#but the management and the job itself and the morons that come in are what make me wanna drive off a bridge

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

home from work who wants me

[hyenahunt]

Obbligato: The Devotion to Tatsumi Kazehaya - 13

Writer: Akira

Season: Spring, three years ago

Characters: Kaname, Tatsumi, Jun

Proofreading: Remi + 310mc (JP) & honeyspades (ENG)

Translation: Peace & hyenahunt

Tatsumi: The root of all misfortune lies in inequality and injustice. They are the root of all unhappiness. That is why they must be corrected.

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Kaname: ... I feel the same as Sazanami. If the fame and shine doesn't belong to my own name, then there's no point to it.

But... Still, it seems as if "Tatsumi Kazehaya" is doing well for itself.

Maybe I should learn from it. Throw away this pride of mine and ensure success through that.

All so I can become the sparkling idol I've always dreamed of being.

Tatsumi: Haha. If you so wish, then we are able to help you in a number of ways. We offer idol practices, studies, and can even help you find work — all free of charge.

In fact, I pay everyone who comes to one of my gatherings an equal part of my own wages.

Kaname: What do you mean...?

Tatsumi: You see, I have no interest in money. All of the money that "Tatsumi Kazehaya" accumulates is thus given out in equal shares to those gathered here.

No matter how much you've done, or what you've helped with, you're given the same amount of pay as the person next to you.

Hence, I've asked them to help me with the work I've received as much as possible.

Kaname: Are you for real? You're the one paying them?

It isn't the other way around? They're only managing to catch rays of the limelight because of you, aren't they? And yet... you're paying them?

Tatsumi: That's right. I likened it to a company, didn't I? Anyone who becomes a part of "Tatsumi Kazehaya" is offered the same regular pay as everyone else within it.

It's only natural to reward those who work a reasonable sum, isn't it? I would never ask someone to do my work for free.

Such a thing would be against our doctrine— nay, against human decency itself.

Jun: Ohhh, I get it now... I see just why these guys don't care for working on their own and are perfectly content just being "Tatsumi Kazehaya's assistants.”

They can just kick back and let their earnings pour in that way. Why wouldn't they? The cash they earn through this kinda fixed income is definitely gonna be way more than whatever an idol with no accomplishments could get through independent work.

And on top of that, Kazehaya-senpai's so brilliant at what he does that his work's a huge success every single time. Thanks to that, these guys get the chance to shine while avoiding any risk of failure or injury, or of being thought of as useless.

Sure is a dream job — one fit for morons.

Kaname: And on top of that, if I'm understanding correctly, you pay those a fair wage even if they haven't worked at all?

Tatsumi: I do. We don't discriminate here, you see. All are equal.

Jun: Mmm, well, I’m not that educated so I might be wrong, but this whole arrangement'spretty much that thing, isn't it? Starts with a c and ends with ism....

Our country's a capitalist nation, so y'know, the opposite of that —

Tatsumi: There's truly no need to go that far. I only wish to treat everyone as equally and fairly as possible.

Such a world would be ideal, wouldn't you agree? I want to make it a reality.

Tatsumi: Everyone is treated equally, given the same opportunities, and is paid fairly for their work. That way, everyone is able to live a happy, fulfilling life.

The root of all misfortune lies in inequality and injustice. They are the root of all unhappiness.

That is why they must be corrected.

There is a distinct disparity between the Special and Non-Special Students here at Reimei Academy. I'm doing what I can to close it.

It doesn't matter who you are, what you are, or even where you came from: you will be treated equally. Everyone will carry the same weight, walk the same amount of steps, and reach the same destination.

Everyone finishes at the same time. Everyone will be granted the same first place result, fairly and ideally.

And that is how we'll stop needless fighting over who's won and lost, we'll cease begrudging others for what they have, and we'll share the same happiness with one another.

That is the ideal world I dream of.

To bring it even slightly closer to reality, I'm doing what I can— though at the moment, this small sphere is all I'm able to influence in such a way.

Tatsumi: One day, I will take all those who inhabit Reimei Academy, the teachers and Special Students alike, as well as those in the idol industry, in this country, in this world...

And change their ways so we may live in such an Eden.

No, it's more than that. That is my mission in life as the Voice of God, as someone born within a family who teaches His words.

I truly believe that, and so I will live by that faith.

Tatsumi: May all of God's creations be blessed. Amen.

[ ☆ ]

✦✦✦✦✦

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[frazzledsoul]

literati fics: a frazzled curated list

So there’s been a lot of talk on my feed about “fandom coming back” (it left?) and needing to create user-curated lists of fanfic instead of relying on authors to plug their fics.

Well, this is cheating, because I’m going to plug my own fics, too, but I’ve mostly been reading literati fics for the past few years. I don’t see a lot of Luke/Lorelai fics even being written anymore (also, while I enjoy the fics, my opinions on those two are out of line with a lot of other fans) and I got really into reading lit fics about two years ago, kind of fell out of it, and fell back into in over the past few weeks. So with that behind us, this is what I have enjoyed.

Appreciation by ksfd89 : This is a post revival fic about Rory reconciling with Jess and going through the pregnancy and birth. It’s long, but it’s complete, and I have a soft spot for it as it was the first fic in this fandom that I really latched onto. I don’t think it’s on AO3 but I may be wrong.

the weight we carry by @scoopsgf: This is basically a novel of Jess’s life story, from right before he shows up on the show to a few years past the revival. I love, love, love it and am rereading it right now. It does a great job of writing in canon and also filling in the gaps when Jess was offscreen.

wrapped up in books by @scoopsgf: This starts as a season 6 fix it where Rory reconcile with Jess after the meeting at Truncheon but then (spoiler alert) Rory winds up pregnant with twins right as she graduates from Yale. I got to the end of the first part and I was like wutttttttt but the concept actually works?!? So it’s basically Rory and Jess being adorable hipster parents in NYC.

A Society Affair by Ultra: Rory has been raised in her grandparents world when she hooks up with Jess, who is Hep Alien’s band manager. I don’t see this author talked about much here, but they’re responsible for a gazillion Lit fics. Anyway, this is very cute and features a lot of the Chilton/Yale crew as supporting characters without villainizing them.

Met You At The Right Time by @windowsandfeelings: So I really hadn’t read fic for over a year until I came across this one a little over a month ago and got super hyperfixated on this ship as a result of it. Rory becomes unstuck in time the day after her mother’s wedding and starts revisiting points in her past. Makes excellent (and I do mean excellent) use of the lack of info given to us about that eight year gap between the OS and AYITL.

Harvest Moon by @mrsmess: I had heard about this fic for years but never checked it out because well, I guess I’m a moron. Rory and Jess reunite at Luke’s cabin after her grandfather dies. I don’t know why I avoided it so long because I’m a hick and have spent half my weekends at a lakeside cabin since I was a teenager so you would think this would be right what I want in a fic and yeah, it absolutely is. So again, I’m a moron for not reading this sooner. The sequels are great, too.

Starstuck by @mrsmess: Rory and Jess get stuck in a Groundhogs Day time loop the day of the firelight festival in season 4 and have to get themselves out. I loved, loved, loved this concept and devoured the story in an hour or so.

The Long and Winding Road by @stellaluna33: Rory comes to some realizations about Jess as she becomes a mom. WIP, but I’ve very much enjoyed it so far.

If you didn’t see your fic on here, well, I probably didn’t read it yet. But these are my current favorites.

Onto my fics for this ship:

The Morning After: Jess and Rory hook up in Stars Hollow in the summer of 2012, and everyone finds out about it and talks the subject to death. I’m not sure if this qualifies as a Literati fic, honestly: I was less interested when I wrote it in the actual sex itself than the blended family dynamics and filling in some of the plot holes and unexplained stray comments from AYITL (and there were a lot of them). My thinking was that it would be interesting if Jess’s complaint that Luke didn’t give him the wifi password for six months “and I lived here!” was not a reference to the distant past, but an indication that his business failed and he had to come back to Stars Hollow for a while and hooked up with Rory when she was newly freelancing and starting to unravel. I was going to write a sequel where Jess wrote a mosaic novel in part based on Luke and Lorelai’s relationship and got his shit together professionally as a result, but I never did (oops).  Anyway, this exists, it’s complete, but it’s a got an unsatisfactory ending as it is canon compliant. Also, there are a lot of banjo jokes.

A Simple Twist of Fate:  Jess and Rory are reeling from recent breakups of long-term relationships when they reconcile on Emily Gilmore’s living room floor (niiiiice). How will their new relationship handle the pregnancy that ensues? I’ve gone round and round on this on this blog because I didn’t realize until I wrote it what an outlier it was to have Jess deeply involved with someone else (and oh, yeah, it’s written in Rory’s first person POV. Was I high when I decided to do that? Anyway). It’s twenty six chapters of angst and ponderous conversations about miscarriage, guilt, and depression, with some fluff mixed in. Currently unfinished.

Home: It’s a fast forward of A Simple Twist of Fate. Drabbles about Rory and Jess raising their daughter in Philadelphia. I’m currently working on a chapter about the I-95 bridge collapse (what a cheery subject!) 

Blueberry Pancakes: Okay, so a long time ago I started a story called Full Circle (it’s in my fic list, but I’m not linking it here because the Literati part so far is basically nonexistent). The idea was that Rory would have lots of romantic misadventures while on the campaign trail while Luke and Lorelai would go to therapy and get married and have babies and do all the conventional stuff. Rory would settle down with Jess and at some point Lorelai and Rory would be pregnant at the same time. This drabble takes place in the world of that story, which is why I’m including it here. The drabble French Fries also takes place in that universe, but Rory and Jess don’t actually appear (although their daughter does).

(Fair warning: the previous two drabbles are in a drabble list where I wrote stories about multiple ships, including Rory and Logan. So yeah, if you read the whole thing through you may get it from the other side. I’ve also re-ordered my canon compliant fics so they appear in a series, and there’s some Rory/Logan stuff in there as well, including the last fic I wrote. They are not endgame, but I haven’t written the stories where Jess wins the ship war. So it is what it is).

[skarmoree]

midnight pharmacy (hit and) run

G, gen, neopolitan & roman torchwick

Roman's partner is feeling a little under the weather, as much as she tries to hide it from him.

written for @sicktember day 3: cramping pain, and day 20: hiding an illness

read here on ao3 / full fic under cut

“What are you, turtles?” Roman shouted, leaning back in his chair to watch the White Fang members move dust loads, “pick up the pace!”

Phase two. Move an entire warehouse worth of dust to a secondary location. Roman, as always, had found a way to weasel out of any heavy lifting, deciding to waste time instead by yelling at everyone else to get a move on.

Neo had found entertainment in plucking dirt specks off Roman’s hat, sitting on the table with her legs swinging gently.

“Really, Neo,” Roman commented to her, dropping his chair back onto all four legs, “you could’ve gone to supervise the other end.”

Neo straightened the feather.

When Cinder had sent the coordinates, Roman had been initially doubtful about any operation out of Mountain Glen working. What was a city abandoned to the Grimm going to do? And then he found they would be working from underground, with a handy path right underneath Vale itself, and things started to make a little more sense. What wasn’t making sense was Neo sticking by Roman’s side, knowing that he liked to have full control over their work, and leaving their new base’s supervision in someone else’s hands was… unlike her.

There was a heavy thud, and Roman’s head shot up. “You morons do realise you’re transporting live dust, correct?” he yelled over his shoulder, “try not to get us all killed!”

“Sorry sir!”

“If you’re sorry you won’t let it happen again!” Roman pinched the bridge of his nose. “I need a cigar.”

Neo transformed into that green lackey of Cinder’s, and mimed flicking a lighter.

“Curse that brat,” he muttered, “How didn’t I catch her dipping into my pocket?”

There was the tell-tale sound of Neo dropping the illusion, but if she responded any further, Roman didn’t see, leaning forwards so his elbows were on the table, still pinching his nose.

“They get harder to deal with every time, those kids,” he said, “and their boss— it’d be easier to pull this kinda thing off with all the details.”

Roman practically had all of Vale under his thumb. Cinder had other ideas. Bigger ideas.

He wasn’t fond of all of those said ideas, but money was money, no matter how dirty. Still, at least they provided him with the men needed to pull off whatever task they wanted— even if they were extremists from a human-hating organisation. But they did their jobs well enough, and ran cheaper than Junior’s hires— he’d daresay they were better too, even if just for the ability to work at night.

Roman sighed, straightening up so he could get to his feet, picking up his cane from beside him as he did so.

“I mean,” he continued, “they want me to speak at a rally? Me? I know I’m brilliantly persuasive when I need to be but come on— in front of a bunch of—” he broke off, waving his hand about vaguely.

“You never have to worry about this, of course,” Roman said idly, leaning on his cane to look to Neo, “consider yourself lucky.”

Neo pointed to herself innocently.

“Yes, you!” he replied, “though I do think an entire presentation led by you would be riveting, I fear I’d be the only one to keep up.”

Neo stuck her tongue out at Roman, setting his hat down and sliding off the table to cross the room to their pile of plans, underneath their lovingly annotated map. On top was the blueprint to the Paladin they’d managed to get their hands on, a scribble of Roman’s head in the cockpit. Neo had been very smug when she showed the art to Roman, and he proudly announced he would stick it to the fridge once they were done hiding out in this place.

Which wouldn’t be any time soon, going by the crawl the White Fang were moving at.

“We can’t move this by daylight without the cops swarming it instantly,” Roman shouted to nobody in particular, shoving a guy to move faster as he walked past, deftly grabbing a dust crystal and tucking it away into his own pocket. Easy. “and I’d rather take as little time as possible so we can get this show on the road.”

All the while, he watched Neo’s back, curiosity piqued. Though Neo wasn’t acting strangely, something felt… off. If it were anyone else, Roman would dare say they were being less chatty. But as it were, Neo was carrying on, business as usual.

There! She leant forwards, bracing her hands against the table for a moment before standing straight again.

“Say, Neo…” Roman began, and she swivelled on her heel to face him, one hand out for balance. He trained one eye to it, only to watch her seamlessly bring it up to sign a ‘what’, tipping her head to the side. He had to give her credit, she was good. “You feelin’ alright?”

She blinked at him, eyes switching colours. It was a trick she had picked up fairly recently, but it wouldn’t throw him off the scent. Another beat, and she gave him a wide grin, nodding firmly.

Then, she leant back against the table, crossing one foot over the other, watching him.

Classic standoff, then.

Roman leant back against his own table, letting his cane dangle from the wrist as he folded his arms. She mirrored the movement, catching on.

“You didn’t skip your way over there.”

Neo raised a single eyebrow, as if to say ‘I don’t have to skip everywhere, dummy’.

“You’ve been quieter.”

The eyebrow rose higher.

“In your own way,” Roman corrected, “are the extremists getting you down? Do you want to go on a good ol’ heist? Will that make you feel better?”

Neo shook her head, an exhale running through her whole body, shoulders deflating.

“But you love heists.”

She shrugged noncommittally, eyes returning to their natural sides, not bothering with keeping up her Semblance. She’d held onto that face earlier for an alarmingly short time, too.

Roman let out a dramatic sigh. “I suppose I will have to make this robbery on my own, then.”

Neo waved goodbye, not rising to the bait.

“Come on, you always jump to join me!”

In any other circumstance, Neo would mock him literally, jumping up (or at the very least rise up onto her toes). She didn’t even do that; instead just flicking her wrist in the approximation of one.

“How much sleep did you get last night?”

Neo’s answering glare was withering, and she held up eight fingers.

Roman gave a low whistle. “Eight, huh? Impressive. I only got two, myself.”

Neo pillowed her cheek on her hands.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll go to bed early tonight.”

She waved around at the warehouse, containers being loaded onto ships, White Fang members pushing trolleys and crates. Then, in slow motion, she pointed out the window to the moon.

“Already late. Going to take all night.”

A nod.

“Then I’ll sleep through the day,” Roman said, “my schedule’s already ruined beyond repair at this poi— hey don’t turn this about on me!”

Neo Signed an ‘oops’.

Roman jabbed his cane through the air at her. “So if you’re not tired, then what’s the problem?”

She shook her head.

“You might be a professional liar, sweetheart, but you can’t fool me,”

The gesture Neo made with her hand needed no translation.

Roman gave an over-the-top gasp, dropping his cane back onto the ground, free hand pressed to his chest. “Oh, my poor, innocent eyes!” he cried, “how will I ever survive you saying such a thing?”

Neo leant further back against her table, hint of a smile on her face, but nothing more.

“I don’t want to have to keep needling you,” Roman said softly, voice carrying across the warehouse with ease, “but I am worried, miniboss.”

Nothing, not even a batted eyelid to the nickname.

He took a step forward. “We’ve always told each other everything,” he said, really pushing the softness in his tone. He had to sell this. “I know you. If you’re not well, I don’t want you to force yourself and make it worse.”

He took a few more steps, closing the gap between the two of them. Neo didn’t move, watching him approach. Another step, and he could see the tense line of her shoulders, the knit of her brow. She really was holding something back, and Roman watched her for a moment longer, trying to piece things together.

“Have you been drinking water?”

A nod.

“Eaten?”

Another nod, slower, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“What,” Roman held his hands up in surrender, “are you gonna arrest me for expressing concern? I’ve committed worse crimes this week alone.”

She pursed her lips together, turning her face away. Roman took that as a sign to continue.

“Headache? Sore back? Heels hurting your feet?”

Neo pulled a face, before she transformed her face into her father’s. Roman let out an offended gasp.

“How dare you compare me to that man!”

She dropped the illusion, shoulders rising towards her ears. Was that too far?

Roman let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Wait, hold on—” he got out, “was that a ‘you're not my dad’?”

Neo stared at him for a beat, before she slowly nodded.

“Oh that’s hilarious,” Roman said, delighted, “he’d roll in his grave at it. Anyway, have you taken any painkillers for those cramps?”

She got halfway through another nod before she froze.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Roman spun to end up next to Neo, hiking himself half up onto the table, cane over his knees. “Really now, did you think I wouldn’t catch on?”

She humoured a so-so motion directed towards him. He sighed.

“Do you usually take painkillers?”

Neo pointedly refolded her arms at that, and Roman huffed out a noise halfway to a laugh, “it’s not a weakness to need them, you know. You’re as stubborn as they come, but if you need a little medical marvel to help you get through the day, I can’t blame you.”

Her shoulders lowered a little, and she shifted to face him a little more. He nodded down to his cane. “Please, Neo— I’m the last person who would deny aid.”

Neo’s expression softened, and Roman counted that as a victory. “So what do you need? Ibuprofen? Paracetamol? What’s that good shit called, codeine?

She shrugged in response, and Roman chuckled, “buyer’s discretion, alright.”

He went to move, but Neo tapped her wrist, where someone would usually wear a watch.

“I’m sure there’s a twenty-four hour pharmacy somewhere in the city,” Roman said. He crossed the room again, hooking his hat with the end of his cane as he walked past, setting it over his head. “Hold the fort. Make sure these animals don’t ruin all our hard work.”

Neo stomped twice to get his attention as he reached for the door handle, and Roman turned to look at her over his shoulder. “No, I’m not actually buying them, what do you take me for?”

Satisfied, Neo nodded, before slouching.

“Really weighing on you, huh?” Roman said, somewhat of a fond smile flitting over his face. He reached into his pocket, warmth from the fire dust crystal blooming in his hand, even through his glove. They had a warehouse full of the stuff; nobody was gonna notice one teeny tiny crystal go temporarily missing. And hey— it was for a good cause.

“Here, catch,” he called, throwing it towards Neo. With her quick reflexes she caught it easily, blinking at Roman in confusion.

“Heat helps. Take it easy while I’m gone, miniboss— no world domination plots, okay?”

He didn’t need to know Sign to know she said ‘no promises’.

_____

“Hello, I would like to steal your finest painkillers, please and thank you.”

The girl behind the counter looked up, eyes widening. She reached for a button, presumably an alarm, but Roman cut her off with his cane; “ah, ah, ah, none of that.”

“T-Torchwick!”

“Good, so you know of me,” Roman said, pleased, “so you’d know, then, that my recent exploits have all been dust-related.”

Eyes still gigantic, the girl nodded.

“So you must be wondering why I’m in a pharmacy, of all places.”

Slowly, the girl retracted her hand from reaching for the button, visibly trying to stay calm. “The thought- the thought is crossing m-my mind now, actually…”

Sure that she was no longer going to raise the alert, Roman waved a hand in dismissal, turning to the shelves to start picking through them for what he was searching for. “Well, unfortunately for you, I’m in a hurry, and I don’t have the time to explain my motives.”

“E-even villains need me-medication from time to time…?”

“Ooh, villains, I like that,” Roman said, comparing the dosage of two different brands, “usually I’m just called a criminal. You like stories?”

“Y-yes,” she kept glancing towards the button. Distract her.

“You got a favourite?”

“The boy and the beowolves.”

Perfect.

Roman hooked his cane over his forearm so he could have both hands free, reaching for another box. “That’s the one where the boy keeps raising the alarm about Grimm attacks, right?”

“Yes…” she glanced to the alarm button again, hand twitching.

“And when the huntsman arrived, they never found any evidence, and eventually stopped believing him?”

“Y-yes…” her response was quieter this time.

“See, here’s the fun thing about petty robbery, sweetheart,” he sidled back up to the counter, two kinds of painkillers in hand. For good measure, he nabbed a few chocolate bars from the front display, leaning against the counter.

Her eyes really were huge, if they widened any further they were bound to pop out of her skull. “There’s not enough evidence for there to be proof.”

“We- we ah, have security cameras.”

Roman nodded sympathetically, “of course you do,” he said, “and how often do they deter shoplifting?”

“They… they don’t.”

Roman couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. “Correct. Farewell, now!” he called over his shoulder, voice dripping with sickly sweet false care. “Hope your boss doesn’t get too mad at you for this— you really don’t get paid enough for the trouble.”

By the time the girl had recovered enough to think about hitting the alarm button again, he was gone, shelves straightened up with no gaps in the products, boxes facing label forwards.

She mentally started writing her two weeks notice.

_____

Neo had taken up residence in Roman’s chair while he was gone, chin resting on one arm, the other still curled up around the dust crystal, holding it to her abdomen. One of the ships had taken off, leaving the warehouse significantly more empty than before, the remaining White Fang members still clearing it out.

Roman considered yelling something else at them for his own entertainment, but decided against it, striding across the floor towards Neo.

“Here you go,” Roman said, tossing the pilfered goods at his partner, “two kinds so you can stack them, and some chocolate as a bonus. Good to see you didn’t explode the place while I was out, that would’ve been terribly inconvenient. Months of work, up in smoke.”

Neo waved a hand around at the warehouse, expression reading something close to ‘did you want that to happen?’

“You deserve a pay raise. Truly.”

Neo rolled her eyes and got to work opening one of the packs, signing a quick ‘thanks’ to Roman.

“It was nothing,” he replied, “believe me, I know how terrible those cramps can be. Can’t say I’d try and brute force my way through them, though.”

Neo moved her hand to her mouth like she was drinking from a glass. Water.

Roman chuckled, pulling out a bottle and tossing it her way as well. “Didn’t forget about that,” he said.

Taking two tablets and chasing them up with water, Neo stuck her tongue out to show Roman she’d taken the medication. He laughed, knocking his cane into her leg.

“I don’t need to see that!” he complained, shooing Neo out of his chair. She resumed her occupation of the table, screwing the cap back onto the water and setting it beside her.

Roman dropped into his chair, tipping it back to rest his feet on the table beside Neo.

“Now, where were we?”

She cupped her hands around her mouth, as if yelling.

“You’re so right,” he agreed, before raising his voice to carry through the warehouse, “if any of you want to see even a hint of a lien for this work, you best hope you’re not slacking!”

Neo’s wheezy breath of a laugh was all he needed to know things would be fine from here on out.

[emptymanuscript]

You know, I've got no idea how well Focalin is working as ADHD help but it sure is working as an antidepressant. XD

Though, it does also remind me that my Psychiatrist did at one point posit that I might have an unusual variant of of bipolar where I get angry instead of happy when I'm not in depression. I would definitely like to go punch and chew out the guy who annoyed me in the grocery store this morning. I feel a little honest regret for not yelling at him. Prick.

On, the upside, I also recognize that putting him in order is not and SHOULD not be my responsibility. Which is unusual for me. I recognize, unusually, that it would be just as misogynistic for me to ride to the rescue with violence as it was for him to chew out the checkout girl.

Like, seriously, she is not paid enough to deal with your shit, dude. There is no inconvenience she could have caused you to make you make that kind of stink. Complain to her manager like a normal rich bitch karen.

AND me making a bigger stink would not have helped. The people whose job it actually was were converging. I did the right thing by getting out of their way. Unlike the other moron just standing and staring at the chew out.

But the fire came easy today. Better, it is retreating easier than usual, too.

And yeah, what's changed is learning I'm diabetic and going on Focalin. Somehow I don't think the world looking less ugly - he was ugly, instead of that's the way the world is - is coming from the diabetes diagnosis. So, I think I'll have to report that the Focalin is definitely lifting my mood when I check in tomorrow.

...I could have sideswiped him with my cart just a little and said sorry. I can deadpan sorry just fine. I was a theater kid. XD. Sorry, your wife called and said you were an asshole. XD.

I feel bad for the checkout girl, though. What a shit way for the day to go. I'd bet $5 that she didn't even do anything wrong and he was just taking his shit out on her.

Somewhere there is a book, and I can't remember what it was (it MAY have been Demon). But it had this passage from the point of view of the Devil talking to someone else and defining what evil was. How he was the source of all evil but also secretly hoped every single time that he would get stopped, that humanity would be better than him. Because he was the original source, not the actual actor. He hurt somebody. And that somebody passed it on. And those people that somebody hurt passed it on. And it just kept passing on and multiplying. And all it took was somebody deciding NOT to pass it on. NOT to be a dick to the next person in line when the opportunity presented itself. And the Devil loved when it happened but generally had just stopped expecting it. Because most people did pass it on, did take out their pain on others in an attempt to make them feel a lot worse so they could feel just a little bit better.

I don't agree that that is what evil is - my actual definition comes from GI Joe, I think. Yeah, it's a cartoon in the cartoon at 6:23 - 6:44 in "The Wrong Stuff" S1, E49 of GI Joe. XD. Let it never be said that I am too sophisticated.

But I do think that story told by the Devil is how it passes. One hurt into many. The decision that someone else's pain is less valuable than your own.

Which is a lot of philosophical bullshit for someone that has to read 112 more pages today before I can start actually doing anything.

[hushbats]

Jonathan Byers' Bogus Journey: Day 3

Read: Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Read on Ao3

Day 3: 08/16/1987

Bumfuck-nowhere, Possibly Colorado

FUCK! I close my eyes and let my guard down for five minutes with these morons and disaster strikes yet again. What the hell, man. Why can’t I catch a break? Seriously, I must have been an absolute piece of shit in a past life to keep getting fucked over like this. That, or it’s just the joys of being born a Byers, itself a curse. I knew this exact shit would happen the moment the others agreed to take Eddie’s van over Steve’s beemer. The thing could barely make it across Hawkins without something causing it to splutter and die. And with Eddie managing most, if not all the repairs, and cutting corners it was pretty much held together by Band-Aids and dumb luck. Unfortunately, that luck decided to crap out now. Stupid piece of scrap! The guys just wouldn’t listen to reason. I should have nipped it in the bud right then and there. Or better yet, just hitchhiked instead and saved myself all this. Yes, there would have been a high probability of getting murdered, but the alternative right now is that I’ll become the murderer! My anxiety is through the roof and I’m so close to exploding at them. But if they turn on me…Three against one – the odds aren’t great but Steve doesn’t really count I don’t like my odds. Billy is made for fighting and Eddie is scrappy and not above fighting dirty. I don’t think I’d stand much of a chance. Or they might just abandon me on the side of the road. They could do any number of things and there’d be nothing I could do about it. I don’t think Eddie would actually do anything too insidious, but he could cut off my weed supply. And right now, that’s the only thing keeping me from losing my shit at them!

Forget getting to Argyle in time for his birthday. At this rate, I’ll never even get to California!

“Ow! God damn it!”

“Watch it Hargrove, you idiot. The radiator is steaming. Of course, it’s going to be hot! Use a rag or something.”

“Oh yeah? Well, if you’re so smart, why don’t you deal with it?”

“Stevie doesn’t know shit about cars. He brings the beemer into Thatcher’s for every little thing. He can’t even change his own oil.”

“Shut up, Munson. It’s your patch job that got us into this mess.”

“Well sorry Mr. Moneybags. We can’t all afford brand new radiators and annual tune ups.”

“Looks like the nearest town is back from where we came. Someone’s going to have to hitchhike back there and get us a tow.”

“I nominate you, Jonnie-boy!”

“W-what?! Why me?”

“Well, I’m not leaving my baby all alone on the side of the road.”

“Why not? Like, who the fuck is going to steal this hunk of junk? It’s not like they could take it anyway. It doesn’t even start.”

“If you’re just going to stand there and continue insulting my precious baby then you can go too, Steve.”

“Excuse me, but who died and made you King of decision making?”

“Being the eldest, and therefore the most responsible, the onus lies with me to guide you helpless children with my bountiful wisdom.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s how it works. And you’re definitely not the most responsible one here.”

“Be that as it may, I’m still the oldest. And I say Stevie goes with Jonnie.”

“You know what. Fine. I’ll do it if it gives me a break away from you two shitheads.”

“I didn’t do shit. Don’t lump me in with him.”

“Come on, Jonathan. Let’s get out of here.”

.

.

.

“You know he only did that to get rid of us right.”

It took us 30 or so minutes – this area doesn’t seem to get a lot of traffic – but we finally got picked up by a passing truck. The atmosphere the moment we got in – I could tell something was off. I think Steve did too by the way he tensed as he sat on the bench seat next to the guy. He looked way to happy to be picking up a couple of hitchhikers. So, in case we’re never seen again and someone stumbles across this journal; I, Jonathan Byres, and Steven Harrington were picked up on route 50 heading back to what we think is Syracuse at about 7:41pm on Sunday, August 16th, 1987 by a non-descript white 4-wheeler driven by heavy-set, middle-aged Caucasian male, and if we are murdered by this man, just know it was William Hargrove and Edward Munson’s fault.  

The guy is honestly looking at Steve the way I imagine a predator views its prey, and his right hand is edging ever closer to Steve’s thigh. Steve’s side eye is screaming ‘help me’, but like, what does he want me to do??? Swap seats?! Like hell I will.

“What’s a pretty boy like you doing in the middle of nowhere. It’s dangerous this late in the day. You’re lucky I stopped to pick you up. Best decision I made today if you ask me.”

“Haha, oh you know, just on a road trip with my friend, Jon, here.”

“Your friend, you say? I see.”

“You know, he’s a black belt in karate. We were on our way to a tournament in Nevada when we broke down. All the top fighters from around the country will be there, and Jon here is the best of the best. Isn’t that right, Jon?”

“Oh, um, yeah.”

Jesus, Steve does not know when to shut his damn mouth. His tall tales are going to get us both killed and dumped in the backwoods where no one will find us. The guy has eyes, beady though they are. There’s no way he’s buying that I’m a karate prodigy.

“’Awful nice of you to come out all this way to support your friend. I expected nothing else from a nice young man such as yourself. But I want to hear more about you.”

“Oh, well, there’s not much to say really. I don’t know karate, but I know my way around a fist fight, and blunt objects when I need to.”

Just shut up, Steve. Shut up. SHUT UP! What the fuck does he think he’s doing?! He’s not helping.

“Tell me, are you into wrestling? Because I could show you some moves in that department. You sure do have the body for it.”

“T-thanks.”

“I gotta stop at the rest stop just up here a ways and then we can get down and dirty. I’ll show you how it’s -arrrgh. Motherfucker!”

“Run, Jonathan! Fucking run!”

[eigwayne]

I picked up A Journey to Love again, even though I wanted to wait a little longer so I wouldn't be tempted to go into the tags while people were still complaining about the ending. I've managed to dodge most details so far, after all. But every other show I started from my backlog, the main character is an idiot.

I start LORD Critical World over again, because I only watched the first episode or two before, and yeah I remembered the main character is a charlatan but apparently he is also a complete moron. It's like... if Naruto was in a C-drama and played by a handsome 20-something, but it's still season one Naruto on the experience and intellect and annoyingness level.

Then I decide to play Miss the Dragon during work, because it's better to play something I've already seen so I can pay attention to work and not the plot, right? But the main character in that is also an idiot, this time in the innocent maiden variety. Like, I remember the first lifetime was rough and the later ones were more interesting (this is one of those shows where the heroine endures multiple lifetimes of suffering for love), but I forgot it was this bad. Also the CG dragon is not as handsome as the ones in Love Between Fairy and Devil or Back From the Brink or even Eternal Love (the dragon angle was wasted on that show, absolutely wasted). I did redo the scoring on Miss the Dragon a little because I forgot how much I enjoyed the music, but the show itself and the main character are worse than I remembered.

AND THEN I start Stand By Me (2021- the Dream of Chang'an one), because of my newly enhanced appreciation of Cheng Yi. Xuan Lu is in it and she's fantastic so far. So I want to know what's up with the emperor and the Ziyi Court or whatever they're called but again, the main character is awful, just absolutely short-sighted and stupid and annoying. Also, this is like the fourth "young girl's family is killed in a plot and she grows up to get revenge but falls in love with the killer(?)" story I've started, the second one with amnesia as a major plot point, and it's the worst of the lot. I was praying for the "MC's friend gets killed and she stops being so willful because the Stakes are Now Real for her personally" arc, because it's sure to come, this show is trotting out the tropes like they're inbred colts on Derby Day, but I don't know, I'm already soured on this show. I don't know if Cheng Yi can save it for me.

So I don't know how much more of these main characters I can take, especially since I recently watched The Moon Brightens for You and I'm still in pain from that. And like, I can deal with some purposefully unwise characters- Back From the Brink, Love Between Fairy and Devil, Heroes, Mysterious Lotus Casebook (also a Zeng Shunxi character- the man is developing a Type)- and if your character is stupid or unwise, but not annoying, I can deal with it. But if they are stupid AND annoying, I get a headache and start writing bad reviews.

I could never do this for a job. How do drama reviewers keep their sanity?

[dxy-drxxm]

⭐ | COMMISSION IV : Post-Shift Hell

A/N: this is heavily (or somewhat heavily) inspired by the game Night of the Consumers.

After seeking the cat and dog's owner (and hearing the couple have a dispute as the husband didn't wish to own any faults for his mistake), Navina bid the couple farewell as they left to consult to the next commissioner.

It was past 2 PM when they arrived at the job, checking what it was. It was a normal retail store, something everyone can expect seeing every day if it weren't from the eerie air coming from it.

Navina was warned by the commissioner that the job was more than what it seems, and upon stepping into the store to explain to the manager what happened... She was right to warn them.

For one, the manager was awfully snippy— saying that Navina was late, but then they brushed it off and told them to 'get to it'. They also had to look for the other employee there, but noticing that there was only one on the clock, he just excused them and was on his way.

... Weird.

Grabbing the uniform, they changed into it and placed their attire in a spare locker (which, oddly enough, didn't have any locks) before leaving. They were in the middle of tying their hair up to get to work when they saw the co-worker the manager told them to find.

He barged right into the doors leading outside of the employee's room and heaved, his head turning to the albino. Blinking a few times, they were... Stunned to see such a spectacle.

And the manager boasted at how clean this place is... Wait, why is he—

"I need your help," he said, shaking in his boots. "Manager's getting hard on us, and- and I just can't take it anymore! It's absolute hell working here!"

...? Working here? Wh—

"H-here, take this guide," he shoves a notebook to them, watching the man stumble for a moment. "I'm going to— I'm going to clock out. Fuck this job, I'm out of here!"

With a wail, the man turned and leave to head to the back of the room, letting the twin doors swing close behind him. Navina, though, stayed put and slowly opened the notebook to see the contents.

"... Ah."

The notes were... Something they didn't expect at all. From how it was detailed, it was like a survival guide for retain workers, and the customers were described to be difficult to deal with. From it's description to how to deal with them...

... All the way down to the warning clear from the front page.

Whatever you do, do NOT upset the manager.

...

Closing the notebook, they frowned at the sight of the pages plastered on the bulletin board, with the people listing as the employees and some who were labelled missing.

Something isn't right, but I don't know what it is...

It had been past the start of their shift when they encountered the core issue of the job in and of itself— the care of the managers and how employees were simply treated as less than human beings.

There were a few of them that they encountered to have treated them with less respect and more of animosity, some screaming at them like they were deaf and couldn't understand what they said.

"Don't you speak English or something, moron?!" one of the women yelled, shoving the half-eaten packaged food in their hands. "I want to return this now!"

"Madame, for the 10th time, I just said you can't return something half-eaten," Navina coldly replied, their smile becoming more like a sneer to the lady. "If you want to report me to the manager, by all means. However, what you're doing is breaking the law by harassing an employee."

The lady seem to be irate by their smart quips and yelled, "I NEED A MANAGER!"

Sighing, the albino turned around to get him. They hadn't worked with people in years, and even they can tell that this behavior was not to be tolerated. Though, when they looked for the manager, they couldn't find the same man they met before their shift started.

It was like he went missing—

Instead, who they ended up finding looked to be an older gentleman, filing some papers for the next month's paycheck. Knocking on the door, they opened it, speaking, "Excuse me, manager, someone's—"

"—looking for me?"

"... Yes, someone's looking for you," they replied, though they swore that those eyes reminded them of something.

What were they forgetting?

The man sighed but nodded, standing up from his seat. He walked out of the room and thanked the albino before telling them to continue working on the shelves, which confused them.

Was he going to let it slide?

They wanted to ask, but... They kept their mouth shut and turned back to get to work. After all, this wasn't their full time job, and they were simply filling in for a commissioner who desperately needed a time off.

Still, if they checked the handbook more clearly, there were words written at the end that could have eluded to something being amiss...

... which were written by the following:

[ Do not trust the man replacing the manager. No one gets out of his ire alive. ]

[blocodibujo]

You know what, I’m gonna say it, because I’m pissed off, but it really angers me that this website that prides and pats itself in the back because of how quirky it is, how welcoming and creative and whatnot, doesn’t give a shit enough about me to fucking look at a couple of messages from one of its users, on their own support platform, and see what is wrong or to offer some kind of help.

Like, a few days ago I wrote a post praising this site ecosystem, because even with all its problems (and that’s a long list, starting with the fact that they haven’t done shit to ban the n4z1s and t3rfs from the website), it still provided a healty ecosystem compared with other platforms, where some drawing you posted could keep having visibility and being discovered by people through the years, unlike what happens with stuff on twitter or instagram, to name others. 

And that’s still true, but it’s impossible to feel nothing short of a moron when these fuckers randomly and without explanation decide to hide your posts from the one place where people are supposed to find them. 

And you know what, it hurts because I do think that this site it’s like the only reliable platform that I still have to put my art around, because instagram it’s a hell of its own in regards to having your posts visible, unless you already have a sizeable following or you prioritize dumb shit like reels or what not. I deleted my twitter account the moment Musk took control of it and never looked back. I haven’t used facebook in years. I deleted my DA account after the whole AI fiasco. And the list goes on.

Even if I don’t want to say it out loud, I already made peace with the fact that my art will just be a hobby as it has been for the last 32 years, that it was dumb to merely entertain the idea that I could try to earn a living with this, even as a side gig (I don’t have formal training, my art’s probably not good enough, or not popular or marketable enough; heck, even most of my friends don’t even care about it on the account that they probably don’t understand what drives me to keep doing it, since most of them are already so deep in their own professional lives that kinda just live for their work and barely have time to read books, do some sport or watch a show or movie, because capitalism tells them that if it doesn’t make you money, its worthless). 

And you know what, that’s totally fine, maybe I’ll never be a professional artist or at least have a big enough following.

 But having this platform, and that little boost of serotonin that comes with the fact that I created something, usually out of love for something I invented or for something that someone else did and that I managed to find something to like or connect there, and that somebody else liked what I did, was something that, NGL, even kept me going through hard times, say during the pandemic, or when I didn’t have a job or couldn’t find any client on my regular job. And it pains me to see that go away because this website or its systems decided that, for whatever dumb reason, they weren’t gonna show my art to other people, and that I wasn’t worth the time to explain why.

[numberonekoalawitch]

A Hybrid's Purpose - Tf2/origins AU

Summary: After when Jeremy's father gave him the ancient box with a dark spell, he searches for clues and asks questions from his neighbours about the situation.

Chapter 2 : Searching For Answers

It was a quiet morning when Jeremy stepped outside the door holding the box that his father gave to him last night. He could hear the water falls rushing down from the mountains slowly, the birds chirped happily as they flew from one tree to another. His brother is asleep upstairs. He always sleeps in the morning. He could remember he came back late in the night just because he was chasing a warden deep in the cave system. Then you could see him soon covered with blood and scratches from it.

Just now, the sun is still sizzling from above while Jeremy is holding the box. He Stood at the door wide open and looked around if anyone was around. The breeze is cool today as the leaves slowly rustle on the ground. He felt the wind as they passed his face as he closed his eyes while holding the box. He stepped outside and placed the box in his bag as he sent out where he needed to go to look for answers.

The village was quiet again. The same as last time. This was never like this before. Usually, every morning the civilians would get to work already and bring their children to school while their parents do what they want after. Jeremy decided to pass by the village so he could get some food for the journey. He’s pretty sure he got money since he was packing his things before he went out. Hopefully the shops are open by now. He first searched in his dirty pockets which were filled with soil, (since he used the trousers while digging for dirt with Dell months ago) finally he got money to buy. 

‘Branson’s Supplies’ has the cheapest products he can buy every time he passes by with his brother. His dad used to work there once, when Jeremy was twelve and his brother was fourteen. But, he heard that the manager died recently. His dad lost his job that day. Now there's a new manager assigned a few months ago. He looked through the window with both of his hands cupping the sides of his eyes to get a closer look inside the shop. The place is dark and the products are still up on the shelves. He checked if the door was still open. He pushed if it’s open, it turned out it was but no one was inside.

The bell rang from the door and instantly shutted itself. He looked around the area to check. He also checked the manager's office and even the pantry. Where is everyone? He waited at the counter near the cash machine. He tapped the bell on the counter for the salesman to come over. He tapped the bell again but one one came over. Instead he will go to another shop, it’s not very far, it's just 2 metres away from the shop.

He gets a chance to look at ‘Penny’s Bakery Shop’ but the door is locked also. Jeremy could see the apple tarts, cakes, waffles and chocolates displaying inside. His stomach grumbled like a bear as he held it. He remembered back at the house there is no food in the fridge, but it’s just moldy bread and cheese. That was their only food to eat.

 Shaking his head and murmured “Freakin unbelievable! Why these morons have to barricade themselves while I’m starving to death ere”.

The day went dry as the heat began to haze in. He looked up at the sky with his hand over his head to see. He continued walking through the woods looking for food. He saw a house nearby, he could hardly recognize it. He quickly knocked on the door and waited. The door opened, with a person he knows.

“Aye!” said Tavish, as he plastered a smile across his face. Tavish is a drunken Phantom who likes hiding in his house and he could spend 30 days there. Sometimes. He’s another close friend of Dell and his dad. Sometimes every weekend they would go to his house for a drink after a hard day's work. But he and his older brother could have the house while their dad is away drinking. 

“Heyo cyclops!” Jeremy called Tavish cyclops because of his missing eye. But he managed to place his eyepatch.

“Ladie, why on green earth are you out ere?” 

“Gonna ask you some questions first”

“What kind of questions you want?” said Tavish with a sigh, as he started to drink from his beer. “And don’t waste me time lad!”

“It’s this” Jeremy showing the black box after he zipped his bag.

“What the BLOOdy HEll?!” Tavish’s eyes widened. “Lad get inside quickly it’s not safe to show that”.

When they are inside the house Tavish slapped the box from Jeremy’s hand as it rolled down the floor. “What the-?? Dude what’s wrong with you man!?”

“Lad! Don’t you know what you are dealing with?” he said as he dropped his bottle on the floor. “Thats the bloodmoons chest” he lowered his voice so that no one could hear. They watched the chest on the floor dumstrucked.

“Bloodmoon…what!? Is it something to end the world-”

“Shut up lad! Can you keep your mouth shut for heavens sake!” He covered his mouth with his right hand. Suddenly they heard footsteps coming towards the kitchen. Tavish quickly kicked the box as it slid under the coffee table to hide it.

“Tavish! What’s that horse barking over there?!” yelled his mom. She came to the livingroom with her pink night clothes holding her metal stick. Her shades (because shes blind) was crooked at her face and she readjusted in time. “Young man, I do not want loud voices in this house and watch your manners! And who is this lost bird?”

“Sorry ma, it’s me mates son” he plastered a smile across his face trying to hide the negative manner he had. “He need a visit here”.

“Fine!” she made a dismisal wave as she stomped her way upstars. Tavish sighed and carefully took out the box under the table.

- - -

He made some tea cakes and sanwhiches for the both of them also some drinks of scotch. He poured one to himself and Jeremy. “Lad, I heard about his box many times by other people even, your father, brother, Dell and our hybrid company” He whispered and took a drink. 

“So what is it anyway?” Jeremy asked

“Ok, first lad where did you find this?”

“My dad gave it to me last night and I tried asking him what is it but he bolted away like a freaking coward”.

“Oh, me mother of-” Tavish slapped his face until he nearly lost his words. He first calm down and sighed. He just can’t believe his friend gave a dangerous box to his son and here he has it now facing in front of him on the table. “Ok,...” He first checked if his mother is fast alseep. “Lad, I don’t have the information about the Boodmoon box but Miss pauling has”.

They both went to the beach to find their Merling friend. This time they could see the water is getting low. Something is not right, they called her name out to find her. But there is no sign. Tavish asked since when Jeremy last saw her. But he said he last saw her disappearing to the ocean.

They walked around the beach to make sure if they missed any place to look for her. Still no sign of her. Jeremy felt bad for Miss Pauling, maybe because he is too annoying for her? Or Maybe he is just too loud and noisy for her. He sat down on the rock, the same spot he sat yesterday waiting. 

Tavish looked at the sun dial which was on the right side of the beach. It’s 10.34 “Ach! I wonder why she isnt showing up. She supposed to hear us right now. Her house is near.”

“Hmmm” He responded. The tone made Tavish with a concern face, as he frowned.

“Have ye been fooling around with her recently?”

“What? No! What makes you think-”

“Because you two always chit chat everyday! Did ye insult er!” He pointed at Jeremy’s fae nearly poking him. “Thats why she didn’t want to speak to us because of you?”

“Dude! Calm down I did not insult her! Theres no need to blame me!” He folded his arms and looked at the sea.

“Well last time, you made fun of her work position just because her job supposedly to clean the trash on the ocean floor!”

“That was an accident man I helped her and I managed to beat up her manager….well he broke a few bones from my body……but thats not important man!” The both of them glared at each other. A familiar voice interrupted them. Which made them look at the ocean.

“What are you two talking about?” Miss Pauling folded her arms, while arranging her glasses, glaring at them also. “And can you keep the noise down”.

“Sorry Miss Pauling….I thought ye were upset because of Jeremy..”

“It’s not that….I was searching the perimeter for tentispiess…” she said looking around the ocean. Jeremy looked at Tavish grinning checky at him. Proving that he did not hurt or insult her. He rolled his eyes as he continued on.

“Tentispies?”

“I dont wanna talk about that..so whats the problem? And why you need me for?” He nudged Jeremy to show the box. When he showed the black box. Her eyes widened and started to look around the beach. The good thing there is no people around. they don’t really like going around near the ocean. Because of the sea creatures.

“Ok….one question” She asked placing her hand on ther face getting nervous. She lowered her voice so she won’t say it aloud. “Why do you have the bloodmoon chest?”

“Its a long story Miss Pauling…what is this anyway?”

“Are you certain you want me to tell you whats this box or whats inside?”

  He looked at it and nodded “Uh…..sure?”

She cleared her throat and spoke quietly. She beckoned him to give her the black box before she will speak. “This…..is the Bloodmoon box. Its an accient relic from the underworld. Theses symbols means the one to open this box will release the dead, and some other monsters….and in this box is 3,000 souls of the dead hybrids from the past that were killed by humans along time ago. If you do open this they will eventually come out. You will suffer pain from them, you can hear their cry, misery and they will take vengance. This is what everybody’s talking, about this… but I think we need to destroy it. I think tommorrow is the time this box will open. When the moon rises again it will turn red it will be time.”

“How? Really can it be hard to destroy it? I could just beat the useless shell of that crap!”

“You need a spell for that”

“Oh..”

She aranged her glasses and looked at the box with the chains as it surrounds it. “Where did you find this?”

“My dad gave…it…to me..” Jeremy made an awkward smile to her scratching his head looking at the sky.

“Why in the world did he gave it to you!?”

“Aye! He’s a terrible father after all!” Said Tavish folding his arms shaking his head in agreement. “What kind of father gives useless crap to his children then it will destroy the world!?”

“Alright, lets calm down….we need a spell to destroy this” She said “But, I think I have the right spell for this. This might take a while so bare with me” she handed the box to Jeremy and she splashed away. “I’ll tell you when to give it to me so we can destroy it!”

They watched her disapper again in the ocean. They’re stomach felt quizzy feeling that this is going to be a hard night. And It’s going to be talking hours for her to get the right spell.

- - - 

Later, Jeremy wen’t back home and sat down on his sofa. There was a note on the desk for him. It was his brother. He said he will go and visit Dell he needs some assistance with Mr Ludwig and Misha. 

This time in the fridge there is cakes, sandwiches and fruits. His face turned into a delight as he scrabled in the fridge to get them. Feeling satisfied there is food again. He munched the cakes and apples as he made a mess.

“Let’s…freaking….go!” he said in between his munching. “ Screw you ‘Penny’s bakery Shop! I get my own cakes”. He relaxed on the sofa feeling glad. He also wished his mom get to eat with him again. He remembered every midenight when his brother and father are asleep. He would wake up his mom and the both of them would sneak eating food all night. It was the best memory he had.

He shock his head to shake of the beautiful memory he had with his mother and continued on eating in peace. Ever bite and texture he would enjoy. While under the sofa lies the Bloodmoon box. 

As the day settled down the sun said good night to the world and the moon would say hello as the starstwinkled in the dark night. This time the village opened their shops at every night. The civilains got back to work very quickly, they clanged their spears and swords. The blacksmith heated the fire for their weapons as the men hammered the new swords.

Dell and Mundy are watching the peple from his treehouse looking at the distance. While Mr Ludwig is preparing the medicines and regenerating syrups, Misha is busy making the bunker for the other hybrids. Dell looked at the sky as dark clouds hovered over the land. He could hear thunder from the distance as it grew closer. He closed his eyes and spoke.

“I think we should call the others now even your brother….I think it’s time”.

“Now? But mate…theres a bloody storm coming how about tomorrow?” said Mund

Dell sighed “Did your father gave you it?”

“Nah….I don’t think so…he still did not arrive”

“We need to destroy her now or she will posses anyone.”

“But mate….I don’t-”

“We have no choice! She’s dangerous we have to let her go.”

 They stood quicetly as they continued watching the village working along. “Herr Dell, we need some rest!” said Mr Ludwig as he planted a hand on  Dell’s right shoulder. “ We need to finishe zhis tommorrow” He nodded and looked one last time to look at the village. Then he turned away and headed for bed. 

The gang settled down on their beds from the hard work they done. And they drifted of to sleep.

END.

----

Thx for reading for now i'm still working on chapter 6. Ya I started this story 2 months ago so it will take me awhile to upload the stories.

[idy-ll-ique]

unlike any other

pairing: mob boss!bucky barnes x maid!f!reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut (AH THE HOLY TRINITY)

warnings: mention of blood, mention of wounds,,,,,,,,, sex (but only a lil bit)

requested: nope

word count: 1.8k

summary: bucky barnes, among many things, owns a strip club. y/n works there as a maid, but she has only recently joined so she has no idea who he is. one day, she catches him napping in one of the private rooms after closing time and, not knowing that he owns the place, asks him to leave because it's a "staff only" room. mesmerized by her, he leaves without a word but a few days later, she finds out who he truly is. sparks fly? sparks fly.

author's note: hiya peeps! enjoy!

masterlist

---

James Barnes was tired.

All he wanted to do was go home and get a good night's sleep, but this moron in front of him was proving it to be very difficult. "What aren't you getting about my plan, Johnson?" he growled, a deep glare etched on his face as he disdainfully stared at one of the men who worked for him. "Why are we doing this at all?" Oh, Johnson has quite the mouth on him, can't wait to break all his fucking teeth.

"Are you the boss or am I?" Bucky countered, putting his arms up, exasperated. Johnson was about to reply when Bucky decided he was too tired to deal with him at all. "You know what, how about we talk tomorrow, hm? Leave, now." With an audacious huff, Johnson got up and left the room. As soon as he was gone Bucky groaned loudly.

"That man," he muttered to himself, "Is a fucking idiot. I'm gonna have to talk to Sam tomorrow, why did he even suggest—" Bucky then relaxed back onto the couch he was sitting on, leaning further and further back until he was simply lying down, head resting on the armrest.

James Barnes was tired.

And he needed a fucking nap.

James Buchanan Barnes. He commonly went by the name Bucky, and he ran the biggest, most affluent mob in the city. Currently, he was at a strip club that he owned, which also had private rooms for… basically hooking up, but he never used it for that, using it only to hold meetings with potential allies or his men.

He dozed off on the couch but was able to sleep for only about 30-45 minutes before someone was shaking him awake.

---

“Phew, last room! Why does this place have so many rooms?” Y/N grumbled to herself, opening the door to the private room. She was a maid recently hired by the club, and her job was to clean up all the private rooms after the closing time. They paid her well so she didn’t mind doing the job. When she opened the door, though, she noticed a man sleeping on the couch.

All his clothes were still intact and his hair was also done nicely… She scrutinized him for a while longer, taking note of his handsome, chiselled features and how he dripped of power even when he was asleep. Finally, a few minutes later, she decided to wake him up. However powerful he might seem, the rooms after closing were for staff only and he needed to leave.

“Excuse me, sir?” Y/N gently shook his shoulders, startling him awake. He blinked his eyes open and in his hazy state of mind, he thought there was an angel standing above him. “What?” he yawned and Y/N offered him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, you gotta go, the club is closed for the night and this is a staff-only room,” she told him and he blinked.

She didn’t know him? “I, uh, yeah, I’m sorry,” he complied, sitting up. He took in her appearance as well; she was wearing a cheesy maid’s costume that fit the aesthetic of the strip club perfectly, yet there was a sort of innocence to her, the kind that would make even the most cold-hearted and powerful of them all want to cater to her every whim without question.

“Uh… see ya around,” she raised her eyebrows and Bucky offered her a quick smile, getting out of the room. “Behaving like he owns the place,” Y/N scoffed to herself as she began cleaning up the mess in the room starting with the empty alcohol bottles. She couldn’t stay mad at him for long, though- his handsome face could make anyone’s heart melt. As the thought passed through her head, a small smile bloomed on her face.

Oh stranger, I really hope we meet again soon.

As Bucky drove home, he, too, thought of the maid. Who was she? Why had he never seen her before? And why didn’t she know him? That night, as he went to bed for the second time, all he saw in his dreams was a lovely maid’s costume and a pretty, pearly white smile.

---

“I’m firing that guy,” Bucky told Sam determinedly. A few days had passed since Bucky’s meeting with Johnson and he was more determined than ever to get rid of the guy. Something about Johnson seemed off. “Wh- You hired that guy like a week ago, what happened? He used to work with Pierce and Rumlow before, he can give us valuable intel-”

“What if he never stopped?” Sam quieted at the retort. “He told us how horribly they treated their own men,” Sam answered a little while later. “What if he’s lying?” Bucky asked impatiently. “Give him a chance-” Just then, there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Bucky sighed and Johnson poked his head in. “Got a minute, boss?”

“Oh sure, come in, we were just discussing you! Have a seat!” Sam raised an eyebrow at Bucky’s sudden cheerfulness as Johnson happily bounded into the room, plopping down on the couch. “What were you discussing?” he questioned. “How I was just about to fire you,” Bucky smirked and Johnson’s face fell.

He didn’t speak for a few minutes, causing Sam and Bucky to glance at each other. “Hello…?” All of a sudden Johnson stood up with a fit of rage. “Damn it, Barnes, you ruin everything!” Bucky shouted triumphantly as Sam gasped. “I knew you were a fucking two-timer, you son of a bitch!” Bucky yelled at him. “And you made it so easy!” Johnson laughed dryly.

“Why you-” Bucky swung a punch at Johnson’s face, breaking his nose. “What have you told Pierce?!” Johnson retaliated right back by kicking his knee into Bucky’s abdomen, making him fall back. A fight soon broke out between all three of them, so loud that the commotion could be heard from outside.

Approximately 20 minutes later Y/N, who was passing by the room at the time, heard the loud noise and stopped in her tracks. It sounded like… two people fighting. It wasn’t her cleaning time yet, but she still rushed to the door, opening it up with such force that the door loudly banged on the other side. At this, the fight instantly halted.

Bucky was holding an unconscious Johnson by the collar, his fist an inch away from Johnson’s jaw. Both of them looked pretty beaten up, with blood all over their faces and clothes. Sam, meanwhile, was half-lying on the couch, clutching the side of his abdomen with a pained look on his face. Y/N’s hands flew to her mouth at the sight of them.

That was when she recognized the man from a few days ago. Oh shit, he does own the place. Bucky immediately got up and dusted his suit, staring down at a passed-out Johnson with a sneer. “Sam, take him to Wanda, she’ll know what to do with him. And please, for the love of God, go to the hospital.” With the help of a few others, Sam and Johnson left.

It was only Bucky and Y/N in the room now. She continued staring at his face in horror and Bucky chuckled, wiping away a trail of blood near his lips. “That bad?” She snapped out of her trance. “You…” Bucky gave her a wry smile. “Bucky Barnes at your service. And you are?” Y/N blinked a few times before answering. “Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.” Bucky looked around.

“Well, Y/N, if you’d be so kind as to fetch me a first aid kit.” She instantly walked out of the room and got the first aid kit for him. When she returned to the room, Bucky was sitting on the couch, his jacket and shirt removed. Even his torso was covered in black and blue bruises. "It looks bad," she blurted out.

"Will you help me clean up?" Y/N couldn't deny him. He was her boss, after all. She sat down next to him and wordlessly started cleaning the blood off his face. He didn't so much as flinch, which Y/N found to be extremely impressive. After all the blood was cleaned, Y/N grimaced when she saw his broken nose. "Your, um, your nose…" Bucky easily grabbed his nose in both hands and clicked it into place.

Y/N flinched badly at the action, making Bucky laugh. "Come on, princess, it's not that difficult," he teased her and she shook her head, a smile blooming on her face. "So, um, I'm sorry about that day," she mumbled as Bucky kept the first aid kit away. "Sorry? For doing your job? Don't do that."

She looked up at him. "No, I- I should've known it was you, and I just… maybe I could've been more polite-"

"Sorry, you gotta go, the club is closed for the night and this is a staff-only room," Bucky quoted verbatim, "You couldn't have been more polite." Y/N's cheeks flushed with embarrassment and she shuffled her feet. "Please don't fire me," she whispered under her breath, yet Bucky managed to hear her. And when an opportunity presents itself…

"On one condition."

She looked up at him, wide-eyed and nodded excitedly. "Anything you want." Bucky smirked and sat back down next to her, placing his hand on her bare thigh. "Go on a date with me," he breathed out, leaning close to her. Y/N's breath and heart rate hitched at his forwardness, but she didn't have the will to deny him.

He was good-looking, he was rich, he was polite, why not give it a try? Y/N offered him a small smile. "Um, okay, I'd like that a lot," she agreed truthfully and Bucky grinned, pressing his lips to hers without wasting a moment. Y/N kissed him back, cupping his face with her hands.

In the heat of the moment, Bucky bent forward until the back of Y/N's head touched the armrest; still, they didn't pull away from each other. Bucky sneakily got his hand under Y/N's blouse, the skin on skin contact making them both groan. "Ugh, you really are very pretty, you know?" Bucky whispered as he unbuttoned her blouse and threw it away.

He stared in awe at her bra-covered breasts, his shaft twitching impatiently. But, just as he was about to unbuckle her bra, the door swung open. Bucky immediately hid Y/N under him and looked up at a horror-struck Sam, who ran out of the room screaming, "At least lock the door next time, asshole!"

Y/N giggled when she saw Bucky's flustered face. "He's right, you know," she whispered cheekily and Bucky playfully narrowed his eyes at her, attacking her neck with kisses and love bites.

"Talk to me like that again and you'll be in for a long night, pretty face."

"Oh, I'd like to see you try, boss."

---

a/n: thanks for reading, leave a like if you enjoyed it!

[this-acuteneurosis]

I have a theory about time travel: I think the more you prep and plan, and try to take targeted strikes at the timeline, the worse it goes. Like, scientists have named a theory after it, like occamm’s moron in the timeline. Weirdly, as long as you give someone a targeted goal, but very few tools to manage it, they’re more likely to accidentally flail into the correct way to fix the timeline than the military precision strike method. Like, by a large margin. And some scientists have gotten really good about guessing who would do the best job, but it wasn’t in any statistically verifiable way, it was just like the guy who “has a feeling” about the underdog at the races, and turns out to be right most of the time. I’m not sure entirely where I’m going with this, other than I have a “feeling” about Leia accidentally flailing in the right direction. I trust the trauma and the process, lol

Gonna be honest, in spite of being in the middle of an epic time travel tale, I'm not really into time travel itself.

One of the things I wanted to get at doing this fic was that time travel is not a tool you can use to "fix" things. The things that we can control as humans are very limited, and pretty much always come back to "you can choose what you'll do, but not what someone else does and not what the consequences are."

Leia is incidentally fixing things that were broken, things that she didn't care about or think about. But more than trying to fix "the past" to save "the future," Leia has been dropped from one place into another, and now it's up to her to choose how she'll live out the rest of her life in these conditions. And sure, because this is in the prequel SW universe, we're gonna make this a "fix it."

But like, Leia doesn't save her "future." It's already lost. It's not coming back.

[aching-tummies]

(Not exactly sure if I'm really doing this right but here we go.) If I was your partner... I'd take you someplace nice and encourage you to eat whatever you want. After a large meal I'd be the one to drive home, as your complaining of an upset stomach. Wanting a reaction, I'd take you down the secluded, bumpy road to see what happens.

A/N: Thanks for the lovely ask! I kind of deviated a little, incorporating some of what's been going on in my life lately (new job, stresses causing me to skip meals, the craving for pasta, etc.) The beginnings of this do delve into spiraling about weight(loss) and body image stuff a little...so if that's a trigger for people then this is your warning.

It’s been more than two years since we indulged in dine-in service at a place with non-disposable cutlery. I’ve been craving pasta for even longer than that. Creamy, garlic-y, non-reheated pasta served on a plate and twirled around a metal fork.

We haven’t taken any opportunities to celebrate for the last two years. Birthdays, holidays, promotions at work or major advancements in our career adventures—we’ve barely done anything more than acknowledge them as we both go to pick up extra shifts wherever it is that we have been working. Honestly, we’ve seen so little of each other that it wouldn’t surprise either of us if the other snuck in a job-change in the last two years. That all changes tonight.

A nearby pasta place is offering dine-in service. We booked a reservation for tonight—all you have to do is pick me up from work and we can head on over.

I’m the one that managed to sneak in a job-change in the craziness. Fast-food to office intern. I’m barely handling things. I’ve been beyond exhausted because the change happened suddenly. The office place demanded that I start with them on a whim (despite my only condition on hiring being the time to give my fast-food job the proper two week notice). Due to their abrupt “start now or we will move ahead with other candidates” ultimatum, I’ve been pulling 44+ hour weeks juggling two jobs located on opposite ends of the city.

Tonight is a celebration. Dine-in service by itself is already something to celebrate in my books, but you’re insisting that tonight is for me because I finally finished my dues to the fast-food place. The hellish four weeks of juggling is over. No more calls at midnight from me begging you to pick me up from some random quadrant of the city because I nodded off on the last bus home. No more days where I make it home from my office job only to get an urgent call from the fast-food place begging/demanding that I show up because someone cut work. No more packed weeks with no days off or time to even pack myself lunch. Hopefully no more nights where you have to peel me off of the floor because making it home was all I managed before passing out from exhaustion.

I’ve got an hour before you’re set to come pick me up from my office job. I can’t help but smile as I count down the minutes while working on editing some funding proposal that was shoved at me a couple of minutes ago.

My stomach grumbles at me and I clam up. I blush as I look around to ensure nobody heard it. The office is basically empty. All the other staff seem to have gone off to lunch. That’s something I’m going to have to get used to: the fact that there doesn’t seem to be a set schedule here…people head out to lunch whenever. As a petrified newbie, I haven’t had the guts to just take off whenever. The number of shifts where I’ve stayed here for a full eight hours and then navigated an hour and a half of transit transfers only to come home ravenous is pretty high.

Welp, if a stomach growls and nobody is here to hear it then I guess it doesn’t make a sound. I’ve got an hour left before you come to pick me up and we’re basically just two hours away from satisfying my years long pasta craving. Going out to hunt for food now would only spoil my appetite.

“I AM HERE!”

I giggle at the reference and accompanying gif you’ve sent to announce your arrival. I pack up my area and get up, saying ‘bye’ to Jerry on my way out. The second I walk out that door will mark the start of my days off for the week, something I haven’t had in over a month.

“Hi, sweetie!” I chirp as I open the passenger door and bend over to set down my bag.

As I settle in, folding myself into the car, the movements dislodge a deep rumble from my tummy. I freeze, arm still reaching out to close the door. You snicker at me with your left arm perched on your open window, fingers close to your face and highlighting that charming grin of yours that I love so much.

“Oi, close the door and we can get going.”

I do just that. With the door closed, you carefully back out of the parking space and off we go. We don’t get very far. Ah, the joys of rush hour. No use honking, Karen, you’re not ‘stuck in traffic’—you are traffic and there’s no manager for you to speak to here, moron!

I adjust my seat a little, leaning back and allowing myself to relax. I’ve done it. Tomorrow is a day off. And so is the next day. My first true weekend in over three years and my first days off in over three weeks. I can feel the tension ebbing out of me. My shoulders untense, leaving behind a distinct soreness.

My shoulders aren’t the only thing to stop tensing. Apparently, my abdominals decided to join in as well.

Grrr…RRRR…blr.br…rrr.

I blush and sit up, arms wrapping around my stomach as it continues to snarl at me. The growls come with the sharp pains of hunger pangs and I wince, hugging my tummy and pressing my arms against the pain. The grumbles are quickly drowned out by your laughter.

“Man, no wonder you say your coworkers don’t talk to you here. If I heard that coming from a newbie I’d be scared of ‘em too.”

“S-Shut up!” I don’t want to admit that my tummy has been growling very loudly at the office. I’ve skipped more lunches than I’ve eaten in my time here. I lean back in the seat again, arms crossed over my chest as I look away from you, pouting. I’m hungry enough that my stomach really hurts, I’m a panicking newbie at work that doesn’t know the ropes or what’s expected of them, and here you are teasing me.

Your right hand reaches over but instead of stopping on the shift stick it continues further until your palm finds my stomach. The gentle pressure and the warmth of your palm nudging right over where my stomach joins my intestines aids in the relaxation of my tensed muscles and brings forth another loud grumble from my guts. You move your hand slightly, patting and rubbing my flat tummy absentmindedly as you keep the rest of you focused on traffic.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Y-Yeah…” I don’t want to admit that I’m happy about it. My waistband was loose enough to fall to my thighs before I put my belt on this morning. I love it but you and I both know weight and eating are sore subjects for me. I bite my tongue to keep from asking whether or not you think the weight loss is a good thing or not. Your tone was flat—it was an observation. The fact that I’ve been too busy and stressed out to have time to eat (or digest properly when I do) has led to the rapid shedding of pounds. Not just in the last three or four weeks, but for a long time yet. The reasons for the weight loss aren’t good…but I really do like the results, so I don’t want to hear it from you…good or bad…I don’t want to hear it. Thankfully, you don’t push the issue. Traffic picks up and you remove your hand from my stomach and put it back on the wheel.

My stomach continues to gripe and snarl as we make our way through the city at a crawl. I no longer have work to distract me and your impromptu massage has definitely woken the beast in my guts. ‘Starving’ doesn’t even begin to cover how my stomach feels. I’m starting to feel the other effects of the lack of food too. Light-headedness, feeling cold, and a limpness in my limbs. I want to press my arms into my stomach to quell some of the ache and the noises but I just can’t seem to summon the strength to put enough pressure on it. I wish you had kept your hand on my tummy. As much as your touch intensified the hunger, the pressure of your hand on my stomach was kind of comforting. Ugh…this is all wrong. We’ve been together long enough to know that both of us are into tummy stuff. Any other opportunity we’d be all over each other right now. Your mention of the weight I’ve lost and the silence that has followed since is filling me with anxiety. Under normal circumstances you’d have parked the car somewhere to tease my hungry tummy into oblivion. The fact that we’re currently driving in silence when there’s a golden kink opportunity in the palm of our hands is worrisome to me. Suddenly I don’t feel so good about the weight I’ve lost. I like it. It made me look totally bomb in my new office clothes. Buttons don’t strain even when I bend over or stretch. I spend the rest of the car ride lost in my anxieties. I’m not at an unhealthy weight. Sure, losing it is a testament of the stress I’ve been under lately…but it’s not like I’ve been intentionally skipping meals or fixating on some unachievable body image or something. This isn’t about the weight or anything, it was just a happy consequence of the hectic times I’ve gone through.

We arrive at the restaurant and you get out, expecting me to follow. I’ve managed to work myself into a ball of anxiety in the passenger seat and I don’t move. You pause on the sidewalk when you see me still strapped inside the car. You walk over and open the passenger door.

“Babe?” You see me petrified and chewing on my lip—a tell-tale sign I’m fighting some internal battle. “What’s wrong?” You cup my cheek with your hand, thumb going to pull my lower lip away from my teeth.

“Huh? Wha?” My gaze sharpens as I’m brought back to reality. I didn’t even realize we’ve arrived.

“What’re you thinking about?”

“Uhm…w-well…y-you said…n-nevermind.” I unbuckle the seatbelt and step out of the car. You frown as you think back on what I meant about you having said something.

“Oh, about the weight loss?” I freeze. Bingo. “Babe—I didn’t mean anything by it, honest. Just an observation.” You scratch at the back of your head. “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately and gosh knows neither of us has had time to cook or pack lunches. I was just thinking that maybe we should work on that together. Going hungry so often sounds like a dream, kink-wise…but neither of us has had time for that lately. I was going to suggest creating a mealplan or something together, maybe bringing out the slow cooker and freezing some stuff so that we can just grab and go for work going forward.” I stumble over and rest my head on your shoulder, giving a slight nod.

I’m overwhelmed. One thing you said sent me spiraling and you just pulled me out of it.

“Ugh…don’t do that again.”

You smirk. “I won’t. Rather than think yourself into a hole over that, you should really think about what it is you want to eat. We’re ordering off the full menu tonight.”

My eyes widen. The full menu has more selection but it’s way more expensive. Every time we’ve come here in the past, we have always ordered off the specials menu—the discounted, half-size portions that they offer. You smile seeing my stunned reaction.

“Birthdays, holidays—and Sweets, you got a job! You got a job where you don’t have to deal with the dreaded ‘customer’. I’m proud of you, Sweets. This…this is supposed to be a celebration…right? For all the celebrating we haven’t been able to do in…damn, how long has it been—” Your rambling is cut off when I seal your lips with mine. I step back with a grin, watching the dumbfounded, wide-eyed expression pass over to you ‘cuz I’m usually the no-kissy-touchy type.

“Chicken parm with garlic, angel-hair pasta in cream sauce.” I know exactly what I want to order. I’ve known it for over two years. That dish has been taunting me in my dreams for over two years. When I chew on my pillow in my sleep ‘cuz I skipped dinner in lieu of sleep I’m dreaming about that dish. The last time I had it from here was with my parents—long before I met you—for a birthday when I was still in grade school. My stomach growls, punctuating my declaration. The sound shocks you out of your reverie and you slide an arm around my waist, resting your palm against my stomach as you feel all the empty rumbles reverberating beneath your palm.

“Alright. Guess we better walk in before they give away our table…or before you decide it’s quicker just to eat me here in the parking lot.”

Ugh…how am I already full? There’s still so much food on the plate. So, so much. Urrgh…

My stomach silently gripes at me. A sickly, sticky feeling is blooming in my guts. I’m sated but there is still far too much food on my plate. The full menu is more expensive, but they fill the plate up more and often use bigger plates. I’ve forgotten just how big, and my tummy is suffering. Two years is a long time to go without something and I’ve gone without fulfilling my craving for pasta in cream sauce for over two years, maybe even three. That’s a long time…long enough for my stomach to forget how to handle cream sauce, apparently.

I’ve only swallowed about a fifth of my plate and my stomach already feels heavy. The warm bread to start and the bites of chicken parmesan cutlet went down alright. They lined my stomach comfortably and my digestive tract knew exactly how to handle them. The first couple of bites of pasta were cushioned by the bread and chicken. When that lining dissolved away and more of the pasta came into contact with my gastric juices, I realized there was a problem.

My stomach pounced on the bites of bread and the water and cola I chased it down with. I could practically feel my duodenum yawning wide to suck in the masticated bread, my intestines just as hungry for it as I have been all day. When it had to contend with the cream sauce things started to slow down. I can feel a backlog of stuff sitting in my stomach, refusing to be broken down further into a form that will comfortably move onto my intestines. I’m chewing a lot more, my mouth creating more saliva. I feel sick. My stomach doesn’t hurt, yet, but it’s definitely going to as it fights with the creamy, oily pasta.

“Ooh…they’ve got tiramisu here.” You’re eyeing the dessert menu. “It’s your favorite, right?”

“Yeah…but it’s expensive and this is a lotta food.”

“We’re supposed to be celebrating, Sweets. We’ll take whatever you don’t finish to-go. Leftovers are a Godsend, remember? C’mon, let’s live a little.”

I feel a weight settle in my stomach as you flag down a passing wait-staff and order a tiramisu. To share, thank God. My stomach churns in vain, serving only to churn up the mess of creamy pasta and chicken without moving it along further in the digestive process. The sphincter to my duodenum is squeezed tight, refusing passage to the foreign cream and oil mix that it doesn’t seem to recognize.

I managed to finish just under half of my plate before the dessert arrived. I decided to throw in the towel and asked for the rest to be packed up to-go. I put on a smile as we share the dessert and hope it’s not as shaky as my guts feel. The dessert is delicious. Rich, flavorful, and perfect. If only I didn’t have to feel it sickeningly sliding down my esophagus, plopping down heavily into a stomach crammed much too full with indigestible pasta. As my stomach clenches and churns things around the creamy tiramisu is going to get incorporated with the rest of the mess. It’s going to make it thicker and creamier…as if it wasn’t already too thick and too creamy for my duodenum to open up and allow it to wreak havoc in my intestines. As sick as my overstuffed stomach feels, I am a little grateful that my duodenum is being a stubborn prick.

If the creamy mess had passed into my intestines, I’d be doubled over in the bathroom right now, rubbing futilely at my revolting intestines. I know what dairy does to my guts. It doesn’t usually happen, just when I’m stressed or it’s close to that time of the month. It’s nasty and it hurts bad enough that I honestly think hell is enduring those cramping intestines for eternity.

We finish the tiramisu. You offer me the lion’s share, but I refuse and push it back to you with a mention on my stomach being really full. I bring my hands to my stomach and I catch the way your eyes smolder at the sight. Good. Yes. Get us home quickly, darling.

You pay for the meal, and we are off. I clutch my tummy behind my bag as we walk out to the car. Every step sends aftershocks into my guts and it’s really upsetting things in my stomach.

As I settle in the passenger seat, I notice the buttons on my blouse are a little bit strained around my stomach. Horror sets in and I quickly fumble to get the buttons undone. I don’t want to ruin my shirt and the sight of the straining buttons triggers something nasty in my mind. I calm down a little once the buttons are undone and I rub my tummy under the cover of my bag, palms running up and down the dark undershirt that is draped snugly over my full belly.

“It’s still early. Want to really paint the town red and see if we can catch a movie somewhere?”

I swallow back a sickly belch to answer your question, my questing hands churning up the mess in my guts and dislodging air pockets.

“Umph…n-no…let’s go home.”

“Sweets, you okay?” Your voice is laced with concern. Surely you can hear the sickly squelching from my guts. Do I have to spell it out for you?

“Hmm? No,” I blush as I fidget and grapple with whether or not to come clean. I’m shy about this kind of stuff—you’re my partner though and have been for a long time—we’re both into tummy stuff—we haven’t done anything on this front in a very long time. Making my decision, I move my back over to the floor, resting it against my shins and I lean back, allowing you full view of my distended tummy with my blouse undone. “I just…uhm…m-my tummy’s kinda…upset…I just really want to get home.” My stomach burbles sickly throughout our conversation. I have both my hands on the rounded curve of it, rubbing at tender spots with my thumbs.

Your eyes widen at the sight of my belly rounding out my undershirt. You start the car and pull out of our stall. Instead of righting the car onto the road you keep backing into a more secluded spot on the far end of the lot. This one is obscured by an overgrown bush or tree on the passenger side.

I haven’t even bothered with getting my seatbelt on. I was too caught up in my indigestion to think of it despite it normally being a habit. To be fair, I don’t think the seatbelt is a good idea with my tummy so bloated and sore.

“What are you—”

You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn in your seat, giving me your full attention. My seat is still reclined a little further than normal from the drive over. Gently, you put a hand on my shoulder, indicating for me not to sit up. Your eyes briefly meet mine and convey your plan before they go back to fixating on my belly.

I relax my arms, letting them rest at my sides as you slide a hand over the crest of my bloated gut. I bite back a groan as the slight pressure of your hand increases the pressure in my intestines. My stomach is packed full with an indigestible mass of creamy pasta. My duodenum is not allowing any of that entry into my intestines so they sit, bloated with air. The ingredients for a very upset tummy are inside of me…they just need a bit of a push to act as a catalyst.

The push comes in the form of a literal push as you place both hands, one on each side of my tummy, and squeeze. I bite back a mewl of pain until the pressure relents and you are sliding your hands all over my taut tummy.

“Oh my…you really are full.”

“Ugh…haven’t…haven’t eaten so much in a long time.” I groan as your hands churn up the mess in my guts. You know what you’re doing. You felt the firmness in my upper left and you know that everything is sitting heavy in my stomach. You focus your massage on my left, on the area where my duodenum is. You rub and nudge and coax at the area, intent on getting the sphincters to unclench and allow my meal to continue to digest.

“Oh…ah!” I can’t help but cry out a little as I feel my duodenum flood with the lumpy mess. A rumbling, wet burble indicates when the sphincter finally gives up and allows the mess in my stomach passage. My stomach acid wasn’t enough to break down the creamy, oily pasta so it’s entering my intestines relatively undigested.

After ten minutes of you massaging my belly, (in)digestion is in full swing. My intestines are filling up with the ache-inducing mass and the straining pressure that started in my stomach has now spread all over my abdomen. You reach over and pull down my seat belt, buckling it before reaching over to get my seat back into an upright position. My stomach cramps sharply with the change in orientation and my mewl of pain is cut off by a harsh belch. You pat my tummy almost teasingly as you right yourself in your seat and start the car.

I don’t bother to keep track of where we are heading. You could be taking me to the movies, intent on letting my indigestion stew for a couple of hours, or you could be driving us home. I don’t care. I can’t care because every ounce of me is focused on the sharp pains exploding all over my guts as the car hits every bump in the road. Damned city not bothering to spend money to fix the thousands of pot-holes in our roads. My stomach is just as vocal as I am about the indigestion.

You brake sharply, causing the seatbelt to dig into my tummy and tear a sharp gasp of pain from me. I see the road ahead of us…it’s not a road at all but literally the worst road in our city. This stretch of road is famous even outside of our city for just how bumpy and nasty it is. People scrape the undercarriage of their cars if they aren’t careful in avoiding the potholes that litter this thing like craters on the moon. People have lost pieces of their cars and done massive damage to their vehicles by driving down this road. People around here know to avoid this road. The alternative is a ten minute detour to take the safer, newer road and everyone agrees that ten minutes more is better than damaging their car on this road so it is always empty.

“Darling, no—”

You floor it, going down the secluded road at a high speed. We hit every bump and hole in the thing (that won’t damage the car)…you used to come down this thing often and you’re a master at navigating it to avoid damage to the vehicle. Damage to my tummy, on the other hand.

My stomach gives off aborted grumbles and gripes, each one interrupted as we hit another bump in the road. My tummy sloshes and churns. Digestion had stalled without your hands pushing everything along, but this new form of “massage” in the form of a very bumpy ride is kick starting things all over again…in the wrong direction. Stuff swirls inside of my stomach and I swear that it’s filling up rather than emptying. The pressure is building in my stomach. I’d like to believe it’s the air from my intestines, but I’m sure we managed to get most of that out with your massage in the parking lot.

"Ugh…ouch…ah—ow! Ungh…my tummy…urp…my tummy…ulp…” I can’t help it. Belches and protests roll through my throat, unchecked. It’s better than the alternative of something solid, I guess. The road has increased the upset tenfold as I clutch my stomach in both hands. The road has dialed the cramping pains up to eleven and many more aches and tender spots have erupted thanks to the bumpy ride. We’re about halfway through the road when I feel something solid tickling at my esophagus.

“Ugh—Babe—STOP!” I reach up and slap a hand over my mouth, fearing that we’re about to see my dinner come back out.

You slam on the brakes and the pressure from the seatbelt is what does it. My mouth fills with the sour mess of barely-digested pasta.

“Ugh…urk…” I swallow back the bile. It’s nasty, but there’s no receptacle and I don’t want to stink up the car. Luckily, this wasn’t a true vomiting session triggered internally—it was basically regurgitation brought on by external factors—like the seatbelt putting too much pressure on my over-packed tummy. My stomach snarls violently at the return of the sickly concoction.

You watch my struggle, fascinated. Reaching over, you put a hand on my palm, a hand that is quickly slapped away as I give you the fiercest glare I can muster.

“None of that until you get me home, darling.”

You grin, exaggerating taking your foot off of the brake pedal. I realize my poor phrasing a moment too late.

“As you command, Sweets.”

“Darling, no—”

[myckicade]

Random AU Idea I'll Never Write

Hey, someone may have, already? I'm not big on AUs, so it's actually amazing to me that I keep coming up with these thoughts.

The Idea: Counting Cars/American Restoration AU.

Ed restores classic cars and bikes at Blackbeard's Body-and-Something Shop, many of them custom jobs. Unfortunately, he has a bit of a hard time focusing on a healthy number of projects at once, much to the horror of his second in command and accountant, Izzy Hands. ("Edward, don't you think we should consider finishing the Continental, before you buy the Firebird?"). His crew consists of project manager Ivan, who is well-organized, and very much on-task; Fang, who handles all of the clerical work, in addition to being handy as hell with painting; and Calico Jack, who... Well, let's face it. He's useless, but he's an extra pair of hands, so.

A job comes in that requires a fair amount of restorative work, some of which Ed doesn't have the proper equipment for. Buy, hey... Stede just might.

Enter Stede, curator of antiques and rare finds (or, as Lucius calls him, a junk hoarder). His motto is, "Sometimes the old things are the best things", and his business has quite the reputation for lovingly reviving someone else's forgotten tatters into something for another to enjoy. Stede sometimes gets a bit extravagant with his ideas, which are quickly reigned in by project manager Lucius. (He's even gone so far as to tell the rest of the crew to ignore what Stede has rambled off, because it's going to be godawful, and he'll never remember it, anyway). Frenchie takes care of the front, clerical, and customer service; Black Pete is the best damned sand blaster in the business; Wee John is magic with detailed painting; Oluwande and Jim are the only two Stede trusts to scout for new finds when he can't get away from the shop; and Buttons and the Swede are in charge of the curated items in the yard (mostly so that Buttons can be outside to feed the birds).

Ed brings a couple of pieces down to Stede's shop (I totally mis-typed as 'ship'), Revenge Restorations, or some jazz. Izzy pitches a fit, because, Edward, we have a sand blaster, and this is a waste of time and money. To which Ed is keen to reply, Yes, but we don't have STEDE'S sand blaster. This work is delicate, and Stede's machine has options for finer settings. He doesn't see Stede right away, disappointed that he won't get to see his friend on this trip. (Because, yes, he has the single biggest crush on the beautiful blond man with a sharp eye for beauty, and no little amount of love reserved for life's unlovable things).

He's about to leave everything with Frenchie, when Stede and Lucius step in from one of the back rooms. Ed beams brighter than the sun itself, and maybe Izzy is hoping he'll get sunstroke and die right there - it'll serve Bonnet right - because he can't take another of these two-hour ventures where Ed is positively mooning over this fucking moron. But, that's exactly what happens, as Stede just has to show Ed his latest finds. Izzy groans, not only for being left to wait for Edward, who has the keys to the truck in his pocket, but because he's stuck with the full effect of Lucius' smug smirk. Everyone sees it, what's going on between their two fearless leaders, but only Izzy is in denial about it. So, naturally, Lucius takes every opportunity to get under his skin about it all.

"I hear June is a popular month for weddings."

Izzy decides to walk home.

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I Thought About "Knock Knock Knockin' on Hooty's Door" from The Owl House

Wow. They are really pushing it for that secret message, huh?

Anywho--Salutations, random people on the internet who certainly won’t read this! I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons!

I think it goes without saying at this point that Season Two of The Owl House is setting itself up as a season without filler. Now, filler episodes aren't always bad. Yes, it hurts when a series turns away from the main plot for a week. But at best, they're utilized as a chance for the writers to play around with the characters and developing said characters without it relating to the overarching story. So, some people who see that consider it a bad thing that a series doesn't have that many filler episodes.

I like to call those people: F**king morons.

Don't get me wrong, I see where some of you are coming from. And I'd be willing to agree...if The Owl House was a plot-driven series. Which it's not. It is a character-driven series. Because for every plot thread and narrative that the show presents, they always relate to the characters and develop them further each time these threads get brought up. For example, look at "Knock Knock Knockin’ on Hooty's Door" (It pains me just to write that). Several narratives move forward, and it’s all done to make the characters grow. And to explain how requires going into spoilers. So keep that in mind as you continue reading.

Now, let's review, shall we?

WHAT I LIKED

Hooty: Might as well start with the character that this episode is about.

To tell you the truth, I wasn't a huge fan when I found out we're getting a Hooty-centered episode. I've grown to love him over time, but he is a comedic character that's best used in small doses. Primarily due to how his voice is grating to me (My ears are still bleeding...). With that said, I do really love his contributions in "Knock Knock Knockin' on Hooty's Door" (Seriously, there couldn't have been a less awkward title?). Hooty's antics when trying to help everyone are as hilarious as they are heartwarming. He deeply cares for his friends but just doesn't understand how his plans could do some unintended harm, which is pretty lovable if you ask me. We also get some surprisingly great insight into his character, as he feels insecure about basically being the comic relief who doesn't really do that much other than being funny. Rarely do you get that level of dimension from a comedic character, and it's even more uncommon for that to work out as well as it does here. It once again proves just how competent the writing is in this series to the point where we get an episode about Hooty, and it's funny and heartwarming instead of being annoying. And whoever is responsible for that, you're the best.

Lilith’s Letter to Hooty: I mean it when I say that I love how Lilith kept her word about her and Hooty becoming penpals. Their friendship was something I would have never expected to love, and I'm still shocked that it works so well, so seeing it continue like this just warms me to the bone. Plus, it is pretty sweet that Lilith's kind words are what inspired Hooty to do what he's done in this episode...meaning it's Lilith we should thank here--SON OF A WITCH! Even when she's gone, she's still working her way into my heart!

King going through Puberty: What?! KING IS EVOLVING!

(There, I made a Pokemon reference. Do I get my cookie now?)

Eda Keeping Herself Awake to Train Herself: I'm willing to bet a large sum of money that this has everything to with Raine getting captured last week. If Eda was still the most powerful witch in the Isles, she might have actually saved them. But she isn't, and now the love of her life is in the clutches of a tyrant planning something that could potentially be the end of everything. So I can understand Eda pushing herself to her limit to get back on top again, as I would probably do the same. It's not healthy in any way, and Eda would be doing more harm than good. But when it comes to the people you love, logic doesn't always win out in the end.

Luz Wanting to Make her Way into Amity’s Heart by Making the Echo Mouse Happy: ...That's it. I Just...I just love everything about it, ok?

This was also when I knew that I was wrong to doubt that there would be zero Lumity in this episode. I realize my follies now, and I humbly apologize.

Hooty Teaching King About Demons: This was so funny. So, so funny. Probably doesn't come as a surprise, especially since The Owl House proves itself as a comedy before, but the jokes have never hit as frequently and as hard as they did here. From Hooty getting offended by King's dance to him and Dana's insert wanting a "DNA sample," everything managed to successfully make me lose my s**t. It does come at the expense of King suffering, but I can stomach that much more than if it were Eda or Luz. And, as a bonus, we get lore about how demons work, added with another great joke of King getting in trouble with Hooty for saying he already knows this stuff. Humor isn't always the show's strong suit, but when it works, it f**king works.

King Wanting to Know What he Is: But despite how funny King's vignette was, we still get to see more of his character grow. We learn that he's frustrated now that there's this big question mark over his life now, feeling extra angry that his father "abandoned" him to leave such a present mystery. It shows the hidden resentment he has that Lilith inadvertently brought out, made even worse when King's father hasn't responded to the video yet. King hasn't really gotten that much development until "Echoes of the Past," so it's pretty cool that the writers haven't really slowed down on it. Especially when it leads to these great moments of King venting his frustrations.

King’s Shouting Powers: KING learned FUS RO DAH!

(And now that's a Pokemon reference AND a Skyrim reference. WHERE'S MY GOSH DANG COOKIE!?)

Eda’s Nightmare: If King's vignette hits you hard with the laughs, Eda's will absolutely hit you harder with the feels (never make me say "feels" unironically again). Knowing that Eda's life got thoroughly screwed over by the curse is something we could figure out on her own. But seeing just how much the curse ruined her life and tore apart relationships that mean the world to her really does a swell job at ripping apart the soul. What's even more tragic is, technically speaking, it's all sort of Eda's fault too. She kept hiding the curse, refusing to be a burden to others who would do all they could to help. If she had only been open and honest, things probably wouldn't have changed much, but they most likely would have been better than they are now.

Eda Attacked her Father as the Owl Beast: ...I don't know what I was expecting when "Keeping Up A-Fear-Ances" hinted that there was some possible tension between Eda and her father...but it definitely wasn't this.

The fact that we see blood where his eye used to be doesn't make things any happier, either.

Raine Broke Up with Eda: Before we get into anything else, let's celebrate the fact that it's now confirmed that Eda and Raine really did use to date in the past. Because this show is just f**king phenomenal with its LGBTQA+ representation!

But, seriously, this is a fantastic reveal that goes far beyond just shipping...well, sort of. It shines a new light on Eda and Raine's interactions from last week, revealing that while they're not a couple anymore, they still very much love each other. It helps make their last interaction especially tragic, as they were both on the same page now and could very well be together again. Only for them to be forced apart for the second time in a way that's much worse than the first. And I frickin' adore that this series changes the impact of one episode one week later. Again, it shows just how competent these writers are, and kudos to them for making something so...perfect.

The Moon Person: WHO THE FU--Nope. Nope! We have more than enough mystery bulls**t to deal with through CreepyLuz and Philip Wittebane, so I am PUTTING YOU ON THE BACKBURNER FOR NOW!

(They're probably nothing more than a one-off character, anyway)

The Owl Beast and Eda are Connected: Through visuals alone, we, the audience, can clue into what the curse really means. The Owl Beast doesn't want to be a part of Eda as much as she doesn't want it to be a part of her. Whether they like it or not, and they very much don't, they're stuck together. The thing is, and this is what I love the most, they still decide to make the best of their situation rather than let it ruin their lives even more. This might be the best possible turn Eda's curse could have made. It'll still affect her, and there are probably more negatives than positives, but at least now, it's not the worst thing in the world. And I feel like that's all anyone can ask when in a position like her own.

Eda's “Pretty Dream”: I don't know what emotions are toiling inside me more with this moment. Awe and wonder over how beautiful Eda's dream is, or heartbreak over the implication that she has only had nightmares since getting cursed...I'm gonna say both. Yeah, it's definitely both.

Eda’s Harpie Form: Well, fan artists are gonna have a field day with this...especially the freaks.

(You know who you are. And you're weird!)

Luz Calling Amity a “Cotton-Candy Haired Goddess”: ...Have I ever mentioned how much I love this show?

Hooty Kidnapped Amity: ...Hooty, if your stupidity wasn't charming, I would be more than willing to call the authorities over how you kidnapped a girl in your version of a knapsack and locked her in the basement. For that is going to ring SO MANY alarm bells in people's heads.

Amity and Luz Stuck in a Tunnel of Love: *Smacks lips* Mmm. The adorable awkwardness of this moment is just *chef's kiss* magnifique!

Luz being afraid of getting made fun of:

Amity’s look of hope: I mean...just...f**king--LOOK AT HER:

That is the look of a girl who, while embarrassed as hell, still is ecstatic to learn for a brief moment, everything that she is hoping for has a high chance of being real. Who, in their right mind, wouldn't go "Aw!" at something so pure and innocent?!

Luz Destroying the Tunnel of Love: This is how to effectively utilize dramatic irony. The audience can understand why Luz is tearing the place apart because she explicitly states that she's afraid of Amity rejecting her in the end. They also know that's bogus, thus making it extra painful to watch Amity's heart break more and more with each second (which is perfectly represented through Amity's expressions). You feel bad for both of them, and even worse when you know that it can easily be prevented by the simple art of communication. That's what makes it great dramatic irony. Knowing the point of view of each character results in a scene that evokes emotions in two different ways.

Hooty’s Breakdown: This was...genuinely hard to watch. Not that it was badly written, far from it. It just...hurt seeing how destroyed Hooty was when he realized he failed the people he has such an admiration for. On the upside, a wholesome moment follows soon after as the Owl House gang tries to reassure Hooty that he's done a lot of good that night. It's a pure action that shows even though Hooty gets on their nerves all the time, they still care about him...damn it. I think I'm gonna cry.

Eda’s Advice for Luz: ...Eda...You're the best.

You found out that your surrogate daughter wants to ask a girl out, and not only were you quick to deliver the best possible advice ("Just go for it!"), but you also quickly reassure her that it doesn't need to be perfect.

And you know what? That's it. Eda is the best cartoon mom! She might not technically be Luz's mom, but I don't give a s**t because she is the best!

Luz and Amity Ask Each Other Out: Shh-sh-sh-sh...

Do you hear that?

...

...

...It's the sound of dozens of Lumity fans collectively losing their s**t...and I'm one of them.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

HOO-HOO-HOO-HOO!

IT!

IS!

CANON!

AH-HAHAHAHAHA!

HOLY S**T! Holy s**t! Holy s**t...might just be the best way I could possibly describe this! Finally, after all the waiting, speculating, and praying, THESE TWO IDIOTS FINALLY GOT TOGETHER! AND IT WAS PERFECT! I mean, it was awkward as s**t, but that's what makes it perfect! You know why? You wanna--Hey! *snaps fingers*. You want to know why? It's because they're teenagers. Of f**king course, it's going to be awkward! This is their first relationship, so there will be a lot of missteps along the way. And that, in itself, brings me to the best (second best part?) thing about it happening in episode eight of the new seasons. Most endgame couples get together in the climax or even at the end of the series. But to have them get together this early on, means there will be quite a few episodes dedicated to showing them grow as a couple.

And better than that--EVEN F**KING BETTER THAN THAT--dozens of kids are going to see these two, a realistic depiction of young love that just so happens to involve two girls, and are going to learn once and for all that there is nothing wrong with being who they are. That fact alone is f**king incredible. Yes, it sucks that season three got cut short, and we'll have even less time with Luz and Amity, but knowing how many kids have felt seen today almost makes it worth it in the end.

And if I see one mother f**ker saying this was poorly paced, I might just hunt them down for SPORT...Sorry if that was an overreaction. I'M JUST SO HAPPY! Because they're happy! Look at them. Listen to them! It's so...GAH-HAHAHA!

“They’re adorable! And deserve all the happiness!”: You're darn right, Hooty! You're darn right.

King’s Father(?) Shows Up: What the--WHAT?! They're doing this now?! Here?! After everything else?

Oh, man. What could this mean? What dynamic changes will this cause in the main cast? How could the writers fit this in during the next two episodes? And what--

Hooty Eats the Letter: ...Pfffft--HAHAHAHA!

Oh, man...I should be mad, and I wouldn't blame others if they are...but that is too much of a brilliant f**k you that I can't help but appreciate it. Bravo writers. Bravo.

WHAT I DISLIKED

...Dislikes? Dislikes? You would honestly believe that after everything I witnessed in this episode, that I would have the gull to list anything wrong with it?!

HOW DARE YOU ASSUME THAT I WOULD BE SO CALLUS TO--Actually, I do kind of have an issue with the episode's title. It's just too much of an awkward mouthful for me to get behind. I understand that the writers wanted to sneak the K into the secret message, but were there really no other titles starting with K that they couldn't come up with?

But that's just a personal issue, and in no way do I think anybody else would feel the same way. Especially with how well-written everything else is anyway.

IN CONCLUSION

"Knock Knock Knockin' on Hooty's Door" (title aside) is another A+ episode. It was hilarious, heart-wrenching, and downright adorable while keeping me entertained with every minute. I'm sure there are some issues I was willing to ignore due to how expertly written everything else was, but why bother looking for the chinks in the armor when I could just enjoy a perfect episode for being so...perfect! Some of you might be willing to disagree with me, but to that, I say: Don't knock it till you've tried it.

(Now, if you don't excuse me, I'm going to go lie down. It's...It's been a day.)

[dontcare77ghj]

Soul

Steve x reader x Bucky x Tony

Set in the Parenting universe

Requested by @deansblackbeauty

Before a person was born, something happened to them in the between. Their soul would split and be shared with the person, or persons, who would be their other half. When those who shared a soul finally met, their eyes would glow a bright neon blue to symbolize their shared connection.

At least that was one way people rationalized soulmates. There were hundreds of other theories, but this was the one most chose to believe. Probably because it felt the most magical. 

At the end of the day, no-one really thought about why soulmates existed. All that mattered was that they did and that one day you would be able to meet the other part of your soul.

It was times like this that you missed your sister. Stakeouts were usually the dullest part of the job. You would be watching a target go about their daily lives or cheating on their partners or stealing company information, boring things like that.

Stakeouts were your second least favorite aspect of this job, beaten only by the actual murder of people.

Though, this stakeout was by far one of your better ones.

You'd been atop an abandoned building, watching as one of your hits was cheating on her wife. You had been laid on the roof when suddenly you sensed someone behind you.

Quickly, you rolled to the side, missing the bullet that would have hit you in the skull. Looking behind you, you saw the dark silhouette of a man with his gun raised at you.

The two of you had engaged in a shoot out before he ran towards you. The building you were on was incredibly old. To even sneak up there, you had to place yourself very carefully. So to have this man barreling towards you on this old roof was not a good idea.

The roof made a loud groaning sound before you were suddenly falling. Your hand grasped onto a sharp piece of metal, and you were jerked to a stop.

You were dangling above the ground, hand bleeding as you clutched the jagged metal roof, and you could hear the man coming towards you. 

After several tense seconds, suddenly, the man was standing above you, gun drawn.

Refusing to show fear in your final moments, you raised your head, and your eyes met his. 

And suddenly, his eyes glowed a bright neon blue.

You gasped at the implementation, and quickly you were being pulled up.

"Dusha." The man murmured once you stood safely before him. (Soul)

"Da, dusha. Ty moya dusha." You told him. (Yes, soul. You're my soul.) 

"Kak vas zovut?" He asked, pulling you away from the collapsing ceiling. (What's your name?)

"Romanova. Y/N Romanova. Chto tvoye?" (What's yours?)

"Aktiv." He told you. "YA aktiv." 

(Asset. I'm the asset.) 

You learned a lot that night on the roof. And in the four years that followed.

HYDRA came to collect Bucky ten minutes after you met him. Their first instinct was to kill you, but the second they raised their guns, Bucky shot them dead. 

All four of them.

And when another batch arrived and tried to take you away, he did the same thing. 

And that is when you learned the first thing about the asset.

The longer you were around the asset, the more he was in control. As it turns out, HYDRA was controlling your soul. In the years that would come, you would learn they had conditioned him to comply with a set of trigger words. Though you could never find out the words despite your years of espionage. 

But the longer you were around him, the more he was able to break out of it and remember things. 

Things like his name.

Eventually, Bucky's handler arrived and told him that they weren't going to kill you. That you could be brought back to the compound with him.

You agreed because at the time you thought you'd be able to be with Bucky, you were quickly proven wrong. 

You were allowed to see Bucky for two hours a day. This was the most time you could spend with him without him breaking his conditioning.

Your freedom was also stolen from you.

HYDRA ensured you spent the majority of your time in a small locked suite that was at the back of the compound. 

Out of sight, out of mind.

You had to admit, you had mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, you were aggravated that you were locked away from the outside world and your soul. But on the other hand, you weren't killing anyone. 

You'd never wanted to be an assassin, but it was all you knew. It was all you were good at. And now HYDRA had taken it, and any connection to the outside, from you.

"Bucky." You happily sighed as he entered your room. Getting up from your chair, you slowly moved to stand before him. "Kto ya?" You asked, holding a hand up to him.

(Who am I?)

"Dusha. Ty moya dusha." He said, raising his hand to yours. (Soul. You are my soul.)

"I kto ty takoy?" You asked, intertwining your fingers with his. (And who are you?)

"Vash. Vasha dusha." (Yours. Your soul.)

"Khoroshiy." You nodded. (Good.)

"U menya yest' novosti dlya tebya," Bucky said, moving you towards the small couch. "Menya otpravlyayut, i oni khotyat, chtoby vy poshli so mnoy."  (I have news for you. I'm being sent out, and they want you to come with me.)

"Zachem? Oni nikogda ne pozvolyali mne ran'she." You asked, looking him over. (Why? They've never let me before.)

"Dumayu, ya znal svoyu tsel'. Pered." He murmured to you, almost inaudibly. YA slyshal, kak okhrannik skazal, chto oni boyalis', chto ya slomayus'." (I think I knew my target. Before. I heard a guard say they worried I'd break.)

"Ty uveren, chto rech' shla o missii?" You asked, raising a brow at him. (You're sure it was about the mission?)

"Polozhitel'nyy." He nodded. (Positive.)

"YA ne iz tekh, kto smotrit darenomu konyu v zuby." You shrugged. "Po krayney mere, my budem provodit' bol'she vremeni vmeste. (I'm not one to look the gift horse in the mouth. At least we'll get more time together.)

"Oni khotyat, chtoby ty ubil, Y/N. Vam ne predostavlyayetsya vybor stoyat' v storone." Bucky told you. (They want you to kill, Y/N. You're not being given a choice to stand on the sidelines.)

"Buck, u menya ne bylo vybora s tekh por, kak ya vstretil tebya." You sighed. "YA uzhe privyk k etomu." (Buck, I haven't had a choice since I met you. I'm used to it at this point.)

"Proshu proshcheniya za vse eto," Bucky said, looking away from you. (I am sorry for all of this.)

Grabbing Bucky's chin, you forced him to look you in the eyes. You gave him a gentle smile before pressing your lips to his cheek.

"Ne bud'. YA by ni na chto ne promenyal s toboy svoye vremya. Ty moya dusha, i nichego ne mozhet etogo izmenit'. I ya etogo ne khochu." You told him firmly. (Don't be. I wouldn't trade my time with you for anything. You're my soul, and nothing can change that. And I don't want it to.)

"Moya dusha," Bucky said, putting his head in the crook of your neck. (My soul.)

"Da, dusha." (Yes, soul.)

For the remainder of your time together, the two of you stayed on that ratty couch. Not speaking, merely holding onto one another and embracing each other.

You should have known this wouldn't be easy. You should have known the universe wouldn't make this easy for either of you. 

The mission had failed.

You hadn't been able to kill your targets, either of them. In fact, the two of you had run.

The two of you had run from your targets to an abandoned building Bucky had found.

Bucky was asleep beside you, his form stiff and rigid, as you sat upright surveying the area. You couldn't sleep. Your mind wouldn't let you.

You couldn't stop thinking about what happened today. You couldn't stop thinking about when your eyes met.

You'd never had this many problems with a target. Or multiple targets. Perhaps you were out of practice, or before, you were simply so cocky about your abilities you were just showboating.

But Steve Rogers and Tony Stark were proving to be formidable targets.

You were facing off with Tony Stark, who was shooting at you from behind a pillar. 

"Why does everyone want to kill me?" You heard the man complain as you shot close to his head. 

The man shot a blast at you, which you dodged easily before flipping towards him. You pulled a dagger out of your thigh holster and slammed it into the pillar only to find Stark not there.

"Missed me!" Stark cheered from behind you. Spinning quickly, you threw another knife in Stark's direction for him to dodge. "Missed me again!"

You let out a loud growl as you raised your head and glared at the man. Stark's eyes met yours, and it happened.

His eyes glowed a bright, neon blue.

"Fuck." The two of you swore in unison.

Before you could process what was happening, Bucky rushed to your side and was pulling you away from the scene.

As the two of you were fleeing from the scene, you glanced over your shoulder. Steve had moved to stand beside a shell-shocked Tony and managed to catch your eye.

Bright, neon blue.

Bucky had dragged you away because he thought you were hurt. His protective instincts always shone through when he was freshly wiped.

HYDRA would be coming to take the two of you back to the base in a few hours, but you wouldn't put it past them to come and snatch you while you were sleeping. 

You had been admiring Bucky's sleeping form when you heard it. The quiet crunch of footsteps below you. 

Your gun was already in your hand as you slowly stood from your makeshift bed. You didn't make a sound as you left the room where Bucky slept and moved towards the noise.

It was on the ground floor you found the source of the noise.

You were grabbed from behind, an arm wrapping itself around your waist, the other around your mouth.

"It's okay, we just want to talk. We're not here to hurt you." A voice said soothingly as another man appeared in front of you. Yanking yourself out of his grasp, you stood in front of the two and shook your head.

"You shouldn't be here. It's not safe for you." You told them. "You need to go."

"We just want to talk," Steve said. "We need to talk."

"We tried to kill you, both of you, less than twelve hours ago. You're either incredibly stupid or entirely moronic." You said, crossing your arms and raising a brow at the two.

"Probably both," Tony muttered.

"The two of you need to go. We're being taken back to base in a couple hours, and the guards will kill you if they see you." You told the two.

"Not if no-one's here when they arrive." Steve countered, taking a step forward. "Come with us. You and Bucky-"

"How do you know his name?" You demanded of the blonde, grip tightening on your gun. 

"I knew him when we were young. He was the first part of my soul I found. He's a part of me, just like Tony, and just like you." Steve told you. "You know as well as we do what that glow meant. You're a part of our souls."

"We tried to kill you." You reminded him.

"Everyone has their own story on how they met their souls. At least ours is entertaining." Tony snorted.

"You know we can't come with you." 

"Why not?" Tony asked, moving to stand beside Steve. "We want you, both of you. We don't care about what you've done."

"You don't even know a tenth of what we've done." You scoffed. "We can't come with you because the two of you are good, good people. We're not. Buck's got an excuse, but me not so much. We can't come with you because my hands are dripping red, and Bucky's not even Bucky on most days."

"What does that mean?" Steve asked you. "What does any of that mean?"

"It means I'm a murderer. I've killed so many people because it's what I've been told. And Bucky, HYDRA has him so firmly under their control, I can barely break him out. Sometimes he's a man I recognize, and others, he has two capabilities. Obey and protect." You told them before letting out a long sigh. "We can't come with you because our souls would taint you."

"That's bullshit, and you know it," Steve said, moving towards you. "Everyone has done things they regret, fuck knows we have. You're not perfect, fine, neither are we, but we're yours. And you and Bucky, you're ours." He said, stopping right in front of you.

"We can help you, both of you. Get you out of HYDRA and away from them. You'd never have to kill again if that's what you want, and we can fix what HYDRA did to Bucky." Tony added. "You know everyone's got baggage."

"Not like this." You shook your head. 

"Probably true." Tony nodded. "But lucky for you, we're gentlemen and can always help with the bags." He said, causing you to let out a weak laugh.

"That was terrible." You shook your head.

"Not one of my best, but if you come with us, you'll get to hear better." Tony offered you.

"I never wanted to be HYDRA." You quietly admitted. "Before, I used to kill them if I ever came across them, and now I'm their prisoner. But even I know you don't just get out of HYDRA. Not alive, at least."

"Well, how would you and Bucky like to set a record?" Steve asked you. "Come with us, please."

Sucking in a deep breath, you looked between the two and gave them a firm nod. 

"Y/N Romanova." You introduced yourself. "If we're gonna do this, we've gotta be quick. And we have to wake up Bucky."

"Let's do it."

"Did you say Romanova?"

"And that's how I met your pops." You said to the young boy sat on your lap. 

“And then you met Daddy?” He asked, pushing his glasses up onto his nose. Smiling at the boy, you gently reached out and tapped his nose.

“And then we met Daddy.” You confirmed with a nod. “We got to adopt him and then your Daddy met your Mommy and they had you.”

“What was Daddy like as a kid?” Ben asked you as Peter entered with your three souls behind him. “Daddy!” Ben cheered, rushing towards his father.

“Baby!” Peter returned with the same amount of enthusiasm. Peter swung the boy into his arms as Bucky and Tony sat beside you and Steve came to stand behind you.

“How are you, honey?” Steve asked, leaning down to kiss your head.

“I’m good. I was just about to tell Ben all about when his Dad was a kid.” You said, smirking when Peter let out a loud groan.

“Come on, mom, no need to tell him old war stories.” He said, collapsing into a seat with Ben on his lap.

“There’s no need, but it’s fun to see you squirm.” Bucky smiled at him.

“Exactly!” Tony grinned, leaning into Bucky’s side. “Let me tell you about the time Daddy and Uncle Ned blew up my lab.”

This was the moment you wished to forever repeat. Your son and grandson at your side as well as your dushi. 

Your souls.

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