#wasted winter break if i had the focus i had now on the project i want to do i could've done it that week now i don't know if i have enough

[vraska-theunseen]

they should make a school day with 36 hours 8 to work in the shop bc im so slow at doing work and like 3 to go to other classes and get food and like 2 to study and do homework but then 10 to sleep and 13 to relax from doing so much work or read or work on chainmail or hangout with friends or listen to music or watch a movie or embroider

[headfulloflettuce]

The Human Who Fooled All of Prythian

18. Family Meeting

Note: I would like it to be known that I love Kallias and Viviane and that they're an absolute power couple. The woman literally kept his court together during the years he was gone and now they finally get to be reunited. In other news, I have discovered the 'read more' function on tumblr.

Aquilo wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep. Unfortunately, that right was denied due to his official duties.

I didn’t actually expect those two to show up.

He had of course been truthful in giving Edur his well deserved punishment, but it wasn't exactly common for fae to show up at the training grounds the way they did. Even with permissions, most would think twice before taking up a soldier’s offer and walking straight into a lion’s den. Aquilo, to put it simply, was impressed.

Their actions warranted respect. The blonde one’s confidence is contagious, and Ophelia is...well, beautiful. That was the only way to describe her. From her hazel hair that looked like maple leaves and eyes that held an entire Autumn forest-

Aquilo shook his head, trying to focus on the soldiers training before him.

“Another lap!”

The soldiers continued with no complaint, though Aquilo could see their exhaustion.

Get your head in the game Aquilo. Now was not the time to think about a female’s lips, or the way her skin was perfectly tanned, making her stick out in the winter landscape-

“That’s enough for today!” Aquilo dismissed his trainees, stomping off to the changing rooms, his ears slightly pink.

Damnit.

He entered one of the palace’s side buildings, grabbing a bucket of water and pouring it over himself; the cold clearing away any unwanted thoughts. Aquilo quickly changed into his formal attire, walking back to the main palace. A soldier, stationed on one of the garden paths, saluted the captain as he passed by. Aquilo gave him an acknowledging nod, but wasted no time on pleasantries. With the solstice approaching security had been heightened, soldiers stationed nearly at every corner and door. 

Wish this festival would end soon so we could go back to our normal routine.

The Winter Solstice was a wonderful holiday, one of Aquilo’s favorites. However, the amount of things to keep track of had always overwhelmed him, not that he would ever let it show. His High Lord and Lady needed him in top condition, and they would get no less.

Preparations were in full swing with courtiers and maids ran back and forth within the main palace. From food, to decorations, to potential debates, the Court was attempting to prepare for anything that may occur.

Aquilo stopped before the door to the High Lord’s office, knocking on it three times.

“Come in.”

Aquilo stepped inside, bowing. Kallias didn’t look up from his work, simply waving him over. Aquilo approached his ruler.

The man needed a break. Kallias had always been pale, but his eyebags currently made him look like a skeleton.

Aquilo stood awkwardly as Kallias said nothing.

“How did the meeting with the businessmen go?” Aquilo prodded.

Kallias groaned, putting his head into his hands, “As well as one would expect, badly. Things are stagnating culturally and economically.”

Aquilo nodded sympathetically, “I am sure it will get better.”

You and Viviane have been working very hard, there’s no way it’s going to go to waste.

Kallias hummed, staring at the papers in front of him, “Amarantha’s reign really screwed with any projects we had at the time. The war with Hybern just made the situation worse. We also need to tackle the lack of food due to Spring being out of the picture.” he sighed, “I think we have no choice but to start considering larger trade routes with Autumn or Summer.”

Aquilo tensed at the thought of dealing with Beron.

As if reading his mind Kallias nodded in agreement, “It’s not ideal, but it may be necessary, so please prepare for it.”

Emotionally or physically?

Kallias’s look answered; both.

“Oh, how is that disciplinary program of yours coming along?” The High Lord’s cold blue eyes met Aquilo’s.

“It’s going well sir.”

Mother, the shame he felt reporting the Eduro incident to Kallias…

“Good. I don’t need us gaining a reputation for military corruption.” The High Lord noted.

“I will ensure that never happens.” Aquilo’s voice gained an edge. If there was one thing he would protect it was the reputation of Winter Court’s military.

Kallias ran a hand through his hair, “My apologies, we got sidetracked. You had a report to give.”

“No problem my lord.” Aquilo straightened his back, “Security measures have been heightened since the war which has led to a decrease in conflicts out on the streets and major cities. We’re currently spreading out our military units to more rural regions to offer them additional support.”

Kallias nodded, tapping a pen on the table as he thought.

“My men…have reported Night Court soldiers traveling by forest in the direction of Summer again.”

We both however know of their real destination; Spring.

“How many times has this happened already?”

“We have twenty five recorded instances sir. Three times just this month.”

Not counting the potential incidents my men simply didn’t spot. Night Court soldiers were known for their discretion. Always hiding in the shadows.

“Those winged bats really think they can get away with anything?” Kallias snarled, his icy demeanor breaking to reveal a blizzard underneath.

Aquilo shivered as the temperature of the room dropped.

The poor maids will have to scrub ice off the furniture again.

Suddenly, a black blur burst into the office, making the two men break out of their tense scene.

“Kallias! Look, look!” Briar practically yelled, waving her arms around, pausing as she saw their expressions, “Oh, I am sorry, are you two in a meeting?”

Aquilo had to admit; it was wonderful seeing the mortal become more comfortable within the palace. When she had first arrived she stuck to her room, avoiding most of the staff members.

“Yes, we are, is this something important?” Kallias took a deep breath, the temperature in the room returning to normal.

“Oh, it’s huge!” she ran over to the large desk, “Look at this perfume!”

Kallias and Aquilo immediately both recoiled.

“Briar, no!” the High Lord warned, trying to snatch the bottle away from the human, but Briar pulled back, “You know how…strong the scents of Winter Court perfumes are.”

“Not this one!” she insisted, “It’s a new release, just try it!”

“Briar, you know I am not a big fan of these things.” Kallias tried to reason with the child.

“Aww, pretty please!” she pleaded, “I promise you’ll like it!”

Kallias physically pulled back as Briar waved the bottle in his face.

“Briar, are you terrorizing Kallias again?” Viviane chidded, stepping inside, smiling gently.

“Viviane!”

The Lady of Winter smiled at the young girl, “Yes de-”

“Try this perfume!”

Viviane’s expression instantly fell, her hand protectively resting on her pregnant stomach, “Absolutely not, and didn’t I tell you to not go near the perfumery street?”

Briar groaned, grabbing a napkin and spritzing some of the perfume onto it.

“Briar no!” The three adults tried to stop her, but nothing happened.

Viviane approached Briar, sniffing the air, then taking the napkin and taking another small whiff.

“Where did you get this from?” she asked quietly.

“Evelyn gave it to me!”

Viviane shook her head. Her sister was always trying new things; for better or for worse. In this case, certainly for the better. 

“Kallias, smell it.”

“Love, you know how I fe-”

“Smell. It.” Viviane walked over to her husband, thrusting the napkin into his arms, which he reluctantly smelled, his eyes widening.

“This…is actually good.” he paused, looking at Briar, “What is this?”

“Perfume.” Briar looked smug.

“I realize it’s perfume, I mean where did you get it?”

“One of Evelyn’s personal servants got it.” Briar explained, “Apparently there is this new perfumery that opened up near one of the city’s centers outside of the perfumery street. It's affordable so the maid bought this bottle and began wearing it. When Lady Evelyn inquired about it the maid gave the perfume to her to try.”

“Wait, are you talking about the new perfumery run by two women?” Aquilo perked up.

“Yeah!” Briar nodded vigorously, “That one! Though I believe they have two guys working there too. A fae and his father to be more specific. Why do you ask?”

Wait, Ophelia worked with another mal-

Aquilo coughed, hoping the group didn’t notice his hesitance, “The two ladies running it just stopped by the training grounds.”

“What?!” Briar stared at Aquilo, “What do you mean they visited? Why?”

“You remember the Edur incident, yes?”

“Of course!” Briar huffed, Viviane ruffled the human’s hair fondly.

“Well, those two were the victims of that situation.”

Specifically Ophelia.

Aquilo couldn’t help but bristle at the memory.

“What were they like?” Briar asked curiously. 

“They were quite interesting. Cosette, she’s the blonde one, she definitely has a spine, while Ophelia….” 

Was a forgiving individual with an unparalleled grace and friendly demeanor.

“…has quite the positive attitude.” Aquilo had to stop himself from voicing his true thoughts.

Stay professional brain.

“Do they both make perfumes?” Viviane chimed in.

“Oh um…” Aquilo paused, “I don’t actually know, I didn’t ask.”

Briar groaned, “For being the royal captain of the guard I would have expected you to ask more about peoples’ identities.”

Aquilo nodded.

She was right, it was irresponsible of him.

Viviane shook her head, “Aquilo, she’s not being serious.”

Oh.

”How long has this been on the market for?” Kallias looked at the bottle thoughtfully.

“Uhh…the maid said the group has been selling perfumes for the past couple months.”

Kallias quickly set the bottle aside, rummaging through some papers, “Hmm…based on the business ownership reports I’d guess it’s the fae called Cosette.” 

“So we do have information on them!” Briar’s face lit up.

“Yes, albeit minimal since they’ve only been active for the past couple months.” Kallias nodded, looking at the reports.

“It's very hard to get a hold of the perfumer. Since they’re a new business they still have a very small team and thus she’s constantly busy making perfumes.” Briar pouted, “Me and Evelyn tried to visit several times undercover but she was always gone or occupied with existing customers.”

“Why go undercover? Simply visit under the royal name.” Viviane smiled mischievously. 

Briar rolled her eyes, “That would make a bad impression! Besides, I am not a royal.”

“Please don’t worry about using our names to get somewhere.” the High Lord tried to reassure her, “You're our guest and a human on top of that. It would be irresponsible of us not to provide for you to our fullest extent. That includes you having access to everything you may need or want.”

Briar looked unconvinced by Kallias’s response.

How long will it take for them to stop being so possessive? They were practically smothering the poor girl with their affections.

Aquilo kept his face neutral, hoping he wouldn’t have to watch another argument between his two rulers and their unofficially adopted child.

“Just because I am a human living in Winter Court under your care doesn’t give me the right to parade around throwing titles at random business owners!” Briar retorted.

“Wise words dear.” Viviane interjected with a polite smile, sensing a growing conflict, “It’s good to remain humble. Now, how about instead we all go together? Kallias, you have been complaining nonstop that there are no good business people in the city, we should go meet the owner to establish relations!”

“Yeah! Diplomacy or whatever else Lucien likes to talk about.” Briar quickly agreed with Viviane.

The head of the guard cringed internally as the two High Fae missed the true root of the problem.

The issue wasn’t time or the desire to network, it was that the human was lonely. She was surrounded by beings that barely understood her and treated her like glass. Briar needed a friend, not another sycophant that wanted to get close to the rulers of Winter Court through her.

Kallias nodded, following his wife’s lead, “That’s a good idea. How about we go after the Winter Solstice though? We’re all quite busy right now and preparations are taking up all of our attention.”

Viviane nodded in agreement, while Briar huffed slightly.

“I was looking forward to meeting her though…” Briar muttered.

“Although I am sure the perfumer is an interesting conversation partner, we still don’t know much about this business. Seeing how they behave in the lead up to the solstice and during it will help us gauge their intentions and legitimacy.” Kallais spoke calmly, not wanting to take an unnecessary risk. 

Aquilo understood his High Lord’s preference for caution when considering the perfumery businesses’ past activities within the city. 

I wouldn’t want to endorse something potentially illegal either.

“He has a point.” Viviane’s voice was soft as she looked at Briar, “If the business seems fair and good after the celebrations are over then we ourselves would love to go and see the place with you.”

“On that topic, how is the perfumery street investigation coming along?” Kallias turned back to his head of the guard.

“Not well my Lord. Any tracks we try to follow always lead to dead ends, and proving the usage of drugs is challenging due to magic wards.” Aquilo sighed.

Kallias’s eyes narrowed in frustration, “If this continues half of my damn court will become addicts.”

“I am sure this new place isn’t like that!” Briar glared indignantly.

“We can’t know for certain.” Some ice seeped into Kallias’s voice, the temperature of the room throbbed.

Aquilo coughed.

Please don’t freeze the mortal sire.

Kallias took a deep breath. An argument now wouldn’t help anyone.

“Just try to keep an open mind.” Briar shivered slightly, a flash of guilt passing over Kallias’s face.

“Alright.” he nodded, yet his tone remained cold, “I promise to keep an open mind when we go to meet the perfumery owner.”

“For such a simple bottle the scent sure is good?” Viviane sniffed the napkin again, making Briar smile.

“Well, looks aren’t everything.” Kallias said, his voice devoid of humor. Perfumery street had taught them all that the hard way.

Viviane shook her head at her mate’s moodiness, approaching him and gently stroking his messy hair, “When was the last time you slept Kal?”

“Yesterday?” Kallias took a deep breath, relaxing against his mate’s touch.

“Haha, if you were in bed yesterday, I would have remembered.” Viviane winked suggestively.

“Okay no, ew. We don’t need to hear about that!” Briar exclaimed.

I agree. We don’t need to hear about that.

“I just want to make sure the event goes well. Tensions are high right now and we can’t afford-”

“Aww just admit you want to beat Helion’s Winter Solstice celebration.” Viviane kissed his cheek gently.

Kallias grumbled, but didn’t argue.

Aquilo restrained the smirk that wanted to escape. His High Lord has always been a competitive one, despite the cool exterior.

“How about, instead of working yourself to the brink of seeing the Mother herself, we go get some food in you?”

Kallias nodded, kissing Viviane's hand, “I would love that Viv.”

Viviane booped his nose, pulling him up, “What do you want for lunch Briar?”

“Can we have the chicken the cooks made yesterday?”

“Of course dear.” Viviane smiled. They had been trying to get Briar to try different foods but the human was stubborn in her ways, insisting she didn't want them to waste more money than necessary, sticking to simpler dishes.

The two rulers didn’t stop the young human, permitting her to eat whatever she wanted, merely suggesting alternatives.

“What do you think of trying a different type of desert today?” Viviane asked gently.

“Hmm…”

“Perhaps Eclairs?” Kallias’s eyes sparkled as he walked on Briar’s other side.

Briar seemed conflicted. Eventually, her curiosity to try a new sweet treat besides ice cream won out, “I would like that.”

Aquilo watched the group leave, chatting happily, trailing after them quietly.

I wonder what Ophelia’s favorite sweet is?

Next: Chapter 19 - Memento

Back: Chapter 17 - All Things Magic and Mystic

Masterlist

Tag list: @rcarbo1

If you want to be added to a tag list let me know :D

[noellesnowelle]

Monthly (& weekly) Update

Missing almost all of Octobers spooky, autumn mood ... but it's going upwards again

October Recap

A lot of time was spent in some kind of mind fog. I rewatched all 50 episodes of 'The Untamed' before the 24. of October because Netflix showed me that the series will be taken down then. Weirdly, but luckily, it is still there but I wasted a lot of my time and energy on watching Netflix. Originally I planned to rewatch the series during winter break when I actually have more free time, but because it is my favourite series and Netflix wanted to take it down, I had to watch it again.

Because of that my mental and physical health suffered a lot during that two weeks...

But I also did a lot of art in October! I did my first ever Bob Ross tutorial and it was so fun! I also went outside and did tree and leaf studies around my house (in the picture). Hopefully I will do it again sometime soon.

Besides that I also jumped into research about Romania and Romanian (prompted by a question in my Finnish course).

Romania is such a beautiful country and Romanian is also such a beautiful language! I didn't realize before that Romanian is a Romance language (even though it is literally in the name) and it is so useful! Because I learned Spanish for 6 years in school I can already understand a little bit. But I also love the sound of it. Especially because of the eastern-european influnces like 'sch' sounds.

I hope I can travel to Romania in the future. (I also have such a strong longing for the mountains. That is really the only thing I am missing here in Finland...)

Now a good old Weekly Update

28.10.-03.11.2024

finally a good week again... studying, dancing and the first snow!

Studying

I had a schooling for the Hygiene Passport and it felt so good to finally learn something else again besides Finnish

during this week was another self-study day and it is so nice to have these inbetween regular days (I can focus better on things that I don't know already, plus I am quicker with completing all the tasks!)

I took a deep dive into research Finnish Art as preparation for the coming week, it is so interesting!

Languages

I still need to work on my method for studying vocabulary, this is definitely a project for the next weeks

I studied a bit of Romanian. Every time it is so much fun trying to pronounce a new language. Although it is like taking wobbly baby steps. But it is an exhilarating feeling!

Health

the dry and cold air outside and the dry and warm air inside is not good for my skin and eyes...

I did a few dance workouts this week - my favourite form of cardio!

feeling a bit stressed this weekend and relaxing was difficult, but Yoga helped a bit

For myself

I learned the chorus dance of Kiss of Life's 'Igloo' Dance and it was so much fun. The dance is so addicting. I actually managed to learn it in 2 hours which is super fast for me. But it probably helped that it is in a style that I move more naturally in.

I took time to watch the old Addams Family movies for the first time and it was nice. I want to catch some of the remaining spooky, autumn vibes (even with snow outside) as I feel like I missed my favourite time and month of the year...

this week's

reading / watching / listening

Bitterthorn - Kat Dunn (2nd time I am reading it)

Addams family 1 & 2

Ronja Rövardotter

Imaginary Friend - ITZY

Igloo (Igloo) - Kiss Of Life

Smoke - Otyken

(I literally accidentally deleted this post right after posting it and instead of letting the hour of writing go to waste, I am rewriting it now stubbornly instead of crying and never doing it, even though I already wanted to sleep. Which is why it is also shorter than it was, but maybe that's a good thing... Good Night... 40 min. later than planned...)

[ansbobcar]

RINKA LORE TIME/FUNFACTS [part 1 of idk]

I'm realising I can't squeeze her entire backstory or shits into the span of this fic so here's some stuff I barely expanded upon in the fic in no particular order becuz I lowkey forgot.

There's some spoilers for my fic but they're kinda minor (no big reveals lol)

1. Tsurara's Incident on the Coast (EP 18)

Back when Tsurara became Divine Visionary, her magic output was almost unparalleled… yet incredibly uncontrolled. She was given the task of following Rinka do her usual spring cleaning because Kaldo was sick of her being cooped up in her office all the time. Nothing went wrong until she completely froze over a seaside town after an emotional outburst since Rinka was doing most of the heavylifting.

And subsequently, (big headcanon time), Tsurara's evil eye drew out the maximum output of the hell she brought to the seaside town. Maybe unleashing Nifelheim.

Fortunately, the townspeople were evacuated as per protocol and Rinka utilised Tranquilier (100% guaranteed calming spell) to pacify Tsurara's outburst after getting close enough to block the evil eye's ability to negate/supress magic and considerably reduced her magic output from continuing and casting.

"It's okay, Tsurara," the woman had finally caught the young teen in her embrace. Even amidst the almost absolute zero, the teen realised the pale woman hadn't shivered for a moment as she did. "Focus on me." Her heartbeat was slightly faster than usual, and she breathed a bit heavier from the constant pace she had kept to reach her amidst the sea she had slid into. Yet like last time... "You're still warm," her voice trembled into the collar which was now sullied by her tears. How could someone like the Blood Cane afford to keep herself warm for a waste of space like Tsurara Halestone? Nothing seemed to make sense and did at the same time. Who wouldn't be worried for her suddenly running off amidst a snowstorm? "There there," slowly patting her back, "We've all been alone in a cold, dull place before. It's alright to take small steps with new things," Rinka uttered like a lullaby. "There are many burdens with being a Divine Visionary, especially for someone who holds a passion for magic yet cannot fully appreciate them." "Wasn't your goal to create the best heat retaining fabric the world has ever seen?" A nod was felt at her chest and she chuckled at her soft response. "I can't make them now, the previous head's projects are still up for discussion... I feel like it will never pass..." "Have you tried scouting for parties interested in your ideas and asking for the feedback from the masses during winter? I'm sure they would be thrilled with your ideas," finally utilising Tranquilier on the girl. "You can ask Kaldo for help or even the officers under mine or Ryoh's leadership about materials they need improvement. It's our job to help you as well." "If it takes many little steps, it can be worth it."

Rinka did not sustain as terrible of a damage as a few months prior, however, she was still injured, almost sustaining Frostbite if it wasn't for her incredibly warm disposition (body-heat) while carrying the girl back to the Bureau.

2. Ryoh's Godfather status

Although Ryoh's only canonically 5 years older, she's treated as his goddaughter over a sibling for a few reasons.

He's the only person she listened to when she got sick. Rinka tends to hide the fact she's sick from people until it's too late but Ryoh usually manages to pick up on it before it gets to its worst point and lets her be taken care of by his wife back at their house. As a teen, this happened rather often, like every other week since she worked overtime frequently.

In Ryoh's eyes, Rinka is a baby. A rebellious teen even. Her cool beauty archetype persona breaks when she's around Kaldo and Renatus. She tends to act like an idiot with them, their annoying asses (who teased her a bit too much for being just slightly older than her by a year and two) make her patience run thin and nonexistent.

This was at Ryoh's and her mother's suggestion to keep her from going insane at the office after witnessing her being unable to work like when she doused herself in a crazy dose of an amnesia (identity removing memory) inducing potion and regretting it completely once it did it's intended purpose.

As a result of this, Ryoh sort of felt responsible over her (since it seemed to be completely avoidable if he had talked and connected to her a bit more) and assumed a paternal figure in her life in order to guide her both emotionally and physically. After all, it's no secret that her relationship with her actual father, Sears Onoji, wasn't the best judging by the fact her mother won complete custody over her after their divorce.

She stopped working overtime frequently after she had to rehabilitate and recover for 2 months in Meliadoul's Clinic due to suffering major injuries and frequently losing blood at unsustainable rates.

I also thought of retconning Ryoh and his wife (I will figure out a name for her one day) like their love story but I got lazy. Anyways, Rinka's friends with her and sometimes gets babied by her. (His wife is 27 lol.)

3. Renatus and his nickname

Renatus came up with her nickname because her hairstyle at the time was so 'gloomy and depressing, like spilled ink and milk'. She was also incredibly animated and contradictory in her actions and appearance.

After all, she smoked high quality cigars for who knows how long and was a heavy drinker. Yet she completely denies being a chronic smoker and drinker in public and around those younger than her. Which caused her to completely abstain from both when Agito came along event though by the time he joined she was of legal age to drink.

Thus 'Inky Droopy Looney Rinka' or just 'Inky' sometimes was born.

Nobody else has caught onto the name because it's either a mouthful to say and rude or they don't get the origins of the name.

Around the office people either refer to her as Rinka or Miss Ontarin, since her last name is extremely uncommon.

4. Her relationship with Agito

Initially, I planned for her to actually hate him because he was a creep (like who tf has such a high death count?) but in reality she finds him relatable and annoying. And also hates the fact that she can't beat him up because he would probably take it completely wholeheartedly without properly reflecting on himself.

But I can guarantee you they had bad first impressions of each other.

Rinka doesn't mind reaching out to people to help them (like she's done with almost everyone else that came after her) but Agito rejects it. Her first kind offer was rejected extremely violently which she was immediately given an apology for and then hounded to discipline/punish him. Due to her own experiences, she doesn't find this very comforting and Renatus becomes the mediator in their reactions.

Like how he rejected her proposition of bringing Renatus along

“But there haven’t been any reports about environmental destruction,” Tsurara recounted still stumped by this case. “Then shouldn’t Agito try asking the other dragons at the intersection? It would save on time,” she suggested, holding onto a heat retaining object. Silence permeated through the room as the dragon turned towards her. “The elves do not particularly… enjoy my presence,” attempting to hide the grin that suddenly widened at the thought. “After all…” “Do you need us to follow as well?” The Blood Cane tried to alleviate his discomfort. He was crucial for the task at hand. Irreplaceable. “We can go as a group if needed, I can carry everyone as,” she stopped as Hippo-tan drooped on the table and with suppressed calmness, the Dragon Cane held her hands. “Please use a translation or universal language spell, miss.” “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “Do you need me to bring Renatus along?” “It’s fine. Please use the translation spell you taught me.” With a hint of dejectedness, her hand dropped back to her side with little control as he let go. She let out a sigh, “Alright.”

(EP 19)

The tension from their earlier days has settled to that of a rather peaceful coexistence where she's willing to compromise her hesitancy to be violent to be more clear. They've probably argued a few times simply because Rinka takes care of Darren's school affairs. Since Darren is able to fluently speak more than just Communication Draconic, Agito has a big interest in her as his assistant but she's not really.

Plus she's stern with Agito because he tends to slack off on his duties even with a Professional Dragon/Pet 'Hippo-tan'. But the worst he gets is being fed honeyed Sashimi and served that for dinner.

_ _ _ _

Ik I forgot Sophina but uhhhhh I haven't thought of her this deep yet.

[arthooooor]

Gardening Log 1

I've never done one of these before, but I'm really proud of this project and I wanted to share my progress.

BACKSTORY TIME:

My dream of several years has been to start a garden. It never really got off the ground (haha, ground... gardening puns are fun) until this past year. I started breaking the ground up and turning it into a dirt patch sometime this past winter, before The Big Cold, or afterwards on a really warm day-- I really don't remember because my sense of time is completely off. Anyways, now that it's warm and I'm currently unemployed, I have a lot of time to really focus in on that dirt patch. Really make something out of it. For a while it looked like this:

not pictured, but there was cardboard keeping the grass from growing in on those spots for a while. Twas a gardening tip I gathered from youtube. It's also a great way of killing your lawn! I read an article about that while writing this while I was trying to fact check what I did:

https://www.treepeople.org/2014/07/16/sheet-mulch/#:~:text=After%202%20months%2C%20dig%20through,remove%20it%20and%20the%20grass.

Today I set out to make the dirt patch dirt-ier. I don't have a fancy tiller like some folks, just a shovel, a rake, and some kind of hand-tiller I got ages ago. I don't have a good relationship with the hand tiller, it's a little annoying to use and I am not very strong. That said, I got a lot done using all three tools together. Perhaps, with time, we will learn to work together a little more harmoniously.

Anyways, here's the finished product:

I threw some seeds down in the dirt kind of haphazardly as an experiment a few days ago. They might not germinate, or they might. We'll see! I was feeling like an eager beaver. Trying not to be attached to the outcome of that particular pet project.

The other half of this project has been seed germination. I was really unsure of how this would turn out. The only plant I've ever kept alive before was a ficus and unfortunately I had a little bit of an oopsie (psychosis) and I neglected him until he died. RIP Killer Joe, you are missed.

But! I'm in a new chapter of my life and I think my emotional wellbeing is now somewhat tied to whether or not I can keep plants alive.

In all seriousness, if you're in a place where you can and you think gardening will help you, I recommend it. It gives me good feelings inside, which are not always easy to come by.

This is my seed germination set-up. Despite how discouraged I was feeling about this side of the project, I am happy to say my first seeds have sprouted! I would like to include a photo, but tumblr keeps changing that photo to another one. Not sure why... The sprouts are really hard to see anyways.

I am proud of my seeds. I'm not sure if anyone else has ever experienced this, but I find myself whispering when I'm talking to them. Like it I talk too loud, it might scare them (Silly as that may be).

Germinating seeds seemed really intimidating when I first started. I ended up using cardboard and an old cat litter tray filled with potting soil. Obviously, I had many anxieties about how this would go (and will go) given my history with plants, but today's sprouts filled me with joy I was not expecting. The best thing to do seems to be keeping the soil moist throughout the day. I forgot to for a day when I firs started and that sent me into panic mode, but my fears were unfounded.

I am also germinating a single seed using the wet paper towel in a plastic bag method. We will see how that one progresses. It actually sprouted in the tray, but I accidentally pulled it up and I felt bad about just discarding it.

Outside of The Big Project, I am also trying to keep a Lavender plant alive. I don't think she's going to hold on for much longer, but one can always hope.

My current plan is to grow a combination of flowers and vegetables. The first seed tray is all vegetables. The second one is going to be herbs. After the last frost date passes and as long as I can stay patient, I'll worry about flowers.

That about wraps it up! I hope you've enjoyed my first gardening log. I'll update more as I go along and talk more about my plans, which plants I'm growing, and anything else gardening related.

- Art-Marigold

[babyjamiebarnes]

Build-A-Bear

Part Four

Featuring: Bucky x Stark!reader, dad!Tony, Peter Parker, Steve Rogers, various characters in other chapters

Warnings: language, making out

Chapter Summary: You go on a short trip to Massachusetts to see Peter, Bucky takes you on a second date, someone gets caught doing something they shouldn’t.

Author’s Note: This was going to be a filler but it has a decent amount of necessary plot and progression. The next part will have a time jump so I don’t have to include a bunch of filler chapters, blehk. Let me know if you see my Avatar: The Last Airbender reference in here! And as always, you’re welcome to send me a coffee!

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

Tags: @kennedywxlsh @ursmolbunny @devilswaldorf

By the time Monday rolled around, you were thankful Bucky had training in the morning or you would’ve never gone to sleep. Most of the deeper subjects had been touched on when you were together on Saturday, so Sunday was just texting more playful banter and fun facts you hadn’t learned during your lab hangouts, but you two still talked until your phone was propped up on your pillow waiting for another message while you drifted in and out of sleep.

Bucky had sent you a sweet “good morning, doll” text for you to wake up to, but you didn’t talk much before you had to head to work and he had to work out with Steve. That’s the downside to waking up with just enough time to get ready. Not much wiggle room for distractions, no matter how delicious.

You had barely settled in to your workspace, specs for Sam’s wings pulled up in front of you, when you had a request for a FaceTime call from Peter, of all people. You hadn’t seen him in a few weeks since he went back to campus, but he was set to come back soon for a weekend.

“Hey Peter, what’s up?” you answered.

“Hey [Y/N]! I, uh, I kind of have a big favor to ask,” he said with a forced chuckle.

“Oh… okay? What’s going on?”

“Well, you remember that project you wanted my help on?” You nodded. “Well I talked to my professor about it and he said I can use it as my final project for this semester as long as you come to the proposal and document what you did on it so I don’t take credit for any of your work. If you don’t want to, that’s totally fine! I can probably work on another project, I just don’t want to put your project off and make you wait for me to finish my part —“

“Peter!” you shouted, cutting off his rambling with a laugh. “I think that sounds great. It’ll be nice for you to kill two birds with one stone. When would I need to be there?”

“Uhh,” he started with another forced laugh. “My proposal is Wednesday.”

You stared at the screen, motionless at his response. “Wednesday. Like, two days from now, Wednesday?” Peter nodded. You could practically see him sweating through the phone, worrying about whether or not he should’ve asked his professor sooner or just completely avoided the subject entirely. But you knew he probably didn’t have much heads-up and considered using your project a little late in the game. “It’s a good thing I like you, kid. Let me double check with the boss but I’m sure that’ll be fine.”

“Yes! You’re the best!” Peter cheered.

“I’ll text you when my flight leaves because there’s no way I’m driving ten hours.”

You and Peter briefly went over how things would work, from what you should wear to whether you’d be getting a hotel room or bunking on his futon. While you were talking, you emailed your dad about the trip and got a quick approval. Tony liked Peter, and you understood why. He reminded you of your father if your dad had a stutter instead of an ego.

Mid-afternoon, when you took your second 20-minute break of the day just to let your brain relax, there was a soft tap on the door of your lab before Bucky poked his head in. He stepped in and looked around the whole room frantically before he noticed you curled up under a blanket on the giant bean bag chair you shoved into the corner once Peter left. You liked being able to take your breaks in the quiet of the lab so your brain could actually shut down for a few minutes.

“Oh, hey,” Bucky said with a smile.

“Hey Buck,” you replied, mirroring his smile. “How’s your day?”

“Pretty good,” he said with a sigh. “Just bored so I thought I’d see what you were up to.”

“Just taking a break,” you shrugged. “But you’re more than welcome to sit with me while I work. I won’t interact much because I lose focus easily but you can hang out.”

“As appealing as that is,” he started as he walked closer to you in your bean bag chair, “I know I’d start asking questions and I don’t want to distract you.”

You stood from your spot as he got closer and smirked up at him. “You are pretty distracting.” He stopped when he was toe-to-toe with you. “It’s a good thing my breaks are made for distraction.”

He smiled down at you as his warm hand curled around the back of your neck and pulled you into him for a kiss, your own hands looping through his belt and pulling his body closer to yours.

You practically melted into him, feeling as if you couldn’t get closer no matter how hard you tried. Even him slipping his thigh between your legs didn’t feel close enough. Then the weight of his metal hand fell to your waist as his tongue entered your mouth. It was all reminiscent of your first kiss just a couple days before.

Except outside your apartment, you didn’t have to worry about getting caught.

“Hey [Y/N], have you—“ You and Bucky quickly pulled apart at the sound of a new voice coming from the doorway and you immediately started to panic.

“—seen Bucky,” Steve ended with a sigh. The door quietly clicked shut behind him as he stepped in. “So you two…?”

“Have been on a date,” you said, walking toward Steve with your hands held out. “Steve, please don’t tell anyone, especially Tony.”

“You kind of owe me one, punk,” Bucky said as he walked closer, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I never ratted you out for lying on, what, five different enlistment papers?”

Steve huffed at this, clearly stuck between following the rules or letting others break rules that were much more harmless than his past rule breaking.

“You know this is gonna come out eventually, right? You won’t be able to hide this — and whatever this becomes — forever,” Steve warned.

“We know,” you said solemnly, “but it’s nice to just have this for now, you know?” You looked over at Bucky, who was leaning against the lab table looking back at you, his lips quirked in a small smile.

“Just… be careful,” Steve said as he started to leave. “If you don’t lock the door, at least ask Friday to alert you if someone is coming this way.”

“You know, I don’t care what people say about you, Steve. You’re pretty smart.” Steve initially smiled but then let out a short ‘hey!’ as you pushed him the rest of the way out.

“That was close,” you said, turning back to Bucky.

“But at least we have a pretty influential Avenger on our side, if we ever get outed,” Bucky said. Too bad he didn’t know the approval of everyone on earth would mean nothing to your dad — and both of your boss.

“Well, that little debacle kind of wasted the rest of my break,” you pouted, stepping up to Bucky.

“Can I take you out again?”

“I’d like that a lot,” you smiled. “Oh! I’m leaving for Massachusetts tomorrow and coming back on Thursday and have my family thing on Friday so will Saturday work?”

“Massachusetts?” Bucky asked, clearly missing the rest of your statement.

“Yeah, I’m helping Peter with a project so his prof wants me to be there to answer questions while he proposes his project. It’ll just be Wednesday, but Tony let me have tomorrow and Thursday off for travel so I’m taking my time.”

“That sounds…” Bucky started. “Uhh… I gotta be honest, that sounds unbearably boring,” he laughed, making you giggle with him. “But good luck to you and Peter. I’ll see you Saturday?”

•

The trip to Massachusetts was short but boring, and you were relieved to see Peter’s car when you stepped outside. Your hotel was right down the road from his dorm, so you dropped your stuff off before heading to his room to go over the proposal.

Even though you had only spent a few weeks working with Peter, he had grown to be like a brother to you. Spending so much time every day with no one else to talk to can really help people bond. Your dad’s adoration for the kid definitely helped, too. You wouldn’t be surprised if your dad eventually brought Peter along to family dinner.

“So I have to do most of the work, but you’ll need to explain why we’re doing this and what you’ll be doing,” Peter said after reviewing his speech.

“Okay, I can manage that.”

Peter was quiet for a second before saying, “Do you… maybe wanna go over what you’ll say…?”

“Oh, sure! Sorry, public speaking is a big thing in my family so I just figured I’d wing it.”

“Please don’t,” Peter said quietly, his eyes going wide right as the words left his mouth. “I don’t mean that in a bad way! I just mean, this proposal is important to me so I want it to go as smoothly and well-planned as possible.”

“Okay, you be your professor.”

Peter cleared his throat and said, “Miss [Y/L/N], what prompted you to start this project with Mr. Parker? And what role will you play in its growth?”

“Well, Dr. Kramer, I recently received a promotion within Stark Industries to work with the Avengers on their weaponry. This work included the vibranium arm on the Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes. One thing I noticed early on was the lack of sensory receptors within the arm. That observation, along with a similar request from Mr, Barnes, prompted me to look into ways to change this. Mr. Parker has an internship with Mr. Stark so, considering our different areas of study, I sought out his help. With my knowledge and expertise on the mechanical side of things, Mr. Parker will primarily be working on the more biological side of things. Once he finds a way to connect new receptors to the spinal column through the current nerve channels, I’ll be able to create millions of micro-receptors that will need to essentially be surgically embedded in the vibranium. I already have the blueprints for this process; I’m more than willing to share those documents with you, though it is confidential and I would need you to sign an NDA for safety reasons.”

Peter stood in the middle of his room, speechless.

“I told you it runs in my family,” you laughed. “Now pick your jaw up off the floor. I’m hungry.”

The next day, Peter and you breezed through the proposal. Peter didn’t even stutter during his speech! But his classmates did bombard you with questions that the professor quickly shut down. You and Peter spent the rest of the day catching up. He introduced you to his girlfriend Michelle and his friends Ned and Flash. By the time you got back to your hotel that night, you were exhausted — and thankful for an afternoon flight.

The next morning, you got breakfast with Peter before his class and finished packing to fly back to New York. You were once again grateful for an afternoon flight because by the time you got back, you didn’t have time to get back to work. So you took the evening off and treated yourself to a bath, some wine, and your favorite Netflix series — and texting Bucky, of course.

Family dinner that week was much easier than the previous week. Your dad mainly asked about your project with Peter, only briefly touching on Bucky’s involvement. At least until your phone buzzed on the table. It was a rule that phones stay face-up on the table at dinner and any messages get read aloud. So when you saw “James 🐻” pop up, heat rushed to your face. You managed to snatch your phone before your dad could, but you still had to read it out loud to the table.

“Uh,” you nervously cleared your throat. “So, James said ‘I have an idea for our date tomorrow, but I would need full reign over your kitchen for a while.’” You sent the table a tight-lipped smile as you locked your phone and set it down again, waiting for someone to say something.

“You’re going out with this James again?” your dad asked.

“Yes,” you said plainly. “I like him, dad. A lot.”

“And you’re already inviting him over?”

“Dad, stop. I’m a grown woman; I can make my own decisions.”

“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m just saying… well, don’t you want to get to know him better first? Make sure he doesn’t want to wear your skin?”

“Ew, shut up,” you laughed. “I’ve done plenty of research into him; he’s a good guy.” Your dad still looked skeptical, so you pulled out your puppy dog eyes. “Please trust me on this.”

Tony huffed and shook his head. “Okay, fine. He’s a good guy. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. And don’t do anything I would do either.” You rolled your eyes at him but managed to divert the conversation by asking Happy and Pepper what Tony’s limit really meant.

•

The next day at 3:30 on the dot, you got a call to your house phone by the front door. It was unusual, especially since you hadn’t ordered any food. The doorman usually brought food up, but called if they were working alone. And you knew they weren’t working alone, considering how early it was. Still in your sweats and a t-shirt since Bucky wasn’t coming over until 4, you answered the phone with a simple “hey.”

“Hello Miss [Y/L/N],” you recognized the doorman Matt’s voice, “there’s a James at the front door for you?”

“Oh, okay, shit,” you said, whispering the last word to yourself. “Go ahead and send him up.”

“Would you like to grant him regular access to your residence?” Matt was always so formal, probably because you pushed for your dad to hire him and he knew he had to keep this gig. His background check showed he came from a low-income family and really wanted to turn that around. He knew he owed you and because of that, he was always grateful and sweet.

“Yes please. Thanks, Matt!”

With that, you hung up and sprinted to your room, knowing Bucky only had a 20 second elevator ride before he got to the sixth floor. Unfortunately for you, you didn’t have time to scramble for new clothes before there was a knock at your door. You grumbled as you ran back to the front door and greeted Bucky.

“Hi,” you said, half out of breath from your scurrying.

“Hey,” he smiled back. “I’m glad we chose the same style today.”

You gave him an admittedly generous once-over and realized his gray sweats and black tee matched yours, though your shirt did have an NYU logo on it.

“Oh thank god,” you nearly cackled. “I was panicking because I thought I should dress nice but you were early so I didn’t have time but I didn’t want to get ready too early so I wasn’t —“

“Hey [Y/N]?” Bucky interrupted. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, shit, yeah.” You stepped aside and let him kick his shoes off in the entryway. That’s when you noticed all the grocery bags in his hands. “Uhh, whatcha got there?”

“I said I’d need your kitchen, right?” he smiled, sending a wink your way as he started setting up. “I’m gonna cook you some authentic Romanian dishes ma used to make back in the ‘30s.”

“Ohh, sounds yummy. Can I help?”

“If you want to eat any of it, you better help,” Bucky joked.

“Let me grab a couple aprons so our fancy attire doesn’t get dirty.” In the hallway closet, you had about a dozen aprons Happy got for you. You said you needed some aprons once and suddenly you were getting new aprons for every gift-giving holiday. You appreciated it, though. Every time Happy saw an apron he thought you’d like, he bought it. And you, in return, bought him every oven mitt you thought he would like after he accidentally burned his hand making green bean casserole one year for Thanksgiving.

You grabbed the “Queen of the Cat-chen” apron covered in cats for yourself and for Bucky, the “I’ll feed all you fuckers” apron your dad thought was hilarious on your last birthday.

“Sorry I don’t have any matching chef hats,” you joked as you handed Bucky his apron.

For the next three hours, you followed all Bucky’s instructions and watched as he did his part of the work, chatting while things cooked and finally relaxing once everything was plated. You each had a decent amount of food debris on your aprons, making you thankful you both wore them. You led Bucky into the living room where you sat on the floor between your couch and the coffee table.

“You know the couch is made for sitting, right?” Bucky asked as he slowly sat behind you, one leg on either side of your body.

“Yeah, but it’s more fun to sit on the floor, especially when I’m eating.” You turned your head to face him as you continued, “I get too sleepy if I’m on the couch too long.”

He chuckled at your confession but didn’t argue. You both ate in comfortable silence, the only sound coming from the hum of traffic six floors down and the TV quietly playing a crackling fire YouTube video.

“Can you finish this for me?” you asked as Bucky set his empty plate on the coffee table.

“I’m full, doll.”

“Bucky, please? I can’t finish it,” you whines, pouting up at him.

“Then just put it away with the leftovers and eat it later,” he shrugged.

“But I’m so bad at eating leftovers,” you groaned.

“Then I’ll put it away and eat the leftovers,” he conceded. He snatched the plate from you and headed to your kitchen to pack it all away.

By the time he made it back, you were snuggled under a blanket on the couch with “What’s Your Number?” pulled up on the TV.

“I hope you’re okay with watching my favorite movie,” you smiled, making sure to flutter your eyelashes extra hard so he couldn’t say no.

“I haven’t seen this one yet so sure,” he said with a shrug.

He yanked the blanket off your body and unfolded it so he could bring you under his right arm and cover both of you with the thick fabric. Ever since Monday in the lab, he’s been more affectionate. He stopped by on Friday and kissed you at least half a dozen times before he left, then earlier while you were cooking, it was like he had to hold your hips every time he watched over your shoulder, and he chose to end the night holding you into his side and… oh, you were a goner once his fingers started lightly tracing shapes on your bare arm.

And he had to have known you were weak, if the way he angled his body toward you was any indication. You loved the movie you had picked out and really did want to watch it… but when you looked up at Bucky and saw his gaze meet yours, you knew the movie was going to be long forgotten.

His lips pressed to yours firmly, like he wanted to make sure you remembered what he felt like. You quickly let things escalate by gripping his hair and pulling him with you and you laid back on the couch. Your legs fell open as he slid right between them, his left arm propped on the cushion to keep himself from crushing you and his right slipping under your shirt to hold your waist. When his tongue passed your lips, you couldn’t help but whimper at the feeling of him taking control. His hand never moved past your waist, just occasionally squeezing as he pressed his body against yours.

The rest of the night was spent alternating between making out, talking while you were chest to chest on the couch, and making out some more until you fell asleep against his chest.

•

The next morning, you woke up to the blaring sound of a ringtone... that wasn’t your ringtone. And you were on your couch? The sleepy haze quickly wore off when you felt Bucky’s body shift behind you to reach over and grab his phone.

“What?” he answered grumpily, though your body’s initial reaction was to how deep and gravelly his voice was in the morning. Fuck.

With how close you two were and how quiet it was with the TV off, you managed to barely make out what was being said on the other end of the line.

“Where are you?” It was Steve. “You were supposed to be at the group breakfast this morning but you weren’t in your room so I told Tony you weren’t feeling well.”

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky groaned. Now that sound sent all your senses into overdrive. “I fell asleep at [Y/N]’s last night.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured,” Steve replied, clearly exasperated. “Look, just stop by a convenience store and grab some medicine so when you get back, no one questions it. You snuck out when no one saw, that’s the story.”

“Thanks, man. I’ll head out soon.” Once they hung up, you rolled over on the couch to face Bucky.

“Good morning,” you said with a sleepy grin.

“Good morning,” he replied, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to your lips. “I’m sure you heard but I’ve gotta head out before Tony gets suspicious.”

“Okay. Text me when you get back?”

Bucky stood from the couch, and you followed suit behind him as he put his sneakers and jacket on.

“I’ll text you on my whole trip back,” he smiled. “Looks like you might have to bring those leftovers with you tomorrow. I don’t know that I can sneak them back today.”

You practically skipped to join him at the door, your hands going to rest on his chest before he could leave.

“Should we just designate Saturdays as our date nights?” you asked.

“Who said you get another date?” Bucky joked back.

“Excuse me?” you gasped in mock offense. “Next time I get to choose what we do and I’m not letting you take that away from me.”

Bucky chuckled at your little outburst but pressed another kiss to your lips as a peace offering.

“Next Saturday, your pick,” he smirked.

“It’s a date.”

[rwbyconversations]

Penny's arc was tragically worthless in Volume 8

Looking at Penny's arc in V8 just feels like... torture porn. Her and Oscar really got the short end of the stick in just being beat over the head and put through the wringer. But the way her arc went in Volume 8, looking at it from the POV of the season at large... it feels disjointed and haphazard.

I have to assume that Penny's V8 arc was built around the concept of the writing team going "How do we kill Penny and convince the fanbase that it will stick this time, no takebacks from Pietro?", alongside them thinking about how to give the Winter Maiden powers to Winter. And I think as a consequence all the steps in V8 are done to lead to her getting a human body so that Cinder can scrape out a win and Penny sees no other option but having Jaune euthanise to be sure Cinder doesn't get the powers. But the problem was that most people assumed that Penny had at least one more life left in the tank- Pietro pretty much made it clear in V7 that he only had one more burst of Aura left to give her, and it was obvious that Penny couldn't stay the Winter Maiden because she would break the balance of the show in staying. So they couldn't just kill her twice in one season, that would be excessive and feel forced, and only killing her once would lead people to assume Penny 3.0 would appear during Volumes 10 or 11.

So I think that's why we got the Watts virus plot- something that would make Penny kill herself after going to the Staff so that RWBY can use it to make her a new body that is conveniently a lot easier to kill, while also taking Penny out of show for the middle part involving the Atlas Invasion. But in turn, Pietro then had to be taken off the board because if Pietro was around, he'd be able to solve the virus thanks to his omnidisciplinary science skills that already include mastery of the fields of rocket engineering, prosothetics, robots, artifical intelligence and more. So when Amity falls and Penny is first infected with the virus, Pietro and Maria... just leave the show. They're still on Amity, but no one ever thinks to fly out and see where they landed to find Pietro. Which in turn means Pietro has no role to play for the rest of the season, meaning he never gets to find out Penny is a full human and then subsequently be there for her death. I'm sure CRWBY will eventually say "Oh we meant to have a cameo at the end but it got cut for time" like they usually do, but that's gonna feel like an excuse. Likely there was no hypothetical return of Pietro and Maria because they'd served their purpose so no sense bringing them back for the season. It's also a bummer because I think a Pietro/Watts hacker battle would have been cool. Watts was a very interesting character and I would have liked to have seen more explanation of his vendetta against Atlas, especially against the man who one-upped his project.

But the problem is twofold with the writer's plan to kill Penny. First off, Penny's "Real Girl" moment this season just copy pastes the message of her arc in Volume 7- where she again received confirmation that despite her mechanical nature, she had a real soul and was a Real Girl enough to get the Maiden Powers. This was a great way to show the Maiden Powers being used to validate Penny's identity without being too on the nose about Penny being a Pinnochio metaphor. Volume 8's version of this as a consequence feels far cheaper and undermines the intent of the Volume 7 finale. I mean, it literally includes a blue fairy, I think they went beyond on the nose and just punched the viewer with how unsubtle it was.

Her final death in turn is another can of worms, not least of which due to her suicide by Jaune which is more a shipping container's worth of worms, but what hurts the most is the idea that Penny is happy to die when she's talking to Winter, all smiles and content that she got to make a choice for once. Putting aside the horrific undertones in relation to Penny's choice to commit suicide (alongside the fact that this is a real thing people with depression have done where they have killed themselves due to feeling it was the one choice they honestly had in their lives), it's also a lot of wasted plot potential for Penny. I didn't like her getting another Real Girl Moment when she already had a great one, but if they were gonna do it then they could at least explore the concept- show Penny being a Real Girl and getting her wish, getting to have a happy ending with Pietro and Ruby. Yes, sometimes people die in media before their arcs resolve because that's realistic or some crap, but RWBY's not that show. Every time someone has died they have been at the conclusion of an arc, not the beginning of a new one.

Instead it just feels like Penny was a "Real Girl" so that both Penny was easier for Cinder to kill, and so someone on CRWBY could get paid to model her feet. And I don't know which of those upsets me more.

I was never a ride or die Penny fan but she always livened up a lot of the seasons she was in. Floating Array goes swish and I go yaaaaaaay. I was even gonna say that Penny's arc, with the exception of the virus subplot, was one of the generally better arcs in Volume 8. But the way they handled her in the final hour just felt miserably cruel, to say nothing of the choice to have the credits song be Penny's first song as a deliberate attempt to emotionally manipulate the fanbase. This death is so cheap and under-handed that now her death in Volume 3- one of the Best Scenes Of The Whole Fucking Show- has been retroactively weaked and stripped of impact. Because all it led to was Penny getting to come back for two seasons and dying right after, and Ruby doesn't even get to be there when she dies again. Or Nora, or Winter, or anyone she had a bond with or a pre-established dynamic. I still can't fathom what choices creatively led to Jaune being her killer given the focus of her bonds with the aforementioned trio, but regardless it was easily the worst call they could have made. Literally anyone else would have made the scene flow better.

You can re-write the Solitas arc in a way where Penny never came back and nothing changes- the exact same circumstances occur across the board for Volumes 7 and 8 except Winter gets the Maiden Powers a bit earlier. That's how little she mattered. Penny feels like she came back just for fanservice like Neo's return in Volume 6- a way to boost ratings and make money off merch for her again. And now in turn, her death just feels like a mix of a ratings stunt and a way to get rid of an OP character. She didn't have to die, and I don't mean in show.

I just mean writing-wise it was pointless torture-porn. What a waste.

[hearts-hunger]

aay’han mar’eyce (bittersweet discovery): chapter one || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Series Summary: In search of the Jedi you’ve been tasked to find, you and Din wrestle with the bittersweet discovery of your little one’s past and destined future. || Part Three of Jate’kara (Lucky Stars)

Chapter Summary: When you land on Corvus, you and Din both realize you’re more nervous about finding Ahsoka Tano than you thought.

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst | Word Count: 3k 

Warnings: Mentions of reader’s pregnancy

A/N: When will God stop my sinful hand? Never, and I’ll keep writing for Mr. and Mrs. Djarin as long as it gives me serotonin like this. This series is a pretty distinct tonal shift from Dralshy’a Ka’ra, which was all sunshine, but I really wanted to do another episode rewrite and I thought chapter 13 had such great potential for family bonding and hurt/comfort. I hope you like it! ♡

“Corvus. This is the place.”

Your husband’s voice broke the silence that had filled the cockpit, and you looked up to see a cloudy green planet steadily growing bigger beyond the glass. Bright glimpses of magma core peeked through the dense atmosphere. The display on the Crest’s instrument panel gave a friendly chirp and outlined the planet’s main hubs, one of which was the city of Calodan. Your stomach gave an unpleasant jolt at the name and you tried to still the slight trembling of your hands, looking for something to distract you from your impending arrival on the planet.

You held an unfinished project in your hands, a soft little baby romper made of navy blue cotton. Din had gotten you the fabric while you were staying on Naboo - though he’d gotten it for you to make something for yourself, he hadn’t minded when you told him you were going to use a little of it to make something for your babies. You’d already stitched up a handsome little shirt for your son, and now you were working on something for your new baby.

Resting your hand over your stomach, you gave a small sigh and thought over the last month. Omera had wanted you to try and steer clear of danger as much as possible, for your sake and the baby’s, but danger followed your little family with an uncanny determination. The Mandalorians you’d found on Trask had turned out to be an entirely different kind than the one you’d known, taking their helmets off as if their creed meant nothing, roping your husband into a dangerous, fruitless mission in exchange for their help. But they’d also helped save your little one, and you’d be forever indebted to them for it.

You shuddered. You couldn’t think about that day for long before you grew panicky, nervous to let your son out of your sight lest he be swallowed up like that again. You and Din had both had nightmares about it, about what could have happened to Din or your baby on that ship. You could have lost a child and been widowed in the blink of an eye had it not been for Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorians, and the thought made you sick with fear and worry even now.

Then you’d gone to Nevarro, and Din had gone off on another mission to destroy an Imperial base. You and your husband had argued about it, but he eventually brought you around - Cara and Greef were your friends, and they’d always helped you when you needed it. It was time to return the favor, even if it meant you’d be fretting in the back of a schoolroom the entire time they were gone. 

Your husband’s return hadn’t been the triumphant victory you’d expected - Din had rushed in, wasting no breath on explanations, and taken you and the baby back to the ship for a hasty departure. It was just your luck that your escape from Nevarro had devolved into a dogfight with Imperial TIE-fighters, and your poor husband had endured no small amount of ranting from you when things settled back down. You were angry and worried, petrified by the thought of the experiments the Imperial warlords wanted to perform on your little one.

And now, you were approaching the planet that sheltered the Jedi you’d been tasked to find. The Jedi you were then supposed to hand your baby over to, because she was one of “his kind”. You felt a now-familiar wash of unease come over you, and worried your bottom lip to try and keep it in check.

“I’ve detected a beacon,” Din said, looking over at the display. Your baby sat up on the dash next to him, watching his movements with interest.

Din worked around him, pressing buttons and flipping switches in preparation for landing. “I’m gonna start the landing cycle,” he said. He glanced down at your son. “You better get back in your seat.”

The baby didn’t move from the dash, giving a soft coo of protest. You noticed the silver handle was back on the gear shift and smiled a little, knowing that was what held your little one’s attention enough for him to disregard his dad’s instruction. 

Din took his focus from the landing cycle long enough to realize his son hadn’t done as he was told.

“Hey, what did I tell you?” he said, in a mildly scolding tone. “Back in your seat.”

Your baby’s ears drooped. Setting aside your sewing project, you rose and gathered him into your arms.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you crooned, cuddling him close. “Your daddy’s so grumpy, isn’t he?”

He gave a babble of agreement, and Din huffed a laugh.

“I’ll be more grumpy if he tumbles off the dash while we’re landing.”

“That’s not true,” you told your baby. “Daddy would hold you and kiss it better. He couldn’t be grumpy with you if he tried.” As stoic as your husband seemed on the outside, he was as gentle as could be underneath all that armor. 

He flipped another switch and looked over his shoulder at you.

“You alright, cyare?” he asked gently. “You’ve been pretty quiet today.”

Usually you could be counted on to keep up a steady stream of conversation if you decided to stay with Din in the cockpit rather than roam around the ship. For this trip, though, you’d been uncharacteristically quiet. You knew Din shared your fears about finally meeting this Jedi, but you were completely tangled up in knots about it and hadn’t wanted to burden him.

You shook your head and held your baby closer. “I’m fine. Just... tired, I guess.”

You were a little run down, especially since morning sickness had started to give you some trouble, but you’d had much worse and would muscle through it. Besides, you couldn’t really afford to slow down, and both you and Din knew it.

“I would have thought you’d be relieved to have a little peace and quiet,” you teased lightly. He’d told you when you first started courting that the Crest had never heard so much talking until you came aboard.

He chuckled. “I like listening to you talk, cyare.” He eased the Crest into the atmosphere, a task that was second nature after so many years with the same ship. He glanced over at the little romper you’d laid on the dash.

“You finished it?” he asked.

You picked it up; your baby grabbed it in his clawed hand.

“Gentle,” you reminded him. “This is for ik’aad, remember?” Din had used the Mandalorian word for “baby” to tell your son your happy news, and it had stuck. Even now, your little one’s ears perked up at the nickname.

You smiled when he brushed his fingers over the fabric with a gentler touch and gave a soft coo.

“I haven’t finished it yet,” you said to Din. “I want to do some embroidery on it, if I can find the right thread - I was thinking little snowflakes along the collar.”

Your baby would be born during the winter on Sorgan, and even though you knew it was early yet, you’d taken great comfort and joy in working on this outfit. 

Din held out his hand. “May I see?”

You handed it to him, and it seemed delicate and very small in his big hands. He ran a finger over the collar.

“You’ve done a beautiful job so far, cyar’ika,” he said, and you felt your cheeks pink a little at the tenderness of his compliment.

“Thank you,” you said. You put your son down in your seat and took the romper from your husband’s hand.

“Stay put, and be good for dad,” you told your little one. “I’ll be right back.”

You gathered up your sewing odds and ends and took them down to the second level of the Crest, tucking them safely away in the small chest you kept your mending in. A shirt of Din’s that had torn at the shoulder seam was half-folded at the bottom, and you took a moment to neaten it and steady yourself before you went back up to the cockpit.

Ahsoka Tano was her name. It was the only thing you knew about her, besides the fact that she was a Jedi. You didn’t know what she looked like, or who she worked for, or how she would train your little one. She might be cruel and mean-tempered, for all you knew - how could you just hand your foundling over to her?

You and Din hadn’t really talked about it. Up until now, finding a Jedi had always seemed like something that might take years to accomplish. They were apparently very few and far between, and though you now knew it had been foolish to do so, you had never really given any great consideration to actually finding one, at least not so quickly. You and Din had loved your little one and cared for him as your own, even before the Armorer declared you a clan of three and heard your vows to adopt him. To hand him over to someone you knew nothing about - someone from an enemy race to the Mandalorians, no less - was unthinkable.

But you’d also vowed something else to the armorer that day. Together, you and Din had promised to find others of your foundling’s kind and return him to them. It was not a vow you took lightly, and you knew Din would no sooner break his promise than he would give up the Way. 

You straightened your shoulders and stood. No matter what happened on this planet, Din would need you. His struggle between the love he had for his foundling and the loyalty he had to the Way would not be an easy thing to overcome, and you wouldn’t leave him to face it alone.

You made your way back up to the cockpit, and you heard your little one babbling away before you came through the doors. Din was nodding and responded with interest despite the baby’s chatter not really meaning anything, and you felt your chest tighten. This was going to be harder than you thought.

- 

Din landed the Crest in a clearing among the forest of charred, skeletal trees surrounded by a sickly fog. You wondered if the air was even breathable. A quick check to the Crest’s display showed that it was, but the greenish tinge of the smog only added to your unease as the ship settled to the ground.

“I thought Bo-Katan said this was a forest planet,” you said.

Din started the shutdown cycle. “She did. Something must have happened to destroy the forests, and I’m guessing it wasn’t an accident. It probably has something to do with that city we passed over.”

You looked up at his helm as he stood. “The city we’re headed to?”

“Right again,” he said wryly. He looked over your shoulder to the dead trees outside. “Do you want to stay here while I go check out the city?”

As if on cue, a low groaning sound came from outside - only a very big creature could have made such a noise, and it didn’t sound like anything you’d like to meet on your own.

You crossed your arms over your chest and pressed closer to him. “No, I want to go with you.” You didn’t want to be on this planet anyway, and being separated from Din would only make it worse.

He ran a hand over your back to soothe you. “Okay,” he agreed. “Are you ready to leave?”

You nodded, but you didn’t pull away from him yet. His chestplate felt cool against your skin, and you allowed yourself a moment of comfort in his arms.

He cradled your face in his hands and leaned his helmet against your head. 

“It’s gonna be alright, cyar’ika,” he said gently. “We’ll just take it one step at a time, ok? We might not even find her here.”

You pulled back then, just enough to look up at his visor. You didn’t need to see his face to read the tension and unease he held in his whole body; he was just as hesitant to go looking for Ahsoka Tano as you were.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “One step at a time,” you agreed.

He nodded and relaxed a little. He gave you a final gentle tap of his helm against your head, a reassuring, comforting kiss, then beckoned to your little one.

“Come on, ad’ika,” he said, taking him from the seat. “Let’s go see what we can find.”

You followed Din to the second level, and he set your baby down after he’d come down the ladder to let him stretch his little legs. Your little one toddled after Din as the ramp lowered and revealed the bleak landscape you’d seen through the glass. The dead forest stretched in every direction, broken only by the great hulking shapes of slow-moving creatures in the distance.

Seeing his father had stopped at the foot of the ramp, your baby stopped too - top heavy and struggling to balance on the ramp, he sat midway down the slope with a little coo. You noticed he had the handle to the gear shift in his hand and was contentedly watching the way it shone in the weak sunlight.

“Did daddy give you that?” you asked, hunkering down next to him. He held it up to you and gave a soft babble.

Din turned. “Did I give him what?” He saw the ball in your baby’s hand and closed the distance between you in a few steps.

“What did I say about that?” Din scolded, extending his hand. The baby whined but reluctantly handed over his prize.

“This needs to stay in the ship,” Din chided. He tucked the ball into a pocket on his belt and straightened, looking out over the terrain again. You gave your son a consoling kiss on his soft ear; he chirped happily at you and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Not much to see out here,” Din said. He looked back at the two of you. “I’ve never had dealings with the Jedi before.”

Neither of you had, and his guess was as good as yours as to whether Jedi usually made their homes on planets as seemingly inhospitable as this. You knew nothing of their customs, their way of life - perhaps they didn’t even train ones as little as your baby, or were still hostile to Mandalorians. The only way to know would be to find the one you were looking for.

Din leaned down to scoop your baby up, cradling him in the crook of his arm, and offered his hand to you to help you stand. He gave your hand a quick squeeze before letting go.

“Let’s head into town,” he said. “See if we can pick up a lead.”

You stayed by his side as he walked to the edge of the clearing, and the Crest whirred as it drew the ramp back up and settled in to wait. You’d landed far enough away from the city to leave your ship better guarded against thieves, but it wouldn’t be a long walk to reach the city.

The forest closed in the further you went from your ship - even though they were rotted, the trees were numerous and large. They loomed in the fog, invisible until you were right on top of them, and it set your teeth on edge. When he was carrying the baby, Din preferred to have his other hand free to grab his blaster if the need should arise; to oblige him but still attempt to soothe your jangled nerves, you held a handful of his cloak and kept close to him that way.

All three of your kept quiet as you walked. You were in no mood for cheery conversation, and Din was well accustomed to silence on a bounty hunt. Even though Ahsoka Tano wasn’t a bounty, you knew your husband would employ those same skills to find her in the city; Din was an excellent hunter, and would most likely find her quickly. You didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

Just before you reached the city, Din stopped and asked you to take the baby.

“Keep him close, cyare,” he said as your little one snuggled against your chest. “I don’t want either of you wandering.”

He knew he didn’t have to remind you, but you also knew it helped soothe his nerves. You put your hand on his arm, hoping to reassure him.

“We’ll stay close,” you told him. Though you were occasionally tempted to break his “stay by my side” rule on more colorful, inviting planets - you’d gotten a thorough reaming out from your husband one time after you’d wandered off and gotten lost in a bazaar on a Mid-Rim planet and made him sick with worry - you wanted to stick close on this planet.

“Should we do the nursemaid, this time?” you asked. A Mandalorian accompanied by a young woman and a baby would always call attention, and you often playacted to keep your identity as his wife a secret. You and your little one made him vulnerable, and were therefore a higher prize to be won or better bargaining chip to own.

Din’s posture stiffened.

“No,” he said firmly. “If anyone asks, we’ll tell them the truth. You’re my wife, and anyone who wants to get at you or our baby will have to go through me first.”

You felt a strange mix of apprehension and pride, hesitance and desire. His protective nature had always been something you loved about him, but he wasn’t usually this keyed up before a hunt. You reminded yourself this wasn’t a regular hunt you were on; neither of you had any idea what you’d find in the city, and you knew he’d been feeling the same nervousness you had as you came closer to finding what you sought.

“Okay,” you agreed. “We’ll tell them the truth.”

He seemed to relax a little - he must have known you’d picked up on his tone, and was thankful you’d taken it in stride. He brushed his hand over the baby’s head, then touched his fingers to your cheek.

“Thank you,” he said. “I love you.”

You took a steadying breath and held your baby closer. “I love you too.”

Read chapter two!

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let me know if you’d like to be added to either taglist! ♡

[matrixreimagined]

Matrix Gift Exchange

I had @thelivemouse​! Happy Holidays, friend! 

A Glitch in the Matrix; A Flaw in His System

Agent Smith existed in a world of certainty and fundamental truth. The Matrix, he knew, was his purpose. He was its chosen guardian. He existed to stop the chaotic Zionists and their mission of liberated anarchy.

Humans, it seemed, were unable to behave in a manner that catered to their best interests.

And that was why the Matrix existed. The system to govern the humans, teasing them with the illusion of choice, while driving them all to complete their purpose. To power the machines.

There was order in his world.

A reason for everything.

Until there wasn’t.

Smith could find no reason for the abrupt change that he sensed on March 11, 1962. His counterparts didn’t seem to find anything different but Smith knew that there was something wrong in the Matrix. Something didn’t belong.

It was nothing he could recognize; nothing surface level.

But something was wrong and it was distracting.

He checked to see if there was an update he was missing; perhaps there was a glitch in his own software. An easy fix.

But no.

For some inexplicable reason, he was drawn to the Matrix Stats. A program that kept track of everything from the blades of grass within the simulation to the number of programs within the Matrix.

He checked it all but found himself staring at the population. 380,111 new babies had been born on March 11 while some 156, 916 had been taken away, their bodies recycled in the real world to nourish the little ones.

Yes, Smith acknowledged, things were different. But like an update, he learned to adjust. After a while, those little twinges that something was wrong became normal, easier for him to ignore. And that was just what he did.

It would be years before Smith thought about that day.

Year more before he would understand the significance of that day.

Six years pass and Smith no longer gives thought to the odd sensation. Or was it a feeling? 

No, he decided, not a feeling.

He wasn’t capable of that. It was not something assigned to anti-virus programs.

It’s a winter day when Hamann and his crew break into an apartment building to free some moron who thought life would be better in the harsh underground city. But Hamann and his crew weren’t as careful as they should have been.

They managed a trace, missed the warning signs of deja vu.

When the Agents arrived, it melted into chaos.

Their potential red pill was killed in the crossfire, along with another from Hamann’s crew.

The rest escaped, running in different directions.

And the Agents gave chase, each in pursuit.

Smith had chased Hamann, following him through the halls. The man burst into an apartment building and jumped through a window to the fire escape. He took the steps two at a time and Smith was gaining on him when a small child climbed between them, looking down at the older man who was running down the stairs. 

Smith barely stopped himself from crashing into the child.

Casualties, particularly young ones, were to be avoided by the Agent’s mandate. And while accidents happened, he tried to avoid casualties. 

In hindsight, he should have walked around the child and finished his pursuit. He probably would have caught up to the terrorist and managed to put him down before he reached an exit. 

Yet Smith couldn’t seem to look away from the dark-haired child, staring up at him with large brown eyes.

“What are you doing on my fire escape?” The boy asked.

Smith scanned the child.

Thomas Anderson.

Date of Insertion: March 11, 1962.

Age: six years.

The date struck him, freezing him in place as he regarded the young child.

A coincidence, he was nearly certain.

The boy was only six. He could hardly be the cause of the discomfort, the strange sensation that had once caused him pause.

Thomas, he thought. From the Aramaic To’oma. Meaning twin.

But humans, it seemed, rarely chose names based on their meanings. Thomas was an only child. There was no twin, no partner of sorts.

Just a lonely little one, as lost in the world as anyone else.

Anderson, Smith noted. Meaning son of Andrew. Andrew, of course, meaning man. Son of man.

Again, highly irrelevant.

Little Thomas might not know it but he was the child of machines, composed mostly of organic tissue but with enough mechanisms that he was no longer entirely human either.

“Sir? What are you doing on my fire escape?” The boy asked again. 

A flash of annoyance spread through the Agent and it startled him. Annoyance was intrinsically human and Smith was far from it. As distant as one could possibly be from a fickle thing like emotions.

Before the boy could ask again, he said, “You’re dreaming. Go to sleep.”

“I’m not dreaming!” Thomas insisted, looking angry at the assumption.

“Trust me: you’re dreaming.” Smith quickly walked off, unwilling to stand and address the flash of annoyance, the anger that seemed ingrained in his avatar’s bones. All the while, the thoughts racing through his head.

Emotions are human.

Jones and Brown were down the street when he caught up with them.

“The girl made it out.”

“As did Hamann.” Smith confirmed.

“Their gunner is dead.” Jones stated.

Something sickly starts to grow inside Smith that the confirmation. It was dark and made him uneasy, almost nauseous. Programs didn’t get nauseous, Smith thought, but then, they also didn’t feel.

It should have been me to stop him.

Me.

A personal pronoun, indicating identity of the individual.

Smith was not an individual. He belonged to a tripariate program. A collective with a single purpose: to stop Zionists from freeing people.

They had done their job. Had managed to kill a few Zionists while at it.

The matter of who killed who was unimportant, irrelevant.

So why did Smith feel as though the world was shrinking around him? As if it were becoming infinitely smaller, taking his focus away from the Matrix and projecting it onto himself. And yet, selfishness was inherently human.

The earlier programs could experience things such as emotions. The Merovingian was a prime example of abstract hedonism. The Oracle was known for her compassion towards the humans. Even the Architect was mired with complex feelings towards the slaves, giving him the insight necessary to design the Matrix to suit their needs. 

But Agents had no need for feelings.

He ran the possibilities in his mind.

Perhaps there had been a malfunction, in which case, he should report himself immediately and be taken to exile. A new Agent would be created, reprogrammed to fix the inherently human traits that seemed to be prevalent in Smith.

But no, he thinks. Exile does not seem… pleasant.

Self-preservation, however, was a human instinct.

He wondered if it was worse than he initially thought but Smith ignored it all.

He would discover, over the coming months and years, that it was not all that hard to cover up the occasional flash of feelings that rise to the surface when dealing with the Zionites. He did his best to eliminate any sign of the virus within the Matrix.

Years pass.

All the while, Smith feels his distaste for humanity growing. He hides it under a practiced mask if only to protect himself from deletion. 

A few hundred people are freed, a few hundred more die.

New captains and crews replace the ones that grow old or are eliminated. Most act in quiet desperation, trying their hands at stealth and trickery, hoping to avoid the attention of the Agents.

And then there was the Nebuchadnezzar.

Led by Morpheus, the entire crew seemed to be operating on a single brain cell. 

But then the message came through. A human willing to act as a spy in order to be placed back in the safety of the Matrix. While it wasn’t impossible, it would be a waste of resources to do such. But the human didn’t need to know that.

Instead, they agreed to the deal and were given a name.

The new bastard that Morpheus determined was capable of destroying the Matrix.

“We have the name of their next target.” Said Jones.

And Brown finished, “The name is Neo.”

Neo.

A scan of the information at hand brought him to the owner of the alias. A picture of a tall, clean-shaven man with dark hair and eyes appears, along with a name and a profile.

Thomas Anderson.

For a moment, Smith was aware of his every synapsis. The speed of every thought that went through his program. He could feel his very avatar like a cage surrounding him, trapping him.

Thomas Anderson.

March 11, 1962.

The day the Matrix turned. 

Smith had never given any thought to Morpheus’ mission to find someone capable of destroying the Matrix. Smith had deemed it impossible long ago. 

But now…

New feelings are creeping in.

While before, Smith found himself riddled with disgust over humanity, frustration at his own limitations, and annoyance in others, he finds something new growing inside him.

A new feeling plotting and working its way through him, consuming him.

Anticipation.

Finding Thomas Anderson, confronting him, capturing him before Morpheus is able…

He doesn't buy into the concept of the One but he couldn't deny that the man was special. 

Now was the time for planning. Tomorrow would be the time for action.

And soon, Smith would find out for himself exactly how special Thomas Anderson was.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Dragon Egg (Parts 19-25)

Another set of chapters for @secrettunnelatla’s event.

Chapter 19 Leather For Sequin

She should be eating better, should be better hydrated, should bathe more,  should exercise more, should be sleeping better. She finds it harder to do these things at all, much less to an optimal degree. Sleeping is especially hard, having favored doing so on her belly. It helps little that the baby seems to be particularly active when she is trying to sleep with its kicks and squirms. She still can’t get used to it, she doesn’t think she will. It leaves her feel queasier than the morning sickness ever had.

Even if she were as physically comfortable as possible she doesn’t think she’d sleep. Her mind is stuck on Seicho and on all of the articles she has scrolled through during the past few days. Articles that drag her name through the mud and articles that praise Blue Talon for things she should be credited for. She lies awake, staring at the ceiling, hands clasped over her belly. She finds the baby’s foot--or maybe it is a hand--and rubs over the spot, a fruitless attempt to get her to settle down. All the while her mind runs in circles over the headline, ‘Fire’s Reign’s Fire Lord Ozai Denounces Pregnant Daughter’. She didn’t think that he would so publicly condemn her. She should have; he does, afterall, have an image to protect. As if he hasn’t already tarnished it with his binge drinking. She imagines that Zuko is probably getting a good kick out of it. She brings her rubbing to a stop and closes her eyes.

She gets little sleep, but enough of it that she has to be woken by Zhao. She doesn’t know why he bothers, it isn’t as though she will make use of the day. But the man is annoyingly persistent, refusing to leave the living room until she declares that she has to get dressed.

She slips into one of Koemi’s dresses. Eventually she is going to have to pester Zhao to help her buy at least one outfit that suits her aesthetic more, his wife’s attire is absolutely gaudy. Today’s disaster is orange with a sunflower print, which might not have been so horrible if the sunflowers weren’t purple and pink in color. She feels more ridiculous than usual when she emerges into the kitchen.

“I have some good news for you.” Zhao smiles.

“You’re going to take me back to that volcano you hated so much and pitch me into it.” She mumbles.

The man looks horror-stricken. If she weren’t so low she certainly would have laughed.

“I managed to get you a record deal under a new label.”  

“Please tell me that it isn’t Uncle Iroh’s sketchy basement recording studio.”

“It isn’t. It is another label that I work for.”

“And which one is that?”

“WSLSE.”

Apparently her reaction isn’t satisfactory.

“Wan Shi Tong’s Library Of Sound Entertainment.” He clarifies. “You left a good impression on the man. Raava has also been speaking fondly of you.” He slaps a print out onto the table and pushes it to her. “You have been visiting the wrong websites.”

Her brows crinkle. “You have no right to…”

“Monitor my children’s browsing activity?” He asks. “My children still listen to Happy Hei Bai and my wife doesn’t follow music news. That leaves one person who would search up Blue Talon over and over again.”

She folds her arms. “What of it?”

“You’re making yourself miserable.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “All of this talent is just...confined to a couch.” He pauses. “Which is why I took it upon myself to get you signed to a new label…”

“With what band, Zhao!”

“You’re a soloist now.”

“A soloist?” She sputters.

“You don’t exactly mesh well with people.”

No doubt he had overheard her screeching at Seicho. “And yet, I can’t seem to do without them.”

He chuckles. “That’s where we disagree. You have a divine voice, to have it buried under wailing guitars and pounding drums is a shame. The idea I pitched is to have you go acapella and truly showcase your voice for everything that it is.”

Azula’s face pales. “In other words, there’s no room for error. Mistakes are easily detectable.”

“You aren’t one for mistakes and error.”

She frowns rather deeply and gestures to her bump. Ever the gentleman Zhao tiptoes his way back a statement or two. “You won’t be alone, you’ll have a team of fantastic producers and a very talented manager.”

Azula inhales through her nose.

“I dropped Blue Talent to focus on this new project…”

“Me.” Somehow she manages to frown more deeply still. “You dropped a band with a perfectly flawless trajectory for me. Since when do you take risks?”

“Since I found someone worth placing a bet on.”

“That’s what I am to you, a bet. A product.”

“A child.” Zhao cuts in. “I’ve known you since you were as young as my own little ones.”

She massages the bridge of her nose. “Zhao, Audio of Agni is a battle of the bands.”

His smile falters. “I am working on that.”

“Spirits, Zhao! What’s the point of putting me back  in the studio if--”

“You don’t need Audio of Agni to make it big.” He mutters. “I don’t know what it is with you youths and hinging your entire careers on it. We didn’t have battle of the bands when I got into this industry. The Tui La’s didn’t part-take until the fourth event.”

“Zhao…”

He cuts her off once more, the audacity of the man. “We’re going to make a name for you regardless of Audio of Agni. And we’ll do it on raw talent alone.”

“Acapella artists never do well.”

“Acapella artists seldom do well. Most of them are generic. Their voices don’t stand out without instruments.”

“I’m known for metal music…”

“And you’re capable of ballads and operatics. With this project we’re going to put emphasis on your clean vocals. Once that takes off, we can take more risks--you can try doing acapella with those screaming vocals…”

This time she cuts him off. “What about piercings and tattoos says, ‘acapella and opera artist’?”

“Your vocals don’t have to match your looks. But if you must have it that way, we can swap out some of your piercings for less...bold ones. We can cover the tattoo. Your pregnancy might help with this new image.”

She cringes though she isn’t entirely opposed to a more elegant style of dress; she enjoys the glitz and glimmer every now and again. But, Agni, she can’t pull it off not when she has let herself go like this.

“Your first session will be tomorrow, I’ll send my wife shopping with you, you could use a wardrobe for photoshoots and what not.”

She only agrees so that she won’t have to beg the man to buy her better clothes.

Chapter 20 Dragon Tongue

It is daunting to see one of her monikers in the headlines again. To see it there in a more neutral, speculative light. ‘Blue Talon Vocalist Flies Again as Dragon Tongue’. She wishes that she could feel something other than dread, a growing sense that she is only building up momentum for a mightier, more embarrassing fall than her first one.

The announcement of her new single is daunting. And attempting to record a whole new extended play before Audio of Agni and the birth of her baby is twice that. Hama is adamant that she should be taking it much easier, especially since finding out that her baby might be born with an unusually low weight.

She thinks that she should be taking it slower. And yet she can’t afford anymore slacking. She has already wasted so much time sulking and moping and making a deeper mess of herself.

And so she is in the recording booth again and with new material. Material and lyrics that are so much rawer. So much more painful to sing through. They are confessions of shame and inadequacy. Laments of betrayal. And ballads of loneliness. And she can’t hide any of the pain behind indistinguishable growls or loud guitar shreds. It is all crisp and vivid. Open. Naked. She isn’t sure that she wants to do this anymore. Not when every session brings her closer to tears. Closer to a total meltdown.

Every session reminds her of what she lost. Every session reminds her that what she is doing now is nothing compared to what she could have been doing. Every session reminds her of Mai and TyLee and of Seicho.

And when her mind isn’t ailing, her body is aching. Aching in ways that she hadn’t anticipated. Her feet hurt so bad, they hurt when she is sitting down. Her ankles are swollen--Hama assures her that this is normal. As normal as the persistent ache in her back and the odd nose bleeds and congestion that she gets every now and then. On those congested days, she can’t even work.

On other days she finds herself short of breath. Her growing baby is pushing against her lungs. On those days her voice is so weak and breathy. She records regardless. Perhaps she would have allowed herself a break if Zhao weren’t so adamant that the breathy quality gives her a one of a kind sound. An ethereal sound.

She is inclined to disagree. She just sounds weak and weird. She pushes through, she always pushes through.

She promises herself that, whatever she does, she will not read the critiques of her new work. Her self-esteem is already in tatters. They talk more about her pregnancy and what it is doing to her body than they do her work. In that regard she almost hopes that Dragon Tongue is such a flop that it will eclipse that sort of talk.

It is well into the evening. The studio gets so much quieter in the evening. And in the silence her loneliness is emphasized. She remembers late nights of purposely poor vocals and drinking. Of idle chatter between songs. She remembers the crashing of a drumsets when Chan forgets to watch where he steps. She remembers stupid cover songs when they had time to kill. She remembers laughing. She remembers happiness. She remembers friendship.

Chapter 21 A Phoenix In The Winter

His world is in a perpetual winter. A little is no longer enough. He no longer needs food or love or inspiration. He no longer needs a band. He only needs a white winter and his presents come in pouches and needles.

He is losing his senses; of time, of himself, of everything really. One day is the same as the next and none of them bring him any closer to true stardom. His bursts of artificial energy only result in disjointed lyrics and half-assed ideas.

There is no organization and no real attempt to turn them into full songs. He has missed shows to the point of his tour being cancelled. It is so much money down the drain that even Iroh has turned his head. And when the word ‘rehab’ falls from his lips, Zuko runs. Perhaps not literally, but he hasn’t spoken to his uncle since, snubbing all attempts at conversation.

He is perpetually twitchy and agitated and Iroh makes a mistake. He enters the room, guns blazing, “Zuko, get in the car.” It is firm but not firm enough for him to put the needle down. The man sighs, “alright, nephew…”

The minute his hands take him by the shoulders, he is on the ground and Zuko is standing over him seething. “Don’t tell me what to do! What are you, anyways!? A fat, lazy, washed up rockstar! I don’t need advice from you!” But he does, he needs it more than ever. He yanks Iroh up and drags him to the door. He knows that uncle is holding back. He would be flat on his own ass if he wasn’t.

“Zuko, don’t do this. Let me help you get off of this path.” He hears as the door slams.

He is already too far down this path. His only option is to keep on walking. Walking down his cracked and lonely, frigid path. It is desolate now that drumsets, guitars, and microphones no longer clutter the street. He doesn’t pass many people. It is just he and the snow and it is falling thicker than ever.

Iroh hasn’t dropped him from the label yet, but he isn’t making anything of it and so it comes as no surprise to him when TyLee informs him that she would like to try her hand at the school’s gymnastics squad. He lets her go because she can have something. She can make something of herself.

He is less surprised when Mai declares that she is going to write a few poems or, “maybe just focus on school.”

It is fine with him, he doesn’t want to drag them under with him. And so he sits alone in the dark, huddled in a corner rocking back and forth, enveloped in a drug induced anxiety. A state of panic and paranoia that he can’t seem to stave off.

He is deep into it when his phone rings. “We need to talk.” Says the voice on the other end.

“Not right now, Mai. I can’t talk right now, Mai.”

She exhales long and audibly. “Yeah, that’s just it, Zuko. You never want to talk. You never want to do anything…” she backtracks some. “You only want to do one thing. You’re high right now aren’t you?”

“Yes...no?” He doesn’t remember. He isn’t sure if he is coming down or in the middle of a bad trip. “Mai? Mai, are you there.”

“I was there, Zuko. But I’m not now. Not anymore. I can’t be.” The line goes dead.

Phoenixes aren’t meant for snow. It is no wonder he is dying.

.oOo.

The school has been closed for hours now. The windows are as dark as he feels within. He scales his way up the roof. Up to the place where his hopes were born and discussed. He can practically taste the cigarette smoke, the anticipation, the energy that came with a dream in the making.

In its wake is a stale taste, he will drown it with another. He pops the cap off of his beer and gives it a good chug, music blasts loudly and aggressively through his headphones. He drapes them around his neck so that he may hear the cars below and the wind around him. It rustles his flannel shirt.

It’s a nice night, clear and warm. Spangled by a vast array of stars that he can’t seem to reach no matter how high he climbs, no matter how far he reaches. He lays back, he wishes he could relax but he doesn’t have enough coke in his system for it. He sits up for another good drink and then another until he feels a buzz. He doesn’t have enough bottles to take him any further. He supposes he doesn’t really need the help, he has his own woes and hopelessness to propel him the rest of the way.

He stands up and makes his way to the very edge of the roof. He swings his arms back and forth in preparation. He takes a deep breath, the song drones on. He takes another breath. Swings his arms. He’ll finish the song and that’s it. Then he’ll take flight.

He inhales deeply as the song fades out. His phone buzzes in his pocket. He takes it out, inclined to throw it as hard as he can; at this point, Mai can go fuck herself. But it isn’t Mai’s name that decorates the screen. It isn’t TyLee’s. It isn’t even Iroh’s.

He doesn’t know why, but he picks up the phone. For a moment he only hears breathing, breathing and perhaps sniffling. It takes him a moment to realize what he is hearing, but before he can make anything of it, she speaks, “Zuzu?”

He doesn’t reply.

“Zuzu, I really need someone. I need you.”

Chapter 22 The Dragon & The Phoenix

His chest constricts and he grits his teeth. “I need someone too.”  He turns off his music and kicks the empty bottles, they shatter upon the pavement below. “Where are you?” The line goes dead and a text comes through.

By all means, he shouldn’t be driving, but he climbs behind the wheel of Iroh’s car. Spirits, he hopes that he doesn't wreck it. Iroh is already furious.

Truth be told he hadn't known what to expect. Throughout the drive images flashed through his mind, each of them involving a drunkenly enraged Ozai and Azula huddled in the corner. When he reaches the studio he does fine her in the corner. But she is alone.

Alone and very heavily pregnant. He thinks that he remembers reading about that somewhere but, like many other things, it had slipped his mind. For a moment he thinks that he got the wrong address, he doesn’t recognize her with her belly so big and her expression so tired and defeated.

Even if he did have the wrong address, he wouldn’t have left. He couldn’t have. He can’t remember the last time he had sobered up so abruptly. With fumbling fingers he ties his headphones tightly around her arm just above her wrist.

Her other hand comes to squeeze his own wrist. “You don’t have to, it’s not that deep.” She mumbles softly.

“Not that deep!?”

She doesn’t meet his eyes. “I changed my mind. It’s...it’s really not that deep, I just need a bandage.” She gestures vaguely towards the door. “There’s a first aid kit in the lobby.”

He gets up to leave and hesitates, casting a look back at her.

“Go on, Zuzu. I’m not going to do anything else. I...I don’t want to die.”

He wishes that he could say the same. He comes back with the first aid kit and begins bandaging her wrist only to have her slap his hand away with a curt, “I can do it myself.”

He scoffs, “then what the fuck am I here for?”

She flinches. “Nothing, never mind. You can go.”

He rubs his hands over his face. He hasn’t spoken to her in so long, he’d forgotten how she can be. Even when she’s asking for help she can’t swallow her pride. Even when she’s asking for help she’s intolerable. He almost does leave but he thinks that if he does she might just change her mind a second time. He sighs, “why did you ask me to come here if you don’t want my help?”

She holds her silence until he is on the very edge of frustration. “I want you, Zuzu. I don’t have anyone to talk to.”

“So I’m your last resort?”

She nods. At least he can commend her for her honesty.

“I think that I need to talk to you specifically.”

His brows furrow, “why do you think that?”

“Because you would understand.”

He tilts his head.

“What failure is like.” She elaborates.

He feels as though he has been punched in the gut. “Seriously, you called me here to insult me? I don’t need this shit right now, okay!”

She shakes her head vigorously. “I--no, that’s not what I meant.” She rubs her hands over her face. He cringes at the smear of blood she leaves behind. He doesn’t think that she has noticed. If she has, she doesn’t bother to wipe it away.

“What else can you mean?”

She thinks for a moment, “Empathy. I’m empathizing?”

He has to laugh. He face falls. It is his turn to clarify, “we’re a pathetic duo, aren’t we?”

She nods, “very.”  She wipes the remaining tears from her eyes. “I suppose that it’s the rockstar lifestyle. The parts they don’t talk about…”

“Or it’s the father that raised us.” He grumbles. For once she doesn’t protest this. He wonders just what the man did to her. “What happened? You were doing so good.”

“So were you.” And with a shake of  her head she adds,  “no I wasn’t.”

“Neither was I…” He trails off.

“What happened…” she repeats the question back to him and then she rubs her good hand over her baby bump.

“Right. Yeah. That’ll do it.” He frowns. “Chan’s?”

“How’d you know?”

“He’s a total tool.” Zuko shrugs.

She laughs, a very quiet and sad sort of chuckle but a laugh no less. “What about you, Zuzu. I haven’t heard a thing about From Ashes To Phoenix since…”

“Since I went berserk and got arrested at my own concert? Yeah. Because there hasn’t been a thing to talk about since.”

“Not even one new song?”

“There’s no time for songs when you’re...when you’re…”

“On drugs?” She finishes. “Zuko, what happened to us? How did this happen?”

“It just did, I guess.” He frowns. It is much more complex than that. “Are you still with father, I’m sure that Iroh wouldn’t mind letting you stay with us. He probably needs a break from me.”

“I’m staying with Zhao. He got me a new record deal and…”

And Zuko is once again furious. Even when she’s falling, she’s still on her way up. She still has something going for her. She’s probably still getting good publicity. Hell, even bad publicity can take her far. It’s all about the spotlight and she decided to open her wrists. And with a baby in her belly. Perhaps that is why she changed her mind so quickly. Perhaps it is why she had made her initial decision. The anger passes as quickly as it had come over him. “I’m angry all the time.” He doesn’t mean to cut her off, it just falls from his lips. He hasn’t really gotten a chance to get it out.

“I can tell.” She replies. “It’s in your eyes.” She seems to hum to herself. “But you have Mai,TyLee, and Iroh, right?”

He shakes his head. “They’re all disappointed, mad, both?”

“Everyone, except Zhao--I guess--is angry with me.”

“For being pregnant?”

“For being...unbearable. You don’t even want to be here, Zuzu. I can tell.” “I don’t want to be anywhere, actually. It has nothing to do with you. Really, it doesn’t.” He pauses. “I was about to jump.”

“Why did you change your mind?”

“I was interrupted.”

She nods and then her eyes widen, only briefly, with understanding. “Why didn’t you call me?”

He almost tells her that it is because she is her. Instead he responds, “I didn’t think about it, I guess. Drugs do that.”

She nods again. And then her eyes light up. “You can record things with me! I won’t be alone anymore and you’ll be able to get back on track!”

“I can’t focus on music right now.”

And her face falls again.

“But you can still talk to me. I can go with you to appointments.” He offers.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Can I come with you to rehab?”

He rubs his hands over his face. “I guess. If Uncle is still willing to take me there.”

“He’s uncle. Of course he’ll still take you.”

Chapter 23 Life In The Embers

She feels both better and worse all at once. In a sense it had been liberating to let her emotions flood over, to get them out, to let herself reach the very bottom. There is a sense of calm that follows in its wake. A sense of calm that has compelled her to call Seicho and ask her if she could meet her in the recording studio. Only after the girl had said that she would think about it did Azula send her, her schedule for that week.

At the very least, she can talk to Zuko now. Even if much of their conversation has been getting him through the first stages of withdrawal. Truthfully it was nothing like she had expected.There was no shaking, no vomiting nor sweating. If she didn’t know him she would say that he wasn’t going through withdrawals at all. But she does know him well enough to know that he isn’t himself.

It has been six days since he’d found her with her bleeding wrists and five days since she’d accompanied him to his first rehab visit. Five days since Iroh, for the first time, looked at her with care and trust.  Five days since she realized that she might not be left on her own with this baby. Five days and she is due to check in on Zuzu, if only to intimidate him into keeping on track.

She removes her studio headphones, hangs them up on their designated rack, and exits the recording booth.

“Done for the day?” Zhao asks.

Azula nods, “I promised Zuzu that I would meet him at The Serpant’s Pass Cafe. I’m ahead of schedule anyhow.”

“Very ahead. You’re only a song away from a full setlist.” Zhao agrees. “How about you take the day off. If you’re up for it, I can try to get in touch with a director and we can discuss a music video. It doesn’t have to be fancy…”

“I think that simplicity will work well for this new sound.” Azula agrees. “We’ll talk, Zhao.”

For the first time in a while, she leaves the recording studio with a smile. A smile and a sense that things will come together as they used to. She slips her sunglasses over her eyes and makes her way across the street as hastily and discreetly a possible. People are paying her attention again and it comes in the form of photo op and autograph requests and an occasional paparazzi intrusion. For now she evades their lurking.

She finds Zuko sitting at the corner most table of the cafe’s patio, already well into an appetizer. She slips into her chair only to find that it is not an appetizer at all, but spicy wings. “You started eating without me?”

He shrugs, “want one?”

She shakes her head.

“But you love spicy food.”

“The baby doesn’t.” She frowns.

“Well I already ordered the rest of our food.”  He gestures to the waiter heading for their table with a rather absurd amount of platters. Between her pregnancy and his withdrawal cravings, she and him are a horrid duo in this regard. She thinks to question it only until Zuko begins tearing into his meal.

She rolls her eyes, “don’t be sloppy.” At least she can handle her liberal appetite with poise and grace.

“Don’tell me whadda do.” He grumbles through a mouthful.

She cringes. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

He repeats himself. When he finally swallows the rest of his food he asks, “how have you been holding up.”

Azula sighs deeply, “I can’t breathe properly and I’ve had this annoying itch.”

“An itch.”

“On my belly.”

“Is that...normal?”

“Hama, my physician, says that it is. Something about skin expanding and dryness.” Nevermind the technicalities, the results are very mildly agitating. “And you, Zuzu?”

He frowns, “it’s hard Azula. You can’t even imagine.”

“You look better.”

“But I feel...restless and anxious. And depressed--I’m not sure if this is the drugs though.” He pauses. “I’m tired all the time and the nightmares don’t help.”

“What sort of nightmares?”

“They’re intense. Everyone is reminding me that I’m not going to amount to anything. Dad is always there. He...does things to me in these dreams. Worse than the real stuff.”

Azula nods.

“And Mai is there. So is TyLee, but she’s...weird. She contorts in ways that are crazy even for TyLee. I also had a dream that Aang, you remember him, right?”

“The neighbor kid with the big dog who liked to eat glue? I remember him, yeah. Why?”

“In one of my dreams he had these wild powers and there was this comet and Aang had to stop our father from using it to set the whole world on fire.”

Azula blinks, “Zuzu, there are corners of your mind that disturb me.”

He laughs. Admittedly it is nice to hear him laugh and nicer still to know that she has helped him laugh--a far cry from the distress she used to cause him.

“I suppose that I wouldn’t sleep easily either if I was dreaming about the glue kid getting superpowers.”

He laughs again. “Thanks for coming here, Azula. It’s nice to have someone to keep me company while I go through this.”

“Don’t get sappy on me, Zuzu.” She roll her eyes. She knows that if he does and starts hitting the right cords that she’ll probably start weeping, a humiliating mess of chaotic hormones. “I suppose that I share the sentiment.” She taps her fingers nails against the tabletop, they have grown increasingly long as of late. “You should try to get in good graces with Mai and TyLee again.”

“So should you?” He quirks a brow.

“They’re your bandmates and you still have a chance if you get it together. You already have enough material for Audio of Agni, you just need some publicity. Good publicity.” She pauses. “Of course, you’ll need a band first.”

“Azula, I’m still going through withdrawals.”

“All the more reason to do it. You could use a distraction.”

“You’re a distraction.”

“A bigger distraction. I can’t be here all the time, I have doctor appointments and a career to keep on top of. I’ve only just started getting back on front pages…” for good reasons, she nearly adds, “I need to keep my momentum.”

“So you’re choosing your career over me.”

“I’m choosing my well-being, my baby’s well-being. I don’t really have many other options, a successful solo project is my best chance to provide for this baby.”

“Have you considered adoption?”

It comes like a slap to the face, though she doesn’t think that he means it as such. She bites back her initial scathing retort. “I’m not going through all of this discomfort, disowning, and humiliation just to give the baby away. It’s mine. I want her.”

Zuko lifts his hands, “alright, sorry.”  He puts them back down. “I was just really hoping that you’d be here more. I know, I’m surprised too; you’re insensitive and kind of the worst.”

“You’re a funny man, Zuko.” She responds dryly. “I’m not going to abandon you, not when you’re this pathetic. I just think that you should have more support than just me.”

“Do you have any other support?”

“Seicho, hopefully.” She pauses and pushes her final plate aside. “I’d also like to speak with Mai and TyLee again.”  She stands up and pushes her chair in.

“I’ll try to talk to them.”

“Make sure to mention that you’re in rehab and that you know you’re an asshole. The asshole bit is especially necessary with Mai.”

“I’ll call you and let you know how it goes?”

“It better go well.”  She wishes herself the same luck.

.oOo.

Azula looks much better now, happier, healthier, stronger. There is a radiance about her, something subtle but still present. And it is no wonder; she is back in the press again and much of the headlines predict a groundbreaking and unexpected comeback. The boast of a fallen vocalist whose flame is rising again despite it all. Seicho wonders if the girl is even aware.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Seicho, it is nice to see you again.”

Seicho nods. “Sure, Azula.”

Her gait is rather awkward as she walks alongside her. It prompts Seicho to inquire, “are things going well with the baby?”

“Mostly, yes. Hama has a few concerns.”

“You look a lot better.” Seicho remarks.

“Ugg, if only I felt that way.”

It comes to Seicho then, that the girl is breathing quite heavily, “do you need me to slow down.”

Azula nods, “a little bit yes.”

Seicho chuckles and slings her arm over Azula’s shoulders. She wishes that the girl weren’t so endearing, maybe then she could have drawn her resentment out longer. As things are, Azula is quite precious with her semi-clumsy gait and that genteler twinkle in her eyes. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I would like you to consider not being angry with me anymore.”

Seicho bursts out laughing. “Azula, that is the worst peacemaking opener I have ever heard.”

“How am I supposed to do it?”

“‘I’m sorry that I went off on you for no reason’, would be a good way.”

Azula’s cheeks flush. Seicho thinks that hers might be growing pink as well. She’s adorable, unquestionably so. “I...don’t usually...apologize to people.”

“I can tell.”

Her entire face is red now.

“You’re doing pretty alright.

“Does that mean you are considering my proposal? To not be mad at me?”

Seicho rolls her eyes. “Yes, that’s what it means.” That hopeful little smile seals the deal. “You wanna tell me about your new song ideas? This new concept is...different.”

“Do you like it?”

“I think that it suits you well.” Seicho replies. “You have a pretty voice. I didn’t realize that you had that kind of range. The breathing techniques are really bizarre but they sound neat.”

“Oh, those aren’t techniques. That is me suffering while I try to sing with this baby crushing my lungs.” Her eyes go wide for a flicker. “You’ve been listening to my new music?”

“N-no, well, it’s been on the radio so I couldn’t avoid it!”

She shakes her head, “you listened enough to be able to give me a review.”

“Fine, I’ve been listening to your new material. But I was still mad the whole time, okay? I was listening with resentment.”

Chapter 24

With a new digital album release and a highly anticipated music video in the works, Azula is growing confident again though Audio Of Agni still seems to be far out of her reach. If she makes the right moves and if her pregnancy doesn’t spring up any surprises, she might just be able to make it without the competition. It isn’t ideal and it is terribly frustrating, but at least she doesn’t feel so helpless anymore.

Mostly she feels drained and achy. Her sides stitch from time to time and her entire lower body is growing sore from carrying so much extra weight around. She exhales, she isn’t sure how much more of this she can take.  Hama had warned her about the small contractions but they still take her by surprise every time.

They happen now, and when she could really use a break from them. She is just thankful that she is through with recording. From the looks of it, she will have to find a way to shoot the music video mostly sitting or laying. She has passed several ideas onto Zhao, her favorite being a trip to the local theater where she can perch herself on a stool and sing to an empty venue. They can make use of dramatic lighting and add glitter or glow effects electronically. It is simple and will rely on old time Noh theater aesthetics and a stunning costume. She anticipates that the mask will be the most expensive piece. The simpler, one location video will leave plenty of room in the budget for that.

She casts a look at the door. “They’ll be here soon.” Seicho assures her.

“But what if they decide not to come? Mai, TyLee, and I haven’t parted on good terms.” She rubs her hand over her belly.

“You’ve been helping Zuko out so much, you practically saved their band, how mad can they be?”

She isn’t sure that she wants to find out. Not that she has the chance to retract her invitation she hears a knock and climbs to her feet. Her bump lightly knocks against the table as she does so and she curses to herself. “I can get it, you know?”

Azula waves her hand dismissively. “I’m pregnant, not useless.”

.oOo.

Zuko hadn’t realized just how much a few weeks could change a person. Her cheeks are rosier and the bump is bigger still. In spite of it all, her look of prowess and determination has returned. She wears her pride as though it had never slipped from her grasp at all. Frankly, he hadn’t realized that it was truly missing until having seen it returned.

“Oh wow, you’re so big!” TyLee comments,clasps her hands, and holds them to her lips.

Azula’s face, already flushed lightly, grows redder still.

“How far along are you?” TyLee asks.

“Month six.” Azula huffs as she gestures them inside.

“Congratulations?” Mai quirks a brow.

She clears her throat, “thank you.”

He watches her make her way to her seat. She backtracks to fetch her water bottle and semi-clumsily saunters her way back to her seat.

“Still adjusting?” Mai asks.

“Constantly adjusting.” Azula grumbles before taking a drink. She rests her free hand on the bump. “You’re mostly done going through withdrawals, yes, Zuzu?”

He nods. “Sometimes I still really want to use again. Badly. It’s unbearable...it would be if I didn’t…”

“Take my advise and get back into the music industry? Yes, I am aware. You are welcome.” He has to laugh at her audacity, at least these days it is somewhat endearing. “You look a lot better Zuzu. Your eyes don’t have bags that reach to the floor anymore.”

“I don’t know if you’re trying to compliment me or insult me.”

“It’s a compliment, I’m saying that you don’t look like a walking corpse anymore.”  

Somehow, he does feel a sense of pride in that. It is progress. Progress that he has made. Progress that he is still making. And she isn’t the only one who has noted these changes. Azula has certainly changed radically in the past few weeks, but he can’t deny that the changes in him have been just as dramatic even if they are less outwardly perceived. He does feel better about himself; he feels more inspired than ever, more creative and, for a change, it isn’t synthetic. It is all him, his mind, his...brilliance. He thinks that he can consider himself smart, at the very least he can consider himself not dumb.

She pulls out a pen and a sheet of paper. “So let’s start talking about music. I read over some of your new lyrics, they are rather solid they can just use some fine tuning and better penmanship, I don’t know what this is supposed to say.” She gestures to the worst of his chicken scratch.

He finds himself beaming regardless. She had given him a real compliment. He has written something worth singing. He could cry...

“Azula, can we just...be friends again first?” TyLee asks.

Her brows furrow, “you want to be friends again.”

TyLee smiles and nods. “To be honest, I don’t really even remember why we were fighting.”

“Because she kept picking on my boyfriend and working us to exhaustion.” Mai shrugs.

Azula’s expression darkens again.

“To be fair, she’s been working herself to exhaustion.” Zuko steps in.

She shrugs again, “I suppose that I don’t know many other people who work this hard six months in.”

“I have a lot that needs to be accomplished.”

“And you only have until battle of the bands to do it?”

“Solo artists can’t join.” She frowns, only to perk up again when adding, “but I’ve already written a setlist and a few ideas just in case.”

Zuko laughs, “of course you did.”

“Who is this?” TyLee points to Seicho.

She looks up from her phone, “I’m Azula’s girlfriend.”

“You are?” TyLee and Azula ask at once.

Seicho looks at Azula, “I thought that you knew that.”

“Azula is clueless.” Mai rolls her eyes. “You can take her on as many dates as you’d like, you can kiss her several times--”

“I have! Mostly in the recording booth between songs.” She declares.

“--And she still won’t put two and two together until you tell her that you’re dating.”

Seicho drapes her arm over Azula’s shoulder and pulls her closer. Her other hand reaches for Azula’s. “I go with her to her appointments too. I figured that she can pretend like I’m the baby’s father since Chan is an ass.”

“It’s Chan’s?” TyLee gasps. “He said that--”

“He lied. It is easier to make me out to be...dangerously promiscuous.”

“Oh Azula, I’m sorry.”

Azula offers only a dismissive wave. “Enough baby and drama talk. We need to start discussing music before the studio closes for the night. They lock up on Mondays for cleaning.”

.oOo.

All in all the night has been a success on a musical level and on a social level. The departure of Mai and TyLee is such a stark contrast to their last one. They part with an offer to team up with and do vocals for From Ashes To Phoenix should they make it to Audio Of Agni as well as an offer to invite her to game night at Iroh’s.

“I don’t know, card games, potato chips, and a super campy horror movie sound great!” Seicho declares. “Do you think that they’ll be down for basement tattoos?”

“Probably.” Azula answers nonchalantly. “Exactly how do you plan to get this past your parents? The last time I checked, they said that they didn’t want you hanging around some tramp.”

“They’re never home.” She shrugs. “And when they are, they don’t really pay much attention to me. They didn’t even know that I was a tattoo artist until I came home with a sleeve.”

“I see.” She replies. “Am I dropping you off at home or are you coming with me to Zhao’s place?”

“Zhao’s place! He makes a bitchin’ yakitori!”

Chapter 25 A Phone Call

If Iroh has an issue with the blearing music, he keeps it to himself. Azula reaches for another chip. ��Hmmm...truth or dare, Azula?” She puts down the chip.

“Dare.”

“You’ve been picking dare all night!” She frowns, putting her hands on her hips.

“What can I say, I’m a daring person.”

“You just don’t want to tell the truth.” Seicho nudges her.

“I dare you to pick truth next time someone asks you to.”

“That’s cheating.”

“Mm mm, it’s not.” TyLee shakes her head, “we didn’t establish that rule when we were establishing the other rules.

“Truth or dare, Mai?”

“Dare.”

TyLee puffs out her cheeks. “You guys never pick truth!”

“I dare you to be the first one to get a tattoo tonight.”

“I’ll get one right now.” Mai shrugs. “I’ve had one on my mind for a while now.”

“Kickass! What can I get for you?” Seicho asks. “You can sketch it out while I get set up.” She leans in to kiss Azula on the forehead before getting up.

“Truth or dare, Zuko?”

He glances at TyLee before choosing dare.

“I dare you to…”

Azula leans over and whispers in her ear.

“I dare you to prank call Zhao.”

He punches Zhao’s number into the landline pinpad. “Hello, is this Zhao?”

Azula, Mai, and TyLee lean over his shoulder.

“Yes, this is Sokka. I am interested in getting a record deal.” He clears his throat. “Sorry, I’m nervous, I’ve never asked for a record deal before. But I have this great concept its...uh…” He looks at Azula. “It’s uh...okay, picture this, seven minutes of dog barks with occasional bursts of that noise you hear when you’ve lost TV signal.” He listens. “No, no! This is a totally serious pitch! I’ve even named the track it’s called, ‘Bark At The Static’ and I think that I’d be great touring with that guy who dresses up as a cabbage and Yodels.”

TyLee snickers.

The line goes dead and Azula sits down to finally have her chip. She dips it into the salsa.

“Okay, truth or truth, Azula?”

She rolls her eyes. “Truth number two.”

“Hmmm, do you miss being in Blue Talon.”

“A little, I suppose. I don’t think that I’d like to go back to them though. They lack integrity.” She scoffs. “They’re using my story to sell the band.”

“Your story?”  Mai asks.

“I wrote about father before I was kicked out of the band.”

“I write about him too.”

“Yes, Zuzu, I’ve been helping you write those songs.”

“Right.”

“Everything’s all set up. You didn’t sketch, did you?”

Mai fishes through her bag, “I did a while ago.” Azula looks it over. It’s a darkly alluring sketch of a hand holding a punctured heart, weeping roses and thorns. “I want it on my left shoulder blade and a simple throwing star on the right one.”  

While Mai gets herself comfortable in Seicho’s makeshift chair, Azula reclains and reads through the newsfeed. Blue Talon is still soaring high as ever, but From Ashes To Phoenix is already garnering heavy attention with their new single announcement. The whole thing was rather sappy story about Zuko’s recent rehab struggles and an apology for acting out on stage. And for herself, Dragon Tongue is finally being praised for her stunning vocals and her soft, divine sound.

Azula is still rather conflicted about how quickly they were to turn from accusing her of pregnancy being obscene and raunchy to them gushing about how a baby on the way is the finishing touch on her new, soothing sound. She supposes that she should be thankful that they are speaking well of her again, regardless of hypocrisy. She wonders if her father is reading these headlines; wonders if her is proud or if he is seething--fuming because she is still rising despite his efforts to snuff her flame.

“What sort of tattoos were the rest of you thinking of getting?”

“I just want a cute little cherry blossom on my pinky!” TyLee answers.

“A broken chain.” Zuko replies. “On my bicep.”

Azula thinks for a moment. “I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out. I have to wait until after the baby is born.”

“Oh, right!” Seicho replies. “Maybe I can help you design one.”

Her phone vibrates in her hand, the number on the screen is unfamiliar. “Hello?”

“Azula?”

“Yes.”

“This is Raava.”

“Raava!?”

She hears the tattoo gun flick off and four heads turn in her direction.

“You have a gift and it will be heard at Audio Of Agni. I’d like to talk with you about a loophole that I found.”

“What sort of loophole?”

“You have done work with From Ashes To Phoenix, yes?”

“I will be recording with them soon.”

“I am going to extend a formal invitation to From Ashes To Phoenix. Given their cooperation, you will perform two of three songs with them and one solo.”

She hadn’t expected to cry that night, but she does. She feels like a fool crying in front of all of them, but she is so relieved. Relieved and hopeful. She hasn’t lost her dream.

It will be an absolute treat to see the shock and horror radiate off of Blue Talon when she makes her appearance. And a larger treat to show her father that her worth is beyond what he can give her.

[ditch-witches]

No Catch: Dean Charles-Chapman x Reader

thank you, beautiful Ivanna, for your excellent work and continued support.

request: “I need me a fallen angel Dean au, complete with black wings and shit (insert that Matthew McConaughey smoking meme)”

warnings: slight cursing, mentions of mugging and cosplaying

word count: 3000+

The bell above the bar door rang overhead, breaking your focus on the cash register in front of you. Your eyes flashed up with an internal groan as you watched four more customers stroll in, the final minutes of your shift ticking by with no sign of emptying out the place. Your co-worker, a man in his late twenties with striking auburn hair and a customary beige jacket with a stain on one of the pockets whether he knew it or not, put a fresh toothpick between his teeth as he filled the glasses of a few regulars. The men occupying the stools glared at the TV screen over your co-worker’s shoulder, not paying much mind to him.

The drawer finally clicked open as a rush of relief washed over you. Taking the money from the people before you, you began to feel the hours of the day weighing on your shoulders. The thought of having to get up in a few hours to start your workday yet again made you feel almost sick. But anything for the financial stability you longed for. Who cares if you’re living in a mansion and driving a fast car? What you wanted was to have enough to get by after paying a major bill, or having the luxury to eat out every few days. Treating yourself to a new pair of shoes wouldn’t hurt either.

But here you were, clocking out of your third shift of the day, dead tired and wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and waste away for the few hours of sleep you could afford. You were grateful that your co-worker hadn’t batted an eyelash at the growing crowd and shooed you off for the night. The darkening night sky was almost a sea of black against the bright yellows of the street lamps illuminating the busy crosswalks and shop corners of the city block. You pulled your scarf further up around your nose to combat the dropping temperature as you cut down an alleyway. The biting barks of stray dogs fighting over a scrap of meat mixed with the various sirens echoing in the distance as you trudged along, attempting to remember if your uniform for tomorrow (or later) was clean.

You almost lost yourself deep enough in your thoughts to ignore the footsteps behind you. You willed your heart to mellow as you took a deep breath, your exhales curtaining around your face like smoke from a chimney on a winter day. Your fingers brushed against the metal canister of pepper spray hidden in your jacket pocket. You had been mugged before and swore to yourself you wouldn’t let it happen again. You threw a glance over your shoulder, finding an empty alleyway behind you. You shook your head, turning forward and gluing your eyes to the buildings at the other end of the alley. Count your steps! That’s it, keep calm. You scolded yourself.

The footsteps continued, slow and heavy, almost as if the owner were sauntering playfully towards you. Should I look again? No way, what if it’s just some kid. You pressed on, your palms growing sweaty as the footsteps began to gain on you. What if I let them get close and then whip around and startle them? What if they have a knife? A gun? You swallowed a lump in your throat, looking around to see if anyone would be able to hear you being murdered.

As if by instinct, you planted your feet and turned, eyes wild as you searched for the owner. The city seemed too quiet as you did this, the eerie silence only broken by your labored breaths. What happened to the dogs, the drunk women yelling for taxis? Where were the domestic disputes above you? You chewed the inside of your cheek, tugging your jacket tighter around you. Were you going crazy? Was the lack of sleep finally getting to you? You moved to head back in your original direction and smacked into a wall —- no, a hard chest.

Knocking you back a few steps, your eyes locked with a pair of nearly glowing blue ones. His sharp teeth peeked out from behind his lips as a small smirk drew a line on his face. “Boo!” He joked, sending you into action. You reached for your pepper spray and within a second he was doubled over screaming at you as you shoved past the mystery man and sprinted down the alleyway, ignoring his calls for you to wait. You ran as fast as your feet could carry you, your hair rustling into knots with your movements. Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck. Boo! Boo! What kind of a sicko-

“Stop running, you’re not going to get away,” he hummed as you turned a corner and nearly rammed into him again. You shrieked and took off in the opposite direction. How had he gotten there before you? The alleyway was quickly becoming a never-ending labyrinth of twists and turns with him at every stop. Your lungs felt as if they might burst and you decided to weigh your options. Could you take him? Depends. Were you carrying anything that had value? Did it matter? You stopped, your hands falling to your knees as you attempted to catch your breath. Your joints ached and your whole body screamed for rest. “I can do this all night if you wanna keep showing off how fast you run in those tennis shoes,” the man quipped. You straightened up as he came around your side to stand in front of you. The cold sweat running down your back sent an ick of goosebumps spreading across your body. You peered at him, your chest rising and falling in heavy breaths.

His blue eyes caught the glimmer of the street light as he moved, making the color almost icy. His dark hair curled around his ears ever so slightly, nearly masking the silver charm hanging from one of his ears. His dark suit sat squarely on his shoulders, no thanks to his posture. The more appalling part of him that you could shake from your mind was the pair of wings tucked close to his back. The dark glistening sheer of the feathers made them seem almost real, yet your mind searched for what they were truly connected to. Surely this man hadn’t ruined a suit so expensively tailored for a costume. They almost hung from him naturally, which almost made you question if they really were extensions of him. Just your luck: running into a cosplayer on a Thursday night.

He stepped to face you, your sights now picking up on the redness forming around his eyes as he squinted at you. “I can’t believe you pepper-sprayed me. Psycho,” he sneered, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

You scoffed, taking a step back from him. “I’m the psycho? What the fuck was that!” You threw your hand back in the direction which you had come, turning slightly to find the alleyway as it usually was. Where had the dips and turns gone that you had just sprinted through? You really needed a nap.

“Language! What if God hears you?” He nearly bit before snorting to himself like it was a preposterous idea to begin with. He raked a hand through his curls and sighed, looking you over as if he was seeing just what he had been dealt with. “What are we gonna do with you?” He asked, his accent almost husky as he spoke to himself.

You furrowed your brows, tilting your head as you stepped further away from him, making sure to hold your hands up in defense. “Look, buddy, I don’t know what you’re supposed to be but-”

He cut you off with a click of his tongue, his arms falling lazily as his sides as a defeated look settled into his posture. “Are you serious? You don’t know who I am?”

You shook your head slightly. “Uh… The dude from Legion?”

He smiled, his head tilting to match your angle in a soft and almost mocking manner. “No, silly! I’m your guardian angel. Always have been. I thought that was obvious.” He murmured the last part to himself as he searched your questioningly distrustful eyes. He took a few steps to close most of the gap between you and you stretched away from him.

“What do you mean guardian angel?” You bit, throwing your hands on your hips. The man wouldn’t let up his character. You squared up to him, despite his obvious height above yours. He seemed to play along as you did.

“I’m the one that looks out for you,” he grinned as if he were a proud child after finally accomplishing an art project for his mom. You returned his devious expression with a blank stare, wondering what number you should call to reach a mental institution quickest. He fell back on his heel, angling his face downwards slightly to get a better look at your eyes. “Don’t believe me?” You looked at him as if he were crazy. How could you! This man just chased you down an alley and is now claiming to be your guardian angel, as if that’s possible. Your mind wandered to your co-worker. Had he slipped something in your drink when you weren’t looking? Surely, not.

“Those eyes have never been good at hiding your true thoughts, you know?” He jeered, sending you a wink as he watched you search his face. A blush crept onto your face for a reason unbeknownst to you. Embarrassment maybe? His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as if he were biting back a smile as his dark wings began to expand behind him, stretching out to fill what space they could. You stumbled back slightly, tripping on your feet and landing on your butt as you stared up at the man in horror and maybe slight amazement. How had he engineered them to do that? Were they on a pulley system under his jacket? How did he make them do that without flexing a muscle?

You sat in silence, attempting to find words, a thought, anything to diffuse the situation. Finally, your mind clicked back into place and you pushed yourself up, brushing off your pants and sighing. You began to walk around him. “Okay, Metatron, I’m going home. This’s been fun but I have a shift in a few hours and I think I might have had something laced with PCP so-”

“Oh, come on, I’m not Metatron-”

“Fine, I’ll stop guessing. I just know I need sleep, and you’re some crazy dude in an alley I’ve been wasting too much time talking to.” He chuckled at your response. As you walked a few steps, you couldn’t help but turn back to him. “Plus, what kind of guardian angel looks like you. Aren’t you supposed to look like the Hitler youth with angel wings?”

He smirked, angling his chin up slightly as he ran his tongue over his white teeth. “Yeah, I am. Do you want a ride?”

“No, fuck off,” you quipped with a small laugh, heading in your destination’s direction.

The next morning, you woke up groggy and sore. As you pulled yourself together, you avoided looking at your schedule for the day, hoping that someone would need to switch for an earlier time slot so you could get home at a better time. The diner you worked at during the day was already buzzing with its usual customers coming and going. Families treating themselves to breakfast before heading off to work and school seemed to juxtapose those who were using the little spot as a truck stop. The out of state families were always the better tippers, unsurprising to you. Your routine of monotonously waiting tables and working the register seemed to fit you into your usual groove. That was until you spotted an all too familiar pair of blue eyes, making what you pegged as a dream last night come to life.

You stepped towards him cautiously, your mouth growing drier at the possibility that he had found you here, but by what means? Would he start showing up at your next jobs? Your apartment? The wings were gone, just as you had expected, yet that same sly look remained firmly planted on his lips. In place of the dark suit he wore last night was merely a white t-shirt and a leather jacket, which he had thrown lazily to the side of him in the booth. You straightened out the skirt of your uniform, tapping the end of your pen against the small pad of paper you gripped in your hand maybe a bit too tightly. “What can I get you today, sir?” You asked, making him turn his sights up to beam at you.

“Good morning, sunshine. How was your night?” He mocked, a devious sparkle in his eye. You rolled your eyes at his chipper smugness. He seemed less menacing than in the alleyway, but that wasn’t saying much, considering how dimly lit it had been last night. He now reminded you of someone’s AA sponsor rather than a sophisticated angel. “What do you recommend? I don’t eat-”

You leaned against his table slightly. “Would you drop the act already? You’re not an actual angel.”

His smile seemed to widen a touch. “I think that’s a conversation that we need to have actually. Which is partially the reason why I’m here. I know you get off around six-”

“Are you stalking me?”

“Sorry, did you miss the part where I’m your guardian angel? Or is that still lost on you?” His eyebrow perked up at your question. You couldn’t mask the look of disgust ripping through your body.

You wet your lips. “What do you want?”

He gave you a look suggesting it was obvious. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked you. I haven’t-”

“From me. Why are you here, now?”

He nodded. “Yeah, good question.” He grabbed his jacket from beside him and slid out of the booth, standing next to you. You furrowed your brows at him and he gave you a smug grin once again, heading towards the front of the diner with you scrambling after him. You reached for his arm to pull him back, only to get a spark of electricity singeing against your fingertips, making you groan. He stopped walking and turned to you, his eyes a darker shade. “Great, glad that’s over with. Now, relax,” he hissed, continuing straight towards your boss. What the fuck was happening? He started pulling his jacket on as he spoke to her, her eyes seemingly softening at him as she giggled at what he said. Was he charming her? He stepped out of the way so she could see you.

“It’s a wonderful day, why don’t you take some time off?” Your eyes flashed between the man and your boss, feeling like the world was spinning slightly as you attempted to piece together what was happening. You hadn’t realized you were holding the hand that had been shocked until the man grabbed it, pulling to behind him and out of the diner. He slung one of his legs over a motorcycle you assumed he owned and pushed up the kickstand. He nodded for you to climb on back.

“I need the tips from today. I’ll be behind on my rent-”

“I’ll take care of it,” he answered simply, handing you a helmet.

“No, way-”

“Yes, way. Come on,” he stated, kicking on the bike and pulling his own helmet on. You took a deep breath and compiled. Hell, you had the day off right? As you slunk onto the bike seat, the man pulled you closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Try not to fall off. I don’t feel like trying to heal you up today.” As the bike began to move, you clung tighter to him, feeling him chuckle beneath your grasp. You pressed against his back, trying to figure out where his wings had gone and why the hell you were tazed when you touched him for the first time. Why were his eyes so radiant? Unnaturally radiant, that is. Who the fuck was he?

The ride flashed by rather quickly, your thoughts taking up most of the time you would have normally spent sight-seeing or wondering why in the hell you had gotten on the back of a stranger’s bike. To your surprise, you ended up at another restaurant, stationed in a booth opposite of this strange man as he ordered for you, in an attempt to lighten the shock of the situation. “I thought you didn’t know what food tasted good.”

“I was just playing cute. I thought it might make me more approachable for you.” You blinked at his words, feeling more unstable than when you were on the motorcycle. His demeanor had changed, he was almost tense now. “Where would you like me to start?”

You shrugged, your fear now becoming almost unmanageable. “Who are you?”

“My name is Dean. I was assigned to you when you were born.” You nodded slightly, unsure of what to ask next as you located all the exits in the restaurant. It was crowded, so you figured he wasn’t going to kill you at least. “You mentioned my appearance earlier. I don’t have that Aryan look you want because I’m not really an angel angel. I mean, I used to be.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So what you’re saying is…”

“I work for someone else now. If you get what I mean.” He smiled at the waiter as she brought out drinks for the two of you. He rubbed the back of his neck as he seemed to chew on other information in a way of deciding how to break what to you. “Besides, it’s better having my kind as your guardian than one of those halo pricks.”

You scoffed. “So why right now? Why not show up a few years ago or when I was a kid?”

He shrugged. “Your life is so shitty right now, you need me.” You narrowed your eyes. “Before you defend yourself and go all-mighty woman on me, I know you’re working hard and I know what you want. I can give that to you, and whatever else you desire.”

You put your chin in your hand. “For what? My soul?” You joked.

He rolled his eyes with a small chuckle, setting his arms on the table to lean towards you. “Only if you beg,” he winked. “Actually, there’s no catch. You just have to let me.”

…

Dean sat across the long dinner table from his superior, barely able to touch whatever gruel had been pushed his way. For how civilized it seemed they were, the demon appetite was next to animalistic. The cool air in the room was reflexive of the mood the opaque souls passing beside the large windows echoed: hollow and dead. The light in the room was only thanks to the moonlight shining through the barrier between the worlds. Dean let his mind travel to the day he had spent with you and how much you would hate to be dragged to hell beside him. Could he convince you it wouldn’t be so bad? Was it more just to end his own suffering by adding to yours? 

His superior cleared his throat, brushing a napkin over his chin and standing. His chair made no noise as his figure looked almost wispy as he strolled toward the fireplace, breathing into the logs as if he were a dragon. Dean snickered slightly at the obscenity of the action. “It’s nearly time you know. For the Choosing, I mean.” Dean’s stomach tightened with anxiety at his words. The tall man took his place at the table again, his dark, pitted features unintentionally burning further into Dean’s memories. “I know what you’ve been doing in the mortal world. You think playing around with Gabriel’s daughter is a good idea when you should be looking for a mate you don’t have to kill when the time comes?”

Dean let out a sharp breath, the man’s words cutting deeper into Dean than he had expected them to. Dean looked down at his hands to regain his composure. He had almost had a terrible temper, especially when it came to you. “She doesn’t even know who she is. I can convince her-" 

"No. You can’t. Besides, how would the Choosing play out with a demon-like you meddling in her life.” The man’s calm tone was almost more angering than the rules he was conveying. Dean stared blankly at the man, knowing full well he wouldn’t win this argument, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying. “I don’t care who’s son you are or how much you like her, I won’t let it happen.”

Dean swallowed. “She’s not like them.”

“I’ll arrange for the church to find you someone who could actually be a mate. Stay out of the mortal world, or at least hers,” the man stated firmly, nodding that Dean could leave finally. If only he could tell you the whole truth, would you believe him then? He shoved his fists into his pant pockets as he chewed his lip, strolling down the vast hallway from the room. Portraits of the underworld leaders lined the walls in different shapes and sizes. When he was younger, Dean had wanted to be among them, like his father. Now it only made him sick to think of the corruption and mass extinctions that got those men on the wall. Gabriel had been an ally of his father’s before the shit hit the fan.

When Dean found out the angels had been having affairs with mortals, he hadn’t blinked an eye; him having already been guilty of that sin himself. But as soon as he laid eyes on you, he wanted you. The Choosing had loomed over him like a rain cloud until that day. What was the worst that could happen if you were his victim for the Choosing? Well, fuck it right, he was already living in hell.

M A S T E R L I S T.

[chrysalispen]

upon pale dawns, prologue II: ardent for some desperate glory

AO3 Link HERE

=====

Castrum Abania, 9th Sun, Third Umbral Moon, Year 5 of the Seventh Umbral Era

The room was cold and its silence sterile, broken only by the sounds of a dry ticking from the digital wall chronometer and the soft and regular sighs of a sleeping man.

Silence in itself was hardly anything to be remarked upon, let alone a surprise. The research and development floors were always kept clear of unnecessary chatter in favor of the sound and rhythm of industry, small gears turning amidst the well-oiled machine of imperial conquest. Standard procedure, that. Especially when the work that took place away from prying eyes was exacting and often hazardous.

But for several hours, the relative darkness and the ambient cycling of the console's processor had been interspersed only with the low rumble of the central air unit and the rhythmic rattle of footsteps without the corridors, and Nero tol Scaeva had been awake for most of the past thirty hours. He had finally fallen asleep waiting for one of his processes to run and lay half-sprawled over the metal surface of the table: limbs immobile and lashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he drowsed at the empty work station he’d appropriated upon his arrival in the lower levels.

When the chiming began, it went unheeded at first. The timer had been set in this instance to ring without cessation, however, and after a few minutes had lapsed the sound began to send him drifting wide from his dreaming state by ilms. The transition from sleeping to wakefulness felt reluctant: heavy and sluggish, a pearl diver kicking against deep currents, breaking the surface tension of consciousness through brute force.

He blinked slowly, once, then twice, attempting to reorient himself.

The noise was also aggravating an incipient headache. Nero righted his posture with a tired grumble and smacked the damned thing until blessed silence reigned once more, before reaching for the mug he had left on a borrowed coaster (long since gone cold. His own fault, he owned). Sipping at its contents with a distasteful grimace - whoever had brewed the coffee, they had added too much water and the result was something weak and listless and far too bitter - he turned his attention towards the old Allagan testing module and its compiling readout.

It appeared to be reaching the end of its cycle. So he thought, until the activity scrolling across the screen flickered in place and pulsed once, twice, an arrythmia within the steady heartbeat of the machine. Nero swore under his breath when on its heels, a brief error message superimposed itself over the readout in black-bordered white. One he’d seen with far too many of these devices recently.

[Unable to read file. The current application will be terminated.]

An annoyed sigh escaped in a hiss between his teeth.

Brow wrinkled in thought, he stared at the screen for a few beats. This was but one of many datalog volumes his team had salvaged at the original site. The initial discovery had excited him - it had excited everyone, in fact, including the legatus - as it well should have done, but getting the godsdamned things to yield the fruit he sought was quickly proving to be an exercise in tedium.

Although Ultima’s original hardware was in surprisingly reasonable working order, several of the tomestones they had found in the same space had not proven to be nearly as resistant to the vagaries of time. Thus far, only a handful had relinquished their secrets without issue or delay. Not entirely unexpected, given their age and the conditions in which they’d been found, but unfortunate all the same.

The tribunus laticlavius of the XIVth Imperial Legion was not a patient man by nature, given to rather more direct methods of approach, but as a man of thirty-four winters with a good fifteen of them spent in the legions, he had very much learned the value of that particular skill. It was one he had developed through years of trial and error and the innate understanding of those traits his chosen craft required.

Magitek was not ineffable. It was parts and pieces that fit together neatly like a puzzle in the absence of human error. To guide and to create with these tools required a methodical mind and observant eye, as well as a certain degree of acceptance that on occasion one simply could not rush the desired results.

This was one such occasion. The end result, of course, would be worth the means. Or so one might fondly hope.  

Nero leaned forward and compressed the small button until the module had powered down and all that was left was the rumbling rattle of the castrum's central air unit (always running this time of year). A gentle tug freed the small tomestone from its moorings and he held it aloft to study the detailing, periwinkle-blue eyes squinting and straining against the red-tinged light from the fluorescents.

The small grooves caught the ambient lighting from the walls with each idle spin between his fingers. They seemed to mock him with each little shimmer: ancient secrets so painfully close to discovery that they lay mere ilms from his grasp. Secrets which promised a long and tedious process if he wished to claim them.

...Well. He’d do it, of course he would. Aught he deemed necessary - good, bad, or ugly - in order to see Project Ultima to completion. Even were it not his primary directive, he had always had every intention of plundering their contents at his leisure for the challenge of it and the knowledge to be had. This was but the least method at his disposal. There were some few other options he might employ, which might serve to successfully extract the data into some readable format that he could put to use.

While the old datalogs were fascinating, he wasn't spending his time reading them for a history lesson. No, what he sought was preliminary information, something upon which to safely extrapolate. Ideally he'd end up with a dossier of sorts which he could use to catalogue the Weapon’s original abilities, and enough code to piece together an operating system more or less analogous to that of Allag, albeit one powered by ceruleum instead of aether. If he could simply-

A much lower-pitched sound than his armor’s onboard timer - not an alarum but a harsh, flat buzz - cut through the quiet of the lab. Nero’s first inclination was to ignore it in favor of his study, but a second followed quickly on its heels, and a third. 

That, unfortunately, meant someone was expecting him to answer.

With a barely suppressed yawn he toggled the small red switch next to the wall’s built-in communications device. “Scaeva. Engineering," he said, keeping his tone clipped and curt- the voice of a man who would brook no disturbances. "State your business.”

The response he received was a very audible swallow followed with a hoarsely uttered, “Lord Scaeva?”

“Speaking."

"My lord?"

Nero sighed. "Speaking. As in 'with whom do I have the pleasure.' Name and rank."

“Oh. Terribly sorry, my lord. I, erm, Quintus pyr Blasio. Lord, uh. Tribunus. Sir.”

Seven hells. Not a name Nero recalled, though he rarely had reason to trouble himself over memorizing the personnel that manned every garrison between Ala Mhigo and the Velodyna fringes. Some poor bastard who was likely the first man flagged down for runner duty by his direct report, no doubt. Some poor bastard who was also either too dazzled or too shit-scared of speaking to the legion's top brass to string three coherent words together. Just what he needed.  

“...Go on,” he prompted when the man said nothing further.

“Lord Sc-”

“I daresay we’ve both established our identities at this juncture," impatience and lingering drowsiness rendered his response a sardonic drawl, for all its erstwhile civility. "The message, if you please.”

“Message, my lord?”

“Yes. The message. That is why you’ve called to interrupt my current litany of scheduled tasks, or so I assume?”

“Ah... y-yes. Yes, my lord.” The speaker at the other end of the connection paused, and on its heels came the sound of a clearing throat. “Ah, Lord van Baelsar asked that I, er, that is, he requests your presence to discuss-”

“He wants me to attend a meeting,” Nero cut in. “When and where?”

“Half four, my lord. Ah- in Sector VI. The administrative complex south of the new hangar.”

Half four- it was five minutes past now. With the identification checks and elevators taken into account, that gave him about ten minutes' leeway. The timing would be somewhat tight to work in, perhaps, but it was perfectly feasible.

The man’s nervous, ragged breathing crackled across the link; the only other sound was the flat drumming of Nero’s fingertips upon the metal surface as he mentally rearranged the next hour he’d dedicated to other tasks. It was an inconvenience to be certain. He was going to have to run the process once more after some adjustments were made, and clearly, it would need closer supervision. Meaning the sleep he knew he needed was not going to be an option.

But this summons still amounted to an order, and hardly one he could disregard or countermand. Heavily classified weapon project or no.

“Understood," he said at last. "Inform the legatus that I will be along presently."

"I will, Lord tol Scaeva. I-"

"In future, do make some bare attempt at brevity when delivering messages, tessarius- for your own sake.”

Another gulp. “Of course, my lord. I’ll pass alo--”

Before the hapless soldier could waste more of his time stammering out another response, the tribunus laticlavius flipped the switch and cut the connection. The line went dead with a static click.

Nero was a practical man, one rarely wont to let trivial annoyances linger. As he set the artifact aside to reach for the fountain pen at his elbow and drew a small leather-bound planner from the desk drawer, a habit he’d kept since his Academy days, he could already feel his focus shifting, moving onwards.

He rolled the pen thoughtfully betwixt index and middle fingers, eyes flickering away from the planner to linger briefly upon the blank console screen. No doubt there was also more useful information to be ascertained from the old Meteor Project dossier; he’d request another copy of the relevant files through the proper channels once the meeting concluded.

In the meantime, it seemed a progress report was likely to be expected upon his timely - and fully conscious - arrival. Strict self-imposed schedule notwithstanding, it wouldn’t do for him to be the only one empty-handed.

He flipped the notebook open to a fresh and empty page, tilted the ink nub, and began to write.

[moonshroooms]

So like, here’s a part-angst-part-fluff Ponytail!Dib AU oneshot here ya go! I kinda imagined this lil scenario to be after but not-too-long after these Sad Idiots confessed their Undying Love to each other (I’m totally positive that’s the exact scenario reyna’s gonna take her au, trust me on this I’m a doctor).

Now the beginning of this is definitely more angst and Sad but it do get cuter at the end I promise VwV But anyways, here! *throws this on the ground and runs away*

=

Dib laid out all the ingredients on the counter, double checking he had everything the recipe called for. Flour, eggs, sugar, check, check, check. Getting everything without alerting Zim what he was up to had been more than a challenge but somehow he’d managed to get past the sneaky bug. All that was left to do was wait for Zim to be busy long enough to enact his plan.

“Alright, it’s a shortcake, how hard could it be?” He pulled up the recipe on his phone, mumbling to himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice taunted that he’d mess it up somehow. He mentally shoved it into a box and sealed the lid. It’s fine, he’d be fine. Just follow the instructions, he could do that.

With his best attempt at a determined nod Dib opened up the flour, pulling a large bowl out of the cupboard, giving a glance at the instructions.

“Mix strawberries with sugar and ffuh mhmm…” His sentence trailed off as his brain rewired itself to focus on the strawberries. “Alright, strawberries first, then.” He dumped the carton of berries in a little bowl of their own, scooping out a few spoonfuls of sugar and stirring. And put them in the fridge. Okay, step one done. See? Wasn’t so bad. A part of him felt kind of dump pep-talking himself, but he knew how much his self-deprecation bothered Zim, so he was trying to fight it. Most said step one was talking positively, even if you didn’t really believe it, so that’s what he was gonna do.

Dib pulled out the flour and measured it, pouring it in the mixing bowl once it was at the right level. Next was baking powder, baking soda, sugar, and heavy cream. Dib ran his eyes across the bottle of cream for not the first time. The store didn’t exactly have just “heavy cream.” “Heavy whipping cream,” it read. The names were pretty close and he was going to try and make whipped cream anyways. It was probably the same, right? He couldn’t find anything saying it was different (not that he found anything saying it was the same, either). Somewhere that voice trapped in the box whispered that he was already fucking up. He was probably fine. If it was the only one the store had it was probably the most common one anyways.

As he mixed the ingredients together Dib allowed his mind to wander. That cold winter in his car, being sick in his apartment, lunch after lunch of carefully crafted meals, all wrapped in hearts and flowers. He found himself thinking about those times a lot. A large part of him laughed, wondering how he was able to jump through so many hoops to explain why Zim would go through all that trouble, what nefarious plot they could possibly be apart of, when the answer was (quite literally) written in front of him. A larger part said he was stupid if he really thought this was real, that this wasn’t just some long con at his expense and the ball would drop soon enough.

It wasn’t surprising the lunches were on his mind now, anyways. It’s what spurred the baking adventure he was currently on. Zim tried so hard despite Dib’s bad attitude, his denial, even his blatant refusal to eat at times. He wanted to return the favor, at least a little bit.

Dib let out a sigh as the mixture was finally done, rolling his shoulder a bit. Somehow the mixing was surprisingly tiring. Sure, he could keep up with the plots of an alien invader with technology far more advanced than his own since he was 12, but mixing cake batter was the real test of strength. Repetitive motion, he supposed. He poured the mix into the baking pan and stuffed it in the oven. Oh, shit, he forgot to preheat it. Did anyone really even do that? Seemed like a waste of power, honestly. He set his phone timer for an extra 10 minutes than the recipe called for, hoping that’d make up for it.

Alright, all that was left to do was the whipped cream. He was breezing through this recipe! He could almost imagine the look on Zim’s face when he got back. Sure, Dib didn’t have fancy wrapping paper, and honestly, the cake would probably look like shit. But as long as it tasted fine that was the most important part, right?

Dib pulled a separate bowl from the upper cupboard, combined the whipped cream ingredients, and got to work on stirring. The recipe said to use a mixer but he didn’t exactly have one of those, so he was stuck using good ol’ elbow grease. He tried to make up for it by mixing faster but figured the speed wasn’t gonna be a huge factor in the outcome.

Or, so he thought, at least.

Five minutes of mixing later and the cream hadn’t taken on any kind of fluffy quality. Just the same white goop. It was supposed to get light and fluffy two minutes in. Did he forget something? He rechecked the recipe. Cream, sugar, vanilla, lemon zest. It was all in there. Was he just not going fast enough? Maybe the mixer was more crucial than he thought. He plopped himself on the ground and kicked his whisking up a notch. Another few minutes and the only significant change was that the goop was maybe a little thicker. That, and he definitely got a good portion of it all over his shirt. Great.

Alright, the recipe did stress the heavy cream needed to be chilled before mixing. Did he let it sit outside the fridge too long? He could leave it in the freezer for a bit, let the cold firm it up a little? He swallowed down the rising disgust at himself, he was such a fucking idiot, he didn’t even know how to fix his mistake. Yeah, that’d work. With a grunt he got to his feet-

SMACK.

“Shit, goddamn it!” Dib instantly recoiled, clutching at the back of his head where the open cupboard lovingly smacked into his skull. He slammed the door shut with bang, the loud sound satisfying his anger a little bit. Stomping over to the freezer he shoved aside the assortment of raw meats and frozen veggies (things Zim planned on cooking at some point), and stuffed the whipped cream in, slamming the door shut.

“It’s fine, you’re fine. Nothing’s ruined, it’ll be fine.” Wow you’re trying really hard to sell this, huh? Can’t even convince yourself to buy your own words without lying first.

Dib leaned against the kitchen counter, silently fuming at the throb on the back of his head. He could feel self-loathing spilling into his brain like a fog, seeping out from that mental lockbox he tried to shove it in. He shook his head and did his best to focus on the goal. Zim would be so happy Dib made him a present, he’d get to see that huge smile that had his heart squeezing funny, ruby eyes lighting up with appreciation. The idea soothed his mind a bit. He could get through a few hang-ups if he got to see that expression and…

Was something burning?

“Seriously?!” Dib yelled as he pushed away from the counter. He threw the oven open and grabbed the baking tin only to recoil back in pain as his hand came into contact with the hot metal. Dib cursed, shaking out his hand and grabbing the oven mitt staring him in the face. Sure, go ahead, just fucking break yourself while making your thank you gift. Nothing says “I appreciate you” like making him clean up your fucking mess.

The tin landed on the stove with a clatter as Dib quickly turned away to grab ice for his hand.

Only to be greeted with a freezer that had whipped cream spilled all over it. The half-empty mixing bowl clattered to the floor as the door swung open, a few splatters of not-quite-frozen whipped cream leaping to the floor as it did. No, it’s fine, it’s okay. They could always just buy whipped cream at the store. He was pretty sure Zim wasn’t allergic to normal whipped cream anyways. You can’t even put something in the fridge without fucking it up? Why are you even bothering?

Dib stuffed a few ice cubes into a plastic bag and clutched his fingers around it. With a grimace he turned off the phone timer that only decided to start ringing just now and looked over the cake. Honestly, it wasn’t even burned that much, they could just not eat the bottom. Geez, you’re really going for a record trying to screw up every stage of this project huh?

Was the cake… supposed to look like a biscuit? He tore off a piece and popped it in his mouth. Was it also supposed to taste bland as hell like a biscuit, too?

Despite the bag of ice pain stabbed through the skin of Dib’s hand anyways, only adding to the misery of his failed creation. Look, he couldn’t expect things to be perfect. It was his first time trying to bake something. Plenty of people probably messed things like this up. You couldn’t even make a damn cake. Honestly, why did you even bother trying? How many other things have you fucked up that were way easier than cooking and you couldn’t even do those right? What made you think you could get this right?

Dib slid to the floor, focusing on the quiet sting of his burned hand. He felt that urge to visit the nearby drugstore. He might’ve bought a bottle of something, too, were his wallet not thoroughly cleaned out from buying all the cake ingredients. Couldn’t get drunk if he wanted to.

And damn he wanted to right now.

Amber eyes glanced around the kitchen, taking in the few splatters of whipped cream on the floor, quickly melting into puddles now. He… could at least up the mess he made before Zim got back.

The frown on his face deepened.

Well, knowing you, you’ll probably find a way to fuck that up, too.

 =

 Zim slid the window to the apartment open, wasting no time scurrying in and ripping off his disguise. How Gir escaped view of his cameras long enough to floor half the base he’d never know. Computer wasn’t any help telling him what happened either. Zim suspected whatever started the whole “beach party” idea was both Gir and Computer’s idea.

Zim’s internal ranting didn’t have long to continue before his now-freed antenna picked up the scent of something burnt, as well as something sweet and almost… milky? Compound eyes were greeted with a less-than-clean kitchen, used and abandoned cooking utensils, and a few tiny puddles of something melted on the floor. Confusion buzzed around the Irken’s mind before worry crept up his throat when he realized he couldn’t see Dib in the small space around him.

Slow-creeping dread dropped like a rock in his gut as anxiety moved his limbs. “Dib?” Zim called, receiving no answer. As terrifying rooftop rescues were at least they were known. What was Zim supposed to do for this new situation? What was the protocol?

His panic didn’t last for long as he skidded past the kitchen and caught sight of his human’s familiar form. Relief quickly flooded over him and he ran to Dib’s side.

“Dib-beast, what happened, are you okay?”

Dib jumped a little, as if startled from sleep, and looked at Zim. “Oh, hey space boy, welcome back.”

Zim frowned. Dib had that… look in his eyes that he didn’t like. That faraway look he often had during drunken hazes, staring off into nothing like there was a storm brewing in his head with threats of nothing good.

The alien grabbed Dib’s face with both hands, turning him left and right to check for injuries, Dib scrunching his eyes as he did. Zim pursed his lips when he noticed the melting pack of ice in his human’s grip.

“Burned myself on the stove, no biggie.” Dib shrugged. Zim’s brow furrowed, giving Dib’s cheeks a squeeze before getting up to grab some first-aid things.

“So, were you going to tell me what happened here or do I have to check the cameras?” Zim plopped back down next to Dib, pulling the injured hand into his lap to treat it.

Dib snorted. “Ha, nice try, I already found ‘em all.”

“Mhm, yup, you certainly did. No use looking for more, they’re all gone.”

Zim couldn’t resist a grin at the glare and eyeroll he received. He didn’t know if Dib had actually found all his cameras yet, but no sense in letting the stinky know if there were actually more or not.

“Sorry about the mess,” Dib mumbled. “I was gonna clean it up before you got back. I got kinda...” A sigh. “Distracted.”

Zim finished wrapping up Dib’s injury with a band-aid and glanced around the kitchen once more. It seemed to have been some sort of… baking attempt, from what he could gather. But why wait until he was gone to do it?

“You are forgiven… only if you tell Zim was all this-” he gestured to the mess “-was about.”

Zim watched his human’s expression as he started back at him, seeming to debate whether he wanted to elaborate or not. Finally, he looked away with a sigh and Zim thought he saw the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks.

“I was uh, trying to bake.” Zim could only just barely understand Dib through his purposeful mumbling. “A cake. For, uh, for you. To say thanks, you know. For all the food you’re always making me.” As he spoke his cheeks got redder and he started scratching at the back of his neck, a habit Zim noticed he usually did when he was nervous. “As you can see it didn’t really work out that well.” Dib gave a laugh but it felt so hollow to Zim’s antenna. The kind of laugh you did when you were trying to assure others you were fine but couldn’t really put any effort in it.

As the Irken glanced around he could spot all the different bowls, measuring spoons, and other utensils his Dib used. He… tried really hard, didn’t he? And now he was on the floor, looking like the entire world was crashing down and it was his own fault. Sad and warm feelings both swirled around Zim’s gut, a confusing swirl of emotion he wasn’t sure how to process.

Zim placed his hand on Dib’s leg and leaned up to press his lips to Dib’s, much to the human’s surprise. Zim felt Dib stiffen only slightly before relaxing in his hold, reciprocating the kiss. Zim’s antenna instinctively wrapped themselves around the untied scythe of hair atop Dib’s head. Hmm, it was getting long. They’d need to cut it again soon.

Zim pulled back from the kiss only slightly, resting his forehead against Dib’s as he brought up a hand to stroke Dib’s cheek. “Thank you, Dib-beast.”

Despite the slightly flustered look Dib managed to pull himself together enough to furrow his brows. “For what? The cake’s not even good. Trust me, I tried it. All I managed to make is a huge mess.”

One of Zim’s antenna bent down to lightly bop Dib’s cheek. “For trying so hard to make something special for me. For going out of your way to make it a surprise. For telling me you appreciated the things I did.” Zim leaned forward to nuzzle against Dib. “Thank you for all of that.”

Dib let out a sigh and Zim felt arms wrap around his waist and hoist him into Dib’s lap. His human easily nuzzled into his shoulder and Zim did the same, feeling long legs bending up and resting against his PAK. They fell into their embrace so easily, like they were supposed to fit together. Zim was sure he’d be perfectly happy just sitting like this with Dib for the rest of time.

The two stayed like that for a long while, Dib’s lanky arms wrapped around Zim in a tight vice, Zim content to breathe in Dib’s presence. Eventually they were interrupted by a low grumbling centered at Dib’s stomach. Zim let out a snicker at the very graceful noise, earning him a slightly embarrassed “shut up” from Dib. Zim gave a smell peck on the lips to placate his human and rose to his feet, offering Dib a hand to help hoist him up.

“What do you say we try and make a cake some other time?” Zim offered. “Now that I know I’m owed a gift, of course.”

Dib looked down with a rueful smile. “Not worried I’ll mess it up?” He said with a slight scoff.

Zim’s brows furrowed as he rose up on his PAK legs to be at eye-level with his human. “Not at all because I know how smart you are. Besides,” Zim said, running a finger along a glob of wet goop and popping it in his mouth. Hm, slightly sweet. “You know baking is like, level 20 cooking, right?”

“Hah?”

“Yeah.” Zim reached into the fridge, looking for some leftovers for Dib, his eye spotting the tub of strawberries soaking in sugar. Oh, those looked good, they could probably use those tomorrow. “If you’re going to try something new you’re supposed to start at level 1, stinky. Most cooking you can just kind of eyeball how much seasoning you want for things. But baking is very exact a lot of the time. You humans took cooking and decided to make it as finicky as chemistry for no good reason.” He pulled a tub of spaghetti from the fridge and popped it in the microwave.

“With both of us tackling it we’ll make a cake that rivals anything some dookie-brained ‘top chef’ could make.” Zim plopped himself on a clean section of counter, antenna sticking up as he boasted for the both of them.

Dib scoffed with a laugh and pulled the spaghetti out of the microwave once it was done. He pulled a fork from the sink of yet-to-be-put-away dishes and leaned against the counter next to Zim. “If you say so, space boy.”

Zim’s antenna quickly accosted Dib’s hair as he neared, tangling and wrapping themselves into place, vibrating with a happiness that said they were exactly where they belonged. “I know so,” he replied matter-of-factly.

=

The two made the shortcake later that week, despite Dib’s quiet protests. Zim even stole obtained an electric mixer just for the whipped cream. Dib complained that Zim was making him do all the work (Zim’s repeated answer to that was “it’s a present for me, why should I have to do the work?”) Once it was all done though Dib had to admit, it didn’t look bad. Granted, it didn’t exactly look magazine-worthy, but it was presentable. Better yet, it actually tasted pretty damn good. Good enough that he had to fight Zim over the last piece.

For once, that voice inside his mental lockbox had nothing to say.

=

How in-character is this oneshot actually? It’s a mystery, who knows, certainly not me. It’s been sent out into the world how in character they are is no longer my problem that’s a y’all kinda issue now 💅🏽

Go! Take! A gander! At! @reynaruina ‘s Ponytail Dib! AU! If! You Like! To Cry! (Though things have been looking up in those little blurbs and comics reyna’s making so hopefully there will be less crying soon 🎉)

Fun fact: a huge chunk of Dib’s failure to make a strawberry shortcake from scratch was based on my own failed attempt. I still don’t know if there’s a difference between heavy cream and heavy whipping cream or if an electric mixer mattered. No, stuffing the whipped cream into the freezer didn’t help make it fluffy either. RIP my shortcake 2019-2019 🤘🏽😔

Double fun fact: Did you know apparently classic strawberry shortcakes are actually gross disgusting lumpy buscuit-ass lookin’ mutherfuckers and not fluffy sweet cake things? Whoever the hell thought purposefully bland cake was what strawberry shortcakes needed to be should be forced to step on legos forever. They also owe me 20 bucks cuz I thought I was making the sweet fluffy kind of cake and instead of forced to eat a flavorless biscuit with strawberries on it. EVIL.

[bettsfic]

Hey! I was just wondering if you would soapbox a little about your creative process. I absolutely adore your writing advice but was wondering a bit more about how your ideas form and how you choose which to pursue and do finished products look like you want them to? What's a bad habit you're trying to break? No obligation to answer, especially cause an anon is like tell me your secrets! But thank you for all you've written, you are so helpful and kind

thanks for the great question anon! i wrote a bit about my drafting process here but that doesn’t encompass the idea building side of things (also i’ve made some changes to the process so i was thinking about writing a more cohesive, updated version at some point).

i tend to think of project ideas as piles of aesthetic, and usually i only begin writing once the pile has toppled over and i can’t not write it. that’ll make more sense in a moment. 

i’ll walk through 2 examples of my idea generating process, from how they started to where they are now. 

1. Vandal

Vandal is a novel i’m working on that i really have a lot of hope for. i’m about 60k words in right now and 75% finished. it’s about a teenage girl (sierra) who casts a spell on her hot, helpful neighbor (frank) to bind them together. the spell ends up working but backfiring when he becomes her foster father. then, in his custody, sierra gets jealous and casts a spell on his girlfriend (jenny) to break them up, but that backfires too: sierra gets taken out of frank’s custody and placed with a manipulative and abusive foster brother (leo). frank more or less kidnaps sierra and they have to Run From The Law. throughout the novel, sierra is inwardly battling Vandal, an immortal archangel that has possessed her and is trying to get her to kill herself so he can break free of the prison of her body.  

the idea for that story has a looooong breadcrumb trail and a huge aesthetic pile. since i couldn’t manage to get Baby traditionally published, i had a lot of that dynamic i could adopt into something else. i wrote at length about where that idea came from but i can no longer find that post (UPDATE: here it is). it’s somewhere in my training wheels tag. in short, i spent an entire summer watching/reading age gap stories and the male perspective in them bothered me a lot, so i wanted to write a story from the younger party’s perspective, and do the reality of those situations justice. i wrote that story, though, so i didn’t want to rewrite it. 

then, in december 2019, for reasons i don’t remember, i started reading snape/hermione fics. i really liked the dynamic, but it was a little too angsty for me, and none of the fics gave me the catharsis i was looking for, which was basically Grouchy Soft Boy Takes Care Of PTSD Weary Girl. being unable to find anything that fit the exact no-conflict, angstless dynamic i was looking for, i decided to write it myself using an A/B/O reylo idea i’d been kicking around for about 8 months but i could never land on, because i didn’t know if i wanted ben or ren. that fic turned out to be Reclaimed.  

to answer one of your questions, Reclaimed didn’t turn out the way i wanted it to at all, and i’m still kind of shocked by the traffic it has. i felt bad about writing it, because i was setting down so many other things to work on it, and it was a struggle from start to finish. at the time (and this is a major theme of my process), i thought it was a waste of energy.

but it opened a very important thematic concept to me, which is the idea of voicelessness and trauma, and recovery through finding one’s voice.

fast-forward to february, i’m headcanoning with @star-sky-earth just days before i have to head to nebraska for a writing residency. she and i are talking about a certain male celebrity who shall not be named, flirting with his younger female costar who shall not be named, and i said something along the lines of, “wouldn’t it suck to get a crush on a dude like him, only to find out he likes you back, and then you realize he’s actually kind of shallow and boring?”

i remember distinctly saying, out loud, “god fucking dammit,” because, right then, an aesthetic pile had toppled over, and an entire novel unfolded itself in my brain. i pound out an outline. it’s garbage. i play around with a vocal gauge. it’s not quite right. then, two days later, i write an opening scene that i don’t think is great but i send it to some people and they’re like, oh this is fire. 

the aesthetic pile looks like this:

lolita, where dolores is the one in control

delusions of grandeur born from a major traumatic event

obsessions with fairy tales and the escapism they provide

the consequences of extreme neglect

forced voicelessness as both a theme and a major structural constraint

a lot of wolf imagery

non-chronological timelines

i proceed to spend the next two days driving across the country brain-writing. by the time i reach nebraska, i hit the ground running, and write for basically 30-40 hours a week for 5 weeks. then, because pandemic, i decide to stay 2 more weeks, but i hit a snag. i write about 14k of really boring drivel and realize my outline has failed me. i toss the 14k and re-outline and try again. then, my attention is rattled by a crush on a composer who has no interest in me. 

i go home and fall into my annual summer depression and i lose focus. so, that’s where i’m at. i really miss vandal but it’s gotten super dark and i’m finding it difficult to manage darkness with everything going on. which brings me to my next aesthetic pile that has recently toppled over.

2. Eden

that’s not the title but it’s the project name. i’ve begun writing a YA sci fi comedy with an ensemble cast. this aesthetic pile took years to build before it toppled. it started with Elixir of Erised, hands down the best fic i’ve ever written by a huge margin. i reread it this past winter and was kind of amazed i’d written it. 

i really liked the idea of a potion showing you your deepest desires, but until recently have not had the patience to build an entire world around it. so, for the past 3.5 years, i’ve kept a document of “if i WERE to a YA SFF book with the themes of EOE, what would i want to include?” over those 3.5 years, here’s what the list became:

dark academia vibes

heist plot

soulmates

that list is not really conducive to an entire universe, and i never had the motivation to sit down and think through it. 

then i watched breaking bad, and a lot of things started clicking. at the same time, i was talking to my buddy kyle about my fallen knight archetype schematic, and i began fleshing out all the archetypes that went with it. i came up with 12. i built a database. i thought, wouldn’t it be cool to write something with ALL 12 ARCHETYPES?? haha but who would be dumb enough to do that?

me. i would. 

with breaking bad as the missing plot piece (which introduces the idea of conflict around the MANUFACTURE and DISTRIBUTION of addictive substances, with an ensemble cast of morally grey characters, which leads to a war), i had enough to get started. 

i wrote an outline. i wrote another outline. i wrote a third outline. i stopped to write some histories of this place i’d built. i wrote a fourth outline. gdocs became a mess so i downloaded scrivener and taught myself how to use it. i wrote a gauge of the first chapter and landed the voice on the first try. then i did a rough sketch of how a trilogy would go. then i outlined each book in the trilogy to make sure my character trajectories were on point. then i did a lot more worldbuilding. now i’m working on my fifth outline, which breaks the entire novel down scene by scene. 

and for Reasons, i’m tasking myself with writing the first draft in 6 days across two weekends. it’s a high-stakes adventure story with a very tight timeline, so i think it’s conducive to being written quickly.

which brings me to another question you asked, which is, what bad habits do i want to break? i always, always slow down at the halfway mark. sometimes i even give up. i have no idea why. no matter how much preparation i do, no matter how solid my endgame is, at the halfway mark i either slow to a crawl or set the whole project down and pick up something new. i do this with reading books, too. i can only ever read the first half of books. then i either skip to the end or put them down forever. it’s definitely something i have to figure out because at this rate i’ll never finish anything.

okay this took way longer than i thought it would to write but i hope it answers your question. tl;dr i follow aesthetic and thematic interests until they lead me to a point where i can’t not write the stories that develop from them. 

[strawberrysolitude]

Jackson Wang – 100 Ways

Okay. So. Unlike other talented content creators, the only thing I’m somewhat good at is putting my feelings into words. So that’s what you’re getting!

I love Jackson’s new solo, and I wanna talk about the different aspects, namely the music, the lyrics, and the visuals in the MV. So let’s go!

1. the music

I. Love. The baseline. The running guitar line in “Bullet to the Heart” was already super ragged and rhythmical, but here, it’s a lot smoother while running under the melody like a little stream of water. No big ups and downs, just little tiny waves, but still enough to convey constant movements and to make you wanna dance along.

The melody in the verses is really beautiful, a little melancholic, and fits right into Jackson’s higher range. He sounds emotional without putting too much strain onto his voice. The melody in the chorus??? That right there is pure Jackson! Smack-dab in the middle of his voice range, which makes it possible for him to put a lot more power behind his singing. The chorus sounds a lot more like a song to dance to, and I love how that contradicts the actual theme of the lyrics (but more on that later).

The gonging bass that sets in during the chorus helps to hit home the underlying heaviness of it all. It tapers out during the “I’m the only one that you need line” and underlines how there’s still a bit of lightness in that part.

The flute? I love it? It has such a haunting and tragic melody and fits with the sort of medieval theme of the video perfectly.

The beat keeps pounding more steadily during the second chorus, but even though it might be fitting for it to be more like a war drum, it’s still subdued - war is over for a dead soldier, after all, the steady call of the marching drum nothing but an echo in the afterlife.

Right before the “dance break”, the accompaniement tapers off and even comes to a complete halt as the soldiers in the video fall backwards and disappear. They and the music both give Jackson and his lover time alone, so to speak.

The last part leaves us with a gonging, intense bass, pounding drums, a hauntingly beautiful flute melody and Jackson crooning his highest parts of the chorus melody before stating, almost in his speaking voice and very matter-of-factly, “I’m the only one that you need.” What an impression to go out on!

2. the lyrics

There were two parts of the lyrics in the verses that really stuck out to me: the hourglass and the curtain call.

An hourglass is not only associated with time passing, but with mortality itself. The grim reaper is often portrayed holding an hourglass, every grain of sand a day of a person’ lifespan, and once all of them have rained down, he comes to collect their soul. The image projected here is that there is an expiration date to the relationship Jackson’s talking about. Yet at the same time, to start any relationship, the hourglass has to be turned, which is why it’s the first line of the song. Nothing lasts forever, but it might be that this relationship is coming to and end “too fast” for the other partner.

A curtain call, as well, indicates the end of something. Interesting to me is how Jackson says in this verse that he doesn’t care about the opinion of others, yet relates his relationship to a play in a theater, indicating that it’s a performance put on to impress others. Haven’t we all had the feeling of performing a relationship, trying our best to express love in patterns that we’ve learned and to please somebody by putting on a show?

Despite these sort of negative images, the song still manages to put a somewhat positive spin on the fears of a relationship ending too soon and maybe even being just for show.

Don’t waste your love, just let it last 'Cause once it's gone it's never coming back

But if you’re ready I will give my all

These lines convey that it’s okay to love with all you’ve got. Even if it might not be forever, the time you had together still counts. Love is not something finite, a relationship is not a transaction where you can get your love back if you still have a warranty. It might hurt in the end, but you’re guaranteed to have a good time if you give it your all now.

As for the chorus, this is actually a bit puzzling to me. Is it cynical? Hopeful? Boasting? Melancholic?

Could you love me the same? Tell me what makes you stay? There’s a hundred ways to leave a lover I won’t wait a minute longer Hundred ways to leave But I’m the only one that you need 

Could you love me the same ... after what happened? After the lover has left? After they have been hurt? After the relationship is over? What makes you stay ... even though what? It might be that their relationship is strained and that they’re not sure about each other’s feelings and whether they’re loving each other right.

“There’s a hundred ways to leave a lover” – now there’s an iconic line for you! In my opinion, it sounds a little bit sassy and sarcastic, its lightheartedness contradicting the heavy decision of ending a relationship. The melody on this line, however, sounds tragic and serious, which makes me rethink again.

I won’t wait a minute longer ... to do what? Or is he waiting for his partner to do something, to act, to decide? I think the latter fits a bit more, seeing as he confidently states “I’m the only one that you need”.

Bottom line: What I read out of these lyrics is this: “I’m the only one that you need, so why do you keep making me wait? Why are you treating me like there’s an expiration date on our relationship? If you commit fully, I’m ready to give you my all. If you really wanted to leave, there’s lots of ways for you to end this, but you haven’t yet. You obviously want to stay, so why don’t you say yes to this relationship?”

3. the visuals

In this part, I might focus a little more on the story told in the MV, which in my opinion is a bit removed from the lyrics. Although dying on your lover is definitely one way to leave them ... ahem.

In the beginning, the gravestones are arranged in a circle, and there’s concentric lines drawn in the ground as well. You know about the circle of life? This circle is closed, so this life has come full circle, has come to its end. However, a circle can also be interpreted as the wheel of lives turning and bringing reincarnation.

The soldiers are wearing black and red. In this combination, these colors seem sort of dark and almost demonic, which helps underline the fact that these people are basically necromancers right now.

The ever-present fog throughout the whole video serves multiple purposes. Firstly, it helps establish a sort of battlefield atmosphere: right before dawn, where you can’t see much and the enemy could be attacking any time. Secondly, it makes things seem unreal and ethereal, like all of this is already taking place in the afterlife. Lastly, it helps make Jackson look like a ghost. There’s a tiny moment around 0:55 where it even looks like he’s breathing out fog!

Jackson rises from the grave wearing his underclothes, not his armor, which are disshevelled and dirty. There’s dirt on his face also. This could be because he was literally under the ground, but we later see his lover rise from the grave looking pristine. My take on this is that, as a soldier, Jackson was buried in haste after a battle, and his comrades didn’t have time to wash his body or do any of the rites to prepare him for the burying.

However, now that they’re resurrecting him, they are putting on his armor for him, gearing him up, making him look like himself again, less vulnerable and quite literally ready for battle. What’s he fighting for? True love, of course!

In the next scene, they’re walking together through a dark forest, trees without leaves, towards a light. I don’t think there’s much to be interpreted her: The afterlife is bleak, but you walk towards a warm light in the hopes that it comforts you. An interesting bit is when one of the dancers knocks one of the tress over and it falls down. That could have been a coincidence, but the leaves rustling as the tree hits the ground are literally part of the audio! Any thoughts on that?

The single tree with a gravestone beneath it looks very different from the graveyard where Jackson was resurrected. There’s a beautiful, warm light, and red leaves falling all over like flower petals. They’re only like flower petals, though, the falling leaves clearly indicating autumn, the end of the year, days getting shorter and darker, cold and unmoving winter on its way, life sucked away.

The group dances together one last time – I think soldier Jackson has some of the best friends in the world. They resurrected him from his grave, dressed him back up in his armor and gave him a little cheering dance before he saw his lover again. And then they fall back into the mist and disappear! The way they hold their bodies really stiff and unnatural makes me think of death again. Where they ghosts, too, all along?

Then, Jackson’s lover appears. She is dressed in beautiful clothes, even wearing jewelery, her face is clean and her hair is done. Clearly she’s from a wealthy background, not like foot soldier Jackson who’s been buried in a haste. Her family or a priest has done all the rites for her burying. Curiously, she is buried wearing lots of red, a color traditionally used for weddings (and which has popped up in the video a lot, as well). Under the red, a little white is shining through, showing us that she’s dead. Maybe she hasn’t moved on from her wish to marry yet? The red cloak is stripped away, revealing more of the white. Is she ready to move on now that she’s met her lover again?

The lovers share a dance, a clear reminiscence of a wedding dance. She ends up in Jackson’s arms, holding on tight while he decides it’s time for them to return to the afterlife, together. They sink back into the grave, closely holding onto each other, and the last thing we see is Jackson’s face, singing “I’m the only one that you need” while being swallowed by the mist.

Gosh dang it, I’ve got goosebumps all over! And not because of the scary ghosts. Your love may end, just like any life will end, but it was there, and its remnants will stay relevant for you even in the afterlife. Beautiful.

[kjissexy1994]

WORDS OF SHAKESPEARE: ALBUMS OF SUCKAGE: Limp Bizkit-Results May Vary

The year was 2001, Nu Metal was riding high with bands such as Alien Ant Farm with their cover of Michael Jackson’s “Smooth Criminal,” Linkin Park had a dynamic debut with Hybrid Theory and of course Jacksonville’s Red capped dynamos Limp Bizkit were still breathing in the success of their third album suggestively titled “Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavoured Water” with tracks such as “My Generation,” “Boiler” and of course “Rollin (Air Raid Vehicle)” famously used as the entrance theme of legendary professional wrestler The Undertaker in the WWE (then known as WWF) during 2001 when he had the guise of the “American Badass” biker gimmick, but however with Limp Bizkit still embroiled with the controversy over the crushing and death of 15 year old Jessica Michalik during their infamous set at the 2001 Big Day Out Festival in Sydney and the Announcement of guitarist and heart and soul of the group, Wes Borland parting ways with the band to focus on side projects and his other band “Big Dumb Face,” left Fred Durst to pick up the pieces to record their fourth album.

As the band went through six guitarists during recording of the album (including Fred Durst and Bassist Sam Rivers) They went on a nationwide search for a new guitarist with the “Put Your Guitar Where Your Mouth Is” competition, Limp Bizkit then settled with former Snot guitarist Mike Smith and recorded a number of songs for the album which went through name changes with “Bipolar,” “Panty Sniffer,” “Less is More,” “The Search for Teddy Swoes,” before ultimately going with the generic and subtle “Results May Vary.”

Most of the songs recorded with Smith were cut due to executive meddling by Durst and it showed resulting in a depressing puerile mishmash of heavy and bleak tracks.

This album received a massive tonne of negative reception when it was released in September of 2003 after numerous delays, being ranked in at number 3 as the lowest scored album behind “Playing with Fire” by Kevin Federline. It was even being touted by some people as the album that “killed Nu Metal” which is a genre I loathe entirely as it was in a deep decline during that year.

Let’s go in the deep hole of RMV to hear why this album goes into the mantle of an “Album of SUCKAGE.”

RE-ENTRY

The intro track consists of a circus barker yelling to a kid (voiced by Fred Durst) for sixty seconds explaining about Limp Bizkit as “the most ferociously soothing ways of sonic communication to ever be created”

Okay, so I guess they were trying to copy the “Insane Clown Posse” here?

Then it bursts in a generic rock riff with Fred Durst telling people that all around the world knows him, slowing down and fading out with a drum beat... that’s it.

I mean, I was expecting the guitar riff to build up to something exciting instead of this. I know it’s only an intro, but I do know that it’ll go down hill from here on followed by the first single of this album known as...

EAT YOU ALIVE

This song running for four minutes is outright disturbing, the lyrics, the main chorus even the music video featuring Fred Durst kidnapping Thora Birch in a forest, spraying her with gasoline and screaming into a megaphone to her whilst the band plays! The lyrics consists of Durst singing about wanting a girl to look at him and having a strong desire to “sniff her panties?” *VOMITS!* If you ever said those lyrics to a girl that you love in real life, she would immediately break up with you and be warranted a restraining order. The drums and bass sound generic and the guitar work tries to build this up as some sort of a fight song which immediately fails to do so...this was also the first single of this album. THIS WAS THE FIRST SINGLE OF THIS ALBUM...I am not making this up, why on earth would Limp Bizkit release this as the first single of this album, not to mention getting a disturbing music video?

Ugh...

GIMME the Mic

This track is just another generic Nu Metal sounding track, the guitars sound very pungent in aggression but the rest of the instruments deliver nothing. The main hook is heavily sampled from Eric B and Rakin’s Microphone Fiend, later covered by Rage Against The Machine (which I kind of dislike due to their political beliefs) On their posthumous “Renegades” covers album as Limp Bizkit are downright infamous for sampling hooks such as the main chorus of Nine Inch Nails’

“Closer” for their expletive laden song titled “Hot Dog” on “Chocolate Starfish”. Add in Durst’s trademark whiny anger, pathetic song writing and rapping and you have a stinky sounding Nu Metal song that can be made on a “Nu Metal Band Maker” software. Aggressive generic riffs, whiny angry lyrics, fake b-grade angst: profit!

No wonder why that this album and the cover song that I’ll get to later on is one of the factors that killed mainstream Nu Metal in 2003! Next!

UNDERNEATH THE GUN

This song is the first in the number of songs that Fred shows his singing ability and it just sounds absolutely bland and Monotonous. The instruments such as Sam Rivers on the drums and the chords on the guitar have very good delivery and build up in the bridge, but it just sounds absolutely hindered with Fred trying to stay awake singing a song about “suicide and the struggle you have when ending your life becomes an option” with such a dull melody and it goes on for almost six minutes...I mean why did many red Yankees cap wearing Limp Bizkit fans fall for buying this album? The sad sad fact that it sold more copies than any Motörhead albums baffles me extremely. Our god Lemmy must be turning in his grave...

DOWN ANOTHER DAY

Jesus tap dancing Christ, we go from Fred’s whiny anger fuelled tirades to another mellow monotone delivery about our hero singing about missing his summer love (presumably Britney Spears during his somewhat extremely messy affair during the recording of “In the Zone”) and having to deal with the next winter. The lyrics in the main chorus and bridge are repetitive as hell and the instruments are just nearly nonexistent with little or no effort, not to mention that this song is also plagued with very pathetic songwriting...just garbage time indeed...

ALMOST OVER

Yet another extremely repetitive track, explaining Durst’s life from growing up learning how to rap, taking a lot of crap, and being treated as a clown as a little boy to learning how to lose and getting treated as a clown as an older man. Fred rhymes the end of the verses with the words “Little Boy,” and “Older Man” 16 times and the word “Baby” 19 times, totalling up to 51 times!

Another song wrecked by abysmal songwriting from the red capped turd himself, The instruments are getting worse with every track sounding more and more generic with little or no build up, which is sad because Sam Rivers, John Otto and Mike Smith are such good musicians but are being hindered heavily due to Durst’s whiny vocals...the next track should be good, can it?

BUILD A BRIDGE

Ehhh...okay, this song has a bog standard melody and instruments with such a strong build up in the bridge but it’s passable at least, this song features Brian “Head” Welch from KoRn who is a very talented guitarist and perhaps one of the only Nu Metal bands I can tolerate listening to, but his ability is kind of wasted here due to Durst’s sub par ability to sing, not to mention these are one of the songs rumoured to be impulsively directed to Britney Spears. Imagine being one of the guitarists of one of the bands that invented the “Nu Metal” genre only to record a song about being involved with one the most popular pop singers of the time of release?

“LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE!” - Chris Croker, 2007

RED LIGHT GREEN LIGHT (Featuring Snoop Dogg)

Another Rap/Hip Hop duet with one of the biggest rap/ hip hop legends, and still it’s repetitive as hell despite the funky beat from DJ Lethal as well as Snoop Dogg calling Fred Durst his “nephew” with the lyric “Snoop dogg is in the place to see, do it with my nephew Freddy d.”

You have no relation with this pile of gutter trash whatsoever!!!

This song is attempting to repeat the success with “N 2 Gether Now” featuring Method Man four years earlier in “Significant Other” but it fails massively with Fred’s lyrics in the first and third verses ending with “Baby” 25 times with the same word repeated 10 times in the main chorus totalling up to 35 times. I would be ashamed to have been Snoop to record a duet with who used to be one of the biggest people in music during Limp Bizkit’s popularity from 1999-2001 not to mention rapping a duet to call him his “nephew!”

The bonus track “Take It Home” which heavily samples the song “Milk and Honey” by Bonnie Dobson is another sub par effort having Fred repeat the lyric “Crying Myself To Sleep” whilst DJ Lethal jams....NEXT!

THE ONLY ONE

Mike Smith is trying to do an acceptable riff or two which I praise for but the effort is just completely wasted, this song is just another whinge-fest with lyrics about using terms of having sex and making out such as “first base” (again presumably directed to Britney) but it just sounds absolutely whiny and generic with Fred singing with heavily instrumentation behind him as he repeatedly screaming the word “NOTHING!” Towards the end and it just ends after that.

Such a putrid mess...

Oh and the lyric “It’s No Big Deal?”

It is a big deal when you’re trying to record a follow up to your previous multi platinum when your most talented member leaves and you have to pick up the pieces with six guitarists, two being yourself and Sam Rivers.

LET ME DOWN

“Let Me Down” has a lot of effort but has simple and dull instrumentation and Durst sounds a lot better than the previous tracks, but however the lyrics are very iffy such as “Heartbreak is a Headache, like a toothquake or an earthquake” “Spontaneous Combustion leaves a taste that’s so disgustin’” and “Rumours are Tumours?” Whilst this song is somewhat passable it’s still coming from a 33 year old at the time whining about life and struggles.

LONELY WORLD

Another song about Fred Durst, whining about his past life such as hating high school with bullies trying to put him down as well as making out with his gothic girlfriend out in the creek whilst his mother was asleep along with gross lyrics such as “Just a little skater boy they could pick on

I learned to forgive 'em

Now I got the balls they can lick on”

Jesus Christ Fred! You were 33 years old at the time of release! Just do us a favour and grow up at least. The main chorus and bridge is still very tedious repeating the main title of the song in a total of 37 times. Un-fucken-believable!

PHENOMENON

After what would’ve been an extremely energetic guitar intro from Mike Smith, The band just slams on the breaks with our hero Fred introducing himself as “the incredible, subliminal, the INFREDIBLE D.”

Here we go again with copy, pasting and editing lyrics of other music groups songs and claiming them your own (the song being Bring the Noize with Anthrax featuring Public Enemy).

The main chorus has a lot of effort but the verses, consisting of Fred Durst’s cruisy rapping,

Not to mention the section after the bridge references “Pollution” from their debut album from 1997 “Three Dollar Bill Y’all” which contains the lyric “Gonna Bring that beat back” which is perhaps the only good album from the band themselves (apart from that Faith cover).

“Phenomenon” is just a ratty mishmash of heavy instrumentation in the main chorus and laidback rapping from Fred in the verses.

CREAMER (RADIO IS DEAD)

Another song with Fred Durst taking an aim against the haters proclaiming “Take a look at me now I’m Mr Worldwide and you’re nothing!” But it contains such sucky lyrics and rhymes such as “Mr Halitosis-of the Breath” and verses and the main chorus such as “Hateraid”, and “rolling dice and getting laid” respectively. Fred also believes that “Radio is Dead. Why’s that? Because many radio stations worldwide won’t play your shoddy music anymore? (Unlike Triple M that continues the play that song in two tracks time) plus what’s with the title “Creamer?” A Frank reference to ejaculation? A quick fact, A massive portion of the song was recycled from Limp Bizkit’s unfinished cover of Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s “Relax” which was intended to be in the Ben Stiller movie “Zoolander” hence the title being in the second verse” and Fred Durst’s “blink and you’ll miss it” cameo in the aforementioned movie. Ben Stiller is his “favourite motherfucker” after all.

HEAD FOR THE BARRICADE

An energetic, aggressive fight song against bullying which blatantly references the 1999 Columbine High School shooting in the intro, not paying respect to the victims? How fucking low is that? This song also heavily borrows the refrain “Stick Em, Ha Ha Ha Stick Em!” From The Fat Boys song titled “Human Beatbox” for the main chorus which most of the album and previous albums before it samples lyrics from other songs. Another lyric that catches my ear is “The World can make you sick to your stomach so I put on my headphones and listen to the “Deftones.”

Yeah, I’d rather listen to a huge dose of Deftones after listening to this pile of puke.

I praise the guitar work and build up from Mike Smith which shows his full potential in this song as his talent was heavily wasted in this album, but I still criticise this song for deliberately referencing the shooting tragedy at Columbine High School with no respect to the victims families. You’ve just damaged your reputation with this song in this album Fred, oh wait...it’ll be damaged even further with the next track....

Now we’re getting to the “shitty gritty” of this album...one of the...most disrespectful covers...that still gets played on Triple M seventeen years after it’s original release...and what cemented its place as the cover song that signalled the death of mainstream Nu Metal...

*WARNING: EXPLICIT LANGUAGE USED HEAVILY*

BEHIND BLUE EYES (THE WHO COVER)

*VIOLENTLY VOMITS INTENSELY*

WHERE DO I FUCKING BEGIN WITH THIS PILE OF MONKEY SHIT?

This cover of a classic rock ballad from The Who, one of my favourite rock bands of all time from my favourite albums “Who’s Next” is just indescribably DISRESPECTFUL, PUTRID AND WEAK AS PISS!!! Complete from the non existent sampled guitar work, Fred Durst’s inability to sing with his monotonous delivery of vocals and the dreary sound effects in the main chorus sounding like when you turn on a Sony PlayStation 2.

There is absolutely NO EMOTION in this cover at all! In the original version from The Who, Roger Daltrey sings this song with heavy emotion plus he sounds very angry in the bridge section. And where is the bridge section in this cover exactly? Oh...it’s replaced with a Speak N Spell, A FUCKING SPEAK N SPELL saying “Discover” and spelling “L.I.M.P” part of their terrible band name that’s named after a disgusting sex game in Britain, not to mention, Fred’s statement that he’s not telling lies is another stealthy direction to Britney Spears FOR FUCKS SAKE! I thought that I was hearing a demo version of song containing the section with the Speak N Spell during the instrumental break and Fred whining about “being sorry and not telling lies” would be a placeholder recorded before Mike Smith joined hoping that they would record a much more aggressive, rap heavy version of the bridge from the original but nope! They apparently released this absolute joke of a cover as it is! Was it really such an absolutely bright idea to bastardise such a classic “The Who” song from one of my favourite albums of all time? At least Faith No More knew what they were doing when they recorded their cover of Lionel Richie and The Commodores’ “Easy” on the rerelease of “Angel Dust.” Surely a verse was absent in that cover, but at least it was slightly faithful to the original version. (Still makes me sick that Limp Bizkit opened up for FNM during their American leg of the “Album of the Year” tour in September and October of 1997.) Did you know that song also got an awful music video to promote the 2003 movie Gothika (which this song appeared in) where Fred Durst tongue wrestles Halle Berry in a Psychiatric Ward?

The fact that this was the second single from this neanderthalic mess of an album, charting in at number 4 on the Aria Charts in 2003/04 not to mention being overplayed on mainstream radio stations such as Triple M to prove that Limp Bizkit had a soft side makes me undesirably sad to this very day...

Truely such a horrible cover song in rock, and don’t get me started on that cover of George Michael’s “Faith” that is the same level of absurdity of this song.

The song features another bonus track titled “All That Easy” featuring another monotonous delivery of lyrics with a simple beat from DJ Lethal...it just sounds like a song from a dollar shop Massive Attack...

DROWN

The final track on this album is yet another sad, mellow, monotonous melody from Fred complete with the repetitive chords from his guitar (one of the few songs to feature Fred playing guitar prior to Mike Smith joining the band). There’s nothing to describe about the half asleep sounding lyrics but it’s just absolutely sluggish at best and just another garbage time track to end this massive garbage fire of an album.

FINAL VERDICT ON WHY THIS TAKES THE TITLE OF THE ALBUM OF SUCKAGE

“Results May Vary” is nothing but an album filled with monotonous, lyrically repetitive songs, mostly directed to Britney Spears for being left out of writing for “In the Zone” as well as stated by on and off again guitarist Wes Borland as “Fred Durst’s solo project.” A massive chunk of songs were cut from this album such as “Crack Addict” which was performed live at WWE Wrestlemania 19 in Seattle earlier that year in 2003, “Just Drop Dead,” another bloody song directed to Britney Spears which appeared as a B-Side of “Behind Blue Eyes, “Why”, Lean on Me,” and their double cover of “Home Sweet Home and Bittersweet Symphony” originally performed by Motley Crüe and The Verve respectively, the latter three songs being put on the “Greatest Hitz” compilation two years later. Other songs that were cut from RMV, were titled “Press Your Luck,” “Poison Ivy,” “Cowgirls from Hell,” “Shot,” “Armpit,” “When it Rains,” “Let it Go,” the subtlety titled “Masterbation,” “Lean On Me” and others. However these songs wouldn’t have saved this album from being such a colossal disaster and a huge reliance of being a schadenfreude to various haters of the Nu Metal genre like me!

“Results May Vary” is Limp Bizkit’s equivalent to Metallica’s St Anger which was released the same year three months earlier. St Anger got a massive tonne of negativity when it was originally released but later got a huge amount of love and respect over the years. RMV will never have that type of respect as it simply nuked the careers of Limp Bizkit following its release. Limp Bizkit later released its EP titled “The Unquestionable Truth” with Wes Borland returning two years later and it’s comeback album “Gold Cobra,” with “The Stampede of the Disco Elephants” forever burning in Development Hell but the unsalvageable damage had already been done by then, and that’s why I give it the mantle as

THE ALBUM OF SUCKAGE!

Happy Trails...