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mollywog · 2 years

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A list of people Katniss Prim’s-the-only-person-in-the-world-I'm-certain-I-love Everdeen loves (in the order mentioned in the text)

Prim

How could I leave Prim, who is the only person in the world I'm certain I love?

Rue

Sing. My throat is tight with tears, hoarse from smoke and fatigue. But if this is Prim's, I mean, Rue's last request, I have to at least try. The song that comes to me is a simple lullaby, one we sing fretful, hungry babies to sleep with. It's old, very old I think. Made up long ago in our hills. What my music teacher calls a mountain air. But the words are easy and soothing, promising tomorrow will be more hopeful than this awful piece of time we call today.

[proceeds to sing a song]

The final lines are barely audible.

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.

Peeta

It's like being home again, when they bring in the hopelessly mangled person from the mine explosion, or the woman in her third day of labor, or the famished child struggling against pneumonia and my mother and Prim, they wear that same look on their faces. Now is the time to run away to the woods, to hide in the trees until the patient is long gone and in another part of the Seam the hammers make the coffin.

But I'm held here both by the hovercraft walls and the same force that holds the loved ones of the dying. How often I've seen them, ringed around our kitchen table and I thought, Why don't they leave? Why do they stay to watch?

And now I know. It's because you have no choice.

* There are other instances- just sighting the first

Haymitch

I turn and see them all waiting in a big chamber at the end of the hall - Effie, Haymitch, and Cinna. My feet take off without hesitation. Maybe a victor should show more restraint, more superiority, especially when she knows this will be on tape, but I don't care. I run for them and surprise even myself when I launch into Haymitch's arms first. When he whispers in my ear, "Nice job, sweetheart," it doesn't sound sarcastic.

Additional Notes:

Katniss doesn’t talk about feeling a sense of debt to Haymitch, even though he continually helps keep her alive. This feels significant, and I choose to believe it’s because she considers him family

Haymitch is included in the running away from D12 scheme because she can’t leave him

After the bombing in D13 and failed propo she only wants to be comforted by Haymitch “because he loves Peeta, too.”

Gale

"I've heard worse," she says. "You've seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain."

Someone they love. The words numb my tongue as if it's been packed in snow coat.

Of course, I love Gale. But what kind of love does she mean? What do I mean when I say Ilove Gale? I don't know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But I'm sure he doesn't remember it. Does he? I hope not. If he does, everything will just get more complicated and I really can't think about kissing when I've got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it.

Madge

I nod and go straight to my room. I sit on the bed, knowing I will never write those letters. They will be like the speech I tried to write to honor Rue and Thresh in District 11. Things seemed clear in my head and even when I talked before the crowd, but the words never came out of the pen right. Besides, they were meant to go with embraces and kisses and a stroke of Prim's hair, a caress of Gale's face, a squeeze of Madge's hand. They cannot be delivered with a wooden box containing my cold, stiff body.

Too heartsick to cry, all I want is to curl up on the bed and sleep until we arrive in the Capitol tomorrow morning. But I have a mission. No, it's more than a mission. It's my dying wish. Keep Peeta alive. And as unlikely as it seems that I can achieve it in the face of the Capitol's anger, it's important that I be at the top of my game. This won't happen if I'm mourning for everyone I love back home. Let them go, I tell myself. Say good-bye and forget them. I do my best, thinking of them one by one, releasing them like birds from the protective cages inside me, locking the doors against their return.

Honorable Mention

(She at minimum cares about and feels responsible for these people - love could be implied.)

Mrs. Everdeen - Katniss loves Prim, Prim loves their mother, Katniss at minimum feels responsible for her mother if only for her sisters sake

The Hawthornes - She provided for their family from the woods after Gale starts work in the mines. They are included as part of her escape plan in CF. She gets Hazelle the job working for Haymitch when times are lean.

Finnick and Johanna - Come on! She doesn’t say as much, but she loves them, right?

District 12 - she altered the Lady the Goat story to protect people back home. Also Greasy Sae.

Cinna

Effie

Please add your thoughts!

* Inspired by this question

#katniss everdeen #primrose everdeen #rue #peeta mellark #haymitch abernathy #Gale Hawthorne #madge undersee #thg #the hunger games

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alicepao13 · 5 months

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Hudson and Rex S06E15

So, as I’m sure a lot of people have already figured out, we just watched the intended season finale. CityTV, you better hope I never get to cross that ocean. I mean, every season finale aside from the two where Peter Mitchell was in charge (coincidence?) were run of the mill episodes which could have fit anywhere in the season. Maybe it will be fitting for this season to start and end with viewers wondering what they watched. But I’m getting ahead of myself here and I might be wrong. Let’s focus on 15 which may very well be the best episode of the season for me, probably tied with S06E04.

The spoiled scene with Charlie and Sarah’s mentioned anniversary. Rex totally wants to stay with Jesse after their “celebration”. I’m trying to figure whether Jesse is pretending to be naive or is actually being naive about it. Or if the whole response is the writers being unable to outright say that Charlie and Sarah really spent their anniversary having sex all night.

Speaking of, two years, Charlie Hudson? What are you waiting for, an epiphany to hit you in the head? Oh, wait.

What do you mean, we didn’t save the day? There’s a dead woman? Huh?

Nice bomb explosion by the way.

“My bosses are gonna hate this but tell me more”. lol Jesse

How did we end up as security detail for the woman who might become prime minister?

Look, I like when there’s a case where they’re toying with supernatural elements. That’s why I loved Castle so much. And Jesse is always eager to believe. Charlie on the other hand looks like he’s got tons to say on the subject. Rex too. Apparently he doesn’t believe in time travel either.

Any so called time traveler should come back to the present with the numbers for the lottery. That would be ample proof for me :P

Can I say how much I like the camera work on this one? Good directing by John Vatcher.

Rex is getting so many pats in this episode. Deserved.

This campaign manager is on par with the Veep campaign managers. And by that I mean he’s ruthless and self-centered and I want to punch him.

That food now possibly has dog hair in it.

I come from a country where it’s pretty normal to put a musical montage right in the middle of an episode (even a dance number), so I’m not going to say anything about the needless song.

Thunk! There goes Charlie. Again. I’ll spare y’all the concussion speech. Besides, time moves in mysterious ways in this show, maybe it’s already been six months since episode 11.

Seriously, why do you tell Rex to chase a lead if you can’t survive being ten feet away from him?

I can’t remember the last time any of my shows put a bomb vest on one of the main characters. The latest that I remember was FBI but it was on a minor character. That had been a great episode too.

I haven’t yet decided whether that bomb vest looks too amateurish. To be fair, given who the culprit was, it shouldn’t look professional.

Sarah finding Charlie as he has a bomb vest on is like, the best thing that has happened lately on this show. Her look. His look as he realizes that he’s got his entire family now in this (and the mantra of no, no, no that must be playing in his head, I’m filling the blanks, don’t mind me). The slight zooming in of the camera in both of their shots, denoting the direness of the situation.

I was almost waiting for Charlie to say “this isn’t as enjoyable as it was last night” as Sarah was touching him while she’s checking the bomb vest. It writes itself, come on.

In my last review post I wrote that I was hoping the earphones would serve for Charlie to call Sarah and tell her goodbye or something like that. This certainly exceeded my expectations.

We’re a bit late for love confessions under duress but when Charlie was asked about whether Sarah was his wife and he replied “Not yet”, that was a nice moment. At least we know where his head is at.

Their silent communication. They’re so in sync.

Elsewhere, Joe and Jesse are quietly trying to figure out a way to save innocent people and somehow not get their friend blown up.

Superintendent Joe Donovan making airplane noises. I laughed so much.

They are holding hands as they’re walking to their doom! Oh, by the way, interesting music choice. I wonder if it’s score created for the show or non-original music. I’ve certainly not heard it before on the show.

Goodbye kiss! I love it here. And look at the shot of Charlie and Rex leaving as Sarah is staying behind.

Me: no way it’s the convict. Five minutes later: it’s the fucking convict!!! Ten minutes later: it’s not the convict???

Ha, Charlie using the mute button which is pretty convenient but almost no one uses on calls.

Okay, they fooled me with the bomber. But the takedown went pretty much as I expected. Nice communication with Rex through hand signals, again. Although the detonator flying off the lady’s hand… anything could have happened.

Rex’s influence to the system will be more K9s lol. They may also have ensured unlimited funding for the SJPD.

Can the time traveling guy tell us if Charlie is going to propose anytime soon? Or is the “not yet” considered a non-proposal proposal?

This is the first time I’m hearing about the so called Alice in wonderland syndrome.

“Everybody needs a Rex”. Ah, yes. Our catchphrase.

Charlie, put the phone down. When is that man clocking out? Who’s going to make sure Rex is getting adequate rest? I need to talk to his superior. Joe!

Well, I kept saying that I wanted Charlie and Sarah to be in danger again together since they hadn’t after they had become a couple, and I got my wish, thank you, show. We could have had an aftermath scene with them but I’m not going to complain about it in an otherwise good episode.

Promo: I’m beyond frustrated that they keep shuffling the episodes and they wouldn’t even give it a rest when they got the season finale or the 100th episode on their hands. Today’s (yesterday’s) episode would have been a better 100th episode than The Rookie’s for sure (which is embarrassing for The Rookie). But instead we get to watch it as episode 99 and have a run of the mill case for the 100th, which, unless it ends up in a huge celebration scene, is going to fall flat. We basically end off exactly as we started, expect I now know this is 100% CityTV’s fault.

Speaking of, is CityTV even going to acknowledge that it’s the 100th episode? Is anyone? I’m obviously not expecting the magnitude of promotion ABC gave The Rookie or 911 this season (and that was a lot) but something that shows they’re not completely neglecting Hudson and Rex. It doesn’t seem like we’re getting renewal news anytime soon, so I’d settle for them celebrating the episodes they already filmed. There are quite a few production companies involved too, this does not only fall on CityTV. If Shaftesbury wants to celebrate this milestone, I won’t say no.

#hudson and rex

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nobedofroses · 10 months

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December 3rd

pairing: Jack Daniels x reader

warnings: fluff with allusions to sex

words: 1.3k

a/n: just some cute first date stuff with Jack, inspired by "Baby It's Cold Outside" in a way, song prompt from @toomanystoriessolittletime's winter writing challenge ❄️

Full List

🌨️🌨️🌨️

Jack’s call came the same day that he had asked for your number, and you were just as eager as he was when you said yes to a date as when he asked you. He had asked you to dinner the next night at a restaurant you had always wanted to try at the far end of the city.

Since you lived near each other (which he knew because you met at your local grocery store), he offered to drive. When you hesitated for a second, he said that you were more than welcome to pick him up instead. His understanding and giving you more control of the situation put you at ease, and you agreed, saying you would be there at 6:30.

Then, the day of, your boss told you about a last minute meeting early the next morning. It would mean getting to work an hour earlier than you usually did, which meant you needed to go to sleep an hour earlier not to be completely worn out. You figured it would be best to cancel your date, and grabbed your phone, dialing Jack’s saved number in your phone.

“Hey, darlin’, how are you doin’?” was the first thing Jack said when he answered the phone and suddenly you lost the willpower to cancel the date.

Warmth spreading softly on your face, you replied, “I’m good, Jack. Really, um, excited for our date.”

The only thing you ended up changing on the phone call was moving the date up by an hour, once Jack reassured you that he had an in at the restaurant and would still be able to get a table.

___

A few hours later, you left work to go and get Jack. While you and Jack lived near each other, he was a little further out, where the properties were bigger and there were no more apartments. You even saw some horses and goats and were greatly surprised that they had been a ten minute drive from your apartment all this time.

Jack’s house wasn’t big, and as far as you could tell, he just had a really large yard that abutted a little copse of trees.

When you parked, you weren’t sure whether to get out and go to the door or honk or text him or what but you were saved from deciding by Jack coming outside on his own. Within a minute, he had his door locked and was in the car, leaning over the console to kiss your cheek sweetly and hand you a little bouquet of flowers.

From there, the date was perfect. Jack was so funny and sweet, and you even had to fight him over who got to ask more questions about the other. So much better than having to sit and watch a guy monologue for an hour.

You were back at Jack’s house afterwards to drop him off, but he invited you in for some coffee and cake that he just so happened to have. It was easy to say yes, and easy to sit and chat with him on the couch for hours.

But when you caught a glimpse of Jack’s watch and saw it was 10:00pm already, you had to go.

“Oh, I wish we could talk more, Jack, but I really have to go. I have an early meeting tomorrow morning, I didn’t realize how late it was,” you said with a little pout as you stood up.

Jack smiled and stood too, stepping close and sliding his hand along your waist, “That’s alright sweetheart, it just means we’ll have to have another date.”

You were about to say yes but then Jack pulled you close and you lost the power of speech, just feeling the warmth of his chest against yours and staring up into his sweet brown eyes.

Jack’s other hand came up to your jaw and he tilted your face towards him, leaning down to kiss you. His full lips pressed against yours and you let yourself melt into him, returning the soft, slow kiss with a hum.

You kissed for what might’ve been a couple minutes, but then Jack pulled away and said, “I guess you have to go.”

But you couldn’t bear leaving without one more kiss and so you whispered, “In a second.”

Another couple minutes later, you pulled back this time, and started grabbing your stuff. When you were at the door, shoes and coat back on, Jack said, “Maybe I should go start your car so it can warm up for you.”

“Oh wait, I can do that from here, it’s remote!” you said eagerly, because now you wouldn’t have to wait for him to go out and come back. But when Jack opened the door so the remote car key would work, the door opened to a world covered in white.

It had been snowing lightly when you had arrived at Jack’s house, but apparently it had really ramped up and had been heavily snowing for the past three hours because there were multiple inches of snow covering everything.

Both of you stood there, staring in shock, until you shivered and Jack closed the door to keep you warm.

“Um, I— I don’t know if I can drive… like this,” you stumbled out, looking between Jack and the closed door.

“No, sweetie, you can’t. I mean, I don’t think it would be safe. There’s so little light on the roads at night. We can stay up and see if it melts, or if you’re— you can sleep here tonight, if you’re comfortable. I have, um, a spare room you can use,” he offered, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

Jack’s hesitation was adorable and it really did make sense that you should just stay the night and hope it had all melted in the morning. Or at least, it would be bright in the morning and you’d be able to drive safe and slow to the meeting.

“Okay, yeah, I think I should stay, you’re right. Except…”

“Except? What darlin’? If there’s anythin’ I can do to make you more comfortable, I will,” Jack said with this sweet, earnest look, putting his hands comfortingly on your shoulders.

You smiled and dropped your purse to the ground, stepping close to him and reaching out to toy with his belt loops. “I think I’d be more comfortable if I stayed in your room.”

Jack smiled, a flirty smile that had made your knees weak when you first met him and had you grabbing onto his waist now to help keep you up, “I think I manage that.”

___

The next morning, you woke up when Jack kissed your temple. You stretched and opened your eyes to look at him, finding him fully dressed. A glance at the clock told you it was 5:00am and you frowned, “What are you doing up so early? And dressed?”

“I’m gonna go clear your car off and make sure everything’s all set for when you have to leave, honey,” he told you with a smile, which was incredibly sweet, but you didn’t want him to leave.

“Let me check how long it’ll take to drive, maybe you don’t need to do it just yet,” you said, grabbing your phone off of his bedside table. But when you opened it, you had a text from your boss and multiple weather alerts. “Oh my gosh, it must have snowed all night, some of the roads are closed and my boss can’t even get to work. The building is closed and the meeting’s canceled! ”

Jack smiled, “Well then, honey, you can stay a while longer, huh?”

“Get out of those clothes and get back in bed, please. Now we can sleep in, and then later we can… um, do something else,” you said, getting a little sheepish at the end. “We can do whatever you want, sunshine,” Jack told you with a grin, already half naked and you laughed, feeling grateful for snow like you never had before.

🌨️🌨️🌨️

#jack daniels #agent whiskey #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #fluff #blurb #nobedofroses #stephswinterwritingchallenge #snowy fics 23

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silent-sanctum · 1 year

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hello mijin😀!!! i have this headcannon that both jotaro and kakyoin are really good at ballroom dancing but don’t really show it but on their hs graduation day the reader convinces the pair to do a dance with her (“If you love me then you’ll do it” situation with jotaro because he was embarrassed but loves the reader too much to say no)

so on their graduation, after everyone was called up and stuff, the headmaster announces smth like “and now we have l/n y/n kakyoin noriaki and kujo jotaro for …” kinda thing.

ok now i’m rambling but i hope you get what i mean🙏

awww the idea's cute 💕 Jotaro having to dance ballroom with his lover and best friend is something I never thought I needed 💕 Hmm though I'm gonna be honest, I don't know how to write this as a full fledged fic as I usually do since you've already provided the story 😅, but I'm gonna give you a cute drabble instead! Also made some small tweaks to your request here and there.

Hope you enjoy! 💌

May I Have This Dance - Jotaro x Reader

"Hey Kakyoin!"

The cherry-haired student turned to you with a friendly smile. "Oh hey Y/N, is something up?"

"Did you know we have to dance at our graduation ceremony?" You said, almost whining. "And here I thought we're just gonna go on stage, take our diplomas, and throw our hats as all students do during graduation events."

Kakyoin chuckled. "Yeah, I did know about the ballroom dance. I was told ahead of time."

"You aren't... opposed to the idea of dancing in front of multiple people?

"Well, there are other pairs that will dance with us. Besides," he smirked placing his finger under his chin. "We do know how to dance to ballroom music-"

"No shot! You're kidding, right?!" You exclaimed. "And... we?"

"Jotaro and I."

A pause.

"Jotaro too?!" Your boyfriend of a year. Who never shared any interest to dancing nor has he looked like the type to. Yet his friend proclaimed that he just so happened to be good at it.

"You didn't know? Ah well to be fair, he's good at it recently," Kakyoin said. "Apparently, he overheard faculty saying about planning a ballroom dance weeks prior and he asked me to help him with some pointers."

"Guy's a fast learner. Got to give him that."

"Why though? He doesn't even like fancy stuff like that."

Your friend sent a knowing stare and a raised brow at your direction. Your cheeks flared at the implied answer. For you.

"S-Still... I have to see it for myself."

And you would as time passed and your batch have just graduated. It was evening and the post-ceremony party was at hand. Students have opted to switch their academic robes with cocktail dresses of different styles and suits aimed to impress.

Following the dress code, you wore your finest dress that may or may not have let the bypassing teenagers turn their heads at you. Though, none have went past staring when your boyfriend stood intimidating beside you in his formal attire without his hat.

Kakyoin joined you two shortly after his arrival and just in time as the MC occupied the podium, welcoming the newly graduates and laying out a speech about what's to lie ahead.

Then the awaited ballroom dance happened.

Everyone who knew the steps were called to the center, students in glee as they pulled their partners to the spotlight.

You glanced at Jotaro, who was very much hiding most of his blushing face behind his hand, brows furrowed and arms crossed. "Come on~ I know you know some steps." You nudged his elbow. "If you love me, then you'll show it to me~"

He grumbled something under his breath but couldn't pick up any words due to the music playing in the background.

You weren't complaining since you knew how much public performances were not his forte. But you did have a plan on how to bring him out of his shell.

The music would change three times during this segment- one that started with a generally energetic party song danced individually, then switched to a song that remained it's sappy upbeat tune where the dance is now done in pairs, and the last would be soft and sentimental, dedicated to the pairs that would dance to how one would interpret a "ballroom dance".

Majority would join in the first two, leaving the last to a handful of duos. Mostly couples or close friends.

This is where you joined in.

The moment the 2nd song faded out, Kakyoin lent out a hand for you to take and casting your boyfriend one last coy smile, you joined the cherry-haired to the center.

And your dance with him went as well as you expected. Given how few were dancing to this part, you could feel the eyes of the other men dancing stare at you, wanting to be your partner. But you didn't pay them any attention as you focused on coordinating your steps with Kakyoin.

"Do you think it'll work?" You muttered.

"Trust me it will," he replied in a second.

Just then, the music swelled as the chorus played out. The guys had to twirl their partners as a transition to pairing with another. And Kakyoin did just that- raised his arm to allow you to turn away from him and to another.

Given how every other duo seemed to compress closer to you and Kakyoin, anticipating for your hand, you had to tell yourself to accept someone else if it wasn't the one you weren't expecting it to be.

Just as you held the nearest hand and collided with your new partner, the eyes that greeted you weren't the violet colors of your friend nor was it the dark browns of the other men.

But the aquamarine hues of your lover.

A wide smile graced your face as Jotaro guided you through the motions of the dance, your left hand placed on his shoulder while his right laid on your waist. "You did come after all."

"You think I won't get annoyed by how many of our batch mates are eyeing you like meat?" He said with a sigh. "Also the noisy ones started talking me."

You chuckled just as the both of you spun in a graceful circle. Through your peripherals, nearly everyone in the room forgot about the other duos. All eyes watched their infamous delinquent and popular darling perform their ballroom dance in a mix of awe and envy.

Kakyoin stood by in the side, a satisfied smirk on his face as he watched his closest friends centerstage.

"Aww was it just for those reasons?"

He clicked his tongue, shying away from your beaming gaze with the pink still present on his cheeks. "Don't play dumb. You know I practiced this whole damn thing for a reason."

"I know," you giggled as the song came to its last chorus. The grand swell of the melody prompted your boyfriend to grab your waist, lifting you up as he turned you mid-air.

The second he gently placed you down together with the calming of the music, you couldn't help but lay your head against his chest as the raven-haired swayed you along to the remaining minutes.

"Your practice paid off, love. You did great."

Through the applaud of the crowd, you heard Jotaro hum in acknowledgement together with lightly tightening his hand holding yours.

"I'm glad."

#jotaro x reader #jojos bizarre adventure #jotaro kujo

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il-predestinato · 2 years

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Let’s test your speed writing shall we? 😛

Hmm… my favourite number maybe? 38 🥺🧡

38. "Small Talk" by Katy Perry; pairing - lestappen (what a surprise!)

I just can't believe We went from strangers to lovers to strangers in a lifetime

So... Al, this one completely got away from me: it’s um... slightly longer than 5 sentences (2093 words apparently).

send me an ask with a number between 1 and 100 and I'll write a 5ish sentence fic inspired by that song on my 2022 wrapped playlist!

Title: One Day

Summary: The Monaco Grand Prix is cursed.

Day 37

Max always remembers. Charles always forgets.

Max remembers the address of Charles' apartment in Monte Carlo. (Charles told him on Day 5. Not too shabby, thought Max, for two people who were never friends and closer to enemies.) This time, he goes there first. The speech is well-rehearsed by now. It was a blabbering mess on Day 9, and Charles nearly tossed him off the balcony. (Day 10 was worse; Charles actually called Christian, fuck his life, and nearly called a sports psychologist before Max yeeted his phone off the balcony in desperation.) By Day 13, Max had a polished version of 'the speech'. By now, he could probably rhyme it off in his sleep. Not that it ever yielded any better results, so he abandoned this approach on Days 30 to 36. And that got him nowhere either. So back to square one.

He waits patiently for the five stages of grief to cycle past on speedrun; to give Charles some credit, despite the lack of memory retention, he did seem to get over it quicker and quicker each time. Perhaps something of each Day lingered, even if it wasn't remembrance per se.

"So it's always at Nouvelle Chicane or Le Portier?" questions Charles, hands rubbing at his temples.

Max nods, and then shakes his head. "At the Swimming Pool once," he amends. "On Day 12, I think... a crane fell on my head."

"Why was there even a crane?!" Charles groans, scandalized.

Max shrugs. He hasn't even told Charles about Day 31; a jewel thief literally ran across the race track and smashed a briefcase full of diamonds straight into Charles' helmet at 285 kph.

"So sometimes you die, and sometimes I die?" mumbles Charles with a frown.

"It doesn't matter who," confirms Max. "Then the Day restarts with my alarm going off at 7 am."

Day 38

"You've got to be kidding!"

Max is trying not to smile, but Charles looks absolutely petulant.

Charles glares at him. "I died at La Rascasse?" He throws both hands up in the air. "Like... how?! La Rascasse! At the hairpin?! I drive faster to the supermarket, mon dieu!"

"This time I think you took Lando with you -"

Panicked green eyes met his. "Oh, putain!" screeches Charles. "Did I kill Lando? Oh my God, oh my God. Max, please tell me I didn't -"

"Relax, mate." Max rubs both temples. Why is he always cursed to remember? "Everything resets. Lando will be fine."

"But are you sure?" insists Charles anxiously.

Max squeezes him gently on the shoulder. A little shiver runs up his arm, and he's not sure why. This wasn't exactly their first physical contact off the track. (Some Days he can remember more vividly than others; he's not quite ready to admit that the hug from Charles is the reason he remembers Day 9 more clearly than the 29 days that followed.)

"I promise," he says softly. "I got both George and Lance on Day 24, and they both came back just fine the next day."

Day 40

“Okay, what if we kill someone else first?”

Max is both impressed and mildly alarmed. It really didn’t take Charles all that long to make the leap from ‘wallow in despair about the unbreakable curse’ to ‘let’s move on to murder.’

“It won’t work.” He shakes his head. “Day 17. Toto and Helmut sort of decapitated each other mid-race, but the Day didn’t end until Carlos put me into the barrier.”

“Toto and Helmut did what?”

Day 43

"Tell me what happened yesterday."

Max freezes. The ache in his chest hasn't dulled at all.

Yesterday.

“It’s easier if I show you,” he murmurs, as he tries to ignore the sting in the corners of his eyes.

He steps closer to Charles. He hesitates.

The problem is that he has spent 42 Days with Charles, while Charles has spent none of those Days with him.

He laughs inwardly. But then again, Charles won’t remember this Day either, so what does he have to lose?

Boldness, grief, desire - seizes his chest all at once - and he gathers Charles’ face between his hands; for a fraction of a second, he realizes that Charles isn’t flinching, isn’t moving away. He kisses the soft lips, the very same ones he kissed for the first time yesterday.

Charles kisses him back. And it’s like it was yesterday again.

Day 61

It’s worse when he is the cause of death.

Day 87

No, it’s worse when Charles dies in his arms.

Day 90

He’s wrong again. Nothing is worse than seeing the grief in those green eyes as Max dies in his arms.

Max wants to rip at the gaping wound in his chest. Let him bleed out faster. Let it be tomorrow already.

Day 91

“Tell me what happened yesterday.”

Max laughs and sobs. (He sobs in joy.)

He thanks all the stars that Charles didn’t remember. That Charles never remembers.

Day 113

“I wish I could remember,” confesses Charles. “It doesn’t seem fair that you know so much about me, and I know almost nothing about you.” He traces his hand along Max’s exposed chest, nestling his face deeper into the crook of Max’s neck.

Max lets him explore. He selfishly loves it. There’s a certain awe in Charles’ expression that he adores, the way he “learns” (relearns) Max’s body each time.

“It’s better that you don’t,” he teases, going for levity this time. “It’s the only way I can guarantee you mind-blowing sex every time, like you’ve never experienced.”

Charles punches him lightly on the sternum. (Max smiles; it’s kinder than the mean little pinch Charles gave him on Day 99.)

“Let’s stay in bed today,” he suggests. “No racing today.”

Charles nods, pressing a feathery kiss to his collarbone. “Maybe that’s the trick.”

Max doesn’t have the heart to tell him that they already tried: Day 7, Day 21, Day 78, Days 103-109. If anything, they always died faster.

Day 188

“I love you,” Charles tells him.

Butterflies dance in his chest, and Max fights to maintain composure, just like he did all the previous times when Charles said those words. “You’ve only been with me for a few hours.”

“More than half a year,” corrects Charles.

Has it been that long? Max doesn’t say out loud.

He squeezes Max’s hand on their way out the door, on the way to the race track (on the way to their doom).

“Even if I don’t say it tomorrow, or the Day after that, or for a few Days,” insists Charles. “Just remember that I love you. Always. Even if I don’t remember it.”

Day 213

Charles dies for the fifteenth Day in a row.

Max prays to a deity that he doesn’t believe in.

Day 219

Charles dies for the twenty-first Day in a row.

Max curses the deity he doesn’t believe in. He vows to let the world break its fucking neck if it means he can keep Charles.

Day 220

He tries a different approach. He reaches for all the ugly parts of him that he once swore he would never become.

“- and that is why you will never win the Monaco Grand Prix,” he snarls at Charles, even as he feels his chest - his whole body - fracturing. He wants to bite until he bleeds and swallow his own tongue, but he ploughs on for Charles’ sake. “You will never live up to what you promised your father or Jules -”

Charles punches him. Hard.

It hurts.

He’s glad it hurts. Maybe if Charles hates him, like the universe did, maybe then - just maybe - he might live.

Day 224

“I didn’t mean it,” he swallows thickly. “I didn’t mean any of it -”

Charles kisses away whatever apology he was trying to form in his throat.

He can’t help but think: If Charles could remember, truly remember, he would never forgive me.

Day 330

Today, he doesn’t go to Charles at all.

Maybe he is the problem.

The poison that feeds this curse. He is the constant variable after all, the part of the equation that dooms them to this eternal purgatory.

Day 359

Charles tries to go to him.

He never accounted for that.

Max wants to open that door. Just one twist of the door knob, and Charles will be on the other side. Beautiful, kind, brave Charles. He wants -

It takes every might of his willpower to pull his hand away from the door.

Day 362

It’s raining. It never rains. This Day is always, unfailingly sunny.

Charles is in his arms once again, bleeding out on the pavement. The rain tries to wash the blood away. Tries to wash Charles away.

He’s crying, but Charles can’t see that, because the rain washes his tears away too.

“I should have been with you.”

All that wasted time. And for what?

He hasn’t seen Charles for twenty-two Days, but the green eyes that stare back at him are calm, even as the life behind them fades with every passing second.

“You’re with me now,” whispers Charles weakly.

“I love you,” he sobs. He doesn’t care if he’s practically a stranger to this Charles, the one dying in his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

When Charles’ eyes close at last, his face is peaceful, almost the hint of a smile tugging on his lips. A little bit of pain departs with the last breath that Max releases before his world fades to black.

Day 363

Charles launches a baguette at his head, and Max cannot believe the man still insists that he doesn’t possess a single iota of French ancestry.

“You abandoned me for how many days?” Charles’ accusation makes him flinch harder than the impact of the baguette on his forehead.

“Schat, I -”

Charles growls at him. “Don’t ‘schat’ me! First of all, I have no idea what that means -”

Max makes an offended noise. Charles loves his pet name, if only he could remember.

“Second of all,” continues Charles relentlessly, “I may not remember, but I felt it.”

That causes Max to fall silent.

“Oh.”

Charles sniffs, picking up the discarded baguette off the floor. “I don’t know how to explain it, but even when I don’t remember, I feel all of it. I can feel everything we went through.”

Day 365

Some Days are easier than others. He’s not sure which Day this one is yet. A quick, painless death after a long, beautiful day of laughter? They even made it past the actual race twice. (The first time, Charles drowned in the Monte Carlo harbour during the after party; it remains the one and only time he’s ever won the Monaco Grand Prix, which Max continues to tease him about. The second time, Daniel accidentally cracked Max’s skull with the podium champagne.) Or will it be a painful, drawn out death after a gloomy, joyless day? (Max is still embarrassed about that time he slipped on a bar of soap in the shower on Day 81, ending the Day about 15 minutes after it had started.)

Charles lays a bowl of tomato soup in front of him.

(Max once told him that he loved tomato soup. Maybe 150 Days ago. Maybe earlier than that. He mentioned it only once. Not that Charles ever remembers.)

Somehow Charles always remembers.

“So what’s the plan today?” asks Charles lightly.

The morning sun is streaming through the pearly white curtains, and a crown of light dances around Charles’ soft brown curls. A soft breeze through the open window wafts the tangy aroma of tomato soup towards him.

He takes Charles’ hand in his own and pulls him down so he can taste him on his lips.

“Just being with you,” he whispers, and his heart lightens when Charles rewards him with a dimpled smile. “If I have to live one Day over and over again, then I’m going to spend that Day with you.”

He understands now.

He thought the universe had cursed him. Had cursed them. But even a single Day with Charles was a gift. And he got to relive it over and over again. He won’t waste it again.

Day 366 Tomorrow

The alarm doesn’t go off at 7 am.

He only wakes up when the warm duvet is rudely snatched away from him, leaving him shivering in the crisp morning air. A pair of ice cold feet burrows their way into the warm space between his thighs, and a whiplash of messy brown hair makes his eyes sting after settling on his pillow.

Hope you enjoyed, @alestire

That kind of... spiralled.

#charles leclerc #max verstappen #lestappen #*#my fic #elle.ask #al tag #ask game #spotify wrapped inspired #this is how i cope with the monaco gp curse

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physicsgoblin · 1 year

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Ugh so I am not happy with how my @inklings-challenge story is turning out. I like the idea, don't think it's executed the best and it's not done, but I want to publish some of it anyway. Maybe sharing some of it will help. This as been a great exercise so far for me though. Any feedback is appreciated.

I fully intend to rework this into something bigger. I've got other ideas...

Anyway. Here is part of Strange Gods.

Look, you won’t be hearing telling this story at any other time, but it’s a party and I’m a little drunk. You know how it is, after almost everyone’s gone home, it’s late August and the air’s warm but it’s almost midnight and it’s got that coolness in the air, plastic chairs are huddled around a dying fire and it’s only the friends that are closer than brothers. The heart’s nocturnal. I guess this is when it comes out.

So here we are and I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you and I don’t care what you think. Well. I guess that’s not true. I don’t know if we did the right thing. But you’re not the one we have to answer to.

Since Brad brought you in with us, I guess you know we used to be a band. Strange Gods. Ever heard of it? Well, little before your time. We were never big. Mostly local shows and Metal Fests. Opened for some bigger names a couple times. We had fun, we had hair longer than our girlfriends’ and sometimes more makeup then them too. Mostly we were just guys in jeans and T-shirts with a passion for music. We fancied ourselves artists. My wife calls music “the art most like divinity”. Like how God could just speak and His words obeyed and music is a little like that. Ours was more like a sneeze than divine speech maybe but she loved it still. I still play for her, sometimes.

Oh the best part was the fans. The girls. You know how it is. You’re kinda weird in high school, a little awkward, but then you start strumming on a guitar, you say oh yeah I play drums in a band and suddenly you’re doing ok.

The worst part? The fans. We weren’t too big, but you’d get recognized every now and again. Sometimes it was all cool, just talking about music and shit. Other times people got a little weird. They thought oh, here’s someone famous, and then you’re almost not human to them anymore. But it was usually alright. And there was one in particular that I—none of us—will ever forget.

The kid was a local. Not much younger than us, but a hell of a lot more awkward. It was alright though. He wore these glasses and those kinds of shirts with full moons and yellow-eyed wolves scattered on the front and he’d sort of talk at the ground instead of at you and he loved the fact that a lot of our songs were based on local history and legend—half-hanged witches, wolves with a thirst for human flesh in winter, earth that won’t accept the dead—a lot of what you’d expect. Well this kid’s name was…I’ll call him Louis. Louis met us at Outer Realms (you know that pub on 114th?) after a very small gig, but we hadn’t been in Strange Gods for very long, so even small gigs were celebrated. Maybe we would have been more weirded out by this kid kinda staring and shyly shuffling up to us if we were sober but you know what, it was ok. Jason even let him have one of his guitar picks and we got him a beer, which he accepted enthusiastically but didn’t drink once. He said he loved having someone write songs about all the stories his dad told him as a kid. He said if we wanted more inspiration, he could help us. He collected stories, he said, the ones you whispered at sleepovers and summer camps, the ones that changed a little bit every time you told them, the ones almost nobody really believed. And we were like, hell yeah brother. That’s how Louis became our consultant for lyrics. Winter Walker, Thy Iron Refine, and Dance at the Bottom of the Sea all had songs with lyrics by him. But he never wanted credit, never wanted his name listed on the albums. He just seemed content to hang out at our house and tell us stories. Whenever we went on tour he would ask us to collect legends of the cities we visited. Brad told him he was welcome to join us but he just smiled at the ground and shook his head. He liked it here. Why would anyone ever want to leave?

Louis was friends with us for almost two years. He even spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with us since he didn’t have anyone else since his dad had died. He worked two part-time jobs, one at Seeny’s Pizza Arcade and one at the post office sorting letters, but most evenings and weekends he would come join us, sometimes bringing over a new boardgame all the way from Europe or a home-baked apple-pie (this guy could bake). Or he’d go on long walks wandering in the woods and fields outside town.

One day in November Louis didn’t show up for our usual Saturday night jam. We were working on the song Night Rite for the album that ended up being Seven Red Seeds and he was supposed to show up and work on lyrics with me and Jason. We were supposed to be filming a music video to go along with the new release and that was pretty exciting. But the kid never showed. We shrugged it off. After all, he was a bit of a loner. Besides us he didn’t seem to have any friends. He took long walks, sometimes after midnight.

Yeah. I’ll have to answer for not looking a little harder sooner.

Brad tried calling him Sunday with no pick-up. We drove down to the house that he rented from Mrs. Ozeki, but she said he want out on one of his little tramps at around 4pm yesterday, but she hadn’t heard him come in.

No, it’s alright. I’m fine, I’m just getting a little too sober I guess. I mean it’s not alright but it has to be.

We reported his disappearance after checking in with his work and learning he didn’t show up there either. The police investigated us, briefly. We were basically the only people he hung out with and maybe all the songs about murdered kings and lost whaling ships freaked them out a bit. Ultimately they ruled us out. They ruled almost everything out.

Brad, Jason, and I were all volunteers for when they swept the woods in long lines looking for scraps of clothing, his glasses, anything. I remember us all looking at each other, thinking the same thing, but Jason was the only one who said it out loud. He said, I don’t want to be the one to find his body.

The most they found when they swept the woods was his camera. Someone else had found it and we never got to see what exactly was on the film. Someone clearly has. The newspapers speculated about if it had held any clues, but any questions for the Sheriffs department was met with a “we do not believe the photographs from the victim’s camera hold any information about what led to his disappearance.” Yeah, bullshit. We heard stories around about most of the pictures just being of the few remaining winter robins, which Louis loved. And then everyone had a different version of what was on the last three. Some said close shots of a man in a red windbreaker. Some said blurry images of a great white wolf like the legends.

But the one that we all thought sounded the most real, was that of a field. You know the one near the old Pressfield cemetery? Photos of seemingly nothing but brown grass and gray skies but in the distance what looks like an enormous black bird flying near the ground. And over the last few photographs, the thing gets closer and closer, until the last picture is a smeared mess of Louis turning around, I guess to run. I don’t know for sure though. I pray to Christ I never do.

What we saw was enough.

In the end the case ran absolutely cold. They had nothing. If some psycho got him, he left no trace. If he got hurt and died of exposure, where was the body? If an animal got him, where was the blood and torn clothing? He sure as hell didn’t just ditch town out the blue.

We took a little time off from everything. It just didn’t feel right, you know, writing about death and ghost stories when our weird little friend had just become one. I’ll always wonder. If he thought, you know, this is fitting. To become what I have always chased. God I’m still drunk. Of course not. You don’t think about all the badness you write songs about until you can’t even bury someone’s son.

His uncle and a few cousins came down to collect his things and clear everything up. The oldest cousin met with us a few times, let us know that she was glad Louis had had some people here after his dad had passed away. She invited us to the little funeral they had at Salve Regina Church. Brad almost didn’t go. He gave in eventually but he sat in the back and didn’t stay afterward. No, I’d never been until then. There were moments, you know, moments where I forgot why we were there and the strange chants and the candles and the silence dropped over you like heavy night and bright day and I remember looking at the wrinkled man in black and gold and thinking, this is crazy and I think I’m wanting to be crazy too.

The priests shook our hands as we left and spoke to us about Louis and about how he would pray for us and ask the other Fathers to pray for us too. And they nodded and smiled gravely and the taller one, Father Nicholas, said, we will be happy to see you next Sunday. And Jason said we’d think about it.

Eventually we had to get going with life again. Things felt a little more somber. I mean really somber, not this adolescent misery we’d been playing with. We stopped going to Outer Realms after every work day, Brad flushed all our weed. It just felt cheap. Jason spent more time with his little sisters during his free time, Brad flew back to Chicago for a few days during Christmas to spend it with his parents. Me? I hung around. My future wife was here and that’s where I wanted to be.

It was mid-February when our producer started kicking us to get back into finishing our songs and making the music video that had been put on hold. And you know I guess without really discussing it, we knew what we wanted to do.

Dies Irae isn’t our most famous song, but I don’t care, it’s our best. When we talked it over with our producer, we drew a hard line: Pressfield cemetery. That old one where they found that kid’s camera? Yeah, that’s the one. We want it filmed there.

That’s what we said and that’s what we did. And yeah, old natures die hard, it was still over-the-top, it still had some goth-looking girls (one of whom eventually became my wife), and when we got there it was freezing and gray and brown-iced earth. It was still us and we hoped it would still be Louis.

We had a couple of days to film. On the first day Jason went for a little walk around the perimeter of the cemetery, fingers red from the cold as he held his cigarette, and when he came back around he looked a little jumpy. He said, I don’t like it here. Them birds are talking. Talking? Yeah talking. Well, laughing.

It felt weird being there again. There was a feeling in the air even from the film crew that had never been there before. One said it was bad luck to be walking around all these bodies and the only reason he was doing this was because he needed the money.

And it was weird to think that the gravestone that had Louis’s name carved into it was just a false monument.

On the third and last day it started pouring rain. Just pounding. You couldn’t hardly see a damned thing in front of you. It was the kinda rain that hurt when it hit you it was coming down so hard.

We were packing up, almost everyone had left, when Jason comes up to our pick-up and asks if we heard a weird noise. Weird noise? Well hell yeah, those girls were wild. No, he says, I ain’t kidding. Like a growl but more human. Like a scream, but more animal. Well, we kind of laugh at him, say it’s probably a cougar. And before Brad can make a joke about that—

There it is. It’s not a scream. It’s something that slices through the tombstones and rattles the eardrums so it was a sound—but of what I don’t know. I don’t know. Everyone got this look, this dead look like the world fell out beneath our feet. Nobody said a word. It sounded like it had come from somewhere in the middle of the cemetery. And there was a smell too. You know when it rains it mixes up the dirt and the plants and it just shocks you with the scent? It was like that, but as if the dirt was freshly dug and something rotten was unearthed.

And like I said, you couldn’t hardly see. Just dark blotches where the graves were blinking in and out of sight between raindrops. We just stood there, watching, listening. My heart has never pounded harder. I saw those rumors in my mind of gray skies and something big flying towards you and those are the last pictures you ever take.

Finally nothing happens and we start looking at each other, feeling like of course it was just an animal prowling around. Gosh, you had us scared man. Let’s get the hell out, let’s get back to my place, I’m cooking alfredo and Brad’s got a couple of bottles from the producer’s vineyard. Sure it was nice of him to share. Yeah actually I did get that girl’s number, the one with the green eyes? Come on, get the heat on, I’m freezing.

And we’re driving away, the noise forgotten—except Jason keeps looking out the rear window, just quick little checks. I pretend not to notice. But he twitches a couple of times, opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but no. He keeps quiet. Eventually he stops looking and seems to relax.

I don’t stop though. And a couple of times through the sheets of rain and the obstruction of the trees, I wonder if I see something wet, dark, and shiny slinking along the road. But it’s impossible to tell.

I get up the next morning and find this thing slung across the back porch. The ground is still soaked from last night’s rain but it hasn’t managed to wash away the shear amount of blood that’s coating the concrete patio. And I need you to get this. It was so much blood. You could’ve splashed around it. My stomach almost couldn’t take it. My sense of smell certainly didn’t.

Brad and Jason got up because of the smell. They shuffled out like the dead awakened and found me staring at this thing on the porch. Jason started retching and I told him to puke in the sink. I wasn’t about to clean up this thing and then clean up after him. What the hell is it? Brad says. Who cares? It’s got to get off the porch. Looks like a malformed-newlyborn-mut or something. Maybe it got suckered by a car.

We dug it as deep as we could and it crossed my mind that, damn, maybe we shouldn’t have a thing that smells that bad, a thing that looks that rotted decomposing God knows what into the soil. And Brad didn’t say anything but I knew we were thinking the same thing. Something about it just feels wrong. Like we shouldn’t be touching it. Like we shouldn’t have even looked at it. It crossed my mind that maybe Father Nicholas could come over and do whatever it is priests do to make things clean.

The paws though, check those out. They kinda look like hands, thinking maybe it’s a raccoon but the bastards too big. Good lord, it looks almost rotten. Maybe something else dropped it off. On the porch? On my porch man? Get the hose too, we got to wash off the whole backyard after this. Get the shovel and help me out—of course we’re going to bury it, that’s just what you do. Something’ll dig it out of the trash if we chuck it in there. It looks sorry enough, that’s just what you do.

How big? Maybe about four feet long. It looked pathetic and disgusting and I didn’t tell Brad this but I almost was glad. Maybe that ain’t it. But it felt right that we had our shovels and we were digging a hole and we were going to lay this bloody pulp in it. Father Nicholas once told me about things being fitting. And I guess that’s what it was, fitting.

No, I didn’t, make that connection, between this thing and what we heard in Pressfield cemetery. Not yet. But you know how it is. You never think you’re going to get a story out of something while you’re in it.

The thing was buried and we scrubbed ourselves off and then moved on with our day. Jason seemed much quieter, but he’d been that way since Louis vanished. So maybe it was nothing.

During the night I drempt I was on a boat. It was a boat that my parents had taken me to once, on a family vacation to Main. It was white and blue and unlike that July day years ago, the sea was wine-red and wild with storm. The waves were flooding the deck and the red foam left behind looked like clumps of flesh. I was stumbling around, looking for my mom or my dad or anyone at all—but the deck was empty. I found the door that led down into the lower deck, and the wood was almost black. I put my hand against the icy door, about to push it open, but somehow through the crashing of the waves I heard a scratch, like a single long claw dragging from the top of the frame all the way down to the bottom. I pressed my ear to the door. I don’t think I was breathing. And I listened to the scratching go all the way back up and down, slowly, over and over again.

When I woke up, it was still dark and at first I was thinking I was still sleeping. The scratching sound was still ringing in my ears, and I sat up trying to shake it away. My stomach churned. The clock said 2:36 A.M. I turned my head to the small window that looked into the dark backyard and realized that the scratching noise was coming from that direction. A long, slow scratch from the top of the window to the bottom.

I wasn’t as scared as you’d think. Maybe I was still too asleep, maybe all my panic had been used up over the last few days but I found myself crawling over to the window and just—waiting. I couldn’t see jack. I hadn’t flicked on my lamp. I just waited until the scratching started over at the top and I followed it down the glass, trying to see something, anything. But all I could see was what looked like a glint of a knife and a clearly defined scratch down the middle of the pane. And that’s when it kicked in, me getting scared. Someone was dragging a Goddamn knife down my window.

The most sensible thing to do, or at least the most sensible thing my half-awake brain could think of to do, was go wake up Brad and get the rifles from underneath his bed. He was not happy. He told me I should quite drinking so much before bed, but eventually he got up, gun on his shoulder.

I kept the light off and nodded to my window. We held our breath listening. Brad got closer, looking out into the blackness. The scratching had stopped and I didn’t see anything outside. But Brad noticed the crack in the glass and suddenly looked very awake.

I’m going to go check outside, he said, and as he headed toward the back door, the one closest to my bedroom, there was a series of loud slams that sounded like a person jumping off the roof. At this point Jason was up, and he’s asking what the hell was going on and Brad told him there’s a wildcat clawing Steve’s window or some crap. I’m going to fire a shot up and scare it away.

But two things happened before Brad could slide open the back door. I hadn’t thought about it until now, but there was an familiar smell that had been growing steadily stronger, a rotten, turned-earth smell, and I couldn’t say anything except stop. Don’t open it, wait.

And Jason, stone still looking out the back window at the porch right behind the door, called out the same thing. Stop.

That’s not a cougar. You gotta look.

I’m telling you, we did look. And there was the slimy pink thing with long skinny limbs crouched in front of the back door. It looked like it had a fleshy cape on its back and it twitched as if in pain. We watched unmoving as one long claw flicked up, digging into the door, dragging it down slowly to the ground, and then repeating the act, slowly, slowly.

And you just knew, you just knew, this was the thing that wasn’t supposed to be here.

No, no way, Brad was saying, this is getting too weird. We buried this thing. We put it in the ground. And it crawled out. And we saw it. It was dead. We threw it in the hole and it got back up.

Jason was still watching the thing as it lay on the doorstep. We don’t know if it was actually dead, he said. He said it in a whisper. Well you didn’t bury it, says Brad.

***

#inklingschallenge #team chesterton #genre: intrusive fantasy #theme: burial #story: unfinished

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thelediz · 5 months

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Sonic Underground Episode 25: The Hedgehog in the Iron Mask

I’m watching Sonic Underground in search of inspiration to finish a fic I’ve been writing forever. It’s a sad state of affairs. See the recap of the first three episodes here, if you're interested!

The plot (for want of a better word): The triplets rescue a mysterious hedgehog who claims to be a long-lost relative, and spurs thoughts of what life will be like after they regain their birthright. Will the Sonic Underground be able to overcome their sibling rivalry, and remain a team forever?

Yeah… this episode should have been so much more plot relevant than it ended up being.

So Aleena starts this episode talking about how we secretly hide our ambitions from other people, and how it takes courage to let the world see who we really are. It’s… interesting. The first half of her little monologue sounds quite suss, and then the second half is inspiring. One could make too much of this, Aleena!

The triplets are breaking into some kind of prison on the idea that Aleena was once imprisoned there, and there will be clues as to where she is now. Meanwhile, there’s a guy doing opera warmups and preparing for a show.

The triplets are going to be surprised he’s an actor later, but the audience is, as always, way more aware than them. I wonder if that was supposed to be a running theme or point at one point?

The triplets are confused when they hear him, because Robotnik doesn’t normally imprison people—guys, you literally just said Aleena was imprisoned here—and he howls when he calls out, and Sonia finds his voice familiar. None of this will stop them believing him later.

Manic jokes about Sonic’s off-key singing. This is not the only time they will make a joke like this. Now, granted, I would probably not say I enjoy any of the triplet’s vocals, and as I said once, when I was a kid I liked Manic’s best (I no longer know why), but this is such a strange joke that comes up every so often. It’s the sort of thing I’d work up into a big thing about Manic and Sonia resenting Sonic being the front man of both the band and the Resistance, except it’s not. It’s just a random joke. And it’s bothered me since the first time I heard it.

Moving on.

Gotta say, the flow of the animation in this episode is not terrible. Character models are still awful, and they are reusing frames where they can, but the flow is good.

Oh look. An orange item in the middle of the room. A suspiciously moving curtain off to the side. Whoever could have seen this ambush coming.

Dingo is a great actor. I just want to say that. When the triplets tie him up and interrogate him, he spits his lines about how the prisoner is important but did nothing wrong brilliantly. Give that man a Tony.

The Song: Part of the Problem. Another rare Sonia lead, with a pretty funky brass backing. They’re singing to the crowd to try and get people to tell them who the prisoner is. This of course will not really help because there IS no prisoner, but it’s a good propaganda song for the Resistance, so uh. Cool.

But of course it doesn’t work, so of course they need to break back in to rescue him. Which is not very hard, given that’s Robotnik's whole plan.

The prisoner is wearing a metal headcovering, which he claims is a bomb that will explode if it’s removed. And he, in a complete turnaround from literally everyone else in the series, does not recognise them as Aleena’s children. Now, at this point, even if we didn’t know he was an actor, I’d be suspicious, because EVERYONE knows these kids EVEN WHEN THEY SHOULDN’T.

Also, he’s not a great actor. He barely avoids saying the word 'GASP'.

He gives them some golden rings that ‘bear the royal family crest’ which—I remind you—was established last episode as the Royal H. They do not have the Royal H. But this may just be poor continuity, so whatever. They're tracking devices, spoilers.

Now. Now. He gives a speech here which is totally made up but I clearly internalised and took it as gospel. He claims to be the queen’s twin brother, and that there’s a law that says there can be only one ruler, so he was sent into exile. This is to sow conflict between the siblings, obvs, but is also legitimately contrary to the Council of Four. In my story, I very much make this a point, because triplets don’t just come out of nowhere, genetically – you will tend to see twins and triplets throughout family lines. But we NEVER hear of any other family members. So I, being the problem that I am, take that to mean that problematic heirs are quietly removed from public life once they stop being important backups and lose their legitimacy to the throne. Because this royal family has PROBLEMS, folks.

Meanwhile, no sooner has the actor said his lines than the triplets start bickering, with Sonic assuming he’ll be ruler, Sonia laughing at the idea because a “ruler needs to have some CULTURE”, and Manic stating that he’s the “real representative of the people”. So, you know, effective plot building on their pre-identified internal conflicts (except Manic, but we’re pretty sure that’s just fumbled characterisation, not actually out of nowhere). It’s not a bad setup for an episode, is what I’m saying.

I also obsess over the fact that Sonic is the only one of the three who focusses on how he won’t banish the other two. Manic and Sonia DO NOT MENTION THIS ISSUE. Sonia, in fact, is being SO SHALLOW this episode, claiming she gets the crown because the other two would suck and she looks best in finery, while Manic is just getting all resentful.

Oh, oh, oh, I love Sonic and Sonia’s argument so much for my purposes. Sonia snaps that Sonic would drive Mobius to disaster (which he would, to be fair), and Sonic is the first to say that he’ll banish HIMSELF if Sonia becomes queen, and points out how he never needed anyone before and doesn’t now (which again, is true, to be fair), while Sonia is clearly throwing a tantrum and runs off on her own. Manic, as always, just goes along with it, and so the triplets split up.

Manic, naturally, lasts about five minutes before he gets captured. Sonia needs a bit of a guilt trip, but then gets caught too. But when the actor tries to finish up by catching Sonic, Sonic’s suspicions kick in, he decides he’s had enough of this ‘uncle’, and recognises the rings as homing beacons. But as he fights the ambush off, the actor throws himself in the middle of Sonic’s attack and Sonic brains himself on the helmet.

Yes, that’s right, Sonic actually doesn’t just save the day this episode! They’re actually going to bring the Sonic Underground back together to win this time! THIS EPISODE ISN’T GOING TO DEFEAT THE WHOLE STORYLINE OF THE SERIES!

So now that the hedgehogs are caught, the actor has served his purpose and is thrown with prison along with them. Without his mask, revealing himself to be “Luke Perrywinkle” (oh honey. Luke Perry was not this hammy thespian.) that Sonia was a huge fan of and Sonic thought was a ham. Manic had no idea.

Sonic with a sword, Sonic with a sword, Sonic with a sword!

So of course they have to work together to get out, and the actor announces he’s going to join the resistance, and the triplets decide they will rule together, and we end happily once more.

And I... I'm...

This…

Guys.

This was an actual good episode, guys.

Like… still low budget and still a bit messy, but… guys, this was… actually good? Like… it had story and character progression and a lesson that the siblings actually learned that would legitimately lead them toward The Council Of Four and…

It was COMPETENT???

WHAT THE HELL, TRASHFIRE. I AM OFFENDED, HOW DARE YOU.

Tomorrow better be back to form, or so help me I might actually have to give you credit for trying.

#sonic underground #lediz fics #sonic the hedgehog #manic hedgehog #sonia hedgehog #this was an actual honest to truth good episode #there was competent writing #there was a plot built on pre-established internal conflicts #it didn't subvert its own point and purpose #guys it was good #my whole worldview is crumbling

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quackitytheduck · 1 year

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(haii halfway throught this i realized theres like def already a recap somewhere but man. im not throwing all of this out. hope its useful mwah)

Maximus finds an old commercial cc!Cellbit did when he was younger (where he sings) and puts it on loop in a huge screen in front of Cellbit's house in the favela.

Forever and Richarlyson finish the copacabana ocean project and prepare to inagurate it.

Cellbit arrives in the favela with Forever, and a bunch of other people (Foolish, Baghera, Phil, Maximus) are there because Forever is gonna inagurate the new ocean soon (break the blocks stopping the water from filling it). Everyone is singing along to the commercial and Cellbit is mortified. And pissed.

Forever covers the corner of the screen with protected blocks so only he can take it down or stop it, so the commercial is just playing on loop at a loud volume. Forever says since he had to listen to it for days straight while he worked on Copacabana, Cellbit does too. Unless he sings the song. Cellbit refuses.

The ocean inauguration happens. It's awesome, Forever gives a little speech about wanting to show the world the crazy shit brazilians can do and represent a little of our culture to the world.

Cellbit is now wearing some weird futuristic mask.

Cellbit asks and bargains but no one will tell him who did this, every single person just says it wasn't them. Until Richarlyson tells him it was Max.

Cellbit asks Max if it was him, and Max just tells him no.

He can hear the song even from his secret headquarters, and Cellbit says he's moving out.

He calls for Cucurucho, he wants to make a deal.

While he waits for an answer, he goes to Max's AI, SOFIA and restricts everyone's acess by tricking it.

Cucurucho answers him and Cellbit says he wants revenge. If they want to humiliate him by bringing up his past, they're gonna fucking get his past.

He asks Forever to meet him in that one room that mimicks where Cucurucho killed him, and there, with Cucurucho present, he tells him he wants full custody of Richarlyson, and that he doesn't trust anyone at Ordo Theoritas anymore, and is stopping the investigation.

Forever is FURIOUS and takes this as a huge betrayal.

Afterwards, Cellbit tells Richas he doesn't think Forever is capable of protecting him, and writes and gives him a book that the audience doesn't see.

Cell tells Roier he's trying to get Bobby back(lie?? we do not know) and wants him by his side at court.

Forever goes to BBH to ask for his help because his english isn't as good as Cellbit's and he's afraid that's gonna make him lose at the custody hearing.

Cellbit and Richas are attacked by the Binary, he tells Richas to run and he does, but Cell dies and disappears.

Richas tells Forever what happened, and that he's really confused and afraid of everything going on, but he loves all his dads so much. Forever puts him to sleep and calls everyone left on the server (Roier, Max, BBH and Baghera) to meet at Ordem Theoritas. He sits at the head of the table, Cellbit's chair.

Forever is so fucking pissed and confused, he doesn't get why Cellbit is suddenly aligning himself with the Federation, abandoning all his work, all because of the fucking song? He says he hopes it's all a plan to trick Cucurucho and get more info, but he's afraid that it isnt. He tells everyone abt what happened and asks for their help. He says Roier could be useful because Cellbit likes him. And that now that Cellbit stopped investigating Cucurucho, they need all hands on deck.

Forever takes down the commercial and logs out.

Fucking Quackity logs on and tells Richas about Juanaflippa. He says her parents also had a courtcase, and that she died soon after, and as 1% his father, he cant let that happen to him too. He tells him to write letters to his papais and go away with him for a while and come back after they figure themselves out. He does, and they leave by boat.

The other dads are yet to find out Richarlyson left.

prince love ofnmy life no one does it like u. this is the most perfect straightforward recap i could ever ask for i love you forever

#qsmp #asks

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lorirwritesfanfic · 2 years

Text

Missed Chance

Book: Perfect Match Pairing: M!Hayden Young x F!MC (Natasha) Rating: T Word count: 1032 Reading time: ~4min Summary: The saying "when one door closes, another window opens" will never be as meaninful to Hayden as it is tonight. Based on the prompts: @haydenyoungappreciationweek: wedding / Walking After You

Author's note: - This wasn't the fic I planned to write. That one went to the "whenever my muse cooperates" folder. But for some reason, my best Hayden fics are the ones I write in one sitting and I think this is one of them; - This story happens right after the events of Because Of Him. But if you didn't read it, you won't find any issues reading this one, - Natasha Park is a creation of this author. The other characters are owned by Pixelberry Studios.

Hayden's mouth goes dry as he picks up his phone from Sloane's hand and goes to a quiet corner. He planned every single thing about Natasha's birthday dinner: the decoration, the menu, her birthday cake, the right spot, his speech... But when Dipper swallowed the slice of cake along the engagement ring, he was certain he had missed his chance. Until now.

"Babe? Are you there?" Natasha's voice calls him back to reality.

"Yeah, I am..."

"Were you really going to propose tonight?"

"I was."

"In front of everyone?"

"No."

As she sighs in relief, he nods in understanding. Natasha may be an extrovert, but he knows she wouldn't be comfortable with a proposal made in front of everyone. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel pressured to say yes.

"So when were you planning on doing it?"

"As soon as you returned to our table outside."

"The balcony!" She blurts. "That's why you suggested we had cake there!"

He smiles softly. "Yeah... When you left to freshen up, I got distracted while talking to Mrs Park about the ring. Before we knew it, Dipper had finished your slice of cake and started mine."

"Aw..." She chuckles. "So Sloane knew. My mom knows. Jalila and dad obviously know it too. Mom would never keep it to herself."

"Jalila said that too."

Both of them chuckle in response.

"Anyone else?"

"Nadia and Steve."

"Wow... You really would've proposed by now if Dipper didn't eat the cake."

"I would..."

He shoves his free hand into his pocket. He did miss his shot. Some other night, maybe... If he didn't feel like crawling into a hole somewhere and never leaving there.

"So, are you staying there all night?"

"I think so."

"Why? Dipper is resting. And so should you."

His hand rubs the back of his neck.

"I know you feel like you have to stay with Dipper, but what else are you going to do there except tiring yourself out? She's okay. And she will need you well-rested tomorrow."

"But what if something happens?"

"They'll call us and we'll be there."

"Nat..."

"Come home, babe. We'll pick her up in the morning."

Though his hesitation to go back home has nothing to do with Dipper, Natasha has a point. It wouldn't make sense for him or Sloane to stay at the vet all night.

"Alright... I'll call Sloane and get us a Lyft."

"Okay. See you soon?"

"Sure... See you soon."

Patting himself to find the keys, Hayden walks toward his apartment and fights back a yawn. His eyes scan the front door. All lights are off. Most likely, Natasha already went to bed.

Hayden let out a sigh. It was a tiring night and she did stay at home cleaning up and rearranging everything by herself after he rushed to the veterinary hospital. Maybe it's for the best. He wouldn't know how to face her now that she knows his intentions, but didn't give him any clue if she wanted the same.

Once he finally gets the keys and opens the door, his eyes widen. Candles light up a path of white and pink petals towards the balcony. He follows the path and stops in his tracks. Sitting on the same spot he meticulously arranged hours earlier to make the proposal, Natasha beams as one of his favorite songs plays in the background.

"Just so you know, I'm wearing my nicest lingerie and I look freaking hot under this blanket. But this chilly wind isn't helping."

Hayden laughs. "What are you still doing out here, babe? I thought you were asleep."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Why not?"

"I heard you have an important question to ask me tonight."

His heart races in his chest and his mouth goes dry again. He was so caught up in the idea of surprising her with a proposal that he failed to see he never missed his chance.

"I don't know if you're coming up with another plan to surprise me, but I don't want to wait until then."

As their eyes meet, Hayden breaks into a smile. Has he ever felt this nervous and happy before?

"Why are you still standing there, silly? Come here!" She whines, feigning impatience.

Chuckling, he saunters over and kneels before her.

"Oh! You are doing it now."

"You said you couldn't wait..." He offers his hand for her to take and grins as she places it on his.

Her hand feels cool, but a bit sweaty to the touch. She is as nervous as he is. But the joy in her eyes gives him the strength to keep going.

"I've rehearsed this so many times in the mirror, in my head... But as I kneel here before you, I don't know how to begin. You leave me breathless, Nat. There's always something about you that astounds me, something that makes me smile..."

Her grin widens as her eyes begin to well up.

"I know I was created to your perfect match. And as I began to change, you asked me if I’d still love you. Here's your answer: I do. I don't think anyone who built me knew that I'd fall in love with you over and over again. But after all these years, I still love you. And I have no doubts I wouldn't be who I am today if I wasn't yours."

Hayden reaches for the Tiffany cut diamond ring in his coat pocket and shows it to her.

"Natasha Lamya Park, will you marry me?"

Tears stream down her face as she beams. "Yes."

With that, Hayden places the ring on her finger and they stood up together. He brushes her tears away with his thumb and presses his lips to hers. Though kissing her became something like a daily activity his days couldn't begin or end without, this kiss feels different. There's more than passion to it. With it, comes hope and a certainty that she'll be with him for good.

As they pull apart, he holds his fiancee close, as she wraps the blanket around them.

"You weren't joking about looking hot under the blanket. That's a very sheer nightgown, babe," he teases as his eyes glance down at her breasts nearly popping out of the purple lace and silk gown.

"I can't say I feel hot though. My butt is freezing!"

The couple doubled over.

"How about we go back inside and begin our celebration in the bedroom?"

"Yes, thank you."

Still holding on to each other, Hayden and Natasha walk back inside and head toward the master bedroom.

#choices fanfiction #perfect match #hayden young #m!hayden x f!mc #haydenyoungappreciationweek #haydenyoungappreciationday #hyad: wedding #lorirwritesfanfic #lorircreates

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poemcitymix · 1 year

Text

THE WRECK OF THE EDMUND FITZGERALD by David Kirby

“Everyone’s good in a crisis,” says my brother-in-law’s wife to my brother-in-law, who seems less than pleased to have this information, he having just said, “I’m good in a crisis” in response to her assertion that he’s not really good at anything:

picking up after himself, taking turns with the kids, cleaning the kitchen after a big meal that she has shopped for and prepared. Bravado, the marvelous, the startling: these aren’t as impressive as that which is steady, consistent,

reliable. Not Faustus but Penelope. Jack Gilbert says as much in his poem “The Abnormal is Not Courage,” which describes a 1939 Polish cavalry charge against German tanks, their sabers flashing as cannon fire cuts them to pieces,

although the best thing about this story is that it never happened: the cavalry came across lightly-armed German infantry and dispersed them, though the Poles themselves were routed when German reinforcements

arrived and fired on them with machine guns. The tanks appeared only after the battle was over, as did journalists who saw the tanks and the dead men and the horses and drew the wrong conclusion, although

in a way the cavalry charge actually worked, since it halted the German advance long enough for a Polish battalion of foot soldiers to retreat to safety. But isn’t the story better the way Gilbert tells it? Who wants to hear

about a mistake? If you’re going to tell a story, make it a good one. Be patient. When 18-year-old John James Audubon came to America, he found some Eastern Phoebes nesting in a cave and, having heard

that they returned to the same spot to nest every year, he decided to test that idea, so for days he sat in the cave with them and read a book until they were used to him and let him tie string to their legs to identify them,

and, sure enough, the next year the same birds were back. Don’t try too hard, in other words. “Human speech is like a cracked kettle on which we beat out tunes for bears to dance to,” says Flaubert, “when we long to move the stars

to pity.” Really? The stars don’t need us. The stars are fine. It’s the bears who need dance music. On your feet, Smokey! Here’s one you’ll like— I wrote it just for you. Besides, every hundredth time

we sit down to write a bear song, we write one that leaves the stars shaking with sorrow, their tears raining down in torrents and then evaporating in the atmosphere before they reach us. Beauty can’t be targeted—that was

Ezra Pound’s mistake, says Brodsky, a surprising one for somebody who lived in Italy so long. Beauty is a by-product. Beauty is the stepchild of doing one’s job, as when Cyrano de Bergerac suffered a neck wound in battle and decided

to study astronomy while he recovered, eventually writing a satirical novel about a voyage to the moon, thus influencing future science fiction writers but also being discovered three hundred and fifty years later by the Edmond Rostand

who made him famous in a play called Cyrano de Bergerac in which his love for the beautiful Roxane is thwarted because Rostand gave him a large and unsightly nose, an assertion as exaggerated as the false Polish cavalry charge

and thus, like that invention, a key element in turning a good story into a great one. Gordon Lightfoot’s hit song “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” was riddled with so many inaccuracies that the singer-songwriter

agonized over his sending the doomed freighter to Cleveland, for example, when it was really headed for Zug Island when it sank on Lake Superior in 1975, and the families of the twenty-nine men who perished in the wreck

met to mourn in the Mariners’ Church of Detroit and not, in Lightfoot’s re-phrasing, the Maritime Sailors’ Cathedral, but his producer and long-time friend Lenny Waronker told him not to worry about

the facts, to play to his artistic strengths and “just tell a story.” The Poles weren’t stupid. At the time of the 1939 cavalry charge, their cavalry was already being organized into motorized brigades.

After all, who won the war? Audubon’s tying strings onto the legs of the Eastern Phoebes is the first known incident of banding birds. Cyrano didn’t have a big nose, but Rostand gave him one.

“The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” charted at #1, and before long shipping regulations were changed to include survival suits, positioning systems, depth finders, increased freeboard, more frequent inspection of vessels.

None of this would have happened if Gordon Lightfoot had made sure all his facts were correct and the song had turned out to be a dud. Writing isn’t hard. You just have to be patient. You just have to get everything right.

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adventuresinclientservice · 8 months

Text

What do you write when you've run out of things to write?

I never was a fan of the long-running television show Seinfeld, but the one thing about it I did like is it purports to be “A show about nothing.” I can relate, confessing there are times when I’m thinking Adventures is “A blog about nothing.”

Jerry Seinfeld of course is a comedian of note and I am anything but; even so, after three editions of The Art of Client Service, complemented by scores of workshops I’ve conducted and speeches I’ve given, plus posting for more than 13 years, it is hard, really hard to say something new about client service. My last two posts tried, but as I reread them, I realize “These are just recycled content cloaked in new stories.”

Let’s try something else: memorial tributes, given each is one-of-a-kind. If you want to revisit them, you might start with those captured here, but of all the celebratory pieces I’ve written, there’s one about the legendary songwriter/singer/guitarist/band leader Tom Petty that ranks as my all-time favorite.

So why is it that, in December of last year, I paid attention to The New York Times obit on Jim Ladd, which crowned him as a “Free-Form Radio Trailblazer?” He’s from my era of late-night listens to nascent underground FM broadcasts – in my hometown Philadelphia the station-of-choice was WMMR -- but that’s not why I read it.

Here's why: Ladd, it turns out, was “a rock institution and an inspiration for Tom Petty’s song The Last DJ.”

I’m an unrepentant Tom Petty fan; I love The Last DJ, not just the amazing, story-rich music it contains, but also the startling, I’ve never-seen-this-before-black-and-white graphics that graced its cover. Not many of you will relate; other than fellow rock travelers Ken Ohlemeyer and Michael Johnson, along with a few others, there’s little reason to care, but what drew me in is a quote from Ladd:

“Most of us never thought of it as a job… For us, it was more of a calling. We were guerrilla fighters for a generation of creative explorers, inmates who took over the asylum.”

If I didn’t know better, I would mistake Ladd’s comment for being about the advertising business in which I was and am still proudly part. Like Ladd, I think of our business as a calling, not a job, with many of us pioneers hellbent to explore creative in the broadest sense of the term.

This means being inventive, ingenious, and resourceful when it comes to writing a presentation or proposal; responding in a thoughtful, thorough way to an email laden with recrimination; defusing a client run amuck; talking a distressed colleague down off the ledge; or, addressing head-on whatever else needs restoration, repair, or resurrection. By this definition everything is creative, not just advertising.

When asked why he was allowed to follow his own muse when other D.J.s at the station were not, Ladd responded, “Stubbornness, stupidity, doggedness.”

On the title song of The Last DJ, Petty celebrates the DJ, “Who plays what he wants to play And says what he wants to say.” I get that writing memorial tributes makes no sense on a blog devoted to client service. All I can say is, with Adventures I get to say what I want to say, something to which I suspect both Jim Ladd and Tom Petty would agree.

As for being about these posts being about nothing, I recall Jerry Seinfeld. On those occasions when what I write appears to be about .. well, nothing, it seems that, for a few readers at least, that nothing turns out to be something.

#advertising #marketing #nothing #tom petty

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nityarawal · 11 months

Text

11/5/2023

Saint Elon

Afternoon Songs

Is He Gonna Be

Saint Elon

Save My Kids

Before Bombs

Drop

Are You Gonna Help

Him

Hold Him In The Light

If He Leads

Mankind

Elon Clause

Gotta Love Everyone Here

Little Earthlings

Holding You Dear

Saint Elon

What Are You Gonna Be

The Kind Of Guy

That Gives Your Old

Wife

A Check Mark

Authenticating Who She

For Her Sweet

Ted Talk

Who You Gonna Be

Hey

The Nice Guy

Or The "Bad Guy"

Who You Gonna Be

Who Tells You

Be Prudent

Your Boys Club

Blew One Too Many

Oil Lust

Catastrophes

Queen Of Jordan

Palestinian Born

Oh The "Irany,"

Indeed

Why Do You All

Chase Her So

David Farley Kaplan's

Latest Baby Mamma

Looked Just Like Her

She Could've Been

My Auntie

Or Cousin

Sister

My Mom

Loves Her

Take A Stand

For The Modern

Queen's

Queen Rania

Queen Farah

Reza The Second

On Gold Couns

'Cuz That's All You

Got

Martian's Moms'

You Gonna Love

An AI Barbie

So You Can See

Her Naked

In Space

How You Gonna

See Your Wife

If She's In A Puff

Costume

Astronaut

Pillow

All The Time

I Can See We

Might Have

To Go Somewhere

The Way USA

Is Burning Up

Wars For Oil

Everywhere

Flour

Now Garbonzo

Beans

"Hamas"

Bean Counters

Tragedy

Can't You Make A

Smarter

Negotiation

Save Some Baes

Break The Apartheid

Make Some Waves

Stop

Wasting Money

On Defense Games

Save Your Oil

Offensive

Ones

Make Your Boundaries

Strive To Be A Saint

Because Whose

Coattails

Are You Really

On Mate

Try Harder

Be Better

Than Your Dad

Less Errors

Than Errol

But He Did One

Good Thing For You

Man

He Gave Away

Emeralds

In The 90's

That's When Sunil

And I Bought His

A Columbian

Man

Would Risk His Life

To Get Them

And A University

Professors Wife

Got Us A Deal

Soft Green Emeralds

Best For Mercury

Buddha Too

One Of My Favorite

Elements

If Only We Could Have

A Pool Of Mercury

And It Wasn't Poisonous

To Float in Mercury

Silvery

Must Feel Quite Good

Buddha's Luck

In Right Suit

Just Look At Him

Sparkling Eyes

Contagious

Buddha's Luck

Mercury Placed

Right

For A Gemini

Keeping Him

Young Despite Ketu

Rahu's Dance

Around Him

Like Krishna

A 1000 Headed

Pen Pal For

Lakshmi Goddesses

Does He Message Us

All

Ask To Go To Dinner

Send Invitations

For BitCoin

And Leave

Comforting Messages

Is He Saint Elon

Or Are There A

1000 Cons Behind

Him

Is He Saint Elon

Does He Show Up

Freedom Of Speech

Looks Kind Of Funny

Depends What Side

Of Court

You're On

The Cops Always

Visit

Peeping

Stalking

Today Unleashed A

Parolee On A Neighbor's

Dead

Home

Then You Call The Police

To Ask About

Organized Crimes

They Come

And Peep

Then Let Their

Robbers Come

Trailers

Dogs

Looting

Cops Bald

Nazis

Heard A Police Report

When I Got

Free Groceries

Sheriff Aikens

Raided Her Home

Officer Aikens

Sold Her Kids

CPS Foster

Raped Them

Her Eyes Are Dry

She Knows They'll

Hurt More

If She Cries

But Yeah You

Punched

Mamma

Are You OK

I Asked

After A Long Hot

Wait

Are You OK

It's Just Nice

To Hear Someone Ask

She Says

We Got Our Groceries

Everything

On My List

Church Ladies

Prayed For My Kids

How'd They Have

My Favorite

Ciabatta Italian Buns

And Queen's Bitters

Sugar Free Quinine

Water

Seaweed

Lion's Mane

Mushrooms

I Wanted

For Cleanse

How'd They Have All

My Favorite

Things

Lemonade

Indonesian Ramen

Nori

At A Food Drive

Anyway

With All The Vitamins

I Need

Chaste Tree

K1 And Zinc

How's You Know

My Imaginary