#the machine translation barely makes sense

[pharawee]

I saw someone ask this on one of your posts earlier (it was @angie-the-doll), and I don’t know what part of the novel you’re on, but it’s been eating at me. So, whenever you can answer, can you tell us ifLue wears gloves in the novel? And if he does, does ANYONE point them out??? Like, I need to know for the sole purpose of my sanity…

Hi!

Yes, Lue wears his gloves in the novel, but they don't come up very often (so far). There's this bit when Ken and Lue meet in Korea (in the novel, Phayu wants to investigate the cosmetic surgery angle and he takes everyone Ken with him so he'll feel better after Din's funeral):

“Even when eating seafood you have to wear gloves? Take them off, the fishy smell will stick to the leather. You won't be able to remove it." The young man hesitated for a long time before he slowly took off his gloves. His skin showed criss-crossing lines of scar tissue. Although not disfiguring, it could be seen with the naked eye. All Ken could think about was how serious an accident it must have been, and how severely Lue must have been injured. He watched as Lue's fingers bent to start peeling the crab, prompting him to reach out to stop him. “Let me help. Thank you for bringing me here to eat. Besides, did you forget I'm a chef? I'm really good at this kind of thing." Ken placed a leaf of lettuce in his hand and coated one side in gochujang sauce. He added a little bit of kimchi, followed by the crab meat that he had just peeled, then he rolled it up and extended it towards Lue's mouth. “Try it,” he said, causing Lue to slowly open his mouth to eat what was in the other person's hand. He tried holding back his tears. He wasn't Din anymore. He was Cheng Talu now. He had to be patient and hold himself back at all times. The more Ken acted like this, the more he wanted to tell him about who he was.

But tbh I never really found it weird that no one mentioned Lue's gloves, especially not to his face. He's not exactly close to anyone and the gloves stand out so much that it's immediately clear they're not just a fashion statement. Asking him about it could be considered impolite and insensitive - especially in Thailand where saving face is incredibly important.

Plus, I think they go out of their way in the series to show everyone's reaction to the gloves. Judging from their expressions (and negl I found those kind of rude too lmao), everyone thinks it's weird and out of place. They just choose to leave it uncommented.

[terezis]

ok here's the hot goss from the nycc taz gn panel

i don't actually know whether or not it was recorded/ if they're going to put it online so here is my summary. also if i miss anything and u were there pls feel free to chime in. spoilers obviously!!!

got eight new preview pages (four two-page spreads), not the pages on the macmillan website!!!

ok i will tell u about those pages but the main thing discussed at the panel was how they went about adapting this arc into gn form. the actual time spent in wonderland has been trimmed a lot bc they had to think about what was actually important to the narrative as they are building to story and song.

basically in planning out the suffering game they also really had to decide what the rest of the series would look like, bc whatever they include now is seeding the stuff that's going to happen later.

cam is not in this book. it was implied there's less wheel spins. rowan/ash/sterling get much less screen time

almost half of this book is lunar interlude stuff (pre and post suffering game, INCLUDING REUNION TOUR!!! no word on where it ends but they made it clear that a LOT of thought went into what to include and where to end it, and what that would mean for the next book)

ok so about those preview pages

first one was post-taakitz date with kravitz sensing a lich and the umbra staff shooting at him <3 <3 <3

i thought they were going to show us the preview pages that were on macmillan so when i saw kravitz i was so shook

second spread was magnus visiting the voidfish, which now happens right before they leave for wonderland; the whole beginning of tsg from magnus trying to talk to pringles to him kidnapping those guards to the chimera fight was cut LOL bc it never really got… addressed again in the podcast

angus comes to get him for the mission but magnus has been going Through It (outright stated, they were like. he found out he's a red robe. he would probably not be handling it well. he has eyebags now. LOL) and snaps at angus when angus presses him on what's wrong.

more angus content, he will be investigating what's going on at the bureau more (his scene w magnus ties into this)

same for lucretia! more content/ stuff for her to do

third spread was merle w his kids getting saved by the red robe, is at a carnival instead of a random street this time LOL

last one was the boys arriving just outside of wonderland

wonderland looks fuckign cool

what else… oh confirmed like eighty panels of bare ass naked magnus after he gets his body back. so i think we really are getting the full reunion tour this book???

ALSO NAKED BARRY COVERED IN SLIME. WHEN HE GETS OUT OF THE POD. CONFIRMED. CANON. LOL

omg ALSO!!! ben (editor) said he campaigned REALLY HARD to have the umbra staff break during the suffering game, freeing lup early, bc he really wanted more time with her, but griffin campaigned really hard NOT to do this, and in doing so his arguments solved a lot of other problems they had been having at the time LOL

travis is the fans' champion when the others get too edit-happy. he's the one who has a good idea of what moments are important to the readers so he's like hey… too far. don't cut that. and then they don't

justin leaves great notes and when they couldn't figure stuff out ben would often say "no it's fine justin will solve this." and he ALWAYS DID

this was news to justin

??? i think that's all the main points honestly i'm v picky about adaptations but overall i feel like these are good changes that make sense when translating the podcast to gn

that said i do hope taako still gets a washing machine dropped on him <3 do this for me carey <3

[honey-riley]

Love You To Death || S.R.

WARNINGS: Military themes, guns, weapons, violence, detailed gore, mentions of Simon's past.

A/N: This contains an OC :) her name is Honey Tailer (my user is after her 🫡), she's German, so I hope you brought your google translate or other translators. There are more descriptors of her in the story itself <3

A/N pt.2: I'm learning German, and for most of the dialog in German, I use a translator. So, if anything is incorrect in German, don't behead me pls.

wc: 5.9k

1 || 2

War.

That's all that ever ran through him. A traumatized, mean, brooding war machine. Ever since he was little, that's all he could remember. The war within his household, the constant abuse that his father passed around. The constant abuse he endured as a child had profound and lasting effects on him. It shaped his worldview, eroded his sense of self-worth, and left him with deep emotional scars that manifested in his brooding and mean demeanor. The war within his household became the war within himself, and it consumed him every day.

He had never truly felt warmth. Sure, he had happy moments, moments where he could forget the trauma, moments where the gray cloud looming above him would clear. But only for a moment. He was human after all. The impact of his traumatic childhood on his relationships was profound. He struggled to form deep connections with others, always keeping them at arms length, afraid of being hurt again. His fear of vulnerability and his need for control made it difficult for him to trust and open up to others, resulting in a cycle of loneliness and isolation.

Riddling himself with routines, sticking to schedules, running everything in a timely, comfortable manner is what he loves. What he thrived on. It was something that he knew he could rely on. Every morning, he would wake up at the exact same time, following a strict routine that he had meticulously planned out. From the moment he opened his eyes to the moment he closed them again at night, every minute of his day was accounted for. He found solace in the predictability of his schedule, as it provided a sense of control and stability in a chaotic world. His routines became his lifeline, a way for him to regain some semblance of order in his life and protect himself from the unpredictable nature of human interactions.

So, the day that someone broke that routine for him, that was a day that he was going to remember.

Preparing for a mission, he went in with his normal routine - shower, get his gear on, put the mask on, prepare mentally, head to base, scan in, have breakfast, pack his tactical vest, check his gear, clean his weapons, and head out to the chopper by 0400.

This time, when he got to the chopper, there was a new face. Striking green eyes, long black hair that was slicked back into a regulatory military bun, fair skin, and God, was she short. Standing at four feet, eleven inches, just barely meeting the height requirements.

"Lieutenant." Laswell nodded as he approached. "This is Sergeant Honey Tailer, hope you don't mind her joining you today." She added with a smile. Ghost stuck his hand out for Honey to shake, which she accepted, giving him a firm shake back.

He took in her appearance one more time, noting her black, polished boots, her uniform, which wasn't digital camo, but more like spotted camo. She had a German flag on her shoulders and on her tactical vest.

"My pleasure, Lieutenant." She smiled softly, her German accent apparent in her words. It wasn't strong, it was subtle, she sounded like she had been speaking English her entire life - but she hadn't.

"It's great to meet you, Sergeant." He nodded, releasing her hand.

"Honey's going to be your DM for today. She'll provide surveillance, make sure you guys keep your heads." Laswell grinned as she looked over at Honey. DM, or designated marksman, was a good position to be in - a position that they needed in the team.

The team then loaded into the chopper, strapping into their seats. Honey's rifle sat on her chest, the barrel pointing to the tin floor of the chopper as she looked out of the window. She stared off, lost in thought, devising a plan on how she would go about this. It was an in and out mission, quick and easy - if things went according to plan.

Honey would provide recon and examine from a distance, while the team went in, gathering intel, hopefully going undetected, then Soap would plant the bombs, they would all get back onto the chopper, where Soap would detonate them.

"You'll do just fine, kid." Price's gruff voice snapped her out of thought as he patted her on the shoulder. Honey shot him a small, tight lipped, slightly nervous smile. She was used to this kind of stuff, but to work with a team she had never met, find her groove all over again, and to do it in time, was nerve wracking.

"This isn't your first time, right?" Ghost grunted as he looked over at her, his voice deep, almost like a growl.

"No, sir. I've been deployed multiple times." She replied with a nod.

Ghost took that in an almost snooty, stuck up way. Like she was so young, and she had all this experience, and she sounded like she was bragging about it. That irked him.

Instead of saying anything, he stayed quiet, crossing his arms over his chest. To pass the time, Honey put her AirPods in, and turned on some music, letting out a small sigh as she leaned back into her chair.

There was something about her that Ghost didn't find appealing. Something about her annoyed him, but he couldn't tell what it was.

The metallic sound of her ring clanking against her rifle as she tapped her fingers to the beat of the song she was listening to only made his annoyance grow.

"Wha' song are ye listenin' to?" Soap asked, nudging her.

"Oh, Love You To Death by Type O Negative." Honey said, looking over at him with a small smile.

"Damn, gothic stuff." Soap chuckled, cuing Honey to nod. "Yer pal, Ghostie over there loves that kind of music." Soap chuckled, nodding towards Ghost, making him let out a small scoff.

Not only was Honey now annoying him, she also had the same taste in music? That felt like it wasn't going to fly with him for whatever reason. He was already annoyed that his routine had been disrupted, and now, her presence alone annoyed him more.

"Alright, team. We're landing in Verdansk, just to refresh, you are to take out Makarov. He's in a highly guarded area, with plenty of people surrounding him." Laswell said over the comms.

"Copy." Honey replied, letting out a small sigh. She was the one who was tasked with disturbing the hive - taking out Makarov. She had already been filled in on why they needed him dead, and all the other necessary things such as his identity, where he would be at, his rank, what he looked like.

Once the chopper landed Price divided everyone into partners, and one trio. Ghost and Honey were tasked with surveillance. Ghost was Honey's spotter.

'I'm gonna be stuck with this annoying, snooty, stuck up bitch?' Ghost thought to himself. He kept his opinions inward, thankfully. Usually, with new recruits, he was very vocal about his disdain for them. This time, he kept his mouth shut, just wanting to get the mission done quicker.

Honey established a sniper's nest, and laid on the roof of the building opposite of where the team would be infiltrating.

"What's the drag?" Honey whispered, looking through her iron sights, ready to set her rifle up.

"Not a clue." Ghost grunted as he looked through the scope of his own rifle, adjusting accordingly. He did know, he just wanted her to struggle a bit, make her more 'human' in his eyes.

"You're no help." Honey muttered under her breath, looking down her iron sights again. She glanced over at Ghost for a moment, turning to her own rifle, contemplating something.

She deftly reached over, sliding the scope off of his rifle.

'Now she's trying to fuck with my gear?' Ghost scorned in his own mind. He looked over at her, his brows furrowed under his mask before he snatched his scope back, sliding it back on.

"Du erzeugst ein Glitzern." She growled, taking it back off.

"English." Ghost muttered under his breath, starting to get pissed off.

"You're creating a glint. There's people in that building that can see you because of your scope." She growled, looking over at the moon for a second before looking back at him. She subtly lifted her hand, pointing at the opposing building, and indeed, a faint reflection from the scope could be seen if you knew where to look.

He let out an audible scoff, rolling his eyes. He adjusted his rifle, getting used to just using his iron sights.

"It's a 42 meter separation, the wind is blowing south-east. We're facing north-west. The wind is 6 knots. Light breeze." He replied, telling her what she would need to adjust her rifle.

"Any visuals on Makarov?" Laswell said through the comms.

Honey glanced through a pair of binoculars for a second, seeing Makarov working at a table in an empty room, his back turned to the window.

"Positive. Black, short hair, suit, I can't tell how tall he is, but Ghost can verify that it's him." Honey replied through the comms. "It's him, Kate." Ghost muttered into the comms. "Permission to take the shot?" Honey asked Laswell.

"Granted." Laswell replied.

Honey put down the binoculars and Ghost picked them up, ready to watch Honey shoot Makarov.

Honey lined up her shot, calculating the drag, and the possible path that the bullet would take once it hit the glass. Doubt nibbled at the edges of her mind, raising its voice as her finger hovered over the trigger. But she pushed it away, reminding herself of the countless hours of training. She took a deep breath, pulling the rifle tight to her shoulder, holding her breath so that the shot was steady. She loaded her chamber, taking the rifle off of safety, and slowly squeezed the trigger.

Ghost's heart raced. He felt a pang of jealousy, mixed with a swirl of emotions. 'This should've been mine,' He thought, his chest tightening. 'This is my team. What does she think she's doing, muscling in on my territory?' His fists clenched around the binoculars, sweat dripping from his temple.

The bullet shattered through the glass, sending a gory red mist into the air as Makarov's head exploded. Ghost's jaw clenched as his anger bubbled, the realization of what just happened setting in.

Honey laid her rifle down, staying on her stomach as she glanced over to Ghost. She could see the tension in his body, the balaclava clinging to his face with each heavy gasp for air. Unsure of how to respond to Ghost's obvious displeasure, she gave him a small, tight lipped, reassuring smile.

Ghost glared back, his eyes filled with the intensity of his rage. 'She's taken everything from me,' he thought. 'I can't let her win. I can't let her take this from me too.'

In the aftermath, the team sat in stunned silence, their gazes fixed on the lifeless body now sprawled on the floor. The reality of their success hung in the air, a weighty, shared accomplishment that lingered, tainted by Ghost's bitter resentment. This was a man that they had been tracking for years and Honey came in and shot him like it was nothing. Like it was the easiest thing in the world. And God, that smile afterwards pissed him off so much more.

'What the fuck is she doing? This was supposed to be my job. What the hell does she know about shooting?' Ghost fought with himself internally. He hated this. He ha=ted everything about her.

The pair watched as the team infiltrated the room, occasional gunfire sounding through the air. Honey watched as Soap went in, took a laptop and all the needed files, planting a few bombs on his way out.

Honey stood up, grabbing her rifle, unloading the chamber and putting it back onto safety. Ghost stood up as well, grabbing his own rifle, storming his way back down the flight of stairs to the ground floor.

"Ghost." Honey said as she followed him, her rifle slung over her back. He didn't bother waiting for her, or even listening to her. He silently stormed his way back to the chopper, getting in, and buckling himself up.

Honey set their things back where they belonged on the chopper, ensuring that nothing would fall out. There was an awkward silence as they waited for the rest of the team to get back to where the chopper was. Nikolai sat in the cockpit.

"How was the mission? You finally nail him?" Nikolai grinned, his thick Russian accent apparent in his words as he looked back through the door, glancing at Ghost.

"Honey did." Ghost muttered, his fists balled under his biceps as he crossed his arms. "Her shot was just luck." He added, looking outside of the chopper, avoiding eye contact. He knew it was more than luck - it was skill, but he didn’t want to admit it.

Honey winced at his words, looking over at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. She glanced away, keeping her eyes off of him. She had always been doubted. She had worked her entire life for this moment, and the entire time, she had been doubted. She didn't know why it even hurt at this point - she should've expected it. But, she was going to stand up for herself for once - even if it didn't work.

Honey looked at him, her brow furrowing. "Luck?" She asked, her voice slightly hurt. "I took the damn shot, calculated it. I did everything I needed to. And it's just luck? I’ve worked my entire life for this, I’ve worked my ass off. Making sure that I could make a damn shot." She added. Honey wanted to get frustrated, she wanted to argue, but she took a deep breath, keeping her mouth shut.

Ghost's jaw dropped slightly at her response. His glare softened, his unwavering anger faltering for the first time. He didn't know what to say to counter her words, her confidence - and for once, he found himself at a loss.

'All of my years of practicing, honing, just for it to be chalked up to luck? Fuck this guy.' Honey thought to herself, letting out a sigh. She wanted to be on this team, she had worked for it for years. She wanted to be on the top - the best of the best, and this was her chance. She wasn't going to ruin it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the rest of the team getting into the chopper, carrying files, laptops, and USB sticks. Everything that they could get their hands on that could be important, they took.

"Let's watch this puppy blow." Soap chuckled as he buckled into the chopper. Nikolai lifted the chopper off the ground, getting it a distance away before Soap pressed the button, making the entire building explode and collapse in on itself.

Honey watched as the orange and yellow flames licked the air, huge billows of smoke and debris shooting up into the air.

"Christ." Honey murmured, watching the smoke shoot up. The blast wave then hit the chopper, making it sway and vibrate. Nikolai quickly corrected, starting their flight back. The flight back to base was almost silent, everyone processing what had just happened, and why it had happened.

'Why was Honey the one to kill Makarov? Why was this new recruit the one who got to end the man we had fought to kill for years? And why was it so easy for her?' Ghost was furious at the thought of it.

'Why did she get the pleasure? The satisfaction?'

When they got back to base, Ghost just wanted to get his report filled and then think things through in his quarters, but of course, Laswell had other plans.

"You and Honey are bunking together." Laswell said as she opened the door to his quarters. Honey stood behind Laswell, her bag slung on her shoulder as well as a few other things in her hands - two pillows and a blanket.

"What about Soap?" Ghost asked, looking over at the other bed in the room - the bed where Soap slept. That side of the room was blank, Soap moved rooms.

"Soap bunked with Gaz. We don't have another room for Honey, so she's going with you." Laswell said, turning around and walking away. Honey came in quietly, her steps silent.

She placed her things on the bed, avoiding him. She busied herself with the task of getting her things set up - making the bed, putting her things in her dresser and closet.

"There are rules here." Ghost grunted as he watched her, his attention drawn away from his paperwork.

"Keep your shit on your side of the room, keep it clean, keep it neat, and don't talk to me." He added. Honey didn't do anything but nod as she folded her clothes. Pajamas, uniforms, dress uniforms, civilian clothes - they were all put away neatly.

There was something about her, something that kept his attention away from his paperwork. Something that kept him from focusing. Maybe it was the rage towards her, maybe it was the envy - there was something. Something that he hated. Something that Simon despised. Ghost hated it more.

What do we think of the first part, y'all? Do we love it? Hate it? Eh? Lmk what I can work on as well! My ask me is still open :))

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

OWL-EYES (XII)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER XIII ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.7K

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, angst, mentions of guns & weapons, light gore mentions, talks about shootings, talks & allusions of suicidal thoughts, tension, mentions of sex, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your eyes slip along the white ceiling as the pain pulses in your thigh. Machines beep—lights flicker. 

Too bright, you hiss. A weak hand comes up to your face, slapping the skin in a fatigued way as it travels over your cheeks and nose. Everything was fuzzy, even down to the way your body processed the events that slowly leaked back into your skull like a drill into wood. 

Where were you? What had happened?

Groaning, your memory is tainted—the IV chord in your hand pulling as you place your arms on the mattress and push upward. Lightning strikes down your right thigh, making your breath shudder as you grit your teeth. It wasn’t life-stopping pain, it hurt about as much as what it felt like to have your leg asleep, but the constant pressure that was there didn’t help with the knowledge that swoops in to poke at you. 

You’d been shot. 

Eyes locking to the opposite wall of this room, your jaw slackens. 

Shot? But the realization was obvious—the understanding in that former state only eluded you because of the brief confusion of sudden consciousness. With time to process, you grab at the covers over your lower body and pull them back stiffly, feeling nauseous. Sure enough, there was the limp limb under the hospital gown you’re clothed in. As you peel the article away, the bandages that show themselves are thick and large—taking up most of your upper leg. You take your fingers and poke at them softly, insects buzzing beneath flesh. The pull of stitches leaves your better senses telling you to stop there. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, blinking wildly as you look up, dread in your heart. Where was your mother? Alex? 

Kyle? 

Eyes moving from one chair to another—the round table near the back corner next to a closed and curtained window—you shut your eyes tightly and breathe down the scent of bleach and antiseptic. You were obviously somewhere safe; there was no need to panic. 

But being alone was suddenly the last thing you wanted. 

Pulling at the IV needle, you move it out of your hand with a grimace, forcing your tired body to shift and bend the way you want it like a green tree branch in the clutch of a storm. Bare feet placing themselves to the floor, your knees buckle, your arm snapping out to grasp at a chair that had been placed directly beside your bed. On it sits a ballcap, and you barely blink at it before shoving yourself forward with a tight twist to your lips. 

Sweat forms on your brow, your right leg can’t be described as functioning as it practically drags itself along…but your mind eases at the fact that you could still use it at all. Right hand grasping at the wrapped flesh and holding it tightly, you choke on whines as the smooth handle of the main door meets your shaky fingers. 

Brown eyes. 

Above every screaming instinct, you admitted something to yourself with a pounding heart—you needed to see brown eyes.

“Gaz,” your hoarse voice cracks, shoulder connecting with the frame as you nearly tumble to the ground, coughing and snapping a hand to your mouth. A trial of blood slithers down your leg. 

Why did you have to be so self-destructive?

A crimson footprint mirrors your delirious state, steaks of blood along the tiled floor as you pick a direction and walk—head running far faster than it should have after just waking up in a place you were supposed to feel safe in. 

Your mansion. Your home. Was it safe? Were those long corridors still filled with bodies; gore along the old floors and the decorations? 

A hand comes up to your spinning head, breath only a fast gasp and tight inhale as your lungs sputter along their course. Everything was tilting—falling fast and blinking in and out.

“Shit…” Your lips twitch, the curse slurred as you stumble and bank to the right, shoulder once more slamming itself into the wall as sparks of pain emanate from the bone. Above you, the lights shine down, but no one else walks the hallway except you. There were no windows, either. Just closed doors and sterile air—but this wasn’t a regular hospital. 

You knew what a hospital felt like. 

Your body stays against the wall for a long minute, your vision swirling. Swallowing the saliva in your throat, you hear the fast footsteps through the pounding of your heart. 

“Spitfire!” The British accent is laced with concern, but above the ringing in your ears, it’s almost missed. 

Hands grasp your bicep, a tense body coming into sight before you.

“Bloody hell, what are you doing, Love?” Kyle speaks quickly, glancing over your body and clenching his jaw at the spilling bullet wound. He sighs as your face tightens in pain, eyes slipping up to his slowly. 

“Finding you,” you push out. “...Obviously.”

“Can I not leave you alone for five minutes?” He glares through his worry, brows tight on his face and his lips thin. “I go to get food and all of a sudden I’m on a goose chase.”

You grunt, letting your weight fall into his grip.

“Least I’m a pretty goose, Garrick.”

“Fuck me,” the man sighs long, shaking his head. “Come on. I’m taking you back.” 

Before you can open your mouth and reply, you’re scooped up and taken to a firm chest—legs dangling as blood drips from your heel. Gaz’s clothes get stained, but he seems to care little just like he always; neither thrown off nor taken aback. 

“Everyone?” You ask, panting into his neck after a moment. Your brain was too tired to be shocked—you let him cart you away as your hands wrapped his neck. “My mother?”

“They’re fine,” Kyle mutters under his breath, looking down at the stained footprints. “She was with you before she went off to bed. It’s late out.” You have a feeling he wants to say more but is holding himself back—you weren’t exactly surprised. The man closes his eyes for a moment before his hands pull you closer to him. 

Sinking into his warmth, wishing to steal it, your face softens as your muscles can rest again—your body gently swaying with every step from Kyle. Like a small child, the scent of him made the heart inside of your chest slow until it was a gentle pulse of life. 

The blurriness of your vision suddenly seemed less of a hindrance and more of a blessing as your tiny breaths puffed against his neck. Before you can fall asleep, brown eyes side-eye your fluttering lids. Kyle’s expression softens.

You’re lightly jostled, and your eyes startle back fully open; blinking like you’d gotten sand in them. 

“Keep awake, now, Spitfire.” 

You grumble, clenching your jaw. “I’m tired.”

Gaz glances down and utters, “I’d expect you would be—it’s the first time you’ve woken up in two days. Healing takes time.” 

“Two days?” your mind tries to process this as the man’s shoulder pushes on the slightly open door back to your room. The knowledge of two entire days being wasted grabs you by the neck. “Where even am I?” 

“Base,” he smoothly answers, before he tries a slow tease. “The one in Chicago, if that’s the concern.”

You frown as you’re delicately placed down; your body tensing slightly as your leg is jostled. Your air is forced out in a tiny grunt. 

Kyle seems to waste no time, disappearing into the connected bathroom as the sound of running water enters the space as you force yourself to try and understand.

“We keep finding ourselves like this, Love.” He says when he returns, his compression shirt is full of blood stains—his pants as well. But the concern in his tone is still there, hidden under a blanket of seriousness. “Let me have a look.”

“I didn’t mean to pull them,” you mutter, shifting the gown so that Kyle can take a peek at the damage. He hums and untapes the bandages, fingers softly running the length of them as your stomach tightens at the close contact. For some strange reason, your face turns away quickly, heated under the flesh. 

“I think you don’t mean to do a lot of things.” Your mouth huffs a cut-off scoff. “Why’d you leave the room?”

You look at the far wall, feeling meek all of a sudden. The confession comes out like barbed wire—cutting up your throat. 

“Nervous.” Gaz listens. “...Didn’t know where you were.”

“Worried about me, Spitfire?” He lightly plays, boyish, but you don’t explain how that very well was the case. You remember your fear when you had imagined him as one of the dead on the ground floor of the mansion—the urge to never think of that outcome again.

You didn’t like being like this. 

Vulnerable.

Was a confession at a pond really all it took? One good cry and honest conversation? Was that it? You’d done that before—why hadn’t it…worked like this?

Why was Kyle becoming important?

But, here, the both of you knew you were dancing like birds around the bulk of the information on the tips of your tongues. The man you’d shot; that would be the first distraction, you decided to yourself as you licked your lips.

“Is he alive?” You ask, staring at the dresser across the room and its silver handle seeing your reflection in it—blinking at the distorted image. 

Kyle’s fingers slow along their course of unwrapping the bloody strips. Your eyes shift back. He knew who you were referencing, sure as day.

“Affirmative,” is what he replies with, tone more dull than it had been before. As if trying to avoid this. You find his face blank of any expression as he focuses on your bandages. 

“So,” you draw, not dropping it. 

“Let’s just focus on getting you squared, yeah?” Gaz firmly tells, moving away to a cupboard and pulling out the familiar instruments of a well-taught soldier. You’re slightly taken aback at the dead quiet in his tone, but even if you wanted to snap at him, you were far too weak for that right now. Already a headache was forming. 

Everyone was fine, the man who knew Samson Row was in custody. For now…it was partially enough to let you relax. 

My father’s belongings. It strikes you like lighting as Kyle slips on gloves and grabs your knee. The evidence.

You jerk forward and grab his wrist—face darting forward near his. Brown eyes startle wide, a noise of shock made in the man’s throat. 

“T-the laptop, he was going to destroy it!” Blinking quickly, your brain flies from one detail to another as the memories dig their claws back into your mind, a storm brewing behind your eyes as Kyle tries to speak. “The USB,” you cut him off, head snapping around the room for your pajama pants. “It…it was in my pocket—where did my—”

Your body makes a move to stand up. 

“Woah.” Hands connect with the tops of your shoulders, trying to lightly push you back down. “Not happening,” Gaz levels, staring firmly as those dark eyes bore into you. “We don’t need you messing up that leg any more than it is. Stay down.”

“Kyle,” you grow more worried. “Where are my pants? I stashed the USB inside of—”

“We already have it,” the man states, squeezing your arms. “It’s already done just...rest for a minute, okay? I’m begging over here.”

Your body slowly bleeds itself of tension, the confession taking whatever strength that you’d been storing away up until this moment. A great sigh peels open your nostrils, sagging backward to the mattress. 

A weak glare is sent into Kyle’s chest. 

“Could have started with that,” you mutter, molten heat burning your cheeks. 

“Didn’t bloody give me a chance,” he huffs. “Did you?” 

Kyle shakes his head and goes to clean the stitches—wiping at the blood until he’s able to re-wrap it. He seems tense; on edge. You blink at him as one of your hands comes up to rub at your face, trying to keep yourself awake.

The man licks his lips when you lightly flinch at the brush of a disinfectant wipe. Fingers slide over your thigh, soft but hard enough to make a slight indent into the flesh. Your throat bobs in a swallow as his body heat floods like ambrosia.

“The laptop was gone,” he confesses, and you’re almost too lost to the feeling of his touch to understand. Your head snaps to him. “Same with the journal. The USB was all we were able to recover.” 

“I…” The sound of your voice is weak, shock making your hands shake. “What do you mean ‘gone’, Kyle?”

“I carried you outside.” Gaz’s hands are still over your flesh, eyes staring at the wound which you actively avoid glancing at—the stitches and the ripped skin. “Got in the car to keep the pressure on the wound while another drove.” He pauses, jaw tensing. “Wasn’t there to keep watch. Alex left in another vehicle to get your mother out of the hot zone as quickly as possible.” 

Your expression is blank, eyes delicately wide. 

“Garrick…” You stutter after a moment of nothing. Neither of you breathes.

“I don’t like seeing you bleed, yeah?” He says and you watch with a tight chest. “So just…stay here until you’re better. We’ll take care of it.” 

The turn of emotions leaves you mute. Your brain pulses with rampaging thoughts and strange feelings, but some things you can never say to light until you’re bursting at the seams. You imagine for a moment Kyle in the back of a van, shouting orders as your limp body leaks crimson over the seats—thinking of yourself in that position makes your wound pulse, your right leg shuffling until the pain makes you stop. Gaz blinks; pushing back the stiff expression on his face. 

Gone? The evidence was gone? How…?

Kyle’s eyes actively avoid yours, and that in and of itself is an irony that you can’t miss. 

Your eyes shift to the ballcap in the seat next to the hospital bed. Something sparks.

“Were you here…for two days?” You ask, and the man hums under his breath after a minute, not trying to hide the way he’d been worried about your health. But his answer leaves your throat dry.

“You were having nightmares.” Clean bandages are wrapped around your skin. “I’d have to shake you to make ‘em stop.” 

Kyle focuses as he cups the back of your knee, applying light pressure and moving your limb to make sure his work won’t come untied and loosen. When he’s satisfied with his already-perfect actions, he settles your leg down softly and moves back to cross his arms over his chest.  

“Oh,” you mutter. Against your will, your face slowly starts to heat up. Kyle’s feet shuffle like a deer’s, head turning to the far wall.

You clear your throat as the silence begins to border on uncomfortable. It was better to move on from that fact entirely.

“To be honest,” you ease out, tone quiet and fingers twitching as they move to clasp in your lap. Brown eyes filter back, but the Sergeant’s brain is racing like the lights that blink on the room’s machines, and he doesn’t know why. His body’s unable to stay still, and the feeling he’d had when your blood had been left in a trail on the floor…

Have to get someone to clean that, Gaz tells himself, but the notion is filed into the back of his mind. 

“...I thought you’d have asked about the gun by now.” 

“Was hoping to push that to tomorrow, honestly.” A cut-off huff leaves your lips, quirking in slight amusement. 

“Sorry,” you grunt, raising a brow. 

Kyle tilts his head in answer, lips pushing a half-hearted smirk. “Not surprised.” 

The man moves to grab a clean rag and gloves, and your eyes follow his back as he does so—moving your toes and feeling the sparks of pain as if it was second nature to suffer.

Coming back, Kyle glances at the line of blood that had slithered to your foot, and you nod after a silent moment of eye contact that you eventually break early. His hand brings the soaked fabric to your flesh and begins delicately rubbing as your fingers itch at the back of your neck, nails biting into the skin.

“Go on,” the accent meets your ears as you sigh. “I’m listening.”

You don’t like how soft he’s made you. 

“I found it in my father’s office after I went snooping during the first year. Took it.” You shrug, tired, and not entirely comfortable with the topic. “There isn’t much to tell. Just thought you’d be interrogating me by now.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Kyle moves back, tossing the rag away and sitting back in the seat after he snatches his hat off of it—situating it backward on his head. He points. “A gun, Spitfire. All this bloody time?”

“It was a need-to-know.” You whisper, head turning to the side.

“I needed to know.” Your lips twist into a scowl. “Why was it there?”

“You should be thankful it was,” you dodge. “You’re being weird, Garrick.”

His eyes hadn’t eased out of the hard earth that they were hewn from—his foot tapping the floor. It was making you anxious. 

“Tell me,” the Brit says again. 

“It’s not important,” you force a laugh, eyes darting to the door before your hands can start shaking. “I need to speak with my Mom, can you call her in?” 

Kyle stays silent, watching you tensely—eyes unblinking. 

“Don’t lie about that,” he mutters under his breath, so soft it was hard to hear. “Don’t.”

Your eyes lock with his, breath stolen. It’s a long staring match—one you’re surprised you stay in as long as you do. The room’s lights buzz, and the air is thick with tension. 

Your resolve breaks off with a single fraction of a concerned look that grows over Kyle’s features the more this muteness continues. He was troubled by this. By you. Through the shooting, through all the other topics that needed to be discussed right now…he was choosing to talk about this. 

Something you’d only briefly alluded to near the back pond of your estate.

“I…” your breath gets caught. “I wasn’t going to use it,” you lick your lips, eyes glossing over as you tear them away from him. “Kyle, I’m not…I’m not broken.”

Brown eyes crease with internal pain. 

“I never said you were,” he whispers. “...But you need help.”

You laugh, turning your head away. “Yeah, sure.”

“Spitfire—”

“I already tried that, Kyle,” you admit. “It barely worked.” 

“I’m not saying that you need to make any decisions right now,” he raises his hands. “I’m not putting that on you on top of all of this, yeah? But I want you to be safe.” 

“That is your job,” you snap.

Gaz doesn’t let it get to him as he leans closer, elbows to his knees. “Long term. You’ve just been shot, and that on top of everything isn’t something you just get over. Neither is putting a knife in someone’s eye or having to constantly be under stress.” You want to scream at him. “I can get Laswell to contact someone for when all of this is behind you—”

“I’m not talking about this,” you grit your teeth. “Why are you bringing this up?”

“I’m worried!” Your face pulls in at the confession. “You worry me.” A loud inhale is heard moments after, Kyle’s voice calming back down almost instantaneously. 

“I thought I could do this job and keep separate from it, but I can’t.” He admits, shaking his head and bringing up a hand to rub along the back of his neck. “Thought this would make it right. I thought wrong.”

“It’s just a gun—” You try once more to push back.

“It wasn’t,” Gaz interrupts, blinking as his jaw clenches. “Was it?” 

“What?” You growl. “You want me to say I’ve never thought about using it? I’d be lying—you just told me not to do that.” Kyle’s body stills, eyelid flinching. “You want me to say I haven’t stayed up at night staring at my nightstand because I knew what was inside; ripping myself apart about it? That’s a lie too.” You’re past tears at this point—you’ve cried too much for them to carry meaning to you. “I’m not like you,” you breathe, “I can’t just move on to the next assignment. And no amount of al—”

Hands grip you tightly, drawing you to him. 

“You fucking made my heart stop when you went down like that.” Your head is pressed into his pec, his hand on the back of your scalp and his breath brushing your hair. Eyes wide, you let him hold you to him, hospital gown hanging and mind so very tired. 

It wasn’t what you were just talking about, but the implication of the comment is clear; the residual fear that was tight in Kyle’s throat.

He doesn’t want you dead, and if no one else had that same sentiment, then he would carry it himself like a martyr.

He doesn’t want you dead. 

The Sergeant holds you until he feels you slowly start to sag against him, the fight leaving as his warmth takes you in and holds you close. Your nose twitches to his scent—pain for the moment lessening even by just behind hugged like this; firmly, his hands slightly shaking even if you can’t process what exactly that means. 

“I told you by that pond that if you wanted to talk to me, you could talk all you wanted, yeah? I said that if it bothered me, I would tell you,” Gaz mutters into your hair. “I'm telling you right now, Spitfire, I will never be bothered. Speak to me, especially after all of this shit with the mansion. I…” He pauses and stops altogether.

Kyle takes a breath as your thoughts try to catch up with your lips, but everything is muddled together. If you stay here too long, you’ll forget how to breathe properly. It reminds you of the pond—of those willow trees and the cat. Warmth.

In the end, you only say, overwhelmed and fuzzy, “You’re crushing me.”

Gaz clears his throat and steps back after a shocked pause, avoiding your gaze as it moves to stare in surprise. His warmth turns back to a chill, hands no longer learning the atoms of your flesh or caressing injuries. 

“...Sorry.” He says, quickly. Quietly. “I didn’t mean to…”

Face burning and body warm, you blink at him slowly as he trails off, as if he’s unsure of what exactly he means. When you both lock eyes, all turn away in an instant. 

Neither of you speak for a long time, and the air electrifies like a brewing storm. But you knew storms—you knew lighting and thunder. This wasn’t that. 

This was…it was…

You’re so out of it, that you can’t even define this feeling.

“I think I need to go back to bed,” you push out. “Tired.”

“Right, yeah,” Kyle agrees, nodding firmly and itching at his scar. “You…you want me to stay and—”

“No,” you shake your head, but you want to wail and you can’t explain why. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Sure.” He’s already walking to the door with fast feet as he rolls his shoulders. What was happening to the both of you? Why were your hands clammy?

Something makes you call out.

“Kyle?” He stops, back still to you. Your mouth opens, but for a moment nothing comes out. You stutter, “Thank you for…” Your mind flashes to the panicked calls that had echoed in your brain before unconsciousness had taken over like a wolf on a fleet-footed sheep. “For…catching me.” 

The man’s hand is already on the doorknob, sitting there as his fingers twitch. Kyle’s voice is quiet, and he stares hard at the wood. But his answer is easy.

“...Don’t mention it.” The door opens. "Sleep well, Love." And closes with a soft click and you have to wonder if this entire encounter was a dream.

But his words still made your stomach flip the longer you thought them over.

—

“I’m okay, Mom,” you say, sitting in bed as light streams in from the window. “Really, the pain meds are working great.”

“If you feel anything,” your matriarch’s form moves across the room, straightening random items and fixing the old sheets. “I can get some more for you.” Her eyes narrow, her hand coming to her mouth. “Our secret.”

You hold back a huff of laughter, feeling lighter even if you’re confused.

She was acting less strict after you had gotten shot—more like a real mother and not a far-distant family member who comes to visit once a year and to whom you vaguely know the relation to. She’d even brought you food.

You bring the spoon to your lips, sipping the soup and taking down the liquid. 

“Alright,” she waves her hands, laughing. “Okay, I’ll stop. I’m just worrying like I always do.”

Your lips slightly thinned at that, but you hold your tongue. You’d found you’re doing a lot of that lately. 

“I’m glad you’re alright, Mom,” you speak slowly, bringing your spoon back down. “Does it hurt?” Your finger motions to her forehead and neck. 

Ceramic from a shot vase had exploded right next to her as Alex had returned fire when the mansion had first been broken into. It had been the initial gunshot that you and Gaz had heard from his room—one that, if slightly moved to the side, would have been your mother’s head instead. She sports a long, bandaged, cut on her visage now; wrappings around her neck.

She shakes her head, waves a hand, and walks over to grab your arm, squeezing. 

“No, no, I’m alright…You should be worried about yourself.” Her eyes glance at your thigh, aging hands moving to cross over her borrowed long-sleeved shirt. Those eyes of hers crease, but you can’t look at them fully. The knowledge hurts you. “I’m so proud of you, Sweetheart, you understand that?”

Your heart constricts, clearing your throat tinily as the lady bends down and kisses the top of your head, hand catching your cheek and caressing it. 

“Thanks, Mom,” you mutter, timid in a way no one else could make you. 

You wanted to say more—to be honest with her. But…oh, she’d done so much and she didn’t even seem to know it. Like a production factory, she just kept pushing out product after product, missing the mistake left on the last conveyor belt that was heading out to be packaged and shipped off. Your fingers itch to close the curtain across the room. 

“Do you…” you pause, looking at her neck. 

You wonder if at some point you were ever going to talk about your father with her, or if this game of avoidance would go on until one of you died. But you desperately wanted to talk to someone about it. 

“What do you think Dad would say if he knew his favorite vase ended up getting shot?” You try a weak joke, a broken smirk peeling out. 

Grabbing the cheap coffee that your mother had acquired for you, you take a long swig nervously before you make a tight face as you swallow it down. You tip the cup and look at the side in disgusted confusion. It tasted horrible.

How do you mess up coffee, you have to ask. 

Your mother’s body slowly tenses. 

Instantly, you want to get up and leave, but your leg prevents you. Shuffling, your nose twitches as the seconds draw on. 

“I…I didn’t,” you start before you cut yourself off. Without another thought, you bring the coffee cup back to your lips and force it all down. 

Trying not to gag, you wipe at your mouth as she utters. 

“Let’s…focus on the future.” 

“Okay,” you say through a tight throat. She takes the empty coffee cup and throws it into the trash.

You feel your heart go with it.

“But now,” your mother begins, walking back over and sitting on the end of your bed as her hand comes out and pats your leg. You restrain from jerking back, reaching for the water at your bedside table, and taking a swig to push down the bad coffee. Just as easily, you slip to the next topic like the previous one had been pointless.

But thus was the story of mothers and daughters.

“That Sergeant of yours,” you pause, blinking slowly. “What’s he like? I’ve talked to him a bit, but I don’t know him like you do. Tell me about him.”

“Kyle?” Your brows turn in. “What’s to know? He’s kept me safe while you’ve been away.”

The woman’s smile pulls with amusement. “I mean his attitude—is he kind? Funny?”

“Kind,” you say it far more easily than you’d say it to his face if he were here. “Definitely.” The line of questioning makes your flesh tight with confusion. Why did she want to know about Garrick? “He’s…he takes his job seriously,” you finish out. “But I gave him hell in the beginning.”

You chuckle, but your mother’s comment is quick.

“Language.” A stiff pause falls. 

“Well, that’s good, Dear. I’m glad he’s been respectful…” Your mother trails off. “You haven’t…” she laughs, a hand coming up to her face. “Never mind.”

Your curiosity peaks, and you tilt your head at her, spine straightening a bit at the cut-off question. If one thing got your attention, it was something that was hesitant to be said. “No, it’s okay, Mom. What’s up?” 

She mutters out softly, “You two aren’t…sleeping together, right?”

“Mom!” You groan, hand coming up to cover your eyes as the hot burning fire of a sun alights behind your flesh. 

Hands caressing your thigh.

Your body shifts on the bed, your head shaking as your mother laughs aloud. 

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart! It’s just…he stayed here for that entire time—when I came to visit he looked like he hadn’t slept at all.” Your eyes peek from behind your fingers, lids tight and cheeks pulled. But that interests you immensely. Your mother continues. “His leg was bouncing, and his eyes never left your face; it was like he was waiting for your heart to stop at a second’s notice.” 

You try to process what you’re hearing, but it only serves to make the knot in your stomach pull tighter in on itself. 

“He was just worried about his job,” you explain—pushing it all aside as you’re apt to do. “Alex would do it to you as well.”

“Not like how this boy held your hand.” Your face stills.

Itching at your cheek, your hand falls back to your lap. “...What?”

The woman stares as you gaze into her neck, something flashing past your eyes. “He held your hand—didn’t he tell you? When you had a nightmare, he would squeeze and start speaking to you. You calmed down nearly every time.”

—

Kyle stares at the approved reassignment order in his hands and feels his stomach drop to the floor. 

Standing in Laswell’s temporary office, the file had been handed over along with the second—mission details from the rest of One-Four-One and the raids they’d gone on overseas to try and find Yaromir Osipov and Mala Kham. Some in Russia, some in Laos. 

None at any port cities in China, the middle point between the two, but of course, only you would know about that. 

“I thought this was what you wanted, Sergeant,” Laswell comments, seeing his face. 

“I’m…” The man reads the request he sent in, down over every detail until he finds his digital signature which he’d signed off on. “I did,” Gaz says slowly. 

“Then it’s settled.” Kate’s face is as blank a slate as always. “You’ll be back with John and the rest—they’ve been needing more eyes, and you’re the only person I can send.”

Kyle stays silent, not looking up at her. Under his hand, the paper crinkles softly as his thumb tightens. 

Laswell’s eyes narrow, gaze moving from one point on the man’s form to another. 

“Gaz,” she prods. “Say what you mean.”

“I can’t leave her here,” the response is muffled but firm. 

Kate puts down the pen she’d been holding, moving her hands together and placing them on the table. “You signed the reassignment request.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” he counters. “Wasn’t in the right state.” 

“I can’t do anything about that.”

“Kate,” Kyle looks up at her, jaw clenching. He stares before looking away, a sound echoing off in his throat—like a held-back sigh. The man puts the paper back on the desk in front of him. He motions with a hand before leaning back, running his other hand over his cap. “I just got some headway.”

Blue eyes twitch. 

“I think you’re forgetting that she wasn’t your priority. Her safety was.”

Kyle fakes a laugh, pointing at the report. “And I failed!”

“She’s alive. As far as everyone else is concerned, the mission on your part has been a success.” Gaz’s heated eyes dart to the side wall, glaring tensely into the drywall. “John wants you overseas in the coming week.”

“A bloody week?”

Laswell picks up her pen again. “You’re lucky it wasn’t tomorrow.”

The Sergeant’s throat reverberates with an aggravated growl, but in the end, he only has himself to blame. 

“She needs me here,” he explains, knowing it won’t change anything. “I won’t be able to think clearly if I don’t know she’s alright.”

Silence settles. Gaz almost gets anxious with how the woman is looking at him—those cold eyes digging past layer after layer like a scalpel trying to find a nerve. Kate thins her lips, blinking slowly. 

“What changed, Sergeant?”

“What’s that?” Kate frowns. 

“What changed?” Staring at one another, fire meets water, a steam of confusion wafting up the middle to enter the air. “This isn’t how you were acting in the beginning.”

“Nothing’s changed, Ma’am,” Kyle’s feet jerk upward and his spine straightens as he leans forward in his chair, the material under him squeaking. “I…”

He cuts himself off and shakes his head. His hand goes to fix his cap. Your blood was still in the stitching, spread over that embroidered British flag like a brand. The man wonders to himself why he never bothered to wash it out. 

Laswell’s scrupulous eyes miss nothing. 

“You leave in one week,” she says again. “Say what you need to before then. It’s out of my hands.” 

The woman gets back to her paperwork.

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[rustingcat]

Chapter 3 Kara

"For years I felt the weight of Krypton, its legacy and history laid on my shoulders, and I felt like a failure for never having the chance to educate Kal. But after learning about Argo, it's like some of this weight was lifted off my shoulders, knowing I'm not the only one out there who remembers, that it's not on me. Yet, I feel detached? I don't know, it feels different from what I remember. I mean it is different, it's nothing like how Krypton was, but they are all Kryptonians. You know what I mean?" Kara turned to Lena, she wasn't sure what she was hoping to find in her eyes, but it softened the moment they met.

"I think so." Lena nodded. "Although, considering that you were barely a teenager back then, it would make sense."

"I suppose." Kara swallowed hard.

They were sitting on Kara’s couch with the plans for the machine laying in front of them.  It was two days after they had come back from Argo. Kara had managed to translate most of it, enough for them to at least start.

"You mentioned that you can basically control how the child would turn up with the matrix, right?"

"Not exactly, you can't control your child's every decision, but essentially yes. You can choose how they look, and you can choose their um… brain type? We had a name for it in Kryptonese."

"So did your parents choose what you would be?" Lena finally asked.

"In some ways, yes." She said a bit distanced. "They didn't care much about my appearance or gender, but they made sure my mind would be sharp, curious and analytical. Basically creating me to be a scientist before I was even born. And it worked, you know? I grew up loving it. As my dad said, I was the youngest person to be considered to join the science guild, and I bet I would've gotten in too."

Lena remained silent. Not that she expected her to say anything, but she wasn't sure what to do nex.

Kara took a sip of her water. Staring intensity into the plans, yet not really focused on them she continued talking. "I thought about it a lot, you know, how my life would look like had I grown up there. What could I have created, how many lives I could've improved, how much I could've advanced our species. But the more I think about it the more I realised how lucky I was to escape that fate." Kara finally dared to raise her head, meeting Lena's gaze as she felt her eyes fill with water. "Am I a bad person for thinking that?" Her voice broke as the tears started running freely down her face. 

Lena scooted over, engulfing her dearest friend in a tight hug. "Not at all." She whispered in her ear. "There's nothing wrong about finding happiness. But we'll make sure that if we ever make this public we'll do our best so that no one could use it to put more pressure on anyone." She combed her fingers through her hair to ground her.

Kara exhaled a breath she wasn't aware she was holding. The reason the plans were not yet fully translated were not because of language complications or any math difficulties, but because she couldn't bring herself to complete it. It felt too heavy of a task.

"It's just- that I love my job. I love singing, painting, and playing games with my friends and I know that I would've never gotten to do any of that had I lived on Krypton. It was all about doing your part, and not much else. And there are still many many good things that I loved about Krypton and many problems I have with earth. But I still prefer to be here, and I feel awful about it. Like I failed everyone, I failed my purpose in life."

"You are Kara Zor-El Danvers. Your name tells a journey and your journey is not yet over. You are not a bad person for having emotions. You've been through a lot and you still came out on top. You are still so full of kindness, love, and hope. How can that be a failure? How can it be anything but the greatest thing in life? You are amazing Kara and I'm sure the rest of your journey would be just as amazing."

"Thank you." Kara whispered into her neck in a sob.

"How about we order another pizza and watch a movie instead?" Lena suggested, whispering quietly in her ear.

"Yeah," Kara smiled weakly. "That would be great."

[twilightmalachite]

Sora Harukawa - Your Color

Author: Akira

Characters: Sora, Yuuta

Translator: Mika Enstars

"Hey, Harukawa-kun. So my color is the same as Aniki’s?"

Season: Spring

Location:Garden Terrace

Yuuta: ……

Sora: Hina-cha~n? What’s up? Hina-chan’s color looks glum~!

HaHa~, Sora is full of energy! ♪

Yuuta: Oh… Umm, Harukawa-kun. W-What are you here for?

Sora: Sora’s here for nutritional intake! Since it's a dining hall! HiHi~, isn’t Hina-chan here for the same?

Yuuta: Errmm… By “Hina-chan”, I assume you mean my Aniki?

Since the other day, Aniki bragged about making a friend with a kid from my class.

Sora: HuHu~♪ Correct, Sora and Hina-chan have become BFFs!

Yuuta: BFFs, huh… You have a peculiar way of speaking, just like all the other kids in our class.

But, Harukawa-kun, I’m not “Hina-chan”.

Sora: Hm~? But, the color is the same! This is hard~.

Sorry, did Sora mistake for the wrong person?

Sora: Sora’s not good with complicated things! Can it be explained in an easy to understand way, like Shisho~ does?

Yuuta: No, I can’t blame you for not being able to tell us apart. We’re twins.

Sora: Twins? Like a twin-humped camel?

They have a lot of water stored in the humps~, Senpai taught Sora a lot of useless trivia like that! ♪

Sora: Thanks to Shisho~ and Senpai, Sora doesn’t feel suffocated even at ground level! HeHe~♪

Yuuta: Umm, this is barely a conversation…

Anyways, did you have something to do with Aniki, Harukawa-kun? I can pass on a message to him if you need, I see him a lot since we’re brothers and all.

Sora: Brothers? So twins are siblings? Sora learned something new again!

Thanks! Sora is grateful to be taught something by…! Umm…?

Yuuta: Ahh, I’m Yuuta. We’re in the same class, so you should try to remember my name.

Sora: Yes! Once Sora learns, he never forgets! ♪

Yuuta: Alright, let’s get along, then. Would you like to join me for lunch?

Sora: HoHo~♪ Let’s do that, sharing a table with another makes it all the happier~! ♪

Yuuta: You’re right. Here, sit down then. Have you bought your food ticket yet?

Sora: Nope! But, Sora has plenty of food tickets from before when the food vending machine malfunctioned! So he can eat as much as he wants, for free everyday!

Yuuta: No, you should pay for your food. I feel like you’re missing a lot of common sense here and there…

Sora: Sora’s told that often! Sora doesn’t have money with him right now, so he’ll pay for all of it later, okay?

Money has a murky color, so he’s not really good with it~! ♪

Yuuta: Color…? Oh right, don’t you discern things like sound and smell as colors, Harukawa-kun?

I think I remember Aniki mentioning something like that. What’s that like for you?

Sora: Hmm~? Sora’s asked that a lot, but he doesn’t know how to explain~. Sora doesn’t know how everyone else sees the world either.

Yuuta: Ohh… That makes sense, I understand.

I’m also asked things like “what’s it like to have a twin?” and “what’s it like to have someone with the same face as you?” all the time, but I never know how to answer.

Sora: Is that so~? But, explaining the unexplainable is possible through song~! And so Sora sings, HaHiHuHeHo~…♪

Yuuta: D-Don’t go doing anything too outlandish…

Hmm… Given you seem to do whatever you want with no consideration to anyone around you, I can see why you and Aniki get along so well.

Sora: Is that so? Hina-chan is always considerate to his surroundings, though~. He has that color!

Yuuta: Yeah, no, I can’t understand explanations through color.

Umm… Harukawa-kun, don’t worry about ordering yourself food. Actually, could you help me finish this instead?

Sora: This one? Or that one?

Yuuta: This one, this one. I’m a big eater, so I’m always eating a lot, y’know, but…

Then the lunch man gave me a dessert as a thank you for always enjoying their food.

I got some leftover cake as a freebie, I guess.

I’m really not good with sweets, though… But it was given to me so kindly, so I don’t want it to go uneaten.

I’ve been doing my best fighting at it, but… I don’t think I can finish it. So if you can help me out with that, that’d be great.

Are you alright with sweet things, Harukawa-kun?

Sora: Yes! Sweets are the color of happiness! ♪

Yuuta: Gotcha. Then here, eat up! ♪

Sora: Thanks for the food! Sora says that before he eats! Chomp chomp ♪

Yuuta: Ahaha, I feel like I’m feeding a small animal… You really do do well with sweets, huh, Harukawa-kun~.

Then I’m sure you’ll get along just fine with Aniki. That guy has a sweet tooth.

Sora: Hm~? Then why is it that Hina-chan’s always giving Sora his sweets?

His color didn’t really seem like he “liked” them~? That’s why Sora thought he was unloading them onto Sora. This is complicated~. Chomp chomp ♪

Yuuta: …Is that so. Seems I was right.

Hey, Harukawa-kun. So my color is the same as Aniki’s?

Sora: It’s the same! That’s why Sora saw wrong earlier! Sorry! ♪

If he looks closely, it’s painted a bit differently, though~? Yours is watercolor, and Hina-chan’s is oil paint!

The end result is of the same color, but the process is different~! Does the explanation make sense?

Yuuta: Not really. But if we still have the same color, then… I have mixed feelings about it, but it’s kind of a relief.

Sora: ? Sounds complicated…

Yuuta: You’re right, it is complicated. That’s how family issues are.

story directory

[himbos-hotline]

from the vulnerable confession prompt list 'how long have you known?' for hangmega with kota haunting the narrative

Angel to me // Watashi ni totte tenshi

Word count: 2364 words Ship: "Hangman" Adam Page/Kenny Omega, Nick Jackson/Kenny Omega [if you squint and turn your head sideways], Golden lovers Characters: "Hangman" Adam Page, Kenny Omega, The young bucks, Kota Ibushi [mentioned] Triggers: None that I can really think off... Authors note: I wrote fluff yesterday and now its impossible for me to write something cute or wholesome. This grabbed me by the balls again and I think it has some of my best lines in....The japanese at the end translates to 'coming soon angel' according to google translate. READ ON AO3

Kenny mostly sees Kota in his dreams. Clattering through his mind, knocking everything out of the apartment in his mind like a cat knocking glasses off the table, until it's just the two of them. Kenny stares at him with wide eyes, flooded with emotions as Kota collects a needle and thread, stitching the broken seams of the man he remembers. Kenny lets his hands wander across his damaged frame, watching as Kota weaves red ribbon around mental scars and embroider little hearts around bruises. He stares Kenny in the eye, hunting through the darkness and the pain for a flash of the soft, blond curls and bright eyes of the man that he fell in love with. 

Kota always appears in Kenny’s dreams but he never gets to speak, plush lips part and a soft pink tongue dart out to wet them and Kota’s chest shudders under his shirt, rolling little balls of thread around his fingers. His mouth opens and Kenny recognises the tune that plays; loud and frustratingly stubborn. His alarm always cuts Kota off from speaking and by the time Kenny opens his eyes, his body is still just as broken as before he went to bed. He’s only healed in his dreams. 

The tight hands of sleep release Kenny the way people release butterflies; all hopeful and gentle hands, watching as they flutter away all while having the silent dread that sometime, eventually. The butterfly will die or be eaten and all that time will have been wasted. He swings his legs out from under the covers and his knees pop in protest, skating pain wrapping itself up around his thighs and around his back like vines wrapping and strangling a rose. He sighs, dragging bare feet across the carpeted hotel room, shivering slightly at the chill that only hotel bathrooms have. The suns barely started to rise over whatever city they're in and Kenny watches it for a few moments through the dirty glass of the bathroom mirror as he brushes his teeth, purposely keeping his eyes off the reflection in the mirror. 

He spits into the sink and listens to the water run, watching it twirl down the plughole and disappear, gurgling through the pipes before wandering back into the hotel room. He dresses quietly, pinning a hair tie between his teeth as he wrestles his feet into battered sneakers and snatches his phone off the bedside table. Kenny double checks he has everything; phone, room key, headphones, overwhelming sense of longing for he’s never going to see again? Check, check, check. 

He runs, works machines in the gym and stumbles back to the hotel, gripping a take away mug of coffee in his hand hard enough that ring-worn nails are leaving behind small crescent moons in the styrofoam. In the elevator, Kenny counts the floors and stares at the mirrored walls, tracing the pattern of the marble and not the tiredness that floats in his eyes. The doors purr open and Kenny steps out slowly, nodding politely at a mother who apologizes as her child goes careening around Kenny’s legs, smacking into his hip with his backpack. For a few seconds, the child stares up at Kenny and something twists in his heart; there's a flash of innocence and adoration that paints the child's dark brown eyes. Kenny signs a few things, making small talk and ruffles the childs brown hair, smiling as he gasps and bounces away to his mother, poster flailing behind him gripped tightly in his chubby hand. 

Kenny waves as the elevator door closes and so does his smile, he fixes his headphones back in his ears and stumbles down the hall, mind fixed only getting home. Kenny closes his eyes as he hunts for his room keys in his pockets. The child's eyes flash through the darkness behind his eyelids and he flinches them open, blinking brightly under the overwhelming yellow glow of the hallway lights. He’s seen the look a thousand times before in fans eyes; starstruck and stunned but there was something different this time, like the child with coffee coloured eyes was apologizing for something, looking at someone over Kenny’s shoulder that only he could see. Chills tangle their way up Kenny’s spine and as he jiggles the key in the lock, he looks over his shoulders, sighing when he sees the hallway empty. Just Kenny and his shadow and the vastness of unshakeable loneliness that's mixed in Kenny’s bloodstream. 

The door opens with a pop, the latch clicking satisfyingly as it reveals the hotel room to Kenny, he walks through patches of golden sunlight decorating the floor and tosses his phone onto the white sheets. He showers and changes clothes again, leaving damp curls to fan around his shoulders and frame his face as Kenny crawls back under the covers, eyes half closed. 

The body next to him is warm and still mostly asleep, face highlighted by strands of golden sun as it dances in and out of heaven. An arm wraps around Kenny’s middle and like a dog craving attention, Kenny follows. Letting the body maneuver him against its side, forehead tucked in Kenny’s neck as it stumbles through the last sections of sleep. The body breathes against the dents of Kenny’s collarbone and he plasters a smile on his face as it speaks, Virginian accent thick and quiet. “G’mornin’ angel.” 

Kenny looks down at Adam’s face; at the half lidded green eyes, growing in alertness like moss growing over an abandoned gravestone and he catches the nickname still caught in Adam’s teeth; the color of molded fools gold. It's a common enough nickname, especially for Kenny but it still takes him by surprise. He’s heard it before, sure, but in a different tone, in a different voice, vowels shaped differently and he feels an ever familiar pang in longing in his mind. 

“Good morning.” He whispers back instead, trying to kiss the nickname out of Adam’s teeth and off his mouth, trying to kiss the coppery taste of uncanniness into an ever-familiar gold. 

The two of them move together in the uncoordinated bliss of early morning sex; bodies pressed together moving slowly with no real goal in mind. Adam whines against Kennys shoulder and Kenny tangles one hand into his curls, still messy and tangled from sleep. There's a growing pressure behind his eyes, almost like Kenny wants to cry. So he closes them tighter and rolls his hips with purpose. It seems to be enough as soon Adams spilling, warm and wet across Kenny’s fluttering stomach and the crisp white sheets, cum sparkling silver in the sunshine. Kenny pulls out slowly and flinches inwardly when Adams head comes to rest against his racing heart, breath spilling across his stained chest. “Where were you this morning?” 

Kenny pauses his movements, his palm stopping against his chest. He thinks for a few seconds, looking down at Adam’s quietly questioning eyes. Wrapped in his own head? Trying to run away from a golden star that’s still hung in Kenny’s sky by a red string that links people forever, a constantly glowing North Star that Kenny looks at for advice, for comfort. 

“Gym.” 

“Oh…” Adam nods, giving Kenny a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he scrambles his legs out of bed. There's no pain that paints itself across Adam's eyes as he moves, working his way to the bathroom. Kenny wipes himself off and stares pathetically for a few seconds at his body before he hears Adam call from the bathroom, asking about food or something that Kenny doesn't quite pick up over the sound of running water, so he stays quiet. Adam doesn’t let up, he calls Kenny’s name over the sound of the shower pounding against the floor.

Kenny makes a small sound, trying his best to sound interested as Adam asks for his toiletries back. Kenny takes it to him and leans against the shower door as Adam washes his hair and body, humming softly as he does so. The two of them share a glance and Kenny steps under the hot water, arms wrapped around Adam middle like he's holding onto someone different; fingers spreading against his chest and mouth already nipping and biting at his earlobe.

Kenny’s teeth graze against a sensitive spot on Adam's jaw and he gasps, forehead resting against the wet tiles of the bathroom shower. 

“I love you.” 

Kenny feels the confession more than he hears it; feels the creak of Adam’s jaw joint against his teeth, feels the tender syllables slide against chewed pink lips and into the mold in the tiles grout. There’s beats of silence where Kenny’s ears catch up and he pulls away, hands untangling from around Adam's hips. He blinks, body going cold and numb under the beating heat of the shower. Adam’s eyes widen and his body stills, forehead smacking against the tiles as he turns “I-..I didn't mean it..” His voice shivers out between worn down lips, hands trembling at his side. 

“Yes you did.” Kenny whispers, digging his nails into the fat of his hips as he steps away from Adam and out of the shower. He feels like he can’t breathe and the pressure in his skull feels like a drumline. It beats out Adam’s confession louder and louder until it's the only thing Kenny can hear, even over his ragged breathing. He shakes his head, leaving Adam standing alone and panicking in the shower. 

They avoid each other for the rest of the day until the show starts. They’re both squished in a locker room; Adam sitting on the couch while Kenny slumps over in a chair, staring a hole into the floor. The two of them barely look up when Matt pushes the door open, engrossed in an animated conversation with his brother. 

“And so I told him-” Matt’s voice drawls away, eyeing the two of them on opposite sides of the room before staring at Nick with a waring look in his eyes. The door pops closed behind the two of them as they sit on the floor, between the two of them. Kenny looks up, almost like he's surprised to see Nick’s sneakers, highlighter yellow in his eyeline. 

“Hey Nicky” Kenny smiles and straightens himself against the chair, chuckling when Nick takes his place on his lap, head tucked sleepily into his shoulder. “Tuckered out hmm?” 

Matt speaks from his place on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him, before Nick gets his mouth open. “The idiot drank my coffee. Y'know how he is with caffeine, you remember the time in Japan where-'' Matt stops abruptly and Adam looks up from his phone, confusion painted on his face. 

Nick looks at his brother and then at Kenny, blue eyes reading their faces before nodding and returning to his brother's side. “What happened?” 

“Nothing.” Adam answers, too quickly for him to be telling the truth. Kenny glares at him from across the room. Matt rolls his eyes, tapping his finger against the back of his brother's hand. Nick nods and finishes the silent conversation with his brother by standing up, dragging Matt to his feet by his wrist. Almost like they’re on the same path of thought, Matt and Nick turn to leave, Nick squirming out the locker room first, running away like a startled deer as Matt looks over his shoulders; brown eyes narrowed and tired as he glares at the two of them. 

“Whatever the fuck has happened, sort it out before out match tonight yeah? We have to win this.” Matt orders, finger wagging between Adam and Kenny before he slams the door. 

The two of them are alone again, staring at each other dead in the eyes. Adam worries at the inside of his cheek and Kenny frowns at him. 

Silence settles over the room the way a storm settles over the world;thickening the air and wrapping the very air in your chest in anticipation, making it heavy and stone-like at the bottom of your lungs. Kenny takes a small breath of air. 

“How long have you known?” He asks, voice thumbling like thunder over the locker room. It strikes Adams ears and his eyes look down at the dry floor, scuffing his boot across the floor. “Adam. How long have you known that you…” Kenny pauses, gripping his hands together. The words stop just behind his teeth, sticking to the roof of his mouth. 

“That I love you?” Adam asks rhetorically, voice taking a sour tone as he glares at Kenny from behind his curling eyelashes. “You can't even say it, can you?” 

That question isn't rhetorical, his eyebrows raise and he gestures his hand out as if presenting the perfect opportunity for Kenny to spill his heart. In his mind, Kenny pictures Adam holding a dagger and a platter, twirling the blade under the arena lights as he waits for Kenny to rip his shirt open and bare his chest so he can carve his beating heart out. He opens his mouth and closes it again, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, tugging at the fabric of his jeans. 

Adams sigh, small and defeated, speaks more words that Kenny has ever heard. It sounds like a gust of wind breaking and snapping the tops of trees and Kenny’s eyebrows pinch together when Adam stands, hand resting sullenly on his shoulder. Kenny follows his eyes up Adam's arm and stares into his eyes, blue eyes flooded in apology. “Adam I-” 

“I know Kenny..” Adam looks just above Kenny’s head like he’s looking at something angelic. “I know.” He presses a soft kiss to the middle of Kenny’s forehead and walks himself to the door, his fingers twisting around the door handle. 

The door opens and Adam stares at Kenny sadly from the threshold. “I hope you're happy…” 

The door closes and Kenny sits alone, staring longingly at the door. “Me too..” He croaks out, eyes downturned to the floor as the overhead light flickers off. 

In the darkness, Kenny’s phone lights up from its spot against his suitcase. 

⭐ One imaged attached もうすぐ到着します 天使

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

@smallestsnarkestgirl @skyqueen3 @josiewrites @itsnoosetome @jacedoe

@golden-disaster @sincyrlee @glitchaxolol @daddywrasslin @bikenny

@katries @thegizardofmars @motorcitygem @miru-has-thoughts @powderflower

@miserablecreachur @afterdarkprincess @mobiblackout @pinksuperkliq @harvey-dent

@thekadster

[irismfrost]

August 13/14 - Last Day

Today, I unfortunately didn't really do much. I was going to go to one of the places some of the other travelers went but it was a 3 hour train trip to get there and I wasn't going to be ready for that. I also did not sleep well. The nasty train station bento box was not enough food for dinner - figures. So I woke up in the middle of the night with a hungry headache. So I tried to eat what little food I could find and drink some water and lay down until I felt good enough to sleep. And by the time morning came around, it was back so I made my way to hotel breakfast. Again, I'm so glad I bought that. Then I went back to sleep because I was still so tired after getting about 5 hours for the past 2 nights. Then I got lunch at this place that is supposed to be healthy and have good ingredients and the ions in the air are supposed to heal you. The vibe was in between a rock store and a whole foods but with more mid food. But I ate it all. And then went back to doing nothing.

Then I thought that I should at least try to explore. I've barely bought any trinkets here. So I went to try the ferris wheel that I've been staring at outside my hotel window for the last few days. It is located inside a mall, which I thought was strange but after further thought, it made sense. You could see the whole city which was nice and I spotted my hotel (I think). I got dinner at the mall and it was a sit down place. You order from the tablet and so I Google Translated each page and a lot of the time, the translations are a bit off, so I don't put a lot of stock in them; I mostly use it to get a general idea of what it is and make sure there is no meat. And looking back, boiled whitebait and cod roe may not have been the right choice for me, but that's the pasta I ended up deciding on. I felt like I was eating my guppies. This place had pasta with the toppings and you pour your choice of their "famous" broth over the top (comes in a little tea kettle). They also have a tofu bar with what I assume is their "famous" homemade tofu. It was also pretty good and I think the other vegetarian girl on our trip @thenotsosecretdiaryofbiyu would have loved it. I also got these rice cakes for dessert and it was okay. It was literally sweat rice and beans with a mochi-like topping with flavor. I had a feeling it wouldn't be my cup of tea when I ordered it, but I thought it would be good for me to try something that is supposed to be a traditional dessert. I am trying to like the foods here (and Taiwan), and I think that I may have gone too far outside my comfort zone this time, but I am so ready to just make my own food.

The weather here is nicer than what it will be in Florida when I get back. Taiwan was hotter and reminded me more of a hotter and more humid south Florida. Japan reminds me of north Florida/ Georgia. And they have similar latitudes so that makes sense.

The Osaka airport once again is a mess. I am having an issue checking into my flight with a different airline after I get to the states, but I got all 3 of my boarding passes when I checked my luggage. Everything about the airport makes me paranoid but I have made it past the multiple layers of security. After checking my bag, I went through security. They only check your boarding pass at this point, not your passport. My bag got flagged, but I was okay. Then I went through an additional layer of security. This was to check your passport and your picture scan and it was all through a machine. Then you are safe. There were less food places throughout - they were really only at the entrance of the gate. It's interesting to people watch at the airport. I saw this one guy with a haircut that looked like someone found a patch of grass and just plopped it on the top of a shaved head. A lot of the dudes here have what I think is a perm that's brushed out and looks scraggly but textured and I think it's just the "look". It's not a good one.

The South Korean Airport (ICN) had a layer of security even for transfers. I've never had an international layover before, so maybe this is normal. You went through the security checkpoint where they scanned your bags and they also scanned your passport here. They also have no vegetarian food at this airport. I found an egg sandwich - the bread was sweet and I didn't like it. I searched this entire airport for a meal and probably walked a mile with my duffel bag. I passed a Starbucks at one point and may have to go back before my flight and see if they have any food for me. Everything has pork in it. And I can't get vegetarian meals on my flight because I was supposed to do that 24 hours in advance but it wasn't a part of the online check in; I was supposed to call but can't make international calls without charges so I was doomed from the start. So, I'm hoping my protein bar and whatever food I can find in this airport before boarding starts will hold me over until Seattle. Unless they happen to have a vegetarian option on the flight anyways, which happened on the flight to Taiwan, so there's hope. I think the flight attendants will help me though, I'm not too worried.

As I was finishing my scrapbook and packing up my things, I am happy that I'm here but also happy to leave. I've had quite the time on this side of the world and so many unique experiences that will stay with me forever. I'm just so grateful for this opportunity. Our professor (Yeh laoshi) and Chief created a great program for the first time and went through a political nightmare to make this happen and Peter was the best tour guide I could've asked for. My experience wouldn't be possible without them, and my classmates of course. My participation on trip to Taiwan, and by extension Japan, was really due to a stroke of luck, some spontaneity, and having the necessary resources to go through with it. I definitely regret some of my purchases and wish I had spent my money elsewhere LOL, but at the end of the day it's the memories that matter more. Iris signing off ✌🏻

[camusscigarette]

Violets for Roses:

Chapter II: A Swan's Song drowns it's Victim in Pools of Crimson:

TW: Flashbacks of Rape, torture, blood.

{In bold is meant to be in Russian. 1) I don't speak russian so I can't type it out. 2) Using google translate feels like an insult to the language. Because I believe that I either write the language in correct grammar and it makes perfect sense or I don't. So. Bold is meant to be spoken in Russian!!!!}

❦

When she came back to her Mansion she was surprised to find it empty, only a nice breakfast left for her on the kitchen counter. Syrniki.

Was it his way to tell her he suspects something? Or does he think himself smart enough to figure out the truth? Only time will tell. For now she simply took a seat on her kitchen counter and poured a bit of honey on the syrniki before she took a bite out of it, and a soft moan escaped her lips. She ate two more before putting them back in her fridge and prepared herself a cup of Black coffee to go on with her day. After all, she was a psychiatrist, she never get a break.

Hours went by, and with each hour a patient passed her by, with stories that have no end and she listens and somehow relives the stories of her patients. Sometimes she believes that none of their stories will ever compete with hers, even if this isn't a competition on who's trauma is worse but she was fully convinced that none of her patients stories will make her feel as miserable as her memories in the Red Room ever did. After all..she did spend almost a century there. Almost. If she hadn't escaped in the 90s she doesn't think she would've made it any further. After all she faked so many passports, identities, and diplômes to get where she is. It was more than exhausting to start off from zero. From stealing money ever so effortlessly to rent a small apartment, change her hair and adapt a new identity as well as the work she had to do in order to create a fake identity, fake passport and ID, fake driving license. Fake, fake, fake, fake. She was faker than those women made out of plastics, she was far greater than a Plastic surgeon's creation, yet she was much dirtier. Her ledger was overflowing with red..After all..Almost a century of being one of the most dangerous assassins...The Black Widow. Even if she had convinced herself that she did what she did because she had no choice, because she was a mere puppet in the puppeteer's hands, a poor and destroyed rag doll barely hanging, a mother making sure to obey all commands to insure her daughters live day by day. The Sacrifices she made were all in the name of loyalty. Not to her country. Not that bastard whom called himself her Husband while all he did was fuck her till she eventually learned how to dissociate when it all happens at the ripe age of 16. She was young when she gave birth to Natalya, that she remembers. She remembers how for the first time in her life. she witnessed Madame Boleslava cry. She was much older when she gave birth to Yelena though, because Dreykov was far too obsessed with making her the best out of all 28 girls. The program consisted of 28 girls, only 14 are supposed to survive. Yet barely 5-3 made it out alive. And Dreykov insisted on making her one of them. So long hours of torturous training she would endure secretly with The Winter Soldier. A man whom watched her grow older until he eventually became her lover in the Mid 50s. Years and years later when he recalled zero memories of ever meeting her. Sometimes she finds herself thanking God silently for not enduring the intense brainwashing the Winter Soldier underwent in Hydra. The Red Room sure sucked, but at least her mind was her own most of the times. They programming consisted of torture. It consisted of a game of survival where only those who wish to stay alive succeed. Maybe brainwashing with machines is easier..but at least by your own free will..your thoughts remain somewhat your own. Your thoughts..remain your own until they're no more but the voices of those who pick up your limp bodies like dead weight and lead you out of the torture chamber. Or sometimes Dreykov's room when you are far too violated to walk.

“Come on, Lisichka..Time to get up” Alexei, the right hand of Dreykov who was a much more Caring man than Dreykov will ever be, whispered softly and quietly as she draped a blanket over her bruised body.

She could only groan tiredly, barely capable of opening her eyes. Her body had rope burns all over as well as remains of the burning wax candle still stuck to her skin. Some bite marks here and there and quite the amount of blood staining her inner thighs and the bed sheets.

"Mm'Lexei?" She asked in a groggy whisper. "He—He tied me up too much."

"I know Lisichka. I know.." The man mumbled as he swallowed down his disgust and carefully tried to pick her up in his arms. She was light as a feather and limp as a corpse. Her body still has not recovered it's full blood circulation due to the intense bondage she was forced to submit.

"He said it's time for Natalya to have a sister" She added again, her eyes remaining closed. "Alexei I don't want to get pregnant again" She admitted as her voice trembled.

"Melina and I will try our hardest to ensure you don't fall pregnant" He reassured her, carrying her down the halls.

" He hurts me a lot..I don't think I can bare another child in such a state. I sometimes pray to The Lady Theotokos that she'd make this night my last. Always praying to make it my last..but I always wake up. Why do I always wake up Alexei?"

He had to swallow thickly as he adjusted her position into his arms so that her head lays on his chest. "I don't know, Lisichka. I truly, don't know.."

She snapped back out of the memory and stared at the new patient now seated infront of her in Silence. She was a young woman in her early 20s it seems. Blondie with blue eyes and an ideal body, the perfect american dream. But it wasn't her beauty that captured her attention, rather the ballerina pointe shoes that were tied to the woman's bag that had her slightly dissociative at the moment.

She eventually snapped out of it and stared at her patient with a polite and somewhat comforting smile. "Béatrice" She said ever so softly, her french accent, an accent she has turned into her mother tongue made it's appearance as shee smiled at the blondie. "What brings you here?".She asked her, notebook in hand and a pen in the other while she crossed a leg over the other.

"Well.. I'm here because I've been suffering from nightmares really. But the thing is..those nightmares feel real, almost too real" Béatrice said with a small frown.

"Mhm" She hummed, her eyes narrowing slightly as her mind began to work on it. "Alright. Please do tell me more about those nightmares. If you're comfortable of course, Béatrice" She added again, flashing the woman a reassuring smile.

"Well..I don't know how start. It always begins the same as always" She said carefully, as if her mind was reformulating the dream before her eyes to narrate. "I'm somewhere dark and rather cramped. But there's always this red symbol on the walls and I don't really know what it signifies because it's very blurry, and I can't tell what it is"

That had Bedelia's frown deepen ever so slightly.

"There's this screaming and I see this beautiful woman who's hair is all splayed out onto white sheets, white pillows, creating a contrast against her auburn hair. And she's in so much pain. I try to reach out for her but she always disappears and everything is dark again. But I can hear a fuckin noise. Like a clock. It ticks and ticks and ticks..until it dings. Four times. Always four times. And I see this..tall and rather.. disgusting looking man. A gun in hand, and it's pointed to my head. But when he shoots. And at this point you might think he shot me but he didn't. He didn't and I don't know how because not even for a second do I close my eyes as he holds the gun at my head. But he doesn't shoot me. And somehow the man shifts into that beautiful woman whom was in pain..and I feel..I feel this connection to her so I as try to reach to her the scenario shifts and we're being separated by a group of armed men. And everything goes black"

Bedelia felt an odd sense of dread fill her from head to toe. The hairs on the back of her neck rising almost immediately as Béatrice got to the last part.

"Can you describe that woman to me?" She asked her ever so softly, clearing her throat as she doodled on her notebook.

"I can't see her face. I can only see her red hair and her pale skin" Béatrice replied quietly. "I don't know who she is, or if my mind has created her..but she's so..so familiar to me yet I can not remember where I have seen her before" She explained further as her head tilted to the side with a puzzled look.

"Ah" She said in a rather monotone voice and noted down a few things.

"I like to think sometimes it's because I was separated from my mother when I was young" And that statement ignited more curiosity in her.

"How did you lose your mother, if you don't mind me asking?" She asked her ever so softly, making sure to portray the right emotions.

"My mother was a sex worker. She had to abandon me when I was young, at one of her friends house. I don't know much about her anymore. She..My aunt used to tell me that my mother worked the work she did because she had to make sure I remained alive and well fed. She told me that mother was supposed to come back but it seems like..we lost her in this world." The younger woman explained with a sad smile.

"I'm sorry about your mother, Béatrice" This time her empathy and emotions portrayed were real. Because Bedelia felt a sort of connection to both Béatrice and her mother. She made so many sacrifices for her daughters, only to end up losing them all three. One by death. Two by the system of the Red Room. Bedelia felt the grief Béatrice most likely feels as well, speaking of her mother after all must bring out such sorrowful emotions.

"It's okay. I'm a bit glad she..she left me with someone who took care of me. I mean..my mother knew how terrible it would've been if she had abandoned me in the streets, or put me into foster care. I think..I think it says a lot about her intentions— her good intentions when it came to me" Something about the way this young woman phrased her sentence, her emotions felt off to her.

"You seem very forgiving of your mother" She couldn't not point it out. It fascinated her far too much.

"I am not. I simply.. have convinced myself that I shouldn't be mourning the loss of a mother that never..and will never be" That confused Bedelia more and more as she gave her a raised brow. "I am not so proud of my mother and her sacrifices. But then again..I sort of understand that she did what she had to for the sake of surviving...but in the end it cost her her life" She said with an awkward chuckle as Bedelia had to bite back her tongue before saying anything further.

"Your nightmares could be an underlying guilt for..over judging your mother or..It could be a form of your mother you have buried deeply into you unconscious state of mind. Where..you try to grasp onto an image of her, and stick it to it, but it seems like... little you..has this certain image of your mum that can not be changed so easily" Bedelia explained as she wrote down a few things into her Notebook, but in reality she was drawing a portrait of what she remembers from Little Yelena's chubby baby face.

This session sure seems to be rather.. interesting...

୨°•☽♡☾•°୧

As she was seated by her fireplace, a half empty bottle of Sauvignon on her coffee table, a full glass of wine in hand and French oldies playing in the background. It was a rather relaxing and soothing atmosphere where she could easily let go of her worries for the day.

Béatrice was a rather interesting patient..she had..unlocked some memories of hers she'd rather keep buried but nothing a good glass of wine can not fix.

As she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, humming along the soft melody of Joe Dassin , the annoying sound of the doorbell rang and she had to force herself to answer.

And to her surprise (not so surprised) it was Hannibal.

"Hannibal" She said in her usual composed and detached voice, eyeing him carefully as she didn't open the door fully. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" She asked again with a raised brow.

"I have a few questions, I'd like honest answers to" He said simply. "May I come in?" He asked again with his usual Charming smile she somewhat liked. He was a charmed after all..an Ideal Lover. The most dangerous of seducers, but two can play this game after all..A Black Widow is known to feast upon her mate after intercourse. We'll see who devours the other first. Will it be the Cannibal himself? Or the Black Widow whom has killed far too many to possibly have a record of them all?

Only time will tell.

And so she stepped aside and allowed him in, closing the door behind him before she walked him to the living room, the atmosphere somehow turning slightly tense.

"You made me faint. By pinching my vagus nerve" He stated simply as he took her glass of wine from off the coffee table and drank a large sip of the Garnet liquid.

"I did" She found no use of denying it as she took a seat on her armchair, crossing a leg over the other.

To say it fascinated him how she oh so casually answered him, made him more and more intrigued by this mysterious woman he found himself obsessing over as of late. A small twitch of his lips indicated that he was enjoying where this conversation is currently leading them to.

"Did you feel threatened? A predator like me usually tends to project such aura" He spoke matter of fact while Bedelia had to resist the urge to roll her eyes .

"Threatened is not used in it's right context. I was simply reminding you that there are boundaries I'd rather you do not cross, for there will always be consequences to one's actions" She shot back with a tilt of her head and stood up to face him.

That only made this flame in the pit of his stomach ignite even more. A certain hunger and desire overtaking him to the point where he took a few steps closer to her, his nose begging to inhale the woman's intoxicating perfume. A perfect mix of jasmine and other white flowers, amber, and a certain muskiness with a lilt of spicy wood. A scent he'd love to drown his senses with.

He tilted her chin upwards with just his index finger and whispered into her ear "Dance with me?" And leaned back, staring at her lips and then looking back up at her eyes. She had to give it to him, he intrigued her, much more than she'd like to admit. And so, she gave a small nod of her head and took his offered hand, letting him lead her to the side before he settled his hand onto her waist and she on his shoulder as they began to gently sway to the soft symphony of Aznavour's ‘La Bohème’.

And so they danced..

[rottingwaysofmisery]

Past Time Travel Ramblings

Hello, I'm gonna ramble about the logic of literal past time travel.

Okay preface. This is not a scientific essay. I am not a scientist, I barely passed every science class I've been in and remember nothing from them. No sources will be cited, and all of these ideas come from my own thoughts. I do not claim to be the first to think of anything, however, I do not see others speaking on any of this. I am most likely just not looking hard enough, but I'd just love to see the thoughts of others here and the input of people who know more than me on the subject.

Preface over, I'm going to be going over possible complications and mechanics that would have to be answered for if one were to build a real time machine, at least in my mind. The general problem, I believe, is bridging the gap between the mechanics of the universe and our social constructs. If that sounds confusing, I will elaborate.

Social v. Material

Shout in your room right now "Teleport me to London on the 15th of March in 1963."

Nothing will happen. You look ridiculous. For one, the universe doesn't know what a "London" is, we made that word up, nor does it know what that date is because we made up all these terms for time, nor would it know the notion of teleporting. Beyond that, who would hear you? Your neighbors, roommates, perhaps. The universe? Who knows. It won't respond though.

So if your goal is to use a time machine to go back to London on the 15th of March in 1963, the main or at least significant hurdle to overcome would be figuring out how to translate those terms into something a machine can understand. You can't hack the universe if reality isn't composed of any language you comprehend.

Location

One possible problem with a teleporting time machine, a part of the last issue, is setting a location for it to move to. There's no "universal coordinates" for anything to ever understand, so the instantaneous movement would have to do more with distance ("Move 5000 miles in this direction") than a name ("Move to 8.436 at the Fart Quadrant"). Then after that, how could you ever tell it a direction? The Earth constantly rotates and the universe knows no ups and downs. A computer can move you up if it understood the concept, but could it adjust for the spinning Earth's movement, in real time and constantly? Even then, think, London in 1963 isn't in the same place it is now, at least not in a specific technical sense that'd get your nerd glasses broken if you mentioned it to a varsity jacket jock. Sure, it is the same place on Earth, but everything in the solar system and everything else around it is moving constantly. That is to say, even if you solved the other problems and went to where London is now in 1963, you could just end up stranded in the galactic void waiting for a planet to hit you in sixty years.

Time

How do you make a computer understand the concept of 1963 A.D.? You can't, it could read you the definition if programmed but it could not in any meaningful capacity take you back to that time just by the phrase alone.

Okay, so instead of asking it to drop you into a year, what about pushing you back? Asking it to go back 60 years from the present 2023 to 1963. Such a thing would require us to find and observe a measurable unit of time that can send you back in time a certain amount for each of the unit. The further back you want to go, the more of the units. Also remember, the present is constantly moving forward. You may have to make a system where the units increase for each second the time machine isn't travelling. Or not, you wouldn't need to care if you're not the type to fuss over the exact second in a given day you time travel to. It would honestly be a little dumb to, anyways.

No Teleportation

So what we can conclude from those first two sections is that a hypothetical time machine could not teleport. It would have to involve some sort of pushing back in time. You cannot tell something to drop into a coordinate, but you can workshop it to move in the direction of where you want. How that'd work is beyond me, at least at the moment. It's like telling your car to "be" in New York instead of driving to New York, you'd have to drive it or nothing would happen.

The one big exception that would make it possible would be if we were able to harness something beyond our current understanding like a wormhole or a fantastical portal or something.

Past

If you want to build a time machine, you have to ask yourself at some point, to what extent does the past exist? Going back to a past implies our very reality remembers or records. For all we know, it only exists as far as our memories and social constructs around it allow. Imagine you're playing a video game and you never save and you're at the final boss. You're at the final boss and you've unlocked everything, that proves that you actually played the game this far. However, you couldn't go to a previous part of your playthrough because there are no previous save states. Does the universe "save" anything? How could one go back to a past that does not exist in any meaningful way beyond memory and explaining the present? I'm saying, you can't go back if there's nothing to go back to.

Time Travelers

Something that must eventually be asked on the question of real time travel is: where are all the time travelers? The idea is that if past time travel were possible, someone in the future could invent time travel and make it evident that it's possible by going to the past. Perhaps it is possible and yet nobody was able to invent a time machine due to the doom of humanity as the last advanced civilization on Earth before we could even grasp the mechanics of such a device. Maybe we're in an objective present as opposed to a relative one where a future hasn't been recorded yet for any supposed time travelers to even come from, which if false would have a lot of audacity as a theory. Maybe it's stupid fucking science fiction novel bullshit where we haven't seen evidence of time travelers because of a secret time-keeping organization strictly regulating such a device and also trying to prevent paradoxes or whatever the fuck and doing their job really well, that one is my least favorite.

Relativity

I'm gonna do this one assuming you all know the gist of the theory of relativity and the idea that time is relative to where you are, though I very well may have no idea what I'm talking about. Imagine this, we have Not-Earth and Earth. Not-Earth is an inconceivably long distance away from Earth to the extent that it goes through time slower comparatively than Earth does, though the human consciousness on both planets experiences both at the same rate. Remember the hypothetical measurable time units? My question is, would relativity suggest the hypothetical time units needed to go back a given amount of years would vary on location, or would it just need the same amount regardless of location?

The Science

This section is going to be brief because I don't know jack shit. From what I've gathered, past time travel can be possible according to certain scientific laws. Knowing whether or not past time travel can be achieved for certain, at least as it seems to me, seems like such a fantastical thing to know that it has to be out of our grasp for a long time. I'm not gonna link the article so either google it or call me a liar, but I saw an article about how scientists successfully simulated sending a particle back in time through a quantum computer. That suggests nothing on the possibility of physical particles time traveling back in time though, only that a computer can show us fantastical things which I know already from watching videos of horse dressage. That's a joke, I don't watch that.

In Conclusion

So, time machines capable of backwards time travel, what a mouthful. Basically, if you wanted to make such a thing you'd have to think of something so immensely clever and beyond the imagination and science we currently have. If it's ever done I'd love to learn how they solve these issues, at least the parts I could wrap my head. Hell, maybe even science fiction writers know how to jump the hurdles, even if they lack the technical fortitude.

If you got this far, thank you. I doubt this will interest much of anyone at all. If at least one person thinks it's an interesting read, though, I will be happy enough.

[plesstandby]

And I yearn

to be a strikingly-good poet. not even to be renowned as the best in my field, but to be recognized as someone who could flood senses with mere words. to silence the salt-burn of life's rigid reasoning and to tap into the mind's eye of my humble audience with something as incisive as memory.

dear reader. although the pursuit of translating thoughts and feelings into words is taxing, aches at my neck and crunches my spine, it would be a travesty to forsake my gift for writing. I find that there is love in expressing. whether or not we succeed or fail in making others understand what it is that we feel inside is not the purpose. instead, a beauty that comes from shouting, into the crags of the void. a joy, in hearing another shout back.

capturing the feelings of a moment is in itself a chore that I could not as more abhor than to like, but I do it anyway. Feelings are sacred little things. elusive fairies that dart away from any quick advances in trying to capture it. it is only in stillness, I believe, will we be ever as close to feeling the fullness of a moment. its ephemeral nature, its elegant poise and nuance. I am drawn to complexity. The good kind that is fashioned so delicately by reality to produce a compelling machination that shifts and errs. the stuff of reality that changes at every point in perspective you pick to view them in. humans are complex in that aspect. arguments, ideas, creations. philosophies, history and situations. take any point and see as your world changes. as it expands and perhaps in its goodwill, ignorance receded. How I was a few minutes ago, when I donned on this forest green military jacket, was the most centered I felt in a long time. It was like I was in prayer without the praying hands. introspective and delicate piano arrangements filled the room in a cascade of feeling. It reminded me of Mass, and of the prayer services my class section would attend at 6:45 am on occasion. Oh, school. This school year is ending soon, and I have barely talked to my classmates.

how I yearn, to say what I am feeling and to be freed from these idiosyncrasies that remind me time and time again that I am human. and that is to mention my mid-sentence stutters or my awkward pauses-- those of which give me considerable time to think before I can be myself once again. but i suppose that this is how i am and ever will be. i am a reflective individual and i swear on my duty as a human to respond as i can ever completely to the shouts coming from whichever cavern from wherever void.

To be human, and to be a good human at that, is who I yearn to be.

[msweebyness]

Can we ask for multiple characters? If so, for the Monster Kids, what's your favorite thing about being your monster species?

Marinette: Well, for voodoo dolls like me, aside from the fact that it poses a risk to others, which sucks, losing a limb or getting torn up isn’t really a problem, because we can just sew up the damage!

Alya: Being able to phase through walls and other solid objects comes in pretty handy a lot of the time! Never need to worry about losing my room key for one!

Nino: Well, like Mari, losing limbs isn’t a problem for us Steins! Plus, my volts can charge up anything that me or my friends need in like half a minute, which is cool!

Max: Well, having several useful tools automatically built into your body comes in rather handy in a pinch, and you can always install new ones as needed! Perks of being a machine.

Kim: We werewolves have the sharpest senses of any monster species, that’s what makes us such awesome hunters! Turning into a wolf whenever I want is also pretty cool!

Alix: Turning an annoying jackassss who won't sssstop running their mouth to sssstone ssshutsss 'em up real quick. It’sss a pretty efficient way to teach people a lesssson.

Ivan: My people very strong. Five year old Yeti can crush boulders size of truck tires in bare hands. This is something I like. We also have high tolerance for pain, hit with rocks and snow a lot. Do not get cold easy either.

Mylene: Plant monsters can grow anything in a matter of minutes, we do have two green thumbs after all! We also don’t need anything but water and sunlight to survive!

Juleka: vampires have a lot of cool powers, to be honest. I like turning into a bat and flying around the most. It just makes you feel really free!

Luka: Yeah, same here. Going bat mode is pretty wicked!

Rose: Skeleton bones actually make pretty killer music, like psychedelic xylophones! I use my bones when I play with Jules! Plus I can reattach them, no sweat!

Sabrina: Grrrrrrggggghhhh, Urrrrrggggh. (Translation: Well, the best thing about being a zombie is probably the brain power! We’re not as stupid as people think, and we have LOOONG memories. We’re also great at organizing and coordinating stuff.)

Chloé: Being Egyptian royalty has a lot of perks! We have servants to take care of things for us, and we live in fancy pyramids with tons of treasure.

Zoe: We also can use ancient Egyptian magic, you know, summoning sandstorms, waves of scarabs, and all sorts of curses and spells!

Nathaniel: Well, I’m made of stone, so I never really have to worry about getting hurt. I can also use my own hands as chisels for my sculpting in a pinch, plus I can look Alix in the eyes.

Marc: I just really like being able to fly, it makes me feel free and really calm. Plus, having four arms means I can do a bunch of stuff at once!

Ondine: Well, I can breathe and survive in both fresh and salt water, which is really cool! I can also talk to fish and other aquatic creatures, they’re so sweet and funny. Plus, no one swims faster than me!

Kagami: Storm dragons such as myself can command the weather and climate. We also have an uncanny sense for locating treasure, especially gold.

Aurore: My kind has a vast array of the telepathic abilities, such as psychic communication and the levitating of objects with our mental strength.

Mireille: Being made of slime means that I don’t have to hold one shape. I can contort and manipulate my body to fit into just about any space!

Jean: Well, the pipes on us phantoms are pretty wicked! When I’m really projectin’, you can hear me almost a mile away! Plus, we can travel through mirrors, which is handy in a pinch.

Denise: Sasquatches can leap as far as thirty feet if we really put our backs into it! Makes hiking a lot of fun. Plus, we’re crazy strong, on the same level as yetis!

Simon: Well, Cyclops are favored by the sea gods, which is pretty cool. We’re also pretty strong and good at building stuff. I use it for tech more than anything.

Reshma: Well, my webs come in pretty handy for a lot of different things! Sewing thread, heavy duty rope, transportation, they can even be accessories or decorations! Also, like Marc said, multiple limbs make multitasking pretty easy!

Cosette: Well, we Minotaurs have pretty hard heads! I can smash right through a wall without even getting dizzy! Also, the nose rings look badass!

Ismael: Well, we werecats are kind of natural acrobats! Super agile, great at climbing and always land on our feet!

Lacey: Well, never having to worry about getting cold, that’s one thing! Plus, having flames leaping off your body makes for some wicked-looking stunts!

Lila: Being a harpy means that people don’t expect you to follow the rules, and being able to fly comes in handy when getting away with things.

[hyuck-xix]

haven't actually talked much about the istj album so here's my current ranking from fave to least fave (subject to change, of course!):

1. sos

2. blue wave

3. istj

4. starry night

5. poison

6. like we just met

7. broken melodies

8. skateboard

9. yogurt shake

10. pretzel

and a mini review:

it's pretty much a no-skip album! except maybe pretzel for me, i find it a little obnoxious :/ overall i really like this musical direction nct dream is taking, with a few more "dark" songs than they usually have. there seems to be a theme across istj, poison, and sos-- they all sing about some sort of toxic yet irresistible lover ("glamorous, dangerous", "poison in my mind, destruction in my mind", "even if it hurts me i just endlessly over and over again go towards you"). it's cool to hear a more dramatic and moody tone from nct dream, and i think they pull it off really well. i really hope they pursue it further in future albums. i also really loved the sweetness of broken melodies and like we just met, they have that "nct dream" feeling to me, like romantic but in a very genuine and heartfelt way. yogurt shake feels like the next "life is still going on", with the cute xylophone. as for the title track, i think it's excellent. the opening instrumental reminds me of a sewing machine actually. it's a bit of a frenetic song, the tempo is SO FAST. but i think it works in their favor! the song feels really fresh. i think the vocal and rap sections are in exactly the right places, and the transitions between the two are actually a lot more seamless than some of their other songs imo. from the live performances, i sense the song is technically quite difficult. not just in terms of high notes or whatever, but the vocal techniques are different than usual (I'm not an expert here lol this is just what i observe), like renjun's bridge part seems a lot more belt-y than I'm used to from him, and the prechorus is delicate and complicated. the weak spots for me are in the overall narrative concept. the lyrics barely make sense, and i suspect it's not just a lost-in-translation thing. it's not a very relatable song (then again I'm not sure any of dream's title tracks are? but i want to hold them to that higher standard i know they're capable of). I'll talk about the music video in another post bc i fear this is getting rambly as it is!

i still think hello future holds first place for me in terms of best collection of tracks in nct dream's discography. but that's a really really tough album to beat.

[msprojects]

Things on my mind atm

I'm listening to the latest episode of Hokuto's radio (#8 I think?) show after only repeatedly listening to his first episode, and the growth in his confidence is considerable! I'm happy he sounds more comfortable and is getting used to being a solo host.

I haven't had much time lately to translate, but I definitely want to keep translating his show. The pace of his speech is just right for me :D He really is nice to listen to.

I've been making progress on his first episode, but I get caught up in how to convey what he says more than just directly translating it. I'm sure it'll still make sense if I directly translate it, but I want to capture the feel of what he wants to say because I think directly translating it loses some of that feeling.

Actually, I've also been having some doubts about my ability to translate -

Lol, it seems like Hokuto likes One Republic, he's playing their songs a lot in this episode.

In any case, I've been having some doubts about my translating ability because even though, for example, I get the general gist of what Hokuto is saying, when I check it again via machine translation (which I admit may not be the best way), I somehow just barely missed what was actually said.

Maybe it's just growing pains, and this might be a sign that I'm improving?

I don't know, but I just want to get better in all aspects of learning the language quickly. Buuuuut that might be my actual problem, isn't it, trying to rush things ^^;; It wouldn't hurt for me to take it slow and properly learn things, right? :D

[daz4i]

Please tell me about your au, I saw you said you had a bit about Chuuya written? I'm instantly 👀, can't wait to read the whole thing if you ever post it. I also need a bit of a distraction tbh, got my T shot today so now my ass hurts, you know how it is

oh damn stay strong bestie!!!!! D: i feel your pain 🤝

as for the au!!!!!! i'm gonna copy paste the chuuya bit and everything around him (which oh god now that i'm on browser view i can see it covers nearly a whole google docs page) but like, beforehand lemme give you a tldr:

angels. demons. all real baby. no abilities tho. the mafia are demons, the hunting dogs are angels, and the agency is made of (mostly) humans who protect humanity when they might get in the crossfire between these factions (there are more angels and demons out there but like. these are their anchors to the human world, in a sense)

some background abt the mafia bc it's necessary (also copy pasted directly hehe sorry): the mafia is basically hell. not as in it sucks, but, it’s a safe haven for demons and fallen angels and the likes (important to note, it employs - mostly in the lower ranks or in utility positions - humans as well)

i think that's all you need to know to understand the chuuya stuff hm. i will def post the whole thing tho when i'm finished! anyway here's darkness my sorrow:

chuuya is a fallen angel. he was a young angel taken for experimentation, humans studying the species to learn more about them, with one single researcher wondering what’ll happen if you combine an angel with a demon somehow - thus, creating arahabaki, inside chuuya, essentially a demonic soul he has to keep at bay. however, one day in the lab, while chuuya was barely aware of what’s happening, arahabaki unleashed itself and killed all the humans around, causing chuuya to officially lose his (physical) wings.

being a fallen angel does not necessarily mean he’s a demon - his holy, radiant powers simply turned darker, and his angelic values are gone, essentially he became a human with the powers of a dark angel, and these powers help him keep arahabaki down. 

chuuya doesn’t remember his past - doesn’t remember being an angel, let alone being experimented on. he knows arahabaki is inside him, and he remembers his own name, and that he’s been alive for A While, but nothing from that time. the events of 15 go p much the same, i wanna say (rimbaud is a demon and the sheep are human btw), so he ends up joining the mafia. 

will verlaine come in at some point? maybe. i wanna say he will be an angel that through experimentation was turned into a demon, and he thinks chuuya is the same. 

the flags were humans, also low ranking in the mafia, and given chuuya's odd nature of a being, mori put him in their care "thinking" he's a weird human anyway (but lbr he knows better). this makes chuuya feel more defined in his humanity and having a sense of belonging to humanity as a whole - he doesn't remember being an angel (tho through plot stuff he does learn about it. blame verlaine), and he no longer is one anyway. he's certainly not a demon, even if he now works for them. he knows he's not Normal, can feel arahabaki living under his skin, but he wants to be human, fascinated with the life you can have as one, and so he chooses to live as one. 

hehe this is my translation of stormbringer into this au, mostly. or like. the first half of it bc oh god oh fuck i still haven't finished reading it. btw as a bonus here's what i have abt adam for now:

idk where adam comes into play but legally he has to be there bc i love him. maybe he's an artificial angel, somehow. i do so love the combination of divine and machine 👀 (<- smt metatron stan)

riveting i know i know. if you've got ideas for him feel free to send them my way!!!! (and this is @ all my followers not just anon >:3)

[sojirosteacup]

Years ago, the kbs website used to have character profiles for the bof kdrama characters (the links don't work anymore, but you can still read them through wayback machine). These profiles mostly had stuff we already know about them, maybe with some extra details from the manga that didn't get mentioned in the drama but are easy to guess.

But Woobin's profile is the surprising thing here. It's very detailed considering he has barely any lines in the episodes. And it gives us a lot of insight about his characterization (or what it could have been if he had more screen time):

I'm gonna start by saying that I used google translator bc my korean skills are far from fluent. lol So blame any mistakes on google.

So let's go to the text. Parts of the profile are in italics and the my comments are normal text.

The first part of his description are just stuff that are mentioned or implied in the k-drama (In one line! But it is!):

"He is the hidden leader of F4 and the successor to Ilsim Construction, an emerging blue-chip company in the real estate industry. It is a long-established boss family that has led the traditional violent organization Ilsimpa for generations. In Woo Bin's father's generation, elite management was advocated. By legally diversifying its business, it proudly joined the ranks of emerging conglomerates. However, excellent personal network management that can be mobilized in case of emergency."

Hidden leader doesn't mean leader. The leader is still Junpyo, it's just that Woobin is the only sane man in the group lol.

But at least this part gives us a name for his mafia. I like how his family didn't bother to give the company a different name from it

"Its ability and ability to quickly and powerfully mobilize cash are its secret weapons that even Shinhwa Group cannot ignore."

This is interesting because it implies Junpyo's family keeps Woobin close because of this, which answers the question of why Junpyo's mother lets him be friends with the heir of a criminal organization. And I have no doubt she is interested in the criminal connections too. Let's be honest, that woman is probably involved in a lot of corruption.

"He lives with his mother, who gave birth to him when she was 20, and his twin sisters who were born late."

Whoa, that's a lot of information here. So his little sisters from the manga are canon in this adaptation.

which gives a new meaning to Junpyo's line in episode 16:

He wasn't talking about Woobin's girlfriends, he was talking about Woobin's sisters and maybe mother too.

"This may be the reason why he only meets older people and feels attracted only to older people. Rather than taking care of something, he often find comfort in the love he receives and can rely on. Sometimes, he seduces married women who have husbands without hesitation, but while they are dating, he is a pure romantic who only devotes his sincerity to the other person, showing off his undiminished popularity."

This is manga stuff too and none of this was mentioned in the kdrama. I imagine they thought it would be too controversial to include him having affairs with married women which is fair enough, but I wish they had done something to at least imply it.

"He has a soft charisma that leads his opponents regardless of his young age. His sense of humor has become more savory thanks to the bad hip hop English he learned while studying abroad for a short time as a getaway."

HE STUDIED ABROAD????????? WHY WASN'T THIS MENTIONED IN ANY EPISODE??????? THIS MAKES HIS ENGLISH ACTUALLY MAKE SENSE

And "as a getaway" implies he did that to escape from his life. It goes hand in hand with his manga characterization of the stressed friend.

"He has an innate sense of economics and a spicy fist, which is revealed in various odds and figures in gambling, investment, and securities."

i dunno what a spicy fist is but most of this is just obvious stuff. It's funny to imagine him gambling, though.

"He hates his father who passed on the complex and responsibility of his origins. In the end, they are the most similar."

This is the only thing shown in the kdrama. It's during that scene when he and Yijung are talking in ep 18, when Woobin was threatening to jump off the bridge.

But that's also one of the most interesting thing about this profile.

The mafia thing is not in the manga. There is not a single scene where this is implied and we don't even know what Akira's family does besides "they own a company". I think the first version to include the mafia thing was the Jdrama? Correct me if I'm wrong.

So it's interesting to see that the kdrama actually had plans to do something with it besides "he is a mafia heir look how dangerous and cool he is". And they mixed this with Akira's low self steem from the manga to make him hate himself for his mafia heritage!!! And if we take his F4 after story MV into account, he also seems to have the same not-mafia-related low self esteem from his manga counterpart. This makes it a very interesting characterization.

And then they used it in only one scene.

(sorry Akira)