#that's it!!! that's my day!!!! and to be frank it was better than yesterday where i was running around all day

[queenerdloser]

okay i genuinely love traveling alone bc it means i can do shit like spend my entire vacation eating food i want, meandering into shops and shrines at my leisure, sitting in parks and reading, and doing karaoke every night for an entire week. like. if i was with someone i would feel far more pressure to do a bunch of touristy stuff and “make an experience” or w/e (and tbf i do kind of feel like that for this trip since several people were like “show me pictures when you get back!” not knowing i am The Worst at vacation pictures since i dont do selfies and i take pictures purely to appease Myself) but it’s also like... this is my vacation. i’m here on my own. so yeah, i am going to take a siesta in the middle of the day in my hotel, i am going to do two hours of karaoke, i am going to go visit the shrine i love and just wander around. and bc i’m alone, i dont have to justify that to anyone or accommodate anyone else’s desires and frankly it’s the best feeling in the world. everyone should travel internationally by themselves at least once if they have the money/time bc then maybe less people would double take or act like i murdered a kitten when i tell them i prefer it. 

[fanatic-writers]

Arms Tonite

A/n: Little Frank Castle drabble, one-shot, whatever you wanna call it cause I got this thought stuck in my head and couldn't get it out. Kinda fluffy, kinda angsty, I promise there's a happy ending.

Pairing: Frank Castle x reader

Warnings: Angsty angst angst, violence, guns, death, unedited

Word count: 1762

The rays of the sun flashed in your eyes, a familiar silhouette showing through. You didn’t know how you’d done it but you’d managed to convince Frank to have a picturesque almost Pinterest-level date. You were leaning back on a red checkered cloth. The picnic basket was empty with the food you two had shared over lunch. Your sundress rested just above your knees as you lazily looked over at your boyfriend. His eyes drifted to your thighs. “See something you like Castle?” You teased, his eyes slowly dragging up to your face. You never thought you’d get moments like this when you’d first met him. You knew his reputation, you knew his story. The two of you had been friends for what felt like ages before you’d managed to get up the nerve to ask him on a date.

“I-it doesn’t really have to be a date.” You’d stammered out after you’d asked him to dinner. Frank’s face was damn near unreadable as you looked at him until a small smile crept onto his features. “You wouldn’t be so nervous if you didn’t want it to be a date.” He teased you.

The clouds darkened out of nowhere, rain opening up as you and Frank scrambled to put everything back where it belonged. There wasn’t rain in the forecast for the day so neither of you had thought to bring an umbrella. Instead, Frank took off his jacket and held it over your head as the two of you ran for some sort of shelter from the downpour. A sense of déjà vu filled you as you both huddled under the awning of a nearby shop. You clung to his warmth, not really sure what the both of you were waiting for. The sky had gone even darker than it should have, the rain slowing to a stop as the clouds separated and revealed twinkling stars. You looked up confused before you heard Frank’s voice from the doorway. “You gonna come in or just stand out there staring at the ceiling?” He asked and you realized you were in front of his apartment door. You nodded, a bit confused before you walked into the candle-lit living room. “Happy Anniversary sweetheart.” Your brows furrowed once more, you’re anniversary wasn’t for another couple of months. You weren’t great with dates but you knew you hadn’t missed it considering you’d put it in your damn calendar. Then you realized how familiar it all looked, the candles set on the table, the white whine bottle waiting to be opened. “I know red goes better with spaghetti but-“ “But I don’t like reds” You finished for him, remembering your first anniversary like it was yesterday and not almost three years ago. Something was wrong, something was really wrong.

---

Frank had heard the gunshot before he could get to you. You’d called him, nervous that someone had been trailing you a couple of minutes ago. You were just a couple of blocks from his apartment and he had been jogging to meet you. He heard your scream and began to run and the moment he heard the gun go off he broke into an all-out sprint. Skidding to a stop in front of the darkened alley way he wasted no time putting a full clip into your assailant. Of all the times you’d accompanied him, put yourself into his battles, he never thought he’d lose you to some petty criminal trying to get whatever cash you had in your wallet.

He called out your name, dropping to his knees beside your body. You didn’t respond. Your body was still warm, and he could see the slight rise and fall of your chest but he wasn’t sure just how long that would last. He pulled you into his arms, finding your pulse before lifting your body up. “Stay with me sweetheart,” He murmured as he carried you to his van. You wouldn’t survive this if he didn’t get you to the hospital and quick. You’d both had your fair share of gunshot wounds but nothing you couldn’t walk away from before. Nothing he couldn’t patch up himself. He gently laid you down in the back before pulling out of the lot to his apartment, racing down the highway like a bat out of hell.

---

You sat yourself down at the table and the scenery around you changed again. You were at the café across the street from the hospital you’d worked at. Combat medicine had only lasted so long when you realized you didn’t have a taste for war. It had led you to a nice scholarship for med school though. You’d worked in Hells Kitchen once you’d gotten out. “Hard day?” Frank’s voice pulled you from your thoughts “I think I’m dying.” You murmured, more to yourself than him, or whatever your brain had conjured up as him “Glad to hear it.” You supposed your memories weren’t exactly programmed to change their dialogue to different responses than what they remembered. You took a deep breath and looked around you, trying to remember exactly when you’d been put this time. You’d always hear the whole life flashing before your eyes thing, but you never believed it. What you believed was that you could stop it, that you had to stop it. You couldn’t die yet. You weren’t ready and you sure as hell weren’t going to leave Frank behind to deal with losing another loved one. You looked across the street and tried to come up with something, anything. Maybe you could get out if you just picked the right door. “You wanted to talk about something?” Your memory of Frank seemed to be speaking on autopilot as you stood up from your seat at the booth and began to look around. You began to notice little gaps in things your brain couldn’t place, maybe that was how you got out. “Didn’t think you’d ever want to speak to me again after everything.” “I like to keep up with my patients.” You responded out of habit almost before realizing you were sitting across from him, getting sucked back into the memory once more.

You stood up once more, this time racing for the doorway to the cafe, determined to leave whatever loop your mind had put you in. As soon as you walked through the threshold you were met with the chaos of your workplace. Nurses bounded down the hall past you as a man was wheeled down the hallway on a stretcher. You hadn’t realized you were moving with them until a nearby nurse began to throw words at you. You couldn’t hear her, instead focused on Frank’s face and the handcuffs that kept him locked to his spot. Everything went quiet for a moment, a smile on your face and you realized the fluorescent lights in the hallway seemed to be getting brighter and brighter. Your body seemed to relax despite the panic that surrounded you as if telling you it was ok, that you could let go now. You just had to give in to the feeling of nothingness, to let yourself ignore whatever pain was beginning to sear in your stomach and building in your chest. You almost gave in, almost, but then your vision focused back on Frank’s face. The peace that came with the man being unconscious, the small details you’d recognized the first time you’d met him fitting into their places. No. It wasn’t ok, not if you weren’t with him.

You blinked your eyes hard, squeezing them shut and willing yourself to push through whatever the hell was going on with you. When you opened them back up you were sitting opposite Frank, still in the hospital. You got up from your spot and moved beside his bed. You were the main doctor in charge of his care when he’d come in. You’d meet Nelson, Murdock, and co not long after this since they’d barge in on you while you were treating him the next day. You ran through the motions of checking over his vitals, even though the scene before you was a memory you were still worried something would be wrong with him. You looked to the clock, he’d be waking up in a couple of minutes. You remembered the feeling of distaste for the officers that sat outside his waiting room, waiting for any little issue to arise so they could tack it onto his sentence, or better yet, for them, have an excuse to shoot him. It was your job to protect your patients, to protect people like Frank who had no one else on their side. You remembered thinking that even if he was an awful person it was your job to keep him alive long enough for whoever he hurt to get the justice they deserved. You slipped your hand in Frank’s giving it a gentle squeeze as the beeping of the monitor began to grow louder in your ears. “Somebody needs to shut that damn thing off.” You grumbled, feeling his hand tighten around yours. “Y/n?” The still-unconscious Frank asked and you froze. That was new. “C’mon baby pull through for me.”

Your eyes blinked open, once again met with a bright light and you almost panicked that you’d come so close just to lose your fight right at the end. You turned your head to the side, eyes still adjusting to the light. “Frank?” You’re voice was soft and as you adjusted the way you were laying you were made acutely aware of the pain in your abdomen. A wide smile pulled at Frank's lips and he helped you to settle a bit “Take it easy hun.” He mumbled as he looked you over. You took the time to examine his face, noticing the redness of his eyes and the way they had swollen ever so slightly. “Were you crying?” You asked. Your tone almost sounded like you were teasing him, not understanding exactly how severe things had gotten. Frank let out a huff, leaning onto your bed, his hand never leaving yours. “Your heart stopped baby.” His voice was almost a whisper, like if he spoke too loudly it would happen again. “I thought I lost you.” “Well, you didn’t.” You didn’t really know what else to say, the visions you’d seen in your time between life and death already beginning to fade from your memory. All you really remembered was fighting it. “I wouldn’t let them take me from you. Not now, not ever.”  

[footprintsinthesxnd]

The Good Die Young

Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of graphic themes, war, injury, weapons, sexual images, language, 18+. Pairings: Jake Seresin × f!reader. Disclaimer: This is a series reflecting on the true events of the US Marines in WW2. All of the characters are fictional and not based off are original characters (except for Jake Seresin) and they are not representations of the real, brave men who fought in WW2. I have tried to make all the events in this series as accurate as possible but please bare in mind this is fanfiction and i have added/ changed certain things to fit with this.

December 1943

Dearest Jake,

I can’t believe it has been four months since you left us. It feels like only yesterday that you were here, safe in my arms. I can’t even begin to imagine what you are going through. I hear reports on the news and from the papers that things are bad but I believe no man can sum up what it is like if he had not been in the war himself. I have seen the brotherhood you have formed first-hand and the love that you share for each other. I only hope your love for each other is enough to get you through what is to come.

The papers bring the never-ending news of the war. I am kept busy with new articles. The latest being the death toll. With each name and age I write down my heart breaks a little more. I fear that most of them are no more than boys - just children really. Not even old enough to buy alcohol and yet they are old enough to fight for a war they do not understand. I fear that this war is far from over, I wish I could bring better news on that front.

We are both doing well here though. My tiny bump has started to show and Fern keeps making fun that soon my clothes will not fit me but I do not mind. This little one is a part of you that I carry with me always and will continue to do so until you return to me and we can be a family at last.

I hope you can celebrate Christmas wherever you are. I don’t have many plans for Christmas, it doesn’t seem right celebrating it when you are stuck in some foxhole or on a ship god knows where.

My heart aches for you, my love. I pray each night for your safe return.

Yours always

Y/n

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To my dearest Y/n,

You do not know how much relief I felt to receive your letter. Your words are my light in these dark times.

Christmas here on the ship is not the same as at home. We had a hearty Christmas dinner and sang some carols but I’d much rather have been with you than stuck here. As you can imagine, the company of George and Frank for Christmas Day doesn’t compare to you.

Edward drew me a picture of you for Christmas. The picture you sent me ended up getting coffee split on it by Frank one morning and was ruined. He’s drawn you almost from memory. I never realised how good of an artist he was but his talents are wasted here. Now I can cherish a drawing of you, close to my heart as always.

I hope you're safe this Christmas. I hope you can enjoy it with your friends and if I don’t get to write to you again, I hope you have a good new year.

I miss you Y/n. I miss you every day but just know that you are what gets me through each day, the thought of you and our child is all I need to help me through.

Yours always

Jake

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Britain - December 1943

Jake flinched, smacking his neck as he killed another mosquito. “Fucking things!” He protested as George laughed at him, the cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth.

“What ‘ave you got to laugh about Lover Boy? Still writing letters to Florence?” Jake craned his neck to see the letter but George quickly stuffed it into his pocket, along with the drawing of Florence that Edward had done for Christmas. “None of your damn business, Cowboy.”

It turned out that Edwards' gift to everyone had been a drawing. Most of them were of the girls they loved but for Johnny, Edward had drawn his spaniel, Daphne. Johnny was over the moon and was no longer bothered by the others' teasing when it came to Daphne. ‘You’ll see what I mean when you meet her boys. She’s quite the catch.’

The pair laughed as George stood to help Jake tie the last rope for their canopy around the tree, it wasn’t much but at least it would keep the worst of the rain off them. The hope of keeping dry in the jungle was limited and once the rain began, the heavens opened and it poured for hours. Most nights Jake barely slept, too busy watching the rain fall and listening to the noise of the forest to sleep.

“What are you reprobates doing?” Frank boomed, jokingly stalking over to his fellow Marines. “You think it’s funny so you.” He wiggled his eyebrows at the pair, a new cigarette balanced behind his ear ‘For later’ he always said but it would often fall out and be lost somewhere along the way.

Jake only laughed, “Don’t worry Sarge, you're still number one.” Frank laughed, smacking Jake on the back heartily.

“Congratulations Cowboy, looks like the Marine Corps did make something out of you after all.”

Jake shook his head. He’d recently been promoted to Staff Sergeant and it had brought with it a never-ending string of teasing comments from his friends, all meant in the usual joking fashion.

“How’s that girl of yours doing?” Frank asked smugly. He’d been the first to find out Y/n was pregnant and after the initial congratulations he followed with a never ending line of ‘Bun in the Oven’ jokes.

“Should have put a ring on her first, Cowboy.” Really though Frank was happy for him, the thought of a baby filled the group with hope for the future.

“Well I’m sorry to break up the party fellas but just because you're on machine guns doesn’t mean you're missing out on the patrol. Mortar squads are going too so I want you two with Shorty and Mary.”

“You got it, Harvard,” Jake swung his Springfield over his shoulder, lending George a hand and pulling him to his feet. “Let’s go catch us some Japs.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rain trickled down through the canopy, soaking the thin, mesh blanket that covered the lower half of Jake’s body. He groaned, rolling onto his side and watching as a single stream of water dripped into the large, muddy swell that surrounded the tent. The murky water reflected the moon, rippling it across the puddle with each gust of wind. Jake watched it sadly, wondering whether Y/n were looking at the same moon. He often wondered what she was doing, whether she would be eating breakfast or going to work or out with her friends. His life here felt so distant from the life he had with her.

“JAPS! THEIR COMING!” It always amazes Jake what came after those three words. Men dashed to their posts half awake, half-dressed and unable to form a coherent sentence but could fire off a round of mortars like it was nothing. Jake grabbed the barrel of the Browning Machine Gun whilst George posited the baseplate along the tree line. Neither of them cared how wet they were getting now, their helmets creating a shield against the worst of the rain but still allowed it to run over the rim and straight down their backs, soaking down into their trousers.

“MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!” Jake and George sat in complete silence, their eyes scanning the tree line at the edge of the clearing. Jake could hear his heart beating loudly in his ear, the rhythmic thudding keeping in time with his breathing.

“THEIR HERE!” And with that, the bullets start flying. Jake let out a cry as he squeezed the trigger, allowing the short burst of ammunition to fly into the darkness, an orange glow lighting the treeline as the bullets were fed through the gun. Between the shouts of other Marines, mortar pounding the earth and the gunfire Jake could hear his heartbeat increasing in time with the Browning's fire.

The fight was almost over before it began. “CEASE FIRE!” Jake’s ears were ringing, he rested his head against George’s shoulder who hugged him back. He never realised the bond he’d have between him and his fellow machine gunner but he could imagine being here without him. He pulled out his padded glove, lifting the now burning hot barrel of the machine gun from the plate. Jake wouldn’t be surprised if they’d need a replacement barrel for it soon, the number of rounds it had fired for them over time was impressive if not hellish at the same time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Y/n,

I am afraid to say we lost Johnny last week. There was an attack in the middle of the night. I don’t know how it happened but I found him the next morning when we were clearing the bodies. I’ve never lost one of my friends before but to see him so lifeless, so deathly pale. Y/n I don’t know how any of us are going to make it out alive.

The group hasn’t been the same since. Frank is in a foul mood, he blames himself I think but he doesn’t want to admit that. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. The damn Japs will have hell to pay the next time How Company gets near them.

He had the picture of Daphne clasped in his fingers. I’ve kept it. I wasn’t able to throw it away so I sent it with this letter. I hope you will keep it safe for me.

We’ve left New Britain now. I don’t know where we are going but our group is stretched thin. We look worse each day and I don’t know how much more of this we can stand to take.

George is doing alright. He and I keep to ourselves mostly. He writes to Florence often and she writes back. He’s officially invited us to his wedding back in the States when the war is over. I don’t know where you want to live after the war but maybe we could visit my hometown while we are there. I know my Ma would love to meet you, she’s heard all about you (only good things I promise)

I miss you Y/n. I’ll miss you until you're in my arms again.

Yours always

Jake

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[littlemisssquiggles]

I'm not sure if you heard the news yet but rooster teeth is getting shut down by Warner Bros and Warner Bros is trying to sell RWBY off to another company at the moment

I hope that the people working at rooster teeth are able to get jobs or have jobs that they can help tie them over till they find new work for a while

And maybe if we're lucky when it comes to RWBY some company will maybe pick them up this year and will possibly get volume 10 by the end of next year or the year after that we'll just have to wait and see I'm not sure if they're still doing RWBY beyond that they were planning to do to cover some stuff that was happening with long and I but I hope the future for this franchise gets better and that this isn't the end

Hi there anon-chan. Yes, I have heard the news about RT shutting down. Heard it as soon as it came out yesterday. I just don’t have much to comment on the matter since I’m still pretty much processing it.

I mean, I’ve been hearing certain-certain Youtubers making bold statements about the end of RT for quite some time now; given all of its recent scandals. But even then, I still sorta wished to hold out on the belief that what they were saying wasn’t entirely true.

I mean, I know RT has definitely been under fire for a while but that was mainly due to the actions of some of the folks that were working in the company. And even then, I was of the opinion, that all the problematic people bringing the company down would just be removed, leaving RT itself to basically rebuild its reputation and get back in the good spirits of both its fans and potential investors; y’know what I mean?

Bottomline, I didn’t want to believe the possibility of RT shutting down since I thought they would’ve been able to make  a comeback somehow. At least when it comes to RWBY.

I’ll be frank with you m’fam. Outside of RWBY (and maybe Red Vs. Blue and Camp Camp; even though I haven’t caught up on those series since their earlier seasons), I have no other personal investment in RT.

I mainly followed RT for RWBY and the members of the CRWBY who worked on it. And even now, in light of the news of its upcoming shut down, I’m more concerned for what the future of RWBY will be beyond RT.

In respect to the CRWBY, I’m genuinely not that worried for them finding work since they’re all very talented creatives who are very, very good in their craft. So I definitely have high hopes for them scoring new work after RT. No doubts about that.

I have heard about WB trying to sell RWBY though; and this is where my main concern lies. I am worried about who RWBY will be sold to next or whether anyone will pick up the IP at all. I know some FNDM members like to hype up RWBY as this big deal series. However, the reality is, outside of the FNDM, RWBY honestly isn’t as well-known as some folks may think. Especially when you consider the fact that all the negatives of RWBY are talked about just as much; maybe even more so than the positives of it.

In the realm of potential buyers for RWBY, I don’t have high hopes for this because, isn’t this not what happened to  GenLock? Who do we blame for the fall of that IP? RT or WB? Didn’t they not “sell” GenLock over to HBO and they ended up butchering the hell out of its second season?

Either way, I don’t want the same to happen to RWBY. It’s already butchered enough by the way RT and its showrunners have been handling it since V3.

My one saving grace is a tweet from Dillon Goo. Apparently, he’s an animator who formerly worked on RWBY back in the days of Monty. Yesterday on Twitter, he expressed interest in purchasing the rights to RWBY to continue the series along with his team.

I don’t know how serious he is about this but I have seen some of his work and it’s actually quite good. I would rather RWBY go to the hands of someone who worked on the show and seems  genuinely passionate about continuing the series and its story as opposed to it going to some mega-money corporate conglomerate who are only interested in making money off the franchise and don’t really give a rat’s ass about its story or appealing to its fanbase.

As a long time fan of RWBY, all I want is for the series to be given to someone who actually gives a shit about RWBY.

Not just as a franchise name but as a story with characters and a world they genuinely enjoyed and wished to continue and expand upon out of a genuine love for it.  

Whether that’s continuing from where the original CRWBY Writers left off or rebooting the story from the ground up, I just want RWBY to be handled by creatives who care about it and want to tell a good story with it.

No senseless pandering that serve nothing for the story or appeasing the “woke crowd” or whatever!

Just telling a genuinely GOOD and CONSISTENT story with these characters and the world they live in.

I rather RWBY be handed over to a fan whose got the money, time and most importantly, the drive to keep the story going rather than another who just wants to milk it for its “brand”.

Ironically, this is what RT has sadly been doing with RWBY for the past couple of years. Since the dawn of its existence, RWBY has spawned books, comics, manga, videogames (console as well as mobile), its own movie (albeit it’s a crossover) and even its own Japanese anime adapation. All these different novelties that were supposed to help expand the world of Remnant and look how far it got it?

Pretty much nowhere because we got all of this expanded material for RWBY and we’re still nowhere close to finishing the main core story from the OG 3D animated series.

Speaking of, regarding the fate of RWBY Beyond, I’m not sure myself anon-chan. I was of the naive notion that since RWBY returning to RT and the debut of RWBY Beyond were announced prior to the news of RT’s shutdown that the company would still move forward with this move and it would mark the official send off for not only RWBY but the company that made it as well. That’s what I was hoping for and what I’m still hoping for since I don’t recall their being an official date for RT’s shut down.

We know the company is dead, we just don’t know the date of the funeral, basically. So until that time comes, I’m gonna innocently hope we still get to see RWBY Beyond before RT shuts down.

I can live with RT shutting down and even RWBY ending if RWBY Beyond is treated as the official final chapter to the story. But that’s just me.

~LMS (2024)

[nerdthatsiriuslylovesteaxx]

Helpless part 26

He needed to try, the Ghost king shaked as he walked towards cabin 1, lifting his hand to knock, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't fucking admit it, was too much. He walked back to his cabin, sweating, shaking, in tears. He took out a back of cigarettes, breathing in the nicotine, letting the smoke fill his lungs. He had to try again, he knew he wouldn't live if he didn't, he wished he could die, but he couldn't leave Hazel alone, she didn't deserve to suffer. A small part of his brain wondered... she had Frank, Reyna and that other girl, what was her name? Lavinia? But he knew he needed to at least try, if only for his younger sister. Tears streamed down his face as he forced himself to walk to the Posidon cabin, he wasn't sure why but he felt like Percy would be easier to talk to. His hand shaked as he knocked on the door, he wanted to run away but he didn't let himself, he couldn't be weak. Percy opened the door, instantly pulling Nico inside. The Ghost king sat on the bed and in a voice that was barely louder than a whisper, though tear spoke."..H.. Help me... please, I-I can't let- Hazel... be alone."

"You'll be okay, I'll help you." He pulled the sobbing boy into a hug,

"I'm not even worth fucking helping."

"Nico, I know you've gone through a lot, but you can't give up on life. Everyone's worth saving."

"I'm a suicidal faggot who can't have half a normal conversation with living people and everyone hates me because my dad is the king of the Underworld."

"Shh.. I know it's been hard, I know everything seems to be against you, but things will get better."

"I'm a fucking freak, the only reason I'm not dead yet is because I didn't want to leave Hazel alone but who fucking knows, maybe she'd be better off without a brother that killed two people. I want to give up."

"I wanted to as well."

"What..?" Percy turned his arm around, revealing pale scars streaking up and down his arms. "But... Why? When?"

"Well..., a lot of them were from before I found out I was a demigod."

"Doesn't that mean you were..."

"Eleven? Yes, my step dad, he was a nightmare."

{Percy's memory's}

"Can't wait till the fall, you'll get out from under my roof again."

"You're not even employed, how is this your roof? And I got back yesterday, leave me alone."

"Now litsen here you son of a bitch, the only place you will ever get in that fucking life of your is jail. You can't even fucking spell, your grades are worse than a first grader that's how fucking retarded you are. Go fetch me a beer, that's the only thing you're good for anyways, your slut of a mother isn't around all day to get it for me."

"DON'T SAY A WORD ABOUT MY MOM!"

"Oh, you want to be a little bitch? I'll see how strong you are in three fucking minutes." I ran into to my room, desperately trying to lock the broken door. He walked inside, snapping the belt.

"Now you're going to learn to respect me you bitch." I didn't reply, I knew that would only make things worse than they already are. The leather hit my back, I didn't flich, I wanted to scream from the pain but I wouldn't let him break me. Again, I knew the routine. Punches, kicks, yelling, I had it memorised, same as every summer before, same as every day. He kicked me to the side of my room, locking it from the outside with a padlock.I wouldn't cry, I can't give him the satisfaction. My whole body burned, I look at the scars left by the studded leather belt, I wanted to add more. Who would care anyways? I had no friends, mom might have cared but she's barely around with how much she's working, Gabe would be happy if I were gone. I glace over at my arm where there were pale, jagged lines from last summer, some were my own work, some were from the empty, broken bottles he'd thrown at me. It's not like school was any better, they just kept it all hidden, they don't even fucking care, they just do it to make you think they do. They care just as much as every other school that kicked me out, they'd be happy it's one less person to be responsible for. I grab a knife I had hidden in the back of a drawer, I pull it across my wrist, letting the stinging pain take over me. Again, I wanted to feel the pain, again, I could fucking help it. Mom would be disappointed, but I can't keep fucking living like this. I hate my self, I hate my school and I just hate my fucking life. I hear the rattle of the lock, fuck, I needed to cover this up. It has to be mom, Gabe wouldn't let me out so quickly.

"Percy I'm home; for God's sake Gabriel you are not allowed to lock my son in his room! Remember I'm the one paying for th-... I'll talk to you later."

"S-sorry." I didn't know what to do, but for once, I let myself cry, for the first time since boarding school, first time since Gabe, first time since my life started going to shit.

Oh if only I knew what life going to shit was back then, Percy thought to himself. "Well... there were other reasons, I was bullied pretty badly for years and I didn't have very any friends before meeting Grover."

"You were eleven, and wanted to die?"

"It seemed easier than living at the time, but please trust me, it's worth living, things will start to look up."

"How- how did you stop?"

"My mom helped a lot, but I did have to go to therapy for a year after that."

"Did you ever do it after that?"

"Yeah, I only stopped because I knew my friends would die if I couldn't save them."

"But... why did you do it? Your life.. it was far from perfect, sure, but you're the Percy Jackson, most powerful demigod at camp half-blood, you're..."

"I thought I killed Annabeth."

"Was... that when I was there? With Bianca?"

"Yeah..., Nico the point of this, it doesn't make you any weaker, I know your life's been hard, but you'll always be worth saving. You might think that no one cares, but people care, and people will notice when you're gone, think of every life you've touched."

"Tell me about Luke."

"What?"

"Luke Castellan, tell me about him."

"He was a hero, taken advantage of by a titan yet people say he was evil because he didn't like he deadbeat dad. He was right about the fact-"

"-Before that. When you first met him, you loved him... didn't you? Tell me about the time before the prophecy."

"He- he was amazing, most talented swordsman I ever knew, incredible teacher, kind of every at camp, and he was one of the first people, ever who didn't give me shit from the day we met and yes I-I loved him. That's why I could never blame him for anything he did, not a second of it."

"Did he know?"

"I barely knew myself, but I think he did."

"Thank you for telling me, and... saying you would... help."

"Nico, course I would, you're like my brother." He pulled the younger boy into a hug, he heard him whisper something in italien before walking off. It sounded sort of sad, but Percy couldn't even remotely guess what the words meant.

***

[cleoselene]

tw suicide, cancer

My Uncle Art, who married into the family when he married my Aunt Leslie, he's a great guy. He wasn't always, I'll be honest, he was a real dick for most of my childhood, but he was an alcoholic. And when he quit drinking, it was like a personality switch was flipped and he became this gentle, loving, helpful, compassionate person when he was none of those things before he got sober.

This last month alone, Art has been down from Ohio where he lives to visit his sister, who lives in the same town in Florida as me, three times. He comes down from time to time because he owns the condo she lives in (and pays all her bills and expenses... while she goes through a fifth a vodka a day. How she is alive, not one of us can comprehend. But while he was here, Art took time to A) install a new hot water heater for us and haul the old one out, B) do the same for our dishwasher (and then he went to the grocery store and bought us a huge tub of detergent pods and a bottle of rinse aid, because he's thoughtful like that and noticed we were low on pods when he was fussing around under the sink), and C) fixed the garbage disposal. He didn't have to do any of these things, he volunteered because he's one of those old guys that likes to, as my mom says, "putz around and fix things" because it's his love language, honestly. Acts of service.

Her daughter is a little younger than me? I'm almost 45, I wanna say she's 35. Anyway, I didn't know her super well, but I know her. We shared an aunt and uncle, not quite like a cousin, but she was nice. Chill. She sold me weed at cost (she was a weed dealer) a few times, we smoked out together a few times. She had survived leukemia, and we bonded over being in the Terribel Illness Club, right down to the fact that my disease-modifying drug is Kesimpta, which was used to treat leukemia under the name Arzerra. Bonded over the joys of poisoning your body to save your body.

Well, she unfortunately succumbed to mental illness yesterday, taking her own life. My poor uncle, he is devastated. So is my aunt. It never makes sense when these things happen, and it's sticking with me a little not just because I knew her and considered her a friend, but because she had been in the Awful Illness Club with me and she's beaten hers! I love when people get the diagnosis and beat it! It's one of my favorite things! My roommate had spinal surgery last year and he has recovered so much more mobility than he could have possibly dreamed of and I see him thriving more and more each day and it warms my heart, and he told me he feels bad because he knows there's no miracle procedure to make me suddenly turn around and feel better. But I don't want him to feel that way! I love living off successes like this vicariously!

Anyway, it turns out that leukemia was the one she could beat. Mental illness she could not. I'm so sorry, Emily. I hope you've found peace.

It has been a bad week for uncles. My Uncle Chris was diagnosed with prostate cancer. They think they caught it early, but given that he's 78 years old they have to look everywhere to make sure that's the only place the cancer is. I gotta admit, I'm scared. I know prostate is one of the more survivable cancers, one of my other uncles had it and the treatment was so fast and effective that the extended family didn't know it had happened until he was already in remission. But Chris is not Bob -- he has a much more fragile constitution, and probably an eating disorder? All his life he's been scary skinny and obsessive about his weight. Bob climbs mountains and stuff, Chris sits on his porch and sips vodka and watches the ducks. There's just a whole different level of healthiness here.

Also, to be frank, Chris's wife is a wretched succubus. She is AWFUL to be around because she is one of those people that just CREATES stress out of thin air. It's like her magical power, creating stress out of nothing at all! She has alienated him from all three of his sisters (well my mom not as much, but she also doesn't spend nearly as much time with him as she used to? They used to go to the beach and see the sunset 2-3 times a week. Now it's like. 2-3 times in the last year) .

I am not on speaking terms with the wretched bitch or her daughter (this child has been a brat since birth, and continued to be. Last I talked to her was an argument because she thought I was vagueblogging about her on Facebook, which, lol? I do not care enough about her life to be passive aggressive to her like that. She also accused me of being jealous of her life, which is HYSTERICAL because she has three small children (that she cannot handle and honestly didn't want more than one, but well...) and a Republican husband with the personality of damp toast. He's like 6'7" and I think she fell prey to the "he's not hot, just tall" trap. Anyway my cousin accusing me of being jealous of her life, really funny stuff, she's probably projecting? But sure, she can imagine that i'm jealous of her 3 children under 6 and her ugly inside-and-out husband and her exciting career shilling cleaning products for an MLM scheme.

But I love my uncle and I really am worried between his wife and his daughter they are going to stress him to the grave. They have stressed him out constantly for 4 decades now, don't see any reason they would change when they can both enjoy walking all over him. Which they do. It's depressing. My mom worked with DV offenders for 3 decades and she says their relationship has all the hallmarks of verbal and emotional abuse, and I believe it. Sometimes the things my aunt would say about my uncle would make me tilt my head because it would be some outrageously offensive thing that my uncle would never, ever say.

It goes like this: Aunt Beeyatch: Your uncle told me I looked fat Me: *head tilt* Really? That doesn't sound like something he would say. *turns to uncle* You didn't really say that, did you? My mom: Say what? Me: Aunt Bee just said Uncle Chris said she looked fat, which i thought was really weird, because it doesn't sound like something he would say it all. My mom: Of course he didn't say that, *dismissive as all hell, turns to Aunt Bee* Why would you make that up? Aunt Bee: I'm just joshing you (I kid you know she says "joshing" all the time -_-) Me; *politely* Oh okay. I knew it didn't sound like something he would say!

some version of this conversation has been had MANY times over the decades

all this to say I'm worried about my uncles :( send good thoughts to them both.

[kjs-s]

HEIST RESCUE

Pairing: Frank Castle x reader It can be read as romantic or platonic

Summary: Frank helps the reader during and after a robbery

 Word Count: 1252

Warnings: mention of bank robbery, injuries, and threats, nothing graphic

Prompt: “You weren’t supposed to survive this heist.”

A/N This is my second entry for @caplanbuckybarnes's  foreverwriting challenge.

You opened your eyes and had no idea where you were. Looking around you realized that you apparently were lying on a couch in a house you have never been in. Feeling a little dizzy you tried to piece together what you could remember about your day fearing the worst about your current state. However, the throbbing headache you were experiencing on the back of your head wasn't helping you concentrate at all. So, instead you wobbly started to get up so you can leave before the person that brought you here came back.

As luck would have it your host opened the door at that moment carrying two grocery bags.

''You're awake, that's good. Don't get up just yet you might not be strong enough. How is your head? Does it still hurt?'' He put the bags down and fixed the ice pack that had been dropped to the floor when you woke up and moved your head. You didn't answer him because you recognized him. The man whose house you were in was none other than Frank Castle. You knew about him and were trying to figure out why he was seemingly taking care of you.

''Are you alright (Y/N)? I saw your name from your ID in your bag. You can check later that everything is there. But for now, just take it easy. I will make you something to eat and we can talk in the meanwhile.''

Still confused you decide to ask what was happening and what you were doing in his house. You had a ton of questions you could ask him but you were still a little apprehensive to just start questioning him.

''What is the last thing you remember about today?'' He brought a chair and placed it next to the couch to check on you a little bit.

''I woke up and had breakfast as usual. Then I went to work. '' You paused trying to figure out if anything out of the ordinary happened and then it hit you.

''I was talking to Joshua, the manager, in his office when I heard people yelling in the front. From then on nothing. What happened?'' You feared for the worst.

''I don't want to overwhelm you with too much right now but there was a heist. Everyone you work with is fine but the police are still looking for the people responsible. I managed to stop them. However, two of the people got away when I was trying to save you. I won't get into details right now. You were unconscious for eight hours so lay down while I’ll be making dinner. We will talk about everything in the morning.''

Dinner was good and you were grateful that Frank gave you his clothes to sleep in since yours would be uncomfortable.

True to his words he joined you for breakfast the next morning and filled you in on everything that transpired the day before.

''First of all, how are you feeling?''

''Better, thank you so much for everything. I don't think my head needs any more ice yet I can still feel the bump. Did I hit it somewhere during the heist?''

''Not exactly. Listen (Y/N), there is no easy way to say this but one of the reasons I was there to save you yesterday is that you weren't supposed to survive the heist.'' He gave you some time to process the information and continued narrating everything.

''I had been out gathering information on a gang the night before. While I was at a bar trying to listen to their plans I overheard them talking about the heist. They were so confident that nobody could hear them that they gave me all I needed to stop them. Including the part about your manager wanting you dead. I don't know why but he did. And I'm afraid he might track you down to try again.'' He felt like you would not believe him or accuse him of lying to you. Surprisingly you were calm about what he had just told you.

''I know exactly what this is about. Joshua, my manager, has been forging some of his paperwork and sending money to some of his and his wife's accounts. We wouldn't have found out anything if she hasn't complained about an issue with her transfer a month ago. The director of the bank asked me to look into this and that's when I found out what has been going on. I gathered some information and I actually have an appointment with someone at the Federal Trade Commission to hand them the evidence I found. I can't believe he would try to kill me.'' You tried to look calm even though you were terrified.

''He hit the back of your head with a heavy paperweight. He would use the heist to cover his actions. But you have nothing to worry about. As long as you are here I will protect you from him. Now, let's decide what you want for dinner.''

You had dinner and afterward, you went back to sleeping on the couch exhausted from the day you had.

When you woke up the next morning Frank had already left. He had made you breakfast and you found a note telling you that he would have been back at night and not to worry.

He came back late in the afternoon looking like he had been in a fight.

''Frank are you ok? Are you hurt?'' You checked to make sure.

''No, I'm not.'' He tried to step away from you to go further into the house so that nobody could see you.

''Then why are there bruises all over your face?'' You closed the door behind me and tried again to check if he was hurt anywhere.

 He was reluctant to talk but seeing you worried about him made him realize that you were trying to get your mind off of the danger you were in and the worry about your life.

''I tried to find out where the people that robbed the bank are. I found some of them and made sure they wouldn't bother anyone anymore. About Joshua, I heard that the police are still looking for him. I have someone I trust monitoring his house to check whether he will go back there.''

''Thank you for everything you are doing for me. I called a friend of mine earlier to ask him for some advice on everything that is going on.''

''Why would you do that? You have no idea if your friend is in on everything or not. Tell me his name so I can check him out.''

''There is no need. I completely trust him. But if you insist, his name is Matt Murdock. He is one of my lawyers.''

''I know him and you are absolutely right to trust him. So, what did he tell you?''

''Not much, just that if the police find Joshua that he would spend life in prison. And of course to stay hidden for now. I didn't mention you I only told him I am staying with a friend.''

''Very well, I am glad that you are not putting yourself in more danger. I can assure you that you are safe to stay here for as long as it takes.''

After months of staying with Frank Joshua was finally arrested. But because you needed to testify Frank offered you to stay with him until the end of the trial for your protection.

[twoidiotwriters1]

The Curse of Oenone (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Somebody pls give this girl therapy -Danny Words: 2,213 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

XVII: Am I Clinically Depressed or Is It Puberty?

Ara goes to the port railing where Percy is staring at the sea with a scowl.

"It's not you," she tells him. "Whoever took them doesn't want you to see."

"But how can they keep me out of the loop like that? I don't like it."

Ara chuckles. "You sound like me."

Percy shakes his head. "Been a while since you sounded like that," He turns and leans his back against the railing. "Annabeth and Jason told me you went ballistic last night."

Ara makes a face. "You know I could've been worse."

"Yeah," Percy laughs, which sounds wrong at the moment, but he can't help it. They have a hard time being serious when they're left alone. "Many things happened yesterday, huh? I heard Reyna wanted to hold a witch trial or something."

Ara turns and leans on the railing the same way he's doing. "That was an option."

Percy looks at her knowingly. "You almost went with her." Ara keeps her eyes ahead and nods. Her brother sighs deeply. "I can't even be mad at you... I get it. It's not easy to step aside, you were brave."

"I have this urge in me," the girl gestures at her stomach. "To protect the whole world at my expense. There must be another way, but..." she shrugs. "Look at me, doing the one thing I didn't want you to do."

Ara meets Percy's eyes, her gaze is worn and unsettling, like a cry for help she's yet to utter.

"It was worth it, in the end," she continues. "I protected you and the others just like you protected me all those years," she sniffs and scratches her nose. "You regret being my brother yet?"

He snorts. "We were on a ship like this one when I placed the offer," Percy leans his head on top of hers. "And you snubbed me."

"You did it out of pity."

"Only a little."

"See, this is why Annabeth would've been a better sister—"

"You take that back—"

"OVER THERE!" Jason calls out suddenly.

Percy and Ara turn and lean over, they spot three pink bubbles erupting from the sea: Frank, Hazel, and Leo.

"Thank Poseidon!" Ara looks at Percy and pats his back. "See? Told you someone had kidnapped them!"

"Don't say it like it's a good thing!" He scowls at her.

Piper jumps overboard out of excitement and wraps her arms around Leo, fussing over him. The trio seems fine, so that's a comfort. They promise to explain everything once they change.

"You should change too," Jason nudges Ara's arm as he lands next to her. "You're covered in weird stains... And you stink of fish."

"My new aesthetic," Ara mutters.

"Incredible," Jason hums. "These are really good brownies."

"That's your only comment?"

"What? I heard the story. Fish-centaurs. Merpeople. Letter of intro to the Tiber River god. Got it. But these brownies—"

"I know," Frank's mouth is covered in chocolate. "Try them with Esther's peach preserves."

"That, is incredibly disgusting," Hazel states with aversion.

"No, no, he's onto something," Ara grabs a brownie, dipping it into the preserves. "Oh gods, that smells amazing..."

"Pass me the jar," Jason elbows her.

"They didn't want to meet me?" Percy insists while Jason, Ara, and Frank devour the basket of brownies.

"It wasn't that," Hazel says awkwardly. "Just... undersea politics, I guess. The merpeople are territorial. The good news is they're taking care of that aquarium in Atlanta. And they'll help protect the Argo II as we cross the Atlantic."

Percy nods, still frowning. "But they didn't want to meet me?"

"Come on, Seaweed Brain!" Annabeth hits his arm lightly. "We've got other things to worry about."

"She's right," Hazel says. "After today, Nico has less than two days. The fish-centaurs said we have to rescue him. He's essential to the quest somehow."

Hazel stares pointedly at Ara knowing she's the most hostile towards her brother, but Ara shrugs. "It'll be fun, rubbing in his face that I've saved his life like four times by now..."

Piper places a hand on Hazel's shoulder. "We'll save him, Hazel. We can make it in time. Right, Leo?"

"What?" Leo's been fussing over the control board, making sure everything works well. "Oh, yeah. We should reach the Mediterranean tomorrow morning. Then spend the rest of that day sailing to Rome, or flying, if we can get the stabilizer fixed by then. What do you think, doll?" Ara nods with her mouth full of brownie, she gives a thumbs up for confirmation. Leo smirks. "Great."

Jason pauses his eating and frowns. "Which will put us in Rome on the last possible day for Nico. Twenty-four hours to find him—at most."

"And that's only part of the problem," Percy adds. "There's the Mark of Athena, too."

Annabeth opens her bag and pulls out the disk. "This is the map that I found at Fort Sumter. It's... It's blank!"

Ara chokes and Jason has to hit her back so she breathes. "What?!"

Percy grabs the golden disk. "It wasn't like this earlier?"

"No! I was looking at it in my cabin and..." Annabeth stops to think. "It must be like the Mark of Athena. I can only see it when I'm alone. It won't show itself to other demigods."

"What did it have on it?" Frank fidgets. "And what is the Mark of Athena? I still don't get it."

Annabeth holds the disk at eye level. "The map was hard to read, but it showed a spot on the Tiber River in Rome. I think that's where my quest starts... the path I've got to take to follow the Mark."

"Maybe that's where you meet the river god Tiberinus," Piper suggests. "But what is the Mark?"

"The coin."

 "What coin?" Percy and Ara ask.

Annabeth shows them a silver drachma. "I've been carrying this ever since I saw my mom at Grand Central. It's an Athenian coin."

She hands it over so the rest can examine it until it reaches Leo. "An owl. Well, that makes sense. I guess the branch is an olive branch? But what's this inscription—Area Of Effect?"

"It's alpha, theta, epsilon. In Greek it stands for Of The Athenians... or you could read it as the children of Athena. It's sort of the Athenian motto."

"Like SPQR for the Romans," Piper hums.

"Anyway, the Mark of Athena is an owl, just like that one. It appears in fiery red. I've seen it in my dreams. Then twice at Fort Sumter..."

Ara claps once when Annabeth finishes the retelling. "So that's what happened when the door closed! I got so worried!"

"I should have been there for you," Percy says with sympathy, holding Annabeth's hand.

"But that's the point. No one can be there for me. When I get to Rome, I'll have to strike out on my own. Otherwise, the Mark won't appear. I'll have to follow it to... to the source."

"The giants' bane stands gold and pale," Frank quotes as he takes the coin from Leo. "Won with pain from a woven jail... What is it... this thing at the source?" 

"A statue," Jason says. "A statue of Athena. At least... that's my guess."

"You said you didn't know," Piper scowls.

"I don't. But the more I think about it... there's only one artifact that could fit the legend. I'm sorry. I should have told you everything I've heard, much earlier. But honestly, I was scared. If this legend is true—"

"I know. I figured it out, Jason," Annabeth sympathizes. "I don't blame you. But if we manage to save the statue, Greek and Romans together... Don't you see? It could heal the rift."

"Hold on—What statue?" Percy asks.

"The Athena Parthenos," Annabeth explains as she takes the coin. "The most famous Greek statue of all time. It was forty feet tall, covered in ivory and gold. It stood in the middle of the Parthenon in Athens."

Ara remembers Lily and Malcolm geeking about it a long time ago while talking about impossible dreams—one of them was to visit Rome and find the statue. It's funny, Ara's dream was to work for Hephaestus, but now her reality has surpassed that old ambition by a lot, and yet, she isn't happy.

"Okay, I'll bite," Leo sighs. "What happened to it?"

"It disappeared."

"How does a forty-foot-tall statue in the middle of the Parthenon just disappear?"

"That's a good question. It's one of the biggest mysteries in history. Some people thought the statue was melted down for its gold, or destroyed by invaders. Athens was sacked a number of times. Some thought the statue was carried off—"

"By Romans," Jason says. "At least, that's one theory, and it fits the legend I heard at Camp Jupiter. To break the Greeks' spirit, the Romans carted off the Athena Parthenos when they took over the city of Athens. They hid it in an underground shrine in Rome. The Roman demigods swore it would never see the light of day. They literally stole Athena, so she could no longer be the symbol of Greek military power. She became Minerva, a much tamer goddess."

"And the children of Athena have been searching for the statue ever since. Most don't know about the legend, but in each generation, a few are chosen by the goddess. They're given a coin like mine. They follow the Mark of Athena... a kind of magical trail that links them to the statue... hoping to find the resting place of the Athena Parthenos and get the statue back."

"So if we—I mean you—" Percy continues, "find the statue... what would we do with it? Could we even move it?"

"I'm not sure. But if we could save it somehow, it could unite the two camps. It could heal my mother of this hatred she's got, tearing her two aspects apart. And maybe... maybe the statue has some sort of power that could help us against the giants."

"This could change everything," Piper says in awe. "It could end thousands of years of hostility. It might be the key to defeating Gaea. But if we can't help you..."

"I have to succeed," Annabeth states. "The risk is worth it."

"I've spent my whole life hearing you say stuff like that," Ara points out. "And you wonder where I got my suicidal tendencies..."

Percy tosses a crumbled-up napkin at her. "Not funny."

"I don't like the idea of you risking your life alone, Annabeth, but you're right," Hazel says gravely, ignoring the siblings. "We saw what recovering the golden eagle standard did for the Roman legion. If this statue is the most powerful symbol of Athena ever created—"

"It could kick some serious booty," Leo concludes.

"That wasn't the way I'd put it," she scowls. "But yes."

"Except... No child of Athena has ever found it," Percy adds. "Annabeth, what's down there? What's guarding it? If it's got to do with spiders—?"

"Won through pain from a woven jail," Frank points out. "Woven, like webs?"

Now that they've gotten to this point, and Annabeth's mentioned the spiders, Ara's got a clear idea of what's waiting for her friend, and she hates it. "We need to talk," she says.

"No, we don't," Annabeth scowls. "You've got your own trials to worry about."

"What?" Percy looks at her sister. "What trials?"

Ara forgot Percy doesn't know about her prophecy. Her mind races trying to find an excuse but Piper saves her from the awkwardness of the moment. "We'll deal with that when we get to Rome. It's going to work out. Annabeth is going to kick some serious booty, too. You'll see."

"Yeah," Percy tries to sound cheerful. "I learned a long time ago: Never bet against Annabeth... or Ara."

"I'm glad you think that way," Ara grabs another brownie. "'Cause Janus talked to me while we were at the Fort—"

"What?" Percy interrupts her. "What did he want?"

"He's a recurrent visitor, that's not important," she points at the disk Annabeth's holding. "He showed me that when I talked to him. I have to do something, and we need to know what that is."

Annabeth gives her a sour look. "How does Janus—"

"Trust me, that's not relevant at this point." Ara cuts in. "I didn't say anything because, well—I couldn't even breathe when you brought me back to the ship."

Annabeth sighs. "And then Shrimpzilla happened..."

"But I'm telling you now," Ara presses. "And we'll figure it out together."

"Wait, no. Let's go back to Ara being stalked by a god," Percy frowns. "'Cause that—"

Leo presses a button and Festus spits out a large cloud of steam, interrupting Percy's train of thought. 

"Well!" He grins. "Good pep rally, but even though our General took care of the bigger issue, there's still a ton of things to fix on this ship before we get to the Mediterranean. Please report to Supreme Commander Leo for your superfun list of chores!"

Everyone gets up, but Hedge's bat pushes Ara away from the others.

"Sorry, Strategus," the satyr says. "You've done enough for a day."

"What—says who?" She scowls.

"All of us," Jason replies. 

Everyone's looking at her. "But—"

"No buts!" Leo pushes through and holds her by the shoulders. "You've taken care of us enough for a day."

Ara looks at him and doesn't know what to think. Having him this close makes her uneasy for many reasons and she's never appreciated not having answers at the ready when she needs them. She pushes his hands away, and although she does it gently, Leo's smile vanishes. 

"Alright."

The boy remembers what Hedge said the night prior, and guilt washes over his face. "Hey—"

She stops him and glances at the others, then lowers her voice. "We'll talk after dinner."

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

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[pinkandgreenarepurpleandyellow]

Presenting the project that made me heterophobic:

Yep! I am the dork that painted the masks of our current five boys over the course of three-four days (easier to space than six would be and lets face it, I do not care for kurlzz). I chose the Notes from the Underground masks because I've realized that it's the album that most of my favorite songs thus far come from. I quickly began regretting my decision at the point where I realized exactly how limited my paint options were and how many cool colors I would need. More details for each mask below (going bottom to top).

Danny's mask looks almost nothing like the actual one mostly because I painted the circles first and did not realize the mask was more angular than I initially thought. I also had no gold, so we've got a lovely yellow mixed with tan for the base color. The bullets are rough but also smaller than you'd think and a basic brush set from Michaels does not, as I have learned, have super tiny brushes, so I did the best I could on the casings. I am proud of the fact that I tried to make the rust work as best as I could, and if you look really closely, you can even see the mesh in the eyes (looks a little clearer on the left eye). The smirk is present on the right side and I do think it's decently recognizable.

This one made me cry. Any criticism of the fire around the eyes will be met with the response to suck dick because, to be quite frank, I challenge anyone to do better at 1 am and remain disturbingly proud of them. I'm kinda sad that my green (mixed from blue and yellow, because my budget is two pennies and all previous supplies) dried up early cause I was hoping to get more of the Louis Vuitton-style details, but still pretty damn good. I think the pyramid and the canisters turned out nice. Also, a little bit of a cat-eye shape for the eyeholes and the fire, but that was deliberate and I will not be ashamed of it in my moment of pride (I will undoubtedly feel the shame within five minutes of posting, but that is a problem for future me).

A fun an interesting fact is that this is the second time I've done this particular mask of J3T, and both times I have realized I love doing the butterfly. It's super fun because as long as we get the basic swirls in, it's alright if they don't match length perfectly. The cracks are slightly off because the very first ones were free-handed, but I did my best to get the rest of them proper, and they even work to form the nose. Apparently the orange looks more yellow than I thought.

This one was a welcome relief after crying over the detailing of J-Dog's mask. Again, no metallic colors, so our silver is grey. The little black lines are there to add texture to the edges (as it turns out, none of my brushes added it in a sufficiently noticeable way), and this one looks the cleanest imo.

Last but not least, Charlie's bandanna (sunglasses painted over because, as it turns out, I continue to suck at painting and drawing glasses). The buildings are likely not accurate to the actual picture, but my reference photo did not show the actual city on the bandana so I just did some buildings, a fancy lil' LA and we're calling it an artistic interpretation. Also, check out that S. Coolest S I will ever draw in my life, got it right on the first try.

Anyways sorry that I didn't post this sooner cause I technically finished all of this yesterday evening, I have a flight soon so I am typing this up at 4:30 am at the airport.

(Tagging @vampswillhurtyou and @cutelittlenightmarethings cause both of you said you were interested and I have no idea whether or not this will show up in the main tags.)

Final pic to show what it looks like at a slight distance and with other object to provide scale. Note the paint palette thingy having 3 shades of grey in it because, again, shoestring budget and persistence substitute everything for us.

[stagkingswife]

I started this yesterday, but needed to walk away from it for a while before I could finish it…

@a-witch-named-crow, this is a big enough topic that I'm pulling it into it's own post, because I can't imaging fitting it all into a reply. I'm also going to put most of it under the cut, because I'm going be very frank about my chronic pain and my relationship with it, and I know that can be a bit much for some people.

I was diagnosed with CRPS when I was a sophomore in high school, this was long enough ago that it had a different name and the only possible treatment options would have involved taking me out of high school to send me to CHOP, or Mayo, or the Cleveland Clinic for intensive physical therapy in the slim hopes that it would normalize the pain. This really crushed me for a little bit. I was one of those kids who sort of was defined by being a good student, I couldn’t imaging my life if I interrupted school in anyway. I had also been told that I should stop dancing, given that it was likely the cause of the pain, and would surely only make it worse. But I had just been cast as Odette in Swan Lake, I was going into Junior year with a heavy class load, I had been promoted to section leader in the marching band, and I was not ready to slow down.

So I decided at 15 that if there were such slim chances of treatment working I wasn't going to put anything on hold for my pain. At the time it wasn’t too bad, I would have flair ups where it was bad, but a normal day was maybe a 2-3 on the scale. I could manage may life with that. I think that was what really set the stage for my relationship with my pain. Once I decided that I wasn't going to slow down I kind of turned it into a motivator. A lot of things came to be about doing things despite my pain. I took great pride in doing everything my able bodied friends were able to do, and sometimes more, despite my pain. That drove me for about 4 years until I was in college, and the other shoe finally dropped.

When things got really bad my junior year of college and I finally actually sought treatment I was severely depressed and suicidal because of the pain. But luckily I already had the diagnosis, which is usually the hard part, and in the intervening four years the treatment options had really changed. I was finally able to get some treatment, both opioid and non-opioid pain medicine, started physical therapy, bio feedback, acupuncture, the whole 9 yards. But the habit was already there, the relationship had already been formed. I have struggled since with admitting how much pain I’m in, and letting myself take the time I need to really manage it, but I’m so used to letting it push me. I’m better at it now almost 10 years later, but I can still fall back into that habit when I have something like a deadline to meet.

I did also learn how to use my pain in my craft. Around the same time as my pain was getting bad I was really developing my traveling skill with Oisin as my teacher. I found my pain was something that I could use to help me in that. With a lot of practice I was able to sort of let my pain wash over me until I wasn't aware of anything else, and then I could let go of my body easier. It was like I could dive down deep into the pain, go through it, and step out into the Otherworlds. I've gotten so good at this method that on particularly bad pain days I’ve found this method to be incredibly fast. There’s been some struggle over the years with not using this skill to avoid my pain, but it has simultaneously really helped me to shift my mindset about my pain as see it as a useful tool rather than as an adversary or a detriment.

From there I started to think about how else I could use my pain in witchcraft and in my religion. I sling a nasty curse because I share my pain liberally when necessary. But I also have a whole ritual that I undertake as part of my devotion to Brona where I take on some of the pain from others, lighten their load. Because what’s a little more when I know I can manage it?

[thiswasinevitableid]

44 OT4 NSFW?

44. I’m a noir detective and you’re the hot mysterious person who just slunk into my office the week before Christmas.

(This takes place slightly more than a week before christmas)

The radiator rattles like a dying man. Joseph ignores it; they’ve only got the cash to repair one thing this winter and the upstairs radiator is a week out from full shut-down. And he doubts Duck wants to act as his makeshift blanket when it does. 

He looks out the window, the lights of a dozen apartment windows and storefronts staring back at him, all decked out in their Christmas best. It’d look better with snow, but the City of Angels insists on being a temperate paradise. 

Right as he’s about to sit down and continue his bookkeeping, there are two, sharp, raps on the door. He calls for them to come, running a hand over his hair as he settles into his worn office chair. 

A tall, slender man with white-blonde hair steps over the threshold. The only hint of color in his wardrobe is the pair of red-tinted glasses perched on his nose, one that’s as angular and striking as the rest of his face. 

Indrid Cold. 

Joseph would have been less shocked if the president had walked into his office. 

Indrid Cold, whose father owned half the city and the people in it. Indrid Cold, one half of a twin pair of sons never seen outside of their father’s shadow. Indrid Cold, who until yesterday was a suspect in his father’s murder.

“Going by your expression, I suspect I do not need to introduce myself.” The voice from those thin lips is lilting, nothing like the icicle sharp tone Joseph heard the one time he encountered his father and brother. 

“That’s right.”

“And am I speaking to Mr. Newton or Mr. Stern?” He cocks his head.

Joseph extends a hand, “Joseph Stern.”

Indrid shakes it with chilly fingers, “In that case, Mr. Stern, I require you and your partner’s help. Not in solving my father’s murder, as you are about to assume. The police are swarming about that business like so many ants.”

“And you trust them to solve it?”

“To be frank, my interest in the culprit extends only to whether they are someone who would like me dead as well. Which is where you come in. You and Mr.Newton will serve a dual function; you will join me at my home in the mountains to provide a degree of security. And you will work out who tried to shoot me two days ago.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow, “You seem very confident we’ll take the case. Even though it carries a non-zero chance of being shot and attaching ourselves to potentially one of the biggest scandals of the decade.”

“It will be worth your while. I can pay a hundred dollars a day to each of you, and cover any expenses. Then there’s the fact you’ll have room and board during your stay, and the twenty thousand I’ll pay if you find out who attempted to cut my life short.”

He keeps his face flat and says nothing; it’s a tempting offer, more money in one job than they make in a year. But there’s a gnawing in his stomach, one he’s learned the hard way to not ignore. 

Indrid removes his glasses, cleaning them on his sleeve, “You are also likely to take it because of your, shall we say, disreputable pasts. The ones that mean even with all your skills and successes, Mr. Newton has to work evenings as bouncer at some unsavory establishments and you yourself must take the occasional job that’s no more than being a glorified peeping tom. The pasts that are the reason I am bringing this job to you” amber eyes meet his own and Joseph sees his calm for what it truly is; a rabbit holding stone-still under the gaze of a hawk, certain it’s about to be eaten. 

“Your father paid off or pissed off all the cops and respectable detectives?”

“Precisely.” The glasses slot back into place, “I need help. You can provide it, or you can go back to taking pictures through windows. What shall it be?”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

“You sure we ain’t passed it?” Duck cranes his neck as Joe steers them around yet another hairpin turn in the San Gabriel’s. 

“Positive. He said the gate is ‘impossible to miss.’”

“Someone must be really pissed if they hauled ass all the way out here to try and off him.”

“Apparently it happened in the city; he was on his way back from the police station. The friend who was with him, Mr. Cobb, saw the gun in the reflection of a store window and dragged him down behind a car.”

“We gonna get the chance to confirm that with the guy?”

“We should. He lives with Mr. Cold full time as a cook. Aha, finally.” The car slows in front of a twelve foot tall iron gate with flames twisted into the metalwork. Joe hits the intercom and after a moment the shining mouth of the estate opens. The house itself isn’t quite a mansion, but it sure as hell isn't a cozy cottage for two. 

As they wait in it’s shadow for someone to open the front door, a gust of wind makes them both shudder. 

“Damn, forget how cold it gets up here. Who knows, slick, maybe you’ll finally get some snow.”

“Maybe.” Joe’s hands are in his pockets and he knows without looking that he’s worrying his palms with his nails. Duck doesn’t blame him for being nervous; stepping into the Cold’s orbit is like shoving your hand into a rattlesnake burrow and hoping nothing bites

The door opens on a man who towers over the six foot tall Joe. His short beard and shaggy hair are both auburn, his clothes are sensible outdoor wear, and there’s dirt under his nails. 

Duck likes him instantly. 

“Come on in, Indrid’s expecting you. I, uh, I’m Barclay” he holds out a large hand for each of them to shake in turn. Joe’s cheeks are pinker than they were a moment ago and Duck fights back a laugh; Joseph Stern may swear he’s straight, but put him near a big man with a soft voice and a sweet smile and he goes rose-colored. 

“Ah, I am glad you found the house. It’s so far into the hills that even I sometimes fear I’ve somehow gone past it.”

See, this is why Duck didn’t snicker at Joe’s little blush. Because now he’s staring up a staircase at Indrid Cold and his heart is bouncing like a dog at a stick. The newspaper photos don’t do him justice, don’t convey how his strange features meld together into something Duck never wants to look away from. 

Indrid shakes their hands and shows them to their room, Barclay helping them with their luggage as clouds darken the windows. Their room is bigger than the apartment above their office, with two, huge beds instead one murphy bed and one couch that they alternate sleeping on. 

“The house is yours to wander as you need, and you’re welcome to ask Barclay or myself for assistance should you need it. As I told Mr. Stern, it’s just Barclay and myself here.” He taps his fingers together, “will you be needing anything from us this afternoon?”

“You mind giving us a little tour so we can get a lay of the land?” Duck tosses his hat on the bed as Joseph carefully hangs his on a hook.

“Oh! Of course, a very good idea. Right this way.”

As Indrid leads them through the cavernous house, Duck is struck by how different it is from its sleek, dull exterior. The rooms are painted bright colors, there’s stunning art on every wall, and even the Christmas tree is decked in pink and gold. The garden is a bit overrun, but there’s a swimming pool and a row of climbing vines positioned near the house. When Duck comments on them being a good choice for the climate, Indrid smiles. 

“Thank you. I’m afraid I rather pestered the gentleman at the garden store working out which things could actually thrive here.” He looks out over the covered rose bushes, “this has been ‘my’ house ever since I turned eighteen. Apollo laid claim to the house on the beach, and my father always preferred his penthouse in the city. I find the woods inspire me, don’t you.”

Duck smiles wistfully, “Yeah, I really do.”

When the tour ends, Indrid excuses himself to work on his art until dinner. Duck and Joe use that same span of time to unpack. His partner is quiet, which means he’s thinking, and Duck lets him. 

Dinner is a simple pot roast that he crams into his face faster than is polite. Which is better than Joe does; he full on moans when he takes a bite, causing Barclay’s eyes to widen comically before he collects himself. 

By the time they say goodnight, Indrid has been at his side most of the evening, asking him questions and seeming fascinated by his knowledge of plants, which may be the most good it’s done him in years. 

“Try not to get too friendly.” Joe says as he removes his tie.

Duck locks the bedroom door, “I’m just bein’ polite. We’re their guests. Besides, thought you said Indrid had been officially cleared as a suspect by the cops.”

“He has, but we both know that means very little.” His partner sighs, “we should stay close to them when possible, both to fulfill the bodyguard end of the agreement and see if we can learn what’s going on here. Just…just be careful, okay? Alistair Cold didn’t get where he was without manipulation, and I’d bet he passed those skills to his sons. Which means the line between ‘useful close’ and ‘dangerous close’ with Indrid Cold is thin.”

Joe has a point, but he’s using that voice that makes Duck feel like his partner thinks he’s nothing more than a clueless hick. Which is why all he says is, “Don’t worry slick, I won’t let anyone know you’re jealous that someone else is gettin’ my attention.”

The other detective fixes him with a stern stare, “Go to hell.”

“Gonna go do some rounds instead. Make sure the place is secure.” He tips a hat that isn’t there and steps into the hall. 

As he double checks doors and windows (including testing that his key matches all the locks; Indrid swore only himself, Barclay, and the two detectives had keys to his new locks, but Duck wants to be sure), his thoughts keep wandering back upstairs to Joe. They’ve been partners for two years, and he’s damn grateful that he got paired with a guy whose brain puts Einstein to shame and a face that’d make Cary Grant jealous. He just wishes Joe weren’t wound so tight he can hear his bones cracking. 

And at least three times a week, he wishes he could slap him. Not because he’s mad at him or wants him to suffer. Because he bets those blue eyes would look even better all teary and that Joe would cry out and moan so sweetly when he did it. And then he’d let Duck do more, give him the green light to do every vicious, indulgent thing he’s been too scared to ask for until the other man is a bruised, bitten, fucked-out mess. 

He pads into the living room, stops when he sees two figures asleep on the couch. Indrid stirs, letting out a sleep mumble, before turning to bury his face in Barclays chest. Duck creeps backward to let the lovers be. He’s glad they have each other. 

Because in his fantasies, when the debauchery is done, all he wants is to pull Joe into that too-tiny bed of theirs and hold him until dawn. 

—--------------------------------------------------------

Christmas carols drift from the record player downstairs as Indrid sits in bed, sketching the images of a dream before they fly away. This will be the first Christmas he can remember without endless holiday parties and people sending him lavish gifts that always came with favors to fulfill, without his father hissing for him to act normal and Apollo mocking him every chance he gets. 

It’s the best Christmas ever, even accounting for the probability of being shot. 

Then again, that probability has led to two more charming, handsome men under his roof, which softens the sting. Joseph, gorgeous as he is, still seems wary– of him, and of everything–Indrid understands the sentiment and so tries not to begrudge him his caution. He also walked into the kitchen last morning to find the detective and Barclay having an animated discussion about movies, so maybe one day he’ll see them as friends and not suspects. 

Then there’s Duck, sturdy and understated in his many charms. Indrid would do a great many things for a peek at what’s beneath his slacks and would murder someone for one kiss of that crooked smile.

A knock on the door and a drawl asking if he’s up. 

“One moment.” He stands and, curious as to what will happen, reaches for a thin, short, silk robe instead of the heavy one he wears most days, “alright, you can come in.”

Duck opens the door, “Mornin’, I was wondering if…if uh, if we could, uh.” His eyes are fixed on Indrid’s legs. He can feel them staying there as he wanders to his dresser in search of a water glass. 

“Is there something you wanted to discuss?” Indrid tries not to smile as Duck’s reflection actually shakes itself back into focusing. 

“Yeah, uh, I wanted to go back over the orders you made for the locks. From what you’ve told me about your brother, I think we oughta check to see if there was any way another key was made or if someone sent him the lock diagrams so he could have one made on his own. 

It’s a good idea, but Indrid is more relieved by the fact Duck takes his suspicion of Apollo seriously. His twin was the golden child, respectable and capable of convincing a man in the desert to buy sand, while Indrid was a scraggy black sheep following behind him. 

He turns, takes his time coming toe to toe with Duck, “An excellent idea. I see why the clients of yours I spoke to recommend you so highly.”

Duck blushes, “Heh, Joe’s really the brains. I’m just the muscle.”

“I’m afraid I must disagree. Even if the muscle in question is spectacular.” He reaches out, running a finger up Duck’s chest. 

Warm hands catch his wrist and palm, “Sorry, sugar, no can do.”

“Ah.” He steps back, drawing the robe around him, “that’s alright. I do not blame you for not being interested.”

Strangely, Duck steps forward instead of back, “It ain’t that. I got a rule: I don’t sleep with clients. No matter how cute they are. Helps keep things from getting messy.”

“Sensible.”

Duck smiles gently, “Besides, wouldn’t Barclay be mad I was makin’ time with his fella?”

Indrid shakes his head, “We have an…understanding. Barclay has been in my life since we were children, and been my lover for  over ten years. He knows that even if my heart and eyes find others, that will not change that I’m his.”

Duck steps closer, guiding Indrid’s robe back up his shoulder, “He’s a lucky fella.”

He’s about to say they both are when there’s a tremendous crash from downstairs. They take one look at each other and then run for the door. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

He shouldn’t have let his guard down. 

Barclay knows why Indrid brought the detectives into the house, and he’s willing to put up with a lot to never have to hear a gunshot that close ever again. But something about Stern in particular made him anxious, like he was a hunter and Barclay was a beast lumbering in the woods. Even his polite demeanor,handsome face, and earnest praise of Barclay’s cooking couldn’t cover for that. 

Then, a few nights ago, he’d been unable to sleep and came down to find Stern in the living room in the same predicament. In the light of one, shaded lamp, the detective seemed to fade away, leaving a tired, charming man in his place. They played chess until Barclay nearly fell asleep in his chair. After that, Joseph sought him out more often and Barclay let himself be found. 

They were chatting about movies as he worked on the bread for dinner when he’d asked if Joseph had seen The Fugitive with Henry Fonda. 

“No, westerns aren’t quite my thing.” Joseph pauses mid-sip, “that’s the one you two saw the night Alistair Cold was killed.”

“Yep. Hell of a thing to come home from the movies to find the cops at your door.”

“I’d imagine.” The cup thunks onto the table, “You know, when I spoke with the ticket girl at the theater, she said she remembered you buying tickets alone.”

Fuck. Did Joseph bring up movies just to maneuver him into this conversation?

Barclay  turns from the dough and crosses his arms, “I know what you’re getting at. And yeah, I know you and every private eye from here to San Francisco could point out that it’s really fucking convenient Indrid and I are each other’s alibis. But all that happened is that Indrid was running late, so I bought two and waited in the lobby for him.”

Joseph stands, ostensibly to refill his cup, but all it does is bring him closer to Barclay, “Which means that the witness statements saying they saw you and Indrid leaving the theater when the movie was over don’t mean as much. You could have waited for Indrid in that lobby for quite awhile.

“I could have, but I didn’t. Look, Joseph, I know better than anyone else that Indrid had all the reason in the world to bump off his dad, and that’s before we get to how much he and Apollo are gonna inherit. I also know that there’s one Cold twin capable of killing someone and it isn’t Indrid.”

The detective meets his eyes, “I’d say you’re not the most impartial party when it comes to the Cold brothers. Especially since Apollo doesn’t strike me as the kind to fuck the help.”

A thousand memories flare up in him and he snarls, grabbing Joseph’s shirt and spinning them so the detective is slammed against the counter. Flour dusts the air and the coffee cup shatters on the floor as he brings them nose to nose. 

“If you think for a goddam second that Apollo is harmless and Indrid is a threat, your skull is so thick I could smash it onto the counter and you’d be fine.”

Joseph just looks at him, and for all the blush in his cheeks he looks utterly unafraid. Barclay realizes he didn’t mean a single word of his comment about the help; he was doing it to see how Barclay reacted. To see if his feelings for Indrid could make him into a mad dog.

Two sets of footsteps skid into the kitchen, but he’s not ready to let go.

“Barclay, what on earth?”

“Blue eyes here is really fucking sure you’re the bloodthirsty one and not Apollo.”

Duck’s eyes flick between Barclay and his partner, “You’d better let go of him or he’s gonna start thinking you did it.”

Barclay releases his grip and steps back. Joseph brushes the flour from his shirt, perfectly unruffled. 

“Joseph, I have been over the events of that evening with you three separate times. And that’s not to mention that the police have confirmed my story.”

“Police can be bribed.” Stern straightens his cuffs. 

“Oh for–is that what this is about?” Duck rubs his forehead, “yeah, Joe, they lie all the time. But you and I both know that there’s no way Indrid or Barclay coulda been anywhere near the murder.”

“But-”

Duck shakes his head, “Nope, I no for a damn fact you ain’t slept well the last two nights, and it’s startin to show. Go to bed.”

“No.” Joseph tries to pass Duck, only for Duck to grab his arm.

“Barclay, gimme a hand.”

“Excuse me?” Joseph tries to pull away but Duck doesn’t let go. 

“You won’t be good and go on your own, we’ll take you.” He tips his head and Barclay gets the hint, grabbing Joseph’s other arm and starting to pull. He’s not big on manhandling people, but it’s satisfying to half-drag the pissed-off detective back up the stairs. 

He and Duck let go once they’re in the bedroom, though Duck continues blocking the doorway as he says, “Get some sleep. And if you can’t fuckin stay put, I’ll cuff you to the bed.”

Joseph’s cheeks go redder even as his expression stays flat, “That seems like overkill.”

“Then don’t make me do it.”

Joseph takes a deep breath, “I’m not trying to insult either of you when I say this but: have you considered that being attracted to Indrid is clouding your judgment?”

“Nope. Why, is it cloudin’ yours?” Duck leans against the doorframe. 

“Fuck, Joseph, why are you so convinced it’s Indrid? You’re so desperate to pin it on him it’s like you murdered the guy.”

Joseph’s gaze darkens as it whips onto him.

“Get. out.”

“Okay, okay, we’re going.” Barclay throws up his hands and leaves, Duck shutting the door behind them, “what the fuck, did he actually kill someone?”

“No. But everyone thinks he did. See, Joe was on the force, was on his way to making detective there, there were even whispers that he’d be D.A eventually.” Duck’s steps slow, “you remember the Millicent Green murder case?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Joe was in charge of the investigation. Turns out it was her boyfriend. Not all that shocking, but he was was the police chief. Joe refused to back down, wouldn’t be paid to look the other way. So they hit him with accessory to murder on a smaller case and kicked him off the force. Only reason he didn’t land in jail is that the judge was on the level and threw out the case.”

“That was, in no small part, why I hired him.” Indrid meets them at the bottom of the stairs, “Joseph Stern could not be bought or beaten into going against his moral conscience. And I trusted he would choose a partner of a similar nature.” He glances at Duck. 

“Oh fuck, did the same thing happen to you?”

“Nah. Long story short, the state park I was workin’ at got shut down and turned into an orange grove. I needed cash and had to take some shitty jobs as hired muscle to get it. I actually met Joe throwin’ him out of The Black Swan. He has a way of makin’ people listen to him and the next thing I knew I was helpin’ him solve that case. When it was over he asked me to be his partner.”

Barclay looks back up at the second floor, “It just felt like I was talking to a different guy this morning. More…ruthless.”

“A trait which may come in handy if anyone does come after us.” Indrid muses.

“He can be that way sometimes. But he’s really a good guy. Great, if you can get the stick outta his ass.”

“Or put one there.” Barclay adds.

Duck snickers, “Never managed it, but not for lack of tryin’.”

They settle into their usual routine, Duck hanging around to sweep the kitchen and, Barclay realizes, make sure Barclay is really okay after his fight with Joseph. 

Barclay doesn’t see the taller detective again until well after dinner. Duck is doing a round of the house and Indrid is painting in his studio, so Barclay wanders into the kitchen to start on the dishes. What he finds is Joseph, sleeves rolled up and scrubbing away. 

“I’m so sorry about earlier.” Joseph must know it’s him by his footsteps, “I…I was trying to prove something to myself and forgot who was on the other side of the thing.” 

“Thanks.” Barclay joins him at the sink, “please don’t do that again. Act like you think there’s something wrong with Indrid for loving me, I mean.”

“I won’t.” 

Barclay squeezes his shoulder, feels him relax for a half second before the usual tension returns to the muscle. He grabs a towel from the cupboard. 

“Here, I’ll dry.”

—---------------------------------------------

This might be the glitziest Christmas morning Duck’s ever been part of. Barclay did some last minute decorating, so the whole living room is shiny with tinsel, the tree glowing like a heart in the corner. There’s a surprising number of presents beneath it, and when Duck sneaks a peek he finds that while most are addressed to Barclay, two are for him and two are for Joe.

Barclay is stretched out on the couch, reading, and Indrid moves through the room with a mug of eggnog in hand. He changes out the record, humming as a slow song crackles into the air. 

He reminds Duck of a moth, fluttering about the house at night, ethereal bearing barely concealing something fragile. Something that’s been flapping its wings against a storm for too long. 

Duck stands and offers his hand, “How about a dance, sugar?”

Indrid cocks his head, grinning, “And what about your rules?”

“Ain’t no harm in a dance.” 

Indrid takes his hands and, rather than keep a usual dancer's distance, presses against him. 

“You sure you wanna get that close? I got two left feet.”

“Can’t be any worse than me.” Barclay turns a page.

“Dearest, you are forgetting the time I once took out two waiters at a club with my movements.”

The cook chuckles, sets his book on the end table, “I’m gonna go check on Joseph. Kind of worried that he’s not down yet.”

“Let me” Duck spins Indrid off into Barclay’s arms, “he can get kinda morose on Christmas.”

When he gets to their room, Joe is fully dressed save for his shoes, laying on the bed with a book over his face. 

“You got somewhere to be slick?” 

“I’m trying to maintain professionalism.”

“You can let it slide for one day. C’mon, it’s real nice downstairs.”

“I’m sure it is, but you should get used to those scenes without me.”

“What?” Duck closes the door.

“Isn’t it obvious? Indrid and Barclay both like you. Once we’re done with this job, assuming we’re both still alive, they’ll probably keep you on as a bodyguard and send me home.” His voice is far away, like he’s still half in the book. 

“You’re not gettin rid of us that easily.” Duck teases as he nears the bed. 

“I don’t want to! But none of you will ever want me, not like I-” Joe slams the book across his mouth. 

“You better finish that sentence, slick.” Duck sets his hands on his hips but keeps his voice soft. 

Joe covers his face, “I want all three of you so badly. I, I think I might even be in love with you, Duck.”

He settles on the bed, “How long has this been goin’ on?”

“Six months, maybe more” Joe turns away from him, “I’m so sorry.”

Duck gently pets black hair, “You shoulda said somethin’ sooner. I mean, hell, we coulda been sharin’ a bed and freed up some space.”

A weak laugh, “would have been warmer too.”

It’s like coaxing a scared kitten from under the bed, getting Joe to look at him. His hands have to caress his jaw and trace circles on his cheek before he’ll turn to face him. 

“For a private eye, you can be real fuckin’ blind.” He leans in and kisses Joe as sweetly as he dares, catching a surprised gasp between his teeth. The hope is for Joe to climb into his lap, or pull him down to the mattress, but instead the other man collapses against him even as pleads to continue the kiss. 

“Easy slick, don’t want you droppin’ like a sack of laundry.”

“Easy? Nothing about this is easy, not when I’ve thought about crawling under your desk and blowing you every time I get a look at your thighs, not when wanting you, wanting the others, makes me feel like I’ll float away like a forgotten balloon. Please” he rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “please, I want it to be easy, but I don’t know how.”

Duck gets the best idea of his life and then kisses Joe’s forehead, “I do. Do you trust me?”

Blue eyes gleam in the dark, “with my life.”

“Then you’re gonna do what I, and what the other two, say. Yeah?”

“Yes” Joe drags him into another kiss, moaning when Duck bites his lip. 

“On your feet slick.” He sneaks his cuffs into his back pocket as Joe obeys. When they reach the door, his partner hesitates. 

“Are you sure they want me involved?”

“Positive. But also” he grabs the end of a blue tie and yanks, “you ain’t got a choice.”

Joe moans, footsteps unsteady as Duck leads across the landing and down the stairs. Barclay sees them first, eyes wide as dinner plates as he sways Indrid in his arms. Indrid turns next, breaking into a wicked grin as he takes in the duo descending the stairs. 

“Brought you two a little present.” Duck lets go of the tie and Joe stills, looking at the other two for some kind of sign. 

“Lucky us.” Barclay rumbles, stepping forward and tipping Joe’s chin up to kiss him. 

Duck takes the moment where Joe is too surprised to hold onto the cook to grab his wrists and cuff them behind his back. 

“The hell?” Joe tries to look behind him only for Barclay to drag him into another kiss and not release him until he’s giggling. 

“I know you, slick. You’ll try to take control of the whole scene if we don’t stop you. As this is as much about makin’ you relax as it is findin’ out what’s under those slacks. 

“Duck, you’ve seen me in my underwear.”

“Yeah, but I never saw what was under ‘em, no matter how many times I wanted to yank ‘em down.” He guides Joe over to the couch, where he sits without needing to be told. 

“What, exactly, is the plan?” Indrid hangs back by the fireplace, metallic threads in his robe making him look like an emperor. 

“To show this handsome fella just how bad we want him so that the idea will actually sink into that big brain of his.”

“I see.” Indrid saunters forward, hands behind his back, considering Joe with an unreadable expression. The detective looks up at him hopefully as he approaches the couch, some silent conversation passing between them as Indrid looms over him. 

Then an ink-stained hand catches Joe across the face, loud enough that Duck and Barclay both jump. Joe doesn’t take nearly so long to recover, licking his lips and smiling up at Indrid while Duck is still trying to parse what happened. 

“That’s about as hard as I expected a spoiled heir to hit.”

Another slap, Joe yelping as it hits. Duck takes a half step forward when the sound turns to a moan and Indrid lets out a sharp, menacing laugh. 

“Oh you like that, don’t you pet? All that sophistication and cleverness to hide the fact you’re nothing more than a mutt who needs to be put in his place.”

“Better than being a brat who thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

Indrid crouches so they’re eye to eye, tracing a heart on Joe’s cheek with his finger, “Oh no pet, I don’t think I am better than everyone else.”

Slap

“I know I am.”

“Holy fuck.” Barclay grips the edge of the couch where he’s been standing, tent noticeable in his pajamas.

Indrid smiles at him, “Surprised, dearest? Yes, I suppose you would be. You, my sweet, perfect, beloved beast, never need such a firm hand. You’ve never been anything but good.”

Duck shifts from foot to foot. His cock is twitching at Indrid addressing the others in that way, even though if the pale-haired man tried it on him, Duck would pin him to the floor and ride him until he cried. 

“Joseph? Is this really okay?” Barclay’s voice is going husky.

Joe nods once, then adds, “It’d be better if your boyfriend didn’t hit like a baby.” 

Indrid snarls, but instead of slapping him again he fists his hand into his hair and yanks Joe's head back. His partner cries out as Indrid sinks his teeth into the skin of his neck, not relenting until the moan turns broken and panting. 

“Dearest, please fetch the supplies. Duck, help me make him less decent.” Indrid begins unbuttoning Joe’s shirt. 

“Thought you’d never ask.” As Duck joins them, Joe kicks out a leg, lightly catching Indrid on the shins. 

“Now that ain’t very nice, darlin.” Duck pulls off Joe's tie and binds it around his ankles.

Indrid turns, kissing his cheek before pecking Joe on the lips, “Goodness, I had no idea you two would be this much fun. Are you alright, pet?”

“I feel like I’m flying.”

“If it turns to a fall, tell us.” Indrid cups his face to offer a tender kiss, “none of us want you hurt.”

“Thank you.” Joe sighs, tipping his face into Duck’s hand when he offers it. They stay like that until Barclay returns, at which point Indrid rises and points imperiously at Duck. 

“Take off your pants. Barclay, sit there and put Joseph over your lap so you can, ah, open him up for me.”

“Ohfuck.” Joe actually whines as Barclay obeys and throws him over his lap. 

Duck is enjoying the sight of carefully pressed slacks being bunched around Joe knees that it takes reality a moment to join him in the room. Joe knows the truth, and he’s fairly certain Barclay figured it out when he poked his head into the room to ask a question right after Duck was in the shower and saw the scars on his chest. 

Did Barclay tell Indrid? If he didn’t, how the fuck should Duck go about this?

Indrid’s fingers wrap around Duck’s pants and shove them, and his underwear, to the floor. In retrospect, this is what he gets for stopping to think near a man who looks horny enough to fuck an entire barroom. 

“Mmmm, it seems Barclay was correct.” Eager fingers tease the folds beneath his dick, “are inside visitors permitted?”

Duck snickers at the phrasing, “Sometimes. Depends on how I’m feelin’.”

“Understood.” Indrid brushes their noses together, “go lay down on the couch. Joseph has a mouth that was made to suck cock and I have waited too long to see him do so.”

He positions himself so he’s laying on the couch. Getting where Indrid wants him, especially with the sight of Joe facedown and ass up, moaning into the cushions as Barclay fucks his ass with two fingers. 

The cook pauses from where he’s groping and kissing Joe’s ass, “Put your feet wherever you need to, man.”

That lets him get close enough that he can reach down and drag Joe’s face between his legs. 

“MOH, oohhhhhhhhhhh” Joe isn’t doing much besides moaning but that alone is pretty gratifying. 

Indrid tugs Joe’s hair, “Get to it pet.”

“What–ohfuck–what about you?” Duck turns his head as Indrid kneels by the couch.

In reply, Indrid kisses him, really kisses him, for the first time. It’s like Duck has been holding his breath, diving deeper and deeper in search of something, only to find the treasure glittering at him up at the surface. He sighs into the kiss and Indrid lets out a pleased chirp. 

“It’s like you were meant to kiss me.” Indrid murmurs before bringing their lips together a second time. 

Duck has to agree, lets himself melt into the feeling of Indrid’s mouth on his and the toe-curling steadiness of Joe sucking him off. His climax builds slowly, like a wave far out from shore, and by the time it crashes into him he’s blissfully sprawled on the couch with Indrid nibbling his neck and Joe kissing his thighs. 

“Think he’s ready, baby.” Barclay is practically drooling as Indrid helps Duck sit up and turns his attention onto Joe, undoing the tie on his ankles. Barclay is also ready, his cock fully hard as he kicks off his pants. The cook coaxes Joe to straddle his lap, thighs shaking as he pushed and pulled into position. His hands are still trapped behind him, and Duck watches them flex as Barclay shoves him down onto his cock. 

“SHIT! Ohmygod” Joe slouches forward, “god, Barclay, yes, god you’re amazing.” 

“Thanks baby.” Strong arms circle Joe’s waist as Barclay kisses his neck. 

A constant stream of short, helpless, ecstatic moans leave his partner, and Duck swears he’s never sounded more beautiful. 

“As lovely as you sound, pet, I have another use for your mouth.” Indrid undoes his robe, cock shorter than Barclay’s but already burning it’s image in Duck’s mind. 

The loss of Joe’s moans is made up for by Indrid purring , “Good boy” as Joe takes the head of his cock into his mouth. Had Duck not just cum, he’d be jerking off frantically to Joe being used so thoroughly and expertly. 

After a moment, Joe chokes out something he can’t quite make out.

“So soon? My, you really were meant to be nothing but a rich man’s toy, weren’t you?”

Joe cums with a muffled shout, but the other two offer no relief, and so he writhes in Barclay’s lap, softening cock bouncing helplessly between his legs as tears spill down his cheeks. 

Barclay rams into him hard enough that his partner actually squeaks, and an instant later Indrid pulls away, cum painting Joe’s flushed face and chest. 

In the chorus of panting that follows, Barclay manages, “Keys?”

Duck quickly undoes the cuffs, catching Joe as he collapses into his arms. He’s never looked this relaxed, this vulnerable.

This happy. 

“You with me, Joe?”

A slow, satisfied nod, “I’m here. You’re a genius.”

“See, he agrees with me.” Indrid flops into Barclay’s lap, peppering his face with kisses and cooing things meant for only the cooks ears. 

Gradually, the four of them rearrange into more comfortable positions on the couch, Barclay wobbling off and returning with coffee for each of them. As Joe cuddles between Barclay and Duck, Duck puts his lips to his ear. 

“Merry Christmas, darlin.”

Joe kisses him, soft as mountain snow, “Merry Christmas.”

[inwintersolitude]

- September 7th 2023 -

Have you stayed up past 3 in the morning this week? Yep.

What was on the last sandwich you had? Cucumber slices, and I made a spread with a mixture of cream cheese, a tiny bit of kewpie mayo, fresh dill, and fresh chives.

What does the soap you use smell like? All the hand soaps in the house are super gentle fragrance-free kinds because I'm prone to getting eczema on my hands if I use harsher scented soaps.

Do you prefer to wrap gifts or use gift bags? It depends on the shape and size of the gift.

The last person you spoke to, do you know their eye color? Yes, he has blue eyes.

Does anyone you know have their hair bleached? I can't think of anyone.

When you're on the phone, do you doodle? No.

Is there anyone you know by the name of Frank? Not that I can think of right now. I know someone with that as a surname, though - he's one of my husband's copilots and also a friend of my dad.

Do you own a trenchcoat? Nope.

Name the hardiest piece of technology you own? Probably my old Thinkpad gaming laptop.

Have you ever written with a pen that had pink ink? I'm sure I have at some point.

Do you remember the last thing you took a picture of? I just checked my camera roll, apparently it was a photo of the Greek salad I made last night haha.

From where you're sitting, can you turn the lights off? Yes, because they're smart lights and all I'd have to do is tell Google/Siri to turn them off, or turn them off using my phone.

When was the last time you accidentally slept in? Yesterday. I didn't have any plans or anything, I just slept way later than I thought I would.

Tell me the last thing you searched on the internet? Ralph Lauren handbags.

The last argument you had, who started it? I don't even know who I last argued with.

Do you wear a ring on your left hand middle finger? No.

Are you currently in a smoking environment? No. No smoking allowed in my house!

Can you remember the title of the song you last sang aloud? No.

If a stranger smiles at you, do you smile back? Usually. Unless it's obvious they're being a creep, but that pretty much never happens.

Tell me the current time? 6:27 p.m.

Are you currently listening to music through earphones? No, I don't use headphones, earbuds, etc. because of my hearing disorder.

What color shirt are you wearing? Is it your favorite color? Black. It's one of my favorite colors to wear, but not my favorite color in general.

Do you own a pair of rubber boots? No, but I'm thinking of getting a pair for our trip to Ireland in a few weeks.

Have you ever owned a tire swing? No.

Does anyone you know own a bird that can talk? No. I have parrots, but they don't mimic human speech.

What make-up are you wearing currently, if any? None.

Name one thing you are glad you accomplished today? I haven't accomplished much of anything today hahahaha. I'm having a lazy Thursday at home.

Name one thing you wished you accomplished today but didn't? Eh, I don't know. I don't need to accomplish things every single day.

Have you ever been afraid to call someone, even if you knew them well? Yes, I felt that way the first time I called my Granny after my Granddad passed away, because there was absolutely nothing I could say to her that would have helped her feel better, or me feel better. I knew that it would be one of the saddest phone conversations I've ever had (and it was).

Do you ever not speak to someone because you're afraid you'll annoy them? No.

Is there any drama going on in your circle of friends? I don't really have a circle of friends. Nearly everyone I socialize with is family.

Have you ever known a guy who caused a lot of drama? Probably? I can't think of anyone off the top of my head, though.

Is there anyone you know who wears their hair in pigtails regularly? No lol.

Personally, do you think you have a nice smile? Sure.

Do you have a nervous twitch? No.

Have you ever taken care of a drunk friend? Nope, I've never had to.

How about a hungover friend? Nope. Again, never had to.

Does the idea of snowpeaked mountains and a large lake sound appealing? Of course.

Pick any number that has personal significance to you? 6.

Have you ever lost your luggage at an airport? Nope. I always travel with just a carry-on. I haven't checked luggage since my honeymoon in 2012 lol - I even went to England for like 9 days with just a carry-on bag! However, I'll be checking a bag when we go to Ireland. I plan on putting my AirTag inside, juuuust in case.

What's your opinion on people who go hunting for sport? If it's only for sport, like trophy hunting, I think that's horrible. But I'm fine with people hunting for food.

Have you ever been on a rollercoaster that actually scared you? No. Magnum at Cedar Point did give me a horrible headache, though.

Do you know anyone who can fluently speak more than two languages? I'm not sure. Maybe?

The last person who texted you, have you ever fought with them? No.

How many windows are open on your computer right now? Just one.

Do you have a fairly fast or slow internet connection? It's fairly fast, around 300 mbps.

Have you ever gone in a sauna? No.

Out of these colors, which appeals most to you: orange, blue, or green? Blue.

Have you celebrated your birthday yet this year? Yes, my birthday is only 6 days after New Years.

Is there anything you're saving up for? Not anymore, we've already surpassed our savings goals for a house and the trip to Ireland. Well actually we are still saving/investing for retirement, that's what the majority of our money goes towards now.

Has anyone ever been prejudiced towards you? Yes, because of my gender.

Are you taller than most of your friends? No.

Know anyone with a really annoying laugh? Yes, one of my husband's aunts has an inexcusably loud laugh, the kind of explosive noise that makes your ears hurt. It's really quite rude of her.

Have you ever punched someone and broke their nose? No.

What is the longest time you have gone without sleep? Maybe like 40 hours when I was in college. I remember one weekend where I was working airport ops during the air show and was very very busy.

Have you ever been someplace tropical? Yep. I've been to the Caribbean a few times.

If given the opportunity, would you act in a commercial? No.

You see an ant on the ground, do you squish it? No.

Have you ever baked a pie? Of course.

What is your favorite social networking site? Ehhhh. Maybe Instagram.

Who was the last person to call you? My husband.

Does anyone in your family tell funny stories? Sure.

Do you believe in finders keepers in most situations? It depends.

Is there a war memorial where you live? Yes, in the park on the town square.

Has anyone in your family fought in any of the wars? I had ancestors in the American Revolution, but I don't have any family members who fought in any wars more recent than that one.

Would you make any changes to your current bedroom? I'd paint the walls light beige, but that's all. The walls are very pale blue-ish gray, and it makes the room feel a little cold.

Has a stray dog ever tried to bite you? No, I don't think I've ever encountered a stray dog.

When riding a bus, do you prefer to sit up front, down back or the middle? Whatever.

Have you ever been on a cross-country train ride? No, the longest train ride I've been on was only between Wilmington and Baltimore.

Are you normally a person to tell people off? I can be, yes. I won't tell a person off over something minor, but if they're pushing boundaries or behaving rudely towards me, I definitely won't be a doormat, I will tell them to stop.

Name an object that most would consider odd that's special to you? A tie with an embroidered pattern on it in the shape of Hilton Head Island. It belonged to my Granddad. Him and my Granny used to have a vacation house on the island, and some of my favorite childhood memories are of going to visit them there.

What animal have you always wanted as a pet but couldn't have? There aren't any animals I want as a pet yet can't have.

Do you currently have any bugbites? Yep, I got a few mosquito bites at the cookout last weekend.

Is where you live on a boulevard, road, street, or avenue? Technically our address is on a Drive, but the private part of the street (where our house is), is a Circle, and it shows up as ''**** Circle'' on Google Maps and Apple Maps.

Is there currently any caffeine in your system? Yep, I just had a cup of Irish breakfast tea.

Look around, are things organized? Kind of lol.

Is there any TV show that ended that you wish hadn't? Firefly is the standard answer to this question haha. Such a shame they canceled it. OH and I also wish they continued on with The Expanse. They ended the show way before the story from the books comes to an end.

Know what you're planning to do after this? I have a few packages on the front porch that I need to bring inside. I also need to load/run the dishwasher, do some laundry, and text my brother about farmer's market/shopping/lunch plans for Saturday.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

I just finished yet another one of my kintsugi rereads and I am dying with the evolution of the Frank Peter relationship. The slow warming up of Peter and how much it pains him to trust an adult with his problems because of his past I just! (!!!!!!!!!!)

frank and peter's relationship is something that i was constantly trying to pump the breaks on because like, i wanted them to form a bond but realistically speaking Peter would be intensely hostile to frank on the sheer principle alone and also he's necessarily at a place in his life where he does not at all want someone to help him. And now that someone is, he's constantly struggling against the urge to retreat back into the safety of old habits.

Frank, meanwhile, is interesting to me, because he loves kids and is protective of kids but he's not always good with kids. Like, a lot of the time--he's great with kids. We saw that with Micro's kids, with Amy, and with his own kids. But we also saw that he just would mess up too. With his own son, there was more than one scene where he sort of carried regret over how harshly he responded to Frank Jr. With Amy, we had the scene in the trailer, where he responded way too violently to her when she play-attacked him and he got freaked because he could have killed her. With Micro's son, Frank had some really good moments throwing the football... and he also had the really bad moment where he was trying to discipline him over bringing a knife to school and got way too intense.

Frank really does try with kids--and, more importantly, he recognizes his fuck ups and tries to make amends. He usually figures out pretty quick when he overstepped a line and tries to make up for it. And there's a lot of scenes where he's just a good, affirming, and encouraging presence to kids--when Amy's teaching him card tricks, when Micro's daughter is talking about books with him, etc. But his fuck ups with kids are still damaging, and you can't really remove that from Frank's interactions with kids. He's gonna overstep, almost inevitably. He's gonna fuck up and do something that hurts their relationship.

Which really was important to the development of Peter and Frank's relationship, because Peter's really more set up to test Frank more than any other kid he's come into contact with. Every single one of Frank's worst parenting moments came from 1) they risked hurting themselves or 2) they hurt or risked hurting someone else. Amy almost got hurt at Frank's hands; Zach started going around with a knife; his son used a slur and was really callous towards the death of a lot of people. Peter, meanwhile, is uniquely posed to 1) actually kill himself and 2) hurt his aunt in the exact way Frank is tortured by every single day of his life. But Frank's stuck in a way that he wasn't with any of the other kids. Like, he will steamroll a kid for what he's decided is their own safety. He zip-tied amy to a fucking bed and duct taped her mouth shut. He's not exactly the most gentle of folks. And if he had the option with Peter--he would have done it yesterday. 1200%. if he could just overpower peter, he'd spend every single day physically hauling this kid home to his aunt, chaining him to his bed, and doing it on repeat until the kid stopped fucking around with crime fighting. He's just fucking stuck becuase this one can bench press a Subaru.

Frank's not here to help him be Spider-Man--he would never enable spider-man, and Peter wouldn't accept his help if he did, frank's the fuckin' punisher, he actively does not want vigilante help from him. So many of the whole "Peter meets X vigilante" stories usually end with whatever adult it is deciding that Peter's going to be better off and safer if they train him, but I don't see Frank making that decision at all. i can see matt making the decision, but not frank. like, he's just absolutely not willing to accept the idea that it's ever going to be better if a kid is on the streets risking his life every night. he will always gamble for trying to get this kid back to exclusively being Peter parker--which, in a way, is a bit tragic, because it's a gamble he's going to lose hard. So you're stuck with these two people who, against all odds, legitimately care for each other, but their non-negotiables are absolutely in conflict and it's just a question of whether they can survive collision.

[theangryjikooker]

Dunno why I’m sharing this but I guess I’m frustrated today. I’ve been in the fandom for a little over 2 years, and a "jikooker". I don’t really like the label tbh, it sounds silly to me. To put it simpl, Jimin and Jungkook caught my eyes first and became my biases, and with time I came to the conclusion they might very well be dating (to which I have no certainty, obviously). Anyway. So I’ve been lurking here and there for about 2 years and I find it concerning how some Jikook-centered blogs are moving lately… like, it’s getting weird… As much as I love Jikook and tend to be over-fixating when I’m into something, some bloggers are so overly obsessed I don’t think it’s healthy. Like writing super long post overanalyzing every tiny little details, over and over again. As a grown ass adult, there’s something about it that makes me a bit uncomfortable, especially knowing those bloggers are adults as well (and no I’m not saying you shouldn’t have hobbies or be a fan of someone when you’re an adult, just the obsession pushed that far is weird imo but I guess that’s a me problem). I came here to see some cute gifs and edit and just crack jokes and I’m still a bit appalled by the shipping community. To each their own I guess. But what really confuses me these days is how weird some bloggers have become when they use to be quite level headed for what I can remember. I think jikook are a thing but these people are seeing signs e v e r y w h e r e Like just yesterday with the new Run Bts episode, so many jikookers who usually scream at other shippers about the importance of context and knowing Korean langage are interpreting Jungkook’s remark when they were by the Han river as a ramyeon joke (which he definitely joked about in the past) when it wasn’t one (he was referring to a certain type of ramyeon he wanted to it) or saying that he plucked his lips as if he wanted to kiss or blow a kiss or whatever when Jimin got close to his face when he was just pouting and about to speak… I dunno, it’s examples after examples just like this and it’s getting ridiculous. I used to enjoy reading some bloggers, now they’re not logical and down to earth anymore. Which is even more weird to me considering how Jikook have been acting lately. The more I see those two together, the more I think they’re "suspicious", or at least there’s plenty of moments that speak for themselves so why the need to interpret everything and see things where there’s nothing to see? I was very wary of shipping accounts when stepping into the fandom, and the more I observe shippers the more I come back to this feeling. Some people are way too much obsessed and involved, it’s just weird.

I only follow one other blogger whose posts aren't quite ship-focused, so I'm mostly in the dark about what's being said within the Jikook blogger community, but this is a common sentiment among my anons as of late.

From what I hear, it's a little insane. And on the rare occasion I go through the tag, I almost always regret it. From what I've collectively observed over the last year, a lot of these bloggers cater to like-minded fans, and there are certainly people who enjoy theorizing to that level of delusion (sorry not sorry). It’s not that I think I'm better than those people who want to engage with Jikook content in that manner when I say that, but I'm just not on their wavelength and I doubt I ever will be. I think a lot of that has to do with my long-standing aversion to RPS.

So I don't blame you; I understand how you feel and agree to an extent.

My feeling is that anyone with a platform should be careful about what narrative they're choosing to dig into because at the end of the day, these analyses are about real people. These aren't fictional characters we're dealing with, and to be frank, I think people’s approach to shipping fictional characters vs. real people can get blurred for some.

Real life isn’t as formulaic as fiction, but some people will analyze real people as though there are these cut and dry rules about how relationships work. I mean, yes, in real life there are some basic “if A + B, then C” type of equations with regards to interpersonal dynamics, but there will always be people who are exceptions to a common perception and shouldn’t be dismissed.

[manwalksintobar]

Look For You Yesterday, Here You Come Today   // LeRoi Jones [Amiri Baraka]

Part of my charm:                            envious blues feeling                            separation of church & state                            grim calls from drunk debutantes

Morning never aids me in my quest. I have to trim my beard in solitude. I try to hum lines from "The Poet In New York".

People saw metal all around the house on Saturdays. The Phone                                                                                             rings.

terrible poems come in the mail. Descriptions of celibate parties                                                   torn trousers: Great Poets dying                                                   with their strophes on. & me                                                   incapable of a simple straightforward                                                   anger. It's so diffuse being alive. Suddenly one is aware                   that nobody really gives a damn.                   My wife is pregnant with her child.                   "It means nothing to me", sez Strindberg.

An avalanche of words could cheer me up. Words from Great Sages.                               Was James Karolis a great sage??                               Why did I let Ora Matthews beat him up                                in the bathroom? Haven't I learned my lesson.

I would take up painting if I cd think of a way to do it better than Leonardo. Than Bosch Than Hogarth. Than Kline.

Frank walked off the stage, singing "My silence is as important as Jack's incessant yatter."

I am a mean hungry sorehead. Do I have the capacity for grace??

To arise one smoking spring & find one's youth has taken off for greener parts.

A sudden blankness in the day as if there were no afternoon. & all my piddling joys retreated to their own dopey mythic worlds.

The hours of the atmosphere grind their teeth like hags.

                                          (When will world war two be over?)

I stood up on a mailbox waving my yellow tee-shirt watching the grey tanks stream up Central Ave.                                     All these thots                                     are Flowers Of Evil                                     cold & lifeless                                     as subway rails

the sun like a huge cobblestone flaking its brown slow rays primititi           once, twice, . My life           seems over & done with.           Each morning I rise           like a sleep walker           & rot a little more.

All the lovely things I've known have disappeared. I have all my pubic hair & am lonely. There is probably no such place as BattleCreek, Michigan!

Tom Mix dead in a Boston Nightclub before I realized what happened.

People laugh when I tell them about Dickie Dare!

What is one to do in an alien planet where the people breath New Ports? Where is my space helmet, I sent for it 3 lives ago ... when there were box tops.

What has happened to box tops??

O, God ... I must have a belt that glows green in the dark. Where is my Captain Midnight decoder?? I can't understand what Superman is saying!

THERE MUST BE A LONE RANGER!!!

                           ****

but this also is part of my charm. A maudlin nostalgia that comes on like terrible thoughts about death.

How dumb to be sentimental about anything To cal it love & cry pathetically into the long black handkerchief of the years.

                 "Look for you yesterday                  Here you come today                   Your mouth wide open                   But what you got to say?"

                                     -part of my charm

                                             old envious    blues feeling                                              ticking like     a big cobblestone clock.

I hear the reel running out . . . the spectators are impatient for popcorn: It was only a selected short subject

F. Scott Charon will soon be glad-handing me like a legionaire

My silver bullets all gone My black mask trampled in the dust

& Tonto way off in the hills moaning like Bessie Smith.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Thursday 10 March 1836

8 ½

11 20

no kiss fine but dull morning F38° at 9 ½ and breakfast in an hour - out at 10 ½ having been ¾ hour looking over Journal - with Mark Hepworth with carts and men + 2 fillers (Robert Mann’s men) as yesterday - then with Robert Mann + 4 at the hollow till Mr. Freeman came to me bringing his nephew from Kent with him - came to look at the new road as I had told him at the rent day I should like him to see the road and give me his advice - took him along the road to the Lodge - he was against lagging and advised cutting up the thorns and branches and laying them (on new cart stuff) as a foundation for the rubble - mentioned the Landymere stone - thought perhaps it was fast in water - the stone of Mrs. Lancashire and Brooke sold - did not know at what price - but some stone near sold at 3/6 per yard - wages and rents must alter or stone could not be sold at the present prices - the best customers in the country - In London the stone most sold at any price - for it cannot lie in the vessels and some are obliged to pay 6d. per ton per day for ground for the stone to lie upon and stone has been hawked about in carts in London streets and in the country 10 miles from London - took Mr. F- to the rock-work - explained - he said it would be rather inconvenient to let me have men and tackling, but he would do it for me - I said then I was equally obliged as if he let me have the men, but that I could manage another way on this he said oh! no! he could manage for me - and it was agreed (he said he would do it for me as cheap as anyone) that he should come next Monday week he finding men and tackling for getting and loadening the stone at the quarry and Nelson to let me have Hinton and men to manage at the rock-man - Mr. F- to speak to and arrange with N- told F- I had had an application for the stone in Joseph Hall’s land, and asked him (F-) to value it for me - had F- and his nephew in the north parlour till near 2 - before going away F- said he had a favour to beg of me to change the stone-road in yew trees wood or have more time - to get the stone the stone in - in fact, this was the real reason of his coming however little he might think I should find this out - said I had often congratulated myself on having Mr. F- to deal with instead of anybody else - that I grieved over the spoiling of the wood and would rather change the road than give more time but that I would do the best I could but could never give more time -A - had Parkinson in the hall - brought him into the North parlour - he wished to have a new public house built in the tan-house garden - 4 rooms on a floor - 5 yards x 5 yards and 1ft. and the back rooms would do 5 yards x 4 yards with 4 good chambers and brewhouse and stable - less would not do - could not afford to pay more than £30 per annum pays £20 a year at present - the building he has would make 5 cottages - thought a new Inn would be built for £300 then when I said no! said well for £400 but could not pay than £30 per annum - A- to consider of it, and give him an answer in a few days - he said he should not stay where he was - then A- had luncheon downstairs - sat with her there and then upstairs till she went to Cliff hill and I to the workmen (Robert + 4, and Frank and my own cart) plant at the meer-head - keep Wood and Samuel Booth planting till 6 when rain came on and from 4 to then sent Robert + 2 to the stubbing at the hollow open drain - came in at 6 ¼ - wrote about a French or German lady’s maid ‘speaking English not essentially necessary’ and sent my letter this evening to ‘Madame Lecomte 11 Bryanston street Portland Square London post paid’ - dinner at 6 ¾ - coffee - A-‘s French as usual - we dined on Pork - too rich for us - it disagreed with both of us so bilious we could not see a letter of A-‘s French book - A- 10 minutes and A- ½ hour with my aunt poorly tonight - came upstairs at 8 55 - tea - rather better for it - but very bilious - wrote all the above of today till 10 10 at which hour F40° fine day but dull till rain at 6 and afterwards for some time - Mr. F- told me the union cross would be sold on young Mr. Thompson’s (of chapel of Briers) coming of age in a year from this time - Messrs. Rainer and Beaumont, brother-in-law to Mr. Jonathan Akroyd, bidding against one another for it - they had already got it up beyond Mr. Mitchell’s valuation - asked F- to get to know for me what it was valued at - F- said the buildings were very bad repair - all the roof would want taking off and the timbers renewing - I said all that would not be done for nothing - F- said it was an excellent situation of which I agreed but made no further remark thinking to myself I see whence the opposition to Northgate will come - F- had said Carr was the fittest man for it - I merely said I thought he had neither capital nor character but, in fact, he had never named Northgate to me - But thought I, I must mind what I am about there will be opposition anyway with Carr or without him  - I had best have a man who would be more difficult to oppose than Carr - A- would not take luncheon till I got her persuaded at last told me she had been unhappy the last two or three weeks had not pleasure in anything never felt as if doing right would not take wine was getting too fond of it afraid she should drink was getting as she was before afraid people would find it out and began to look disconsolate oh oh thought I I see how it is cheered her up said we would get off in May would go to Paris first this made me stay with her so inconveniently long  on leaving her thanked god as I walked along for all blessings to myself and fervently begged his help and felt comforted and my spirits good and my head clear