#what menthol ewness is this

[vforvielka]

i cant seem to bring myself to finish trimax like im down to the very last volume. im convinced i need to prepare for it, and here's the thing i will never be prepared, so am i just not supposed to finish the manga? ????

[awek-s]

I slept til 1pm I need to be put down

[raccoonfallsharder]

rocket smells nice. (headcanon whatever)

in my head, all the rockets i write for (and the ones i don't) have a scent. if you wanna make me real happy lmk your own rocket-smells-like headcanons or give me another rocket to dream up fragrances for. i'm happy to give any rocket (canonical or not) a bouquet

headcanons & imagines masterlist | main masterlist

"canon" rockets ~

eidos-rocket ~ i'm not technically writing for this guy (yet??) but i headcanon he smells like cedar & black pepper (he stole beard oil from some spartoi douche one time but it made his fur so healthy and glossy that he hasn't stopped using it), spiced caramel rum from mantlo's, iron, engine fuel, and gunpowder. burnt everbloom 'cause you know this guy smokes (i imagine it smells gingery).

universe-killer rocket ~ i don't write for this guy yet either, but i think about him way too often. burnt metal and high-iron-content meteorites. something like menthol ~ it activates your cold receptors, like you're breathing in the breeze right off a glacier. star anise & fennel. you'll be tempted to take a deep whiff of his fur but even if he decides not to kill you, you're probably still risking a lungful of toxic vibranium laser dust.

general mcu rocket ~ some kind of evergreen and foresty smell, petrichor maybe; something metallic like iron or copper, and something burnt and smoky. in the earlier years, he always smelled like some kind of cheap alcohol; in later years, a leatherlike smell from his armored-fiber uniform. i don't think this guy reads a lot of paper-books, but he definitely smells like 'em. (i use this as a template for a lot of "my" rockets)

general comics rocket (especially ewing) ~ angargal's limited batch of course (i suspect it smells like a combo of spiced bourbon and rich dark-caramel rum, once the overpowering scent of pure fuckin' alcohol has evaporated out). black-black-black coffee. dark chocolate. amber. vetiver. that burnt, gingery everbloom again.

skottie young's rocket ~ sweet almonds (see cicatrix-rocket's marzipan smell) and banana (from some kind of cousin to nitroglycerin). whatever he's using for jet fuel these days, which doubtless has a hefty dose of benzenes (sweet-smelling and actually intoxicating ~ though since we're talking about a sentient anthropomorphic raccoon i'm gonna go ahead and say the intergalactic space-faring community has figured out how to make 'em non-carcinogenic). you will get some sort of low-grade contact high if you huff his fur like you know you want to. probably also smells like some kind of alien hops, too (maybe acanti blubber ale if he's gotten any good contraband lately, though i imagine that smells like burnt tire).

"my" rockets ~

space pilot & sweatshirt girl ✩°｡⋆ rocket - campfires, strong coffee, and evergreen. amber and smoke. rich dark hot chocolate and yummy bourbon, when he's with you.

blackmail material ✩˚₊‧ ♡ rocket ~ sandalwood, oak, gunpowder. the undertones of some sort of alien citrus-fruit you've seen him eating (something between a plum and an orange), and what you think at first are mulling spices but later you realize it's just where your own Xandaran body oil has rubbed off onto his fur.

window across the galaxy *:･ﾟ✧ rocket ~ blue spruce, fallen leaves, oakmoss, ozone (or maybe that's just electricity). iron and copper, engine fuel.

florescence❀ rocket ~ campfires, wet stone, the peppery-resinous scent of the kind of machine grease he prefers (his own concoction). a faint hit of vanilla-mint-honeysuckle from groot's flowers, and the clove-like spices from your cider.

⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑ rocket ~ juniper, blackberry, and something like leather. a sharp and smoky scent, like laser-carved wood. on some occasions, a hint of yaro-root wine (which is basically a peachy hard cider, with a dangerously subtle alcohol flavor).

cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ rocket ~ blue spruce, burnt wood, and a strong, rich, buttery-sweet marzipan from the broken-down components of his C4-adjacent explosives. petrichor, labdanum and camphor, and faint whiffs of engine fuel.

headcanons & imagines masterlist | main masterlist banners & dividers by @thecutestgrotto & @saradika-graphics ♡

[nyehilismwriting]

Hello again, this is soft dancing anon. I just wanted to check in and see how you're doing today (or just in general)! I feel like this year has already been wild, so I figured I would see how its going for you too 😊

so nice of u to check in! I am terrible thank you for asking

[rebouks]

Previous | Next

Transcript:

Hunter: [sniffs] You letting people smoke in your apartment?

Rhys: Tommy’s over there, y’just walked past him.

Hunter: Psh, you never used to let me smoke in here. Does this mean I can now?

Rhys: I guess.

Hunter: Sweet.. I’ll have to nick one off him though.

Rhys: He smokes menthols.

Hunter: Ew, never mind. What’ve you been up to?

Rhys: Uh, not a lot. He seems upset, I dunno why.

Hunter: We should take him to Lucie’s with us, that’d cheer him up. It does me, I could do with it too.

Rhys: I thought you went t’find Clara?

Hunter: She’s avoiding me! You seen her around?

Rhys: Not for months. Last time I did, she fuckin’ slapped me.

Hunter: [laughing] Sorry dude! I missed her alright? Besides, I could do with some action, it’s been a while.

Rhys: [scoffs] I’ve gone longer than that n’ I ain’t even been in prison.

Hunter: That’s just sad. I’m sure Joey could sort someone out for ya.

Rhys: Yeah, no.

Hunter: What?! It doesn’t have to be a-...

Tommy: Uhm, I’m gonna go... I got stuff t’do.

Rhys: I’ll see y’out.

Hunter: Rhys, he’s stood right next to the door.

Rhys: You don’t have t’leave ‘cause Hunter’s here y’know.

Tommy: I don’t really feel like being all mopey or pretendin’ t’be cheery around someone I barely know.

Rhys: Oh, fair enough I s’pose.

Tommy: I have coursework n’ shit t’do...

Rhys: I just.. I don’t like seein’ you upset.

Tommy: I’ll be okay.

Rhys: Well if y’not, y’can always come round again later. Bring Kate, we can watch somethin’.

Tommy: She.. she went back home.

Rhys: What? When?

Tommy: Erh, today-.. no, yesterday.

Rhys: Is that why y’couldn’t find her?

Tommy: Yeah. A last minute kinda thing.

Rhys: Y’gonna be okay on your own?

Tommy: I’m used to livin’ alone...

Rhys: You’re a bad liar, Tom. I’ll stop by after work, okay?

Tommy: Okay.

...

Tommy: Uh, hi... This is probably a waste of time. Y’probably never check your voicemails... I‘m sorry for yellin’ at you, Oscar. I was just upset.. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I didn’t mean any of that shit... I get that you’re kinda stuck, so.. sorry for being a dick. I hope you’re okay, an’ hopefully not mad at me. So uh, bye I guess... S’kinda weird talkin’ to no one on the phone. But yeah, sorry again, n’ bye; again.

[whilewewereyetsinners]

This is disgusting - can we stop with the pumpkin spice already??

[hajimine]

perennial destiny — fushiguro megumi x gn!reader

synopsis: megumi does not like the concept of soulmates. he wants to be able to choose who he loves—and he chooses you.

word count: 1.2k

genre: fluff, soulmate!au but not really, established relationship, soft!megumi (this is so cheesy fr)

soundtrack: on a clear day by joe hisaishi

a/n: i’m ngl i actually like this lol so i hope you guys do too! tysm @rintaroll​​ for being my beta and for the song rec mwah ily (ew) <3

A light smattering of clouds paint the blue sky in splashes of white, providing you with a little bit of shade from the otherwise bright afternoon sun.

You gaze at the little ducks waddling around on the pond, following their mother’s path. Unconsciously, you feel your lips curl up into a smile.

“What are you looking at?” Megumi murmurs, face turned towards you as he uses his hand to block out the sun from his eyes.

Humming, you give him a cheeky smile. “Nothing.”

He scrunches his face slightly, biting back a smile. He's used to your antics at this point.

Using his forearm to cover his eyes, Megumi sighs contently, shifting the position of his head on your lap to make himself more comfortable. The added weight on your thighs feel comforting, almost. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The two of you stay in silence for a while as you bask in each other’s presence, enjoying the moment. The dark-haired boy plucks a stray dandelion beside him, inspecting it closely.

“Do you,” he starts, hesitating. You hum, urging him to continue. “Do you believe in soulmates?”

You stay quiet for a while, pondering his question. “I think I do, actually,” you admit. “It’s kinda sweet—the idea of it all. I’d like to think that there’s someone out there who’s meant for me, y’know?”

Megumi closes his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering as he considers your answer. He's really pretty, you think to yourself.

“Don’t you think it’s a little bit dumb?” He asks finally.

The bluntness of his words takes you by surprise. You laugh, gazing down at him with a fond look in your eyes. There’s a small frown on his lips; the crease between his brows a little more pronounced than usual.

Carding your fingers through his hair, you watch as he relaxes under your touch, the tension leaving his shoulders bit by bit.

You settle on a simple question. “What makes you say that?”

Megumi sighs, “The whole ‘fate and destiny’ thing. I think not being able to live your life the way you want to is a little depressing.” He purses his lips. “What if you don’t like your soulmate?”

You turn to look at the ducks again, but they were nowhere to be found. Now, the pond was silent, and there were no ripples in sight.

The pleasant smell of earth seeps into your lungs as you breathe in. Never in a million years would you have expected to have this kind of conversation with him.

You didn’t exactly peg him as someone who would be interested in the concept of soulmates at all. A soft smile graces your lips.

“Well, I suppose there should be a system to prevent that,” you squint, “maybe they would make it so that it’s impossible for you to hate your soulmate.”

Megumi clicks his tongue. “That just makes us robots then.”

This makes you grin. “Robots?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, now shy. “If that's the case, you really have no choice in your thoughts and feelings, it simply strips your humanity away from you.”

You stop running your fingers through his hair for a moment and Megumi shifts, nudging your hand with his head to get you to continue. Cute.

Amused, you ask him, “Well, what if soulmates are real, and I’m not your soulmate, what would you do?”

He plucks another dandelion from the ground and inspects it before holding it close to his chest.

“It won’t change anything.” He says, not an ounce of hesitation in his words.

“Wouldn’t you wanna find your real soulmate?” You inquire, the flames of curiosity dancing in your eyes.

Without wasting a second, he sits up, turning around to face you. He studies your face for a second, eyes traveling down the curve of your nose and down to the slight upturn of your lips before returning to hold your gaze. 

Megumi speaks, eyebrows furrowed. “No. the fates or the heavens or whatever the hell is controlling our destiny won’t have any effects on my choices. I’m not about to be another pawn in the gods’ game of love. It’s the least I can do.”

And you laugh, light and bubbly; ignoring the fact that your chest feels abundantly lighter after his statement.

“You’re really serious about this, huh?”

His cheeks flare up, the headstrong confidence from a minute ago now gone, replaced by the charming bashfulness only a few have had the privilege to see. 

“Well,” he mumbles, “I’m not gonna leave you just ‘cause some prophecy tells me to. I like you. A lot.” Maybe a little too much, but he doesn’t tell you this.

The breeze tickles your face. “Yeah?”

Megumi refuses to meet your eyes, but he continues. “I want to spend the rest of my life with someone I chose myself. Soulmate or not.”

It is not his words that make your heart flutter—it’s the quiet blossoms in his cheeks, the sureness in his voice. If fate was a human, you’re sure that he’d fight her with no hesitation. Heck, even if she was a god, knowing Megumi, he would fight her too, even if it’ll cost him his life.

You watch him twirl the stem of dandelion between his fingertips. He doesn’t blow on it, nor does he make a wish like anyone else would in the presence of the perennial, he simply observes the flutters of white falling from its head. 

“So you would defy destiny if you had to?” You ask, knowing exactly what his answer would be even before he utters another word.

“Yes.” his dark eyes are steady, not a drop of uncertainty swimming in its depths. 

The soft breeze suddenly feels a little too warm for comfort. “That’s awfully romantic, don’t you think?”

And he blinks at you, but he does not yield. “Well, I just think soulmates are awfully unromantic.” He says, the corner of his lips twitching slightly.

A genuine laugh bubbles out from your chest. “You’re a curious one, Fushiguro Megumi.”

The smile on his lips is a fond one. “What about you?” He props his chin on the palm of his hand. “What would you do if soulmates are real?”

“Ah,” you pretend to think, “you’d be my soulmate then.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but the tips of his ears are dipped in vermillion. “But what if I’m not your soulmate?”

You spare him nothing but a glance, rising to your feet before brushing the dirt off your pants. As you squint at the setting sun, a contented sigh escapes your lips. On days like these, you could fully take in the beauty of the afternoon sky as you observe the shades of reds and golds dancing in the heavens.

“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you to find my one true love.” You hum, biting back a laugh.

The dark-haired boy scoffs and stands up, walking towards you with his hands in his pockets. Half a smile graces his lips as he reaches for your waist, pulling you close. With the sort of tenderness he reserves just for you, Megumi rests his forehead against yours. He feels warm.

Megumi smells faintly of the earth—a product of the hours he spent sitting under the sun with you—along with a hint of the cool menthol shampoo he uses to wash his hair. And together, they create a blanket of comfort and familiarity, one that you’ve grown to call home. You breathe in.

“I won’t let you leave.” He mumbles, eyes fluttering shut. His palms feel comfortably warm on your waist; gentle and light, yet sure and heavy at the same time.

There’s a playful sparkle in your eyes as your lips curl up into a smile. “I know you won’t.”

per·en·ni·al /pəˈrenēəl/

(n.) a perennial plant

(adj.) lasting or existing for a long or apparently infinite time; enduring or continually recurring.

a/n: as always, reblogs are highly appreciated! please let me know what you think of this fic, i always love hearing from you all! also: yes, there’s another flower symbolism in this piece lol <3

-> writing masterlist  |  taglist is in the comments

[guqin-and-flute]

Episode 73: Koala Chlamydia Is A Problem [My Brothers, My Sister and Me Excerpt]

[MBMSAM AU] [First Installment] [Podfics!] [Ao3 Link]

[COVER ART BY THE FANTASTIC LITTLESMARTART]

Jin Zixuan: Do we want another question?

Qin Su: Sure, yeah, got one right here. 'When I was younger, I was really skinny and weak'--hey! Hey, now, negative body talk, much! That's super judgmental of yourself!

Mo Xuanyu: And of us people who are skinny and weak right now! [teasing] Right, Yao-gege?

Meng Yao: [calmly] I'm not affiliated with you.

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [cackles]

Qin Su: 'When I was a kid, I was really skinny and weak, so I made it my mission to get as jacked as possible so people would take me seriously. I put in a lot of hard work, changed my exercise routine and diet and it worked. But now, as an adult I'm a 6 foot 7 dude--'

Jin Zixuan: [incredulous] 6 foot 7 ?

Qin Su: Just a mountain of a man. '--6 foot 7 dude with serious muscle mass--'

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: [sotto voce] Good God .

Qin Su: '-- and a pretty intense resting face. I routinely make children cry just by existing and everyone shoots me nervous looks in the grocery store. It gets to me sometimes. I’m not a bad guy! I just look scary. What are some ways that I can make myself less intimidating?’

Mo Xuanyu: Huh.

Qin Su: I mean, let’s see...puppies are unintimidating. Can you devise a system where you carry a few around with you at all times? Maybe in some saddle bags, everywhere you go?

Mo Xuanyu: The movies, the gym, on dates… .

Jin Zixuan: Sure, until they start pissing down your legs. Then you’re not just unintimidating, you’re the guy no one wants to stand next to at the bus stop.

Meng Yao: I mean, it still does the job, doesn’t it?

Mo Xuanyu: You could get a butterfly tattoo, like, directly on your forehead.

Meng Yao: Okay, please explain to me your thought process on how exactly that would make anyone more approachable.

Qin Su: They still want to be able to navigate human society, A-Yu.

Mo Xuanyu: Ew, why? 

Jin Zixuan: Let’s see...what makes someone approachable….Who is the least intimidating of all of us?

Qin Su: [immediately] You.

Meng Yao: [affirming] Mm.

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: [incredulous] What?

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: Oh yeah, you’re like...you’re like a poodle. Or a--

Jin Zixuan: [highly offended] Excuse me! I'm the oldest and definitely the tallest one here!

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [ill concealed snort]

[crosstalk] Qin Su: [pityingly] Oh, da- ge .

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: Or a golden retriever.

Qin Su: Please don't tell me you think that being tall translates into you actually being scary. You’re tallest by, like, 3 inches. At most, that’s just part of the equation of being scary.

Meng Yao: And the rest of Zixuan’s equation is just filled with collared polo shirts. Which absolutely tanks the intimidation ratio.

Mo Xuanyu: That doesn't tank yours, though.

Meng Yao: I wear button downs. It’s not the same. [Vaguely disgusted undertone] Collared polos.

Jin Zixuan: Excuse you, polos are weekend wear and there is nothing wrong-- I can be intimidating!

Qin Su: [doubtfully] Ehhhhh…

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [badly stifled snickers]

[crosstalk]Jin Zixuan: I can! Just because I’ve never had to intimidate you --

Qin Su: Let's just say; citation needed

Mo Xuanyu: Please, jiejie has you beat.

Jin Zixuan: [indignant] Wha--

[crosstalk] Qin Su: He's right, gege; an unopened jar of mayonnaise has you beat. And I'm no unopened jar of mayonnaise. 

Mo Xuanyu: That shit is opened .

Meng Yao: That’s a Tinder profile quote.

Qin Su: What? 'Spicier than mayo?'

Mo Xuanyu: [half singing, half chanting] ‘My mayo brings all the boys to the yard, and they’re like-- [normal voice] this is really underwhelming.’

Meng Yao: [musing] ‘Saltier than soy sauce, spicier than mayo….’

Qin Su: Why do we always come back to food? Are our Skype calls haunted by starving Victorian ghost children? Are we possessed?

Mo Xuanyu: [mournful, high pitched, bad British accent] ‘My name is Bartholemew and I’m starving. Please, spare some mayo.’

Meng Yao: It’s your own fault if none of you bother to eat before we record. You all had the schedule.

Mo Xuanyu: [crunches loudly near mic]

Meng Yao: [falsely happy] Hey, thanks! Thank you so much, A-Yu, love the level spike on that one. Editing mouth noises out of our podcast makes my day brighter.

Jin Zixuan: [under his breath] Just...unbelievable….You all….

Qin Su: [smiling] I think we broke him.

Meng Yao: [laughing] Zixuan is limping behind the conversation indignantly, brandishing his cane….

Mo Xuanyu: [sympathetically] Awww.

Jin Zixuan: I--! I am a high powered businessman! I am trained in martial arts and archery and swordsmanship --

Mo Xuanyu: [mouth full] Oh please, gege, you’re a pod caster.

Jin Zixuan: [forcefully] I am a CEO--

[crosstalk] Qin Su: [ignoring him] I think Yao-gege is somehow the most and least intimidating out of all of us at the same time, if we're all being completely honest with ourselves and our place in the world.

Mo Xuanyu: Aww, I thought I was at least a contender!

Qin Su: Honey, you're feral. There's a difference.

Mo Xuanyu: What does a kid have to do around here to be intimidating?

Meng Yao: Learn how to chew with your mouth closed, for one.

Jin Zixuan: [indignantly] A-Yao? Are you not going to deny this?

[Brief silence]

Meng Yao: [calmly] I don't think I'm scary.

Qin Su & Mo Xuanyu: [instant uproarious laughter]

Jin Zixuan: Oh, come on! He's like...a little koala bear or something! How is that scary!

Meng Yao: [offended] Excuse me--

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [still laughing] I’m gonna pee --

Meng Yao: -- koalas have smooth brains and eat poisonous leaves all day. Are you calling me a poisonous idiot bear?

Qin Su: [wheezes] Only in private.

Mo Xuanyu: [laughter trailing off] Wait, wait, hold on. Don’t all koalas have chlamydia or something?

Qin Su: [renewed laughter]

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [startled laugh] What?

Mo Xuanyu: Chlamydia! I think that I read--!

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Oh my god, I think I’ve actually heard that. The plague, the bubonic plague, isn’t it? Or that--Some sort of--that disease people used to get where bits of you fall off?

Qin Su: Beheadings?

Meng Yao: [voice strangled from laughter] Yes, A-Su, that ancient disease the French Revolution that all koalas have--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: [snickering]

Mo Xuanyu: [loud and close to mic] LEPROSY .

[crosstalk] Qin Su: Ow--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Holy shit--

Mo Xuanyu: It’s leprosy and you’re thinking of armadillos, da-ge. 

Jin Zixuan: [muttering] Aren’t we all….

Qin Su: [solemnly]  Armadillos and guillotines. Every damn minute of every damn day.

Mo Xuanyu: And I googled it, I’m right; koala chlamydia is a problem.

Meng Yao: And we’ve just found the title of this episode.

Qin Su: If most koalas have chlamydia, I feel like they have other problems they have to deal with.

Mo Xuanyu: Those pesky, promiscuous koalas!

Qin Su: Get them some damn sex ed! Use those eucalyptus leaves for protection!

Meng Yao: [pleasantly] That’s just about the worst thing I’ve heard all day.

Mo Xuanyu: Eugh, that menthol, though. Like Vicks for your dicks!

Meng Yao: I hate it.

[crosstalk]Jin Zixuan: [pained] PSA: don’t do that. Ever.

Qin Su: The voice of experience?

Jin Zixuan: I don’t think you actually want an answer to that, meimei.

Meng Yao: You people make me hate learning and also knowing things.

Mo Xuanyu: Also I've been looking it up and mountain lions are the ones that can have the bubonic plague.

Meng Yao: Choose your fighter; chlamydia ridden koala, leprosy ridden armadillo, or mountain lion with the Black Death.

Qin Su: Well, at least the mountain lion could inflict some damage. Use it like a poison delivery system, like an anthrax letter to secretly infect people.

Meng Yao: [patient teacher tone] ‘A mountain lion is to an anthrax letter, like a koala is to a…?’

Qin Su: [mock frustration] Oh, man, I know this one….

Mo Xuanyu: 'I can't come into school today, I got attacked by a mountain lion.'

Qin Su: [acting concerned] 'Oh my God, are you okay? Are you gonna have scars?'

Mo Xuanyu: 'Worse. The Plague .'

Jin Zixuan:  Okay, glad we got our animal infections all sorted out--back to what we were talking about. So, riddle me this--

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [delighted, Riddlemancer voice] Rrrriddle Me Piss, kids--!

[crosstalk] Meng Yao & Qin Su: NO!

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Oh my god --

Mo Xuanyu: [laughing] I don't actually have anything today--

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: A blessing .

Mo Xuanyu: --but I'll get you next time.

Jin Zixuan: No, I need to know, genuinely, this is not a bit-- why do you think A-Yao scarier than me?

Qin Su: I mean, what's not scary about a smooth brained bear full of toxins and chlamydia?

Meng Yao: [disgruntled] Uh huh.

Mo Xuanyu: Technically, they’re not bears, they're marsupials! And I think Yao-gege is more of an armadillo--hard on the outside--

[slight crosstalk] Qin Su: --And full of leprosy on the inside. 

Meng Yao: [further from mic, keyboard tapping] 'And to Mo Xuanyu...and Qin Su...I leave... absolutely nothing, except...this bag of dog shit and...spiders…..'

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [laughing]

[crosstalk] Qin Su: Awww, A-Yu, we're being written out of his will again!

Jin Zixuan: Listeners, am I wrong? Am I crazy? He’s the size of a toddler--

[slight crosstalk] Meng Yao: [still away from mic, keyboard tapping] ‘And to Jin Zixuan...I leave--’

Jin Zixuan: He looks like a sugar glider baby that got turned into a human man--

[slight crosstalk] Meng Yao: ‘This box...of useless...tetanus filled screws….’

Qin Su: Da-ge--

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: ‘--that i...encourage him to use…--’

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [snickering]

Meng Yao: ‘As acupuncture needles.’ There. Sent to the notary. Now, what were we talking about, again?

Qin Su: Da-ge, all those things might be true--

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [flatly] Wow.

Qin Su: But here’s a test. What would you do to someone picking on A-Yu in school?

Jin Zixuan: [immediate, sounding businesslike and slightly aggressive] I would contact their parents and set up a meeting with the school officials and make it very clear that they are never to do that again.

Qin Su: [grinning] Okay. Yao-gege, what would you do to someone picking on A-Yu in school?

Meng Yao: [calmly] Absolutely nothing you could prove in a court of law.

Mo Xuanyu: [bursts out laughing]

[crosstalk] Qin Su: I mean--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Uhhhh--

Qin Su: You see? Also-- [quick sing-song voice] 🎵 This is a joke, for legal reasons, this is a joke 🎵 [normal voice] He’s got that--that--

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [lingering laughter] Yeah, it's that menace. Da-ge, you’re like--you’re like if a duckling--okay, you remember when I brought you to Hot Topic? You were like a duckling at a Death Metal concert.

Jin Zixuan: [defensively] The music was so loud--

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [pityingly] Oh, Zixuan.

Qin Su: You're like if a golf course got turned into a human. 

Meng Yao You're what would happen if you gave mac and cheese a social security card and keys to a lamborghini.

Jin Zixuan: [unamused] Okay.

Mo Xuanyu: [laughing] You're the lightly salted almonds of people. 

Qin Su: You're like a wholesome Hallmark movie fucked the concept of the suburbs.

Jin Zixuan: [unamused] Sure. Sure.

Meng Yao: You emanate the peril of a box of lethargic kittens.

Jin Zixuan: Wow. My own family. This is coming from the physical manifestation of a My Chemical Romance song--

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [smug] You say that like it’s a bad thing.

Jin Zixuan: -- and the woman who cries at the Land Before Time every time she watches it. I think this is a case of glass houses, here. Let ye who are intimidating... 

Qin Su: Oh, so we’re not roasting Yao-gege back?

Meng Yao: Not sure how me being compared to a STD riddled marsupial for about 5 minutes straight escaped your notice, A-Su, but alright. 

Jin Zixuan: I feel that you are all being...heinously short sighted, here. Are you seriously trying to tell me that A-Yu is scarier than me, a full grown man?

Meng Yao: I would certainly be more warranted in my concern about him stabbing me than I would about you.

Mo Xuanyu: Oh my God, gege, that was like 5 years ago and I already said I was sorry--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: [loudly] What--

[crosstalk] Qin Su: Did we actually help this person? I mean--

Mo Xuanyu: We always help, jiejie.

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Hold on--

Qin Su: We learned a lot about exactly how disturbing the animal kingdom is, but….

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: No, go back--

[slight crosstalk] Meng Yao: Dress like a middle aged accountant, share minion memes on Facebook, and buy your son a puppy so you have an excuse to talk to the dog and not people. There you go. Done.

Jin Zixuan: No, rewind--Xuanyu, you stabbed our brother? 

[brief silence]

Qin Su: [brightly] Well, that's going to do it for us today, folks--!

Jin Zixuan: A-Yu!

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: It was only a little!

Jin Zixuan: How can you stab someone a little ?! 

[crosstalk] Qin Su: Thank you so much for listening in this week--

Jin Zixuan: With what ? Why?!

Mo Xuanyu: It honestly wasn’t that bad, he made it sound like--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: That's not an answer --

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [begins laughing]

Jin Zixuan: A-Yao--!

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [still laughing]

Qin Su: [brightly]  We hope you enjoyed our enlightening romp, here! We want to thank Sister Sledge for the use of the song We Are Family. A-Yu, how about that last Yahoo?

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [farther from mic, clearly grinning] Ohhh, boy. 

Mo Xuanyu: Okay, okay--anonymous Yahoo Answers user asks….[exaggerated, desperate voice] ‘I can’t afford a freezer. Where do I put my deer meat?’

[Outro music begins quietly]

Qin Su: [laughs] I’m Qin Su.

Jin Zixuan: [sighs, disgruntled] I’m Jin Zixuan.

Meng Yao: [grinning] I’m Meng Yao.

Mo Xuanyu: [sheepish] I’m Mo Xuanyu.

Qin Su: And this has been My Brothers, My Sister, And Me! Thank you to everyone, see you next week and remember; send your trash dad straight to jail!

[not-from-the-absence-of-violence]

12, 48, and 49 👀

12. name of your favorite playlist?

thats so hard bfjf i have so many that i love, i will say "Forests Son // Rivers Daughter" goes real hard and so does "its 2 am bitches time to trans my gender" but my most listened to that i owe the most is probably "its the menthol eweness innit luv" which is my feeling shitty playlist fkntg.

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

god ill be honest i dont like Most Fruits? probably a strawberry bc thats what i like lmao

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

man there is so many quotes i love very dearly and well you know. regretably "if you are running from things that make you better where are you running to man?" has hit very hard recently. mostly though im living by "I am gonna make it /through this year/ if it kills me." (put that in the dsm 6)

[santiagonex]

ok, the thing is... can you really stop your mind from assuming someone's sexuality? it's not happening on purpose most of the time. those extremes of assuming someone's gay on like, l*rry levels on the other hand, is always committed by hets with a gay man fetish, so that's some sort of menthol ewness I will not associate with, as it's really not my problem to be that delusional on accounts of a weirdo unattainability kink... hets dragging gays into that? home of phobia, that's just that

PLEASE... a spill... it's like if you gonna assume Louis and Harry are lovers, either do it in your own head and in spaces where the celebs and decent people won't see it or clamp it... the way they STILL making conspiracy videos in 2020 and constantly tagging both of them on twitter with crackt theories despite them addressing this numerous times and revealing larries basically ruined their friendship.... I honestly don't know what they're on about... anyways yaoi fetishists gonna be a risque topic for a different week tho so let's not spoil now

[stupidblue]

hi frankie, I dont know what you listen to so my b if you havent listened but how about death spells nothing above nothing below for the album ask thing

another ask!! from my friend brandy!! there is something weird going on with my formatting so sorry if this is weird haha i love death spells. brain rot music

UPDATE APPARENTLY IT DID NOT SAVE EVERYTHING I WROTE. GROSS. WILL UPDATE AGAIN WITH THE WORDS.

the first song from this album I heard: diluted cuz i listened the whole way though the first time

do I own the album?: i have the white smoke vinyl and its so cool

my favorite song: fantastic bastards (menthol ewness luv)

my least favorite song: quaainterlude just cuz its a lil boring

a song I didn’t like at first, but now do: diluted 

a song I used to like, but now don’t: none of them death spells perfect album

my favorite lyric: all of them. “i will consume the hate that consumes me” “this is my passion this is my prison” “i hate everything i do cause i learned it from you” “im a mess when you touch me dont fucking touch me” just all of them. 

overall rating out of 10: 20/10 makes my heart hurt but also my ears

[nostalgiaispeace]

1706.

How often do you take painkillers? when i have my period. but it’s just ibuprofen Are they prescribed? - Do you curse in average conversations? not really Do you own any leather? yes. i have a vintage one from the 80s Do you party because you like it or because you’re supposed to? I don’t party

Who’s the person you think about when you’re lying awake? no one. it’s anxiety that keeps me up Have you ever bought a shot glass? no Do you have a therapist? yes Have you ever wanted to be a superhero? No. Do you like menthol cigarettes? ew no. i don’t like smoking toothpaste Do you ever fall for spam mail? no Ever used an online dating site? Nope. What color do you wear the most? Black. Do you only eat cough drops because you like the taste? no Have you ever gotten a good grade in math class? yes Do you have a tumblr account? duh Have you ever seen a ghost? i believe so Insomniac? Yes. What do you think of the last person you texted? i love her. she’s amazing Have you parents ever walked in on you having sex? no Have you ever lied about being a virgin? no Are Australian accents attractive? sure Do you like getting stoned? no. Have you ever gotten a bloody nose from snorting cocaine? i’ve never done that so Have you ever smoked cocaine? no Do you own a full set of coloured pencils? yes Have you ever seriously questioned your sexuality? no Red, white, yellow, or pink roses? pink What’s the worst name your mom has ever called you? bitch Do you think someone would ever want to marry you? well i’m married so yeah Do you know who Jim Morrison is? DUH Have you ever done acid? Nope. Were you at a rave? no Can you usually tell when someone’s lying? i like to think so Have you ever made a mistake just so you could feel miserable? um no Do you like Thanksgiving? sure How about Christmas? sure Are you friends with any of your ex’s? yeah

Have you ever thought you were drowning? i think so What’s the most embarrassing artist you have on your ipod? no Do you know someone in the army? i don’t think so Do gay people make you uncomfortable? No

Do straight people make you uncomfortable? no Do you ever wear coloured eye liner? nope Target or Walmart? Target. Have you ever used crest white strips? Did they work? no Who’s the last person you made a mix cd for? idk Did you ever have a thing for any of your teachers? yeah Do you excercise every day? LOL Have you ever used a dark room? no? How many hours of sleep did you get last night? idk Have you ditched any classes today? - What does the word ‘Candy’ mean to you? yum Have you ever listened to christian music? Yes. Are you the 'creative child’? i was Would you ever dye your hair pink? maybe Do you ever masturbate? not in ages Are you embarassed about your sex life or lack there of? no Who’s the last person you said I love you to? my husband What’s your stance on spooning? i don’t know what that is Have you ever seen a shooting star? Nope. Have you ever been 'popular’? Nope. Has someone ever tried to convert you? probably Are you thin? no Do you like big earrings? no Are you scared of your future? very Are you a whiskey person? not anymore Do you ever listen to oldies? sometimes Are you good at making conversation? not really Do you go on a lot of dates? no i’m married

Have you ever been told that you dress like a slut? No. What’s the best compliment you’ve ever recieved? idk Do you still watch cartoons? no Are you a comic book geek? no

When’s the last time you had Starbucks? ages ago Are you a fan of muffins? i like them fine Did you just think of sex? no..? Have you ever heard of The Cranberries? yes What’s your most recent obsession? Schitt’s Creek Are you feeling okay today? sure Does anyone care? i dunno

[jojoreadwhat]

T W E L V E • A Gwilym Lee Story | 4. the one with too many ramen options

Gwilym •

Drougie's was your average bar and club on the outskirts of Brooklyn. Smelling like organic menthols and expensive trendy boozes. Dimly lit with neon lights guiding against exposed bricks and abstracts hanging along side them. Scattered tables, with more space for the people to dance. Ugly stools lining the bar with the traditional mixtures siding new age concoctions on the shelf behind. Fit for the yuppies and balancing out for the ones not so keen on the "hip" crowd tonight.

I stood resting my back against the bar, nursing my lime and tonic. After grinding it with a pretty paralegal that reeked of knock off Oscar de la Renta. Watching the floor as the kids tried grooving to the house grunge sounds Joe had mixed. Chuckling to myself as no one knew how to groove to remixed nirvana.

One person particularly caught my attention across the floor. Sylvia giggling with Lucy, while sipping on rum and coke. Mouthing the words to Radiohead's Creep when the music mellowed down. She looked good tonight. Standing out amongst the crowd. Her dark brown hair hanging down over her shoulder with her face dolled up. Lips dressed in a dark red. With a black dress complimenting her complexion as the neons danced along her skin.

"Why don't you go talk to her again?" Startled by Joe’s presence next to me now. Following my stare upon Sylvia’s hips.

I looked up at my friend, looking dapper, casually in a shirt and jeans. Signaling the bartender for another round. "No, thanks." I replied.

"You're just pissed she hasn't let you take off her knickers yet." My eyes narrowing with disgust at him, "That's beyond. She's not even my type." I spat back, Joe just chuckled bluntly. "She has a pulse, that's enough for you." I sighed, meeting the sweat of my glass with my favorite fingers.

"Touché" I replied to Joe, ignoring my thoughts swarming as I continued to watch the ladies. Seeing that Lucy had spotted us and began walking towards us.

Joe has always had the hots for Lucy. I think she did too. Coming to support his sets and watch him fancy her quite as much. Yet both still blindsided.

"Hey boys!" She greeted once she got to us, "The set was great! All that trippy Nirvana!" Directing to Joe now, pulling him into a big hug as I stood poised next to them. Ignoring their gush while Sylvia stood at a table across the floor, gulping down the last of her drink.

Joe’s honesty earlier was abrasive but the truth. I had no type, I looked at all the women in this place with no standard. Just as long as it walked and breathed, I could make it come. Sylvia wasn't a doozy like the many I've come across. How a simple run of my fingers through my hair had Girls on their knees in front of me.

There was more to her than I assumed. Just by the way she didn't simply take my antics said otherwise. That she was nothing like the story she had rehearsed. And I was a bit crossed about wanting to fuck her or just to simply talk to her.

I walked over with a refreshed drink from the bar as she mindlessly observed. "Are you having a good time?" I greeted, waiting as she turned to me with her brown eyes sparkling from the lights. She mouthed a "Thank you" as she took her drink. Remaining silent while she sipped it, and the liquid glistened her lip.

"You want to hear my story now?" She rehashed, snarkily.

I chuckled at her attitude.  Shrugging as I met the chill of my glass, "I mean" I began, then. Meeting her eyes that were looking for my response. Before looking at the crowd trying to shuffle, "It's probably a lot better than this crowd." Immediately hearing her lips smack along with her beginning to turn away.

"Come on Gwilym, lighten up on her." My mind rambled, and my arm reaching out towards her. I sighed, "I'm sorry, I was only joking." I pressed, "Don't leave on my behalf."

Sylvia’s brows furrowed, I didn't blame her. Sorry wasn't a word that ran through my lips often. "And I should just believe you're being sincere?"

This wasn't going to be easy. 

"Yes." I said again, feeling her relax underneath my grip. Realizing I hadn't let go before it dropped to my side.

Her lips adjusted in the slightest, her expression beginning to change. Before a word could fill in our awkward silence, I seen her trailing behind Lucy to the lit up exit.

Sylvia •

After leaving the club, Lucy and I had to run to the market before settling in with Take Out. I pushed the cart down aisle seven of Pioneer Supermarket. Listening to the cheesy instrumentals of silly pop songs, blaring overhead. As we prepped for the steamy days approaching this week.

Lucy suggested things for the cart, but I wasn't paying much attention. I couldn't stop thinking about earlier on at Drougie's. Aside of Joe’s set and this dress I can’t wait to take off. I couldn't wrap my head around Gwilym. His caught glances across the room. How charming he looked in neon lighting. Most importantly, him wanting me to believe in his sincerity.

It's only been a few short days after my arrival and it was like I was being sat down for a pop quiz. It was easy to confess that Gwilym is very handsome. Has this very, unexplained aura about him. That makes you want to see beyond his chipped shoulder. All those multiple choices were filled in correctly. It was just irritating me how perplex he really was. Honestly I don't think he gets how confusing he can be, and I really wasn't up for the game.

I decided to maybe look for a few answers, Lucy was looking at the arrayed packagings of Ramen noodles. Indecisively holding one in her hand, obvious that I just joined her unsolved mystery.

"Red or orange?" She held up the two options, feeling my face adjust in thought. Before deciding red, the shrimp flavor. "I like it." She added, then. Grabbing a few and placing them into the basket.

We began walking to the exit of the aisle, I parted my lips to speak when Lucy beat me to it. "I seen Gwil talking to you earlier." She began, looking back at me deviously.

I shook my head, "It's not what you think." I replied without hesitation, "I don't even know what it is." Speaking again before bagging a pound of oranges.

"What do you mean?" Watching Lucy’s brow raise in question. "Like what did he say?" I sighed then, bringing my hands back to the handle. I shrugged, "He again belittled me." I began, fast forwarding to this morning at the coffee shop. Which I failed to bring Lucy up to speed about yet.

"Then he stopped me from walking away, and apologized." I went on, Lucy had taken over the cart now as we walked down the beverage aisle. Stopping in front of the sparkling waters.

"Get in the basket." She commanded then, "What?" I questioned back, leaving her to gesture to it. I rolled my eyes, "Lucy, we're not in colle–" Resisting but Lucy only insisted.

Lounging back as my feet hung off the front, Lucy topping it off with a bag of Twizzlers. I continued.

"I don't get him. Like is he threatened of me or something?" I began once she started moving the cart. I heard her sigh, "Well Gwilym has never been an open book since I met him." She started off, quite aware I wasn't going to get validation on why Gwilym was being this way.

"–he's a bit of a dog. I've never seen him steady and is very unapologetic about his preference too." She went on, "Maybe he is threatened. You are like the first one that hasn't made a move on him." Immediately I straightened myself out, turning to Lucy now. "You've slept with him?!" I asked, she just laughed out loud.

"Fuck no." She clarified, "We made out once and laughed it off. We practically see each other as siblings." I nodded, understandingly.

"I bet you don't think of Joe that way though." I smirked, watching her cheeks grow red. "What?! Ew no!" She horribly denied the fact. "Don't even mentioned that again or I'll push you into the toilet paper pyramid brat."

I agreed, sticking out my tongue before finishing off the bag of twizzlers.

[eldritchsurveys]

666.

How often do you take painkillers? >> Ah, finally, the Evil Number(tm). I should answer all these questions in a way that makes me seem as awful as possible. Only reason I won’t is that it takes too much effort, lol. Anyway, I rarely take painkillers. Are they prescribed? >> I don’t need prescription painkillers. Do you curse in average conversations? >> I mean, sure. Do you own any leather? >> Yeah, I have a leather... what’s it called, like a thigh bag? (It’s convertible to different styles, but I almost always wear it on my thigh.) It cost over $300 which is the main reason why it’s the only leather thing I own. Do you party because you like it or because you’re supposed to? >> I’ve never been made to feel like I “have” to party? And at this point in my life, partying takes too much of a toll on me for me to want to do it often. Occasionally is good enough.

Who’s the person you think about when you’re lying awake? >> I don’t think about people when I’m lying awake, usually... (unless it’s an Inworlder that I’m hanging out with at the moment)

Have you ever bought a shot glass? >> Yeah, we have two from New Orleans. Do you have a therapist? >> No. What I do have is a lot of hurdles (some internal, some external) to vault over before I can get into therapy. Do you like menthol cigarettes? >> Those are the ones I’d always preferred. Do you ever fall for spam mail? >> No. I’m kind of ruthless about mail (electronic and otherwise), I toss out almost anything I’m not explicitly expecting. It’ll probably backfire on me at some point, but at least I won’t be scammed. Ever used an online dating site? >> Yeah, several. What color do you wear the most? >> Black. Do you only eat cough drops because you like the taste? >> Sometimes, yeah. Have you ever gotten a good grade in math class? >> Sure. Do you have a tumblr account? >> Nope. What do you think of the last person you texted? >> She’s aiight. Have your parents ever walked in on you having sex? >> No. Are australian accents attractive? >> I suppose they can be, just like any accent can be attractive depending on multiple factors. Do you like getting stoned? >> No. I used to, I’m sure, but thanks to all the other brain fuckery I absolutely cannot get stoned without spending all my energy keeping my brain corralled and not going todash. So any fun elements are completely overwhelmed by the not-fun ones. (Also, the body load kind of sucks.) Have you ever gotten a bloody nose from snorting cocaine? >> I’ve never snorted that much of anything, no. Have you ever smoked cocaine? >> No.

Have you ever seriously quesitoned your sexuality? >> I’ve seriously questioned whether I had one at all.

Red, white, yellow, or pink roses? >> They’re all fine.

What’s the worst name your mom has ever called you? >> --- Do you think someone would ever want to marry you? >> Apparently, someone did. Do you know who Jim Morrison is? >> Sure. In eleventh grade we had to write a ~10-page report on something of our choosing and for some reason I chose Jim Morrison. I still have no idea how I even knew who he was at that time (considering how, you know, sheltered and pop-culture-unfriendly my upbringing was), but somehow I was obsessed with his existence. Yet another mystery. Have you ever done acid? >> Once, but it wasn’t strong (or I didn’t take a lot). Were you at a rave? >> I’ve never been to a rave. Can you usually tell when someone’s lying? >> I don’t usually bother trying to figure it out. Do you post pictures were you look good but your friends look bad? >> First of all... you know what, never mind. I don’t have time to unpack all that. Are you friends with any of your exes? >> No. Do gay people make you uncomfortable? >> Yep. Absolutely. Ew. Hold on, BRB, let me go divorce my not-straight wife right quick. Do straight people make you uncomfortable? >> Not as a rule, no. But heteronormativity and homophobia make me uncomfortable. Would you ever dye your hair pink? >> Sure, if I were to dye my hair in the first place, which I wouldn’t. But I’d wear a pink wig in a heartbeat. Do you ever masturbate? >> That’s sure what it looks like from the outworld point of view. Are you embarassed about your sex life or lack there of? >> Not having an outworld sex life doesn’t embarrass me at all. Neither does having an inworld sex life. It just be like that. Who’s the last person you said I love you to? >> --- Did you like your life when you were in middle school? >> I was probably fine with it. I didn’t much know any better then anyway. Do you like big earrings? >> Yeah, but I can’t wear them because I can feel how heavy they are constantly. I got these badass Blackcraft Cult earrings that were giant pentacles with Baphomets in them and they’re so cool but they hurt so much to wear... Are you a whiskey person? >> Meh. It’s not my favourite, but I do like the way it smells. Are you a coward? >> I never really thought much about it. Probably. Are you good at making conversation? >> I actually think I’m passable at making conversation. I just don’t always have the energy, and sometimes my brain is doing other bullshit that impedes my ability to be social, and my social cues aren’t always in line with other people’s. But that doesn’t mean I’m bad at conversation, it just means I’m not to everyone’s tastes (and I’m not always ready for conversation). Do you go on a lot of dates? >> I go on no dates. Have you ever been told that you dress like a slut? >> I don’t think so. Are you feeling okay today? >> I’m all right. I’m a little tired because I went to J Gardella’s (they’re closing soon, because they got bought out by some gastropub fuckers, and that’s upsetting, so I figured I should stop in at least once before I can never go there again) and had two beers. Alcohol makes me very tired these days (and, of course, so does physically interacting with world at large). Does anyone care? >> Care about what? Whether I’m feeling okay? I mean, I would assume Sparrow does. IDK who else is supposed to care, dude.

[andyangus]

Tuesday 29th December

I had to get out of the house this morning, Thomas was called into work for a boiler emergency (he’s a plumber for Borders Gas), and I was left with the rabble. Dad was bemoaning the quality of our digital signal, Aunt Moira was bothered continuously by an itchy arse and bosom, and Mum was continually dropping, what she calls, ‘advice’ into my menu for New Year’s Day. It is nothing but interference from a woman who believes cooking is as simple as reconstituting dry noodles.

‘Nigella’s a tart with no filling,’ she said, ‘It’s all tits and pouting lips with her as she licks whipped cream off a spoon in slow motion. I don’t know why you idolise her so much. Now Fanny Cradock, there was a cook.’

‘If you like every course served with a large dose of vinegar,’ I bit back, slamming Nigella’s book shut. I scarpered for the tranquillity of the Ewes Water, but Mother Dearest followed declaring she needed fresh air as she picked at the inner lining of her parka and pulled out a pack of twenty Richmond Superkings (she supposedly gave up years ago).

‘Don’t look at me with your grandmother’s eyes, God rest her soul,’ she scowled in frustration as her hands shakily guided a tiny flame towards the cancer stick that was wobbling precariously on her ruby red lips in anticipation.

I tutted my disapproval.

‘For Christ’s sake, Andy,’ she snapped, ‘I gave up when we got married, raised two children through the miners’ strike, nursed your Gran through a recession, watched your sister give birth on our kitchen linoleum as the Twin Towers fell, and coped when you decided the school nativity was the perfect time to come out of the closet without so much as a draw on a menthol.’ Mum has never forgiven me for straying from the usual characterisation of Joseph by declaring that Jesus was most definitely the son of God and nothing to do with me as I was only interested in boys. I was ten at the time, very sure of my sexuality, and had no filter or insight into the consequences. She continued, ‘But nothing has prepared me for the early retirement of your father and the tedium of being home alone, day after day, with no distractions but Phil and Fern and Hugh Fearnley-bloody-Whittingstall.’

Turns out Mum’s upped her hours at the Post Office to:

Escape Dad’s new passion for tropical fish.

Be able to smoke away from home without the risk of being caught.

Afford cigarettes.

Avoid Dad’s monthly prescription of Viagra.

Sweet Jesus!

‘I don’t know how you and Thomas do it,’ she muttered through a shroud of smoke, ‘just the two of you out here, in a windswept old cottage, surrounded by nothing but shrubs, sheep and shit.’

She made it sound as if we’re living in a mountain shack in Mongolia. We have a village shop twenty minutes away and a local church for refuge in floods. I assured her that we are very, very happy. We love each other dearly and have the company of our cat, the Colonel, most evenings. After all, if there’s a warm, stable home, a devoted man who puts food on the table, love and understanding, what more do you need?

Mum stared pensively as the discarded carcass of her sly fag floated tumultuously down the river. I was just about to mention the Country Code when she turned to me and said: ‘He’s sold my knitting machine on eBay and transformed your sister’s bedroom into an aquarium. He’s becoming more insular and selfish by the day. Marriage can be a total cock sometimes,’ before retracing her frosty footprints back to the cottage.

I watched her stomp in her furry boots and parka until her hunched frame disappeared through the back door. I visualised how Mum used to be, back when I was small, all flowing red locks of curly hair that would bounce in unison with her confident stride as she dragged my sister and me down the market. She had such poise, speed and buoyancy that we had trouble keeping up with her. Now her hair, red though it still is, is restricted by a scrunchie and the only thing buoyant about her life is a room full of tropical fish. It seems a lifetime of cooking, cleaning and caring for a small family wears you down.

Little does she know I intend to propose to Thomas just after the bells. Ten years on and I am still deeply in love with my man. Not a single shot of cynicism can change that.

[lake-lyn]

EW’s exclusive excerpt of The Tyrant’s Tomb by Rick Riordan (2/2)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Dude, this isn’t cool

Dude just tried to eat my dude

That’s my dead dude, dude

I like flying cars. I prefer it when the car is actually capable of flight, however.

As the hearse achieved zero gravity, I had a few microseconds to appreciate the scenery below—a lovely little lake edged with eucalyptus trees and walking trails, a small beach on the far shore, where a cluster of evening picnickers relaxed on blankets.

Oh, good, some small part of my brain thought. Maybe we’ll at least land in the water.

Then we dropped—not toward the lake, but toward the trees.

A sound like Luciano Pavarotti’s high C in Don Giovanni issued from my throat. My hands glued themselves to the wheel.

As we plunged into the eucalypti, the ghoul disappeared from our roof—almost as if the tree branches had purposefully swatted him away. Other branches seemed to bend around the hearse, slowing our fall, dropping us from one leafy cough-drop-scented bough to another, until we hit the ground on all four wheels with a jarring thud. Too late to do any good, the airbags deployed, shoving my head against the backrest.

Yellow amoebas danced in my eyes. The taste of blood stung my throat. I clawed for the door handle, squeezed my way out between the airbag and the seat, and tumbled onto a bed of cool soft grass.

“Blergh,” I said.

I heard Meg retching somewhere nearby. At least that meant she was still alive. About ten feet to my left, water lapped at the shore of the lake. Directly above me, near the top of the largest eucalyptus tree, our ghoulish blueblack friend was snarling and writhing, trapped in a cage of branches.

I struggled to sit up. My nose throbbed. My sinuses felt like they were packed with menthol rub. “Meg?”

She staggered into view around the front of the hearse. Ring-shaped bruises were forming around her eyes—no doubt courtesy of the passenger-side airbag. Her glasses were intact but askew. “You suck at swerving.”

“Oh, my gods!” I protested. “You ordered me to—” My brain faltered. “Wait. How are we alive? Was that you who bent the tree branches?”

“Duh.” She flicked her hands, and her twin golden scimitars flashed into existence. Meg used them like ski poles to steady herself. “They won’t hold that monster much longer. Get ready.”

“What?” I yelped. “Wait. No. Not ready!”

I pulled myself to my feet with the driver’s-side door.

Across the lake, the picnickers had risen from their blankets. I suppose a hearse falling from the sky had gotten their attention. My vision was blurry, but something seemed odd about the group. . . . Was one of them wearing armor? Did another have goat legs?

Even if they were friendly, they were much too far away to help.

I limped to the hearse and yanked open the backseat door. Jason’s coffin appeared safe and secure in the rear bay. I grabbed my bow and quiver. My ukulele had vanished somewhere underneath the inflated airbags. I would have to do without it.

Above, the creature howled, thrashing in its branch cage.

Meg stumbled. Her forehead was beaded with sweat. Then the ghoul broke free and hurtled downward, landing only a few yards away. I hoped the creature’s legs might have broken on impact, but no such luck. It took a few steps, its feet punching wet craters in the grass, before it straightened and snarled, its pointy white teeth like tiny mirror-image picket fences.

“KILL AND EAT!” it screamed.

What a lovely singing voice. The ghoul could’ve fronted any number of Norwegian death metal groups.

“Wait!” My voice was shrill. “I—I know you.” I wagged my finger, as if that might crank-start my memory. Clutched in my other hand, my bow shook. The arrows rattled in my quiver. “H-hold on, it’ll come to me!”

The ghoul hesitated. I’ve always believed that most sentient creatures like to be recognized. Whether we are gods, people, or slavering ghouls in vulture-feather loincloths, we enjoy others knowing who we are, speaking our names, appreciating that we exist.

Of course, I was just trying to buy time. I hoped Meg would catch her breath, charge the creature, and slice it into putrid ghoul pappardelle. At the moment, though, it didn’t seem that she was capable of using her swords for anything but crutches. I supposed controlling gigantic trees could be tiring, but honestly, couldn’t she have waited to run out of steam until after she killed Vulture Diaper?

Wait. Vulture diaper . . . I took another look at the ghoul: its strange mottled blue-and-black hide, its milky eyes, its oversize mouth and tiny nostril slits. It smelled of rancid meat. It wore the feathers of a carrion eater . . .

“I do know you,” I realized. “You’re a eurynomos.”

I dare you to try saying you’re a eurynomos when your tongue is leaden, your body is shaking from terror, and you’ve just been punched in the face by a hearse’s airbag.

The ghoul’s lips curled. Silvery strands of saliva dripped from his chin. “YES! FOOD SAID MY NAME!”

“B-but you’re a corpse-eater!” I protested. “You’re supposed to be in the Underworld, working for Hades!”

The ghoul tilted its head as if trying to remember the words Underworld and Hades. It didn’t seem to like them as much as kill and eat.

“HADES GAVE ME OLD DEAD!” it shouted. “THE MASTER GIVES ME FRESH!”

“The master?”

“THE MASTER!”

I really wished Vulture Diaper wouldn’t scream. It didn’t have any visible ears, so perhaps it had poor volume control. Or maybe it just wanted to spray that gross saliva over as large a radius as possible.

“If you mean Caligula,” I ventured, “I’m sure he’s made you all sorts of promises, but I can tell you, Caligula is not—”

“HA! STUPID FOOD! CALIGULA IS NOT THE MASTER!”

“Not the master?”

“NOT THE MASTER!”

“MEG!” I shouted. Ugh. Now I was doing it.

“Yeah?” Meg wheezed. She looked fierce and warlike as she granny-walked toward me with her sword-crutches. “Gimme. Minute.”

It was clear she would not be taking the lead in this particular fight. If I let Vulture Diaper anywhere near her, it would kill her, and I found that idea 95 percent unacceptable.

“Well, eurynomos,” I said, “whoever your master is, you’re not killing and eating anyone today!”

I whipped an arrow from my quiver. I nocked it in my bow and took aim, as I had done literally millions of times before, but it wasn’t quite as impressive with my hands shaking and my knees wobbling.

Why do mortals tremble when they’re scared, anyway? It seems so counterproductive. If I had created humans, I would have given them steely determination and superhuman strength during moments of terror.

The ghoul hissed, spraying spit.

“SOON THE MASTER’S ARMIES WILL RISE AGAIN!” it bellowed. “WE WILL FINISH THE JOB! I WILL SHRED FOOD TO THE BONE, AND FOOD

WILL JOIN US!”

Food will join us? My stomach experienced a sudden loss of cabin pressure. I remembered why Hades loved these eurynomoi so much. The slightest cut from their claws caused a wasting disease in mortals. And when those mortals died, they rose again as what the Greeks called vrykolakas—or, in TV parlance, zombies.

That wasn’t the worst of it. If a eurynomos managed to devour the flesh from a corpse, right down to the bones, that skeleton would reanimate as the fiercest, toughest kind of undead warrior. Many of them served as Hades’s elite palace guards, which was a job I did not want to apply for.

“Meg?” I kept my arrow trained on the ghoul’s chest. “Back away. Do not let this thing scratch you.”

“But—”

“Please,” I begged. “For once, trust me.”

Vulture Diaper growled. “FOOD TALKS TOO MUCH! HUNGRY!”

It charged me.

I shot.

The arrow found its mark—the middle of the ghoul’s chest—but it bounced off like a rubber mallet against metal. The Celestial-bronze point must have hurt, at least. The ghoul yelped and stopped in its tracks, a steaming puckered wound on its sternum. But the monster was still very much alive. Perhaps if I managed twenty or thirty shots at that exact same spot, I could do some real damage.

With trembling hands, I nocked another arrow. “Th-that was just a warning!” I bluffed. “The next one will kill!”

Vulture Diaper made a gurgling noise deep in its throat. I hoped it was a delayed death rattle. Then I realized it was only laughing. “WANT ME TO EAT DIFFERENT FOOD FIRST? SAVE YOU FOR DESSERT?”

It uncurled its claws, gesturing toward the hearse.

I didn’t understand. I refused to understand. Did it want to eat the airbags? The upholstery?

Meg got it before I did. She screamed in rage.

The creature was an eater of the dead. We were driving

a hearse.

“NO!” Meg shouted. “Leave him alone!”

She lumbered forward, raising her swords, but she was in no shape to face the ghoul. I shouldered her aside, putting myself between her and the creature, and fired my arrows again and again.

They sparked off the creature’s blue-black hide, leaving steaming, annoyingly nonlethal wounds. Vulture Diaper staggered toward me, snarling in pain, its body twitching from the impact of each hit.

It was five feet away.

Two feet away, its claws splayed to shred my face.

Somewhere behind me, a female voice shouted, “HEY!”

The sound distracted Vulture Diaper just long enough for me to fall courageously on my butt. I scrambled away from the ghoul’s claws.

Vulture Diaper blinked, confused by its new audience. About ten feet away, a ragtag assortment of fauns and dryads, perhaps a dozen total, were all attempting to hide behind one gangly pink-haired young woman in Roman legionnaire armor.

The girl fumbled with some sort of projectile weapon. Oh, dear. A manubalista. A Roman heavy crossbow. Those things were awful. Slow. Powerful. Notoriously unreliable. The bolt was set. She cranked the handle, her hands shaking as badly as mine.

Meanwhile, to my left, Meg groaned in the grass, trying to get back on her feet. “You pushed me,” she complained, by which I’m sure she meant Thank you, Apollo, for saving my life.

The pink-haired girl raised her manubalista. With her long, wobbly legs, she reminded me of a baby giraffe. “G-get away from them,” she ordered the ghoul.

Vulture Diaper treated her to its trademarked hissing and spitting. “MORE FOOD! YOU WILL ALL JOIN THE KING’S DEAD!”

“Dude.” One of the fauns nervously scratched his belly under his PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF BERKELEY T-shirt. “That’s not cool.”

“Not cool,” several of his friends echoed.

“YOU CANNOT OPPOSE ME, ROMAN!” the ghoul snarled. “I HAVE ALREADY TASTED THE FLESH OF YOUR COMRADES! AT THE BLOOD MOON, YOU WILL JOIN THEM—”

THWUNK.

An Imperial gold crossbow bolt materialized in the center of Vulture Diaper’s chest. The ghoul’s milky eyes widened in surprise. The Roman legionnaire looked just as stunned.

“Dude, you hit it,” said one of the fauns, as if this offended his sensibilities.

The ghoul crumbled into dust and vulture feathers. The bolt clunked to the ground.

Meg limped to my side. “See? That’s how you’re supposed to kill it.”

“Oh, shut up,” I grumbled.

We faced our unlikely savior.

The pink-haired girl frowned at the pile of dust, her chin quivering as if she might cry. She muttered, “I hate those things.”

“Y-you’ve fought them before?” I asked.

She looked at me like this was an insultingly stupid question.

One of the fauns nudged her. “Lavinia, dude, ask who these guys are.”

“Um, right.” Lavinia cleared her throat. “Who are you?”

I struggled to my feet, trying to regain some composure. “I am Apollo. This is Meg. Thank you for saving us.”

Lavinia stared. “Apollo, as in—”

“It’s a long story. We’re transporting the body of our friend, Jason Grace, to Camp Jupiter for burial. Can you help us?”

Lavinia’s mouth hung open. “Jason Grace . . . is dead?”

Before I could answer, from somewhere across Highway 24 came a wail of rage and anguish.

“Um, hey,” said one of the fauns, “don’t those ghoul things usually hunt in pairs?”

Lavinia gulped. “Yeah. Let’s get you guys to camp. Then we can talk about”—she gestured uneasily at the hearse—“who is dead, and why.”