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evilminji · 2 months

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Okay, you know how bird don't ACTUALLY look the way we think they do?

They are far more colorful? But only to the eyes of other birds?

And it has to do with how light reflects off them and how their eyes are shaped etc etc.?

Well..... humans can see the most shades of green, right? But! We sure as shit can't see UltaViolet and InfraRed? Or shades BEYOND those. Ectoplasmic colors. Magical ones. Third eye, need to see with your SOUL type ones.

Danny? Could very well still have lil baby "kitten's eyes who haven't open yet" syndrome.

He thinks the Zone is Green and his hair is white.

But it's not.

His hair is Starlight colored. Frost. His suit is specifically "the void between stars" colored. Which looks... different? Then black? No, no, guys. How can you guys not see it? It looks REALLY different! How did he not NOTICE before?! They're not ever CLOSE to the same shade! It's like calling salmon and hot pink the same. You know... if you were to compare an actual fish and some irradiated, violently glowing version of "hot pink".

......guys?

His gloves are.... guys, these ares stars. Pressed so close together there's no gap. His body is the night sky, all rearranged. He's wearing SPACE, guys.

*continues to stare at his gloves for the next five hours*

Now... why is this relevant? Because! Danny slowly, as all humans do, adjusts! It's like finally having glasses after years of blurry vision. He... forgets, what it was like, not NOT See Zone Colors. Not completely, mind you, but enough he has to be reminded.

And the Zone? A Realm of the Dead. Specifically, the great catch-all and highway of the Dead. They get EVERYBODY. Misfits and vagabonds. Those who don't quite fit. Funky lil dudes. And of course, assholes, but everybody has those! See, Zone colors?

Are DIFFERENT.

They're all of um!

It's like looking at the technicolor, stobe light, multi galaxies in one, Sun. Tingly(tm)!!! You get used to it. What helps? Is that as garish as the Zone is? The painting and grand tapestry of it all? Keeps changing. Like weather. If it's too much for you, you can stay inside your Lair until the current Color changes. Until the designs shift. Vibe changes.

There are even glasses for that! "Temperate" areas for people to set up, that get headaches or are just... kinda killjoys. Too each their own. Though the stormy areas? Those guys are freaks. Watch out for those guys. They're the kind who stare directly are stars until their eyes burn out.

Where was I? Oh yeah! Danny!

No longer a wee baby, smol baby, twig-o!

Sad. We miss it.

But he did get used to Seeing The Colors. Got a handle on his powers. And! Finally worked with his parents on how to safely turn the portal OFF. There was much booing. Cries of "kill joy" and "booo! You suck!". But? Like? Dude DID have the right to protect his home. Go to college. What can you do?

Problem with THAT is? Baby grew into his "built like a brick shit house of constantly running off to literally tackle the Supernatural excellence" Fenton genetics. He Tall. Muscles! And he PUMPING out "somethings fucked up with me" Vibes!

Add in his DEEPLY Sus off hand comments. Weird ability to tell when someone has or is about to die. Basic immunity to the cold. Fuckin EYE GLOW?

Ha ha... *Horror movie screams from his college dorm mates*

Clearly a demon!

He gets kicked out. Well... not kicked out. He's a model student and broken no rules. They'd never survive the lawsuit. But... he's? STRONGLY INCOURAGED to finish his education elsewhere. Repeatedly. By like... 15 colleges.

Sam is not just livid, she's actively foaming at the mouth.

Breathe, Sam! Remember what your doctor said! Your mortal body can't handle that kinda Vengance spiral! Think of your blood pressure! Breathe!!! (Were not for the laws of this land... and the weak, fleshy constraints of her mortal form!)

Thankfully? Tucker's been interning, remotely of course, with Wayne Industries. He asked his manager where he could find some of those scholarship forms. (Since Gotham University is just a touch out of Danny's price range.) Manager wanted to know why. And oh! Oh holy shit. Apparently? Danny is the hot new office gossip.

People in the main office are OUTRAGED. Danny's "too spooky"?! Too FUCKIN SPOOKY!? Are you KIDDING THEM? Even juicier, a Meta kid from some wacky ghost hunters turned scientists. From a line of Supernatural hunters. Wants to be a aeronautics engineer.

Ooooooh how SPOOKY! Better watch out! He'll design an ENGINE at yooooou!

Fuckin casuals. Non-Gothamites are WEAK. "Too scary" their collective asses. Yeah, maybe the kid SHOULD come too Gotham. He can be the weird kid. Mildly unsettling or something. His powers won't be SHIT in Gotham. Just remind him to buy a gas mask.

So! Danny gets his Scholarship! Merrily packs his bags for darker, Gothic hellscape hills. Unaware... that Constantine has been following reports of a "demon" that he's? 80% sure is a Banshee but MIGHT be a winter spirt with a shtick? For the past 13 colleges. He's getting closer. And this sucker is a strong one.

Not "this is going to cause me serious, life imperilling danger" strong. But more? "Man, that cat is HUUUUUGE". Could he still get mauled a lil? Yeah. Scratched to all hell and back? Probably! But DIE? Unlikely.

He just needs to know why the FUCK this spirit his hanging around colleges.

Which is made harder... by the fact that what HE sees? And what OTHER people see? When they look at this guy? Separate things. Yeah, he'd LOVE to give you guys a description! IF HE HAD ONE.

@the-witchhunter @hdgnj @hdgnj @spidori @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @lolottes

#dc x dp prompt #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #minji's writing

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megacrashcourse · 11 months

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Press Roundup for Periodic Boyfriends

Analog Science Fiction & Fact: "The land of the dead, like the realm of the microscopic, may be invisible to the naked eye, but it’s still there." (interview)

Chelsea Community News: "The poems run the gamut from sneakily humorous to outright hilarity to loss and longing, and sometimes encompass all of the above in a single entry."

CultureSonar: "...a masterpiece of love, lust, loss, and acceptance."

Full House Literary: "This collection of poetry should be on your must read list."

GCN: "...strangely beautiful in its resolve."

Highland Park Poetry: "Pisarra is skilled at emulating the classic moves of the Shakespearean sonnet, deploying enjambment to dazzle his audience..."

John V’s Eclectic Avenue: "...eloquent and masterfully constructed sonnets."

Loch Raven Review: "Much like punk culture, the most provocative, daring, and honest art often comes from the LGBT+ community. Periodic Boyfriends is no exception to this rule."

The London Grip: "Rabelaisian, witty, wistful and intelligent, Drew Pisarra’s poems are a delight to read."

Misfit Magazine: "Pisarra has written a one-of a kind collection of gay 'love poems' that even a straight person can love."

Modern Literature: "...there is no time better than now for reading this voluptuous collection of sensual poetry."

Modern Literature (part 2): "Why do you always write about sex?" (interview)

Ocean State Review: "If you want to celebrate pride by reading something by a queer author that will make you laugh, gasp, and give you what the kids call 'the feels', and make you go, 'Huh? Huh!', then I highly recommend it."

Other Terrain: "The humanness of this collection is striking, that cannot be understated."

Out in Print: "These poems exist beyond their origins, all 118 of them." Ovunque Siamo: "Pisarra shows not only a keen understanding of chemistry theory and poetic craft, but of psychology and human relationships. These poems are, by turns, incisive, beautiful, salacious, wistful, and flat-out entertaining." (not online)

Penumbra Journal of Literature and Art: "The work is sexual and heady, but brings much more than that to the table the deeper one reads."

Sacred Chickens: "It’s a rare writer who can combine laughter and tragedy, light and darkness, not only in the same poem, but in the same sentence. Drew Pisarra is that writer."

Vagabond City: "Pisarra’s poetry playfully explores a wide swath of experiences and feelings, making the collection’s specific vision all the more impressive and admirable."

The Washington Blade: "...like hanging out on a summer’s night with the acclaimed queer poet Frank O’Hara and Dorothy Parker."

Your Impossible Voice: "Everything changed for me once I’d experienced Jean Genet’s Our Lady of the Flowers." (interview)

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junosmindpalace · 2 months

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DOWN IN THE MEADOW

🎧 deep in the brook, catfish are waiting for the hook!

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

synopsis: you, a former saloon girl, and your relationship with arthur through a song in accordance with the seasons.

content: family dynamics, domesticity, relationship timeline, a little bit of insecure arthur, horrible transitions between jack and arthur povs, messy intro and conclusion, soft gentle love thats the fic

wc: 2.9k

a/n: i haven't posted anything in nearly a month...SO sorry about that but here's this! i promise i've been working i've just been pickier with what i choose to post + theyre all lengthy as shit. this is different from what i usually write but we're trying some new stuff </3

Something that not many people were aware of was how very boring the outlaw life could be.

More often than not the lifestyle meant a whole lot of housekeeping, hunting and fishing; and that was only if you were old, strong, and experienced enough to handle such activities. To Jack Marston's misfortune, he was none of those things.

Life as an outlaw could be especially boring for a young boy such as himself, with no one of his size to cancel out each other’s boredom by becoming playmates. His momma and various aunts and uncles did their best to entertain him when they had the spare time, and he too found amusement in the beauty and wonder of the outdoors.

Fortunately, the worst of winter's wrath was over with, and beside the occasional snowfall, the weather was tame enough to settle down in a new camp and lounge about.

Because he cannot leave the camp very often, Jack settles for sitting by its outskirts. And it’s one of these even days that become odd when he spots his Uncle Arthur return from a trip into town accompanied by a stranger on the back of his horse.

Jack was closely acquainted with every member of his misfit family; he could recognize every worn face within it. Who wore which scar and where, which voices were more often fussy or brimming with glee, and even the ones that one day disappear and never return. This face that his Uncle Arthur brought back with him was a face he didn’t recognize, kind and curious as he observed it to be.

The small boy had been taught from a very early age not to trust strangers. There are few people in this cold and cruel world that wholeheartedly care for him; the vagabonds in this makeshift home of his were a couple.

But Uncle Arthur had brought her to them with reassurances that she would fit in just fine within their family, to them and seemingly the timid woman herself, who looked onward on at him for guidance. And Jack trusted what the older man deemed safe to accept this new member with hardly any worry in the back of his mind.

It didn’t take long for all of camp to learn that she had been a saloon girl from the town over where Arthur had been frequenting on business. It explained why she had arrived with nothing but a dagger in a holster sewed to her boot and a guitar on her back.

The strange woman, however, adored Jack from the moment she had introduced herself to him, sitting in the tallgrass and braiding its strands. Jack observed, outside of her initial nervous demeanour, that she had kind eyes and a wit about her that he observed in many members of the gang, including those he loves and cares for the most. A mouth that his mother found often laughing as a result of and along with, and one that spun tall tales in the form of song and dance with various camp members.

However, everyone was expected to contribute to bringing about funds and resources for the gang. It meant Arthur, the primary enforcer, spent most of his time out of camp running errands.

You often asked to tag along in the shotgun seat of his wagon, whether to satisfy your own intrigue of the terrain or on Miss Grimshaw’s orders, but the extension of his hand gently escorting you on board was confirmation that Arthur didn’t have very many qualms with his company.

Between light-hearted conversation, the two of you admire the thick blankets of shiny snow that had built up over various days of steady snowfall through squinted gazes as the light reflected back into your eyes. It glimmered and gleamed under arrays of sunlight, and crunched satisfyingly beneath each turn of the wheel. Your boots are thick and comfortable enough that you’re also able to enjoy the crunch beneath your feet when you arrive into the nearby town and hop off the wagon, with Arthur assisting in steadying you on your way down.

You scout the town for work while Arthur does his shopping, and it isn’t all that long until you find it in nearby saloons. A couple of standalone gigs for a fair sum of money is perfect for your circumstances. Arthur offers to drive you into town nearly every day, the exception being when he’s already out of camp prior. It’s your primary contributor to the gang’s stability, besides helping around camp when you could.

Uncle Arthur and the saloon girl often accompanied one another in their errands, by the shore of a river, or on a log beside the campfire. Jack could often find the two of you exchanging everything from anecdotes to laughs to something more shy and intimate. There are a set of unspoken social customs and courtesies when it came to confronting such curiosity, but Jack was too young to understand such customs; and far too curious.

So curious as to go so far as to one day innocently ask his Uncle Arthur if he was sweet on the girl—in front of her. His bluntness had the poor man choking on the rum from his flask as his cheeks flushed from either the suffocation or the embarrassment he felt over the situation--or perhaps both.

“Wha…N...No, you can’t just—“ he attempts to recollect himself, letting out a couple of coughs into the crook of his elbow before inhaling a strangled breath in. His eyes dart nervously between you and the boy. “You can’t just ask things like that, Jack. It ain’t polite. Where'd you even learn that...?"

But your warm eyes only crinkle in amusement as you laugh.

“I don’t mind. Besides, what does your lot know about polite?”

Jack liked her songs, and found his feet eagerly carrying themselves over when he hears her by the campfire with Javier, guitars out and voices in sweet harmony. Sometimes she’ll get up and dance, and Jack will join her on her feet. One evening, there's already someone else swaying with you to a melody, and your gleeful laughter is paired with Arthur's bashful chuckles.

Oh, curse his northern attitude for leaving him so stiff, burning under the intensity of your warm gaze. The ambers from the campfire leave a little twinkle in your eye that makes his stomach stir uncomfortably, his muscles seize up the slightest bit. But your appreciative smile and courtesy as he bows playfully tells him there was nothing to forgive in the first place.

Spring eventually sprouts up from the ground, and with it, more opportunities for leisure activity. Abigail kindly asks if you would take little Jack with you and Arthur to bask in the serene nature trails by the meadows, to which you happily oblige her request.

Arthur leaves camp with you on the back of his horse or on the shotgun seat of the wagon more often than not. Sometimes--Jack overhears--it's on Miss Grimshaw’s orders. Other times, one or the other is in need of some company to assist with a personal chore. And very occasionally, the reason lies solely in wanting to be around one another (though this is more speculation on the gang's part, who by now have also taken note of that lingering something, and coming to this conclusion from the longing gazes as if it were obvious).

In the back of the wagon, you observe the thawing of the snow with Jack through the harmony of your guitar, each firm, yet soft, strum ringing through the warm spring air. The smiles in your voices coupled with the gentle hum of your singing soothes something hard and tense in Arthur’s soul as he too basks in the sweetness of your melody while he drives at the front, melting it to the equivalent of the sludge of the snow.

When Mr South Wind sighs in the pines

Old Mr Winter whimpers and whines

Down in the meadow, under the snow

April is teaching green things to grow

From prairies to creeks to small forests, your journeys take you in all sorts of places. The grass only grows greener, the sun only shines brighter, and the day is perfect when the wind is cool, too. More and more often are you and Arthur out of camp, and every time you return, Jack observes, you’re both in quite high and satisfied spirits.

Arthur sits cross legged in a meadow just along one of the trails he takes to and from town filled with wildflowers. His journal sits in his lap, and he carefully sketches a scene not too far down from him. Just a few meters away do you sit with Jack by the wagon with your guitar on your leg as you sing affectionately, with grins plastered on both of your faces as you sway with the rhythm.

When Mr West Wind howls in a glade

Old Mr Summer nods in the shade

Down in the meadow, deep in the brook

Catfish are waiting for the hook!

You participate in crafting jewelry out of the yellow flowers alongside the boy, using the back of your guitar as a makeshift table as you carefully pluck the dandelions and daisies surrounding you, watching one another as you weave the stems and excitedly present the final products to one another. Later, you’d teach him how he can store all kinds of leaves and flowers and herbs between the heavy pages of his storybooks. That was just the sort of thing you did; bring about this an innocent wonder and awe into peoples lives like no strange character Arthur has ever met; and he’s had quite his share of encounters with strange folk.

He doesn’t remember the last time the world has brimmed with so much color, full of a kind of special magic. He finds it impossible to replicate the scene to perfection in his journal, but each additional detail--your tooth peeking out from your smile, the crescent shape of your eyes, the gentle dexterity in your hands-- reduces him to some sort of breathlessness.

And each time he picks up his book and flips back to his illustration, he returns to that beautiful day, the same feeling of sheer admiration returning with it, so maybe he didn’t do too terrible of a job.

Arthur's journal holds a dirty secret: that perhaps he was in love with you.

A fair portion of the pages were filled with sketches of you, whole portraits and mini doodles, of passages detailing your endeavours together, transcribed song lyrics of yours, and worst of all, the ever changing feelings of his toward you. They aren't very becoming from a man such as himself, but perhaps nothing good really was. A sort of guilt and hefty embarrassment weighed on his heart the more he reflected on it, too depressingly for a man who should be only elevated by the realisation. But what other than sorrow did love ever promise Arthur?

Old Lady Blackbird flirts with the scarecrow

Scarecrow is waving at the moon

Old Mr Moon makes hearts everywhere go bump, bump

With the magic of June

It’s Jack’s favorite part of the song because of a little smack! you give the body of the guitar over halfway through the verse, and he either claps or slaps his own knees along to the rhythm with a giggle.

As dusk approaches the horizon, Jack finds the two of you sitting on the shore of the river just beside camp, and through the gaps between tall pine trees and tents with their equipment alike, Jack can see your legs thrown over Uncle Arthur’s lap. A gentle hand of his rests on your clothed thigh, smoothing down the fabric of your skirt as the other is placed behind him, keeping him upright. You play around with the placement of Arthur’s hat on his head. For whatever reason, it amuses you to no end, and the unimpressed look on Arthur’s face only fuels your laughter. Still, he’s only able to maintain the expression for a moment before it morphs into one of endearment.

The water from the river sparkles behind the two of you as the scene unfolds before the boy’s eyes, and he’s forced to look away when he feels a tug at his arm.

“Oh, Jack, aren't you nosey? Let’s not bother Uncle Arthur right now,” his mother quickly ushers him away toward the opposite side of the camp, glancing between her son and the pair of you. “He’s busy.”

Jack is able to spare one final glance over his shoulder in your direction, catch a glimpse of your foreheads resting against each other as your laughter subdues, before he turns away and allows his momma to lead him to help his pa with some of his chores.

When Mr East Wind shouts over head

Then all the leaves turn yellow and red

Down in the meadow corn stocks are high

Pumpkins are ripe and ready for pie

Autumn, specifically, is an interesting time to be out and about. Arthur chaperones you and Jack on your scavenger hunt of various fall plants and beauties. The two of you point out the various colors in the trees and on the ground, the mushrooms growing between blades of grass, and the various herbs and flowers and crops that grow in the fields. Arthur doubles as a delightful treasure trove of knowledge, with some of the items already having a portion of his page in his journal dedicated to its likeness, and some he adds in as you go along.

You entertain his insight as you walk arm in arm, and something about it is just so delightfully domestic, Arthur recognises, that it makes him feel like mush again.

For a moment, he nearly forgets what his life really is, what sort of gruesome deeds he’s responsible for, the consequences of this lifestyle, and he’s desperate to hold onto the moment. Innocent and peaceful, a life he's been unrightfully yearning after for a while now. The foraging all in all reaps well, yet Arthur can’t help but find the real reward in the way you lean your head against his arm as if he were a pillar of security, not an anchor that weighs you down.

Old Lady Blackbird flirts with the scarecrow

Scarecrow's waving at the Moon

Old Mr Moon makes hearts everywhere go bump-bump

With the magic of June

Unfortunately, the magic of the warm weather does not last forever. Yet not even the encroaching winter chill could freeze up the warmth in your chest. But it did nip at your fingertips--at your’s and Arthur’s and Jack’s.

The groups joint efforts are relied upon a hundredfold when the snow starts to fall and the chill breezes through the flaps of the tents in the camps. Like a clock tower bell, it indicates that it’s time to up and move and find more secure shelter, with stronger walls and better furnaces. Somehow the bitter cold doesn’t leave a quiver in your heart, and it's proven when you sit on the edge of Arthur’s wagon with Jack and Abigail and your guitar in your lap as you strum through a melody for Jack’s entertainment.

When Mr North Wind rolls on the breeze

Old father Christmas trims over trees

Down in the meadow snow shoftly gleams…

The lengthy trip wears everyone down eventually, and after an indefinite amount of time consolidating the various paths, the gang happens along an abandoned town in which to take refuge from Demeter’s grief.

By the time you arrive at the safe destination to set up camp, the stars have made themselves visible in the sky. Arrangements are quickly made to set up camp and settle everyone into a room with a place to sleep, wagons being unloaded and horses tied to posts. Thankfully, the snow has ceased attempting to bury the gang in a thick blanket, and the winds howl has lulled to a short whistle. Arthur’s sleeping arrangement differs for the first time in years; Miss Grimshaw tells him he now shares a room with you.

As it is your first time relocating, the move takes a harsh toll on both your physical and mental exhaustion. Along with young Jack at the back of Arthur’s wagon you both lie dead to the world with uncomfortable expressions. Abigail raises the boy into her arms when she comes around with a huff, cradling him close to her jacket.

“Alright little man,” she tells him with an affectionate, exasperated tone as she turns to trudge to her cabin, “let’s get you to bed now.”

Arthur turns to stare at you, hugging your body in an unconscious effort to keep even the slightest bit warm and relaxed, and for some reason cannot find the heart to wake you from your uneasy slumber. So he huffs, strides over, and situates an arm under your legs and another behind your back.

“C’mere, sleeping beauty…” he grunts as he lifts you in a similar fashion close to his chest, slowly making his way toward your shared cabin. “Didn’t realize you were so adverse to traveling.”

Then again, it wasn’t anybody’s particularly favorite part of the lifestyle.

Yet an endearing smile plays on his lips when you unconsciously snuggle closer to him, and he knows that the love in your touch and the song in your heart would keep him warm even after the thaw.

…earth goes to sleep and smiles in her dreams...♡

return to masterlist.

#arthur morgan x reader #i dont knkw how big the self insert fandom is for arthur on here but #self indulgent i’m never writing him again #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan oneshot #arthur morgan x fem!reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fluff #rdr2 oneshot #rdr x reader #rdr oneshot #rdr fluff

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clonerightsagenda · 5 months

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Kat's Top Books of 2023

Was inspired by someone else's post to do a Kat's top 5 books of the year post culling from my #recently reads. I read a lot this year and encountered a lot of great titles, but these ones were particularly memorable:

Vagabonds! by Eloghosa Osunde. Interconnected short stories following the lives of queer misfits and outcasts in Nigeria. I have a passage saved on my phone. I read this back in January so I don't remember the contents as much as the feelings it evoked, but it was beautiful and haunting.

Don’t Fear the Reaper by Stephen Graham Jones. Read My Heart is a Chainsaw first if you haven't already. The books pit Jade Daniels, a young woman with a trauma she's refusing to face head on but instead buries in an obsession with the moral logic of slasher films, against irl slashers who keep coming to town. Bonus points for wired jaw representation, aka my future.

Brotherless Night by V.V. Ganeshananthan. Set during the Sri Lankan civil war following a young Tamil woman who's caught in the middle as loved ones join the Tigers. It starts with a striking passage that you think means one thing and then comes back later in a way you don't expect that's a huge gut punch.

The Spear Cuts Through Water by Simon Jimenez. A high fantasy story that is also a diaspora story as the characters' scattered descendants watch history play out. Dips into everyone's thoughts to create a chorus POV that's really effective. Note - incredibly gruesome. Organs, lovingly described, etc.

The Golem of Brooklyn by Adam Mansbach. A stoned art teacher accidentally creates a golem who decides his mission is to stop an upcoming alt right rally. Explores the interactions between the old world and the new and the weight of historical trauma - every golem shares the same ancestral memory. Carries its tensions to the very last page and leaves the reader to supply the answers.

(Honorable mention to System Collapse which didn't make it into the #recently read posts, but I had a great time!)

Nonfiction shoutout to A City on Mars which sourced so many delightful space facts and gave me a lot to think about re: SF worldbuilding that is at all grounded in reality. Plus it was really funny.

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run-down-that-dream · 12 days

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HELLO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#I caught the song w/ graham this morning on the radio oh my goddd 😭#it was exactly what I needed to hear exactly when I needed to hear it.. waking up as down as I was ajdhsj #things like that keep happening and that Does Not help the extreme attachment I have to the old man lmao #how is he always there for me and I don't even have to look for it idk <3 #anyway!! WE HAVE A RELEASE DATE Y'ALL #I'm losing my mind #mike campbell #the dirty knobs #I'm sure I'll be making gifs of the video at some point today also but ahdhjahdh I don't have time to even watch it rn ugh 😭

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thewhumpcaretaker · 3 months

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The Broken Veil: Chapter 7 - How to Shoot

TW: blood transfusion, needles, needle phobia, panic attack, fainting, discussions of dying

Disclaimer: I have no medical knowledge and described IVs and blood transfusions purely from Googling and memories from a patient's perspective. This may be highly inaccurate.

This is the last chapter that will be written. I had the fic planned out to the end and I might make a post about what would have followed. Thanks for coming along for the ride, everyone!

Summary: John Wick has just agreed to kill Gianna D'Antonio, repaying the marker that gave him a life with Helen. However, Helen is trying to contact John from the afterlife, to show him that it is possible to stop the cycle of violence – not by forfeiting his own life, but by creating a fundamental shift in international systems and perhaps even the balance of good and evil in this world. But he doesn’t have to do it alone. She’s coming back.

“Her present countenance had a wild vindictiveness in its white cheek, and a bloodless lip and scintillating eye; and she retained in her closed fingers a portion of the locks she had been grasping.” - Nelly Dean, speaking of Catherine Earnshaw, Wuthering Heights

The first thing Helen felt was the IV. There was almost no pain. So little, in fact, that she must have been on even more painkillers than the last time. But that swollen sensation (no matter how subtle) cut through even the painkillers, the feeling of something pouring into her veins, forcing her own blood to part and make way, the irrational fear that her body wouldn’t be able to hold it and would spontaneously burst. That fear had gotten worse with each hospital stay. She was always the brave kid when getting shots as a child, but not anymore. Well, at least she didn’t have to feel it going in this time.

The second thing she felt was John’s hand in hers.

There was someone speaking to him. “The initial loss of consciousness was likely due to anemia. To put it in simple terms, when the body fights this hard, it starts to run out of red blood cells. She’s on a basic drip now, but she needs blood. I can see that she’s had this issue before. So we can do a transfusion – “

“I want to be the donor. We’re compatible. I found out after last time.” She wanted to tell him how ridiculously sweet that was, but her jaw wouldn’t move. Maybe she wouldn’t mind the transfusion as much if the blood was his. Maybe it wouldn’t feel so sickly foreign.

“I saw that in the chart as well. So you donated in advance… and it looks like your sample was approved for use.”

“Good.”

The voice became a little softer. “But I need to be very honest about the situation. Can I talk to you outside?”

She could sense his reluctance even then, before they were bound together beyond the grave. It was in the way he lingered, then kissed her hand before slipping away.

So she was dying. Well, of course, she was already dying and knew that, and before the diagnosis, she knew she was dying eventually, as all human beings do. But somehow, it always snuck up on her. It was different for it to be happening eventually, than for it to be happening NOW.

What a good life she’d had. There were problems, sure. She grew up an orphan like John, yes, but an orphan with adoptive parents who brought her up in the suburbs with three cats and a white picket fence and at least pretended everything was perfect. It instilled in her a craving for the innocent, genuine warmth that their manicured McMansion pretended to hold. When that family fell apart too and she went no-contact, it still never affected her love for humanity or for life as a whole – if anything, it intensified the desire to reach out to others and break through their walls with a kind of overpowering acceptance. She had expressed it by meeting people, by going out into the world as a portrait photographer with a particular taste for damaged misfits and unloved vagabonds in seedy bars that contrasted so deliciously with her clean, good-girl image.

That image was truly more than skin deep. She wanted to be good, and she tried to be good, and she was good, she realized – she was able to lay on her deathbed and believe that she had lived her life in accordance with the kindness she wanted to show to others. Unlike John, she didn’t hate herself, maybe because she was so rarely capable of hating anybody…or maybe because she’d been to a lot of therapy, that could be it too…but either way, the introspection and extrospection she’d done over her 48 years of living had paid off. She fell in love with everything and everybody, even the most supposedly unworthy. And she found the perfect receptacle to match that outpouring, the most vulnerable man whose walls she had ever broken down, and dragged him out of the pit of hell to have pillow fights and share milkshakes on Valentine’s Day and watch the cartoons he’d never seen growing up because he didn’t have a childhood. She lived the dream.

But John deserved that too, and she wasn’t done giving it to him. She wanted him to feel this good about himself, she wanted him to die this fulfilled or never at all. She knew better than to assume that he would be alright. Marcus was conspiring with her to keep a foster puppy for John, and would give it to him after she was gone. That would keep him alive at least. But she wished she could be there for him herself.

And her body, her breakability, this was the thing tearing her away from him. Not his work, as they had always expected. No, just this petty, senseless vessel. Just chance, the callous irony of life, and that was somehow worse. The little knot in the flesh of her arm where she had to be physically tied to existence…that was the proof of it, the symbol of it. That hideous bump of plastic… She tried to squirm her wrist, beginning to panic. He was going to be without her. She was not ready, her affection not burned out, her work not done, and her anxiety spiked, and she slipped away into unconsciousness.

***

Fear is irrational. It doesn’t care that Helen can’t die anymore. It doesn’t care that being shot head-on several dozen times ought to be much scarier than sitting in a vaguely medical environment. It just lives in the body, even the undead body, and screams something incoherent about needles from deep in the amygdala.

They were loaded into a shopping cart under a tarp and wheeled blindly to somewhere that reeked of fishy water on the outside and of burning flesh on the inside, and when they ripped the tarp away, she panicked. It barely even looks like a hospital. It’s technically a morgue (much more cheerful). But there’s a row of hospital beds stretching down the hallway from the open glow of the incinerator, and that’s enough to send Helen over the edge. It’s a mercy when the abyss flickers blankly over that scene, blotting out her vision. But it comes and goes.

She can no longer tell whether she’s clinging to John for his sake or for her own. She hasn’t let go of him since they fell to the ground together and isn’t about to start now. John is in and out of consciousness in her arms as she sits on the edge of his bed, his head lolling against her shoulder where she pulled him on top of her, trying to crush out her shaking with the weight of his body and trying to crush out his shaking with the tightest embrace that won’t wring more blood from his abdomen. They took off his shirt and suitcoat and laid a blanket on top of them but they’re both still freezing despite being drenched in sweat.

“What the fuck do you mean we don’t have his blood type on hand? This is Wick. Get it here now. Do a raid if you have to.” The panhandler has stayed with them the entire time. Helen would guess that he’s in charge of their visit. Several equally scruffy men who act as their nurses seem to answer to him, based on the way they’re scrambling at his orders.

She hears herself speak and it sounds like someone else. “I’m his blood type.”

“Finally some good luck. We can do it directly.”

“Put out your arm.” One of the nurses is advancing towards her.

Shit. A wave of dizziness passes through her and she jerks back before she can stop herself.

“Do you need a lollipop, or do I need to tie you down?”

“Don’t mess with her, idiot. That’s his wife.”

“I’m fine, I can do it…” Her voice is so breathy and unnatural. She absolutely cannot do it.

But John moves listlessly, just enough to make his head nod sideways into the hollow of her neck. She feels him slip into awareness of a clammy, dark, blotched-over existence. He’s trying to groan in pain and wooziness but then he registers that her arms are wrapped securely around his shoulders and he relaxes back into numbness, consoled. He needs her. He’s trusting her to keep him safe. It makes her feral.

She could do anything he’s ever done for her. She could kill if she needed to.

This feels like killing.

Her arm is out. Hands on her, antiseptic. The seconds are so long as she awaits that familiar pinch.

Something strikes her and bounces off.

Again. The tip of the needle snaps.

Of course. Her skin can’t be broken.

“So it’s true…what is it? Is it some kind of high-tech skin sealant?” Someone slides a scalpel against her forearm, to no effect, but she’s mostly in the void and can’t see who.

“Hey! I said don’t mess with her!”

Helen doesn’t respond. She’s a human sized bag full of blood and none of it can get into John. Her body is immaculate, inviolable, impenetrable, forever safe…and useless to him. Her other half lies beside her, utterly broken, unconscious, white as a sheet, hair clumped to his cheeks, soaked in sweat and blood, but he still somehow has a capability that she lacks – and when he needs her most, no less. He has the very basic human ability to suffer and bleed and endure. This powerful, noble, compassionate man is in love with her, and she dragged herself all the way back from oblivion, performed a miracle, gained immortality, and walked at his side again just to be useless to him? To cling to his side while he bleeds out, trusting her to save him? No, absolutely not. That can’t be how this works.

“What if I do it? My own intention…”

“What? You gotta speak up.”

“Get another needle and show me how to shoot it. I’m going to try it myself.”

“Why would that matter? Is it magic or something?”

“Just let me try it.”

“…Okay, let’s try it.”

She can barely see the person who’s talking. It’s so hard to focus on anything he says. “This is the activation button, point it here…”

There are people dragging her out from under John to give her full range of motion. And then the little cylinder is in her hand and fear has her completely, rising up from somewhere deep and universal, somewhere in life when she believed death to be permanent and ruin to be possible. It evaporates all the blood from her head and fills her fingertips with stars. She’s either going to pass out or vomit, there’s no way, there’s no way… Hands are pinning her left arm down against the bed so it doesn’t move when she’s trying to hit it, but that will hardly do much good when her right arm is shaking just as much. Someone flicks at her to raise the vein. Something about relaxing her muscles but that’s completely out the question right now. Just do it. Just do it. She keeps rocking forward and backward.

There are two souls, in the corner of the room and nowhere. She only sees them for a moment. They’ve come up from somewhere far more settled than she’s ever been. A woman, with wild dark hair. A man with John’s piercing eyes.

His birth parents. Their gazes pleading with her.

She steels herself. I intend to save him. This is what needs to happen. Whoever and whatever may be, make way for this. Helen lets herself scream and shoots.

Stabbing pain. It feels wrong. She had no idea how much more wrong it could feel when done improperly. But it worked. It worked! There’s blood climbing up the tube. And blood bruising under her skin around the horribly botched entry point. There’s plastic inside her…

Helen faints.

***

The first thing John feels is Helen’s hand in his.

The second thing he feels is the IV. In two forearms. Her blood is mixing with his, and with it, her every sensation. …She did that for me? That must have terrified her beyond belief.

It isn’t so long since he tasted her life back at the hotel, but he realizes he already missed it. She has such a sunny way of looking at the world. To be inside her head is to feel the weight of his own self-hatred and deep-seated jadedness fall away. To feel an overpowering hunger for life.

Through half-lidded eyes, he sees their arms entwined, both covered in smears of red, all of it his. Both pierced by the tubing that joins them, an external vein bridging the gap between them. She holds him, inside and out. He’s trying to say thank you, but she knows. She knows, and it makes her so damn happy.

She’s so proud of what she just did. I’m so proud of you too. You’re so brave for me. She’s so proud of him, for surviving, for calling out to her to help him walk at the very end. I… he can’t say that just yet, can’t even think it. A twist of guilt that she felt the agony he just endured, that she has to be involved in this life at all. No, he’s not proud of himself. But she overwhelms the guilt in a wash of affection for him that makes her squirm closer against his side. Her phobic headiness is still there but its flavor is innocent, kitten-like, as she basks in the consolation of being with him. She’s floating, she’s in the clouds with her favorite person, she’s petting his hair.

He falls asleep to the beat of her pulse.

***

She’s in a chair at his side the next time he wakes up. The panhandler, who she now knows to be The Bowery King’s right hand man, is sitting by her side with a partially assembled handgun. “…And then you pull back, like this. When you hear the click, let go, and it snaps back in.”

John clears his throat. “Having fun?”

“John!” Helen looks up at him delighted. Then she turns back to her new friend. “Please give me a moment to speak to him alone.”

He frowns. “I’m not going far. It’s my job to keep you lovebirds out of trouble.” But he steps around the corner.

She gathers herself and meets John’s gaze. “I need to be very clear about something: I am never going to do that again.”

He’s surprised, but relieved. “Good. You shouldn’t have to see me at a time like that. In fact, if there’s some way we can shield you from what I’m feeling when I’m – “

“No, that’s not what I meant. I am never going to stand by and do nothing while you get shot in the gut. I want to know how to fight.”

That stops him short.

“And as for separating our souls, even temporarily, I couldn’t possibly have less interest in doing that. The more pain you’re in, the more I want to be there for you. Think about how you’d feel if you were sharing my suffering. Wouldn’t you want to maintain that connection?”

The thought touches him deeply. He’s still savoring how it felt when they were joined by the blood. “…Yes. If I can feel you as well, I want to. No matter what.”

“Well, you will in the hereafter. All in due time.” She kisses his forehead and it sends a wave of butterflies through him. “For now, I look after you. I want you to teach me how to understand a fight enough to stay out of your way when you’re attacking, how to shoot, how to throw a knife, how to fight hand-to-hand...all of it.”

“How to kill.” His expression darkens.

“How to save your life.”

“Yeah, that’s what I tell myself too when I’m doing it.”

“And whenever you’re acting of your own volition, whenever you’re free, it’s always true. Let me set you free, John. Show me what I need to know and we’ll start a revolution. We’ll set the whole world free.”

“…Alright. I’ll show you.”

#john wick #helen wick #john wick fanfic #john x helen #angst #passing out #hurt/comfort #medical whump #whump blood transfusion #tw blood #tw needles #backstory dump #helen wick whumpee #john wick whumpee #everyone is getting whumped #whump #whump fanfiction #whump writing #ao3 crosspost

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cross-of-my-calling · 9 months

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Excerpt from Part Two Episode 1: Island of Misfit Toys

“So Buck, where are you from?” Chimney asks. “All over, kinda.” “How do you mean all over? In an army brat way? Or the vagabond kinda way?” “What?” “Feel free to ignore him, Buck.” Hen says, and Chimney shoots her a look, betrayal writ large across his face. “Don’t listen to her, Bucko. I’m gonna be a vital resource over your next twelve months. Like for example, has Cap gone through the firehouse superstitions yet?”

read the rest on AO3

#buck's first day #my father's house series #9-1-1 fanfic #bobby nash #chimney han #hen wilson #evan buck buckley #9-1-1

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staydandy · 2 years

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Genre : Action

🇨🇳 China Ace Troops (2021) Advance Bravely (2017) Are You Safe (2022) - Full List Detective Samoyeds (2017) - Full List Farewell to Arms (2022) Fireworks of My Heart (2023) - Full List Glory of Special Forces (2022) The Golden Eyes (2019) - Full List Hengshan Hospital (2021) - Full List Justice in the Dark (2023) - Full List Light Chaser Rescue (2022) - Full List Never Say Never (2019) Ordinary Greatness (2022) - Full List Pledge of Allegiance (2023) - Full List Side Story of Fox Volant (2022) - Full List

🇭🇰 Hong Kong Legal Mavericks (2017) - Full List

🇰🇷 South Korea Alchemy of Souls Season 1 (2022) - Full List Bad and Crazy (2021) Bad Guys (2014) Bad Prosecutor (2022) - Full List Black Knight (2023) - Full List Bloodhounds (2023) - Full List The Bridal Mask (2012) - Full List Criminal Minds (2017) D.P. (2021) - Full List The First Responders Season 1 (2022) - Full List ... Season 2 (2023) - Full List Grid (2022) - Full List Gu Family Book (2013) Healer (2014) Hwarang (2016) Insider (2022) - Full List Island - Parts 1 & 2 (2022-2023) - Full List Item (2019) The King’s Face (2014) - Full List Life on Mars (2018) - Full List Memorist (2020) - Full List Military Prosecutor Doberman (2022) - Full List Moonshine (2021) - Full List Moorim School (2016) Numbers (2023) - Full List Project Wolf Hunting (2022) Revenge of Others (2022) - Full List Rugal (2020) Stealer: The Treasure Keeper (2023) - Full List Sweet Home (2020) - Full List ... Season 2 (2023) - Full List Taxi Driver Season 1 (2021) - Full List Taxi Driver Season 2 (2023) - Full List Time Between Dog and Wolf (2007) - Full List Tomorrow (2022) - Full List Vagabond (2019) - Full List Weak Hero Class 1 (2022) - Full List Yong Pal (2015) - Full List You’re All Surrounded (2014)

🇯🇵 Japan Alice in Borderland Season 1 (2020) - Full List ... Season 2 (2022) - Full List Fullmetal Alchemist (2017) - Full List ... 2: The Revenge of Scar (2022) - Full List Kei x Yaku: Dangerous Partners (2022) One Piece (2023) - Full List

🇹🇼 Taiwan Danger Zone Chapter 1: The Dark Night (2021) HIStory 3: Trapped (2019)

🇹🇭 Thailand Chains of Heart (2023) - Full List Never Let Me Go (2022) - Full List Not Me (2021)

🇺🇸 America Agent X (2015) Angel (1999) Arrow (2012) Barry (2018) Banshee (2013) Black Sails (2014) The Boys (2019) Burn Notice (2007) The Cape (2011) Chuck (2007) Falling Skies (2011) Farscape (1999) The Flash (2014) Iron Fist (2017) Jake 2.0 (2003) Jericho (2006) Legend of the Seeker (2008) My Own Worst Enemy (2008) One Piece (2023) - Full List Person of Interest (2011) Prison Break (2005) The Recruit (2022) - Full List Scorpion (2014) Supernatural (2005) Taken (2017)

🇬🇧 UK Houdini and Doyle (2016) Misfits (2009) The Musketeers (2014)

#action #whump lists #whump list library #asian whump #american whump #whump list #china #south korea #japan #taiwan #america #thailand #uk #united kingdom

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seojinws · 2 years

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TRACK 008.

✱ A snippet of the past : 2014 ㅡ In which the image of a sixteen year old Seojin and his concept of friendship and family is reminisced upon.

A loud, familiar voice calling his name cut through the muffled drone of the television in the other room. Variety shows with the same humdrum games and manufactured laughter and repeating edits. A sliver of hope that his family didn’t hear the ruckus outside lingered in Seojin’s chest.

It was a telltale indication that, within the next few minutes, he would be sneaking out to answer the call.

As far as his mother was concerned, he had currently locked himself in his bedroom to study like the ideal son she and his father aimed for him to be. Anything but the rambunctious class clown he thought unavoidable. ( He, in fact, heard one of the ladies in his mother’s book club in their old town blather on about the risks of adopting a child so late, especially one with “blatant anger issues”. ) It was ingrained in his skull that he was and always would be a misfit in the seemingly average home. He only belonged in every legal sense of the term.

Home was a vagabond for Seojin. Park Seojin. He constantly reminded himself he was part of a real family now; even if it had been a full eight years by now. He would come to acknowledge their hard work eventually, but as a freshly turned sixteen-year-old, its due date was far off. Ungrateful was still an understatement.

The voice he chose to ignore in favor of browsing through a music magazine came back with full force. It was almost as if neglect made them come back stronger. An annoying trait only one person he knew could have.

“PARK! SEO! JIN!”

A disgruntled expression dressed over his face, he opened his window and thrust the upper half of his body through. He was fully prepared to yell in response until recognized the teen standing below. That toothy smile of his glowing in the dim moonlight.

“What light through yonder window breaks?”

“Oh Cheolsu! You idiot. Keep it down! You’re supposed to be discreet when you do this kinda shit. You want me to come down there and kick your ass?”

That Friday night was now like any other. At least for those two. He was well aware most kids his age didn’t sneak out of the house with the intent to commit petty crimes. Well, Seojin only ever kept watch, but it was a means of survival for his, at the time, best friend. While he told his father his friend was being paid for handy work by a neighbor was some glimpse of the truth, the true extent of reality was less than savory.

Cheolsu was what the average person would consider a good kid. From his thick spectacles to his awkward demeanor, he seemed nothing more than an unassuming nerd. That was until Seojin discovered he knew how to hotwire cars and snuck around to smoke cigarettes. Their initial meeting was a dramatic one. He often teased his friend for watching too many cheesy dramas that gave him a false sense of heroism. It certainly played out like a scene from a movie.

At the time, Seojin was in his second year of middle school. He was just as daring and rowdy back then, if not more so. On a dare from one of his classmates, he stole a high schooler’s high-end bicycle ㅡ one he was unaware was notorious for a violent temper and tendency to bully. It was this total lack of self-preservation that got him into trouble in the end. Cheolsu, who had been walking home from baseball practice, ran in with reckless abandon, his aluminum bat raised above his head.

Seojin wound up with a couple of broken fingers and a bloody nose and Cheolsu with a pair of broken glasses and a black eye. It was fortunate enough a kind-hearted teacher played off the former’s actions as an honest mix-up. ( Had their bicycles not been the same color, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up so lucky. )

They managed to laugh it off in the emergency room. It quickly became one of Seojin’s fondest memories. And Cheolsu, one of his closest friends.

Seojin descended the thin metal stairs of the fire escape with purpose, running as soon as his feet kissed the ground. There was no hesitation on his part to give the other teen a jab to the side and a playful threat of a kick to the shin. He was met with defensive hands and boisterous laughter.

“Whoa! Juliet is a lot more feisty than I thought she was… That raggedy hair should’ve told me. An untamed spirit.” “Shut it. It’s way too expensive to get it cut by a pro right now.” Any amount of won he could save his parents was an effort well spent. His appearance be damned. “Want me to do it? You know I’m good with my hands.” Seojin scoffed. “Is that the kinda lines you use on people these days? No wonder you’re hopeless…” “That’s beside the point. What do you wanna do?” “You’re asking me? You’re the one who harassed me into coming down to meet you. Seriously… You’re really lucky no one knows my name yet around here.”

Outside looking in, one would not be able to tell their friendship started merely a year prior. As far as anyone was concerned, they had known each other their entire lives. ( It certainly felt like it. ) Seojin threw an arm around his friend’s shoulder, eyes examining the nuances of his profile. The occasional street light reflected off the surface of his glasses, casting circular shadows on his cheeks.

“I think today, we should sneak into my old man’s booze stash and then go to the Han River! Chase some birds, snag some noodles.” Cheolsu gave a cheeky grin alongside his suggestion. Seojin merely raised a brow in response. “You told me you hate hanging out there, though.” “Whatever. You really like that sort of vibe, so…” “You serious?” “Why not? It’s fine if it’s with you.”

#✱ ㅡ alone with my thoughts. ( solo )#just a random old subject i had been working on rewriting #some random character backstory mumbo jumbo u -u

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markredfield · 22 days

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Heroes, villains. Clowns and kings. Rogues, vagabonds. Soldiers and civilians. The rich and the poor. Monsters and misfits. A few faces from about 47 years of playing other people.

#markredfield #american actor #actor #actorslife #film #television #audio drama #voiceactor #theatre #theatre life

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musicarenagh · 11 months

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Riding the Cosmic Waves of Rock: “NEPTUNE” by Kath and The Kicks It isn't every day you come across a track that navigates with such precision through the tumultuous waters of rock and roll as does "NEPTUNE" by Kath and The Kicks. This song is an intriguing exploration of raw emotion, combining alternative rock's rough edges with anthemic bravado. It is a lighthouse in the storm, a beacon of strength in solitude, a testament to honesty - to both oneself and the world. https://open.spotify.com/track/1HYH3BpNJtSHfk6fOBek5Q?si=c88b7ab0c12d4cfc Drawing upon the influential cadences of rock and roll, the triple threat of Kath Edmonds - on vocals and guitar, Tony Harrison - on bass, and Matt Larkin - on drums, fuse together to form a trifecta of energy and power that is palpable even through audio alone. Vocally, Edmonds channels an electrifying blend of melodic precision and raw passion akin to the likes of Joan Jett and Stevie Nicks. [caption id="attachment_50479" align="alignnone" width="2000"] Riding the Cosmic Waves of Rock: “NEPTUNE” by Kath and The Kicks[/caption] The vibrant strength of "NEPTUNE" lies in its lyrical narrative and the aura it conjures - a mystic invitation into a solitary journey of self-discovery and personal truth. The song hammers home a message of inner power and resilience, propelling the listener on a cosmic rock and roll journey to the icy frontier of their self-awareness. It’s a powerful mantra for misfits, vagabonds, and space cadets alike. What's compelling about this ensemble is their unique take on the alternative rock genre. Between angst and introspection, the band cleverly interlaces energetic drum patterns, resonating basslines, and gritty guitar riffs. This harmonic synergy crafts a rocky soundscape that is both robust and poignant. Each instrument serves as a pillar, holding firm the structure of the track, the result being an explosion of melodies and rhythms that catapult the listener into a vortex of feeling and overwhelming vibes. Weight of the World Poignantly Displayed in James Gale's “Heavy (Live)” That said, the production quality of "NEPTUNE" is sharp-edged and clear, not over-processed, demonstrating the band's commitment to staying authentic to the genre's gritty roots. The soul of the track isn't buried underneath layers of polish—instead, it's laid bare like an open heart under a stethoscope, pulsating with intensity and exuding a raw warmth - a testament to their honesty. In a nutshell, "NEPTUNE" by Kath and The Kicks is a siren call to the nonconformist in us all. Their musical prowess and energetic performance create a captivating listening experience. They showcase their talent as a rock and roll outfit capable of creating meaningful, energized, and rebellious tracks that leave a lasting imprint. https://youtu.be/bn9IZsYB3G4 In this era of new-age music, Kath and The Kicks are keeping the spirit of rock and roll alive, reminding us all that, in the grand scheme of the universe, the raw expression of self-truth and personal power can still birth an anthem powerful enough to resonate across space and time. Their single "NEPTUNE," is an anthemic rocket that leaves searing trails of rebel-energy in its wake, perfect for those days when one needs to remind themselves of their individuality and strength in solitude. "Impactful", "raw", and "energized" are just simple adjectives attempting to encapsulate NEPTUNE's multifaceted charm. It's a musical experience that dares to throw you out of orbit and draw you into a universe full of rock and roll splendour. So, strap yourself in and tune into the vibes Kath and The Kicks have fearlessly composed, an epic journey awaits! Follow the Trio on Website, Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

#Music #KathandTheKicks #KathandTheKicksNEPTUNE #KathandTheKicksnewsongNEPTUNE #KathandTheKicksoutwithNEPTUNE #KathandTheKicksreleasesNEPTUNE #NEPTUNE #NEPTUNEbyKathandTheKicks #NEPTUNEfromKathandTheKicks #NEPTUNEKathandTheKicks #RidingtheCosmicWavesofRock“NEPTUNE”byKathandTheKicks

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