked innocently at you.

You couldn’t help but sigh loudly, a bit of your energy chipping away. “What are you doing here, angel?”

The dove cooed humorously before white swirled quickly in front of your vision, the creature revealing its true form. “Can’t I say hello outside of work?” Solomon grinned, trying still to bat his eyes at you in a wholesome manner. His casual body language as he curled his legs over the branch and the subtle shimmer around him suggested he was keeping himself from human view as well. To others, he probably still resembled a dove.

You scoffed a bit at him. “You’ve never bothered to reach out before.”

“Well, I’ve been busy!” He explained, pausing for a moment as if expecting a little bit of praise. When he wasn’t getting any, he moved on. The subject changed completely, successfully dodging the question you asked. “He comes here a lot, you know.” As his legs swung, he kicked one foot in Beel’s direction. “More frequently as of late…” Solomon’s personality thus far had been… some might say shady. Infuriating on some levels. Helpful in the ways that only seemed to benefit him at the same time, always taunting you with hints that suggested he held the keys to all your questions. Rather demonic, really. An angel with a dangerous smile working together with a demon with virtuous goals. What a match. That all aside, for once Solomon appeared sympathetic, almost… guilty. That couldn’t be right though, could it? Why would he be?…

“Does he break in like this often? If he keeps going like this, he’s going to get caught.” If Beel got dragged away for something like this, you didn’t want to imagine the next lecture Simeon would give you.

Solomon went back to smiling, that remorseful expression entirely gone. “Oh, he’s already been discovered.” A bubble of laughter drifted up to his lips. “It was on his first night jumping the fence too. Fell right in front of the security guard. She was about ready to drag him out by the ear and call the cops, but one look at his pleading face got her to rethink things. She allows him come by after close every so often. Brought him cookies last week. Her mom used to be a baker, so she says. He only does this on especially bad days.”

As you listened to the angel, you watched Beel talk to Lilith’s cold grave some more. The human swayed back and forth in his place, like he was trying to comfort himself. You raised an eyebrow at Solomon. “How… do you know all this?”

For once, the man gave you a rather straightforward answer. “I’ve always had my eye on them.” That only raised more questions.

“If that’s true, why didn’t Simeon make you stay with them?” Surely an angel who already knew them better than you did would make a better bodyguard.

One shoulder shrugged. “The prince has his reasons.” Sure he did. How annoying. "And, as you know, the Celestial Realm is real serious about interfering with mortals."

Right... you remembered something like that. It was brought up to you once before. A very long time ago... when you had asked an angel for a favor. “Still... I'm not blind. You both are keeping things from me. I don’t like it. Is Simeon lying to me? What are you both really after?”

A tut. “Come now. You don’t give away the twist of Act Three before its dramatic reveal.” His hand swirled in a performative gesture. “Simeon knows exactly what he wants. Meanwhile, I know how to get it there. And you, my darling friend, are the beating heart that keeps it moving forward. We are all required to do our part.”

Was he really your friend? You found that hard to believe. Allies don’t often keep things from each other. They weren’t supposed to keep each other at arms length for safety reasons. “I don’t like being moved around like a pawn.”

You waited for some half-hearted reassurance that you were not a pawn, but it never came. Instead, Solomon held out his palm and cast a sparkling spell. “Here.” He handed you a white box.

“What is it?”

“An olive branch.” The corners of his mouth lifted, a gentle smile on his face, but his eyes still glistened with a playful coyness. “Listen, everything will be laid out full in time. Just trust Simeon and I to do our proper work behind the scenes.” He judged the look on your face and chuckled. “He can get a little… you know… authoritarian when things don’t go quite like he expects it to, but he’s your ally. He wants what’s best for all of us. The Morningstars included.” You could’ve responded in a myriad of ways, but instead, you decided to leave things be. For now. An easy movement opened the lid of the box. Inside was a round cake, covered in uneven pink frosting. A yellow smiley face and several icing flowers decorated the top. Two plastic forks were settled inside. You shut the box again, raising your eyes to see Solomon suddenly beaming. Something about the cake had invoked the most genuine excitement from him yet. That made you nervous… “I made it myself.” You figured. This was nothing close to Luke’s. You’d have to give that little demon some kudos next time you saw him.

You nodded politely and settled the box in your lap despite something deep within you encouraging to throw the thing as far as you could. You wondered why… “Thank you.”

“You should go share it with him,” Solomon suggested. “It’ll probably make you both feel better.” With that said, his form flickered, a fog rolling over him till the little dove was back at your side. He chirped twice in a ‘goodbye’ and flew away as strangely as he came.

You looked down at the box in your lap before observing Beel again. Sparkling tears ran down his face. This was a bad idea… yet, something compelled you to do it anyway. Hopping down from the branch, you snuck behind the cover of the tree before becoming visible once more. You strutted out, making sure your footsteps made enough of a crunch to announce your presence. When you were close enough, Beel snapped his head back to look at you, quickly wiping away his tears. Fear crossed over his face, and then confusion. “MC?” He blinked, having to look at you several times before he had confirmed that it was you he was seeing. “What… are you doing here?”

“Ah… your brothers said I might find you here.” A terrible lie, but you had no other excuse. You lifted the box in the air and sat by his side. “In the mood for cake?”

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[rhapsodynew]

#Fun facts from the history of rock music

How to spoil people's mood

In 1968, the Rolling Stones - eternal competitors of the Beatles - released the song Street Fighting Man, which became a hit. They considered the song a breakthrough, and threw a party about it, where they came, including John Lennon and Paul McCartney

Paul discreetly handed me the record and said: "Let's see how you like our new record, Tony." I quickly put the CD into the audio system, and the song "Hey Jude" started playing in the club. Then I turned the disc over to the other side and we heard John Lennon's voice singing "Revolution". When we listened to everything, I noticed that Mick looked annoyed. The Beatles were one step ahead again

- says Tony Sanchez in his book "I was a Rolling Stones drag Dealer")

The song was written by Paul McCartney to support John Lennon's son, who was worried about his parents' divorce. "Hey Jude" bypassed the creation of stones and lasted 9 weeks on the American chart, thereby setting a record

Why do you need to know the roots of the symbols that you adopt

On December 3, 1983, Billy Idol released his second studio album Rebel Yell. His first record was relatively successful, but Rebel Yell was an explosion: the album sold 8 million copies, rose to number 6 on Billboard and entered the "100 best rock albums of all time" according to Classic Rock magazine. And there is a catch in the most prominent place of the record

Rebel Yell translates as "Rebel Cry". Billy borrowed the phrase from the Rebel Yell brand of bourbon, which he once drank with musicians from the Rolling Stones. Bourbon, in turn, was named after the battle cry of the Confederates

As it is now customary to say - everything is not so clear, but nevertheless - in popular culture, the image of the Confederates is the image of the southern slave-owning American states, which did not want to abandon this very slavery, and therefore staged a civil war, which they lost. And it is unlikely that Billy Idol, being a punk (although punks accuse him of incorruptibility), would associate himself with such a symbol if he knew its roots)

How to work in the same team for 55 years and not go crazy

The blues-rock band

ZZ Top

is pretty much the face of Texas - men in cowboy hats and old American cars playing masculine, heavy but not too heavy music

By 2014, the band had sold 50 million albums, entered the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame 10 years before, and has existed unchanged since its founding in 1969 (not counting bassist Dusty Hill, who died in 2021). That's what the founder of the band Billy Gibbons said about it:

“God, we don't break up for longer than many marriages last. I'll tell you a secret, and it's very simple, just two words: different (tour) buses”

Rock music is saturated with drugs. But do you know how much?

In 1975, the band Hawkwind with Lemmy Kilmister in the line-up went on tour in the United States in support of their album Warrior On The Edge Of Time, but Lemmy was arrested at customs for drug trafficking and sent to prison. The band's managers managed to release him on bail, but after Lemmy played the concerts, he was fired. Lemmy later repeatedly claimed that the arrest was just a convenient excuse for the rest of the band to finally get rid of him - because by 1975 the line-up had finally split into two drug camps: amphetamine and psychedelic—and Lemmy said that in fact he was fired for "using the wrong drugs")

After his dismissal, Lemmy created his own band - the legendary Motörhead (in slang, an amphetamine addict), which became one of the main hard rock bands in Britain and the world, in which he played until his death in 2015, having completely played a European tour that ended 20 days before his death

Why is there so much noise around the Oasis revival?

Here are a couple of facts for you:

● In 1996, the band gave a concert for 250,000 people. Tickets sold out in less than a day, in total 2.5 million people tried to buy tickets - about 5% of the UK population at that time

● The band entered the Guinness Book of Records for the longest stay in the top ten of the British hit parade in history

● On August 30, 2024, on the occasion of the reunion, Oasis released the anniversary edition of their debut album Definitely Maybe, and a week later it reached number one in the UK chart (30 years after its release, for a moment). Two more albums took 3rd and 4th places and 3 more albums entered the top 100

With all this success, Liam and Noel Gallagher, the founders of Oasis, were normal such limitless people: one day they went to perform in the Netherlands, on the way they caused a row on the ferry, and they were not allowed to enter the Netherlands. And during the American tour, they overdid it with illegal substances, and when at the concert the staff mistakenly put them different set lists, they performed different songs at the same time and did not notice it. After this disastrous performance, Noel went to Melissa Lim, his friend, so that she would morally support him after such a disgrace. They talked all night, after which the song Talk Tonight was born, and later, under its influence, my favorite song of the band - Morning Glory

The brothers also constantly feuded, but this was also their fuel: at some point, Liam began to periodically not go on stage at concerts as a sign of protest. And Noel, in order not to let the audience down, took vocal lessons and began singing instead of Liam)

The reunion of the brothers is a hope for fans to see them at a concert together (which was rare even before their quarrel and breakup in 2009) and hear new material, which, according to them, from the same 2009, they have There's a lot left

Or how the first rock and roll song appeared

One day, in 1951, someone dropped an amplifier belonging to the Kings Of Rhythm band, and the sound from it began to come out with distortion. But the producer of the band did not repair it because he saw a perspective in such a deformed guitar sound, and the song "Rocket 88" was recorded with it

The essence of the effect was a specific compression of the upper part of the sound wave. From 2024, it's hard to believe when listening to the track, but it was the first conscious move towards heavier sound, so "Rocket 88" is considered the first rock and roll song (what the band played before, and from which rock and roll grew, was called "rhythm and rollblues")

Then began the industrial production of devices that give such an effect (and the name of the effect is overdrive), Eric Clapton and other popular musicians began to use it, then there was more aggressive distortion, hard rock, then metal, thrash metal, and then increasing severity, but it all started with a successful fall of the amplifier

Interesting fact: the song is sung about the Oldsmobile 88 car, and the Jimmy Liggins song "Cadillac Boogie" is taken as the basis. Both automakers belong to the same GM concern, and I did not find information that these songs were an advertisement, but it is very similar to it

How Stoner rock was invented

Kyuss (read as 'ˈkaɪ.We started by playing in the California desert. The specifics of such events was that many beginner bands gathered in one place, and if the public did not like the music, they simply went 200 meters away and listened to another team, unlike bars where the public comes to the bar rather than to the group. It required constant work on his work to keep the audience

The two pillars of Kuyss' signature sound were guitarist Josh Homme's specific slow playing style, inspired by psychedelic rock, and the fact that he connected a guitar to a bass guitar amplifier to achieve a heavy sound

Over time, other bands began to adopt this sound, thereby giving rise to stoner rock (stoner - translated - a lover of marijuana. It was believed that slow heavy music was perfect for it), and stoner metal, as its heavier offshoot

After the collapse of the band in 1995, Josh Homme founded the Queens Of The Stone Age band, extremely popular in the West and undeservedly deprived of attention in the post-Soviet space

I recommend getting acquainted with the genre from the band's fourth album, as it is the most complete and brought to mind in their discography