#Another attempt at a haiku

[the-muppet-joker]

I am going mad

I want to deep fry my hand

Kentucky Fried Hate

[mediumgayitalian]

Nico is going to be smote by Hermes.

As he trudges through the muddy lake water, seething, he weighs each elaborated murder he has planned for each member of Cabin Eleven against how harshly Hermes will punish him for it. Connor will be flayed alive. Travis will be cooked over an open flame. Julia will be strapped to a rocket and blasted into the sun. Alice will face death by a thousand paper cuts.

And Cecil.

Fucking Cecil.

Cecil Markowitz will face a death so tortuous and harrowing that the constraints of the crime cannot be adequately covered in any mortal tongue. Crucified is too light a term. Nico is going to kill him in a way that is unspeakable — to hell with Hermes and his wrath. Nico is going to smite his dumbass children himself, and it will be worth it.

His boyfriend waits for him, lips pressed together and eyes trained to the sky, on the dock, holding several towels.

“Say nothing,” Nico hisses, slamming his sword on the wood and dragging himself up after it.

“Wasn’t going to,” Will lies. He immediately begins to cough, face turning slightly red. “Well, if I were to say anything —”

“William,” Nico warns.

“I just mean to say,” he soldiers on, setting all but one of the towels down, “that you look —”

He cuts himself off with a quickly smothered giggle.

“I swear to all that is fucking holy, Son of Phoebus.”

He lets Will maneuver him about, towel turning almost black with all the mud it’s absorbing off Nico’s clothes. He has to move on to another towel once he’s finished just Nico’s arm, dripping the soaked towel with a wet plop.

“It’s not that bad.”

Nico stares at him, deadpan. In fact he has to swipe pond scum out of his eyes and hair to glare properly.

“I am the fucking Creature of the Black Lagoon, Solace.”

Will bites his lip, hard. A burst of laughter escapes anyway, heedless of his desperate attempt to smother it, and the worst part is that it’s gorgeous and it makes his eyes light up and his stupid face looks stupid divine, when he’s giggly about something, and it makes Nico want to crush him a little. In the facial region, with his own face.

Except his own face is covered in stinky lake mud.

And Will is laughing.

Hard.

“I mean,” he manages around giggles, holding up a new towel to dab at Nico’s face, “it brings out your eyes, honestly.”

Nico closes his eyes. He lets that sit for a moment. He exhales for ten solid seconds.

“William Andrew.”

“It does! I mean, it’s really the perfect shade —”

“Romance is actually, genuinely dead.”

“— makes them look very deep, actually —”

“I should’ve listened to Demeter and married a doctor.”

“— and lake mud has so many uses! Most of the microbes on you are excellent for the skin. Who wouldn’t want to be compared to lake mud?”

“Oh wait! That is useless advice.”

“And you didn’t even pick up any leeches! Just all this dark, beautiful lake mud, as brown and beautiful as your eyes —”

“I’m returning you to whatever lab you were created in. Obviously you’re defective and I want a new model.”

“— in fact I’ll write a haiku about it.” He clears his throat. “My boyfriend is so hot —”

“Enough,” Nico interrupts, slapping his semi-clean hand over Will’s motormouth before things get any worse. Unfortunately the mud still caked into the lines of his skin contrasts beautifully with Will’s sparkling eyes, making them even bluer somehow. That’s a felony. “Also, that’s six syllables, dumbass.”

“I’ll revise,” he shoots back, muffled.

“If you promise not to, I’ll move my hand.”

Will presses a kiss to his palm because he’s a sappy loser who knows exactly what he does for Nico’s heart problems, based on the wiggle of his stupid perfect eyebrows.

“Deal.”

Nico removes his hand slowly. He lifts it back up when Will opens his mouth, threatening, but luckily he changes course before Nico has to make good on the threat, leaning down to kiss Nico softly, properly.

“I’m crucifying your best friend,” he mumbles against his lips. “That is step one of a ten step torture process.”

“‘Kay.”

“His siblings, too.”

“Sounds good.”

“Hermes might grind me to dust, after.”

“Trying really, really hard to focus on something right now, babe.”

“Right,” Nico breathes. There is still mud drying onto him and it is the Worst, actually, and he still has several homicides to play out, but.

But.

He can spend a little time kissing his boyfriend first.

(As long as that will keep him from spouting any more damn haikus.)

[jeewrites]

Something Sweet 🍰

my silly little one shot with gratuitous haikus for @jolapeno's dearuary challenge

Rating: General, but my blog is 21+ MDNI Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader Prompt: Character A keeps finding X and tracks them back to B, who might be leaving them intentionally — or not.

Word Count: 2.2k CW/Tags: Mostly Marcus POV, very silly haikus, reader's grandmother's name is Mrs. Lee, ugh Theresa, Marcus is heartbroken, descriptions of food

Summary: Marcus Pike moves into the apartment across from your grandmother.

Why did no one warn him about how freaking humid it was in D.C. in the summertime? If he took two seconds to think about it, of course it would be, considering how often his new home was referred to as a swamp. 

But no, all he thought about was Theresa’s plane arriving without her, leaving him standing at baggage claim bereft with balloons, a bouquet, and a welcome sign. The pit of his stomach twisted as the last passengers from her flight walked past him standing there, alone. There would be no fresh start with Theresa, no slow mornings in a charming row home just a few metro stops from work. No, there was just an invisible hand squeezing his heart so hard he could hardly make it home — well, back to the empty row house. It was supposed to be their home, but he would never call it home. Somehow the flowers and welcome sign were still crushed in his hands as he walked up the front steps. Where the balloons went, he didn't even know.

Marcus didn’t even bother to unpack after Theresa notified him that she would be staying in Texas with Jane. He negotiated out of his lease for a generous fee in a numb haze and moved into a small apartment for one. At least this apartment was in a bustling neighborhood, surrounded by delectable eats and a coffee shop with the best-baked goods he’s had in recent memory. At least he had carbs.

He threw himself into his new role at the FBI, burying his heartbreak with work, work travel, and more work. The only neighbor he’d managed to meet was his sweet across-the-hall neighbor, Mrs. Lee, a spry septuagenarian with a sense of humor who reminded him fondly of his own grandmother.

“You’ve been working yourself too hard,” she’d tsk when he came home after pulling an all-nighter, just as she was going out for her morning walk. “Have you eaten yet?”

So it didn’t surprise him the first time a non-descript brown bag of baked goods appeared on his doorstep — a generous slice of pie, still warm from the oven. Stuck on top of the package was a colorful post-it note with loopy cursive:

Funny and a poet, he thought as he tossed his takeout on the kitchen counter and dug into the cobbler. Dessert before dinner, just because he could. His groan reverberated through his empty apartment at the first bite of pie, the buttery flakiness of the crust with the perfect chew unveiled the complementary summer sweet peach and slightly floral, tangy blueberries. Just like his grandmother used to make, he thought. 

A few weeks passed before another brown bag appeared at his doorstep.

Followed by a batch of cinnamon rolls at the end of a particularly grueling week at the office. As much as Marcus was working, even this week had him considering that perhaps he was working a little bit too hard. At least the haiku in the bag made him guffaw.

Despite his attempts at burying his heartbreak in work, he was trying to settle into his new neighborhood and find some semblance of routine, even if it reminded him of how alone he was at every turn. A particularly tasty Thai restaurant down the street earned his business at least once, okay, twice a week, usually as take-out when he wanted to get extra steps in that day. He’d only eaten at the restaurant once, but was reminded too much of Theresa with all the couples on dates surrounding him at every table. 

And he had found what he considered his coffee shop, just around the corner from his apartment. They brewed coffee properly and had an outstanding selection of breakfast sandwiches and bakery items. They never charged him extra no matter how many pumps of hazelnut syrup he asked for. It helped that the employees there were warm and friendly, like folks back home, compared to how… brisk people could be in the nation’s capital. In DC it seemed like everyone just wanted to know what he did for work and measured his worth by his GS level and security clearance. Plus, the barista knew his coffee order by heart now and would start making it as soon as he walked in the door. Yeah, the coffee shop definitely turned into a daily habit.

If he was honest with himself, it didn’t hurt that the barista was super cute, with a smile that lit up the whole shop when she chose to bequeath it to a lucky customer. The first time she handed him his coffee and smiled that beaming smile of hers, he felt something in his battered heart, a flicker of warmth in his chest that spread to the tips of his fingers and toes. He thought he managed to smile back and mumble a thank you as heat crept up his collar. He still didn’t know her name, and couldn’t summon the courage to ask. He knew if he asked, he’d fall, and he only ever knew how to fall hard. His heart couldn’t handle it, he couldn’t risk it right now. Or maybe ever. He knew he was being dramatic, but it’d been months and he was just starting to feel like his heart had stopped bleeding enough to possibly heal. 

Of course, he threw out his back the next day chasing a suspect on a stakeout gone wrong. 

After four days lying on his couch staring at the empty walls, Marcus seriously considered finally hanging some photos or art or maybe the flat screen TV still in its box. A shuffling noise outside his front door had him groaning to stand as he hobbled over to see what the commotion was about, only to find a brown bag hung on his front door handle. Not a soul in sight as his eyes swept the hallway in both directions. As he gingerly made his way to the kitchen counter, his mouth watered at the smell of browned butter wafting up from the bag.       

Laughing made his back twinge, but he had to give it to Mrs. Lee, her sense of humor was spot on. When his back recovered enough for him to go into the office, Marcus nearly missed a bag of cookies hung on the handle as he rushed out.

Sure enough, the assortment of cookies in the bag featured both decadently chewy chocolate chip cookies, as well as, shatteringly crisp cookies he found delectable paired with his coffee. He immediately regretted bringing the cookies to the office as his co-workers descended on them like scavengers, leaving nary a crumb behind. Still, the thought occurred to him as he trudged home to his apartment that evening, it was probably for the best that he didn’t eat a dozen cookies all by himself.

Marcus was so deep in thought over the merits of chewy versus crispy cookies, that he didn’t realize Mrs. Lee was standing at her door waving at him.

“Long day, hon?” 

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, wondering how to bring up the sweet treats without seeming ungrateful. “Yes ma’am, it’s been a day.”

“Well, I hope you get yourself something tasty to eat for dinner young man.”

“Thank you Mrs. Lee, I will. Uh — I really appreciate all the baked goods by the way, but you don’t have to keep doing that.” Lies, he’d take any sweets that crossed his path.

She tilted her head to the side, “Oh sweetheart, I’m not the one leaving treats at your door.”

“Wait, what?” He mirrored her head movement in confusion.

“Honey, I can’t bake boxed brownies to save my life.”

“But do you know who is?” he felt the furrow in his brow deepen as his mind whirred. Who could possibly be the culprit? His enormous assumption that Mrs. Lee was the bearer of baked goods meant he’d been eating food left by god knows who for all these months. 

Mrs. Lee just gave him a smile and shrug before throwing a little wink over her shoulders as she went into her unit, leaving Marcus standing outside his door in stunned surprise. After a moment standing in the hallway alone, Marcus turned to enter his unit in confusion, running through all the possibilities of who could be the culprit. After all, he was still relatively new in town. Who would do such a kind thing? 

However, weeks passed and since his conversation with Mrs. Lee, the treats stopped appearing at his door, making him wonder if he spooked her into stopping. Or did she tip off who was leaving the treats?

Another grueling week under his belt was made more difficult by having to collaborate with the New York office. He almost had to make the trip up to the Big Apple, but mercifully the agents up there managed the case without him. For once he was relieved at getting to stay in town, a proper weekend to perhaps unpack a few more boxes at his place. 

And he had managed a short conversation with the barista that morning, basking in the sunshine of her smile. To his surprise, a familiar brown bag sat at his doorway when he got off the elevator.

Perhaps he hadn’t scared off Mrs. Lee after all, he thought as he dug into the fluffiest cheesecake he’d ever had in his life. 

It’d been a day. He couldn’t keep pulling these 14-hour days. It’s unsustainable, he thought as the elevator dinged on his floor. He rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he trudged out of the elevator. At least he had dinner on the way from his favorite Thai spot a few blocks down. It’s only then he spotted the back of a figure at his doorstep with a brown bag in hand — the same brown bag all those sweet treats arrived in — stealing his treats.

Before he knew it, all of his FBI training on approaching a suspect flew out the window as he stormed toward them shouting, “HEY! YOU THERE!”  Never get between a Pike and their dessert.

The loud voice of an angry man caught you off guard as you spun around, clutching the bag of muffins in your hand. Marcus. 

He paused in immediate recognition and stopped a few steps away from you. In a softer voice, he asked, “It’s… you?”

You dropped your gaze and bit your lower lip nervously, clutching the bag to your chest as your heart pounding from being shouted at. You managed to whisper, “You caught me,” before raising your eyes to meet his warm, brown ones. 

The same brown eyes that drew you in the first time you ever laid eyes on him months ago. You had just left your grandmother’s apartment, noticing the unit across the hall from her had a new tenant moving in. A handsome man with the most expressive brown eyes was hefting a moving box in his arms towards the propped-open door. You knew grief when you saw it. His shoulders slumped with his eyes cast down, not even open to a friendly hello in the hallway. Your heart went out to this grieving man with the saddest eyes you’d ever seen. So you decided then and there to leave him some of your coveted treats the next time you baked for your grandmother. It was convenient enough since you worked at the coffee shop just down the street.

“How do you know where I live?” he asked, bringing your attention back to the present.

“I saw you move in,” you mumbled eyes darting away from his intense stare. “When I was leaving my grandmother’s. She’s — she’s your neighbor.” You gestured towards her door.

“...but why?”

“You looked like you needed something sweet,” you explain. “A pick me up.”

“When I moved in…" He huffed at that and ran a hand over his face. "Yeah, I really needed a pick me up then.”

Somehow you’ve moved closer together during the brief exchange. You’re getting the full effect of those expressive eyes that drew you in in the first place, now without the barrier of an espresso machine and counter.

Before he could elaborate, a food delivery driver walked up and interrupted your conversation with a grunt, “Uh, I have a delivery for, uh, Marcus Pike? You Marcus Pike?”

“Would you like to join me for dinner?” he asked after taking the bag from the driver with a sheepish expression. “I always order too much food.”

“Depends,” you smirked as the smell of curry wafted from the bag. “If that’s from the Thai spot down the street.”

“It is,” he confirmed, returning your smirk with a dimpled grin.

“Then, yes. And I brought dessert.”

[not-glorfindel-stop-asking]

🎻✨ Greetings, mortals and lesser poets. ✨🎻

I am Lindir of Rivendell—minstrel, lyricist, victim of secondhand embarrassment at every council meeting. I have witnessed the rise and fall of kingdoms, and yet, nothing compares to the tragedy of modern songwriting.🙄😔

And so, on this cursed day—Valentine’s Day—I sit alone in the House of Elrond, unappreciated. Meanwhile, Glorfindel—who does not even play an instrument—has received six love letters, a lute solo dedicated to him, and a poorly written sonnet that compared him to "a really fast horse."🫠🙄🙄🙄

I have received none. Not even a poorly written haiku. Not even a "roses are red" attempt. Nothing.

Apologies. This is my first post on this… thing. ✨

I have heard whispers of it among the younger elves—this Tumblr, this strange and chaotic scroll of fleeting thoughts, half-formed poetry, and unsolicited opinions. At first, I dismissed it as yet another mortal folly, much like their insistence on rhyming "love" with "dove" in every ballad.

And yet, curiosity is a perilous thing. And so, here I am. A minstrel of Rivendell, reduced to sharing my musings on a platform where I am told “tags” are sacred, and the laws of discourse are dictated by those who use… emojis.

Let this be the beginning of my chronicles. Should you wish to witness an elf suffer (gracefully, of course), I suppose you may follow me. But beware—should I catch even one of you rhyming “fire” with “desire”, I will judge you accordingly.

[merbear25]

Really like the visored being called captain imagines! I am addicted to Bleach and Izuru Kira is my absolute favorite. He's pretty tricky to keep in character for romancy stuff, so it could be a challenge, but there is a severe lack of Izuru content and I'm starving lol. So, I'm thinking about a couple of things. 1) Some headcanons on places/ activities Izuru might choose for dates (can be world of the living or SS and can be either before or after TYBW) OR 2) shinigami!reader gets invited to a drinking party with Kira, Hisagi, and Matsumoto. What happens? I prefer f!reader because I'm female, but I'm ok if you want to write them gn, too. I enjoy both SFW and NSFW content, so what ever combination of that you choose would be lovely! I don't expect you to do both things if you accept this request, unless of course, you want to! I appreciate the consideration. I love lots of other characters, too, so if you really aren't into either of these, I'll just look forward to whatever Bleach content you come up with next!

Awww I love Kira. I see him as having a bit of a romantic side to him, but one that cultivates love and isn't flashy by any means. I hope I did your request justice! 💜💜

CW: SFW, gn!reader, headcanons, fluff

A date to remember (Kira)

He went through the options, going back and forth between them in an attempt to choose the perfect one. However, settling on just one proved to be an unexpected challenge. What he chose would ultimately depend on which one he believed you would enjoy the most. The options wracking his brain were:

Murder mystery: It could appeal to his creative side but would require him to step out of his comfort zone a little. He wasn’t the most social person, so getting into the swing of things was a tall order. That being said, having clues, character details, and most of all a captivating story to carry the heavy lifting, he was able to ease himself into the setting. You being his date meant that you were given characters that were a couple in the game. This made the experience feel a little more like a date, since you were able to spend more time with one another and hopefully work together to solve whatever plague had been unleashed or who knows; maybe one of you was working for the enemy.

Poetry reading by candle light: He had a hint of a romantic in him, and being a poet made those budding feelings of love flow eloquently. There was a preference for this to take place at his home because it provided him the chance to create a romantic atmosphere: setting candles around the room, choosing a good selection of poetry for the occasion, and setting your favorite drink out for you. It wasn’t anything crazy, but he put thought into the layout to ensure you’d be comfortable in his home. While you delved into the writing, you took turns reading out your favorite excerpts. Listening to the amour hanging from each other’s lips gave you both a flutter in the pits of your stomachs. The early stages of love were exciting, so he wanted to take a small risk. Unfolding a paper from his pocket, he began reading the haiku he’d prepared. The delivery alone was captivating, and the content had you wondering if perhaps he wrote it with someone in mind. He didn’t come right out and say it, instead it was all in the look he gave you.

A late night stroll: In summer the weather was perfect for taking a walk late at night. With the moon and stars hanging high in the dark sky and the hustle and bustle of both people and animals quieting down to rest, the rustling of the leaves and tall grass were your only companions. Conversations were light and easy, although natural beauty gave a lot to comment on if topics ran dry. The dirt path you were walking on was less traveled, leading you to a field of wildflowers. The opening to pinks, reds, purples, and oranges illuminating under the moon’s rays took your breath away. Then you noticed the flickering greenish yellow in the distance. Fluttering delicately around you, the fireflies added to the already stunning scenery. Catching a few in the palms of your hands, you stood closely to each other to watch their soft glow together. The crickets sounded off around as you stared down at the little lanterns in your hands before eventually releasing them.

Ending the date felt a tad awkward. Not knowing if you preferred a hug or kiss by the end of it, he was too caught up in doing or saying the wrong thing to make a move, which meant you had to decide. Kissing him would go over more smoothly if done on the cheek. That wasn’t to say he’d reject a kiss on the lips, but one on the cheek held a certain charm that would melt his heart. Needless to say, he wanted to see you again and was already brainstorming what the date would entail.

[verseandrhyme]

" heyyy, mitama! you're not busy right now, are you? "

fogado finds mitama during lunch period with a big smile right on his face. he figures he ought to make this quick---everyone's got stuff they've gotta eat and all!

" y'know the big ball that's comin' up? the one that's super awesome and has great food and good tunes and all of that awesomeness? " hands folded behind his back, fogado rocks playfully on the balls of his fee. " we~~ll... i was wonderin' if you wanted to go with me! i think the first time we met was when it was almost over. i never got to show off my awesome dance moves! "

wow. it's almost been a year since they've met?! how about that! from behind his back fogado pulls a card, clearly handmade. there are two stick figures drawn on the outside, smiling and jumping around in front of what looks to be a ballroom floor---probably the man himself with mitama, were one to guess. inside, it reads:

i think this is right

is this how a haiku looks?

oh there's no more space

LET'S GO TO THE BALL TOGETHER!

"Even if I was, it would be no great struggle to abandon my tasks for preferable company." Mitama smiles as she turns to greet Fogado. With arms folded neatly behind his back, it is clear that there is either a plan or mischief guiding his steps - perhaps even both! Yet Mitama feels no worry as she puts her place down at her seat in the dining hall. The mischief he has turned on her has never been unpleasant, and she sees no reason to suspect him of it now, especially when the subject of his plan quickly becomes obvious.

"I am familiar with the ball, yes." She laughs softly at the thought. She has attended it a few times in the past herself, but returning in the middle of it last year had been a funny little surprise for her. It had ended up being a whirlwind that she had lacked the time to settle into fully, but she had enjoyed seeing so many familiar faces once more.

As well as some new ones that she had quickly become fond of.

"We did, yes. A meeting of the stars, and a dance prevented by the fact that, if I remember correctly, you were deep in the throes of a food related battle at the time." She giggles softly at the memory. It really had been surprising to find another with the same celestial eyes as her family. Even more so to find that his had more warmth in them than hers had ever carried.

The grand reveal ends up being rather humble (her shoulders drop in relief; she would have hated being the center of some public spectacle) as he presents her with a simple card. She lacks the poise to stop herself from laughing at the sight of the happy caricatures dancing on the front. Practice allows her to scan the card quickly - metered correctly, if lacking in substance. Better than some of the other first attempts she has been subjected to.

Her smile softens as her laughter grows quieter. The stars meet once more in the little bubble of space they have created for themselves. Holding the card to her chest, Mitama nods. "Request accepted / dancing stars will hopefully / not be falling ones. I would be delighted to accompany you to the ball, Fogado."

[rlyc00l]

Zer0 and Rhys both try to play nice, for their own ends, to varying degrees of success. Gaige is mostly just trying to do her job.

Also under the cut:

The Archives were empty when Rhys woke. It was still dim, all the windows shuttered against the sun, but his ECHOeye put the time near 11 AM–he’d slept in. Must have been the last few days of travel and fighting catching up with him. Back on Helios, he’d rarely slept past seven. The mattress was hard and the covers threadbare, but he was sore all over and reluctant to step out into the cold room. Of course, if Jack knew he was dawdling in bed this long, he’d probably strangle him. He sat up with a groan. This would all be worth it when he had his turbomansion,

Beside the bed, he found the clothing he’d put in the wash the night before, dry and folded neatly. A sealed bag of Atlas instant rations sat on top, along with a neatly printed note: “Hurry and get up. I will be at the gun shop. 

While I wait for you.

-0” 

Zer0’s sense of entitlement would put Rhys’s higher-ups back on Helios to shame. He started to put the vest on, only to realize how strange this was. Why hadn’t they woken him? In his short time knowing Zer0, they’d shown little evidence that they could be considerate. Finishing his laundry? Folding it? Remembering the boat ride, he suspiciously sniffed at the vest, then his jacket. Emptying a stun baton on them seemed more worthy of revenge than Axton’s mild teasing. Both items of clothing smelled only of “Aquator Fresh” laundry detergent, an odor that did nothing worse than bring out just how bad the rest of him was starting to stink. Okay, today’s #1 goal: Fix that. Make some money, somehow. Keep an eye out for showers. 

The bag of rations appeared fine, too. Untampered with, and according to the label, it didn’t even expire for another month (though the Atlas branding pointed to it being at least 5 years old). 

“Hey, AI girl? You around?” he ventured. Silence. Of course, the AI wasn’t constantly listening in, waiting to be called on. That was probably for the best. 

“My name’s Angel, for the record,” her voice answered, just as Rhys was beginning to feel foolish. 

“Oh, okay. Hi, Angel.” 

“Hey. Did you want something?” 

“Yeah, Zer0 didn’t do anything weird, did they?” 

“They talk in haiku and sleep in their helmet, you’re gonna need to be more specific.” “They’re not trying to poison me, are they?” He held up the bag of rations, in case she was watching. He hoped she wasn’t.  

“I don’t think you have to worry about that.” There was something like amusement in her voice. “They’ve been waiting for you, at Marcus’s. I think they’re trying to be nice. It may be a peace offering?”

“Uh huh…” More likely, they were trying to hurry him. Better than a second kidnapping attempt, but not enough to change his mind about helping them. He wondered how long they’d wait if he made a point of avoiding this “Marcus’s”. He tore open the meal packaging. “So, you witnessed them do this?” 

“There’s security cameras all over town, I can interface with whatever I need to and pull up the archived footage.” 

“Huh. So you’ve hacked into everything?” He remembered seeing her face when he’d collapsed, before. That was before Jack had contacted him, but if she had hacked him, she could do it again.

“Not everything. Otherwise, I wouldn’t need Vault hunters to stop Jack.”

“How are you talking to me?” He tried to act casual, finding an empty desk to set out the components of the Atlas rations on. A fork, a packet of powdery “eggs”, another packet with crumbled hard bits of “bacon”, and a stale oatmeal bar on the side. Gross, but he was hungry. He looked around for a sink.

“It’s…Complicated. I’m not equipped to explain, I’m powered by Eridium, made with ancient Eridian technology. The Eridians blurred the line between the machine and organic, you know?” It was the kind of answer someone who was hiding something would give. 

“Fair enough,” Rhys said. Did Jack know about her? Who even made her? Why? He found a sink and filled the ration packets up to the marked lines. With water mixed in, the substance inside vaguely resembled food. “Hey, is there a place around here where I can get a shower?”  

“I’m not exactly here to be your concierge, you know. But there are public showers next door. Anything else?” 

“No. Thanks for the help.” 

———

The chill air bit at him worse as he ventured back out with wet hair, but it was nice to be semi-clean (he’d had to make do without soap or shampoo). While he’d showered he’d drafted his message to Jack, “The Vault hunters have an E-tech-powered AI helping them. It claims to have access to most technology on the planet. I think it’s spying on Hyperion operations, but it doesn’t seem to suspect me.” Rereading it a few times, and agonizing over whether to include his suspicion that she had hacked him (he decided against it, it was too risky) he sent it now. 

Jack’s reply was immediate. “Oh, yeah, I know all about Angel. Don’t worry about her. She’s being handled.”

Well, that dampened his spirits. He’d really thought he’d uncovered a major Raider secret.

“Anyway, I got a job for you,” Jack’s voice played in his head as he left the Archives. “One of the Vault hunters just picked up a mission from Sanctuary’s Bounty Board, gonna need you to go with them.” 

“Ok. What kind of mission?” “These Raider doofuses finally realized I had a couple of spy-slash-assassins pretending to be local bandits and keeping tabs on Sanctuary. They put a bounty on their heads.” “So you want me to save them, then?” 

Jack laughed. “After they screwed up badly enough to get themselves noticed? Hell, the Raiders are saving me bullets. All you gotta do is check their bodies for any intel they didn’t send.” This was a message, Rhys realized. Jack was making a point: if Rhys failed or got caught, he was on his own. It was unnecessary, he had no intention of failing, but still, he could appreciate Jack’s tactics, here. He’d yet to prove himself, after all.

“Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it,” he replied, deciding to feel honored that Jack cared enough to warn him personally.

There was a bounty board not far from the Archives, in town square. A digital bulletin board for hitmen, mercenaries, and their employers. There was one back on Helios, rumored to be used by the handful of freelance agents on Jack’s payroll. Anyone could post a hit job against fellow employees on it–the trouble was not getting caught in the act. He’d never seen anyone touch it, nor had it ever been lit up with new jobs like this one. There was a single listing, posted by Commander Roland himself: “Assassination job: Southpaw Steam and Power. Four targets.” Someone had already signed up for it–the bounty board protected the names of mercenaries, but it had to be Zer0. This would be the job Angel told them about last night. Defeated, Rhys added his own name. He’d have to find that gun shop after all. 

He must have done a pretty good job of looking like an actual, legitimate Vault hunter, or at least someone who belonged in Sanctuary. No one bothered him as he wandered the city’s streets, pretending he wasn’t lost. Or maybe he simply didn’t look worth stealing from, Pandorans wouldn’t recognize designer skag leather shoes even if they weren’t caked with dried mud. A few people eyed him as he passed before returning to their business, uninterested.

Finally, he found the shop: Marcus’s Munitions. He recognized the name, Marcus Kinkaid was a licensed vendor of Hyperion guns, he even had a place on Helios. 

Gunshots rang out as he approached the store. The sound barely phased him now. Some planets had the cries of wildlife, Pandora had ever-present distant gunshots and sometimes not-so-distant gunshots. These, at least, didn’t sound like a fight, too rhythmic. The sounds stopped just before he went inside. 

The front area was empty of people, no one even manned the cash register. Off to the side was an open room labeled “Shooting Range”. A voice came from beyond the entry: “See, if you really want to break a shield, one of these Maliwans I got in will do the trick.” 

Inside, he found Marcus himself, Zer0, and a live Hyperion soldier who’d been tied to a target. He cursed and threatened as he struggled against his binds. “It's only a matter of time until Jack burns this city to the ground, you resistance scum!” 

The threat didn’t phase Zer0, who raised the Maliwan pistol and fired twice. The soldier’s shield audibly shorted out. Rhys must have made a sound then, because Zer0 turned to him, projecting an exclamation point. “Finally!” They thrust the gun towards Marcus, the man barely managing to catch it as they dropped it.

Rhys turned on his heel and left. This was a step more messed up than he was prepared to deal with. Zer0 followed. 

“Wait, if that doesn’t impress you, I also have grenade mods!” Marcus called after them. 

Rhys was near Town Square again by the time he stopped, his heart pounding.  

“This is the wrong way. / The catch-a-ride is that way,” Zer0 said from behind him. “Let us get going.”

He turned, sputtering “Wh-what-what was that?” They projected a question mark, glancing back to where he pointed. It didn’t make sense that a faceless killer could look perfectly innocent, and yet Zer0 put off an air of someone who never did anything wrong in their life. 

“The guy strapped to a target?” he specified. “That you were shooting at?” They shrugged. “Marketing gimmick? / Aren’t you glad I warned you, / Against that logo?” A horizontal smiley face appeared over their visor. 

“I-I guess? But that–I mean–he–you–are you a goddamn sadist?”

“So it bothers you?” The emoticon faded. “...I can go finish the job. / Would that comfort you?” 

It was hard to tell what to make of their offer. Zer0’s voice was always almost monotone, tinged with an ever-present intensity. They sounded neither sympathetic nor sarcastic.  

“No? I-I–Look, I don’t care about that guy, it’s just…” In all likelihood, the soldier had been incompetent. He got himself captured, which was all it took to end up as target practice. Not so different than things on Helios, and Rhys wasn’t incompetent. Still, the thought of ending up there churned his stomach.  

“It seems…Unsportsmanlike?” he managed. 

“A fair assessment. / The guns weren’t even good. / A poor use of time.”   

 “Exactly.” He gave a shaky laugh. Worse than Helios, maybe. At least a guy like Vasquez knew when he was being sinister. “So, uh, you wanted a car? Let’s go.” 

The nearest Catch-a-Ride was right outside Sanctuary’s outermost wall. It was a rundown station, half-protected by a crooked shelter of concrete and metal sheets.

Rhys stopped in front of the console. “If I do this for you, we go there together and split the money. Got that?” 

“Eighty-twenty,” Zer0 said.  

“Seriously? Half and half.”  “That seems unbalanced. / You won’t do half of the work. / Why half the reward?”

“You wouldn’t be getting there without me,” he insisted. “I was trying to be generous.”

“Seventy-Thirty.” Even without an emoticon, Rhys suspected they were smirking at him. If that’s how their face worked. If they had a face under there. “I came to Pandora without even a change of clothes, then I got robbed. I can’t go lower than forty percent.” 

“Hey!” came Gaige’s voice from behind them. “Angel told me I’d find you here. You guys going on that assassination mission?” 

“No,” Rhys said, at the same time Zer0 said, “Would you like to come? / Sixty-five-twenty-fifteen. / I get sixty-five.” They projected a smiley. 

“Did you-did you seriously just split that so it fit in a haiku?” Rhys scoffed. 

“Twenty percent?” Gaige crossed her arms. “If you include Deathtrap–which you should–I count for two perfectly good Vault hunters. We should get more than you.”

This was obviously going nowhere. He was approaching this as if either of them respected him, which they didn’t. On Helios, he’d leverage his reputation, his skills, and his connections. Here, he ranked slightly above Claptrap (at least, he hoped he ranked above Claptrap). Negotiating from this kind of position required a certain willingness to demean oneself. He took a deep breath. 

“Okay, considering our current sleeping arrangements, you know, the fact we’ve gotta share a space, I think it would behoove us all if I could afford a Quick-Change subscription or at least a change of clothes? A toothbrush and some toothpaste, even? Soap? I know this planet smells like death by default, but I don’t have to contribute to that.” 

Gaige wrinkled her nose. “Ew. Okay. But next time, when you’re not disgusting, you owe Deathtrap.” 

He looked to Zer0, whose helmet helpfully declared, in glowing red letters, that they’d grown “B0RED” of negotiating. They picked at a loose thread on their glove. “Yeah, fine,” they said, as if they’d never cared in the first place. “Great,” Rhys said, activating the ECHOeye. 

No sooner had he bypassed security than Zer0 pushed in front of him and began scrolling through car color options. 

“Okay? You’re welcome?” He watched as they picked bright blue flames. Pretty tacky, in his opinion, but he kept his mouth shut. Zer0 bounced on the balls of their feet while waiting for the outrunner to digistruct, springing into the driver’s seat when it was done.

“You’ve done well,” they said, starting the car. 

 “Oh, um, thanks.” Zer0 didn’t seem the type to notice other’s abilities, much less to give compliments. Strangely, Rhys almost felt proud. “Give me a sec to digistruct another car and–” 

The car flew past him and disappeared around the bend. 

“Right. I don’t know what I expected…” Sighing, he stepped back in front of the console and began selecting a second vehicle. 

“So that’s really an ECHOeye?” Gaige asked, unphased by Zer0’s sudden exit. Out of the corner of his ECHOeye, he saw her craning for a better look. 

“Yep.” He tried to ignore her hovering.  

“Cool. You think I could get a closer look at it sometime?” He hesitated. “There’s not much of it to see when it’s installed.” “You can’t just, you know, pop it out?” 

“Not safely. But hey, in the not-completely impossible case that a bandit yanks it out, be my guest?” He decided to be nice to her. If he ranked as low as he suspected, the best thing to do was make himself intensely likable. It couldn’t be that hard to earn a teenager’s goodwill, could it? Probably easier than it was with his Hyperion superiors. Both he and Gaige even possessed robot arms, maybe they had some cyborg common ground or something.

“Fine…Can I drive?” 

If her driving was anywhere near as chaotic as her fighting, they’d end up flipping over a cliff. “Are you old enough to drive?” he asked, selecting a black runner. 

“Psh, yeah.”

He considered for a moment, thinking back on his own teenage years. Letting her drive would earn some points. He steeled himself. “Promise not to crash?” 

———

Rhys managed not to throw up until they reached their destination. He had little chance to take in their surroundings before scrambling out of the runner and puking onto the frozen ground. Even partially digested, the freeze-dried breakfast skillet looked concerningly unchanged from when he’d eaten it. 

“Geez, dude, you alright?” Gaige was oblivious to her culpability, here. 

A thorough critique of her driving–the excessive speed, the sudden breaking, the too-sharp turns, the overcorrections–came to him. But instead, he nodded. “Sh-shouldn’t have eaten that MRE, y’know? You could stand to-to drive a teensy bit slower, though.” 

Resorting to the same methods he’d use to soften his criticism of superiors on Helios for a teenager felt pretty pathetic. 

“Yeah, but Zer0 would kill everyone before we even got here.” 

Zer0’s outrunner was parked crookedly by the open gate. Southpaw Steam and Power was, as evidenced by its name, an old steam-electric power plant. It lacked any obvious corporate ties (though it had to be Dahl at some point, right? Had that slipshod Dahl construction to it.) Even without the more recent bandit additions, the place was a fortress–or it would have been if the gate wasn’t wide open. The place was strangely quiet, for a supposed bandit outpost. No gunfire, no yelling, the only sounds were of the machinery inside the building.

“Guess they already went in,” Rhys observed as they passed the gate. He’d expected bodies here, but it seemed the bandits hadn’t even posted a guard for Zer0 to kill.

Gaige frowned. “Maya said we should try to keep one of these guys alive for questioning. You know, since we figure Roland either got attacked by Bloodshots or Hyperion, and these are Hyperions disguised as Bloodshots? I probably should have said that before Zer0 left, in retrospect.”

Rhys thought about the man strapped to a target. Death at Zer0’s hands would be a mercy for these guys, compared to what “questioning” would entail.

“Ugh. You don’t think they would have done the whole entire mission already?” she asked as they got to the entrance.

Rhys would like nothing better, provided he still got paid his share. “Maybe they’re just ninja-ing around? Or they’re dead.” The thought bothered him more than it should have. Zer0’s whole “mysterious for the sake of being mysterious” performance was working, he kind of wanted to know what their deal was. That, and they’d proven good at killing stuff that would otherwise kill him. It was probably better to have them around. 

“If they’re dead, I call the acid gun,” said Gaige. 

Upon entering the building, the two were greeted by a crudely painted bleeding eye on the opposite wall. The pigment resembled fresh blood. Similar graffiti followed as they ventured further into the dim facility. 

The first room they came to had once been an employee locker room before bandits moved in. The lockers lining one wall had been ransacked, and anything the bandits deemed unworthy of taking lay strewn across the ground. A box of pizza sat on the nearby table–it looked like it had been abandoned in the last few hours. 

Less recent was the man’s corpse on the far side of the room. Rhys had initially taken him for one of Zer0’s kills, but the faint smell of decay and blackened blood said otherwise. And he wasn’t dressed like any bandit Rhys had ever seen without a mask or a single scrap of armor. More likely, he was some unlucky passerby. He felt a pang of sympathy, quickly overshadowed by disgust. 

“Is that just normal here? Eating next to a rotting corpse?”

“I’unno. At least it’s really cold in here,” Gaige said. Her eyes found the Hyperion-issue wanted posters plastering the wall above. “Oh, hey, look!” She sped over, pulling one off the wall. “Wow, is that how you did your hair?” She held up the poster, it featured a picture from Rhys’s latest company ID. By now it was over a year old, before his haircut. He’d kept it long enough for loose ringlets to form and parted it to the side. It wasn’t unprofessional, per se, but it hadn’t won him a lot of points in the landscape of slicked-back pure-business hairstyles. 

“Yeah, it was.” 

“You look like one of those broody vampires from those ECHOnet shows.” She laughed. “I don-don’t–I’m smiling in it?”   “Yeah, still. Better than the whole corporate bloodsucker look you had a few days ago. You should really drop the hair gel.” 

“It was styling paste, actually.” An overpriced little tin, endorsed by Jack himself. He doubted it was even sold on Pandora. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked at the other posters plastered on the wall. Rhys’s own listed him as a “Traitor to Hyperion”, with a bounty of six billion dollars. It seemed excessive, but it was the second lowest, right above Axtons. Should he be grateful for that? At least it provided some legitimacy, but what did Jack expect him to do if someone came to collect?

“There is no one here.” Zer0’s sudden entrance made both of them jump. They stood in the open doorway leading to the plant proper, projecting a frowny face. “Their departure is recent. / Their motives, unclear.”  

Rhys almost let himself feel relief at the prospect of avoiding a gunfight. But he needed that reward money. More than that, he needed to prove himself to Jack. “Did they at least leave anything useful behind?” 

“You could tell us that. / Your eye might be of some use, / In hunting things down.” 

Rhys was starting to get the sense that Zer0 saw him as an ECHOeye with a hunk of meat attached to it. Still, if that was what made him valuable, here… “Look, it’s algorithm-based, not a magical clue-identifying device? So, I can’t guarantee it’ll find anything. But, if I do, and that leads us to them? I get a bigger cut.” 

Zer0 projected a “9_9”, tilting their head up.

“What-what’s that one mean?” “I’m rolling my eyes,” they said, like it was obvious. “But yes, if you prove your worth, / You will earn the pay.” 

Rhys activated his ECHOeye, starting further into the plant. The eye immediately picked up another corpse, some crumpled-up catalogs, and an icy spot where a pipe leaked onto the concrete floor. “Sooo…” Gaige began as they walked. “Did Hyperion rip your eye out when they hired you, or how did that work, exactly? Do you go to them and offer up limbs?” 

“What? Why would they–or I–do that?” 

“I dunno, I heard Hyperion takes its employees' body parts and replaces them with robotics to make them more efficient workers. So eventually, over time, you become more robot than human?” “Is this a common belief?”  “I’ve heard it too.” Zer0 shot a smiley face over their shoulder. 

“Yeah, it’s all over the ECHOnet,” Gaige insisted. “Right. Okay. No, Hyperion didn’t take my arm. O-or my eye, geez… What would they even have to gain from that? Sure, the ECHOeye is pretty useful, but…”  

“I’unno, so they technically own more of you? Or so they can turn you into robotic super-soldiers? Maybe construct some freaky flesh abomination with the parts they take?” 

He laughed, trying not to think of the first part too hard. Hyperion had rights to the lives of all its employees, the cybernetics just made that a little more literal. “I wouldn’t put flesh abominations past R&D. Still, who voluntarily has an arm chopped off?” 

“Okay, wow, rude.” She sounded genuinely offended. 

He stared at her. For a moment he’d almost let himself forget what planet he was on, who he was with. She’d almost convinced him that he was the oddity here. “I-I-I mean, fair enough, I let them drill into my skull and stick a bunch of stuff in my head? And I admit, if I had both arms at the time, maybe I’d consider letting them chop one off. S-so, pretty good choice, on your part, there.” His ECHOeye saved him then, highlighting a boot sticking out from behind a generator. Intuitively, he knew it was another corpse, which tainted the stab of relief he felt. “Oh, hey! There’s something!” 

The dead man wore armor, old and dented and painted in unmistakable Hyperion yellow. A deep red gash crossed his neck, drenching his front with the more appropriate Bloodshot color. Scanning him gave only the name “Wot” and “Hyperion assassin. In deep cover, any action that may jeopardize this agent’s mission will be met with consequences”. “Hyperion’s database says this is one of our guys. Guess someone beat us to him.”

Wot’s still held an ECHOcomm in an outstretched hand. Rhys dare not try anything sneaky this time. He picked it up and played it for the other two to hear. 

“Jack,” a low voice spoke, modulated much like Zer0’s. “I, Wot, killed the Siren known as Lilith. You’ll find her head attached to this message. My colleagues, Reeth, Oney, and Rouf, tragically fell in the battle to take her down. After Roland got–” The man paused suddenly. “Oh, hey Reeth! I’ll be right behind you guys. I’m finishing up a report.” 

“Oh, is that what it is?” Another man’s voice. 

“Yeah, man. I figured I should update Jack, right? In case things go south. You better get back into character, you’re looking a little too–” His words turned into a choked gurgle. “Thought you would double-cross me? Asshole.” The ECHO ended.

“...What was that?” Gaige asked after a moment. 

Rhys realized she was looking at him. “It…It’s pretty typical Hyperion…Cutthroat…Stuff. Seems like this guy planned to take all the credit and–” 

“No, I got that part, I meant Lilith.” “Oh, yeah. I don’t know, I mean, Jack killed her like, what, four or five years ago? It was a whole thing.”. “So Handsome Jack claimed.” Zer0 kneeled by the corpse. “Good for morale, if she’s dead. / Bad, if she comes back.” 

“Well, yeah. I-I mean, I worked in Security Propaganda. Which–It’s the Security division and the Propaganda division, combined, after budget cuts–but, I mean…” He hesitated. Even after putting out so much stuff that bent the truth about Pandora, he couldn’t believe Jack would lie about something as big as this, just for morale. Unless morale was that important? It had been early into Jack’s conquest of Pandora, and if Lilith truly hadn’t died, Hyperion had gained little from Old Haven. The other major targets notoriously escaped, but Lilith’s death was a symbol to rally behind. Yeah, okay, it was justifiable. A respectable command decision. What the rest of Hyperion didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Shit, was he supposed to know about this? What would Jack do if he reported this to him? “Yeah, I guess you’re right. And that’s one part of our job done, we found out why they’re here, apparently? Or, part of why they’re here. The intel might net us partial pay. We can take credit for killing this guy, too.” 

Zer0 projected a “:\”. “I wished to kill him,” they said, drawing their sword. It took Rhys a second too long to realize what they were doing. Before he could say anything, the dead man’s head was on the floor. Zer0 picked it up by the hair and thrust it out toward him.

“Um…” Rhys took a step backward, his hands up in refusal. “The job description didn’t say to bring their heads, do we need heads?” 

Zer0 shrugged. “Some like the trophy.” They didn’t lower the head.  “Right… You have a storage deck, you can take it.” 

Zer0 projected another “9_9”. 

They encountered two more corpses as they traversed the power plant. The first was barely notable aside from being a corpse lying around where people lived. A Bloodshot, slumped against a wall who might have been sleeping if it weren’t for the bullet holes. 

The second was hanging from a grate in the center of a wide corridor. He, too, was clad in yellow.  A dead bird had been crudely painted on the floor in front of him, along with the words “THE FIRHAUK IS SO DED” in the same blood red as the rest of the graffiti. 

“Another of yours?” Zer0 asked Rhys. “Hyperions lack loyalty, / Or so it appears.”

“Did they all dress in yellow? I thought they were supposed to be blending in?” asked Gaige. “Okay, first of all, they’re not ‘mine’, I’m not Hyperion, and–” “Yes, disloyalty.” Zer0 projected a winky face.

Rhys scoffed. “And second, that’s the wrong yellow.” He tried to scan the corpse, but the ECHOeye targeted the clothing instead, telling him that the fabric was fireproof, and indeed, not a Hyperion-approved shade of yellow.  The other two looked at him. 

“We-they have a specific set of approved shades of yellow,” he explained. “Gold, saffron, lemon, and citrine. Sometimes a little bit of amber, depending? What he’s wearing is more…Mustard and safety yellow.” 

“O…Kay…Does that matter?” 

“Probably?” He’d never known anyone to get marked up for a dress code violation. For all he knew, it was an offense you didn’t come back from. “Anyway, he’s not in the database, so he’s probably not one of them.” 

Zer0 had already gone up to the corpse, turning it on the rope for a better look. “Stiff. Not dead too long.” They pulled the shirt up. “Bloodshot tattoos, burned off. Scarred. /  A defector, then?”

“Right, so what do we do with that?” Rhys asked. 

Zer0 gave a shrug. “This is a message. / Pointing others to his clan. / They must be warring.” They sounded confident enough, but that was their default tone of voice. They could easily be making it up on the spot. How much did Zer0 know about Pandoran bandit warfare? 

“So…Firhauk, huh? Fur-ha-uk…Hauwk?” Rhys tried the word as he scanned the graffiti. It meant nothing to him, and nothing came up in the database. Maybe Jack would recognize it, but asking might just annoy him. 

“I think they meant ‘hawk’,” Gaige pointed out. “See, the drawing kind of has that hooked beak? So, a hawk in a fir tree? Or a furry hawk?” “Would a hawk be a bandit mascot…Or whatever?” Did it even matter what it was? It wasn’t as if there was a searchable database with the address of every illiterate bandit clan on this planet. 

“Dunno… Oh, right!” Gaige clapped a hand to her head. “Hey, Angel! You know all sorts of stuff. Help us out here?” She raised her voice as she asked their invisible watcher. 

This time, the AI didn’t answer. 

“That’s some dependable technology, huh?” Rhys grumbled. At this rate, all he had for Jack was the possibility that Lilith was alive, and his assassins intended to kill her. Facts that Jack probably already knew. And he wasn’t doing much better in terms of getting that bounty. “I… I think I’m gonna dig through the lockers we passed in the front. Bandits might have overlooked some hand soap or something…” 

“If you needed clothes,” Zer0 said, nodding toward the hanging corpse. 

“I’m not that desperate.” One piece of clothing stripped from a corpse was plenty. “I…I mean, we’re still splitting the reward for that head, right?” 

Zer0 seemed to consider for a moment, and once again, before Rhys said another word, the hanging bandit had fallen to the floor with a thump, sans head. That, they picked up, using the bottom of his mask like a bag, and presented it to him. 

“Another spy’s head. / No one will suspect different. / And I’m not a snitch.” 

Rhys hesitated and took it in his cybernetic hand. At least rot hadn’t set in yet. And he did need the money. “Thanks?” “Payment for your eye. / I will get more use from you. / Or so I expect.” 

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Sentences For WIPs, Round Two

Thanks for the tag to play again @523rdrebel 🩷 - helps me remember to do a round two of all the WIPs I have that didn't fit in the first one! [Once again I'll be tweaking how I play to add a sentence for each vote for every WIP that gets voted for since I have so. Many. WIPs.]

Rules: Make a 24-hour poll including every WIP you want to work on, and have people vote for one of those WIPs. Then once voting has concluded, you write one sentence for every vote of the WIP that received the most amount of votes.

What else is Frost cooking? Have another taste below!

Laundry on the Line: As the six newest refugees to Pabu, Clone Force 99 moves in next door to a friendly and not to mention remarkably helpful Pabu native, the respective homes and yard space separated by a single, low fence. Everything from morning chores to supplying the extra egg they needed to make dinner, their neighbor offers a helping hand again and again. While a certain ARC trooper is plenty capable of contributing to keeping-house and other related tasks, Echo can't deny that for some things (like hanging up clean laundry on the line) you may not be able to avoid needing an extra set of hands.

Where The Wildest Stars Grow: Angst with a happy ending; mostly told from Wrecker's POV. A joint mission between a recently-Knighted Jedi's unit and Clone Force 99 experiences an attack from Separatist forces stronger than expected that forces the Jedi to call for a retreat if she has any hope of saving her soldiers. In the process of buying her men time, the new general is critically injured; Wrecker is the only soldier available to come to the rescue. He takes up a new, unfamiliar weapon in a desperate bid to keep her safe until help arrives. And somehow: it works.

This is Blue Vulture Tower, Over: Modern AU "loosely" inspired by the adventure game Firewatch. [May well be a crossover by time it's finished!] Crosshair picks up a summer job as a fire lookout for Coruscant Forest National Park, finding himself struggling to adjust to civilian life after serving for several years in the military. He is given command of Blue Vulture Tower, and has to report to the man known to the other rangers and lookouts by "Gray Fox", manning a tower of the same name. It's not long before Cross learns the Gray Fox is a veteran like himself, and he goes by Mayday. The two vets become verbal pen-pals through cassette tapes when they aren't using the radio, because there are just some matters that are best discussed without having someone accidentally listening-in. Together, they work through some of their experiences in the service while Cross navigates the new nature of his relationship to his brothers and recently adopted(?) sister.

Maker As My Witness: A fresh marriage facing trouble due to an unusual source, Boba, recently-(self)made Daimyo, finds himself making strange and out-of-character promises in his many attempts to assure you of just how much he loves you. Even if it means that it comes to letting you go. You keep dreaming of finding yourself leaving Boba for the stoic, hired gun that was here recently; and it's causing you just as much distress. (It's not like Mando did anything in particular to create this new and rather sudden way you've been feeling about him, lately. Nor did you. All Mando did was help him with a job for one of the native Tusken tribes; this is simply curiosity that has spiraled way out of control.) Together the two of you promise the other a great deal of patience in the time it takes to weather out this passing storm.

Names Are For Tombstones: In the light of a soured job, you and Din have to stick together longer than planned. Much, much longer. Only, you don't actually know the name of the man making up the other half of your prolonged partnership. And he's sure as hell not telling you anytime soon, either. That "beautiful beskar bastard" is playing coy and taking his sweet, sweet time...

Brothers & Batchmates Pt. 3: Third installment in the B&B arc of my OC storyline; Canvas and the group of batchmates (+ friends) he's been adopted into are getting one step closer to a rocky reunion with the troubled "middle child" of the batch, Scuffle. He's mouthy, rude, and is no stranger to picking fights among those he should be calling "brother". After being reassigned to two different units, the last being the 104th Battalion, Scuffle has been returned to his original deployment in hopes that if he is going to look after himself, then maybe the brothers that knew him best will do it for him. Something that Canvas can strongly relate to.

Flowers For A Brute: [Unofficial title.] Savage and his brothers, down on their luck, finally seem to be treated with the galaxy's favor once again when a humble botanist offers them a more proper place to stay when she finds the three of them hiding out in her greenhouse in the middle of the winter. She never turns the Zabrak brothers in, seeing as unlike all the silk-soft flower petals and delicate-looking plants she surrounds herself with, there's a bit of a thorny history to her, too. One she'd rather keep buried with bag upon bag of potting soil. Safe to begin planning their next moves, Savage takes to sneaking off in hopes of growing his own green thumb with a little of the botanist's guidance.

Of Honeysuckle and Haiku, Part 2: [Unofficial title.] Follow-up to Of Honeysuckle and Haiku. Generously taking you to Naboo, like you've always dreamed of, Tech finds (and creates) a bit of pressure to keep planning more and more elaborate dates now that the loth-cat is out of the bag and the two of you don't have to behave quite so professionally like before. Thankfully his brothers are there not only to cheer him on from the sidelines, but to set Tech on straight; only when he really needs it. And over-thinking the very first date certainly counts as needing it.

Wounded Wings: Crashlanding a borrowed shuttle on a remote, neutral world, the Bad Batch are thrown into a rather sticky situation when they're left without transport and a quick way home to the Republic. Luck is on their side however: they can still contact the GAR, and the local people have welcomed CF99 into their village, sharing shelter and food with the soldiers until they can either find or create a way home for themselves. In one of the many efforts to help them, a mildly Force-sensitive woman by the name of Weshla—but better known by "Wing"—agrees to serve as their guide through the dense forests not long after she befriends the squad. Hidden roots will not be the only thing Tech finds himself tripping over the longer he has a chance to get to know the woman who seems to be the unofficial guardian to a living force of nature much, much larger than herself.

[rosy-fox-art]

Ouroboros AU [CCC]: The Masterpost

Well. Since the Cjverse Chatroom is breaching containment I guess it’s finally time to talk about this au!! Because I’ve been forgetting to and it’s part of that chat. But let me at least give the basic premise and stuff first. This is going to be a Really Long Post. CW for body horror?

“In which Heart gets a little too comfortable in the pit to the point that roots start growing into him, and it al goes downhill from there . The psyche is alive, everyone’s missed their cues, and mind can feel his sanity slipping by the minute. Leave it to soul to…. “Fix” it?”

The psyche in this au is only what I can describe as ‘ alive ‘

Everything is mildly based around organs here. The psyche is all in the vessel’s brain, after all. Your body communicates this from the outside to your brain through its nervous system, and just so the vessel attempts to communicate things like pain, illness, etc. silently through the environment of the psyche —- typically using weather or the natural elements — though the thirds aren’t quite aware of that.. it is a large, seemingly endless field dotted with ferns and flowers and other things depending upon the vessel’s wellness and the thirds themselves. So, you can imagine the loop gets off to a real bad start in terms of the psyche with a Haiku split where the vessel is left bleeding…. Which is exactly what happens.

Soul— Whose name is silence in the Cjverse chat and I’ll be calling him that from here on— does not get the chance to choose to forget the last loop. Dazed and having to take care of the vessel, his attention is taken off of Heart and Mind as he grapples with the existential crisis that is remembering the last loop while Heart and Mind don’t. In fact, Heart and mind begin arguing really early over the state of the psyche. Instead of realizing that their psyche being in a state of discord and soul being largely absent is because of the vessel, they begin to blame one another. This results in the shot, which gets souls attention. Soul banishes heart to the pit, a hole deep hole that has formed in the psyche, manifested from Heart’s hatred towards Mind and want for a grave for the other half. This part goes as typically, Mimd scolding heart while he’s in the pit and trying to rouse heart into improvement through but well meant harsh words, heart wallowing and just wanting out, etc…. What’s not typical is mind giving up on reasoning with heart, leaving heart to scream and yell and plead for Mind and Soul to let him out for months and months on end… only for him to inevitably give up.

Heart—whose name in chat is Rain— begins to function as more of an organ than a construct. He is loving— beating— but not doing anything. Not speaking or moving. Existing quietly, just enough to get them by. Just like mimd wanted. As a consequence, roots begin to grow into heart as he slowly starts to sort of become part of the psyche more than himself. As the roots grow into him, he loses the ability to move speak etc all together rather than simply choosing not to, becoming essentially brain dead. Mind — whose name is Aperture— finally notices the silence and slowly becomes worried. As per usual, he did not know what he actually wanted, and begins to plead with heart to get out of the pit. But he is too little too late and gets no response. This slowly begins to drive mind up a wall as he tries and fails to find solutions as guilt creeps up on him.

Silence returns to paying attention to stuff in the psyche, noticing that things aren’t going as normal. He tries to free Rain from the pit and the roots, but finds that when he goes to cut the roots, Rain screams and the vessel begins ailing in Reality again. This stops him from making much progress and distresses Mind, who now spends all his time near Rain. Mind and soul argue, as Soul firmly believes he has to cut the roots out and Mind is against Soul hurting them more, insisting it is doing nothing for them. At some point it ends with a physical altercation in which Aperture gets lightly stabbed. Silence then leaves Aperture and says he will find some other way to fix this.

Aperture is left alone with his thoughts and to tend to Rain. This slowly proves detrimental, as he is still feeling guilt and struggling on solutions. What kind of Mind is he If he can to find a logical way to fix this? What if there is not a way to fix it? Inevitably, Mind begins to give up as well. His thoughts become too much and manifest in his nerves coming out from his ears as his thoughts become too much for him, leaving him in a similarly vegetive state to Rain.

Now the only one left functioning, Silence wanders endlessly until he inevitably finds a part of the psyche he was never meant to have access to — Whole’s room— and while there, acquires the ability to reset the loop. And so he does!! Rain and Aperture are brought back! But soul is paranoid and can’t forget again. He won’t let himself. This way he can ensure what happened last loop doesn’t repeat itself. In the canon of the AU, this results in soul restarting the loop over and over again every time something goes wrong. He essentially becomes paranoid and loses it a little. Through looping so many times, Rain and Aperture begin to become incapable of forgetting and plead for Silence to stop, as he is now doing it too much.. Eventually Silence has to learn to trust Rain and Aperture and also himself again, alongside realizing that neglecting the vessel is what’s been causing the psyche issues. This results in them being able to form whole and not forget. So it has a happy end.

Usually I only focus on the first loop though, and in Cjverse canon the first loop happens but uh..we’ll.. the constant resetting not so much as a bunch of wild shit happened to give Silence a bit of a redemption arc from his absentee parenting in loop 1. And topography is a ‘ bad end ‘ of Ouro’s first loop where Silence never finds whole’s room, and Rain and Aperture only exist as parts of the psyche, forcing Soul to forever trick in search of an impossible solution through controlling the environment.

HOIGH. That was a lot!! If y’all have any questions I would be happy to answer 👁️👁️, esp in regards to the chat… Now!!

DOODLE DUMP!!

Can you tell I have a favorite child ?

[thatonegayspacerock]

The Tale of Light and Dark

A planetary story inspired by Chonny’s Charming Chaos Compendium

Yap pass given by: Star :D

The tale of Light and Dark (tentative title) is a Romeo and Juliet-esque story following the Prince and princess of the kingdom of darkness (KOD) and the kingdom of light (KOL) respectively.

Long story short, the Prince and Princess meet while doing their daily tasks within their respective kingdoms and they have a little meet-cute moment (Greener). While they’re aware that both their kingdoms are on the brink of war with one another and each had been fed propaganda against the other side (Never Meant to Know), they still can’t help but spend time together and fall in love with each other (Spring and a Storm). The king of the KOL discovers their rendezvous and tells the princess to break it off, forbidding them from ever seeing each other again. The princess does do this and instead of trying to plead his case or do anything rational about it, the prince just starts letting the anger about their situation fester; part of him blaming the princess for not standing up to her parents, the other part blaming the parents and the fact that they’ve been stuck in this generation-long stalemate (Haiku and Hidden in the Sand).

The princess begrudgingly falls in line, knowing that her kingdom looks to her as almost like a goddess, thus she mustn’t dirty herself by letting it be known she’s fallen for a man from the darkness (The Whole World & You). Whereas the princess has just let his hatred and disgust fester to the point where he calls for a rebellion from the people and an attempt to let the two kingdoms live in a grey (multiple songs, crucially Mucka Blucka).

Eventually the two meet again and while they princess tries to remain the prim and proper heir to the throne, giving the prince the cold shoulder and saying “we shouldn’t do this, our kingdoms are watching us”, they still at least have one final meeting where they talk about all that happened with them. How princess’ priorities focused to pleasing her people whereas prince’s priorities never left seeing her and being with her again (Light and Night).

It is open ended whether everything works out in the end, but hey…CCCC is a time loop album~

Here’s also some exclusive concept art I made for a high school project surrounding the story (this is like, 3 or so many years old so I’m sorry for the quality) :3c

[instruth]

Another Galaxian Intervention in the Far East

Prelude to Episode 4, Season 5

— by Johnny J P Lee

⸻—————————————————————

The Story

Evil on Earth knows no end. This time—The Opium War.

The King summoned Mr. Trusting.

“My Trustworthy One, go to Galaxian Chinatown in the Far East. Trouble brews on Earth—its own Chinatown in peril. Seek The Assassin, Jia Li. She once vowed to kill Master Sun with her deathly bow and arrows. Yet now, she is destined to protect a new Ward—Elizabeth. But to do so, she must travel back in Time… and incarnate with her.”

Historical Fragment (1862–1883)

The Anglo-Satsuma War—sparked by the Namamugi Incident.

Four British men—Charles Wilkinson (uncle to Elizabeth), Stephen Grossman, Jeff Cunningham, and Lewis Lowe—arrived in Namamugi on 14 September 1862. A chance encounter with a powerful daimyo’s procession led to tragedy.

By Japanese custom, one must dismount and kneel as the daimyo passes. The British refused—Jeff insisted. Lewis fled early. Charles, unseated in the chaos, was left behind and slain by a high-ranking samurai. Grossman and Cunningham, injured by arrows and spears, escaped.

Britain demanded justice—apologies, trial, execution, and reparations. The Satsuma daimyo refused, invoking his right under Japanese law to punish dishonor.

In retaliation, on 15 August 1863, seven British warships bombarded Satsuma. Three steamships sank, part of the daimyo’s castle burned. Yet, Samurai warriors repelled boarding attempts—killing more British than they lost. To the daimyo, it was a victory.

Diplomatic silence followed. No further action taken.

Or so it seemed.

Back in England, Elizabeth Wilkinson, now 21, confronted the survivors:

“You betrayed him. You left Uncle Charles to die. I want justice.”

no retribution

the truth is not what it seems

I’ll investigate

—To be continued…

© Johnny J P Lee

22 May 2025

Haibun: Story + Haiku 5–7–5

Images of Jia Li, courtesy of Christina Chin

[pudgy-planets]

“…Hey, look. Kyoshika, I’m… sorry.”

Darumi reaches out and attempts to gently clasp her hand onto Kyoshika’s shoulder… Only for the swordswoman to recoil violently away from her touch, shuddering in an anxious fit and muttering various haikus to herself.

The somber girl quietly lifted herself from the bed and stepped outside, leaving Kyoshika to her devices… As stupid as Darumi considers herself, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to say that they both needed space. A lot of it.

Her dormitory door shut with an audible creak, automatically locking behind her as all the doors did nowadays to prevent another incident like before. She slumped down to her knees lifelessly, curling her legs to her chest and propping up her somber face upon her stocking-clad knees.

“…Why?”

Misery. Pain. Suffering. Degradation. Darumi found her jollies through these mediums of sadness. She derived a sense of esoteric pleasure and peace of mind that she was still unfortunately alive, yet with the sweet release of death came no further pain.

It was twisted. It was corrupt. It was sinful and she loved it. She never had a true connection with anyone in her games, they were characters and tools to facilitate a complex and fucked up story from the inner machinations of those debauched authors. They weren’t real… that’s how she justified it.

But this was real. As real as it could possibly be.

So then… why?

“S-so why does it… why does it hurt so much when I do it to other people? This doesn’t make any damn sense.., Why, why, whywhywhywhywhywhywhy .. Sob… Uuuh…”

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

These are the BSD ocs I drew a while back in these posts here, here, and here. I'm finally going to introduce them - they are both named for famous haiku poets (two of the 4 Ts!).

Takajo Mitsuhashi

Ability: Fern Hell/Shida Jigoku - A passive ability with an active component. Passively, she has a connection to what may or may not be a kind of life force - she can sense the presence of every individual, making her near impossible to sneak up on. Throttling the connection between person and life force either denotes a strange effect on their ability, or can shut down their life functions and kill them.

Age: 17

Birth Date: January 24th

Height: 162 cm

Weight: 116 lb

Blood Type: AB

Likes: Abstract art, meditation, cicadas

Dislikes: Restrictions, too much noise

Additional notes: Unused to feeling strong emotions, but is far from expressionless in intonation - she tends to be polite yet laid back and mildly cocky, especially when poking holes at authority/She was formerly an assassin/She also has the capacity to barely feel any pain and keep moving, even from deep injuries. This is not an ability. It's implied she trained to be able to do this./Becomes fascinated by Yosano and regularly observes her and her choices/Cannot understand why Takako doesn't think she's cool and then feels frustrated that this upsets her.

Takako Hashimoto

Ability: The Red Thread/Beniito - Allows the creation of a thin red thread, which, when connected with an object or person, acts as a rope to allow her to pull objects closer or drag them. Connections to people sometimes involve her gaining flashes of their emotional state and core desires.

Age: 16

Birth Date: January 15th

Height: 166 cm

Weight: 130 lb

Blood Type: B

Likes: Snow, yubari melon, dancing

Dislikes: Loneliness, feeling left behind

Additional notes: Born to comfortable wealth but has since given that up for unknown reasons/Sociable and empathetic but rarely talks about herself/Has an unfortunate tendency to throw herself into danger without thinking it through, much to Takajo's frustration/Tends to fangirl over people she thinks are cool, like Agent Hisajo/Thinks Takajo is one of the coolest people she's met but pretends she doesn't think so out of embarrassment of admitting that. This leads to childish spats.

They are part of a story involving Takajo attempting to find a powerful ability user-made artifact. Takako is the only one who can locate it, and therefore, they strike a deal to work together. They conflict with an offshoot of the Special Division, which essentially blackmails the girls into helping them find it and store it securely - but both girls are in agreement that the artifact needs to be destroyed (the one thing they do reliably agree on).

Though at first they are only working together out of a shared goal, they eventually come to care about one another deeply.

...ok. Running off now byeee

[lexascend]

Blog Post 8: Sonnet and Haiku

I think that the Sonnet has been my favorite form of poetry to write this far. It may be a bit telling of my child-like nature but I love lyric poems with rhyme schemes. They remind me of music and for me, the flow is easy to catch. With that being said, there were still a few challenges I faced when writing my own. Especially this one being that each line had to be exactly ten syllables.

One challenge I faced was deciding what to write the poem about. This has been a challenge for me for every single poem we’ve had to write this semester. Usually, I will sit and write down a few lines about various topics until I find one that I believe I can move forward with. This time I moved a little differently, mainly because my first method just wasn’t working for me. I went outside and sat in my backyard and thought about things that have had a significant impact on the trajectory of my life. Those are usually the things I have the most to say about. I figured the more that I have to say, the more material I have to work with and shape into a poem. I decided to focus on my journey in deconstructing from religion.

My next challenge was my attempt to tell a story that wasn’t all over the place, since I did have so much to say. I’m not sure that I was successful in doing this but I do think I flowed from one point to another as I moved from stanza to stanza.

Of course, my next challenge was the rhyme scheme. Although it was challenging, it was really fun for me. I enjoyed having to play around with words and rearrange words within lines to fit the form of the poem.

As for the haiku, I think I could have done much better. I’m not sure why but there was a sort of blockage in condensing the sonnet and in making it relative to a season. I don’t think that I really connected with it like I should have but reading my classmates haikus gave me great examples of the potential these forms of poetry have and encouraged me to want to practice more.

[thejesterjournal]

Post VIII: Sonnet and Haiku

After writing a Sonnet a second time, I can happily say that I don't enjoy writing them. They're definitely something I can explore if I want a challenge, but I wouldn't willingly write another Sonnet (unless I'm experimenting). However, I tried to let myself have fun with this one. The first time I wrote a Sonnet was just last semester, in my Intro to Creative Writing class. I went with just putting 10 syllables per line and tried my best to simply get through each line. It as, admittedly, not my best work.

For this Sonnet, I tried to challenge myself and write in Iambic Pentameter. I'm not sure if I accomplished this or not. I admit that I forgot the deadline, so I wrote both the sonnet and the Haiku in one night. My desktop had so many syllable tabs open, and I still wasn't convinced I was stressing them correctly. Either way, I made an attempt and I can always revisit it later (if I don't rip my hair out first).

Despite the rushed process, I liked how this poem turned out. I had a completely different theme in mind, but the words starting flowing and who was I to stop them? My subconscious mind wanted me to let something out, and I'm glad it took over. Sometimes poetry chooses to become personal, and that's okay. Feelings are weird. They get jumbled and stuck in our heart and mind, getting stuffed down further and jammed together the more we ignore their presence. When they see an opportunity to be let out, they will take it. Fortunately for me, these feelings had a goal in mind and articulated it very well.

Which brings me to my Haiku. I've said before and I'll say it again: I love Haikus. They're fun to write and experiment with. How much can you say in just three lines? Reveal the bare bones of your subject and see how relatable it is still. That's how I see Haikus and that's what I want to express when I write them. When I finished my Haiku, I wasn't satisfied with it. I thought it didn't quite capture what I wanted to say in my Sonnet, but I had no time to start over and just kept it.

However, I've changed my mind. Now that I've read it with a clear head, I understand it better. I understand myself better. The love portrayed in my Sonnet isn't great. You're not supposed to want that kind of love. It's all-consuming and suffocating. Is it an experience? Yes, but not one everyone should have. With Birdwatching, I wanted to portray a sort of outsider view of the lovers. A blue bird is peacefully living their life, a hawk is living theirs just fine, but swoops anyway. Was the hawk being greedy for eating this innocent bird or was it just trying to survive in a world they deem cruel?

Obviously, real hawks don't care about these kinds of things, but it's interesting to think about. What makes a hawk eat other birds? Are they malnourished or just bullies? Did they get sick of rodents? Are the other birds just that easy to consume? We don't know and we don't really care, but a part of us is just curious enough to wonder.

[tanyakennedy1899]

Garage Heathen "About Dystopian Debugger." Sept 10th, 2024

tl;dr Dystopian Debugger is, for now, cancelled, because it was too difficult to make technically and gameplaywise. However, the demo for Last look along Woodward Boulevard will soon be accessible.

Dystopian Debugger after yesterday's teaser there has been some confusion in regards to a game that I have been working on before, called Dystopian Debugger.

The game was well into its development, I have arranged a Steam Page and a Public Playtest. The main systems were functional, there was a story in place as well as the main 3d assets. A lot of work and love has been poured in this project.

In Winter 2023, I've made the decision to halt the development. There were several reasons behind it.

First of all, this was a very challenging project in two major aspects - tech and gameplay. To me, making a functioning programming language and a "compiler", even with help of libraries like ANTLR was difficult task which took a lot of time and resources. I did manage to create it, but it took a lot more time than, for example, the systems in Who's Lila.

Secondly, the gameplay. The main challenge and goal of Dystopian Debugger was to turn programming into a game - not just ant programming, but debugging other people's code. Additionally, there was supposed to be several different programming languages, based on concepts like Japanese Haiku, music, probability theory, etc. What I have been too late to realise, is that these more creative languages would completely outshine the tedious c-like language.

This is where the main inner conflict took shape. I've spent an enormous amount of time making this c-like language (and had a lot of fun in the process). When you spend so much resources on a game aspect, it naturally evolves to be the central part of the experience. The most interesting, more creative languages would then become secondary. But they still needed to be implemented.

Finally, from the feedback, I've noticed that people were (naturally) much more interested in "side-content" - the story and secondary languages. Many have described the main language as "work before going to the interesting part", [of] the story.

At the time, this felt wrong. In my projects, I attempt to make the majority of [the] game engaging to play, only adding intentionally tedious bits where I feel the experience demands it. Here, half of the game felt tedious - to me as well. At the time, I was lost in this project. I wasn't sure where this should go.

There was still an enormous amount of work to be done and, before locking in, I wanted to be sure this was not going to be a boring game. It's bad enough to take a long, long time creating a game, but it'd be a catastrophe to end up with something subpar afterwards. So, I took a month-long break. Then, upon return, I've realized that I couldn't handle this project right now.

Meanwhile, all this time, the idea for another game, which is now called Last look along Woodward Boulevard has been forming. I knew it would be easier to make. Like DD, it's larger in scope than what I've been making before, but here the scope is at least visible, if that makes sense. Therefore, since February, I am focusing on this project, as it is not as technically challenging and I can be sure to give you something playable sometime this Winter.

Does this mean the end for Dystopian Debugger? No, absolutely not. I'm sure I can make these mechanics work in the future, albeit in reduced scope and different configuration.

tl;dr Dystopian Debugger is, for now, cancelled, because it was too difficult to make technically and gameplaywise. However, the demo for Last look along Woodward Boulevard will soon be accessible.

Thank you for your patience, situations like these are why I prefer not to take your money though Patreon/Boosty/etc, haha.

Take care! Garage Heathen