#she changed it to just “viola”

[soulofamy]

i would want to find other sources to verify but it appears that there is a romani form of the name "viola" that is a girls name. initially i thought i liked the idea of zwei being the one to give viola her name but i think now this is doing a lot for me in the way of where viola actually got her name from

[eerna]

Once again I am screaming at the sky bc I appreciate the way the book dealt with Todd and Viola growing to care about each other so much, and both the adaptations decided to make it weird instead

[comradebestie]

my mom used to love me so much.

[greencheekconure27]

Olivia. Take the fool away.

Feste. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.

Olivia. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you:

besides, you grow dishonest.

Feste. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel

will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is

the fool not dry: bid the dishonest man mend

himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if

he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Any thing

that's mended is but patched: virtue that

transgresses is but patched with sin; and sin that

amends is but patched with virtue. If that this

simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not,

what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but

calamity, so beauty's a flower. The lady bade take

away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away.

Olivia. Sir, I bade them take away you.

Feste. Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, cucullus non

facit monachum; that's as much to say as I wear not

motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to

prove you a fool.

Olivia. Can you do it?

Feste. Dexterously, good madonna.

Olivia. Make your proof.

Feste. I must catechise you for it, madonna: good my mouse

of virtue, answer me.

Olivia. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your proof.

Feste. Good madonna, why mournest thou?

Olivia. Good fool, for my brother's death.

Feste. I think his soul is in hell, madonna.

Olivia. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

Feste. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's

soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.

[starfilmz]

THOROUGHFARE | UNSURE FEELINGS, DRUNKEN CALLS

⤷ A JJ MAYBANK SOCMED AU .ᐟ

──── you never expected that swapping socials with your call of duty duo would change your life — whether for better or worse, you're still not sure. friendships are made and something much more begins. ON HIATUS

thoroughfare masterlist ──── 05 | 06 | 07

a/n: chap 6 has been a bitch to post bc tumblr couldn’t handle it but VIOLA it has arrived. this chap became a mix of smau and written fic so we doin something here 🤔 ofc it’ll still be social media based do not fret, but i feel like these written ones are needed for this. not betaread obvs so mistakes are everywhere!! lmk your thoughts, expectations, or how u see this fic ending cuz it is soon 😝

john b stood up as soon as he heard the whirring sound of his best friend’s motorcycle. it came to a stop when he stepped out on the château’s porch, leaning against one of the posts with his arms crossed. jj looked disheveled and as much as he wanted to say “as per usual”, the boy walked towards the house as if he ran into several bushes on the way.

he had a frown on his face as he faced john b. “i don’t know what do,” he finally spoke, his expression morphing that tells john b he didn’t want to admit to that. “long distance relationships are weird and, i’ve experienced worst that weird, man, you and i both know that and i—“

“alright, calm down,” john b grabbed the boy’s shoulder before he could go on another self-destructive tangent. “let’s talk about this, okay? pope said he’s on his way with beers.”

jj sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair. “it feels unfair for her that i’m making a big deal about this. it’s the whole rafe thing again! honestly, i genuinely think i overreacted.” he sat on the closest couch on the porch with furrowed eyebrows.

john b followed him, an amused expression on his face. jj noticed this, raising his eyebrows at the boy. “what’s so funny?”

he shook his head, his curls falling slightly to his side as he looked at jj. “when’s the last time you acted this way towards a girl?”

“oh, don’t start, jb.”

“i’m sorry, okay? look, you don’t need to be thinking this hard, man, alright?” the boy chuckled, patting his friend firmly on the back. “yn’s a good person, i can tell, and…” john b looked around as if anyone else but the two of them were around. he leaned closer towards jj, who didn’t think twice to do the same.

“from what i’ve read from sar’s phone, yn’s just crazy for you.”

this changed jj’s solemn expression into a mixture of lovesick, curiosity, and excitement. “i mean, that’s natural, right? she agreed to be my girlfriend so it’s natural for her to like me.” his words sounded defensive which made john b’s eyebrows rose.

“what i’m trying to say, jj, you don’t have to freak out just because you don’t know who’s around her. long distance is weird, i agree, but are you going to be like this every time she hangs out with people you don’t know?”

jj lowered his eyes, a tiny wave of shame washing over him. “no.”

“right, and i’m not trying to say don’t be jealous— you can’t help it, you like the girl,” john b held one of the blonde’s shoulder. “and if i were to give you an advice, man to man, thinking in your shoes, if you find long distance so much, why don’t you do something about it?”

jj looked up at john b, confusion etched all over his face. “what are you—“ and as if something clicked in his mind, john b nodded, confirming his thoughts. “isn’t it too soon?”

“what’s too soon?” both boys visibly flinched as pope made his presence known, beer bottles in hand. “i had to swipe this from my dad’s stack so you guys better fill me in.”

you couldn’t help the smile at john b’s story, giving it a heart as scrolled off the app. you would send a response, something about not leaving him in the streets because you guys still have a game session planned tomorrow, but you decided not to.

they were probably still at the boneyard, a place where they usually throw their parties as you’ve learned previously from jj, and they’ve shared enough stories about those to let you know those parties don’t end easily.

you sighed, sliding further into your bed as you hugged your pillow. was it silly to feel the way you do now?

you aren’t ready to fly out to see the boy you’ve been dying to see, but you want to, and you tell yourself you’re okay seeing them have fun, but as you stare deeper into your bedroom wall, you’re beginning to doubt that.

you took a deep breath, closing your eyes in an attempt to sleep and brush off your thoughts, but as soon as you do, your phone rang beside you. you moved the pillow and raised your phone, seeing jj’s profile picture and username across your screen.

jj was calling you.

you sat up, answering the phone, and placed it on your ear. loud music greeted your first, along with voices you’re not familiar with.

“—you can’t just leave her like that, jayj!” a girl harshly whispered against the speaker and it made you think she was either kiara, cleo, or sarah.

“hello?” you finally spoke, and when you did, everyone on the other side seemed to quiet down. you heard some kind of harsh slap, along with a small ‘ow!’. you didn’t recognize the rest of the voice before, but you were definitely aware someone had slapped jj.

“jj? you there?” you called once more, tone lighter in amusement. “i’m gonna hang up on you if you don’t talk.”

that seemed to catch the boy’s attention as he began sputtering away. “no, no, don’t, hello! look, i’m sorry, i’m being peer pressed right now—“

“don’t say that!” a deeper voice interrupted him.

“—and i just wanted to hear your voice…” from the way jj was talking, you could tell he was drunk, though you did believe that slap before sobered him up a bit. “i missed you, yn.”

“it’s only been a day a whole, jj,” you chuckled, leaning against your pillows. despite your answer, you couldn’t help but feel the same way. “but i missed you too, jay.”

“i’ve been building up the courage to call you all night and, i don’t know, i just wanted to hear from you before my lights go out,” jj laughed at his own words, a drunken expression all over his face you imagined.

“build up the courage? i’m your girlfriend, jay, you could call me whenever you want.” you answered, a small smile on your face.

there was a beat of silence from him and you thought it was a sign that he’s close to getting conked out, but his next words proved otherwise.

“can you say that again?” he whispered, almost like he’s hiding, which was most likely from his eavesdropping friends. “about the girlfriend thing, please?”

you hummed a playful tone, the instinct to tease jj was strong and it almost won if it weren’t the way your cheeks heated up at his voice, the way he sounded so soft and near the phone as if he was saying it directly in your ear.

“i’m your girlfriend, jj maybank. you happy?” you had to roll your eyes despite no one being with you hearing your sappy voice and attitude, anything to keep the butterflies in your stomach at bay.

“so happy, you don’t even know, baby,” the nickname came to you as a shock, but it didn’t felt wring hearing it from jj. if anything, you wanted to make him say it again. “i’m just so— oh my god, so happy. i’m your boyfriend, you’re my girlfriend— oh, bliss!”

you couldn’t help the laugh that bursted from you as jj’s voice doubled in volume. “i have a girlfriend! and she really likes me!” jj’s speaker managed to get the sound of what sounded like a crowd cheering at his embarrassing announcement, making you chuckle even further.

“alright, hands off the phone, okay— john b, take him, please? before he announces more details about yn?” another voice took over the call, and by the way the boy, who you now know is john b, responded with a ‘yes, ma’am’, you assumed it was sarah who came to the rescue.

“hey, sarah,” you greeted her. “having fun?”

“oh, we are, but no so much for jj tomorrow.”

“i can imagine, you’d think he’ll be able to live with that?” you joked.

“babe, he has no choice,” sarah responded with a laugh. “but for now, john b’s taking him back to the château to properly conk out.”

“that’s good to hear.”

“so,” she started and you already picked up the teasing tone in her voice.

“so?” you chuckled, amused at her.

“still unsure of visiting your hopeless boyfriend? was his very public and loud declaration of love for you enough?”

you hugged the nearest pillow, a warm smile spreading across your face. you felt a lot more at ease and mind solely focused on jj. “it’s enough.”

thoroughfare taglist: @yumwhy @beeskisses @callieyanderechan @udpoota @vivian-555 @popesbby @whatisoutside @roryology @readinghoes @mytimeiswaiting @marleymarleymarleymarley @urmotherlvr @fruitcakerafe @bobobellabo @max23b @mirellef2001 @bearbear21 @cassiewritessalot @baocean @ayy1234567 @lmaowhatt @scaroooos @mbella607 @dylsdaily @1mcrazybutcute

big apologies to the peeps that wanted to be tagged but aren’t here cuz i might’ve missed yall bc and for the people that are written on here but weren’t notified pls refer to this post :)

[f-imaginings]

I took a break from writing billford to colour in my billford comic that was just sitting in my drafts lmao. The grind never stops.

This is based on the gender swapped college au that has been rotating in my head for years. Here's the last comic I did for it, so folks can see the vibe I was going for.

Basically if we did a gender swap to achieve peak toxic yuri, I can't see older woman Stanford falling for Bill's tricks but if she were younger and more insecure, say at college, it could be an excellent setting for manipulation, since Ford might still crave social acceptance while acting like she doesn't need it. Major 'I'm not like other girls' vibes from young girl Ford.

Then if you throw in cultish sorority nonsense it would shape up to be a pretty interesting AU. Think Mona Awad's Bunny meets Gravity Falls.

Other fun facts about this au (that I may have a few pages of a fanfic already started in my drafts for haha) are as follows:

Bill is a second year transfer student who somehow within the span of days rose to power as Tri-Delta's sorority leader!

They introduce themselves to everyone as Bill Cipher, but because its the 70s and they're a girl all the other pledges call her Billie to feminize it a bit.

Bill offers to be Ford's first friend, but Ford rejects her on principle as she finds sororities to be vapid popularity contests and assumes Billie is no better. Ford's actual first friend is Viola McGucket who was named after the fancy word for her Pa's fiddle.

Occult phenomena has begun increasing ever since Billie usurped Tri-Delta's old leader and pledging rituals have involved dark magic, summonings and mysteries galore (a bit like the campus in Carmilla) which Stanford is keen to investigate.

Stanford has to prove to her father that she can be successful as a woman in STEM and is looking for something that will put her on the map as a scientist and change the world. Her idol switches from Tesla to Marie Curie.

She seeks comfort in the occult and thinks that her weird features and her intellect make her better than other girls (residual internal misogyny from Filbrick) but she learns solidarity when she has to save the sorority pledges and the rest of the world from Bill's machinations when she realises what the portal is for.

She is very gay, but acts like all women in STEM have to embody more masculine qualities, which is how she denies how gay her thoughts are all the time lmao.

She only starts stalking/obsessing over Billie after peeking at her essays to see that Billie is scoring higher than she is and is a certified genius.

She falls in love with Billie though once she realises that she's not human, and desperately seeks the acceptance in the occult she always envisioned. Bill makes her feel special too, often confirming Ford's biases against the pledges bc Bill thinks the sorority girls are braindead pawns.

Stanley didn't get kicked out, however she left home to make it big on her own while Stanford went to college. Right now she is dabbling in multi-level marketing schemes like Avon and tupperware parties, wanting to prove to her dad on the other side of the spectrum that a woman can make it big in business.

bonus Billie for the folks who read this long haha.

[zforzelma]

A list* of Shakespeare characters for which casting a trans actor is the strongest choice.

Take a look at your complete works of Shakespeare. You can pack so much Gender in those plays. I am of the opinion that casting should be undertaken to highlight the text and make new discoveries.

Really, any Shakespeare role can and should be played by a trans person of any variety, but there are some roles in particular that I think would unfold incredible revelations about the text. I'm leaving out magical characters and fools because that's too obvious.

Lysander - Mids; why don't you want me to marry your daughter? Say it, you coward.

Helena - Mids; This one would be psychologically intense for the actress, so really only attempt if you've got a good therapist. Having a trans woman in this role would be such a gut-punch for so much of the text, I honestly think it would make the audience uncomfortable at some parts. To which I say: GOOD.

I have so many more.

Viola - 12th; Also pretty psychologically intense with all the cross dressing, and the wow-you-look-just-like-your-brother, but her equivocation about gender in her conversations with Orsino would absolutely sing.

Orlando - As You Like It; His older brother won't let him go to college with the other men. Proves himself by winning in a wrestling match. Doesn't recognize his crush when she's cross dressing.

Mercutio - R&J; At this point I feel like everyone knows Mercutio is a nonbinary lesbian or trans masc. Right? Like, we all know that. Jokes aside, I think his difficult relationship with masculinity and honor would be interesting if interpreted by a trans actor.

Hamlet - Hamlet; Obviously. I mean duh. trans masc, trans fem, man, woman, both or neither. Any queer person probably gets Hamlet on a visceral level better than any cis straight person. Who's even casting a cis man as Hamlet in the year of our lord 2023? Yawn.

Laertes - Hamlet; Yeah I don't know what it is. This one is purely vibes based.

Macduff - Macbeth; I actually made Macduff a woman, changed all the pronouns and made him a lesbian when I directed, and I'd probably do that again. But I think Duff could also - or alternately - be trans. I think it would say something interesting about violence of his journey, the scene with future King Malcolm, and the fact that Duff is the one to behead ol' Mack.

What do you guys think? Did I miss an obvious one?

* this is not at all a comprehensive list

[avocadorablepirate]

Beneath The Surface - 1

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Summary: When memories, buried deep within your sea of emotions, resurface, you’re left to question what lies beneath the surface. Did he truly mean to leave you behind, or was there something more to his silence than you ever understood?

Word Count: 1.2K

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of death, OP spoilers

previous | masterlist | next

So I haven’t properly proofread this chapter…been a bit sick this past week, but I was determined to post this part today. It’s not terrible though 🤔…I think.

You had locked yourself up in your room, claiming to be unwell. The truth was simpler: your mind had been consumed by memories you thought you had buried. Memories of him. The boy who once soothed your pain had become the man responsible for it.

He left me behind.

That thought replayed in your head, each repetition sinking deeper into your chest. Just the image of his face brought a sickening churn of emotions — hurt, betrayal, anger, and a flicker of something you refused to name.

The soft knock on your door is what finally drew your attention away from your thoughts. On the other side of the door stood Viola, a small but gentle smile on her face when she found you sprawled on your bed.

“I heard you were feeling sick, everything okay?” she asked, as she made her way further into your bedroom.

“Yeah, nothing a good day’s rest won’t cure,” you responded, and her lips immediately contorted into a frown.

“Then you’re not going to be too happy about this.” Her voice softened, tinged with regret. “Doflamingo needs you.”

You sighed, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. Of course he needs me. You didn’t know why you ever thought you’d be able to get a day to yourself, it had rarely occurred before.

“Of course he does,” you muttered under your breath, setting aside the book you had been pretending to read.

Viola gave you a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry. If it were up to me, I'd let you rest."

You forced a smile, appreciating her kindness. "It's okay. Thanks, Viola."

She nodded, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before leaving the room. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for whatever Doflamingo had in store.

The walk to his room felt long and unpleasant as always. The entire palace always made you uncomfortable, its grandeur a stark contrast to the simpler, slightly happier times of your childhood. It was also a reminder of the life you once lived along side your parents, and without him to console you over those memories, it only brought more pain.

But it hadn’t always been like this. You remember when you first moved in, though a palace, it had a comforting and almost cozy feel to it. However, Doflamingo had made drastic changes, his reason being that the Donquixote family should live in a place that befitted them.

You had tried to get him to let you live outside the palace, the discomfort it brought had been too much at first. But Doflamingo insisted that the entire Donquixote family stay within the palace walls. And that’s why you had tried to make your own room as comfortable as possible. However, that had done little to help. With how often Doflamingo made you run around doing errands for him, or insisted that he watch over you, there was barely any time to relax.

As you gave a soft knock against the heavy wooden doors, to let Doflamingo know you had arrived, you pushed it open to find him standing by the window, his back turned to you as you entered.

“You summoned me, Doffy?" you called out, as you slowly made your way towards him, the atmosphere of the room always making you feel uneasy. It was as if the room itself embodied his very being - intimidating and frightening.

He turned on hearing your voice, a smile plastered on his face. "Ah, my little Rose there you are. Feeling better, I hope?"

You nodded, knowing the question was nothing more than a pleasantry. "What do you need?"

His smile widened, and an eerie chill ran down your spine. "I have a special task for you. I need you to retrieve someone for me."

You frowned, confused by his unforeseen happiness. You had heard there was an incident at Punk Hazard, and although you didn’t know the details, you knew Doflamingo had been beyond enraged. It was another reason why you had chosen to stay in your room, to avoid his temper. So, his uncharacteristic cheerfulness almost baffled you.

“Who?” you questioned, although you had an inkling of who it might be.

“Caesar,” he said simply, his tone light but his eyes watching your reaction closely. “I’m sure you’ve heard, there’s been some...issues. I want you to bring him back from Greenbit."

A wave of confusion hit you once again. “Why me?”

It wasn’t like him to send you on retrieval missions. While you had been privy to fights and conflicts, you had never been a fan of them, and Doflamingo knew this. It was why you mainly ran around doing tasks within the palace. He had called it “protection,” but you had always suspected he thought you too soft-hearted for the darker work.

It had happened before, when you were younger and out on a mission. He had nearly lost you then, and he wouldn’t have it happen again.

“I’ve decided you need to be involved in these matters as well. You can’t be the only one who doesn’t get involved, it’s not fair to you. ” A cold knot of dread formed in your stomach when you saw Doflamingo's eyes glint dangerously. You had thought that you would be able to stay away from such tasks given your temperament, but that had clearly changed.

“But why now?” you asked, and you could feel your heart rate pick up when Doflamingo gave you an almost sinister smile.

“We’re short on people. The pirates who attacked Punk Hazard killed Monet, so we need as much backup as we can get. Plus, the others think you need to start doing your bit,” he said, almost nonchalantly, as if the death of one of his comrades didn’t bother him at all. But you brushed it off, subconsciously convincing yourself it was his way of dealing with grief. “And I think this would be the perfect opportunity to test you Rosie.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the task ahead. You had always known that the latest additions to the Donquixote family, all but Viola, did not like the almost favouritism that Doflamingo showed - always tasking you with the simpler jobs. This was your chance to prove your worth, and finally get them off your case. Besides, what harm would come from a simple retrieval mission?

"Alright, Doffy. I’ll bring Caesar back."

He smiled, a satisfied gleam in his eyes, almost akin to a predator satisfied with its prey. "Good. And remember, I expect nothing less than success."

As you stepped out into the hall, your resolve wavered slightly, the enormity of the task ahead settling in.

So caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t notice that someone had walked by you into the room. The shutting of the door is what finally drew you out of your thoughts and you briefly glanced back, the voices within the room, a stark reminder of the life you had chosen.

You shook off the unease and focused on the task at hand. Whatever doubts you had, you pushed them aside. There was no room for weakness. You had a mission to complete, and you would do it with all the strength you could muster. For the town you now called home and the people you called family.

As you walked away, the voices in the room grew distant, and you missed out on listening in on a conversation that would have likely saved you from your impending misfortune.

“Doffy why are you sending her to retrieve Caesar?”

Despite his recent misfortune, another sinister smile spread across Doflamingo’s face. “It’s about time I test her abilities. And who better than Law to be the test subject?”

—————

Part 1 done! I feel like I may have included some unnecessary bits here and there, but oh well. I hope you liked it. Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist.

taglist: @riftmage27

[bigball-thefrog]

Hello, just wanted to say that i enjoyed your last two fics, they’re pretty cool! Could you maybe do another Law fic? Perhaps maybe the reader was also taken in by the donxitoute (I fs spelt that wrong)family at a young age just like Law was when he was younger. And like obviously Law and the reader grew up together with the donxitoute family, like they became close and eventually developed crushes on one another. But Corazón wasn’t able to take the reader on time because Doflamanigo never kept his eyes away from her because she had this really strong devil fruit. Then when years go by obviously Law and the Reader are older but she’s still in the family and became an executive. Obviously she doesn’t stand what Doffy does and wants to betray him just like Viola but she doesn’t have an opening due to how valuable she is to him. And Doflamingo always has her by his side. Maybe when Law teams up with the strawhats, he mentions her and how he needs to help her and get out of there. This would probably take place a bit in the end of Punk Hazard and through Dressrosa. (Also it would be cool if the reader and Viola were close friends). You can turn this into a series because i think that would be cool.

Hello hello hello!!! Thank you for the request sorry it took me so long to reply to you. As I said in a different post, I had started my exams, and I am finished now so I'm catching up on my requests. Sorry for being late and I hope it is to your liking

Warnings/Tags:

Law X Fem!Reader

Dressrosa and end of Punk Hazzard spoilers

______________________________

Narrator POV

Like the other kids, you were orphaned and left to die. You came across the Donquixote family, and despite being thrown away (literally) by Corazon, you were stubborn and kept coming back. Then one day Doflamingo discovered your Devilfruit ability (you decide what it is) and thought of how useful it would be, and soon you were a valued member of the family.

Eventually Law came along and when he was eventually accepted into the family, you were curious. He was always cold or angry and tried to keep to himself all the time, but you made sure that never happened. You'd always stick together, almost hunt him down at times, always speaking, always trying to get him to play when you weren't busy. He hated it, he hated you'd never leave him alone or shut up, no matter what you did he'd never lighten up or let you get close... But of course, you eventually did get close, really close actually, as tike went by on the Doflamingo pirates you both became close, inseparable even, you won were a team that fought side by side. But as of recently Law's disease was getting worse and he was slowly dying. You begged and begged Doflamingo to take him to a doctor but there was nothing he could do. You knew Law's time was getting short, that's why you became extra clingy. Wanting to spend as much time as you could together, but one day he just disappeared, with Corazon.. You were heartbroken that they suddenly disappeared, your best friend, and your first crush, gone.

Time went by and you did your best to forget about him. Then one night you stopped at a snowy island, for some reason Doflamingo never let you leave the ship. You wanted to complain but you knew better than question him, so you stayed put. Once you saw Doflamingo trapped the island with his strings you knew something was really wrong. When everyone came back, you ran up to Doflamingo to ask what had happened but something seemed wrong with him, like he was on the verge of snapping at anyone that got too close. So you decided to wait for him to calm down before asking. When he eventually did lighten up, which took much longer than you thought, he told you everything about what Law and Corazon did, and everything changed for you. You started to hate Doflamingo and grew colder towards him, and when he took over Dressrosa those feelings doubled down, but you knew that no matter how much you hated him now, there was no way to leave without dying...

One good that came from the takeover of Dressrosa was meeting Viola, you both quickly became close on your shared hatred for Doflamingo, so at least you had a close friend again.

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

~Now~

You were called to speak with Doflamingo, he stood by an open window, seeming tense, "Doflamingo? You wanted to speak?" He turned to you, a small scowl on his face, "You've been under my direct command and my command only since you've joined, right?" He asked, you nodded. "And you'd never betray me... Right?" He asked, the threat clear in his tone, you froze for a second but nodded. "Good... Congratulations, you've now been promoted to one of my executives, you're taking Vergo's place" you looked at him shocked confused, "But what happened? Why am I replacing Vergo??" Doflamingo only scowled, it was a similar to the scowl he had when he killed Corazon. "Did something happen at Punk Hazzard?" "Yes" "Monette too?" He stayed silent this time which told you everything you needed to know, "Was it?..." "Law..." He said. Your heart raced at hearing that name again after all these years, you'd seem him in the newspapers once or twice, but you didn't know what he was like now, a part of you still missed him, but it wasn't time for that now. "Alright, I'll accept Vergo's place," You said. Doflamingo stood on the open windowsill, "Good. I'm going to he gone for a bit, you make sure nothing goes to shit while I'm out..." And he left. You knew that if Law was in Punk Hazzard that he'd probably come to Dressrosa soon, you weren't sure if you were mentally ready for that, but you knew that it didn't matter because you'd have to confront him soon, and you knew when he was here, you had an important choice to make...

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

Law POV

I was currently in the kitchen of the All Sunny with the rest of Strawhats, telling them my plans for what was going to happen in Dressrosa. As I talked about the plan, but an idea popped in my head and I mumbled out the name of someone I hadn't thought about in years. "Who's that?" Luffy asked, "An... An old Friend." I muttered out, "They were someone I was close to when I was still in Doflamingos crew. They had a powerful Devilfruit ability that could help us save Dressrosa. But they're constantly under the watch of Doflamingo or one of the other executives.. But, I left her alone all those years ago, and it would kill me to leave her again... I need to save her..." I gripped the table as I thought about how I had to leave and couldn't take her with me, I left her, alone and in the clutches of that bastard Doflamingo. Luffy just flashed his signature smile, "Well if she's a friend of yours, she's a friend of mine. Well save her Tra-guy!" I scowled at the nickname, but a sense of relief washed over me and I looked towards the direction Dressrosa was, "Don't worry, I'll save you this time, and I'll never leave you again, my dear friend."

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Alright, this is the first of a few that I will be posting today so I'll be back real soon after I finish writing the next request, see you in probably a hour

Kelly🐸

[niko-sasaki-dbd]

Queue Interview with the Dead Boy Detectives Cast 👻🔎

This is going to be a long post! (These are my favourite parts from the interview!)

George Rexstrew as Edwin Payne

Acting Inspiration

Oh, gosh. Well there are so many. Meryl Streep, obviously. Viola Davis, obviously. More recently, I was blown away by Enzo Vogrincic in Society of the Snow. And Eden Dambrine in Close.

Cast Camaraderie

I loved working with all my co-stars. I’m practically related to Jayden [Revri] and Kassius [Nelson] at this point. Yuyu [Kitamura] is a dream. Jenn [Lyon] is mother hen. Bri[ana Cuoco] is the cool older sister. Josh[ua Colley] is the cheeky cousin. Ruth [Connell] is the godmother who gives you a card and £20 for your birthday. It really is one big happy dysfunctional family. I’m grateful for all of them, on and off camera.

Jayden Revri as Charles Rowland

Dressing The Part

These heads of departments, and Monique and Kelli, [they’re] unbelievable. They were so collaborative. We went through different hairstyles and different things we could do with the makeup. We added a bit of eyeliner for [Charles] just to make it feel more 80s. And then Kelli, I mean, it was like she did her research on me. She added badges to the jacket which kind of represented me as Jayden, before I even got there. It wasn’t until I got the haircut, put the makeup on, put the costume on, and I was like, Okay, this is Charles.

Cast Camaraderie.

The vibe was just incredible. Me and George, we really wanted to set the tone for the series and make sure that everyone’s having fun and it’s an environment where we could all talk about how we’re feeling. We were just such a big support blanket for each other. If there was ever a time that somebody needed space, or they wanted to prep themselves for a certain scene they were going to film, we all respected that and we were each other’s cheerleaders the whole entire time. And it’s still the same to this day now. I think it really shows when you watch the series that we all knew what we were making and we wanted to make something that we would want to watch, which we’ve all done. I cannot shout out my castmates enough. Forever grateful.

Kassius Nelson as Crystal Palace

Acting Inspiration

I watched a lot of animation. I used to watch the Addams Family, the black-and-white one, because I didn’t have Disney Channel or anything. Monk, Murder She Wrote, I was watching those things, so maybe I was actually destined to play a detective, now that I’m thinking about it. I watched a lot of cartoons and animations. I just liked the idea that I could be engrossed in another world. And I always wanted to know what happened next, or when the film finished, I would be like, “Okay, but then what? What happens after that?” And now I get to be part of that question or that answer (...).

Dressing the Part

We have a fantastic costume designer, Kelli Dunsmore. I always say that she literally wove the story into the fabric of the clothes, because there are things that she foreshadowed in the clothing that happened episodes later. Or, if characters start to get in some sort of relationship with each other, that will be reflected in the clothes that they wear or the colors that they have. Or, if they’re feeling any type of emotion, (...)l. Crystal wears these massive platform boots that must be about four or five inches. They’re huge, very heavy, but it’s funny because they change the way that you walk. (...) She’s not very light, which makes sense with the things that she’s going through and the experiences that she’s having. Practically, it helped, because Jayden and George are like six-foot-something. So, if I film a scene and I’m at the bottom of the lens and they’re up there, that helped. I’ve got a good couple inches on my feet.

Yuyu Kitamura as Niko Sasaki

Acting Inspiration

Sandra Oh is a woman that I will forever be indebted to because who she was on Grey’s Anatomy was so formative for me. The most interesting thing about her character was not that she was Asian, but that she was such a fully fleshed person with flaws and amazing qualities. And her work ever since I think has been iconic, so she’s a woman that I deeply look up to.

Landing the role in Dead Boy Detectives

I auditioned from Hong Kong and my dad was my reader because all of my acting friends were in New York. My dad was able to carve out time and be an amazing reader. And in that audition side, it’s the scene where Niko gets to see the “Dead Boys” for the first time, and there’s a line in there that was something along the lines of me talking to Edwin and asking, “Do you two make out with each other?” And my dad stopped the tape and he was like, “What are you reading for?” And I was like, “Don’t give me notes, it’s fine!” And so that was the audition process! I think within a month I found out I got the part and it’s been an absolute dream ever since.

Dressing the Part

(...) I think on paper Niko can seem like a certain type of character, but even in the choice of every costume we did, every color that she wears, every meticulous little piece about everything from her nails to her room, it’s so well curated and thought out. Through her journey, we also find that she’s a woman that wears what she feels. On the surface, she might seem like the most joyful, young, optimistic girl, but it’s the inner confidence and bravery where we find that she’s layered, and she is very much a young woman coming of age.

SOURCE: MEET THE REAL DEAD BOY DETECTIVES (AND FRIENDS)

[poppitron360]

I used to have a best friend who loved music theory more than anything else lol. It always went over my head personally, but there wasn't anything better than listening to him talk about it and trying to understand. I miss it sometimes.

In any case— What's your favorite detail about the music in Epic that's easy to miss, and that Jorge hasn't shared before?

That’s difficult bc often I notice something and then I see a video of Jorge talking about the same thing- but I have a few very small, inconsequential details that I noticed/things I liked- mostly to do with recurring motifs and instruments associated with each character.

“Please don’t make me do this, don’t make me do this” sung in his chest voice in the opening number vs in falsetto in “Thunder Bringer” asdjfjfngoinjksdngk

The “Survive” melody is first introduced in “The Horse and the infant”, when Zeus sings “A vision, of what is to come, cannot be outrun…” and it’s last heard (so far) in “Mutiny” when Eurylochus sings about the cows.

At the start of “remember them”, Ody’s electric guitar plays the melody of “we’re up, we’re off, and away we go”

Jay has talked about how Eurylochus has no signature instrument except for the voice of the crew, which makes him a lot more versatile. I noticed how in “Luck runs out” there’s a piano running underneath his lines. A piano is Athena’s instrument. My interpretation is that Eurylochus is questioning Ody’s wisdom here- “you rely on wit, and people die on it”

Similarly, when Odysseus sings “I can’t have you planting seeds of doubt…” underneath his vocals is a Viola (I think), which shows how he’s thinking primarily of Penelope, and not the crew.

Aeolus’ theme doesn’t really conform to a set time signature, which shows how she’s very free flowing.

At the end of “Ruthlessness”, after Ody opens the bag, there’s this descending synth line as the storm carries them away and just… it only shows up once but I love it so, so much.

At the start of “Puppeteer”, when they land at the Island, the strings play the “hope” motif from “Full speed ahead”. (“Ithaca’s waiting, my kingdom is waiting, Penelope’s waiting for me.”)

The strings at the start of “Done For” are very reminiscent of a tango, which gives the feel of Ody and Circe going back and forth.

Ody’s nylon-string guitar (the symbol of his softer side) playing when he sees Polites in the underworld…

Okay so I’m pretty sure the choir sound in “The Underworld” and I think “No Longer You” is actually some sort of synth or sample or VST pack and not vocals that Jorge recorded, which gives the voices a rather unintelligible, artificial sound, which ties in to what Jorge has already established in Epic- the mythological factors being seemingly more electronic.

“Mutiny” contains SO MANY REPRISES. I love how it’s switched from Eury singing to Ody “Please don’t tell me you’re about to do what I think you’ll do” in “Luck runs out” to Ody singing to Eury

At the start of God Games, Athena sings “Father, God King”…”Now I’m knocking” to the tune of “Thunder bring her through the wringer”.

The sound of mechanical clanging playing alongside Hephaestus’ vocals changing into a brighter sounding chiming bell sound when Athena responds.

Both Polites and Calypso have tuned percussion as their instruments. Polites has a marimba, and I think Calypso’s is a steel drum. Not sure what that symbolises yet.

People have talked Calypso singing “stay in my open arms” triggering Ody, but she also sings “I’ll stay inside your heart”, which is what his mother sings to him.

I need to re-listen to the whole musical and compile a larger list but this is mostly what I thought of off the top of my head at 1 in the morning.

Sorry this isn’t more technobabble-heavy, but I’ve made some other posts talking about this that go full infodump mode. These are just little things I noticed (I love doing this. It feels like finding buried treasure).

[mythosidhesdollhouse]

We got some Rainbow High Sparkle & Shine stock photos of Viola & Rosetta! I'm sorry. I know it's an unpopular opinion, but I genuinely love these dolls, and will be buying them at the first available opportunity. Yes I know the purple one is basically just Violet. To this I can only say--I own three Violets. I will likely own more Violets in the future. One of them will have glitter legs. Have you not yet figured out that purple is my favorite color? Give me all the purple dolls.

And if you don't like Rosetta my only question to you is: Why do you hate fun? Look at her. She's adorable. She's pink. She's pastel rainbow. She has a cute phone case. Weren't people complaining about the lack of phones with the new RH dolls?

Not saying anyone else has to love this wave--by all means DON'T buy them so my poor, disabled, fixed income self can get them on sale sooner--I just wish other Rainbow High collectors would stop being such snobs about them :/ But I understand folks are mourning the loss of what RH used to be. I miss it too. I only had a few months to enjoy it before the change happened! But perhaps that's why I'm not so attached to their previous incarnation, and can continue to find joy in what they've become.

ANYWAY--from my previous post about Clementine I already know these girls are not popular, but I can't help but hope people will lighten up a little bit and give them a chance.

[heich0e]

begin - nicholas wolfwood/f!reader (trigun) prequel to the poly!au, bounty hunters!au, wild west-ish, tw BLOOD/INJURIES, reader is patching up a bullet wound so warning for all the expected nastiness that entails, tw mentions of attemped assault (not reader and not in detail), mentions of sex work, gratuitous mentions of nico's stubble

BOUND - poly!au masterlist

You live in a nothing town, in the dead middle of nowhere, called The Bend.

It’s called that because a long time ago—long before your days, or your daddy’s days, or even your granddaddy’s days—there used to be a wide, rushing freshwater river snaking through the valley, and right where the town centre now sits is where it used to turn east to the far-away sea. 

But the river’s dried up now, and it took the green grass with it.

The sea is farther than you could ever hope to travel. 

And the B on the sign that marks the border into your dusty little nothing-nowhere town has rusted off and decayed away with the years, which means the only warning that any misguided traveller has to tell them where they’re heading is an ominous old sign, half-rotted, that reads:

Welcome to The  end.

It’s fitting, you think. An omen to give anyone who wanders within spitting distance of the border a final caution that they have one last chance to turn around. A choice to get out while they still can.

It’s a choice you never had.

You were born and raised in The Bend. Your blood runs thick with the dust that coats the decrepit old town. It’s all you’ve ever known, and all you ever will know; your beginning, your middle, and your miserable, inexorable end.

Because that’s the thing about The Bend: few people ever show up here and those who do aren’t stupid enough to stay. And the unfortunate few that are born from the dusty earth and dried up riverbeds, like you? Well, those ones never leave.

There’s some comfort to be taken from that, you suppose; a kind of stability that comes from monotony. From certain inevitability. Every day the same, unchanging. A familiarity to the nothingness of your little town, your little house, your little life.

But then, on a night just like any other, something changes.

One night, you meet him.

Nicholas isn’t quite sure how he ended up here, but he isn’t all that surprised either. 

There’s something kind of undeniably fitting about bleeding out in the middle of fucking nowhere, supported on either side by two of the finest prostitutes The Bend has to offer—and flanked by a handful more as the group guides him through the dark, dusty night.

The Bend isn’t the first hellhole town Nicholas has ever stumbled into. His line of work has brought him to more than his fair share of seedy dumps just like this one. Towns like this are the perfect place for someone to hide from the law after all, because not many people would bother to come looking for you in places that might as well not exist. Most bounty hunters don’t even know about this particular town, and they don’t care to learn, especially since half the maps on the market don’t even bother marking its sorry half-existence down.

But Nicholas isn’t like most bounty hunters.

That’s what brought him to The Bend.

There’s a vicious flash of lightning that suddenly forks through the sky overhead, lighting up the dim, depressing town and the dusty valley beyond it as brightly as the midday sun for just a blink. It’s followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that makes the packed earth under his unsteady feet tremble, and Nicholas knows that means the lightning’s closer than he cares for it to be.

“’s it gonna rain?” he slurs, tearing his eyes away from the sky and looking over to the woman supporting him on his right (or is that his left?)

He wracks his hazy, addled brain as he tries to remember her name. Starts with a V, he’s pretty sure. Victoria? Viola?

She snorts, her ruby rouged lips lifting at one painted corner. “Honey, it’s been almost five months since we’ve seen a drop of rain around here, and even then it was nothin’ to write home about. You just focus on puttin’ one boot in front of the other, and don’t go gettin’ your hopes up.” 

All at once, Nicholas is reminded of the burning pain in his arm; the searing, radiating agony of a bullet nestled deep into flesh. 

Oh. Right.

He got shot.

It’s not the first time he’s suffered a similar wound, nor will it likely be the last if he makes it through the night—God, or whatever all-knowing bastard’s out there, willing. That doesn’t make it any less of a miserable bitch to deal with, though.

How the hell did he get shot, again?

He ponders this question for a moment, reflecting on it through alcohol sodden introspection, and the answer comes back to him in bits and pieces as he keeps aimlessly shuffling along through the night.

The sound of heels clicking overhead at the town saloon—that’s the first thing he remembers. The clacking metronome of Big Annie’s working girls crossing the wooden floorboards of the brothel that operates above the only place in this awful little town to get a half-decent drink.

A drink. 

Yes, it was something bitter and dark—completely nauseating to presently even think about. It burned on the way down, and now it sloshes unpleasantly in his stomach as he walks. The girls had made him down the better part of a bottle after he’d been shot—to help with the pain, they’d said, and he’d been anything but reluctant to heed their advice—and he’d already had fair a few glasses earlier in the evening as he’d occupied his table in the corner of the bar on top of that. Panic had palpably sizzled between the women while they watched the tattered cloth Nicholas held to his arm ink steadily darker with scarlet in the lamplight of the old bar following the shooting—the tension building amongst them like the perspiration beading at his temple. They were bickering about something then.

No, not something.

Someone.

“We gotta take him to see Mama!” 

It was Charity who said that, he recalls—the pretty little thing with full lips and a mane of thick, curly hair that Nicholas had complimented the first time he ever saw her traipsing through the saloon. She can’t be a whole lot older than 20, and her voice is still high and childlike; even more so that particular evening as she stomped her foot petulantly, looking over at him with worry-filled eyes as she made her plea to the other girls watching him bleed out in the musty wooden booth.

“Mama won't want anything to do with this one.”

That was Violetta who’d replied to Charity’s fractious appeal. She’s one of the older girls who works for Big Annie at the brothel. She’s got a sort of seasoned air to her, with a husky rasp in her voice—like the sand that blows through the empty streets in town has roughened it. She’s still undeniably pretty, but she comes across a little tougher than the rest of them. Doing the job she does in a town like this one, Nicholas doesn’t blame her for it.

Violetta’s the one currently supporting his right side, leading him through the night towards the woman who’s supposed to be his saving grace.

Towards Mama.

But who the hell is that?

He’s sure he’s heard the name in passing while he’s been kicking around the town saloon between his work, nursing half-noxious drinks and flirting harmlessly here and there with Big Annie’s working girls—who seem to have taken a liking to lingering around his table between visits from johns. 

Nicholas wasn’t even supposed to be staying in The Bend long, only for a day or two to follow up on a bounty lead he’d caught wind of three towns over—but the lead went cold, and a few days turned into almost a week. Nevertheless, while his stay may have been extended, he just he never thought to ask any more questions about this mysterious matriarch all the working girls seemed to know so well and speak so highly of. But now, as those very same girls are dragging his half-conscious ass to the other side of town in search of this Mama, he wishes that maybe he’d dug a little deeper.

“Mama’s gonna get you all fixed up, handsome,” little Charity appears on Violetta’s other side, her eyes wide enough as she stares at him that they reflect the next flash of lightning as it rips through the dark of night. She looks worried, in spite of her words—even in his present state of drunkenness and blood loss fuelled delirium, he can tell that much. 

They all do. Even the toughest, Violetta—though she seems reluctant to let on as she stands stoically at his side and shoulders his flagging, stumbling weight. 

Charity nods, but it’s a gesture that seems more to reassure herself than anyone else. “Mama always takes care of us; she’ll have you good as new by morning.” 

Ah, so this woman must be a doctor of sorts—or as close to it as a shithole little town like this can offer.

It’s Nicholas’ turn to nod, a bobble of his cotton-filled head the only recognition he can muster to her words, as he just keeps staggering on under their guidance. He’s lucky that The Bend even has some kind of doctor to look after him, even if it’s just some old lady who looks after the saloon girls.

The unlikely group soon arrives at the doorstep of a little house at the edge of town—as slummy and dilapidated as all the rest of them—and Queenie, the girl who’d moments before been supporting Nicholas’s injured left side, raps sharply on the door.

“She’s not gonna answer,” Violetta mutters dourly under her breath, still at Nicholas’ right side.

“She will,” Charity counters with her arms crossed over her chest, punctuating the assertion with an indignant little huff for good measure. “Mama always answers when we come knockin’.”

But Nicholas worries for a moment—a long moment as the door stays firmly shut—that Violetta might just have a point. It’s the middle of the night after all, and this ‘Mama’ could very well be sleeping like any other reasonable person would be at this hour. 

Queenie knocks on the wooden door for a second time, this time with an open palm. This series of raps is a little louder. A little more insistent.

“Mama? It’s us! Open up!” she calls, casting a worried glance over her shoulder at Nicholas—who’s got his entire weight slumped over onto poor Violetta, now.

Nicholas is bleeding out on the front porch, and part of him still almost feels bad for waking up some poor, unsuspecting old—

The door flies open.

“What the hell do you want?”

Oh.

Nicholas knows that his eyes travel up your frame in a way that can only be considered wholly impolite. But he’s not really in his right mind, after all—or at least that’s what he tells himself as he justifies his immodest stare. He starts at the uneven cuffs of your paper-thin trousers, before climbing up, up, up your body to the tight white undershirt your wear—appreciating the way it clings to the curve of your waist and sits snug around your chest, and he particularly admires the pretty little edge of lace that frills around the neckline at your breasts. Finally, his gaze makes it to your face, and you look irritated to say the absolute least on the matter.

He’s not all that sure what he was expecting to find on the other side of the chipped paint of this shabby front door, but he can say with a steady hand to his foolhardy heart that it certainly wasn’t you.

For a moment, Nicholas is convinced they’ve got the wrong house—as improbable as that might be in a town as small as this one. At the very least, he waits for someone else to come to the door—a mother, or grandmother even—because surely you can’t be the one that these women have been calling—

“Mama! You gotta help us,” Queenie exclaims. She’s luckily perceptive enough to stick out her foot once she sees you fully process just what’s waiting for you outside, keeping the door jammed open with her heeled boot as you rush to slam it shut.

“I haven’t gotta do anything,” you counter sharply from around the edge of the door, your face pinching in a blatantly vexed expression at the way the woman is keeping it ajar.

Your eyes flicker over to Nicholas through the gap between the door and its frame, surveying him with a look of disdain that might just have been enough to offend him if he were a little more himself.

“Mama, he got shot!” Charity suddenly bursts into what can only be described as a spectacular display of tears—blubbering noisily between each word as she elbows her way through the group towards your door. She reaches across the threshold and desperately clutches at the front of your shirt with both hands as she pleads to you. “P-please let us in, y-you’re the only one who can h-he-help him.”

“Bertie, what in God’s merciful name is wrong with you?” you sigh aggrievedly, roughly batting her hands away from their grip on your clothes. In the next breath, you wrench open the front door to your home, stepping back to allow your unexpected visitors the space to cross through the doorway. “And cut the waterworks or you’re gonna wake up half The Bend and get us all shot.”

As the girls help Nicholas inside and across the gnarled, warped floorboards of your little house, you slip wordlessly away into another room out of sight. When you return moments later, you’ve pulled on a creased button-down over that pretty little undershirt of yours. 

Nicholas can’t help but notice that you’re dressed practically like a man, especially in comparison to the painted faces and petticoats of the other women in the room. But it strangely suits you, for reasons he can’t quite place.

“He got shot fightin’ some bozo tryin’ to rough up Ada on her way home,” Violetta explains when you look to her with an expression that demands context. She’s the most level-headed of the five woman gathered in your tiny home, so no one can blame you for turning to her first. 

Nicholas feels dizzy, the modest lamp-lit room around him reeling like a child’s toy spinning top gaining speed. 

Did he do that?

He remembers hearing something out back in the alley that runs behind the saloon and the inn when he went out to take a piss late into to the evening, well after it had dropped dark. He was already sufficiently drunk by that point, but there was no mistaking the sound of a woman putting up a fight the moment that he heard it. He followed the racket and found the pair quickly—on instinct more than anything—grabbing the drunken man by the scruff of the neck and hauling him off the poor girl he was trying to force himself on. In the ensuing scuffle, the man pulled a gun that Nicholas wasn’t expecting. With his senses drink-dulled, he didn’t react quickly enough to miss the shot entirely and caught it in his arm—but he’s lucky the guy had such terrible aim to begin with, or the night could have turned out a whole lot worse.

But who’s this Ada? He thought the girl he’d helped’s name was Priscilla—having met her a few times in the saloon. She was always quieter than the rest of them, a little more reserved. She didn’t say much to anyone from what Nicholas had witnessed in his time spent in The Bend. But Ada’s not the first name he’s heard since showing up at your door that’s unfamiliar to him.

“You've got a lot of nerve dragging some no-good, half-cocked brute to my door like this in the middle of the damn night, Sarah Jane,” you hiss through your teeth, your eyes flickering from Violetta over to Nicholas once more.

Violetta snorts, but offers no argument.

“Please, Mama,” Priscilla (or is it Ada? Nicholas can’t keep track anymore) says quietly, though her tone is unmistakably earnest. It’s the first time she’s said anything since the girls came stumbling through your door with the injured man propped between them. First time he remembers her saying anything at all—at least other than when he heard her screaming and chased off the scum that was hassling her.

Your attention suddenly turns to where Priscilla stands just off near the corner of the little room, with Theodosia (another one of Big Annie’s working girls) at her side with a comforting arm looped around her waist. It’s not hard to see the way the woman trembles as she holds her shawl around her shoulders. She’s got a bad scrape across her cheek, and her lip is split—evidence of the ordeal she’d gone through earlier in the evening. Her skin still looks clammy and sallow from the shock. 

Your expression softens as you contemplate her.

“C’mere, Adaline,” you beckon to her, reaching out a hand. “Step into the light and let me take a look at you.”

She approaches you without any reservation, and you carefully inspect her wounds after taking her face gently in your hands. A long, resigned sigh slips from your lips once a moment has passed, having turned her face this way and that to fully scrutinize her condition. You look around at the women gathered in your home, and the man slumping between them, then your head hangs in defeat. Your hand lifts to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Bertie, go grab my bag from my room. Georgie, fetch some clean water from the basin in the kitchen.”

Charity and Theodosia move briskly once you’ve issued the order—like they don’t want to give you the opportunity to change your mind.

Nicholas finds it a little funny how easily these women yield to you, though most seem to be your seniors—you’re just a scrappy young thing, only a few years into your adulthood if he had to guess. As he watches you, he sees that you carry yourself with a  certain quality that’s beyond your years—every action and word steeped with a sort of weary assuredness that you haven’t even lived long enough to properly earn. 

He watches you move with the grace of a woman, and listens to you speak with the authority of a man—and It could be the blood loss talking, but Nicholas thinks you might just be the most interesting thing he’s stumbled upon in this god-forsaken little town.

“You’re a doctor?”

You freeze, your head snapping in his direction when you finally hear him speak.

Your lip curls and you bare your teeth to him, and Nicholas is suddenly reminded of those city cats that wander the back alleys in Julai, hissing with their hackles raised when you happen across their path.

“Do I look like a doctor to you?” you sneer at him derisively.

For some unplaceable reason, Nicholas almost wants to laugh—the sensation bubbling up in his stomach in the wake of your harsh words.

(Though, that might just be the liquor.)

“Her daddy was a doctor,” Queenie whispers to him quietly as she and Violetta help Nicholas up onto the wooden table at the centre of the room at your instruction, leaning him back until he’s laid flat across it with a grunt. “Only one The Bend’s seen in the last 80 years."

“Prudence, you better shut your damn mouth if you want me to do anything about this mess,” you snap without looking up, busy rifling through the ancient leather medicine bag that Charity just dragged in from the other room.

You tend to Priscilla first, fixing her up with a compress on her cheek and a salve for the cut on her lip. She’s not the most desperate case in the room, but no one tries to turn your attention to the man on the table until you’re good and ready to do so of your own accord—a unanimous, though entirely unspoken, pact of silence lest your precarious agreement to help be withdrawn. Once you’re satisfied that the woman’s been sufficiently looked after, leaving her once more in the dutiful care of Theodosia, you finally turn to Nicholas.

The lamplight is fairly dim, even though you’ve moved it closer to the table to help illuminate your work—and there’s very little oil in the grimy reservoir of the glass lamp to keep it burning.

You approach him slowly.

“You a lefty?” you ask him, plunking yourself down in the wooden chair nearest to his injured left arm.

“Luckily not,” he slurs, his head lolling over to look at you as you sit beside him at the table.

“Luckily?” You huff, and Nicholas thinks that maybe it’s as close to a laugh as someone as mirthless as you ever gets. “You must not’ve heard: luck left The Bend years ago, and it’s not coming back.”

Nicholas really does find himself laughing then in the face of your plain, bur distinctly dour expression—and he immediately winces as a sharp pain shoots through him from the strain of trying to hold it back.

Your eyes survey the sopping, blood-soaked handkerchief he’s holding to his injury, then you lean over towards the medicine bag and begin digging through it again. He watches as you pull out an inhumanely large needle and some thread.

“Clear out, ladies,” you remark flatly to the group of onlookers without glancing up from the contents of the bag before you. “None of you are gonna wanna see this.”

The girls delay momentarily even after you bark out the order, as though worried that once they leave the room your willingness to help may exit with them.

You lift your face in their direction, some gauze and a corked flask of an indistinguishable transparent liquid in hand. Your lips pull down noticeably at the corners when you see the way the women are hesitating. “Go on, then. I’m making this exception for you once, and never again. Get Ada back home safe, and then the rest of you oughta do the same.”

Still, no one seems keen to heed your words.

You and Violetta share a pointed look, and it’s clear your patience—hardly-there to begin with—has worn dangerously thin.

“Alright, whores—clear out!” the older woman says, turning on her heel and corralling Queenie, Charity, Priscilla, and Theodosia towards the door with her arms outstretched. “Unless one of y’all are keen to be the next one who needs stitchin'!”

It takes a moment to get everyone moving—Charity in particular putting up more of a fight than the rest of them—but eventually Violetta succeeds in ushering them out. She casts one final glance back from the doorway, and Nicholas catches the exchange of almost imperceptible nods of thanks between you.

It’s unbearably quiet once they’re gone.

You move swiftly but silently, and set to work without a single word exchanged between you and the man stretched across your table. Without hesitating, you drag a thin blade in two strokes up the front of Nicholas’s bloodstained shirt—one cut along the torso and then another up the sleeve—and then pull off whatever’s in your way. You don’t so much as bat an eye as the tanned skin of his chest and abdomen is suddenly bared; there’s no distinguishable emotion or thought on your face that Nicholas can make out, but he’s also fairly distracted as he bites back the groans of pain that threaten to slip out each time you jostle his injured arm too roughly. 

Next, you begin cleaning the surface of the wound—as best you can given that it’s still unstitched—in preparation to fish out and remove the bullet still stuck inside. That little flask from earlier has some sort of antiseptic in it, which Nicholas discerns by the acrid smell and unbearable burning that rips through him as you let it trickle over the open gouge in his skin. He cries out as it happens, and the sound even takes him by surprise—guttural and completely instinctive.

“Don’t be a baby,” you sniff, dabbing away at the blood and antiseptic around his wound with some clean gauze.

“Sorry,” Nicholas mumbles through his panting breaths, pressing his opposite hand over his mouth in an attempt to keep himself quiet.

Your eyes flicker up to his briefly in the wake of his apology, and your gazes meet. You’re the first to look away after the momentary hold.

Next, you tip the flask into your hands, coating your palms in the stinging, astringent antiseptic. The lamplight catches in the little droplets as you shake them from your fingertips.

“My daddy told me once that doctors have to tell lies to keep their patients calm,” you say quietly, your lips pursing forward as you wrap one cool hand underneath his bicep. “Said that it’s just part of the job.”

You suck in a little breath, meeting his gaze briefly once more.

He can’t help but think your eyes look pretty when the light reflects in them like this. 

“But I’m no doctor—and this is gonna hurt like fresh hell.”

Outside your rickety little house on the edge of this forgotten, nowhere town, another peal of thunder roars.

You don’t often patch up bullet holes.

In fact, you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve tried.

But you’re not a professional, and you’ve never claimed to be; you’re just a doctor’s daughter who used to follow her father on his rounds through town, helping out whenever and wherever it was needed. Unavoidably, you learned some things along the way—like treatments, and time-honoured remedies, and how to sew a stitch so it won’t pucker when it scars—but you’re about as far as anyone could be from trained. You’ve got no education beyond your reading, writing, and basic arithmetic—what little education the school house in town could offer you until you just stopped going altogether—and your experience is limited only to the care you offer to Big Annie’s girls: whether it’s cleaning up the messes left by their particularly nasty customers or treating them as best you can when they fall ill. 

You don’t bother telling any of this to the man bleeding all over your table, though. You doubt it would do him much good.

Daddy used to deal with gunshot wounds all the time. They’re about a dime a dozen in a town like The Bend, after all, where tempers are high and spirits are low—not to mention where the men outnumber the women by about ten-to-one. 

And if there’s one thing you know about men, it’s that they all love slinging guns but less than half of them ought to be allowed to—because it always leads to injuries like this. It’s rarely ever women who walk around town getting themselves shot.

But in spite of all that, and your lack of experience, you watched your father go through the motions frequently enough that the movements come to you now like second nature: disinfect, remove, keep pressure, suture, bandage. You know the order of things, and you find your mind clear and your hands steady as you set to work—starting by cleaning him up as best you can to prepare to extract the bullet. 

You can see the very butt of it in peeking out from inside his ugly wound; a pesky little thing, slick with blood that catches in the light when his arm twitches towards the lamp. It’s not nestled too deep in there, thankfully, and he’ll probably be fine if he lets it heal properly—but it’ll still hurt like a bitch to pull out. 

But that’s his problem, not yours.

Unfortunately, you don’t have a pair of tweezers you trust to pluck the bullet out—at least not a pair that isn’t rusty—so your god-given tools will have to be what you use for the undertaking. You disinfect your hands as best you can before you begin.

“Would you stop squirming?” you mutter under your breath as the man on your table flinches the first time your fingers graze his open wound.

“Sorry,” he mumbles back, and your eyes flicker up to his face again briefly. 

This man keeps apologizing to you. 

It’s unsettling.

His dark eyes are heavy lidded, but you can still sense them tracing along the lines of your face as you work. There’s visible sweat beading at his temple as he lies flat on his back atop the wooden table in the centre of your home, and his bare chest rises and falls with heavy, laboured breaths that shake every so often on the exhale—the lamplight at your side catches in the perspiration glistening there too, near the little smattering of hair that sits at the highest point of his sternum.

This guy—this stranger who’s bleeding all over the table you eat your meals on—really pisses you off.

He’s got an awful lot of nerve to show up here in the middle of the night, looking for your help after he went and got himself shot. A small part of you knows that’s not entirely fair to think, because he got shot helping Adaline and it was the girls who’d brought him to you in the first place, but you still can’t help but be resentful. 

You feel yourself frown.

Your fingertips dip inside the wet heat of his wound for the first time, and he lets out a gasping, wretched groan from deep in the centre of his chest—so loud it almost makes you flinch.

“Don’t pass out,” you warn him flatly, pinning his injured arm more firmly to the table and prodding further in as you try to get a grip on the evasive little bullet with the very tips of your fingers. “You’re dead weight if you’re unconscious, and I’ll drag you outta this house in parts if I have to.”

“Noted,” the dark-haired man says through clenched teeth, his eyes squeezing shut as he attempts to stomach the pain.

You don’t have anything to offer him to dull the sensation—though you’re not sure you’d waste something so precious on him even if you did. After a while, and a bit more poking and prodding, he seems to acclimatize to the agony anyway. 

Or at the very least he gets better at masking it.

“I’m Nicholas, by the way,” he grits out after a while of you unsuccessfully trying to remove the bullet—frequently having to pause and wipe away the blood that’s continued to seep from the wound, slicking you down to your wrist. It stains the cuff of your shirtsleeve now, and you regret ever pulling it on to begin with, because you know it will be a nightmare to pound out in the wash.

“Didn’t ask.”

“I know,”—miraculously, he manages to laugh a bit, even as you’ve got two fingers digging around inside his arm—“just thought I’d tell ya anyway.”

You don’t bother replying, your eyes honed in solely on the task at bloody hand.

“‘M grateful for your help, y’know. Even if it’s just an exception,” the man—Nicholas—slurs next, his head tipping to the side on your kitchen table. You can tell that he’s talking, if nothing else, to distract himself. A lonely bead of sweat drips down his throat as he looks at you. “It’s awfully nice of ya to take pity on a no-good brute like me, Mama.”

You feel a crick of irritation tighten in your jaw then, as he parrots your earlier words back to you. Your fingers, still poking around to retrieve the bullet in his shoulder, twitch—and you aren’t sure the gesture is entirely involuntary. The man on the table before you yelps, flinching away from the pain, and you lean closer with your eyes still fixed on the wound piercing his skin.

“Don’t call me that,” you hiss through the dull scrape of your teeth grinding tightly together.

Nicholas lifts his right hand to his mouth, curled into a fist, and his pearly teeth bite down hard into the flesh at the base of his thumb as he pants through the pain. You finally, mercifully, manage to get a grip on that damned bullet, plucking it out and tossing it into the waiting dish atop the table with a delicate, terribly anticlimactic clink. You swiftly press a pad of clean gauze to the wound to staunch the bleeding while you reach for the stitching needle you left set off to the side.

“Hold this,” you order him, and the man lets his hand slip from the bite of his jaw to do as he’s told while you rifle through the bag at your feet. You can see the marks his teeth left in his skin as he takes the gauze from your hand into his own and begins to apply pressure.

You stand and wash your hands off as best you can in the basin of water Georgie brought in for you earlier, poised at the end of the table. The liquid tints pink as you first dip them in, and then slowly it turns an even darker, uglier colour as you properly scrub his blood from your skin. You shake as much of the water off your hands as you can, and then use the front of your shirt to sop up the rest—faintly rust-tinged handprints left in the cotton.

You take your seat once more, and Nicholas watches you through mostly-closed eyes as you set about sterilizing the needle.

“How come I can’t call you that?” 

You light a candle using the lamp at your side. Then you swish the needle around in antiseptic before running it through the flickering flame until it sparks—careful not to let it lick too close to your fingertips. Your eyes slide over to Nicholas as you pluck it from the fire.

With his face tilted towards you, another little drop of sweat has tracked down his cheek towards his prominent nose, and it glistens against his flushing skin in the warm light of your oil lamp. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, too—from what you don’t doubt is the combination of pain and whatever booze he’s been guzzling to numb it—and lips part on a shuddering exhalation as you survey his face.

“Call me what?” you mutter, averting your eyes and turning again to search through your medicine bag for a clean roll of bandage.

“Ma—” A sudden, harsh glare cuts him off before he even has the chance to say it. He smiles a little, the expression half-delirious, and you can’t help but think that if he weren’t so weakened from the pain that wracks him, he might have even managed another laugh.

You kiss your teeth quietly. “Only the girls call me that.”

The man bleeding out in the middle of your table clearly knows your tone of voice means not to push it, because he doesn’t. Instead, he turns his head until he’s staring up at your dingy ceiling once more, though you can tell from the faraway look in his eyes he’s not seeing much at all. 

“The girls,” Nicholas remarks quietly, speaking more to himself than anything. “You don’t call ‘em by their names.”

That’s right: he’d only know the girls by their working names. You’re surprised he even caught that.

“The hell I don’t,” you mutter, turning back to face him in your seat once more with your last roll of bandage clutched tightly in your hand. You set it down atop the table as you set your supplies up just how you like them. “I call them by the names their mothers gave them.”

Nicholas hums thoughtfully. “Sarah Jane, that’s Violetta?”

You grunt out an affirmative, threading the freshly cleaned needle with nimble, dextrous accuracy. 

“And Charity, her real name’s Bertie?”

“Bertha May,” you correct him, snipping away the excess thread with a little pair of mostly-dull scissors—careful not to take more than you’ll need, but still giving yourself sufficient supply to work with.

“Priscilla’s name’s Adaline,” Nicholas continues, his eyes still tracing the cracks in your ceiling. “And what about Theodosia and Queenie?” 

“Georgina and Prudence,” you supply flatly as you secure a tight knot in the end of the stitching thread.

Nicholas sighs before slurring, “’s a lot to keep track of.”

You snort. “Wait until you find out Big Annie’s real name.”

He looks over at you with wider eyes than you’ve seen on him since he came staggering through your door. He catches the expression on your face and his own softens, clearly sensing that you’d said it only in jest. 

Annie’s just short for Annabelle, after all. Madam’s rarely need to take up new personas—why would they need to be someone they’re not if they aren’t the ones doing the dirty work?

Nicholas watches as you tug on the stitching thread one last time to test its strength—eying the glinting needle warily. You set the threaded implement carefully off to the side once you’re confident it’s ready.

“So you learned all this stuff from your daddy, huh?” he asks you next.

You swallow over the unpleasant lump you suddenly feel in the back of your throat and reach up, nudging his hand away from where he’s holding the gauze to his wound. He’s become a real chatterbox now, and part of you wonders why you’re even tolerating it.

You clean the area with antiseptic again—and Nicholas is just as dramatic as he was the first time as a low moan of pain tears through him. For a moment you worry he really might be on the brink of passing out, the whites of his eyes taking over as they begin to roll back, so you know you need to keep him focused.

“He used to take me with him on his rounds,” you mumble a reply to his earlier question. 

Nicholas’s eyes open a bit wider when he hears your voice, a little more focused now than they had been.

“My daddy, I mean,” your tone is dismissive and flippant, but it seems to be an effective distraction. “I just picked things up here and there while I watched him work.”

“You’re a natural.”

You snort mirthlessly in the wake of his reply. “Don’t know about all that.”

“You just pulled a bullet outta my arm with your bare hands, that’s gotta count for something.” Nicholas hisses as you press the antiseptic-soaked gauze to his wound one last time, then he sucks in a sharp breath. “And the girls trust you a lot, so you must be good at it.”

“Somebody’s gotta take care of them.” 

Lord knows no one else around here does.

You set the scarlet saturated gauze aside in the dish with the discarded bullet, then pick up your needle.

You make neat, even sutures through his skin, and you take your time to do it right. You’ve always been good at this kind of thing, even when you were young. You were born with a keen eye for detailed work like this, and your daddy used to get you to finish up the smaller wounds he was called to treat that needed finer stitching—said your little hands were just better at it than his own big, life-roughened ones. He always used to tell you that you got your steady hands from him, but your nimble fingers from your mother.

Not that you’d know anything about that.

Nicholas has stopped flinching now, a little more relaxed than he’d previously been, and you can’t help but look up at him every so often as you work—wondering if that steady, even rise and fall of his chest means that he’s finally knocked out. Especially since he’s suddenly gone so quiet. 

But each time you check, you find his eyes are still open—though only just barely—and are peering up towards the ceiling. Sometimes you catch him glancing at you too.

Once the wound has been fully closed in a tidy little line of stitches, you wrap the roll of bandages around it with some gauze tucked underneath, just in case.

“You’re all done,” you say quietly, slumping back in your chair once you’re finally finished.

All at once, you feel exhausted—the adrenaline you didn’t even know had been rushing through you disappearing in a blink. It reminds you of how the wind dies in the valley in the wake of a bad storm, like it took the breeze with it. You’re all too conscious of the fact that it’s the middle of the night now, and that you ought to long be asleep.

“Thank you,” Nicholas says as he pushes himself up onto the elbow of his uninjured arm, though he still winces at the movement. You don’t make any attempt to help him.

His shirt is in pieces, and he discards it since it’s of so little use to him now, shaking his right arm to free it from the only sleeve that remains in tact on the garment. You watch as he pushes himself fully upright, throwing his long legs over the side of the table to stand. When he does, he dips slightly—like the sudden movement makes him woozy, and his knees are weak—and his right hand shoots out to balance himself on the edge of the tabletop on instinct. You suppose it’s not unexpected given the amount of blood he lost.

You watch his toned, tanned back as he stretches himself out as much as his injury will allow; observing how his skin pulls taught over the defined musculature that surrounds his spine. He’s littered with scars—a map of wounds that weren’t stitched as neatly as the new one on his upper arm—and part of you can’t help but wonder how he got them all. Can’t help but wonder what stories those marks tell, written in a language you don’t know how to read.

You look away, feeling an inexplicable heat flood rapidly to your cheeks.

You stand and quickly slip off your own overshirt—just some old button-up left behind from your father, though you have no memories of him ever wearing it. You clutch it in your fist and stick it out for him to take.

He eyes it in surprise for a moment before accepting it.

“Those blood stains are yours, anyway. You might as well have it,” you say, eyeing the red mark at the cuff on the right-hand sleeve as the garment passes from your hold into his, “in any case it’s in better shape than the one you came here with.” 

It saves having to clean it, too. So it’s all the same to you.

“I’ll pay you,” he slurs, still unsteady on his feet as he begins rifling awkwardly through his pockets with his only useable hand. He almost tips right over in his haste, but you quickly slip beside him and steady his frame.

“Yeah, you will,” you agree, holding tight to his right arm to keep him standing. “Worry about it tomorrow.”

Nicholas’ bare skin radiates warmth with only your thin, lace-trimmed undershirt left separating you as you stand pressed into his side. He peers down at you curiously, blinking slowly like he’s being called to sleep. From this close, with him standing properly upright for the first time, you realize just how big this man is—tall, with a broad chest and defined muscles, and stubble dusted along his sharp jawline that you hadn’t noticed before. You take a sudden step away to put much needed distance between the two of you, these realizations making something stir in the pit of your stomach that makes you feel squeamish. 

“Do you know your way back to the inn?” you ask him, your arms crossing over your front.

Nicholas bobs his head in a completely unconvincing nod. It’s not like the town is big enough to get lost in in the first place—and he very well might know his way if it were daylight, or he weren’t half delirious—but sending him out into The Bend in his current state would be as much of a death sentence as it would have been to turn him away when he first showed up at your door. 

You sigh in resignation.

“Just sleep on the floor here for tonight. I’ll check your stitches again tomorrow morning before you leave.”

The man looks taken aback, but he nods quickly—as though he doesn’t want to give you time to rescind the unexpected offer.

You fish around in the depths of your father’s old medicine bag, eventually pulling out a bottle of murky liquid as Nicholas gets settled with an old cushion and a threadbare quilt near the unlit hearth of the fireplace. You use the edge of your nail to uncork it, take a quick whiff to make sure it’s the right one, and then tread towards the man on the other side of the room.

He peers up at you from his makeshift bed on the floor, resting with his knees apart and his long legs sprawled out in front of him. You pass the little glass bottle to him, your fingers brushing as it passes from your grip into his. “Drink this, it helps to fight off infection.”

He eyes it warily. The outside of the bottle is suspiciously grimy, and the putrid colour of the liquid inside is no less reassuring. “What is it?”

“Hog Fennel.”

He grimaces, peeking into the opening of the bottle with one eye closed. “Sounds foul.”

You snort. “It is."

Nicholas doesn’t draw it out any longer, tipping the vial back an draining it all in one shot. He winces once he swallows it down, his pink tongue peeking out a little as he pants through the taste—which you’re sure is bitter and disgusting.

“How was it?” you ask him wryly.

“I’ve had worse, honestly,” he says, shooting you a little grin you can’t believe he’s able to manage not only in the wake of such a disgusting concoction but considering what he’s been through that night.

You blink, your brow furrowing, and then eventually nod dismissively before turning and shuffling off towards the other side of the room where the door to your bedroom is found.

“Thank you.” 

Nicholas speaks again as you’re just shy of crossing the threshold into your room, you consider pausing in your shock but then think better of it.

“You already said that,” you reply, your tone annoyed, and shut the door behind you.

You open it again a second later to poke your head back out towards him.

“I’ve got a gun in here, by the way, and I won’t miss. Just in case you were thinking of trying anything funny.”

Across the room, Nicholas is already laying down on his pitiful excuse of a resting place, looking strangely content.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says with a smile, though his eyes stay closed.

Part of you is annoyed at how comfortable he seems. How easily he talks to you. How normal his presence feels in your home.

Another part of you—one that’s deeper, locked away and hidden out of sight in a place where you think you’ve lost they key—isn’t.

You slip back into your room and close the door behind you with a soft click. 

And in the silent stillness of your little bedroom with your shoulder blades pressed back into your bedroom door, you realize that the thunder outside has stopped but you can hear the softest, faintest pitter patter of raindrops through cracked glass of your window.

Rain came back to The Bend.

Maybe luck would follow.

[babushka-of-chaossss]

Once again…more wisdom saga thoughts

In Little Wolf when Athena talks about how she “understands this kind of filth” she’s talking about Zeus. Change my mind.

(I’m just going to elaborate a little more on something I said in my last one) The end of God Games is a parallel of My Goodbye, look at it this way, you just defeated an impossible task. However, in the process you go against someone you look up to and trust who is also a lot more powerful than you. Although you completed the challenge they punish you, and leave you to fend for yourself. Are we starting to connect the dots???

there was no viola at the end of Love in Paradise, at his darkest moment Odysseus forgot what he was fighting to get back to

these are all I can think of rn, I’m sure I’ll be back

[thecoolerlucky]

Chapter 7: How'd Your Plan Go, Lynette?~

Contents (Warnings/Mild spoilers): Not according to plan. (Angst and lore info )

Wordcount: 3,000+

"Why shouldn't I take a moment to savor my sweet little meal?"

__________________________________________

(Sept. 15th, Thursday)

Alexander didn't understand it.

Lev, who had always been candid about his dislike for making pizzas, let Alexander take the registers. When both of them worked together, and their boss didn't assign anyone specific to the front, Lev always insisted they play a quick game of rock-paper-scissors to determine who stays in the kitchen.

Despite Alexander's arguments about his indifference to where he worked in the pizzeria, Lev coaxed him into playing and losing every time. Lev's lack of effort to talk to Lynette also struck him as odd. The last time they all worked together, Lev showed a keen interest in getting her. Alexander wasn't aware of anything that happened between them. Not that he was in a position to judge—Alexander dreaded working next to someone so edible.

He made a conscious effort not to look at her, shit eyesight without his glasses or not. His eyes weren't the problem. It was his nose—oversaturated with her aroma and its promise to ease him. His stomach wouldn't stop nagging his brain with premeditated motives to grab her. A pivot, pinning of her arms, size-shift, and done. The temptation irritated him more than anything. He felt young and out of control again. No, Alexander realized it was foolish to think he managed it in the first place. It would never stop. His tongue rested under his teeth as he bit down. He'd follow the rules and keep himself in check.

Throughout the two hours, they exchanged very few words. Lynette occasionally asked him for something on his side, and he did the same to her. Other than that, Alexander was grateful she had the hang of everything else. The last thing he needed was to prolong their closeness. He drummed his fingers against the surface of the register, the sound punctuating the quietness. She hadn't mentioned a plan either. Did that mean she was done fighting, or did she forget? Rather than ignoring it, Alexander spoke up.

"No big plans today?" The deep, resonant thrum of his throat said. Its tone was more derisive than he meant. There was no reason to ridicule a presence that hardly represented competition or threat.

Lynette jumped at his voice's deep inflection like most people. After the grueling forced adaption of his body and the life-saving surgery, his sound was one thing he couldn't change. "I'll be fine today." She was shaky and projected little optimism.

"I'm not going to fall for the same trick twice," Alexander laced his warning in caution toward her and stole a glance from the corner of his eye. He couldn't shake off the discomfort of her surprisingly diminutive height. It was unsettling for him to see—he could almost envelop her face with just one hand.

Lynette's eyes remained down on her register. "Well, it's a good thing this plan is different." Alexander doubted she had something else up her short sleeved uniform. All he had to do was wait to take his lunch in the middle of their shift, and she couldn't escape. She abruptly turned and walked toward the kitchen doorway. "I'm going to lunch."

The lines weren't lengthy, just a few people scattered here and there, and Viola was ready to take his place at a moment's notice. So why did she leave? Her action allowed doubt to momentarily grip Alexander. He couldn't shake the nagging feeling that maybe her confidence wasn't misplaced.

After a stiff exhale, he decided to go with the most plausible reason—Lynette played off a clever bluff, and he'd go to lunch to disprove it. Viola traded spots with him, and he was off. He trailed behind her scent, scanned out, and quickly found her in break room 1, his usual hangout spot. She backed to the door that interconnected breakroom 3 and 1. Did she believe she could outrun him? He was faster than her without size-shifting; he could bound the distance. He'd only have to be careful not to crash into her, but he could get to her before she left the room. She held her hands up like she was under arrest. Alexander tried to shut off his brain, convincing himself he was in no mood to talk. He got ready to size-shift, then noticed where her eyes led. They hadn't been on him—they looked at who was behind him.

Normally, everyone inside the building had some sort of smell. To Alexander, monsters didn't have unique differences in their aroma like humans. No two humans smelled the same, and he remembered everyone he encountered. Lynette's, in particular, was suffocating, like a thick syrup coagulated in the air around her, and because Alexander's range was so wide, the whole pizzeria was overtaken by it. Meanwhile, monsters smelled awful, the only exception being Drake, who smelled fine. His best friend's unique circumstances were the cause of that. With everyone else, Alexander learned to drown out the smell of other monsters. However, two people in the pizzeria were scentless.

And one of them, unfortunately, devoured monsters.

She pulled him back by his arm, almost playfully, so Lynette could flee to the next room. Alexander flipped back to Zilla, now knowing that Lynette sold his ass out.

...

I ran into break room 3, and the door shut behind me. Once it was closed, there weren't any noises from the other side. So, their confrontation would remain a mystery. My heart squeezed in rebellion to that decision.

Why do I feel guilty tricking Xander? He was going to eat me. I played fair. Or is it because this felt like less of my victory and more like I used someone else to win for me? Thinking that struck the nail head. I curled my lips apprehensively and hesitated to move ahead. I put both fists to my forehead and let out a quiet, anguished groan, "Aaarrgh." Why am I like this? It's not hard, don't look back. What do you expect to do? Go in there and ask Zilla not to eat him? Change her mind and hope he doesn't eat you. He's a monster, he will, and most importantly, you don't like being eaten. The chill, by the mere thought of it, ran up my spine like someone scrapped an icy rod along each column. Yet, I swiftly flipped around to head back.

I took not even a step, abruptly halted by another male's chest. "It's very nice of you to throw yourself at me, Lynette~." His heavy, honeyed tone hummed. I threw myself in the opposite direction. Where did he come from? I was so focused on running that I didn't check around me. His gaze danced across the floor meticulously, like he traced the path of each of my previous footsteps and tallied their exact location. Then, having gauged the distance between us, he leaned forward and poised like a predator about to pounce. Instinctively, I spun on my heel and fled.

I had never considered myself particularly fast—my only weekly activity was rock climbing, a non running sport. He slammed into me from behind and wrapped his muscular arms around my waist, anchoring me against his bent body before he effortlessly lifted me off my feet. My back pressed firmly into his chest.

I flailed my arms and legs wildly, mimicking a child in a temper tantrum. "Why are you at lunch, Lev." How could I forget about him? He works the same shift as me. I blamed it on the fact that he hadn't interacted with me much today, nor did Zilla say a thing about him.

His voice hovered just beside my ear, low and smooth. "Isn't it obvious?" His laughter reverberated against my back with its sinister caress. "You let yourself get eaten by Wendie on Monday, and I couldn't let that happen again."

What do you mean? As the truth dawned on me, a wave of dread told me to push harder. His grip felt looser when I did. "You were working with her!" This is the catch. There's always some kind of catch with everything! I threw my legs once more, and his arms let go. I collapsed to the ground, unable to catch myself because of his unexpected release. The next thing I knew, the room's stillness erupted with a loud POP.

It felt like a massive balloon had suddenly burst, releasing a powerful gust of air that swept over me with surprising strength. The rush of wind made it hard to get back on my feet. I was ready to turn around and glimpse at what happened to make that noise but disregarded that idea when the lights above me were swallowed. The shadow loomed, and I yelped as something curled around my legs.

I was dragged, and my palms and fingertips desperately slid across the surface. The tables were too far to reach. I gasped, exasperated when I no longer touched the ground. Hopelessly suspended in mid-air, my body curled up to cling to what held me and to keep my shirt from falling to my face. It looked to be an arm, much like my own, except with dark, near-crimson scales with black trim fanning in and out along it. The palm was padded, and its warmth made my legs sweat underneath my pants.

"Impressive core strength." A whisper brushed me with heat. Knowing how close he brought me made me lose my small grip on one of his fingers. Now, I hang entirely at his mercy. My eyes were locked on his mouth, which was uncomfortably level with my head. My heart raced with fear; refusing to look down, I tried to divert my attention to the rest of his face.

Some scales crept up the sides of his neck and face, like armor, though they looked to be moving. There were a few scales encasing horns, and two sets of horns jutted from his skull—one set small, curving inward, like the larger ones. His bangs fell perfectly, splitting around the horns carefully arranged. Everything else on his face looked surprisingly still human.

Barely being able to speak, blood slowly rushing to my head, I uttered, "Y-you look more human than I thought." His grip on my legs became even tighter, and I could feel the sharp pressure of his claws digging into the fabric of my jeans. I insulted him, didn't it?

Lev's grin rose, showing his ivory fangs that fit so well together they were like a bear trap. "Well, if I was in my actual form, you wouldn't be worth having." He lifted his other hand and pressed his clawed digit into my back, "speaking of having…" He brought me closer to his jaw, "Let me see why Wendie picked you." Opening it up, it looked like a suffocatingly black void. The only flash of color amidst the blackness was the pointed gray tongue, slick and serpentine.

I resisted the urge to kick and fight, thinking if I did, I'd become a stain on the floor for Viola to mop up later. His tongue approached my face, and I tightly shut my eyes to protect them. It shoved against my face, leaving a trail of unwanted, clear slime.

Once he flicked it off at my chin, I threw up one hand to wipe my eyes while the other still held my shirt. Ewww. It luckily didn't smell like anything; then again, if he was anything like Alexander exclusively eating humans, I wouldn't expect it to. There are so many better things to eat than people!

His spade-headed tail swayed excitedly, with hypnotic lashes from side to side, and behind closed lips, he played with the taste. He made sure I was watching and listening before he swallowed it. "Mmm, you're certainly the best human I've ever had, Lynette~" He delightfully murmured.

Afraid, I faced away—my hand still sloppily scraping off what I could. The rules didn't say anything about mentally hurting your coworkers, did they? No, it's strictly physical. "All my blood is rushing to my head-" I stopped when his face got closer, exhaling methodically over me.

"Go on," his tempo was gentle, even being as close as he was. I expected to lose my eardrums to the concussive blast from his height or for it to sound as bad as sitting next to a heavy metal concert speaker.

"I-if you're going to," he cut me off, licking me again. He put a finger to the back of my head so I couldn't get away as he got me much slower. Once he finished, I squeaked, "Just eat me already."

His eyelids dropped with his smirk. There was an evident satisfaction he indulged in hearing me whimper because my plea made his sharp pupils widen.

He remarked quietly, ignoring what I said. "You're shaking." His hand moved, making a cupping motion under me, and he released my legs so I slumped into his padded palm. The texture my arms brushed was akin to weathered burlap, coarse and prickly. I was larger than his hand, so I brought my legs close. My ponytail barely had anything but a few strands and I looked at him through scraggly curls. He inspect me, holding me so I only saw the top of his head and eyes. I was still as if his sight was based on movement.

He said he likes fear. And I was giving it to him. I had nowhere to go—jumping off would be certain death. He can't kill me. The reassuring thought meant little as his claws lingered overhead like a guillotine. One of them poked directly at the top, ready to pierce my skull.

"There's no reason to rush, Lynette. I have so much time left," he said, a mischievous glint flickering in his fixed and burning sun-yellow eyes. Lev tilted his hand down, and I was slipping closer to him. His grin widened, reveling in his devilish intentions. "Why shouldn't I take a moment to savor my sweet little meal?"

It was rhetorical, yet I answered, "Because you pity me."

"Oh, my dear, Lynette." He exhaled another breath over me, "not-at-all."

He proceeded to toy with me for the rest of his lunch period. Repeatedly running his tongue along my face and any limb I tried to fight him with. It was useless, and my body weakened the more he did it. It was similar to being inside Alexander, except it took much longer.

I freed several fatigued breaths. My muscles twitched, unable to move, and my eyes strained to stay open. "I wore you out, didn't I, poor thing." The condensation strode from his mouth and strangled me. "I wish I left you with enough energy to struggle." He dangled me above him, swinging back and forth until it all meshed together. The last thing I heard was his childish dissatisfaction. "It's a shame to eat something so alive and lifeless."

...

I sat up in the infirmary bed. Another bed squeak went off close to mine. Alexander got up from his, stretching his arms up as he did. He's here too? Does that mean he got eaten? I tensed at the thought. It's all so… I hunched forward. How could they be okay after doing that? There's just no point.

"Tristan said you're slightly dehydrated, but other than that, you're fine and healthy." Alexander patted the table beside his bed. He touched his hat several times, and the frustration on his brows deepened until his hand smacked down on his glasses. Is he really that blind? My head pitched the idea of hiding his glasses to keep himself from finding me. I'm not stealing a blind guy's glasses. He put them on and put on his hat afterward. He grumbled. "Jerk."

I shifted, gathering what few bearings I could, and sat at the edge of my bed. "I'm not a jerk!"

He snapped sharply, his expression read annoyance. "Like hell you aren't," he said, his voice raised in frustration. "You fucking sold my sorry ass to Zilla." He pushed his glasses up and scoffed with contempt. "And look at where that landed you. Back where you would have been if you just..." His voice trailed off, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

I stared at the floor, unable to raise my tone to match his. "She tricked me too, I-"

"Sure. Covering your ass."

I lifted my head, "I'm serious!" Seeing his stare, nothing but hunger, frightened me. Don't fight with him. "A-anyway, we-we're even. You tricked me into coming here, and I tricked you." I said, trying to make amends. Though arguably you've been worse because I don't do anything to you except get away from you. I hugged my upper arms. Lev's awful, too. Getting eaten, in general, is.

With a scrunched nose, Alexander groused, "Fine then, from here on out, you can talk to me all you want, but when lunch comes around, I'm not losing to you anymore."

Taking in a deep breath, I gulped, inching forward off the bed. "I'll do…whatever I can to keep that from happening."

He smiled seemingly done with me and our conversation. “Then,” grabbed the handle. "It's on." He threw the door open and left, shutting it as he did. I was alone in the room with my thoughts.

I threw myself back onto the bed and covered my eyes with the palms of my hands. Alexander is mad at me, great. Reaching any understanding there was gone. I don't want to do anything with Lev either. I tossed my head back and forth. Does avoiding them matter at this point; if I ditch Alexander, I get stuck with Lev. And I don't want to give myself to Alexander to avoid him. I sniffled in self pity. I just want to work

I ran my hands down my face. "I don't want to play their games." I focused on the word, games. They play video games. It was like my mind was attempting to comfort me with the positives today, finding out what I did and being reminded that Drake and Alexander play video games. Yeah, they play…games?

I lifted my fist to my mouth, biting the pointer finger gently. Would they agree to that? Maybe if I could get Drake on board, Alexander would bite. I didn't know about Lev. His schedule was different from mine anyway. Alexander was my everyday problem.

I scrambled up, hearing the door. I cocked my head, afraid it might be Alexander. It wasn't. The black-haired nurse met me the day I was hired; he was working registers then. I met him again last weekend on Saturday. He was very cut dry and to the point. He fixed his half-cut frames, "Sandra would have scolded me again if I didn't offer you the resignation slip like last time."

I pushed off the bed, took my hat from the bedside table, and though it was weak, I smiled with vigor. "I don't need it. Thank you for checking up on me, Tristan."

"You look happy?"

"I have a really dumb idea that might not work, but if it does, I'll be coming in here less!" I bowed my head to him, wishing him a good rest of the night, and went home to plot out what I'd do for this insane, luxurious, and livable income.

...

Preview for the next chapter: 

My head wanted to meet the counter so bad. The steady stream of customers kept me from indulging the urge. WHY DID I ASSUME I WOULD BE THE BEST AT THE GAME! I could really only beat Wicks, and he never plays video games!

AS ALWAYS THANK YOU FOR READING AND HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY! (Non-negotiable).

( @bellascarousel, @the-golden-comet).

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What I’d do for a Livable Income - Master-List!

[bookdragon369]

Ramble on the Ithaca Saga!

The Challenge

Penelope! So happy to finally see her! Absolutely love her design guys what the heck–

Penelope singing “waiting” to the same melody as Anticlea (Odysseus’s mom) makes so much sense to me. When Odysseus left, they had to support each other and it makes sense that they bonded and confined to each other a lot on top of being family.

Hold Them Down

O.O

Honestly, wow. Just. Wow. 

I love how this song addresses how much of a threat the suitors were. They would not take no for an answer. They planned to kill Telemachus multiple times. And they would have forced Penelope if they could get away with it. The Greeks had really strict rules on hospitality

Also, I would like to add that I recognized wolfythewitch’s animatic from the way they drew the food and the suitors’ noses. I don’t know why that stood out to me so much

Great detail in how Antinous died by an arrow to the throat. Very accurate

Odysseus

BOSS BATTLE!!!

The chorus chanting “O-dee-sse-us” in the background THE SAME WAY they chant “Po-lee-phe-mus” in Survive from the Cyclops Saga was absolute gold. Because Odysseus is the monster now (rawr rawr)

He just had to get up and personal in “You don't think I know my own palace? / I BUILT IT!” Drama queen

Telemachus Telemachus Telemachus ! Probably my favorite character in Epic! Love his intro.

poor baby did not get the ruthlessness memo thou

I Can’t Help But Wonder

I refuse to rank the songs of this Saga because it may physically pain me, but this song is definitely one of my top ten for the musical

Absolutely bawled my eyes out when Odysseus and Telemachus finally hugged!

Love how this song shows the (new) bond between father and son. And it’s such a sharp contrast to the previous song; really emphasises how much his family means to Odysseus

Athena! Reunion! In the words of my friend, so glad that she has a physical reminder of how much she changed and the consequences she faced for going against Zeus in God Games. Also glad that Odysseus and she got to make up, altogether it’s not instant forgiveness. They both hurt each other a lot, but they mean so much to the other. <3

Would You Fall In Love With Me Again

Again, bawled my eyes out. 

Penelope and Odysseus dueting, chef’s kiss

I love the instrumentals in this song. Everytime each character speaks, you can really distinguish the viola and guitar and their signature motifs

Penelope testing Odysseus with the olive tree wedding bed was probably one of my favorite moments. 

How I think it went down:

While I love how everyone’s like “Penelope was testing to see if it was really Odysseus”, I think it would be really funny if Penelope immediately recognizes Odysseus, but Odysseus is being depressed, so she snaps him out of it.

I also like how Penelope added "waiting~ for you" to contrast with Odysseus's "waiting for love"

I love how the last lines of the musical are “I love you”. It shows how much devotion Odysseus has and how much he cares for and prioritizes Penelope. The Odyssey could easily be argued for one of the greatest love stories, on both Odysseus and Penelope’s fronts.