#i think 'we're so back' is the phrase used these days

[rainbow-whitewashing-jar]

Have you seen the new merch they're rolling out?

https://www.reddit.com/r/winxclub/s/Ty3zbGHWT1

https://www.reddit.com/r/winxclub/s/Zt1z6daxCq

The above are reddit links about some very whitewashed Winx Club keychains. I figured they were some old toys because Rainbow used to do cheap kid toys with this style.

Boy do I look stupid because these are very real and new things on the Winx Club shop!

I had to do a screenshot with the names because otherwise you wouldn't recognize Aisha, who has Flora's skin tone, and Flora, who is...hell I don't know, some bonus girl.

I hate these! Thanks for sharing!

[redrage71890]

Backing Voice (Yan! KPDH x Fem! MC) Part 4

Synopsis: Sorting out ways to help Rumi's voice one day leads to the discovery of an emerging demon boy band. Their song hypnotic as they hastily gain fans all around. HUNTR/X being less than happy with the results.

Genres: Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Yandere

CW: None

Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Word Count: 3.6k A/N: Hi I took a break and might have forgotten a few plot points whilst forgetting to write them down before hand :D

————————————————————

"Girls! *huff* I'm sorry I'm late! I got caught up with someone..."

Bursting through the door of the empty restaurant (Y/N) apologises first without thinking. Seeing the three girls at a small table as they long forget their food.

Zoey and Mira gleams seeing the (f/c)nette, though Rumi looks more surprised. "(Y/N)! You made it." Zoey waves at her as the manager awkwardly waves back, taking a seat in between Mira and Rumi.

"Again, I'm sorry..."

"Hey. Its alright. We haven't really started eating anyway."

"No. Its not only that. What happened during rehearsals, I didn't mean to sound mean o-or dismissive of you girls. Its just stress for me. But! I p-promise I'll be better and I'll be there to back you girls up no matter what."

(Y/N) puts on a confident smile for the girls, a fluttering sensation flowing through their hearts at the rare sight. Zoey breaks the silence by giggling at the feeling in her chest. (Y/N) not particular sure why the black-nette started giggling but joined her nonetheless.

"But. Back to before." Cutting off their giggles with a more serious expression. "I'll be honest here, its going to be hard to reschedule the live show because of the sudden cancellation."

"We got that impression from Bobby earlier..." Mira states.

"I...I'm sorry guys. My voice, its in trouble."

'Trouble? That's new.'

"Wait, in trouble? Then why did you push up the 'Golden' release?"

"Because we're so close, and its so important." Rumi states. But her tone and words made (Y/N) curiously think more.

'So close?'

"Okay, how do we handle this? What do we tell the fans? Maybe we should call Celine?"

"I don't advice that. We know what she'd say."

"Oh, right."

"We are hunters. Voices strong. Your faults and fears must never be seen."

Zoey and Mira reciting what their predecessor echoed at them. (Y/N) furrowed her brows at the phrase.

Her and her mother were never one to follow that motto. Mother in particular despising it. It being forced upon her as she tried to hide all her faults to the point of breakdowns and frustration. It always made her searing patterns appear.

"Rumi, why don't we take a break? We'll skip the Idol Awards this year and-"

"No. No way. Its our most important show. Its when we strengthen the honmoon for the entire year. We can't skip it. We just can't. Not when I'm so close."

‘Close to what? You’re not telling us something Rumi. Though….isn’t that ironic…’

What’s (Y/N) to say about secrets when she herself hasn’t been completely honest. But when has anyone ever been completely transparent. It’s not like every secret needs to be spilled just because someone wants to know. We have a right to keep things to ourselves.

Though in this case, Rumi’s secret might become a massive headache for them.

”Hey, we’ll get through this. We can get through anything. Together.” Zoey’s encouragement bringing on a slightly more relaxed expression on Rumi.

”Okay. We have two weeks to fix Rumi’s voice. Any ideas?”

”I do have one idea.”

”Just one?”

“Shoot, Zoey.”

”Okay, actually, 57, but let’s start with my favourite. Don’t worry. It’s totally legit.”

Shrugging her shoulders and leaning on her elbow against the table, (Y/N) watches the girls listen to Zoey explaining some of her ideas.

She won’t outright say it in the moment, but some of these ideas boarded along the lines of obvious scams and false promises. As much as Zoey at times annoyed (Y/N), she didn’t have the heart to tell her the likely truths.

“(Y/N), why aren’t you eating? We ordered plenty for you.” Zoey questions their manager. “O-Oh, right. Sorry I’ve been a bit lost in thought recently.” Brushing off their stares she picks up her utensils and began digging into her food.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Mira asks with a more worried frown. Zoey and Rumi holding similar expressions with more concern.

Seeing as she can’t get herself out of this conversation, she just sighed and stopped eating. “(Sigh) I’m not getting away from this, am I?” Averting her gaze up to meet the three sets of eyes on her. “Okay then. I….had another….one of my episodes. Right when Rumi left rehearsals...”

Uttering those words, the hunters all clung to her body in a tight yet comforting hug. It’s not been the first time this happened. Well. More like the third time this happened.

The first time was after their debut, a quite public breakdown occurred back stage. It was embarrassing to be seen by the staff. Her mother was the one that told the girls of her anxiety attacks.

The second was right before the tour started. The sheer amount of organising, meetings and calls she did was breaking her mind out of pure exhaustion. The girls found her hyperventilating in the bathroom on the dirty tiles with her attempted eyeliner dripping down her face.

And now, marks the third time.

Well, they technically weren’t there for this one.

A private meltdown with no one to hear or comfort her.

"Never apologise for experiencing that. We should be sorry for not being there for you." Mira gently pats her (f/c) hair.

"Please don't be afraid to come for us! We will always be there for you!" Zoey cries out clinging to her back.

"Yes, (Y/N). Let us know if anything troubles you. We'll do anything to help in anyway!" Rumi adds hugging her side.

The three hunters felt guilty for there actions. Not being there for (Y/N) hurt them. They hate seeing her so stressed. The girls really wish their lovely manager would confined in them more.

Unfortunately though, their said manager just really needed a breath of fresh air that's currently being crushed out of her lungs.

"G-Guys....y-you can let go n-now..."

————————————————————

After a big hugging session putting the four of them to sleep, the girls dressed in their best disguises and went out in the streets of Seoul. (Y/N) was glad she managed to sleep for a whole night for once. But she still wished she slept in her own bed and not on the couch with the girls.

Donning her classic baggy attire but with a cap obscuring her eyes. Ignoring the face mask as she got the feeling it wasn't necessary. Though she also remembered Jinu and his buddies putting on a show today. Just before leaving she stuffed the flyer in her pockets as a reminder.

But as of now, she follows the girls to make sure this guy Zoey recommends doesn't do anything.

Though hearing what Zoey is saying makes her want to divert them away as fast as possible.

"He's got this special tonic. Apparently, it can heal anything from sore throats to relationship problems."

'Oh you don't say!'

"Ssh! Quietly, Zoey."

"Why are there so many people today?"

(Y/N) noted how populated the area is at the moment. Of course the girls are worried about being seen and finding their disguises online. Our girl especially would rather not be seen on any post.

"Down that alleyway."

Diverging their path from the busy streets, they stood at the foot of an old hanok building refurnished to a clinic with an LED sign with the name 'Han 의원'.

'Yeah... this seems totally legit...'

"Yep, about as legit as I expected."

"Glad to know I'm not the only one thinking that." Mira smiles her way unknowingly.

"Earth and herby. Smells legit to me."

"Yay! That's the spirit! 가자 가자 가자!"

"Hurry, before someone sees us."

Entering the building the girls are greeted with the appearance of a usual doctors front desk/office. Though catching the eyes of our manager and Rumi was a wall lined with numerous signed framed pictures of the doctor and what appears to be celebrities. Seemingly other idols.

Though one picture caught her eye.

A group of four boys giving each other a back hug whilst leaning on the others shoulders, with the doctor strangely at one side gesturing to them. Those faces were oddly familiar.

Dragging her out of her head was the sound of the doctor entering. Standing up to bow and greet the doctor as he urges them to sit.

"You need no introduction. So, a problem with your voice."

"Yes. So we need one of your awesome tonics. Something that will work super fast."

"Okay, let me see."

(Y/N) automatically knew they guy ain't legit. Not bothering to do a proper examination of her throat and instead just staring at her with bulged out eyes.

"I see. I see.... No. Actually, I don't see. Very strange. You have lots of walls up."

"Whoa! He's so good, right?"

"I dunno about that Zoey..." Muttering to herself while messaging her temples.

Rumi scoffs at the comment but Mira quickly affirms that she indeed, does. Denial is not exactly on her side today.

"I'm just trying to stay focused."

"Focus is good, but focusing on one part leads to ignoring other parts, making you separated, isolated."

Her brows raised at the observation. Her own experience agrees with the statement. Mira and Zoey quickly agreeing with the doctor and stating their own views of the sometimes emotionally closed off workaholic known as Rumi. Their leader.

'This does not feel like a doctors appointment. If anything, its just a guy stating out obvious traits and iss-'

"Quiet, yet vocal. A mind racing with thoughts unheard. Silenced by those around, only eager for something else."

She didn't realise the doctor was pointedly staring at her.

"W-What?"

"Yeah, what are saying to our dear manager!" Zoey exclaims clinging onto her side.

"Z-Zoey. Its fine. P-Please let go." She asks of the eager girl, the said giving her some sparkly puppy eyes before letting go.

"How does this help me get my voice back?"

"As I said, to treat the part, we must understand the whole."

"(Groan) That's great, but I thought we were here just for your tonics."

"Just give us the voice juice."

————————————————————

Whilst the girls were waiting for the tonics, (Y/N) decided to wait outside for them. She trusts them enough to get the tonics, as much as she isn't fond of them.

That picture on the wall seemed oddly familiar.

'Where have I seen those boys from...'

With her time as a manager for HUNTR/X, she's seen and met a fair share of trainees and idols. Perhaps that is why they seemed familiar. But even then, nothing noteworthy comes up when she saw their faces. Man she wishes she could remember where she saw these guys.

Shaking her head to try and ward off these strangely curious thoughts.

'This shouldn't be occupying my brain as much as it should. I should be thinking about another song to sing for tomorrow night, I have another pacifying to d-'

"Oof!"

"Sorry, are you alright?"

So caught up in her mind that she ended up wandering out of the alleyway. Clashing bodies with a strong built guy and falling to her knees by accident.

"Y-Yeah, I'm f-fin- Oh. You're the guys I saw with Jinu last night." Meeting the familiar short pink haired friend of Jinu. The said male had his eyes widen slightly before turning down back to normal. A glint of mischief in his eyes with a thought.

"We never fully introduced ourselves, I'm called Abby." Bowing his head slightly as a greeting whilst helping her up.

"I'm Romance, Jinu mentioned me last time we saw each other." The longer pink haired male comes up from behind and leans on Abby's shoulder.

"I remember that."

"The one pouting behind me is our maknae, Baby Saja. And the last with the long fringe is Mystery." The mentioned maknae side-eyed Romance from his confirmed pouting face.

(Y/N) felt a chin resting on her shoulder, feeling the fluffy silver grey hair of Mystery tickling her face and neck. His close contact sent an uncomfortable shiver down her spine. Glancing her gaze down slightly, she can see the slight run-through of purple patterns across his exposed face, a quick reminder on what they are really.

Moving her shoulders up forces Mystery off with a sad pout on his face from the action.

"Well, its nice to meet you guys. Aren't you performing today?" She questions with a shiver to her body, still uncomfortable with Mystery's strange 'greeting' to her.

"Why yes, we are. Are you sticking around to watch us?" Romance asks with a flirtatious wink.

(Y/N) already decided she was going to watch them, purely to see what kind of concept her and HUNTR/X are working against. Though the pastel clothing was enough to tell her. Now its a matter of curiosity.

Shrugging her shoulders while stuffing her hands in her pockets. "I don't see why not. I'm actually also waiting for some friends, so I may as well kill some time."

"I'm so glad to hear that!"

Turning up her attention she sees Jinu pushing past the other boys (who don't look that happy with the action), an excited expression etching onto his face upon seeing her. His presence calming her shivers ever so slightly.

"I'm gonna assume you were organising your stage Jinu?" Crossing her arms and putting on a more professional tone. She may consider Jinu a new friend, but that doesn't mean he's off the hook as a demon yet.

His reason for being on the surface is enough to raise suspicion.

"Your powers would be of great use, considering you guys don't seem to have a manager in sight. (muttering) Even I don't think a company is willing to sign you and debut you the same year, let alone week." Her muttering went under their ears, replaced with shocked expressions to hear that she knows of their faces behind the disguises.

Jinu awkwardly chuckles, sort of amused by her bluntness, but is still heavily questioning how she knows this. "(chuckle) You have no fear in what we are, do you?" Leaning closer to her ear, his voice sending another nervous shiver through her body.

Taking a short breath in before leaning closer to his ear. "Why would I fear someone who doesn't hold such malice in his eyes."

The male had a thrilling shiver go up his spine. Not only from the proximity, but the words from her quiet melodic voice.

"I only see shame and guilt."

————————————————————

"WHERE DID (Y/N) GO?!"

"I DON'T KNOW?!"

The three girls were panicking upon coming out of the clinic, their box of tonics in hand. They were cheering about helping Rumi's voice, but stopped when they couldn't find their dear manager.

"Did anyone find where she went?"

"No?! We were inside for honmoon's sake!"

"Oh no! She might have been taken by demons! No she must be so lonely and-"

"What is going on?!"

Swerving their head around, they see (Y/N) with a confused face seeing their panicked state.

"My god...I thought you guys found a dead body or something. There is no need to yell for me, you don't want to be attracting ANY attention. Right?"

Her firm strict tone being a quick reminder of what role (Y/N) has played ever since their debut. A more strict version of Bobby with her hands in the creative process. Even when she wasn't fully comfortable with the girls yet, she still managed to steer them in the right direction when avoiding scandals and demos for songs.

"Y-Yeah...sorry (N/n)." Zoey frowns apologetically.

Sighing to herself like her mother usually does when she breaks a vase.

"You guys are the ones that said you wanted to stay out of sight." Her muttering causes guilty expressions to pull on the girls. "Don't worry about that now. I should be sorry as well, considering I just walked away without an explanation." Forgiving the girls for this is easier than letting it drag on more.

Rumi and Mira were about to provide an explanation for their panic, but their ears were picking up the faint sound of an instrumental beginning to play in the background.

"Wait. What is that?"

Rumi's question urges the girls to pop their heads out of the alleyway. Only to see a strange pink smoke beginning to form near the centre of the busy area. The backing instruments sounding positive and bubbly as it went on.

Adjusting their disguises, they make their way towards the commotion.

"Hey, hey"

"Hey, hey"

"Hey"

Five silhouettes can be made out in the smoke, all striking poses before the pink suddenly disappears to reveal the performers.

"Don't want you, need you"

"Yeah, I need you to fill me up"

"Masigo masyeo bwado"

"Seonge chaji ana"

"Got a feeling that, oh, yeah (Yeah)"

"You could be everything that"

"That I need (Need), taste so sweet (Sweet)"

"Every sip makes me want more, yeah"

"Its those stupid jerks again!" Rumi exclaims. "Wait. You know those guys?" (Y/N)'s confusion evident but is ignored by the sheer number of people gathering around.

"These guys are a boy band?" Another question Rumi exclaims. Irritation growing in her more.

"Lookin like snacks 'cause you got it like that (Woo)"

"Take a big bite, want another bite, yeah"

"Neoui modeun geol nan wonhae, wonhae, wonhae"

"Neo malgon modu pyeonhae, pyeonhae, pyeonhae"

"Whеn you're in my arms, I hold you so tight (So tight)"

"Can't let go, no, no, not tonight"

"That jerk stole one of my pouches!" Recounting her tonics upon seeing Jinu drinking one.

(Y/N) deciding to question later why Jinu decided to intentionally or not, magically send back an ahjumma with a hip thrust.

"Jigeum dangjang nal bwa sigan еopjana"

"Neon naekkeoya imi algo itjana"

"'Cause I need you to need me"

"I'm empty, you feed me so refreshing"

'A drop?'

"My little soda pop"

"You're all I can think of"

"Every drop I drink up"

"You're my soda pop"

"My little soda pop"

"Cool me down, you're so hot"

"Pour me up, I won't stop"

"You're my soda pop"

"My little soda pop"

The chorus infectiously going around the crowd with shoulder movements galore. Bopping their bodies to the earworm worthy song. Not even Zoey or (Y/N) were immune to the rhythm.

As much as Rumi and Mira glare for them to stop, their bodies couldn't deny the contagious beat.

"It is annoyingly catchy, though."

"Its infectious."

Romance and Baby Saja sending out kisses of hearts into the ground, physically knocking out those hit.

"They can make hearts out of thin air?" Mira's questions go unanswered, but (Y/N) can think of ways to reply.

But reflecting in the sunlight, catching the hunters eyes, was the faint purple patterns running through their arms and the hint of gold in their dreamy irises.

"(Gasp) They're demons!"

"Magicians! Demons. Obviously demons."

"My little soda pop"

"Uh, make me wanna flip the top"

"Han mogeume you hit the spot"

"Every little drip and drop, fizz and pop, ah"

"Soreum doda it's gettin' hot"

"Yes, I'm sippin' when it's drippin' now"

"It's done? I need a second round"

"And pour a lot and don't you stop"

"'Til my soda pop fizzles out"

"Dang they're good."

"Incredible. But a demon boy band? Why?"

"I don't care. A demon's a demon. We kill them." Rumi and (Y/N) stops Mira before anything can happen.

"No, its too public."

"Do you want everyone to grill us into being cancelled?"

"What if they try to kill these people?" Mira's reasoning is valid from her perspective. But everything around them says otherwise.

"It doesn't look like they're gonna hurt anyone." Zoey's observation being noted by (Y/N), seeing as the five boys helping out a few people struggling with little things.

"Kkum soge geuryeowatdeon neo"

"Nan jeoldae nochil su eopseo"

"Neol wonhae kkok"

"I waited so long for a taste of soda"

"So, the wait is over, baby"

"Come and fill me up"

"Just can't get enough"

"Oh"

"In fact, it almost seems like they're nice demons?"

"Demons are never nice!"

Seeing the girls rush over to destroy the very things the demons touched. Panic washing over with her usual professionalism masking it. Purchasing another hotdog for the girl with the right amount of sauce and giving the children smaller gifts in replacement for the destroyed ones, giving them all a soft smile in comfort.

'Think before you act, girls.'

"You're all I can think of"

"Every drop I drink up"

"You're my soda pop"

"My little soda pop (Yeah, yeah)"

"Cool me down, you're so hot"

"Pour me up, I won't stop (Oh, oh)"

"You're my soda pop"

"My little soda pop"

The sudden appearance of a stage large soba can was a choice, in (Y/N)'s opinion. But the wave of pastels and illusionary magic is what set her off.

Pushing her way through the crowd to catch up with the girls, she found her way near the front.

'I see what's going on...'

"Ooh, ooh"

"Ooh, ooh"

"You're my soda pop"

"Gotta drink every drop"

Striking their ending poses, Jinu looks down at the crowd, meeting the (f/c) and gold gaze with his brown ones. Smiling softly at her before diverting his attention.

"That's it for now. See you tonight on everyone's favourite variety show. Saja Boys love you!"

The demon boy band disappearing in a puff of smoke.

The three hunters grew more irritated at the easy work the demons have accomplished by just performing once! Determined to end this boy band as fast as possible.

(Y/N) on the other hand had other thoughts.

'Well then, if you want to play like this Jinu, I hope you know what's coming for you.'

*Ding*

Her phone vibrated with the indication of a text message. Opening up her messages to see the new text, reading made a small sigh release from her mouth.

Jinu: Hey (Y/N), lets meet up tonight. I'll meet you at the place we met.

————————————————————

Edit: I took a break and I managed to fall down into my Record of Ragnarok phase again whilst also watching the new Superman movie (really good I recommend). Also if anyone wants to be tagged, pls ask in the recent parts bc it just makes the list a lot easier to find and compile.

Tags: @kitsune-05, @the-bookish-artist, @apelepikozume, @shoopershtar, @ravvilicous, @valeriele3, @vikc, @lasa27, @chipster-321, @greensunflowerjuna, @napbatata, @that-one-girl2020, @tagmepls, @thoughtfulbananaduckcroissant, @minepugs, @crescent-z, @colorfulgardenerduck, @poem-bee, @deityofprocastinating, @0-undead-0, @gremlinartstudio, @jessica-mcd, @strayharmony943, @fruityg0rl, @cherryblossomfox, @aominehaven, @kyxmlii, @ssaischilling, @sweaterkitty-fluff, @historygeekqueen, @satansdaughter123, @theall-seeingone, @nvmkyuu, @amenabii, @julianne1024, @doggyteam2028, @nisarelle, @theall-seeingone, @hi-itsmee28, @celesteelysia, @maritheillusion, @levifiance, @kangsae-byeokfan, @hornehlittleweeblet12, @scara-simp69, @fancyhawk45, @shqyou, @enerofairy, @futuristicdefendorfart, @scentwombatarcade, @eliengoddes, @irethepotato, @sra7riddle-malfoy, @jessica-mcd, @koda-lupinn, @yoursleeparalysisdem0n, @tsukimoon-chan, @ityourguy, @elaemae, @neverending-animelove, @type-ink, @pandafuriousa60, @mazzk1ng, @theall-seeingone, @rorotvt2025

[alchemistc]

Inspired by Lou mentioning that we're getting B**** f*********

"Tell me about your old captain," Bobby says. It's not a question. It's not a suggestion - or if it is, Tommy doesn't have the ability to view it as anything but a demand.

Bobby's eyes catch the bob of his throat as he swallows.

They're in Bobby's office. Tommy's pretty sure he's been in this office twice since Bobby took over - he doesn't do things in any sort of official capacity, seems to hate the four walls and the door like a man with experience stuck in tight spaces.

"Off the record, of course."

Tommy's a grown ass man who's been through more Captains and Sergeants and other miscellaneous authority figures than Bobby can count on fingers and toes.

There's just something about Bobby that makes him feel wrong-footed. Like he's simultaneously the most comfortable he's ever been and the most terrified he'll ever be. Like he has to get this right.

"Sir?"

Bobby tosses a balled up piece of paper at Tommy's forehead. That's fair. That's absolutely fair. Tommy blinks, and the nerves sort of just... fall away.

"He was a homophobic, racist, misogynist prick and I still hate that I followed along like a little duckling."

Bobby purses his lips. Widens his eyes with brows raised.

The silence and the eye contact stretches.

Eventually, Bobby steeples his fingers, leans his chin on them. Stares. "We can circle back to the second part in a moment. I'm asking because I sent in your transfer papers last week."

There's that fear crawling right back in. He'd never even fucking tried it, under Gerrard. Too afraid to watch him crush that dream, too afraid to make a move for himself.

He'd mentioned flying offhand, a month and a half ago, a second serving of roast melting on his tongue while Howie stole potatoes off his plate.

Two days later Bobby'd pulled him aside and told Tommy he'd reached out to Harbor - that Harbor had an opening in air ops and he'd asked them to hold the position internally for an extra day or two. In case Tommy wanted it.

("I saw the way you look when you're talking about flying, kid. If I overstepped, tell me to shove it, but the 217 could use a man like you."

Tommy's had the words 'man like you' running on a loop in his head ever since.)

"Did they fill the spot?"

He hasn't let himself get excited about it. Hasn't told a soul other than Bobby that he's even thinking about it. He never would have done it without that push, and he's already gearing up to make himself not resent Bobby for even putting the thought in his head.

Bobby smiles. "They did."

Tommy would love it if the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

"Their newest pilot is going to be Thomas Kinard. Pending my approval, of course."

His heart does something strange in his chest. A squeeze, a jump, a flurry. He's gonna be in the air again. Going to have to use whatever's left of his mind to learn new birds, to teach someone else, one day. That's not as daunting a task as it would have been, a year ago.

Tommy squints, because Bobby looks entirely too pleased with himself for nearly giving Tommy a fucking heart attack. "What does that have to do with Gerrard?"

Bobby tips his head side to side, fidgets with a pen. Tommy never knows if that's a nervous habit or if he's so committed to the "fucking with you" bit that he's adopted a bunch of other people's tics.

"He tried to block it," Bobby tells him, a little solemn, finally. Tommy can feel his teeth clenching. His body tightening. His arms are crossed over his chest and he doesn't remember the act of raising them from the armrests. "I told him, respectfully, where he could stick it."

Bobby has this insane ability to ease a thousand worries with just a turn of phrase, a tone of voice. Tommy can feel the ire melting right off. "You already did it?"

Bobby huffs a soft laugh. "Professional disagreement. We don't see eye to eye on your talents. Harbor was fairly easily convinced, once I started listing them."

The lump in his throat makes it a little difficult to forge ahead. "Why'd you ask about him, then?"

Bobby's soft grin turns to a full on smirk. "Because I thought, given that this is your last week here, you might want to get it off your chest, Firefighter Pilot Kinard."

[snail-day]

Tw: yandere, Oral (f! Receiving), masturbation (m!), virginity loss (gojo), stalking, dubcon, drinking, violence, unedited, use of mommy mdni.

Yan! Gojo x Reader: Puppy Love

Based on all the new jjk stuff, it got me thinking that Gojo probably never had the chance for those first dating experiences...

Which means Gojo would be absolutely pathetic with his very first girl. His whole life had been Jujutsu Tech, missions, and pressure. No real time for flings or learning how to be someone’s boyfriend. So, when dating apps finally become a thing? He gets attached. Fast. Especially after Suguru left, nobody kept the man in check.

You match with him on a whim, he's cute. Awkward photos. A bit annoying in the chat, spams a lot, and asks about your day a little too often. Even more eager in person, but somehow more attracter. Taller than you'd expect, messy white hair and those bright baby blue eyes that get a little hazy every time you laugh, his hand keeps reaching for yours and you keep pulling away. He's someone fun, someone easy enough to fuck and forget about.

He bought all your drinks the whole night, dragging you back to his place, a bit more tipsy than you'd expect for a guy like him and listen in your defense, you didn't think he was a virgin. The second you get inside his luxurious apartment, he’s practically panting.

You push him onto the leather sectional and climb on top of him, straddling his waist and tugging off his shirt. His abs are rather attractive, pale enough to leave a trail of hickies that'll match the cherry blossoms outside. Hell, they match how red his face is. But the second you start kissing down his neck, he whines - a needy, high-pitched sound that makes you pause.

“Christ,” you mutter. “You’re really touch-starved, huh?”

He doesn’t even deny it. Just grips your waist tighter, nodding like a good boy. Baby blue eyes wide and pleading.

“Didn’t take you for a puppy,” you tease, grinding down on the thick length that had you guessing just how big he is, a smile curling on your lips as you watch his eyes roll back.

And he says, "I'm not - ” right before he moans through his teeth , hands gripping to the couch, unsure what to do with them.

You smirk. “Sure you're not.”

By the time your panties are off, he’s saying he loves you. Repeatedly. Whispering it into your mouth like it’ll make you cum harder.

You don’t say it back. Trying to ignore them. Because each time he says the phrase you get a bit dryer.

Though he makes it up for it when he settles between your thighs, lips glossy with your juices, tongue slurping up your juices. Satoru eats you out like he's winning the lottery. Sloppy. Loud. Moaning into your puffy cunt with those pretty, desperate eyes staring up like you hung the stars. You take a photo of his flushed face, the way his eyes gloss over in a haze, because why not? He asks you to. Actually says, “Want you to remember me like this.”

You hum, pulling his hair. “Pathetic.”

Bucking your hips into his face as his slender fingers, run up and down your slit before two dive into your gushy walls to stir your honey pot. Groaning as he hears the lewd squelch, gasping at how your pressing his face right in. Nose bumping against your clit before you're gushing straighting into his mouth moments later.

However everything goes down the drain when you finally let him fuck you. And he lasts maybe ten seconds.

One thrust, and he’s gasping, panicking, already apologizing.

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping back against the couch. “Seriously?”

“I-I’m sorry,” he chokes out, red-faced, blinking tears. “You just - felt so good, I - ”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, standing and grabbing your clothes. “You’ll do better next time, blah blah. Heard it before.”

He grabs your wrist like you might stay. “Please don’t go. Please - I’ll make breakfast! I’ll rub your feet - I’ll do anything.”

You roll your eyes. “Fuck. Calm down. We're not even serious.”

You thought you heard his heart break, the way his eyes dimmed when you said that. Slamming the door shut behind you, but not before tossing a look over your shoulder and saying, "Later, puppy"

He texts you for days, apologizing, sending you gift cards. You don't text back or use the gift cards and money transfers. You're not that much of a bitch.

Sure he was good downstairs, made you cum twice on his tongue, though the little cries he would make when you stroke his leaking cock were a bit much. At least you can remember him by the photos in your camera roll.

Also, you’ve got better things to do than babysit some delusional man-child who thinks good head equals marriage vows.

Except… every new guy you date? Canceled. Ghosted. One shows up with a black eye and a nose bleed, saying he got in a car accident. You don’t believe him. Because it looks like his head got rammed into the wall a few times.

Odd. You delete your dating apps for now. Something is telling you too. You start locking your doors. Double-checking the windows. Sleeping with a bat under the bed. You even lock your bedroom door.

And somehow, that still doesn't ease the anxiety.

You wake up one night to something hot and wet smearing across your cheek.

At first, you think it’s a nightmare. Some paralysis demon that you've had wet dreams about. The weight above you. The slow, sticky drag of something obscene on your skin. But then you open your eyes.

And there he is.

Satoru.

Standing over you with one hand wrapped tight around his cock, the other stroking your hair. His eyes are glassy, his smile dreamy.

“Open wide,” he whispers, breathless. “Your puppy’s been saving up for you. Haven't jerked off once since I last saw you.”

You don’t scream - your body freezes instead. Mind scrambling, heart pounding. You can’t move fast enough before he finishes with a broken moan, spilling warm white across your face like he’s giving you a gift. Smearing the cum a bit more with the tip of his cock. He pants softly in the dark, blinking down at you with awe.

“Sorry, mommy,” he says, voice thick with a sob he doesn’t let out. “I’ve been so bad.”

You flinch when he leans in - expecting a kiss, maybe a lick - but all he does is inhale. Deep. Right at your cheekbone.

“I missed you,” he breathes into your neck. Grinning wildly. Blissed out. “Your puppy’s home now.”

You stare at him. Chest heaving. Face wet. Too terrified to even scream. And behind him, through the crack of the now-open bedroom door, you see the locks on the front door swinging gently.

"We're going to make up for lost time, yeah?" Satoru whispers as he nuzzles closer, pressing faint kisses to your neck, hands already traveling to your panties. "Have to make up for that embarrassing stunt from last time" <3

[psin314]

Murat has me on a CHOKEHOLD (especially that companion/npc murat, i havent stop thinking about it) and it got me wondering some possible dialogues he would say to rook (romantic or just friendly,idc. whatever he saying,im listening/silly). Most specifically,whenever rook or lucanis get hurt in battle! you know how lucanis & spite comments whenever rook get hurt? (something among the lines of "Rook! Hold on!" or "Rook needs us!") I wonder how murat reacts in situation where lucanis/rook is hurt (you can answer this only for the lucanis part if you want! i ship them A LOT. when the wedding/silly) (Oh by the way, how do you feel about someone possibly draw murat and then show you? i've been wanting to draw him ever since i saw his cute moustache. But i don't want to break one of your possible boundaries,so im asking for permission first!)

(If you got the ask sended twice,my apologies. You can ignore the other one!)

so, first, of course you can draw murat i'd love to see it! second, here's a little meme for the post cus i can't answer on tumblr asks without pics. x) (i have an urge to add a sillie)

some of murat's phrases during fights and banters when he's romanced under the cut!

during a fight, when rook kills an enemy:

- good job, rook! still worse than a crow, but at least something... - it looks like you remembered what i taught you. well done.

if murat is romanced:

- excellent as always, mi amor. - i'll think about this kill tonight… i mean, good!

if lucanis kills an enemy:

- i would kill them faster... - pffft! and this is tHe DeMoN of VyRanTiUm?

if lucanis and murat are together:

- ooh! you have to show me this move later. - damn! rook shouldn't know what this kill made me feel, lucanis.

if rook is hurt:

- aw, c'mon! it wasn't that hard to dodge! - rook, maker's balls, be careful!

if murat is romanced (same for lucanis/murat):

- rook/lucanis, please, hold on! - they will pay for hurting you.

banters

if murat is romanced:

d: murat, you looked like a sad beaten by life pathetic wet smelly old- m: davrin, closer to the point. d: - dog... but after rook, at least your eyes sparkled. m: your eyes sparkled..? that's it? d: yes. you still look like a sad beaten by life pathetic we- m: thank you, davrin, we get it. r: davrin, please, murat is a very good boy. m: hehehe- ahem. yes, i am.

if murat is romanced and there was a sex scene:

l: uhh, murat, can i ask you for something? m: what's it? l: i don't even know how to say it… um… can you be a little quieter with rook? m: aw, c'mon. what should you listen to at night then? r: murat... m: okay, sorry!🙄 but no promises. l: gracias. (spite: but! you-) ACHOO! r & m: bless you.

flirting with lucanis:

(triggers in rivain) m: oof, is it hot in here or is it just lucanis' fault? l: or you should wear fewer clothes. m: wait. are you flirting back? l: wait. were you flirting? r: sorry, boys, that was me. l & m: ... r: it is hot in here, murat. we're in rivain.

if lucanis and murat are together:

m: about the knife, lucanis... l: yes? m: thank you. really. l: i'm glad you liked it. m: one day i will gift you one too, but it will definitely be bigger. l: well, then i'll gift you even bigger one next time. m: and what will we do in a couple of years with a bunch of two-handed swords? l: ha… we'll open a weapon shop and leave the antivan crows. m: nice plan.

[ohisms]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 . ( a collection of dialogue prompts from the film the hobbit : the desolation of smaug . adjust phrasing as necessary . )

this is no chance meeting , is it , [ name ] ?

take back your homeland .

what if i were to help you reclaim it ?

that's not the worst of it .

we have another problem .

what did i tell you ? quiet as a mouse .

will you just listen ? i'm trying to tell you there's something else out there .

the bear is unpredictable , the man can be reasoned with .

come away from there , it's not natural . none of it .

it's obvious , he's under some dark spell .

you'll be safe here tonight ... i hope .

we grow in number , we grow in strength .

death will come to all .

there are others like you ?

you're running out of time .

a darkness lies upon that forest .

i would not venture there except in great need .

go now while you have the light .

this forest feels ... sick . as if a disease lies upon it .

something moves in the shadows unseen , hidden from our sight .

if our enemy has returned , we must know .

i would not do this unless i had to .

you've changed , [ name ] .

you must stay on the path . do not leave it . if you do , you'll never find it again .

is there no end to this accursed forest ?

we're going around in circles , we are lost .

the sun . we have to find the sun .

we're being watched .

they're growing bolder .

not just a thief , but a liar as well .

i myself suspect a more prosaic motive .

i have seen how you treat your friends .

you turned away from the suffering of my people .

a hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf . i'm patient . i can wait .

did he offer you a deal ?

shh ! there are guards nearby .

you were supposed to be leading us out , not further back in !

are you mad ? they'll find us .

please . please , you must trust me .

this is not a nice place to meet .

why now , [ name ] ? i don't understand .

a human sorcerer could not summon such evil .

in our blindness , the enemy has returned .

the enemy is preparing for war .

i started this . i cannot forsake them , they are in grave danger .

you want me to cast my friends aside ?

i think we've outrun the orcs .

we've no weapons to defend ourselves .

do it again , and you're dead .

what makes you think i would help you ?

no doubt you have some hungry mouths to feed .

oh , come on - enough of the niceties .

i would like to know who you are . and what you're doing in these lands .

we need food , supplies ... weapons . can you help us ?

i'd wager there are ways to enter that town unseen .

for that , you'd need a smuggler .

there was more he could have told us .

i don't care what he calls himself , i don't like him .

we don't have to like him , we just have to pay him .

i've been bled dry by this adventure ! and what have i seen for my investment ?

if you value your freedom , you'll do as i say .

folk in this town are suffering .

you'd do well to remember ; we know where you live .

it's a small town , [ name ] , everyone knows where everyone lives .

who would have the nerve to question my authority ?

you promised us weapons .

death ! that is what you'll bring upon us .

have you forgotten what happened to [ name / location ] ?

let us not be so quick to lay blame .

join us when you're healed .

[ name ] , you belong with the company .

i belong with my brother .

we have no time to wait , we're on our own .

the evil that is hidden here ... i command it reveal itself .

you have keen eyes , [ name ] .

let all those who doubted us rue this day !

i know these walls ... these halls , this stone .

i do not know what you'll find down there .

it never ceases to amaze me . the courage of hobbits .

if there is in fact a live dragon down there , don't waken it .

come , now ... don't be shy . step into the light .

there is something about you , something you carry .

there you are , thief in the shadows .

i did not come to steal from you .

do you think flattery will keep you alive ?

what else do you claim to be ?

truly , you are mistaken .

you have nice manners , for a thief and a liar .

i know the smell and taste of dwarf .

they are drawn to treasure like flies to dead flesh .

did you think i did not know this day would come ?

you should leave us .

and go where ? there is nowhere to go .

the dragon , it's going to kill us .

i kill where i wish , when i wish .

my armor is iron , no blade can pierce me .

i need you to distract the guards .

time to do what , to get killed ?

yes , i'm afraid . i'm afraid for you .

you're not yourself .

the darkness is coming ... it will spread to every corner of the land .

you were only ever a means to an end .

i will not part with a single coin . not one piece of it .

your reputation precedes you .

you have no equal on this earth .

i think our little game ends here .

so tell me , thief ... how do you choose to die ?

we've given him the slip .

there may be a way out .

it's our only chance , we have to try .

i've heard tales of the wonders of elvish medicine .

that was a privilege to witness .

i will not die like this . cowering . gasping for breath .

if this is to end in fire , then we will all burn together .

perhaps it is time i paid them a visit .

this isn't their fault !

you care about them , do you ? good . then you can watch them die .

i am taking back what you stole .

you will take nothing from me .

i laid low your warriors of old . i instilled terror in the hearts of men .

this is not your kingdom . these are dwarf lands .

revenge ? revenge ?! i will show you revenge !

i am fire . i am death .

what have we done ?

[akirathedramaqueen]

You can't help a person who won't accept it

Let's talk 7-year-gap, shall we?

So I've heard an opinion that it's strange and even OOC that Wright was disbarred for seven whole years. That, despite having many friends in legal world and reputation, his attorney's license wasn't reinstated until Edgeworth asked him to go back to practicing law.

That it's lowkey alienating and cruel that Wright had seemingly never gotten any support. Especially from Edgeworth, who's his (according to canon; guys, we know what's up) best friend.

Or had he?

See, Phoenix Wright isn't the kind of person to ask for help.

When Edgeworth disappeared, or, in his own words, chose death, Wright didn't talk about it with anyone. Maya wondered—and many times—what happened to him, but Phoenix rudely shut down all attempts to start a conversation. He was angry, rightfully so, and was grieving, and yet, he shared this pain with no one. It's unclear if he believed that Edgeworth truly died, but, the fact remained that it traumatized him deeply. And he kept it inside for a whole year. Even as Edgeworth returned, Wright's reaction was . . . lacking.

When Maya was kidnapped, he didn't say anything until Edgeworth confronted him. Granted, Gumshoe knew, but . . . That's rather an exception. And probably made because it was about Maya and not Wright personally.

Later, during Bridge to the Turnabout case, we know he was troubled by Iris and her appearance, cue the Dahlia trauma. He didn't tell Maya. He didn't tell Edgeworth. Just shouldered it alone, until Edgeworth started digging into it himself, as it had gotten clear Wright had to open up to Edgeworth to progress with his investigation. And this is huge. We're talking about the betrayal of a person who he thought he'd loved . . . someone get this man into therapy.

So, is it as much of a surprise that he just gritted his teeth and self-isolated himself from everyone when he'd lost his badge?

And not only that—Kristoph was stalking him, and Wright knew he was playing a dangerous game. He spent all these years gathering evidence, waiting for his chance to take his nemesis down.

That day broke him, made him bitter, cynical, and even more closed-off. If before he could, with some nudging, open up to someone, now it was impossible. Remember how he treated Apollo throughout the whole game.

And, back to the sort-of-present . . . Do you seriously believe Edgeworth had never tried to reach to him?

Look.

They barely mention it in their conversation, and yet, for me, this line speaks volumes.

Look at the words Phoenix uses: "I'm sorry for all I put you through."

Yes, Edgeworth does take responsibility for this too.

But again. Phrasing. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to help you."

It doesn't read as Edgeworth apologizing for forgetting Phoenix existed and letting him suffer all those years.

It just isn't true. He talks casually, fleetingly about visiting one of Trucy's shows. He kept connection with them both. This dynamic even sounds familial to a certain degree.

Does he look like a man who abandoned Phoenix?

Haha, I'm going to pull it.

Let's turn our thinking around, as one wise woman taught us. We shouldn't ask ourselves, "Why didn't Edgeworth help Phoenix?" Instead, we need to ask, "Why couldn't Edgeworth help Phoenix?"

And, given all the other facts I've pointed out so far, it's quite obvious, no?

Phoenix wouldn't let him.

So, that's what Phoenix left unsaid with his 'sorry':

Sorry I caused such a huge mess.

Sorry I was difficult.

Sorry I couldn't be genuine with you.

Sorry I drove you mad with worry.

And all that Edgeworth meant with his 'sorry' was simple, "Sorry I didn't find a way to get to you and share your burden."

. . . Guess who jumps to action the moment Phoenix shows interest in getting back into the legal world.

He pulled some strings, influenced people who reevaluated Phoenix, made his life easier and never asked for 'thanks.'

He was there, ready for the moment when Phoenix would be finally done chasing his own demons.

So Phoenix was never abandoned. But he has a very well-pronounced martyr complex.

There. Said it.

[celestialgalaxyglow]

Batfam and Danny, Part 35

The next day, Wayne Manor, the in-house movie theater

Damian: Is everything set up Alfred?

Alfred: Yes Master Damian. The film has been uploaded to the projector, all you need to do is hit play on the remote, and the popcorn machine has all warmed up.

Damian: Good this has to be perfect.

Alfred: Don't worry too much Damian, Jon will be happy to just spend time with you.

Damian: You don't understand this our first date... is this a date? Whatever the case I don't want Jon to regret courting me.

Alfred (placing a hand on Damian's head): All will be fine, just breathe.

Damian (breathing): I know.

Alfred's phone dings.

Alfred: That must be him, do you wish to go with me Damian?

Damian: I'll finish preparing things, please escort Jon here.

Alfred: Very well Master Damian.

A few minutes later

Alfred: Here we are

Jon: Hi Dami!

Damian: Hi Jon.

They hug.

Damian: This feels weird...

Jon: I know... but why? We've hugged before.

Alfred (amused): I'll leave you two alone, do call if you need anything.

Damian (blushing): Let's grab some popcorn and sit.

Jon (also blushing): Yeah, let's.

The two of them grab a popcorn bucket, sit down next to each other and start playing the movie.

Jon happily watches the movie. Damian on the other hand watched the movie absolutely bewildered.

After the movie.

Jon: That was a great movie! What do think Damian?

Damian: It was awful! Well, the story itself was ok, but the assassin stuff was just awful. It is woefully inaccurate and honestly insulting. The movie doesn’t come out for a few more weeks, but as soon as it does, I’ll be writing a review! 

Jon: Taking advantage that the whole world knows you’re the grandson of Ra al Ghul?

Damian: Yes! Everyone knows I was raised by assassins for the first ten years of my life, I can provide an expert review. I am proud of my assassin heritage.

Jon: “I am proud of my assassin heritage” sounds very wrong out of context.  

Damian: ...True, I won’t phrase it like that, honestly a review won't cut it, I'm going to write a whole essay!

Jon: Why don't you make it a video essay? I could help you with visuals and editing.

Damian (smiling): Great idea! Let's go to my room and start writing.

Jon: Ok.

A while later.

Danny (entering Damian's room): Hey guys, how was the movie?

Jon: It was ok, but Damian didn't like the assassin lore the movie has, so now we're writing a video essay-review of the film.

Danny: Would you two like any snacks from the kitchen while you work?

Damian: Can you bring me some muffins, and pomegranate juice.

Jon: I'll also like some muffins and a hot chocolate, if it's not too much effort.

Danny: Sure thing, be back in a bit.

Danny turned intangible and flew out of the room through the floor.

Damian: Ok, as I was saying, the terminology used during the conversation five minutes into the movie is all kinds of wrong. I will first address why, and then what could have been said to make that conversation make sense... Damian looked up to Jon looking at him. Jon are you listening?

Jon: I am, but I'm also admiring how cute you are.

Damian (shyly): Shut up I'm not cute, al Ghuls are not cute.

Jon: Ok, would you prefer handsome? Pretty? Beautiful?

Damian: Shut up!

Jon: No.

Damian: Fine want to play like that? You're also cute, and very smart, especially during our patrols.

Jon: So are you, plus you're always the one with all the intel, we build on each other's strengths.

Damian (smiling): We're getting off topic.

Jon (smiling): Sorry for distracting you.

Damian: It was a welcomed distraction.

Damian and Jon smiled at each other.

Danny: Aww, you two are so cute.

Damian and Jon jumped, turning to Danny holding a tray with muffins, and their drinks.

Danny: Here are your snacks.

Damian (embarrassed, grabbing the tray): Get out!

Danny: But-

Damian (pushing Danny out of the room): OUT! Damian walked back to the desk and set down the tray. Let's eat and work.

Jon (smiling, grabbing his hot chocolate): As you wish.

(Master Post)

[katakaluptastrophy]

Time is running out, your miraculous friend is freaking out so badly he's sweating blood, and the authorities are closing in - it's Good Friday and since I apparently write weird bible studies for queer goths now, we're thinking about what it means to 'so love the world'.

Now I know, I know, if we're thinking about Good Friday - the day in Holy Week when we remember in real time how Jesus was judicially tortured and publicly executed - we should probably be talking about Gideon on the fence post or her subsequent colourfully-named stigmata or something like that. But I'm re-routing us to an incident at the end of the Last Supper because in many ways we can't talk about what Gideon is part of making better before we talk about how her dad messed it up to begin with.

If you're only passingly familiar with the Passion story, then you may not be aware of the incident sandwiched between the Last Supper and Jesus' torture and death, often descriptively referred to as 'The Agony in the Garden'. This gets mentioned in several gospels, but I'm going to go with Luke because that's the only version where Jesus sweats blood:

Jesus went out as usual to the Mount of Olives, and his disciples followed him. On reaching the place, he said to them, “Pray that you will not fall into temptation.” He withdrew about a stone’s throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him. And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground. When he rose from prayer and went back to the disciples, he found them asleep, exhausted from sorrow. “Why are you sleeping?” he asked them. “Get up and pray so that you will not fall into temptation.” (Luke 22:29-46)

TL;DRN Jesus has a frankly understandable after dinner freak out about the whole crucifixion business, but commits to the plan.

There are a couple of traditions about what's going on with Jesus here, but most involve some sense of being confronted by the awful enormity of the task ahead of him, whether that's the horror of the suffering to come, or the idea that this is the moment that Jesus takes on all of the sins of humanity.

I don't think it's entirely coincidental that John's account of how things go down also involves him withdrawing from his friends in a moment of desperate overwhelm, during which he is approached by a representative of the divine who provides encouragement that strengthens but doesn't remove the issue at hand, before emerging to discover that his friends are not as he left them.

This is the point where we all turn in our Bibles to John 1:20:

He did not fail to confess, but confessed freely, “I am not the Messiah.”

Now John is not Jesus in this scene in a couple of senses.

The first is that the role he's playing in the John chapters of NTN isn't Jesus, it's John the Baptist. That verse, John 1:20, is where John the Baptist, asked if he's the messiah, acknowledges that he isn't, that his job is to prepare the way. I've suggested before that this is what the nun thought John was meant to do, and that his failure to take on this John the Baptist role is part of what sets the stage for the pool scene and everything that follows.

But the second is that - ok, hang on, it's going to take a moment to get there... We don't know quite what's going on in the John chapters, but it seems to be John re-telling the story of what happened for the first time, to Alecto. He's trying to make sense of his actions - to justify his actions - both to her and to himself, and he often carefully phrases or presents things to make what happened seem more inevitable than it perhaps was. To portray himself as suffering like Jesus, suffering because of others' sins, doing what was necessary in order to save the world - what could be more Purposeful? And after all, John so loved the world...

You've probably encountered John 3:16 in the wild, but let's quote it for context:

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

To steal a line from yesterday's reblog - John isn't the Antichrist. But he is, thematically, anti-Christ. TLT evidently isn't intended to be operating in the same universe as Christian metaphysics, but for all that John tries to place himself in a comfortably familiar Christian pattern, his motivations are almost exactly opposite to those that Christianity attributes to Jesus: John so loved the world that he took, and everyone perished. There is resurrection, there is eternal life...and it's a horror that perverts everything it touches. John wants a new creation, but he wants to build it on another's sacrifice; it's not a world to repair others' sins and restore them to wholeness, but to ensure that no one remembers his'. It's a world in terrible stasis.

Tomorrow, its Holy Saturday, the day that marks Jesus' descent into Hell to bring even death under his power. The resurrected Christ in the Book of Revelation announces "Fear not. I am the First and the Last, and alive, and was dead, and behold I am living for ever and ever, and have the keys of death and of hell." (Revelation 1:17-19). John isn't first (but consider who in TLT is...), isn't last, is neither quite dead or alive, and hell is "somewhere I don't fully comprehend, where my power and my authority are utterly meaningless."

[glowettee]

🦢 you don't need more tips, you need to trust yourself

hey lovelies!! mindy here, back with another "no aesthetics post". so i've been thinking about this a lot lately (like, literally in the middle of the night when i should be sleeping but my brain won't shut up??) and i realized something that honestly changed everything for me. we're all obsessed with consuming advice, tips, strategies… but at some point we need to ask: is all this "help" actually helping?

i used to be that girl with 27 self-help books on her nightstand, 14 productivity podcasts in my queue, and approximately 10000 saved posts about "how to live your best life." i was drowning in good advice. and yet? i wasn't actually doing anything with it all.

here's the uncomfortable truth that i personally learned: collecting self-help is often just another form of procrastination. we trick ourselves into thinking we're making progress because we're "learning," but we're actually just avoiding the scary part, taking action when we don't feel ready.

✧ when you know it's become a problem:

you feel like you need to read "just one more" article before starting

you have notebooks filled with advice you've never implemented

you follow dozens of gurus but haven't committed to any single approach

you constantly switch systems hoping to find the "perfect" one

you know what to do but still feel paralyzed

you use phrases like "once i learn enough about x, then i'll start"

you feel overwhelmed by conflicting advice but keep seeking more

the most painful realization? all this consumption is actually making you less confident. every new piece of advice makes you question your instincts more. every contradicting tip makes you doubt your judgment. every perfect "before and after" makes you wonder what's wrong with you.

✧ why we get stuck in the advice loop:

consuming feels safe. implementing feels risky. reading about someone else's success story gives us the emotional satisfaction of achievement without any of the messy work or potential failure. it's like emotional junk food, momentarily satisfying but ultimately empty.

plus, there's something so alluring about the promise that the next book, the next course, the next system will finally be THE ONE that changes everything. we become collectors of solutions rather than solvers of problems.

✧ how to break free (ironic, i know… more advice):

declare an information fast. seriously. no new self-help for at least 30 days. it will feel uncomfortable, like an itch you can't scratch. that's how you know you need it.

pick ONE system or approach you've already learned and commit to it fully. not perfectly, just consistently. the magic isn't in finding the perfect system, it's in the consistent application of any decent one.

start before you feel ready. that knot in your stomach when you think about taking action? that's your growth edge. the discomfort isn't a sign to seek more knowledge, it's the signal that you're about to grow.

recognize that implementation creates wisdom that consumption never will. you'll learn more from a week of messy action than a year of perfect theory.

identify your "consumption triggers" do you reach for advice when you're afraid? uncertain? compare yourself to others? notice the emotional patterns.

create an "already know" document. write down everything you already know about your goal. you'll be shocked at how much wisdom you already possess.

trust that you are the expert on your own life. external advice can inform you, but it can never know the nuances of your specific situation like you do.

the truth is, you already know enough. you've probably known enough for a while now. the answers you're seeking outside yourself are usually already within you, buried under layers of doubt and other people's opinions.

what if the most radical act of self-improvement isn't finding new advice, but trusting the wisdom you already have? what if you already have everything you need?

so this is my gentle nudge to put down the self-help, close the tabs, unfollow the gurus (yes, even me if you need to), and start the messy, imperfect process of actually living instead of just learning about living.

because honestly, the world doesn't need more people who know all the right theories. it needs people brave enough to take imperfect action on what they already know.

xoxo, mindy 🤍

p.s. if you're wondering "but how will i know what to do without guidance?", that's exactly the point. you won't know for certain. and that uncertainty is where the real growth happens. trust yourself anyway.

[crownmemes]

Questioning Sentences, Vol. 44

(Questioning sentences from various sources to ask all kinds of muses. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"If I'm holding something back, is it so unthinkable that I have a good reason?"

"Why can't I stop kissing you?"

"How long have you had a thing for older men?"

"What does she have that I don't have?"

"Haven't you ever done anything stupid just for fun?"

"I need to trust you. What if I can't?"

"Are you bored with me?"

"What do you want from me? What is it that you expect me to do here?"

"Why did you ask me if something was wrong when I came in?"

"What if there were no tomorrow?"

"I guess you haven't got much experience sleeping on the ground?"

"You're a fucking drama queen, you know that?"

"Do you spook easily?"

"Have you actually be discharged from the hospital?"

"What is it going to take for you to get comfortable with me?"

"Seeing as you let yourself in, forgive me if it's forwards to ask, but who the hell are you?"

"You don't say much, do you?"

"Whose idea was this? Who sent you?"

"Is today the day you finally give me something remotely challenging to do?"

"Can I please stay here? Just for one more night?"

"So, what are you running from?"

"How many hearts have you broken in your life?"

"Did you believe you could change me in the way I've changed you?"

"Can't you give me a straight answer anymore?"

"Why can't you grasp that it's over for you?"

"What the fuck happened to us?"

"Have you come here to just look down on me?"

"Where were you when my life was in peril?"

"Are we no longer on a first-name basis?"

"Don't you think that was a little too easy?"

"Do you really think we're going to beat the odds?"

"You really don't know how to have fun, do you?"

"What do you think you're playing at?"

"You've changed. What the hell happened to you out there?"

"You haven't learned your lesson, have you?"

"How are you still alive?"

"Why would I hang out with a loser like you?"

"If you could be anywhere in the world, where would you like to be?"

"Tell me something; would you ever consider working for me?"

"What are you afraid that I'll discover in that head of yours?"

"Why are you being such a bitch right now?"

"Has a woman ever punched you in the face?"

"Is that blood? Are you okay?"

[security4seal]

Zach Mendez about his experience working on DAtV and other stuff

Lucanis' part at 26:00

HIGHLIGHTS:

Did you mocap the almost kiss scene? Yes. I did that scene. I did with Jeffrey Berg who plays the voice of the main character, Rook. One of the four main voices you can choose. And so we're in our black suits, you know, our black spandex, and we got a bunch of dots over us. We have that camera head thing in front of us. And I'm pretending that my dear friend Jeffrey is somebody whom I desire.

Would you go back if you were asked to play the role again? I had the time of my life filming this game. I mean, we filmed over like three years, so a lot of it was on the mocap stage. We'd have a different group. And because there's only like four of us there during COVID, I would get to play a lot of different characters or do the motion capture for a lot of different characters. So it was like an actor's dream. They're like, we need somebody who can do a New-Yorky type accent and play a gremlin. And I was like, yeah, I can do that. I'll be a Brentwood. If I had the time of my life, I would happily go back.

What was your inspiration for Lucanis? I've been doing my father from Spain. I've been making fun of my father for the past, however long I've been alive. When I was young, I figured out really early that if I could make him laugh, then I get to stay later. And my father's a pretty gruff, intense dude. So he would look at me and I'd be like five years old. He'd be like "Zach, go the f#ck to bed right now". I would look back at him and I would like "Gerardo, you go the f#ck to bed". And he would laugh and I'd get another 30 minutes. So it was based a lot on my father. But also there's books that are attached these series where Lucanis is introduced as the coolest possible guy ever, who has a real self-criticism in him though at the same time. He's really hard on himself. While also being tremendously confident, which I could really vibe with because I do vacillate between thinking I'm wonderful to thinking I'm dog shit. I think we all can experience it. So reading those books that Lucanis was in Tevinter Nights, and then going through the rehearsals and reading the scripts, you kind of are finding out who this person is. And then, of course, having that inspiration as my father in the background the entire time.

BioWare do a table read? Or what's the process like? They send out about five scripts that you're going to shoot in over a three-day period. Because of COVID, we were doing rehearsals via Zoom. And most of the time I would be shooting scenes that I was Lucanis, but there was a lot of times where I'm shooting, I'm playing other characters who eventually got voiced by other actors. But it's so important that in even those moments, I'm giving my other actors everything.*

*Due to the pandemic, not all actors were able to participate in motion capture.

Do you have to speak other languages for the games? Do you speak Spanish in it at all? I speak a little bit of Spanish. I say "mierda", which is "sh#t". And I say... I think the phrase is "Por la sangre del Hacedor" (banter with Taash), which translates into "The blood of the Maker", which is a very fantasy way of saying good God. But the area where my character is from is just vaguely Spanish-Italian. Some of the pronunciation I would normally say "Deyamorte". That would be my Spanish pronunciation. They're like, no, no, no, it's "Dellamorte". And I was like, okay, sure. Not what I would say, but okay. When I do an accent, it affects my whole body. It affects the way I walk. That's why I find mocap so attractive, because I get to do a bunch of that, different characters. I will say, not to toot my own horn, but I played a few female characters. I had to give the physicality for a few female characters, and some of the people who are on the development side, let me know that they had to do very little editing.

Which other characters did you mocap? I did Assan, the griffin. There's like a bird and for an entire day I was like hopping around going "squawk sound" for a few days. It was a really good leg workout. It was really fun. And I also did Antoine who's a Grey Warden elf, who's a French guy. My French accent wasn't good enough for them to use, so they got actually somebody who could do it. And, oh God, I'm forgetting some of the names of the bad guys that I played, but I played some bad guys. (Venatori fan of Rook)

Do you ever act alongside Erika Ishii? No, Erika was never in for the motion capture. Rook that was in for the motion capture the entire time was Jeffrey Berg, who was the American male voice. I heard Erika's work and she's amazing. I love all the Rook voices.

What's your favorite thing about your job with video games? I'm going to be honest. I've done commercials, I've done short films, and I've done a little bit of television. The fans in video games, best fans in the world. These people make art about the video game. They write fanfiction about the video game. They're so eloquent in their compliments. And I realize it's because they spend so much time with the character. It's very personal. And you have this kind of intimate connection. And they get to enter this fantasy world where they learn stuff about themselves and their own lives.

Did you, you played the game? Did you romance yourself? I played much of the game. It was my first time with the Dragon Age experience. I wanted to romance myself. So I romanced myself and I fell in love with myself all over again. I saw myself in a whole new light.

The Solas actor said he did himself in Inquisition too. Solas is the big bad guy in our game. He's like the boss. And his actor, Gareth Lloyd, I believe, tremendously talented individual, hilarious and amazing character, said he also romanced himself. So I'm in good company. I'm not the only person to go f#ck themselves.

Somebody out there wants to get into the mocap industry. How do they start? I do know that there are numbers of workshops and camps that you can do that get you practice in that field, and that might even get you in front of certain casting directors. I'm not completely sure, but I do know that there are casting workshops, which is one of the most classic ways to do it. You go to do voiceovers in front of casting agents as well as managers and agents from certain companies. And so that's one way to get an exposure and also find out maybe, you know, what characters you can play, what characters you might be a fit for. I wish I had better advice. How I got into it was so lucky. I went to the same casting office for four years. I'm kind of a method sometimes. So I would be an accent the entire time I was at the casting office. And so these people brought me in for Dragon Age. I didn't even have an manager or an agent at the time. They brought me in for Dragon Age and that's how I got it. It was really fell in my lap. I refused to break when I was performing for Ashley Barlow, who is ultimately one of the directors of the game (Creative Performance Director). I wouldn't speak in my American accent. So we were in the callback. I think it was like the third callback. They were asking me questions. And I was like, would you like me to do it like this, or like this, or like this. Because for me, if I'm on the other side, if he can fool me into thinking he's Spanish, that's just as good. So I was walking out of the room and Ashley was like "And I thought I had a pretty good audition". And she goes "Hey, one more question. Are you actually from Spain?" During the audition, my character had kept saying "For the most part". So I was like "For the most part". And so I turned to her and I was like "For the most part". And I left.

[gayspacepiratesss]

Hiiii friends I made a thing!!! 💕 An illustrated mini-fic, to be precise.

The art part isn't quite finished but I think the last three illustrations might take me longer and I wanted to share what I have so far. There are six color plates now and eventually I hope I'll have nine. I'll do a separate art post when they're all finished for folks who aren't as interested in the story!

I wrote this because I was thinking about trauma, and Neve's love for Docktown, and how two people who take too much responsibility for things might try and fail to help each other. About how breaking out of regret prisons isn't something most of us get to do just once, but over and over again: new chapters in the same old story. Plot twists that get a little better each time, if we're lucky.

I think Neve and Rook are lucky, but you be the judge of that. 💕

***

Red-eye

In which Neve gives new meaning to the phrase "Cry it out" and Rook fights gravity with exactly the amount of success you might expect.

Content note: Some mild hurt/comfort, references to blood, angst, and many feelingsy illustrations.

-~-

The veins are starting to fade, but her eyes are still red. Staring herself down in the mirror, Neve Gallus can't honestly tell if it's the Blight or sheer exhaustion that makes it impossible to recognize her own face.

The days since Elgar'nan's fall have been hard for a happy ending: the work of digging friends from the rubble, patching injuries and broken bridges, burying or burning the dead.

Neve's gaze flickers past her reflection towards the slight, sleeping figure on the sofa behind her.

Rook has been there for all of it. Minrathous, Treviso, Arlathan. First to volunteer, last to leave at night. She's never been afraid of heavy lifting.

You showed up. You always do.

...but where am I?

In Dock Town, the ocean always made her feel like she could breathe. Here, the blue light of the aquarium is drowning her again. Cold shadows run restless across her face, almost dancing with the black traces etched into her skin.

She slips out the door alone. Again.

-~-

"Again?"

Rook sags against the wooden railing opposite Hal's fish stall, her shoulders tight even as her face falls.

The older man squints sympathetically. His hands scale the day's catch with expert automatic movements, but his eyes stay with her. "Earlier this morning," he confirms. "Same time, same story."

Every day for the past month. Early, late, in between. As soon as there was a moment they might talk, Neve disappeared. If Eann "Rook" Aldwir had ever been the praying kind, now—not the fall of Minrathous or the rise of the Evanuris—would have been the moment she was on her knees.

I would burn worlds for you, but I couldn't pull you back when it mattered.

What have I saved if I didn't save Neve Gallus?

She runs a hand through her hair, putting on a rosy face to match, and forces a grin she doesn't quite feel. "Ah, well. It's been hard for everyone, but..."

"... mmhm." Hal nods. "Time is what the city needs, maybe. Time, and they'll remember..." his voice fades. Suddenly he is very busy with the mackerel.

... that she loves them. That she always loved them. That she never—she didn't—

"It was Elgar'nan and Ghilan'ain—" Rook can't quite hide her frustration.

"I know." Hal chops a fishhead slightly too aggressively. "They'll know."

But does she know?

From the street, a shout as ropes go up to raise new scaffolding—there's work to do on some of the dockside apartments, newly in danger of tumbling into the sea.

Eann buys a fresh skewer and sinks her teeth in. "If oo fee er--" she ventures, mouth full, eyes already on the next task.

"I'll send her your way," Hal finishes.

But he won't. They both know.

-~-

They both know. Everyone knows. Neve Gallus, protector of Docktown—until she destroyed it.

She takes a long drag from her pipe, staring across the city from her perch above the Lamplighter—one of the only buildings to go unscathed by the massive tentacles of Blight that she, personally, had directed. The elegant cruelty of Elgar'nan's choice wasn't lost on her—if anybody knew how to target Minrathous' weak points. If anybody knew the city's secrets. Set her against the place she loved best and watch it fall.

In the moment, it had been a pleasure.

How do you come back from that?

When Treviso had been ravaged by the Blight, her heart broke for Lucanis—but her relief for her own people had blunted the pain. She remembers the moment Rook showed up on the field, one step behind Neve and Tarquin, one step ahead of the dragon. She remembers her own disbelief: "You came."

Eann had never looked smaller than she did against that burning-black sky, her skin—so pale it was almost blue in a certain light—flushed and uneven, jaw set against her fear. And Neve had never loved her more—a thought she had shoved down immediately, fiercely, completely, as she skewered a nearby Venatori with ice.

They won that day. Parts of it, anyway.

And when Minrathous did fall, it was Neve's fault. Not Rook's.

-~-

"Not Rook's!" Elek Tavor has brought his Threads. He shoos Eann away from the complex dance of ladders and platforms they're erecting to shore up the dockfront. "That's your job, nughead! I need her here!"

Gang members and locals set shoulders together against the weight of newly-cut stone and crumbling Blight, clearing the one from the ruined apartments and storefronts to make room for the other. They look like a training montage or an inspirational poster—if training smelled like clotted blood, and inspiration felt like vertigo.

He winks at her from over a pulley, tossing her a safety harness and a length of rope. "You're too good for us gutter rats."

She straps in, eyeing the higher floors. The corruption still needs clearing before they can fully assess the damage. It's not especially stable, but she'd rather risk her skin than someone else's. "Better a rat with wings, huh?"

"Better you than me."

She doesn't argue. Instead, she climbs -- reaching hand over hand for a better view. The city shrinks and shifts as she pulls herself above it. The Cobbled Swan blends into the paper seller stalls and merchant alleys, already in business again with whatever scraps they each could scavenge. The sea's slate mood gives way to a smudge of sky and stone, reflecting up the cliffs across the channel.

I know you're there.

Tucked somewhere among those caves and crawlspaces is a detective with a shattered heart, blowing smoke rings and tearing herself to shreds. Rook has watched her disappear, slowly but surely, with every day of "recovery." To rebuild something is to see what was broken, to go over the damage in fine detail. To catalogue every blow. But for Neve, it is cataloging her own sins, her own failures, in a neat series of boxes to be checked and confirmed with evidence. For Rook, it has been watching that soft face flinch and flatten with each victory, each moment of hope, as though it were a nail in her heart's coffin.

But Neve still comes to the city for solace. She can't help herself. And so Eann haunts Minrathous, signing up for tasks that don't really need her, checking in on the people she knows Neve loves. Looking for answers in The Case of the Blighted Dream. The Broken Detective. Docktown's Ghost.

She has tried to be patient. So. Patient. But sometimes the most ungenerous part of her thinks, I broke out of my prison. To find you. To have this.

Now I'm losing you to yours.

Distracted by the weight of her thoughts, Rook barely notices when the stone she reaches for crumbles in her hand—until it pulls the harness anchor with it, the whole wall of the second story giving way. There is a sharp jerk, and she is falling—

Falling?

Falling.

But even as her heart freezes in her throat, it is still pulling her across the water. Even as she braces for the impact, her eyes are still half-scanning the cliffside for a tell-tale flash of teal, a smudge of smoke.

-~-

Smoke.

Neve squints suddenly, her pipe drooping between slack fingers. Smoke? By the docks?

No. Dust.

Something is falling.

But the channel is not wide, and she realizes with growing horror that she can hear the sound not just of stone, blight, beams crumbling, but also voices. Shrieking, wavering. "Look out!" "Back up!" "Clear it OUT—"

And then: "Rook!"

Someone is falling.

Rook.

A blinding, burning fear bites into her chest. The pipe clatters to the ground. If she was drowning before, she is choking now, clawing her way to the surface of a dream she has been walking in for weeks. Trading pains of the past for a present that sears her lungs and surges down her spine.

Mages cannot fly, but all that is left of Neve in that alcove as she bolts through passageways and across rooftops is a pipe's worth of tobacco and the shadow of a thought, echoing like a stone dropped in a dry well.

Wait for me. Wait.

-~-

“Wait.” Eann coughs wetly, throat clogging with dust and something unpleasantly, unexpectedly—oh. Blood. Well. She drags herself up on one elbow, waving Elek and the others back slightly, hissing as the movement sends a shock of pain through her body. “Wait, dammit! I’m not—”

“You’re not what?”

Time turns to sludge as familiar brown eyes meet hers, topped by brows knitted together in fury and fear. “Not hurt? Not climbing walls alone?”

Neve kneels beside the shaking elf, hands already moving, telling Eann’s blood to stay inside her body, her bones to know themselves under the weight of stone for seconds rather than minutes. It’s no small feat, and she is immediately sweating. They both are. “Not the Maker's own damned idiot?”

In spite of herself, Rook laughs. Weakly, painfully. “No,” she wheezes. “I am that.”

Neve’s eyes flash and then flood, tears of rage meeting her perspiration as she gingerly eases one hand under Eann’s head, using the other to clear what stone she can. “What were you thinking?”

It hurts to think. It hurts to breathe. But to Rook’s surprise, it hurts more to look up into eyes that are actually seeing her for the first time since the fight for Minrathous. A face that is furious but not masked. She coughs again, her own eyes burning, unsure if her chest is seizing from the weight of stone or just the love of Neve Gallus. “I—”

You look for lost things. Well, I look for you.

“They need you,” she finds herself choking furiously. “I was thinking they need you, and you’re not here, and I—am—so until you come back from your fucking pity party—ow—”

Neve is already on her knees. She can’t fall further. But the red spilling across the stones is more than time can stop, and she knows she needs to do something—quickly.

Eyes on me, Rook. Stay with me.

“Me?” Her rage is half for show, until it isn’t. And her heart is beating half a step too fast, and half too slow. “You think they need me? Look at me! Look at this.”

If it wasn’t for Neve, the stone would be as sturdy as it ever was in Minrathous. Hal’s fish would come out of the water in nets, not dredged from the surface with glassy eyes. She ripped through the Cobbled Swan, she crushed the lean-tos and shacks of the alleyways to little more than crumbs. She is the reason her tiny, tidy apartment stands in ruins and the cats go hungry. Docktown would be better off if it had never known Neve Gallus to begin with.

Rook screams. It is partly words. “I need you!”

And Neve is ripping her best coat into ribbons because she can’t slow time and send people for bandages, for medics—and there is.

No.

Time.

But she feels her face go numb, and her hands are shaking, and her burning red eyes fly up to meet that fierce, clear gaze. She wants to answer, but she has no answer.

Stay with me.

“What was the point—of all that—if—” Rook’s face is flushed, but Neve thinks flushed is better than pale, better than empty, better than gone. She uses the tiniest push of frost magic to calm the angry red of bones and flesh forced out of place. To stop the swelling before it starts. Almost mechanically, she wraps strips of her dragon coat around Rook’s arm and chest, shattering rocks with one hand as her other shields that stupidly precious rose-crowned skull from further damage.

“—if it didn't bring you back?” Eann rasps.

Neve is shaking so hard now that she can’t bind the fabric properly. She’s not sure it matters. “Bring me back for what?! So that I could—I would—” What can she do, anyway? She’s no healer. If Emmrich were here—or Harding—but they aren’t. And I am going to lose you, and I am going to deserve it. “So I could watch you die?”

Sharp, ragged sobs. “So you could be here—with us—” It’s not easy to cry and suffocate all at once, but Eann is making it work. “Not alone—with everything—”

The black traces of Blight on Neve’s skin mingle with sweat and stone, forming a filigree mask across her face. She feels her grip on the air, on the time around her start to slide.

Not yet. “Rook—”

Eann reaches up with her one free hand. Presses Neve’s forehead to her own, Blight and all. Her body is looser now, heavier—she, too, is struggling to keep control. Sound leaks through the barrier around them. Is someone… shouting?

Her eyes are closed. Her energy directed only towards the point where her skin touches Neve’s.

And Neve Gallus, despite her best efforts, is out of time. She winds her fingers through that rosy hair, and lets a deep, heavy sound tear through her throat. Not knowing, not caring what it is.

“Stay. With me,” she whispers. Please.

I’m here.

Around them, into sound and color and light, the city explodes.

-~-

The city explodes. Scraps of sound and light fracture through Rook’s mind, almost artful—a pastiche of pain and motion with occasional splatters of blessed black unconsciousness. Emmrich is there, then Maevaris. The Lighthouse might feature at some point. Definitely there is blood. So much blood. Then black again. And then—

Ow.

Teal-tipped fingers are laced around her hand. The bedspread beneath them is clean. The hands are not.

“There you are.” Neve has not slept in a long time. Her voice catches. “Oh. I—”

I almost missed you. Missed this.

Where was I?

Rook reaches to cup her fingers around the detective’s cheek. Instinctively, Neve presses closer, lifting her shoulder to cradle the gesture.

“You showed up.” Eann finds that smiling hurts more than she expected. She doesn’t care. “You always do.”

Neve lets out a half-laugh, half-sob. “I could have made better time.”

The light plays across her face, still silt-stained and shadowed. Eann rubs some of the dirt away with her thumb, wincing at the not-yet-mended motion of various body parts, ignoring them in favor of something far more pressing. Then she stops. “Your eyes. Neve…”

A flash of something like fear. “Oh, they must be awful—”

“No.” Eann pulls the detective closer. She kisses the eyelids, the cheekbones, the saltworn freckles. The dusted brows. Beneath the dirt, there is only the warm brown of these features she knows so well. Beneath the exhaustion, there are only shades of caramel and acorn and leather in those bright, faltering eyes.

Holding the other woman's rueful, aching, anxious face between her palms, she inspects it with great seriousness. Her own blue gaze holds steady beneath a vaguely crinkled brow.

“Neve, the Blight—it’s… gone.”

And this time Neve doesn’t need a mirror to look for her own face. To recognize herself. Something more like a laugh than like a sob curls through her throat and hangs in the air between them, weightless. “Is that so? Maybe you knocked it out of me.”

“Knocked it out of you!” Rook’s wheeze is its own commentary. “Remind me not to pick a fight with a pile of rocks anytime soon.”

“Maybe just pick fights with me, for a while.”

“Mm.” Rook still hasn’t let Neve go. Their noses bump together. “I don’t only want to fight with you…”

“Later.” Neve pushes back, smirking gently. A promise, not a refusal. “You did very nearly lose that last one. But I’ll be here.”

“What happened—” Eann is serious now, her hair falling earnestly into her eyes. “Neve. It happened to everyone. And I know—it was awful. But we can’t—I can’t—”

Not without you.

Neve pushes the hair out of Rook’s face. “I’ll be here.”

This time, when she shuts the door, it isn’t on her way out.

[carmenized-onions]

Just Dropped. | Missing Invoice

logline; It's still fucking Friday. Half past five, maybe?

[!!!] series history, this is the eleventh; We're jumping RIGHT back in babe, feel free to re-review chapter ten to remember everything lmao.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to.

portion; 8.2k Thank fucking god this got split off from the last.

possible allergies; hurt,,,,, some comfort? You'll see, idk. No spoils. Terrible self-image, a lot of talk of Mikey's death and blame about it. Just a lot of mean and hurtful words to oneself and others.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (i don't believe there's any pronouns but feminine titles are used? you'll see) Also, if I'm being honest, this chapter is not about Carmen, lmao. but when are they, really?

you ever notice that the other shoe chapter doesn't have a period? lol pranked you!! genuinely both very interested and very nervous to hear y'alls thoughts on this one,,, i hope you like it,,,, if you don't,,,, let me down so gently, sweetpea

Same team. You say to Marcus.

It’s an idiom you coined, long ago. It’s a simple phrase you and your friends started to exchange whenever heads got hot, and you had to remind each other that at the end of the day, you’re fighting for the same thing. To get through the end of the day, together. You’re on the same team.

It’s not interchangeable with ‘we good?’ It means so much more than that. Fights happen, they do. You know that better than anyone, but it’s important to remind each other what you’re fighting for. Same team, you say to Marcus, after reciting all the pastas on order.

He says it back, calming down. Talking to Richie was just as important as running expo; same team. He gets it. You exchange reassuring nods.

Two doors swing open. First, Sweeps comes in through front of house, pressing a note to your back, you hold it there. You don’t think it’s a good sign when he mumbles, slipping past your shoulder. “Need a smoke break, one sec.”

Second, Carmen swings out of his office. Phone call over, he seems deeply bothered. Is Natalie okay? Is he okay? You imagine he wouldn’t just return to his station, right in front of expo, if everything wasn’t okay. He does seem… On the verge of something, though. Despite your concerns, you continue to bark out orders. You try to run it a little more… prim, this time, with Carmen back. A couple fewer ‘love yous’ peppered in between table numbers. You don’t want to make him snap by running the place not like his Exec would.

Richie rolls back his shoulders, stretching out his neck. He tries to find sympathy and kinmanship, in Carmen, “Cousin, your ol’ boss is such an asshole, you wouldn’t believe what he—”

“Respect him, Chef.”

Huh? That gives both you and Richie pause. You stutter on the order. “Twen—Twenty-six, table twenty-six, waiting on fish, Chefs.”

“Fish.” Carmen hands the plate off to expo, immediately. Cold. He hasn’t even commented on you running expo yet. Is he mad? You’re probably doing a shit job at this. You hand the serving tray off to Fak to run. He speeds out, like a reverse lassie, sensing danger and wanting to get the fuck out immediately.

“…Respect him?” Richie repeats, dumbfounded.

“He’s a Two-Star Executive Chef.” Carmen doesn’t take his eyes off his cutting board. You’re not sure what he’s making, right now— Oh shit, you should tell him about the cherry and lamb before he wastes his time.

“Don’t matter what his title is—” “Yes. It does.”

Richie’s brows raise then furrow, as do yours, just not nearly as dramatic. Neither of you were expecting a fight over this, you’ve both been serving this man first hand. Carmen worked for this guy for like two or three years, he knows. He has nightmares about this guy. You were expecting comradery. The guy is a dick, why won’t Carmen admit that? Why’s he suddenly got stock in his captor?

“Who shit in your cereal? He’s bein’ a fuckin’ creep, Cousin.” That touches your heart, a little bit. Richie’s not directly saying it’s affecting you, but it’s nice to know that he just as equally cares about your discomfort.

Carmen’s a different story, though. Because he doesn’t question why Richie would say this. Doesn’t bother to consider the idea that he’s not fully informed, on the situation. On any situation, for that matter. He just thinks he’s being attacked, for some reason.

“N’ what the fuck are you?”

That snaps you off of your focus— Quite frankly, it snaps half of the kitchen out of their focus. Everyone’s knives pause above their cutting boards, spoons half dipped into pots, it hangs in the air, for a second.

“Pardon me?” Richie puts a hand over his chest, taking a half step back, to physically display how much offense he’s taken. Fucking hell, it’s gonna be this now. “What the fuck am I?”

“D’you want me to tell you? Cause I’ll fuckin’ tell you.”

You’ve gotta get between this, before Carmen can tell him. You slip Sweeps’ note in your pocket, long forgetting it, at this point. When you step forward, Richie puts an arm in front of you, barring you from getting in the middle of this. “Rich—”

“Please.” Richie goads, ignoring you. “En-fucking-lighten me.” You immediately brace yourself for whatever impact you and the rest of this kitchen are going to be collateral for.

“You’re a fuckin’ deadbeat, Rich.” Carmen puts his knife down, turning from his station to face Rice. Where the fuck is all this coming from? What kind of phone call was this? When you open your mouth to interrupt, Richie puts his other hand up in front of your face, shushing you. He wants to hear what Carmen has to say. You desperately do not want to hear what Carmen has to say.

“You wouldn’t have shit without me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have shit?”

“You wouldn’t be able to pay for your fuckin’ life—” “Oh here we go—” “Or your fuckin’ kid—” “Oh, oh you wanna talk to me about my fuckin’ kid?” “You wouldn’t have shit—” “At least I have a fuckin’ kid.” “Fuck you!”

“Fuck you, you don’t have shit, Carmen, you don’t let good shit ever fuckin’ happen to you. So fuckin’ tough, never let anyone talk to you.”

It is impossible to get a word in, inch wise. They are so in each other’s faces, Carmen’s a bit shorter than Richie, and that somehow does not make him any less intimidating. This has been brewing long before you showed up, that much is very fucking clear. What caused the snap to happen now is beyond you.

You cannot find a moment to interrupt, to attempt to mediate. No one can. The kitchen is divided, some continue cooking to avoid the situation, some have stopped to watch, wondering to themselves who’s going to intervene, and some are like you, waiting for the right moment to step in. There will never be a right moment to step in.

“Where were you, when I fuckin’ put your brother in the ground, you selfish piece of shit?”

Oh. Stray bullet, for you. You wince— Not that you weren’t already, but that was definitely a personal hit. Richie’s still harbouring resentment over that for Carmen, which means he still holds it somewhere for you, too. And at least Carmen came back after, to take care of The Beef. Where the fuck were you for the better half of a year? Vanished. You completely vanished, on him.

“You’re so fucking obsessed with my family— Such—You’re such a fucking leech.”

You catch it from Carmen, too. Does Carmen see you as a leech? A parasite, tethering to his family? To his work? Is that why he’s mad, right now? You’ve inserted yourself without asking— You’re so pushy— No, no, he likes that your pushy, you’re good. He doesn’t think that about you, he doesn’t actually think Richie is a leech either, he’s just saying shit to start shit. It’s working. He’s really stirring up shit.

“Oh, I’m fucking obsessed—” “You fucking leech—” “I’m so fucking obsessed with you.” “I should’ve cut you out!” “Yeah.” “I should’ve fuckin’ cut you out!”

“I fuckin’ love you!” Richie points in Carmen’s face, and Carmen somehow manages to not give a shit. It does nothing, for Richie to have said this, and that is shattering. Sydney reaches for your hand, you don’t look at her, you only know it’s her because of the band-aids. You take it.

“You fucking need me!”

“I fucking love you!”

“You’re fucking nothing!”

“Don’t fucking say that!” That’s when you jump in. Practically call and response, for you. Your body processes what Carmen even said before your brain does. That was the straw. Carmen picked the wrong fucking one, to say that in front of. Carmen drew the line a lot of times, Carmen drew the line when he said to respect that Asshole— Quite frankly, Carmen drew the line with the broken sauce ‘you want a star’ bullshit with Syd— But this was the back breaker, for you.

You let go of Syd’s hand, moving to be in between the men, back facing Richie, defending him, “Don’t fuckin’ say that shit to Richie— To anyone, ‘specially not Richie.”

“Oh, like he’s some fuckin’ prize?” Your eyes go wide, like dinner plates. Carmen continues, “You wanna fix him, too? Add him to the list?”

“Fix him?” Is that what he thinks of you? That you think people need ‘fixing’? “I’m not trying to fix anyone, Carmen.”

“Didn’t try to fix Mikey?”

You straighten up a bit, whole brain dialing up. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

You adore Carmen, but in this moment, you cannot help but think of all the utterly life ruining comebacks you could say to set him on his ass, right now. Bite your tongue, same team. “Oh, I’m excused?”

“You don’t fuckin’ work here.” Ouch.

“Oh, suddenly that’s a problem—”

“Think you’re the fuckin’ peoples’ princess—” Ouch.

“That is not what I’m doing—”

“No no, of course it’s not, you’re such a goddamn saviour, modern day Christ.” Ouch.

“Carmen—” Richie tries to step in front of you, you put the back of your hand on his chest, holding him back. Time for you to prove what you said, in your kitchen, just a few days ago. Time to prove to Carmen, and quite frankly, yourself, that you can take this. That you can take his teeth. Carmen gave you fair warning, that the shoe could drop, that he might do this. Your first fight. It came a lot faster than you expected, but fair warning’s a fair warning.

“Say what you wanna say, Carmen.”

“Where’s your fucking invoice?” Carmen’s never swore at you, you’re pretty sure. It feels weird, in your chest. Cornering. You frown. “You didn’t fuckin’ give it to Nat, don’t lie.”

“It’s complicated.” It’s a legitimate answer, to you. It is complicated. “We can talk about it, after—”

“I don’t need to be some fuckin’ charity tax write-off, alright?” Carmen interrupts, he doesn’t care to hear your explanation. He’s already decided your intentions, and that feels very unfair, doesn’t feel like you’re on the same team. “Just fucking charge me. You wanna work here? Fucking charge me.”

Is he trying to make your entire dynamic transactional? Why is he acting like this? What did you do wrong? Don’t tear up. You can take it. You can take the teeth, Tony, come on. “That’s not—”

“I don’t need fuckin’ fixing, alright, I’m not another fucking addict—”

You can feel bristle Richie behind you. You both handled that ‘fucking addict’ first hand, and you certainly don’t care for him to be referred to as such. You interrupt Carmen’s tirade, “Don’t say that shit—”

Carmen rolls back his head, like he’s tired of some sort of façade— Like you’re being fake. “Oh, my fucking God—”

“What! What the fuck—” “He’s fucking dead, you can say it— He was a fucking loser junkie—”

He doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t mean it. He’s just trying to start shit. Same team. He’s just hurt over something he hasn’t admitted yet. Same team.

“Carmen—” You can’t get a word out, with this guy. God, you wish this was at least behind closed doors. Wish he’d give you and Richie the grace of breaking you both down without an audience.

“And, and—” There’s a split second of manic laughter to it, he’s so incensed by the idea. “You, you fucking gave that junkie money?”

You’re quick to furrow your brows, emphatically shaking your head. Did you give him discounts on services and pay his diner tab on occasion? Sure. But that’s an entirely different thing. “I never gave Mikey a cent—”

“Oh?” Carmen shrugs, “So you don’t have a joint bank account?”

Oh.

Oh. Is that what this is fucking about? He found some paperwork or a debit card lying around and lost his shit? Carmen and Mikey are very different people, and you love that, but one of your least favourite differences is Mikey never circled the drain, when it came to what he didn’t like. Carmen’s spent forever, needling Richie, and then needling you over some fucking joint bank account? That still doesn’t feel like it, though. There’s gotta be something he’s not saying.

To be fair, you know how the man spirals, you were hoping to explain these weird leftovers from your history yourself. This is what the painting was for. You were supposed to start on the first page— God, at the very least, a softer page, one that makes it all make sense, for him.

“Carmen, I get why you may be confused, but I—”

“Don’t tell me I’m fucking confused. I’m not fucking confused— I— This is my fucking kitchen, alright?” Entirely nonsensical. Too many thoughts are stirring in his head.

It’s hard to keep your eyes from watering. Take the teeth, same team. It was easier to compartmentalize with Mikey, when he yelled at you, because his eyes were blown out, and you could tell that it wasn’t him talking to you. But this is a sober Carmen. This is what he deep down, somewhere, thinks of you, isn’t it? He doesn’t think you belong in his kitchen. Don’t belong here.

“That— That fuckin’ asshole out front, or whatever you fuckin’ call him?” He points to booth twelve, through the window. You are now reminded that there is a window, and that there are more people than just the kitchen, here, there’s patrons. If they craned their necks and listened close, the sound proofing would keep them from hearing Carmen, but you feel like they could probably hear the way your heart is struggling to keep pace.

“That’s me— That’s who the fuck I am. And I’m good like that, so—So if he’s a fuckin’ creep so am I. N’ I don’t need you comin’ in my fuckin’ kitchen, comin’ in my fuckin’ life, actin’ like you know better than me!”

“I never said I know better than you!”

“You didn’t need to!”

“I—” You swallow your spit. You have always tried to keep a level field, with Carmen. Since day one. “I never meant—”

“I don’t— I am not your fuckin’ charity case, you do not need to-to donate to me to make up for the fact that you failed Mikey!”

Yeah.

You can’t take these teeth.

Carmen Anthony Berzatto realizes a couple of things, seven things, in quick succession, after he says this.

Thing One. His middle name is Anthony. Tony. That’s kind of funny. He should tell you that, make you laugh. He never really thought about it, until now. Didn’t have one of those moments where his brain disconnects from his body as a method of escaping the poison in his mouth, so it can have plausible deniability, until right now.

Thing Two. You are not Mikey. He had gotten so caught up, over the past week, conflating the fact that you’re both so likable and so ‘The Guy’ with the idea that you’re just the same. You’re not. You don’t react to being pushed and screamed at, like Mikey did, you don’t scream back. You defend yourself, but you don’t bite back at him, the way he bit at you. You don’t fight. You don’t get mean. You are not Mikey. Carmen always took Mikey trying to help as him trying to one up him; a silent way of saying he was better. You are not Mikey. You helping around the kitchen tonight, helping him every fucking day, was never you trying to one up him— Let alone fix him.

Thing Three. Your cherry and lamb plate is nowhere to be seen. It’s only been like three, five minutes? Where’d it go? He can’t even find a plate of bones. You’re never going to speak to him again, after this, he knows that. He’s never going to hear straight from you what you thought, he needs to see if you cleaned the plate.

Thing Four. He didn’t even ask. He didn’t even mention the photos, the thing that he was actually hung up about. Carmen’s confrontational, but not in the way that matters. He yells, but it’s never the thing he actually wants to yell about. Those candles could’ve been for anything. How old was Eva, when you met Mikey? Carmen doesn’t know, he wasn’t here. Could’ve just been birthdays. There’s a million reasons to have those photos, there’s a million reasons to have a joint bank account. He should’ve asked. He should’ve listened when you were trying to explain. You were trying to explain. You had something to say. You even acknowledged how confused he must be. How confused must you be, right now? He didn’t explain why he was yelling, at all. He didn’t ask, and he didn’t listen.

Thing Five. Carmen wasn’t here. You were. You were here. He blames himself, for his brother’s suicide, and he wasn’t even here. And then there’s you. You were here, and you probably took Mikey on your shoulders the way you take everything on your shoulders. And he just said you failed. He never asked you, if you blamed yourself, but he doesn’t need to. Everyone blames themselves. God, why did he call Richie nothing? Richie was here, too. He’s not a fucking leech, he was here. And that’s a fuck of a lot more than Carmen did. It’s not just about when Richie put his brother in the ground, it was the years before, proceeding, that Carmen wasn’t here for, and both of you were. And he just fucking said that you failed. He said it was your fault.

Thing Six. Carmen glances over your trembling shoulders, out the window, to where he can just see the edge of his old Exec’s head. Who he’s just said he is. Ugh. He thinks back to when that man became Exec, and Carmen took over as head. He remembers the promise he made to himself, when he went back to his shitty New York studio apartment and cracked open an incredibly expensive bottle of champagne (gifted) to drink alone on his mattress with no bedframe. He promised himself that no matter how bad it got in the kitchen, no matter how bad it got in his head, he would never get in someone’s ear and tell them that they were no good, terrible, slow, useless, better off dead, dumb fuck. He promised himself, that he would never make someone cry in his kitchen.

Point Seven. He’s resented the fact for the past week, that he hasn’t gotten to be the first person to do a lot of things, with you. He’s resented how much he missed out on, how much he wishes it was him in the photos, in the memories. But now you get to be one of his firsts. You get to be the first person he’s ever made cry, in his kitchen. When his brain comes back to his body, and he repeats back to himself the exchange that just happened. Yeah, he’d cry, too.

You have wonderfully bright eyes. He didn’t tell you that, before. He should’ve. He gets compliments on his bright blue eyes a lot, but yours just have this glow from within, about them. A brightness that he doesn’t, a sweetness that his don’t. That’s gone now. Eyes go from wide to hurt to vacant. Gone. Devoid. Hand over your mouth to cover the wobbling of your bottom lip. You look like he did, two years ago, at the French Laundry. A shell of what he was. A shell of what you are.

Carmen was right, he is the man out front. That’s who he is. That’s what he is.

A husk, biting down on the hand that feeds; defending nothing from no threat.

Richie didn’t need to call you, to let you know that Carmen’s awful for you, that he’s an asshole to everyone around him, that he’s sharp and not worth your time. Richie didn’t need to call you, to tell you that he’s just some fucking creep Executive Chef, but this time, he doesn’t even have any stars to retain about it. Richie didn’t need to call you. Carmen told you himself who he is, just fine.

Please make eye-contact. Please look him in the eyes, you used to do it all the time. You might never look him in the eyes again, please do it one more time. He didn’t savour it, before, didn’t hold it, when he should’ve. He would’ve, if he knew it would’ve been the last time. He should’ve been savouring it every time. He should’ve kissed you, when you kissed him on the temple— He should’ve let you know. You’re so smart, when it comes to emotions and things— Everything. Intuitive. If you’d look him in the eyes, you’d be able to tell how sorry he is, how wrong he knows he is for saying everything he said. But you’re downcast, trying to zero in on something.

You swallow, blinking wildly in a failed attempt to stall tears, and nod imperceptibly, digesting his words. He wishes you wouldn’t. This is the last thing he’d want you to eat.

Sydney is already rushing to your side, her station long forgotten. “Yoyoyoyoyo—”

She’s distressed, because she cares about you, hurrying to comfort you, taking your hand, then arm, then shoulder. She’s trying to get you to look at her, you won’t. You won’t look at anyone. She’s crouching to get in your field of vision. “C’mon, c’mon—”

Richie is behind you, where he should be, already squaring himself up, making himself taller. Carmen has never wanted someone to hit him, he’s pretty sure, until right now. He just wishes it was you doing it. Fight him back, please. Break his jaw, permanently, please. Keep him from saying anything ever again. Keep him from making you make that face, ever again. He wishes it was you doing it, but he’ll take Richie as a close second.

Richie steps in front of you, grabbing him by his collar, good. “How could you fuckin’ say that shit to Chippy—”

“Please don’t call me Chip.” Is the first thing you say, voice quiet, cracking. You’re pinching the bridge of your nose, hard, thumb nail digging in. Eyes closed. You’re trying to hold it down. “Not right now.”

And like a guard dog, Richie heels. Of course, Richie would find you more important than violence. He cares. You put a hand over Syd's, on your shoulder, squeezing it. “I’m good, Syd.”

Everyone knows you’re not good. Your voice cracks painfully, again, when you say you’re good. “Just gimme a second.”

“I love you, dude.”

“I know, Syd—” “Will you let me?” “I—”

You take one deep breath, slow, rubbing your thumb over her hand. She gives you a clean dish rag. You wipe your tears and blow your nose. When you lift your head back up, to face the crowd that is the kitchen, it’s like it never happened. Well, your face still has that puffiness and redness to it, and your eyes certainly look irritated and glassy. But you’ve gathered such resolve back, immediately. Hardened up, immediately. Turned off a sect of yourself. If Carmen didn’t know you, he doesn’t think he’d be able to tell you were just crying.

“Apologize,” —He'll grovel to high hell— “To Richie.”

Carmen’s eyes flicker with confusion, just for a second, you catch it. You repeat, clearer. “Apologize to Richie. Say you didn’t fuckin’ mean that.”

Carmen doesn’t need a broken jaw, to go speechless, apparently. You don’t care to defend yourself at all, here. Never put yourself first. He frowns, you don’t take it the right way, no, why would you? You speak with an extra layer of gravity.

“Berzatto.” Hurts worse than when you say Carmen with disappointment. Deserved punishment.

“I’m sorry, Richie…Not nothing.”

“Not fuckin’ forgiven—” You put a hand up, turning your head to face the man behind you. “Rich.”

“Oh, don’t—”

“Say sorry—” “He fuckin’ started it—” “You didn’t have to entertain it.” “He was bein’ a bitch—” “Jerimovich!”It’s more fun, when you do it to Richie. More kindergarten teacher like, breaking up a fight at recess.

“I’m fuckin’ sorry, Cousin.” Richie does not mean it. It’s okay. He doesn’t have to. He was right. Didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.

You turn back to Carmen, of whom you still will not make eye contact. That’s fair. “Can Richie take five?” He doesn’t like that you feel like you have to ask him for permission, now. “He’s gotta help me carry tools, to my car.”

That’s a chance to talk to you, alone. “I can—”

“No.” You shoot Carmen down quickly. “Richie’s got it. You’ve gotta keep your kitchen in order.”

That hurts. But he said it. He said it was his kitchen, he said you didn’t work here. You’re so much more than an employee. You’re family, everyone here treats you like family. This is your kitchen, too. He doesn’t really care what anyone else thinks, right now, but it also occurring to him that he said all that in front of everyone here, everyone who adores you. None of these people have seen this side of you— You didn’t come to the funeral. This is probably why. It’s pretty clear you don’t like crying in front of people, the way you immediately go somewhere else mentally.

Richie’s already walking, you didn’t actually ask him to grab your tools from the corner of the kitchen, but he just does it. Wordless. Richie knows how to show that he loves you. Carmen could learn, from that. Carmen could learn from Sydney too, she said it, and she’s still holding your arm.

Carmen takes a step forward to you, and what you mean by it, he’s not sure, but what he does see, is you take a step back. He immediately takes two steps back.

You’re very good. Too good, too good for anyone. Not gonna change my mind ‘bout that. That’s what he said to you, when you confessed you were worried he would ‘figure out’ you weren’t good. He lied to you. The other shoe dropped and he’s the one that made it.

You sniff, you feel bad for taking a step back, but you think if Carmen touched you right now, you’d have a full-blown meltdown, and you’d like to hold some modicum of respect amongst your peers here.

Carmen hates you. You didn’t expect that. But it’s fair. You’re not certain what he saw along with the joint bank account, but if he was able to put the pieces together, it makes sense. You failed his brother, failed Mikey. God, it’s still ringing in your ears. You killed him. Everyone knows that. Everyone hates you. He said the quiet thing, that everyone here knows, out loud. You didn’t do enough. You weren’t smart enough. You failed to do the one job you’ve been trained for, save someone, set them at ease— For fuckssake, just keep your friend from dying. Is that so fucking difficult? Was that so hard? He’s right to say it. You don’t have the right to be upset right now. He doesn’t owe you anything. You owe him.

You owe him.

You look to Syd, “You have a pen?”

You can tell she doesn’t like that you’re essentially blocking off the part of your brain that feels pain. What’d she expect? You were an E.M.T. for three years, you learned how to turn off your brain. She gives you the pen from her breast pocket anyways. You dig through your pants pocket for a slip of paper, oh shit, the note from Sweeps, you completely forgot about it. It’s a folded guest check, it says ‘B12’ on the front. Booth Twelve, you infer. You unfold and read Sweeps' chicken scratch. It’s nice to focus on something that isn’t the rotting feeling inside you… No fucking way.

“Sweeps!”

“Yuh-huh?” It’s nice that Sweeps has only just came back in from his smoke break. He has no idea why everyone’s shocked and/or enraged right now, and there’s something beautiful and perfect about that. Sanct.

“Did he seem serious?” You hold the note between two fingers for him to see and know what you’re talking about.

Sweeps shrugs, slipping his Marlboro pack into his inner breast pocket. “You can fuckin’ read that guy?”

A very fair call. You sigh, then flip the note over, it’s hard to write, using your hand as a pad, but it doesn’t really matter, neatness doesn’t matter. Just write it fast so you can get the fuck out of here and cry in your car about a boy that doesn’t love you and never will.

“Freezer door hotfix, eighty. Plumbing repair, took about four hours, that’s two-fifty. House call oven, seventy. Oven hotfix just now, plus replacement part costs… One-twenty.”

You hate doing this. It sucks to be doing this. This is what the fucking painting was for. Why couldn’t he just let you do it in the order you wanted? You were supposed to start this on a better page.

“Said I’d pay you back for that pinot, which is about twenty on wholesale, so… Five hundred even.”

You click and unclick the pen, several times, shoulders tensing. “I don’t think you need fixing, and I wasn’t trying to make up for anything. I’m sorry, Carmen.”

“I’m—” It’s the first time he’s tried to speak, and you just can’t let him. You can’t listen to his voice right now, you know it’s unfair, but you can’t, so you interrupt him.

“I didn’t tell Nat you covered the invoice.”

You hand him the note, careful to hold it at the very edges, so you don’t make contact when he takes it. “I owe you two thousand.”

At the bottom of your shoddy invoice, it reads, ‘Advanced Payment, M. Berzatto. $2,500.’

You told him it was fucking complicated.

He should’ve let it lie. He should’ve bitten his fucking tongue, like you did for him constantly. You told Nat her brother covered the invoice; you just didn’t say which one. Was it intentionally sneaky? Yeah, obviously, because how were you supposed to fucking explain that? It’s fucking complicated. But no, Carmen didn’t fucking want to hear anything you tried to explain, so you’re just gonna let his stupid fucking dumbfounded face stay that way. If he just told you what he actually saw, like a fucking adult, you could’ve done so, happily. But Carmen hates you, and he’s decided what you are. He probably doesn’t want to hear much of your voice, anyways. Keep it short.

“So just… I’ll just uhm… Wire you. Or something.”

You sigh, thinking about what’s on the other side of that fucking note. “You have my number, you can give it to him, if you want.”

The Exec liked the cherry and lamb dish. Of course he would, it was perfect. It also seems like he enjoys that you’re both smart and clearly ‘spunky’, or some shit. He wants the ‘wine girl’s’ number. Didn’t even bother to remember you said Jack. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll send the mystical wine girl his close friend Michelin Guide Inspector’s number, and maybe they’ll review the place. Maybe. Doesn’t matter to you. Not your kitchen.

A chance at a chance at a chance or your well-being? That’s Carmen’s choice now.

You snap your finger, pointing to the note, remembering. You never brought The Guy a wine, “Pinot Noir. Marcassin 2013. Top left shelf. Pit a cherry and put it on the rim.” It's the perfect pairing, for his dish.

At least get him a star, if he has to hate you.

When you start to move, Syd’s still holding onto you. You don’t pull her off, but you do put your hand over hers, and she knows what you want. She doesn’t care. She repeats. “Will you let me?”

Goddammit. Does she want you crying all over again? You’re trying very hard to not look like a wuss, right now. “I will. Just need five minutes alone, okay? I’ll wait outside.”

She doesn’t want to, but you’re not giving her many other options here, so Syd nods and lets you go. “Five minutes.”

“Five minutes.” You clap your hands together, eyes glazing over the rest of the staff. Rest of your family. You’re trying not to read their expressions because if you do you very well might scream, cry, and throw up all at the same time. “Everyone! Back to work! It’s half past five you’ve still got a whole night ahead, look alive, Chefs.”

You pass Carmen, careful not to bump shoulders. Just get out of here unscathed. Hopefully he’s not too mad about the dish swap. You made the right call. It won’t matter if he’s mad, anyways, actually, he already hates you.

At least be something of value, for him, if he has to hate you.

Richie’s out there, leaning against the trunk of your shitty 2004 Dodge Intrepid. How he knew it was yours, you’re not sure. Probably the goofy bumper stickers. It’s a piece of shit. Broken fob. You have to use your key to unlock the trunk. It still works. You speak at once.

“What the fuck was that?”

You both laugh, though it’s hollow. You unlock the trunk, Richie throws your tools in. He’s first to add. “You didn’t actually want me to fuckin’ apologize, did you?”

You shrug, head tilting back and forth, he kisses his teeth, you supplement. “Listen, the ‘you don’t have a kid’— Touch crazy.”

“He fuckin’ started it!” “I know he fuckin’ did, I’m not defendin’ him!”

You purse your lips. There was the other thing Richie said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t at the funeral, Cousin.”

“Ah, oh…” Richie attempts to wave it off, shrugging, as if it wasn’t a huge fucking deal to him just two minutes ago. “It’s good—”

“It’s not.” You interject. Richie always says he’s fucking good, when he’s not. He’s not good about Tif, he’s not good about the Exec making fun of him, he’s not good about you abandoning him, for a year. “It’s not good, Richie, and I’m sorry.”

You swallow, closing your trunk. You attempt to remember bits and pieces of your prepared speech, from dinner. But this is reality, and typically once transferred from your mind, it makes the words so much clunkier, lines forgotten, here and there.

“I should’ve been here, after. It was fucked up, that I just left. Made you hold it down, by yourself, and— And I can’t fucking imagine, Richie, how hard that must’ve been.”

Standing in The Bear is a touch easier, because it’s so different now. But Richie was there, days after Mikey died, in The Beef. Taking smoke breaks with a shadow that was no longer next to him. Forced to keep morale up, all by himself. You can imagine how hard it must’ve been, and that’s exactly why you stopped coming around.

Richie can only bring himself to nod, swiping his nose, because it’s starting to run.

“I— I didn’t cut you out. I want you to know that.” Carmen was so cruel, with that shit. “That wasn’t me cutting you out. I— I was tryna cut myself out.”

He halfheartedly laughs, confused. “Fucks that mean, Cousin?”

“I—” How can you word this in a way that isn’t just as cruel? “I didn’t think we were friends.”

He mimics being shot. You add, “Fuckin’ listen—” “Fuckin’ drive-by—”

“I just didn’t think— I don’t think anyone’s my friend, I don’t think.”

“What’s that even begin to mean?”

“I… I feel like… I’m just like… So insecure, about my place in relationships, that like— Like I’m not worth people’s time. Like we were only friends because we were friends with Mikey and we were handling him and I was like— Like I was helpful. So, like, when he died, it was like… We— There was no reason, for you to be friends with me, anymore. No us.”

Richie takes a moment, to digest it. The silence is terrible for you though, so you continue. “I’m startin’ to realize, that not likin’ myself, can actually really end up hurtin’ the people I love—”

“I’d still love you, even if you weren’t helpful. By the by.”

Richie’s interruption hits you in the chest like a fucking freight train. “Oh Jesus Christ, Richie—”

“What? What the fuck—”

“That was just fuckin’ crazy.” You cover your eyes, tears already coming to a head. He’s relieved, you mean crazy like good.

“Fuck, Richie, I love you.” You sniff, trying to look at him through watery eyes, it’s near impossible to do without warbling. “Man… You were here.”

Now it’s Richie’s turn to have his tear-jerking trigger phase said. “Oh, don’t start, Chip—”

“You were fucking here, Richie, Carmen doesn’t fuckin’ get that— No one gets that.” You’re kind of blubbering, honestly, starting to point at him, speaking emphatically. It might be better that this is happening in the parking lot rather than in the middle of the restaurant.

“You’re fucking— You’re fucking something, okay? Carmen is a bitch, you were right— You’re good, Richie. You’re fucking good and—and— You were here, and you’re important, and— And— I didn’t fuckin’ say that enough, back then. So, I’m fuckin’ doin’ it now. I love you, and I’m here, and if fuckin’— If Eva ever needs anything, I’m there, if you’re ever in need, I’m there. If you just want to fuckin— Fuckin’ text someone, and actually just hang out like Normals—I’m there for that, too. I’d even go to fucking Tif’s wedding with you, if that helped.”

Richie’s got a couple tears going, which is good for you, because it makes your sobbing less embarrassing. “Fuck, Cousin…” He looks down, rubbing the bridge of his nose, like a self-soothing technique. When he looks back up to face you, he blurts it out.

“You wanna see a Taylor Swift concert wit’ me?”

Your response is immediate and baffled, “What?”

“I’ve got three tickets for me n’ Eva but Tif won’t come, it’s in January.”

You take a moment to buffer, brain half moving out of the tender moment. Shaking your head in disbelief, still fully crying.

“Richie… That sounds, like the worst experience I could ever imagine. You couldn’t pay me to write an outing so perfectly curated to be the worst, for me.”

“Don’t fuckin’ hate on T Swift—” “Richie, I’d love to.”

The death grip grab and hug is so immediate. You feel bad for getting tears and probably snot on his coat, but he said himself it’s a knock off, so he’ll live.

“You didn’t fail Mikey, Chip.” He kisses the crown of your head. Richie must be a good dad. You’d tell him that, but he might overload, the man doesn’t get acknowledged much, you’ve got to take it slow with the praise. You don’t reply to his sentiment, so he repeats it.

“Y’did everythin’ you humanly could.”

“I could’ve done a couple things different.”

“So could I. It my fault, too, then?”

You both know very well, that you blame yourselves. And as much as both of you would like it to, this one cry-fest isn’t going to magically make all of those bleeding guilts go away. Especially not after Carmen tore those stitches right back open.

“Well, no—” “‘Xactly.”

But you accept it, for the moment. “…Okay.” For this moment, you get the lesson.

And you’ll both forget it tomorrow, when you have that split second in the A.M. Where Mikey is still alive, before you remember. But right now, it’s neither of your faults that the glue between you died and left you both to figure out how to still stick together. You stay in that hug for quite a while, crying and rocking back and forth, before Richie lets go saying, “Aright, I do actually need a fuckin’ cig.”

“You’re going to give me second hand smoke and kill me.”

He smirks, already fishing out a loosie from his pocket. “We can only hope.”

Despite your complaints and not being a smoker, you still pull out a lighter for him. Mom friend. Never know when you’re going to need a fire. You cup the flame for him. This is the worst Friday of your life, you’re pretty sure. But here is Richie, sticking beside you. And here you are, sticking beside him.

Syd steps out, she keeps crossing between a walk and a jog to you two, unsure of what looks more awkward. You don’t know, but you do know the option of switching between both is easily the most awkward.

She asks, walk-jogging up to you, “Are you good?”

“I’ve been better.”

She grabs your face in her hands, reviewing your puffy bleary-eyed face. Just looking at it makes her want to cry, too. You hold her wrists. “M’sorry for cryin’ in your kitchen. I know that’s the type shit you deal with all the time—”

Richie and Syd speak in unison, a rarity, for them to be on the same page. “No the fuck it’s not.”

Sydney continues, “That was extremely not normal. Crazy fucked up of him to say that shit— I don’t even know like— Like any of the backstory, but even I know that was fucked up to say.”

You sniff, nodding slightly. “Yeah, a little.”

“A lot.”

You nod, no longer fighting to downplay it. That was fucked up of Carmen, you don’t need to try to make it seem less bad. “Yeah, a lot.”

She nods back, still holding your face. Bandaged fingers pressed against your head. “What d’you wanna do?”

“Go home?” Cry? Eat freezer cake?

“Well, yeah.” She chuckles, so you do too. “I mean like, like—” She nods behind her, to The Bear. What do you want to do going forward? Never talk to him again? I’ll do it, too. She’s saying, wordlessly.

“I— I don’t fuckin’ know.” You admit, laughing, but hollow. The very idea of reconciliation feels impossible, at the moment. “I think I’m just gonna, fuckin’ ignore it, until it comes up. Just don’t break shit until I figure it out, I guess.”

“Wedding gig is gonna be so awkward.”

“Oh, fuck—” Entirely forgot, about the wedding gig, next weekend. Vinnie and Mira, destination wedding. New York.

Richie pipes in, “Tonight’s gonna be awkward enough, don’t even wanna go the fuck back in.”

Syd nods, letting go of your face. “I think like, half the kitchen wants to walk right now, just to fuck with him. I do, too. Should we just say fuck this and go to Mattina?”

“Don’t think they’re open, only do breakfast and lunch.” Richie knows their hours; it wasn’t always just Mikey and you there. He takes a drag, he blows it away from you, so you don’t get second hand smoke.

“Fuck... Could do Denny’s? Inky, you fuck with Denny’s, still?”

‘Think once you realize, you’ll leave, and it’ll all leave with you.’ That’s what Carmen was scared of, exactly. What he thought would happen, if the other shoe dropped. Is this you leaving? This might be you leaving. This should be more dramatic, if this is you leaving, shouldn’t it? There should be finale music ringing in your ears, somehow. But instead, you’re in a parking lot with a chain smoker and your girl, making shitty diner plans.

You can’t let them leave Carmen. So much work cannot be wasted just for your hurt heart. You shake your head— Then nod, confusing yourself. “I—I do still fuck with Denny’s, but y’all have to go back in, you can’t fuck him over.”

“I very specifically want to fuck him over.” Syd’s quick to reply, Richie nods, agreeing. These two are only bonding over a mutual love of you and a current mutual hate of Carmen.

“You gotta get your star, Squid.”

She swallows, at that. She loves you, she does. But you’re right. You always are. This is her entirely livelihood and career, she can’t just dip out, because of a fight. She’s done it before, during the worst rush of her life, but that was small potatoes compared to this.

“Go hold it down,” You look at both of them, nodding to The Bear. “Don’t let anyone walk, solidarity is cute, but I’ll be okay.”

Regardless of how right you are, both Richie and Syd boo you. “Let him drown!”

It’s hard not to laugh. “Fuckin’ —guys— I’m serious.”

“I’m fuckin’ serious too, Chip!” Richie jabs at your shoulder, lightly, “Thought you said you take me fuckin’ serious?”

“Bitch—” You click your tongue, pointing at him, sighing. You can’t help but smile. They’re both on your team, to the bitter end. “I will see you at the wedding, aright? I’ll text you, both of you.”

“You driving, too?”

You and Syd both back up, for a second, expressions baffled. You’re first to ask Richie, “You’re driving?”

He’s equally confused. “What, you’re fuckin’ flying?”

“Cicero’s paying, why wouldn’t we?”

“Uncle Jimmy is fuckin’ paying?!” Richie gives him an emotionally charged chocolate covered banana and still hasn’t gotten on Uncle’s good side? This is bullshit.

“He’s paying for everyone! Or at least I thought he was—” Syd replies for you. “That was like the whole fuckin’ deal— Did you not get emailed a boarding pass?”

“No! He told me to get gas— You’re fuckin’ flying—?”

You clap your hands together, “Richie, what the fuck is going on in your life that this is not the first thing that you clarified for plans?” You tap Syd on the shoulder, “Marcus said he’s cool with switching seats, by the way, so we can sit together.”

“I have a fuckin kid, aright—”

“Ooohh—” You and Syd mock him in unison. “We get it.” “Whoop-di-doo.” “Did you hear, Squid?” “What’s that, Inky?” “Richie has a kid!” “What? No way. He definitely doesn’t bring it up all the fuckin’ time.”

“Alright, fuck you two.” He waves you both off. “Plane's gonna crash.”

Syd shrugs, “You’re doing a twelve-hour road trip, you’re gonna crash—”

“Fucks Inky mean anyways? Stupid ass nickname—” “Oh, like Chip is so original—” “Actually, a dead guy coined it, so betchu feel real dumb now—” “I’m not capable of feeling dumb—”

You interrupt, “Girls, girls, you’re both beautiful.”

That quells them with snorts of laughter, quickly. They both shove at you. Equilibrium.

You explain to Rich, “I called Syd ‘Squid’ in high-school— Literally just ‘cause it sounds funny, and uh, she felt jealous that she didn’t have one for me—”

“I don’t know if jealous is the word—” “So Inky just became the call n’ response. Cause, cause squid ink?”

“Yeah, I’m not fuckin’ stupid. I can do two plus two, Chip.” Richie tucks his hands in his pockets. It’s starting to get a little chilly. You’re now remembering you left Carmen’s jacket at expo. Goddammit, now you’re remembering Carmen and your heart hurts again. You hug your shoulders.

“What’s Chip, anyways?” Syd asks, you and Richie both cringe, just slightly. Syd mimics it. “Bad?”

You shrug, “Just… It takes a lot, to explain, I guess.” Personal. “We’ll need a trip to Denny’s, for that one.”

“So? Let’s go.”

What did you just say. “Bitch—”

“Heard.” Syd cuts you off, laughing. She gives you a tight hug. “Text me when you get home.”

You hug her back, even tighter, if possible. “I will.”

“I’m glad you’re back.” It’s been three years, since you were really daily friends with Syd. And though you clicked right back into place no problem, in this hug, the feeling really starts to set in of how much you two needed each other this whole time. It’s been so long since you both had a best friend. It was good to be apart, and learn things apart, but now you’re both back. It’s not just Richie that you returned to.

“I’m glad I’m back, too.” You clap her back a few times, before letting go. “Alright, it’s been like ten fucking minutes, go be great. Get a star. Or a chance at a chance for a star.”

“Heard, Chip.” “Heard, Ink.”

One last hug from Richie, before they head back in, and you pop in your car, and drive off. Back home. Music blasts from your radio the entire ride, to keep you from thinking. Screaming along to diss tracks help soothe the soul in any scenario, you think. Won’t let anything hit, this way.

A stray cat, the stray cat, the one you feed on your fire escape, is surprise surprise, on your fire escape, when you get home. She’s (you think she’s a she, you’re not super sure how to check, you’re a former E.M.T, not a Vet tech.) biting the flowers you potted out there. The flowers Carmen stole for you.

After a quick google check to make sure none of them are poisonous to cats, you let her. Let the cat decide how much of him stays. You dish out a pile of kibble for her on the one black plate Carmen gave you. You leave it on the fire escape, long after she finishes. Let the elements decide if it gets ruined.

Let Carmen breaking your text streak, never sending you a belated Connections result tonight, decide if this is the end.

This could be the end.

The same picture frame that fell off your wall, just two weeks ago, when you were making the painting for Carmen, falls again. You grumble, picking up the picture frame, setting it on the coffee table. You’ll nail it up properly in the morning. You roll your eyes at the phantom that you’re never certain actually haunts you.  “Mikey, shut the fuck up, this is your fault, y’know…”

You sigh, staring nowhere. The wind blows against your window.  “I guess it's both our faults.”

You drag your feet, walking to your bedroom.

“I know you said I’d be a perfect match for your little brother, but at this point, I’m taking that as a read.”

It was so fun for me, the way y'all were like, ah, i'm sure this'll be so painful when this is resolved next chapter because Carmen will scream at her about it. hahahahahhaha-- You think the least yet most direct bitch of all time was going to actually confront what he was upset about? NO1!!!!!!! WE'VE ONLY GOT MORE QUESTIONS NOW. WHAT THE FUCK CARMEN!!! What's with that Advanced Payment? And I didn't lie bro, go back and read it, Tony did say Nat's brother covered it. Sneaky sneaky....

Oh, also. Y'all thought I would let the freezer fight slide by? Naahhhh, golden moment of television, just delayed the inevitable muhahahahha and got the FAILED MIKEY?!?!?!?! BROOOOOOOO was it as bad as you thought it would be or no? worse? better? lmk

I loved writing Syd and Richie w/ Tony here. I can't believe any of you thought I wouldn't see Richie and Tony's much needed reconciliation through--- If this was a Richie fanfic, 100% this would've been their smooch moment, fr. Also if you're a taylor swift fan, please don't be mad at me i was doing a funny okokokokokok-- (I also just think it means a lot more, if it's something she doesn't want to do, but will, for him)

i know it's technically still 2022 in their universe but tony was in that fucking car ride home listening to fuckin Ain't Shit, HISS, euphoria, Like That, Not Like Us, Not Nice (YOUR MAMA AINT WORTH THE CRACK YOU SMOKE BITCH!!!!!!!) I know she was so heated in there.

We've got a taglist, I'm bad at keeping track of it, but remember if u wanna be added to this silly little thing you need to hand in an essay (more like a cute lil paragraph) tellin' me what you thought! And also ask. Duh. BUT YA GOTTA DO BOTH!~

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin

I am sorry if your tag doesn't work this is why I hate tag lists tumblr always makes me manually type and sometimes it still don't even work...

As always, i'm always so grateful that you've given me your attention with reading, and if you have thoughts, i'd love to hear em! I always read your comments/reblogs too, even if I don't always reply. Adore y'all.

Next Part

[starberry-cupcake]

I'm back too soon, I'm sorry, I didn't let the last recap marinate enough and that's never a good idea because you can't keep up BUT WE'RE DONE WITH DAY FOUR!!!

previously, in nona del 9:

this happened

this is the general tag, for the uninitiated

CHAPTER 18 (eight house????? mayonnaise uncle???? duracell bunny nephew???? are you with us????)

angel teacher decides to write down an inventory in case they get looted, so that people don't ruin the kids' things

she also orders sriracha girlie to go turn down the generator

it's like when sam jackson was ordered to turn the power back on in jurassic park, idk about that

camilla trips, angel teacher caches her and I'm here thinking if camilla just stole something from her, because she'd never trip in her life

luckily for me, angel teacher asks about nona's drawing

she asks her, specifically, how she drew it and if she had seen what she draw in the picture

nona says she made it up and describes what I think might be an animal

"See these things? They're its ears. This thing is its nose, and you can't see it because I didn't draw it, but the mouth is under here. When first it was born, it used to live in a river, but then it got cold so it had to get large. I know the legs can't rotate, but you don't think that's stupid, do you?"

I thought it was an elephant, because of the ears, nose and lack of mouth in the drawing and legs that can't rotate, but idk about the river and the cold

maybe it's a mammoth

maybe it's a new zealand animal that's going over my head

maybe nona calls flippers legs and it's a whale, for all I know

in any case, DON'T TELL ME

camilla says she hasn't seen it before and angel teacher says it's a "cradle creature"

I was suggested to look up things I don't know in an online dictionary and, if it's not there, assume it's a book thing, but it's not working out with this

camilla (or maybe palmolive) says "I've heard that phrase. Somewhere" and angel teacher says "Have you?"

so maybe it is a book thing

this might be an animal that hasn't been seen by people at this time

like a mammoth for us

or a dodo

or the girl in waterworld who drew land things

and this is a point for the ice cube barbie theory, like the hokey pokey was

so, at this point, palmolive goes "fuck it" and throws caution to the wind

he doesn't say it outright, but I'm assuming it was his thought process

he asks angel teacher if, at some point, she received medical attention from the nine houses and if she's got an implant

this is noodle in that moment:

angel teacher understands, with that, what camolive might be

she goes "my colleague thought you were a prossie" and palmolive goes "What I know about sex work could fit in a teaspoon and leave a lot left over"

the intricacies of pimping and the ins and outs of sex work are very frequent conversations in this school

which is a lot more than I can say for the state of fundamental sex ed in a lot of places with conservative governments that obscure whatever can guarantee safety for all and the accessibility to education with diversity as a key part of it

and ban books, films and conversations about it

ANYWAY

they talk about the nickname the kids gave her and she says it's sriracha girlie's fault because she overheard things she doesn't understand

angel teacher is reticent towards palmolive and tells him that, if he gets close, she'll jump out a window and her body is "designed" to deny him answers

angel teacher thinks camolive is a lyctor, that they did something to her when they fake tripped, and that she might have messed up in some way, which prompted them to come out to her

palmolive swears on the life of camilla that they aren't a lyctor

angel teacher goes "Then that'll make this easier"

and my heart nearly stopped at that

WE KEEP PUTTING CAMILLA IN DANGER

CHISUS CHRIST

angel teacher, I respect you a lot, but if it's between you and camilla

nona is sitting on the ground in the blue light of varun, because she refused to leave camolive alone

and sriracha girlie enters and sees her

next nona knows, she's having the worst headache of her life and everything is a mess around her

when nona comes back from the blue screen in her head, after feeling like her brain was being squeezed out of her skull, she hears a voice cursing and trying to cancel something

angel teacher and the new person are, according to themselves, pretty fucked

new person says "You should have thought of that before you started playing teacher with the frigging Troia experiment"

angel teacher is clearly out of her depth here

I'm wondering where the fuck my wife is and if she's ok

angel teacher says she was trying to protect the kids, which I can appreciate and understand, but right now it's hard to be objective with them

WHEN I DON'T KNOW WHERE CAMILLA IS

MY REACTION REQUIRES A VIDEO, NOT GIF

angel teacher tells the other person "You discharge a firearm with me in the room, you'll get court-martialled and hanged"

which, again, makes me think...is this the most important vet in the planet???? what's this authority level?????

other person says "We play our cards right here, I can get Suffer out clean. Hell—I play this really right, nobody's going to know a thing until it's too late"

which immediately makes me think this is pash

it's insane to be on this side and know how much these people are playing with fire over here

I can't understate what a bad fucking idea this is and the only thing that can save them is that camolive and nona aren't into murdering for sport

but they're even pushing that

unknown person I think might be pash wants to finish off camolive and nona, but angel teacher is like

we suffer really has to deal with people going off like this at the worst possible moments

nona gets up and she's shot at so she gets mad because that's rude af

angel teacher is crying and saying she's sorry

but nona looks for camilla, which THANK YOU

camilla is lying on the ground, holding two bullets in her hands

she gets up and asks for an update

THAT'S FIERCE

SHE'S SO AMAZING

*absolutely insanely dangerous situation* me: where is camilla?????? camilla: *totally alright, holding bullets in her hands or having left lots of people lying on the ground and covered in someone else's blood* me: is this an awkward time to propose?

nona recognizes the other person as pash, with her distinctive machetes, but her way of talking shit and of ruining stuff was already a dead givaway

camilla asks pash why they weren't told angel teacher was one of them and pash is very quick to make clear that camilla isn't part of them

imagine not wanting camilla as part of whatever you're in

can't relate

I can't believe I survived a whole book with her showing up like only two times

IT'S FINE, I'M MOVING ON, I PROMISE

pash gets angry at nona because she made a radio call to coronabeer and nona says it was a pretend call

I KNEW THEY WERE GONNA FALL FOR THAT

I KNEW IT, I SAID IT HERE

angel teacher is like "that's the crown you always talk about?"

how many crowns do you think there are here, angel teacher?

is it a common name?

pash tells her "you just called wipe protocol on the fucking Lyctor project"

none of this is planned at all and we suffer is gonna be killed by high blood pressure with these people

angel teacher tries to stop whatever thing she unleashed and calls herself "the messenger"

not easy to stop people once you tell them to shoot freely

whatever merv wing is, I don't think they're stopping

angel teacher accepts camilla's help and says "I did call for you to be shot, though"

camilla says "No problem. So long as I can let out some deferred aggression"

nona is asked to go to the kitchen but she chooses to stay by camilla instead

when asked what she really wants to do, though, nona says she wants to find sriracha girlie

camilla is hesitant, because sriracha girlie saw something

I'm hearing alarms in my head at this, but nona, of course, is not

we're gonna regret this

pash thinks she can order camilla around and camilla is kind of like "I don't understand you very local jargon, so whatever"

not in those exact words

nona takes some time to think that pash is pretty, that her eyes are lovely and that her electric blue hair is cute

nona is easily distracted with people she thinks are pretty

because then she thinks she wants to marry camilla and adopt a dog with her

which, GET IN LINE, NONA

I WAS HERE TWO BOOKS BEFORE YOU

AND WE'RE ADOPTING KEVIN

palmolive has to agree to that too, though

MOVING ON

nona goes to the generator room to find sriracha girlie, who's curled up and has thrown up

she is saying that she made something up, which nona agrees with, even if she doesn't know what it is

I'm sure she didn't make anything up, this is all insane as it is

sriracha girlie happens to have a gun on her person

I'm worried she might have already used it

and she proves me right when she says she remembers shooting nona in the head

nona tries to lie and gaslight her

nona also feels disappointed that she won't see camilla fight

which, I relate, because we've seen her fight and

nona restrains sriracha girlie so she stays there while the whole fight is happening and, once over, angel teacher comes to retrieve them

nona asks about camilla and pash's status and angel teacher says "cuts and scrapes", which checks out with the absolute goddess, icon and legend that is camilla

sriracha girlie, upon reaching the classroom again, realizes she did shoot nona

camilla and pash have a moment in which they say the same thing and look at each other

YOU ALSO GET IN LINE, PASH

sriracha girlie is retreating, though, and I'm thinking this is it with this friendship

nona is embarrassed about sriracha girlie seeing her dead but there's no time to be embarrassed when you're getting shot

"You're out of the gang" says sriracha girlie, before shooting

so, the party is officially off, my friends

the girl who is in a cumple 24/7 has lost her party guests

JOHN 5:1

this part of the bible is when jesus heals someone who can't walk

which is, again, very telling

we find dr reverend emperor john setting a car on fire

he continues narrating his problems with getting people to listen to his ideas and plans and how he wanted them to do something about it

then, him and his team finally veer towards justice league territory and consider it's on them to save the world

P, who I'm assuming is our friend pyrrha, tells him that, in order to get them to do something, they need to scare them

so, in comes a mystery client

they ask dr reverend emperor john boi to make a puppet out of a person so it looks like he's alive

they offer him a lot of money for it, so they all consider it

meanwhile, the government and other suits continue the FTL project and are determined to ship billionares out into space

this is sci fi, nothing like this would ever happen in real life, right?

RIGHT?????

"a's little brother" (alfred?) says "money is one big shared hallucination" and ain't he right af

they all think there's something sus about the whole operation

mercygirl and augustine are in agreement and a united front, which scares everybody

they were probably already fucking

sorry, very rude of me to say, I should be more respectful

they were probably already pre-planning the lyctor orgies

so dr reverend emperor john butt, mercygirl and augustine go to the client's place and turns out the client is actually a country and the puppet is actually a leader

it remains unknown which and who

the country representatives give tons of reasons why dr reverend emperor john should go full on gepetto on this guy, but we all know he always acts like he's thinking about it but does it anyway

I don't think he thought that hard about it at all

so augustine, mercygirl and johnny boi start negotiating with these people and end up getting a couple billion doll hairs and a bomb

I'm sure that'll go great

CHAPTER 19 (THE TOMB!!!!!!)

nona wakes up, has been sleeping on chairs and has her legs and arms tied to them and a radiator

rip to you all, BOE or whoever the hell you are

nona has a tantrum

her third tantrum, she says

apparently, they're bad enough that camilla and pyrrha let her swim in the ocean to calm down, even if it's dangerous

so, nona screams as a warning to everyone that shit's about to get very real very fast

since I don't know where camilla is, I'm good, let her loose

you do you, nona

live your truth

fuck shit up

she breaks herself to escape the ties, one part at a time

there's a moment where she thinks "The plastic ties were good, like Corona had said"

and I was like "corona???????? what about crown???????"

I think it's the first time I read nona call coronabeer "corona" and not "crown"

it's not like nona is super strong but she's resilient, so she can kick shit down with patience and regeneration

I respect that

she sees people with pash's boots and has a moment of intense anger against pash for everything that went down

I mean, lying to sriracha girlie and making friends with her in the first place was on you, but still I don't know where camilla is, so by all means, nona, fuck shit up

they shoot her, as if that did anything, and she perseveres

she chases those who keep on shooting and they scream, running away, which is both fierce and kind of funny

nona screams and that makes the person running from her put their hands over their helmet

they drop a bag over her head and immobilize her so she starts to power down

"Inside the hood she heard her mouth say, savage and distinct and cool despite the trembles: 'Fool. You're killing her.' But she was only talking to herself, after all."

HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE WE KEEPING IN THIS GIRL?

IS THIS A CLOWN CAR?

I'm still rooting for the ice cube barbie theory somewhere in there

BUT HOW MANY SOULS CAN WE KEEP IN ONE PERSON?

JOHN 3:20

"Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed."

dream pov (who was referred to as harrow but doesn't sound to be her) says she forgets how to breathe sometimes

girl, same

dr reverend emperor john says they had three stages for their plan: 1) keep talking, 2) throw money, 3) reveal nuke

"We were willing to gamble on being tried at the Haugue just to stop the process. Ready to make a hell of a mess to buy time. Prepared to do anything to keep you going"

we keep talking to this pov as if she was some earth princess idk

"C— kept saying. Pick one. Are we more invested in proving this new plan is bullshit or in saving you? I was like, It's both, how can it not be both. C— was like, It can't be both. Pick one and stick to it. Decide what you give a fuck about"

saving earth princess personification who might or might not be ice cube barbie???? idk

"I found that the problem with being the death man is you stop giving much of a fuck"

girl who is referred to as harrow (but might be earth princess ice cube barbie or whatever) gets spooked about having goosebumps and dr reverend emperor john has to explain its mechanics

this is another thing to note

nobody is taking notes anymore because there's a war, so I'm keeping the notes myself

the authorities doing the project that they all think is sus continue to be sus and offer to choose 200 people for the first wave they're sending off to space

the final frontier

everyone apparently falls for their bs

they then claim they're starting to build the ship they need to send the first wave off

god and lyctor gang realize easily that they're full of shit and none of the stuff they seem to be doing correlates with actual things they should be doing if they were doing what they say they're doing

you get me?

so god and lyctor gang go to the authorities like naive kids and the billionares lie about it

who would have thought billionares lie????

according to him, they keep using the cows against him

that's kind of funny

they decide that, if they treat them like they're a cult, they'll be a cult

not like it already wasn't on its way there, honestly

a slippery slope that turned into a toboggan real fast

so, john god asshat decides to drop the science and start the theater

he starts calling himself a necromancer

*dramatic pause*

that's really interesting, actually

because we start this journey just taking necromancy for granted, it's interesting to see it originating as something science-related and then being named that as a sort of theatrical way to call people's attention

it's interesting to see a journey in which this came to exist that isn't just "necromancy exists in this universe", which would have been totally valid too

but here we see that it's actually something else that was named this way to make it seem more attractive to audiences, which is an interesting level of storytelling

very cool

AND THAT'S IT WITH THIS DAY!!!!! this is a long one, I was gonna do two chapters but then the next two were short enough. As a bonus, here's Dana who was looking at birds while I was reading this part in the backyard.

[indiaalphawhiskey]

Hii India, sorry, but I’m kinda stalking you right now 🤭

https://www.tumblr.com/indiaalphawhiskey/682780411223490560/here-again-the-thief-of-anons-harry-stunting-i?source=share

I found this post (it’s a bit old) but what you said really caught my attention.

I left in 2021, right when the worst stunt was just starting, and I came back to twitter and tmblr a few months ago. And what I found when I came back was this sort of radicalization around H’s image, and I wonder if it has to do with how, in the past few years, he’s become more publicly closed off—and that’s kind of allowed this "blank slate persona" to take over, to the point where even some fans now doubt him or see him in a black-and-white way.

I mean, back then Harry was mostly loved by the public and obviously within the fandom too. But now it’s not just the public—even some fans are calling him fake, privileged, etc. And others just have a difficult time connecting with him saying he's not genuine anymore.

And honestly, it’s sad to see. But I don’t blame Harry for choosing to distance himself or compartmentalize parts of his life. Even though he used that phrase mostly to avoid talking about his love life in public, I feel like it’s something he’s actually stuck to.

Like you said, when a big part of your career depends on an image that’s not real—and on top of that, it’s basically covering up one of the most valuable things you have—it makes total sense to create that separation.

I feel like that whole real life vs. fictional life theme showed up a lot in Harry’s House. And I still think we can see Harry in his art and when he’s performing. But it's still kind of sad that most people have this distorted perception of him.

Hi love!

Honestly, personally, I think the polarization towards Harry has been going on for almost as long as 1D, especially within the fandom. I think there's always been a faction of people who have no object permanence when it comes to him -- who "forget" who he is/who he was to them once, to the point that I think it's deliberate. They want to see him as disingenuous, they want to misunderstand him, they want to sever their connection to him, they want to dislike him.

I see it in other fandoms, too -- that people immediately turn on celebrities who "change" (their definition of change is usually pulling back on social media or a perceived tapering of excitement on social media) and become "less relatable" (ie. more successful), and I think this is down to two things:

1) that people always relate things to themselves as individuals (there's a video about this on Tiktok, I wish I could find it) which makes empathy for others less practiced, and

2) that this is the only generation that has watched celebrities "grow up" day-to-day on screen

Basically, fans in general have built an idea of Harry (and other celebrities) in their head. They want everything that's important to them individually (causes, projects, fandoms, industry friendships) to be absolutely aligned and reflected with equal passion in the celebrities they stan, and the only way to quantify that alignment and passion is through social media (because it's our only way to access them). So, when social media fails to reflect alignment/falls short of what fans, individually, expect to see (important, because truthfully, we know nothing of their passion for causes, projects, friendships, etc. off-screen), it augments their perception of the celebrity's person completely. This is exacerbated by Harry's complete pull back from social media. We now have zero access to him when he's not on stage/making music/promoting music, so we're left to our own individual conclusions about who he is and what he cares about to whatever degree when he's not in front of our eyes, and many people choose not to be generous with their perception of him because they require constant and tangible proof that he is who he has always been (which, needless to say, is impossible).

Additionally, we're the first generation that has watched celebrities grow up day-to-day -- and therefore change, naturally and with age and degree of fame/success/money and all the effects of those things -- on screen, and what would have normally been characterized as simply evolving as a human person from teenager to adult is rebranded disingenuous, because people are attached to the versions of celebrities they fell in love with, and find it very hard to forgive them for naturally outgrowing versions of themselves. It reminds me very much of this quote, which I absolutely adore:

“To love someone long-term is to attend a thousand funerals of the people they used to be. The people they’re too exhausted to be any longer. The people they don’t recognise inside themselves anymore. The people they grew out of, the people they never ended up growing into. We so badly want the people we love to get their spark back when it burns out; to become speedily found when they are lost. But it is not our job to hold anyone accountable to the people they used to be. It is our job to travel with them between each version and to honour what emerges along the way. Sometimes it will be an even more luminescent flame. Sometimes it will be a flicker that disappears and temporarily floods the room with a perfect and necessary darkness.” ― Heidi Priebe

The truth is, that's a tough ask for any human to feel towards the people they actually know/are married to/see every damn day, and so it's not at all surprising that most people can't offer that same generosity towards a celebrity who has had to grow up in front of them and who can offer no tangible access to explain why they are now who they are and not who they used to be.