yllowpages

[yllowpages]

Through the windows of the car, he can see the sun dipping low in the horizon, spotted in brief, passing glimpses in the gaps between the forest of skyscrapers and screens. There was almost something peaceful in watching the sunlight dim and the city lights become brighter and brighter, bathing streets and citizens in color. Another evening, another night arising, but no less eventful than any morning or midday.

He looks at the digital sign above the door : Japantown South. The NCART car slows, though it still lurches even as it comes to its gradual stop. John's grip on the pole near the door tightens briefly as he keeps his balance and waits for the doors to open. People begin to stand and gather to exit. He glances about him slightly, taking note that he feels eyes on him. Not just NCART passengers idly looking around in the seconds before the doors slide open, but a gaze that's been on him for the last two stops.

He searches in casual looks over his shoulder; allows a woman pushing closer to the door to pass him by turning his body briefly and getting a another quick overview of the car before turning back. As it turned out, that was all he needed. ( A mutual spying now. ) Crossing her path was becoming unintentionally common, it seemed. Rarely at odds, only the single time as almost-enemies — but a merc is a merc ( and one must always watch their back in this city ) . Staying careful not to give his awareness away, he steps out of the car and walks forward.

Night City citizens bustle about, getting to where they need to go, skirting around him and shoving past him. But he continues to walk, no real destination in truth, but simply catching her reflection in windows, gauging how long she might follow him to nowhere in particular — and if he'd have to intervene. As he comes to a corner, he can recognize she's still behind him. His pace slows gradually, just enough that the distance between them begins to shrink. He comes to a slow stop, turning his head to look over his shoulder and accuse her of trailing him. His tone isn't hostile, but simply neutral.

John's body turns softly, just enough to face her more, but not enough to say he has intentions of staying in this conversation long. That, however, appears to not be up to him. She links her elbow with his and the initial confusion is sharp in his mind. Body tenses lightly, resistant to whatever game she's playing. And, yet, tolerant. ( Should anything happen ... he knows how quickly he can pull the iron at his hip and fire. ) So he'll play along for now, though an unseen timer ticks down on his patience — there's no telling just how long he might humor this. Looking at her, he responds, ❝ I'll hold you to that, ❞ a vague sense of warning in his voice.

At this time of the evening there's a good crowd starting to take residence on the NCART car. Deskjockeys having clocked out for the day, worker bees getting ready for nightshifts, rowdy kids finally free from the confines of prison that is the education system...and so much more. It's perfect for anyone that wants to observe the many facets of humanity in action.

Despite the mix of interesting subjects, there's one in particular that she's gravitated towards. John blends in well enough. Yet his visage is well memorized, singed into her cortex, which allows her ease in spotting in him. A wolf in a sea of sheep.

She keeps a healthy distance but a vigilant eye on him (but also on others around her). If he's noticed her he makes no acknowledgement of it. They even happen to get off at the same stop. What a coincidence!

"Are you following me?" @yllowpages inquires not even half a block from the metro station.

The sudden callout causing her to startle, nearly colliding with him. "That's ridiculous! Such a bullshit accusation. Might actually hurt my feelings." V shakes her head with a scoff. A pout tugs at her lips, gaze darting to glance around the bustling streets of Japantown. Back and forth she rocks on her heels. "Look just play it cool and keep your voice down, yeah?"

Then she has the gall, the audacity, to loop her arm with his. "Make it worth your while, pinky promise."

[yllowpages]

GLEN POWELL attends the 82nd Annual Golden Globe Awards (Jan 05, 2025)

[yllowpages]

i need to re-read strikeforce.........

[yllowpages]

yet another PLOTTING CALL. like this post and i'll come message you ! feel free to comment below and specify a muse you'd like to plot with.

if we've plotted before, like the post anyway! i'll message you to expand / deepen on any dynamics we've already discussed, or create entirely new ones !

[yllowpages]

it's her favorite spot.

i've posted these before but they're truly some of the greatest panels of bucky ever

[yllowpages]

i've posted these before but they're truly some of the greatest panels of bucky ever

[yllowpages]

thinking about how bucky will just take alpine everywhere. like he will be grocery shopping and she's just chilling in his jacket.

but when it's not feasible for her to go somewhere and he needs to be away he will either leave her with someone trustworthy or pay a kind neighbor to look after her.

[yllowpages]

YOUR MONSTER (2024) dir. Caroline Lindy

Melissa Barrera as Laura Franco

@lgbtqcreators creator bingo - film of the year

[yllowpages]

❝ Does ' came into the possession of ' sound better? ❞ It's halfway to a joke. He understands that this isn't the most professional, above-the-table of meetings it could be. ( Bucky's still surprised she responded after he cold-called her. ) The collar of his jacket is popped and his shoulders are somewhat hunched, tense, as he leans forward, over the table after sliding the recorder over. A more clandestine location could have been picked, surely, but this was simpler ( and he heard the pie here was good ) .

He laces gloved fingers together, leaving them resting on the table top. There's a full cup of coffee next to them, but he doesn't touch it.

❝ I'll spare you the details on how. Prob'ly for the best. ❞ Feels like an understatement. A possibly illegal, felonious one. But, like they say, you can't make an omelette ... And corrupt career politicians in Metropolis of all places planning to assassinate their opposition tend to be carrying a lot of eggs. He was only able to get his hands on a few, stored right there in the recording he's handing over. But he hopes it'll be enough. In the right hands, at least, it should be. ( But that's exactly why he's here, isn't it? )

❝ Just call it an anonymous tip. ❞ A hand finally reaches out and pulls the coffee closer to him. He glances down at it and the steam still rising from it, then looks back up at Lois, expression equal amounts serious and casual. ❝ Also prob'ly for the best. ❞ ( Pardon or not, still being the former Winter Soldier doesn't earn the cleanest of reputations. )

@yllowpages / starter for bucky.

" You -- you just obtained this? " Lois' voice is a bit incredulous, but she takes the recorder from Bucky's hand, turning it over in her palms. " Alright -- I guess I could take it. "

[yllowpages]

"I don't believe in the idea of better men. There are just people who fight for truth and people who live in lies."

reading comics on company time and oh james barnes i love you

[yllowpages]

“... oh, I'm fine. I have a great past, so I'm totally fine.”

[yllowpages]

He remembers his first time in a Continental hotel. He remembers how strange it felt being so cordial in the polished, impeccably designed hallways with people he knew could be pointing a piece if iron at his head the next day. Over time, however, it felt like a second home, anywhere in the world. Somewhere to rest, recover. Even in a place like Night City, with not much to offer but endless violence ( and endless money for those like him that profit off of the violence ) , the Continental offered that for him.

John watches as she shrinks in the middle of the expansive room and his eyes soften. He may be used to this, ready to sleep easy here after such a tumultuous night, but he can't expect that of her, especially in how little time he's spent with her thus far. So there's restrained confusion and surprise as she turns her attention outward, to him. He keeps his eyes on her as she hurries about the apartment, though the requests for him to comply fall flat. John remains standing, the pain in his thigh having become a dull roar for the time being ( as long as he doesn't move much ) .

He sighs quietly as she produces basic first-aid supplies from the bathroom ( the least management could do, in case the doctor is preoccupied ) . He sees the unease and fear on her face, hears it in her voice, knows what she's doing. And while the concern may be appreciated, he doesn't have much trust in her medical skills while she's in such a state. ❝ You're safe, ❞ he promises in an attempt to assuage her obvious worries. ❝ They can't reach you here. ❞ He silently searches for eye-contact in a show that, while placating, his words are sincere.

Timing is everything once again and there's a knock at the room's door. John keeps his gaze on Eliza for a few moments longer before walking to the door, hiding his limp as best he can ( for her sake ) . The door opens and, in the hallway, stands a woman not far from John's age. Her right hand is entirely silver and gold from the middle of her forearm down and she's dressed comfortably ( clothing not unlike hospital scrubs ) . She holds a leather bag at her side. Her expression shifts upon seeing the room's resident : they know each other.

' Called back by Night City's siren song again? ' she asks, with a kind, bright tone in her voice. ' Or maybe just gonk enough to leave and keep coming back. ' John can't help but scoff slightly in response and greet her with, ❝ Doc, ❞ as he steps out of the way for her to enter. ' Good to see you again, John. Though I guess it's bad news we're seeing each other at all. ' With only a quick look up and down, she can immediately spot the wound to his leg. ❝ Her first. ❞ John glances in Eliza's direction, prompting the doctor to look as well. Her reaction is evident : she recognizes the Love Bot, but quiets any verbal confirmation of that fact ( discretion above all is valued here ) . Even from where she stands, she's immediately assessing Eliza's physical state. ❝ Maelstrom, ❞ he explains as simply as he can, receiving an understanding nod in response. ' Sure. ' Her voice is notably mellowed with the added context, expression gentler, preparing herself to approach.

John walks back toward the rockergirl, a different person than the one plastered onto all her neon-lighted billboards across the city. Those posters were uninhibited and unrestrained, yet carefully curated. Here, he's looking at her stripped down to every detail an individual hides from those around them. Small and scared. A light crease forms between his brows as he assures her, ❝ She's here to help. ❞ He awaits the combative nature he's come to expect from her ; the possibility of immediate pushback. Regardless, he chooses to add, ❝ We can trust her. ❞

it's  all  a  blur:  the  capture,  the  promised  torture,  the  rescue.  the  silence  that  settles  instantly  between  herself  and  her  bodyguard  in  his  car  goes  unnoticed  -  the  sound  in  eliza's  ears  is  that  of  a  deafeningly  loud  ringing,  echoed  only  by  the  taunts  and  laughter  of  those  who  had  held  her  captive.  captive,  not  hostage.  there  was  no  intended  rescue  mission  -  maelstrom  had  been  clear  in  their  intention  to  make  an  example  of  her.  it  still  doesn't  feel  real  -  the  would-be  lynching,  the  rescue  ...  all  of  it.  she  abhors  the  silence,  for  it  allows  her  too  much  freedom  to  ponder  and  relive  the  events  prior  to  this  moment.  she  wishes  he'd  say  something,  but  ...  she's  not  entirely  sure  that  she  could  even  make  a  sound  in  return.

eliza  flinches  once  when  the  car  stops,  panic  settling  in  her  throat  as  john  exits  the  driver's  seat.  she  debates  staying  in  the  car  -  even  as  he  expectantly  opens  the  door  for  her,  she  remains  unmoving.  she  can  trust  him  -  she  has  to  trust  him.  her  movement  to  stand  is  slow  and  calculated  as  she  eyes  the  entire  surrounding  vicinity.  an  overpriced,  exclusive  hotel  in  night  city  that  the  love  bot  has  yet  to  set  foot  in?  impossible.  she  blinks,  winces  and  stews  in  embarrassment  of  the  implicit  reaction  as  the  valet  steps  toward  them  -  for  all  intents  and  purposes,  she  is  cowering  behind  john's  shoulder,  unyielding  in  the  effort  to  avoid  eye  contact  with  anyone  but  him.  she  doesn't  remember  reaching  for  his  arm,  but  she's  thankful  for  the  tether  to  a  physical  reality  shared  between  them.  her  heartbeat  keeps  time  against  a  hummingbird's  pulse.

for  all  that  eliza  flirts  with  death,  dances  with  the  well-worn  circumstance  of  her  own  life  as  collateral  just  for  kicks  -  this  is  different.  this  is  a  situation  beyond  her  control,  played  out  all  too  well  into  the  hands  of  those  who  view  her  as  nothing  more  than  a  commodity.  maelstrom,  those  who  would  tout  her  as  a  living  relic.  universal,  who  would  gut  her  of  all  humanity  and  prop  the  real  and  true  love  bot  on  a  pedestal;  squeezed  and  wrung  out  of  all  human  life  to  operate  as  they  pleased.  she  is  only  alive  because  the  latter  paid  off  a  highly-talented  lackey  to  come  and  rescue  her  -  eliza's  cursed  circumstance  was  the  only  thing  that  could've  saved  her.  she  feels  like  she  might  choke  on  the  irony  of  it  all.

she's  almost  as  solitary  as  the  professional  behind  the  counter  that  john  speaks  with;  eliza  remains  focused  on  the  floor  beneath  her  feet.  she’s  barefoot  -  she’s  just  remembering  that  she  is  barefoot.  that  hardly  feels  like  anything  worth  noting  beyond  the  fact  that  she  looks  wildly  out  of  place  in  this  well-composed  mystery  building.  she's  sinking  into  the  memories  of  what  has  happened  and  the  fear  of  what's  to  come  when  eliza  hears  john  gently  usher  her  toward  an  elevator.  (at  a  later  time,  she'll  recall  the  whole  interaction  possessed  within  john's  request  for  a  room  -  the  gold  coin  and  the  wordless  understanding  of  it  all.  now  is  not  that  time.)

initially,  she'd  put  up  a  mean  fight  -  something  futile  against  the  hands  and  enhanced  cyberware  and  weaponry  of  cult-obsessed  monsters.  though  the  visible  blood  on  her  skin  is  minimal,  she's  sure  that  there  will  be  bruising,  something  internally  damaged  somewhere  in  her  battered  torso  -  it  hurts  to  breathe.  everything  hurts.  she  doesn't  want  to  be  here  -  she  doesn't  want  any  of  this  to  be  real.  she  must've  said  it  out  loud,  then  -  that  she  needs  to  go  to  a  hospital.  eliza  doesn't  hear  it  in  her  own  voice,  but  she  hears  the  faint  return  of  john  telling  her  that  there's  a  doctor  here  (wherever  'here'  is),  that  they'll  look  at  her.  her  grip  on  his  forearm  tightens,  and  her  empty  stomach  turns  over  into  something  more  toxic  than  nausea.

she's  unwillingly  pliant  as  he  coaxes  her  hand  off  his  arm.  immediately,  eliza's  arms  surround  her  own  waist,  one  forearm  folded  over  the  other  as  her  fingers  hook  onto  the  torn  and  dirtied  fabric  of  her  top.  she's  trembling,  shaking  damn  near  bad  enough  that  her  teeth  can  be  heard  chattering  behind  her  lips.  there’s  no  reply  to  his  offer  of  room  service,  a  drink  -  she  doesn’t  think  that  it’d  make  much  of  a  difference  at  this  point.  she’s  begging  for  a  distraction  when  her  eyes  finally  travel  up  from  the  floor  to  the  cut  on  his  leg.

her  voice  cracks  and  breaks  as  she  finally  denotes,    "you're  hurt,"    unrelenting  in  her  attempt  to  neglect  the  dissection  of  the  trauma  currently  burying  deep  into  her  subconscious;  eyes  remain  glued  on  the  blood  along  john’s  leg,  swallowing  something  shallow  and  dry  as  she  begins  to  busy  herself  in  the  only  task  she  knows  better  than  anything  -  putting  others  above  herself.  she  steps  forward,  mindlessly  searching  for  some  kind  of  first  aid  kit  -  she  offhandedly  points  to  the  plush  bed,  muttering  a  hushed,    “sit,”    before  continuing  her  search  in  the  bathroom.  (if  he  thinks  he  knows  what’s  good  for  her  -  allow  the  distraction.)

soon  enough,  she  returns  with  a  small  container  of  peroxide  and  bandages.  she’ll  find  john  wherever  he  is  and  gesture  toward  the  marred  skin  of  his  leg  with  intentions  on  cleaning  the  wound,  at  least.    “c’mon,”    she  pleads,  voice  still  small  and  defeated,    “let  me  help  you.”

[yllowpages]

🎀 Say something nice about your character. (john)

there's honestly so many things i could say... but the funny thing is i don't even entirely remember, when i watched john wick for the first time, exactly what it was that really stuck out to me because i was just so taken with the whole thing.

but honestly one of my favorite things about him is that he will do anything and everything in a fight. like "fighting in the denny's parking lot" rules. anything is on the table. for all the elegant aesthetic and all the rules and laws of that world... it's just so funny that john, and everyone else, is so willing to just fight dirty and especially petty. it's endlessly entertaining. and i personally think it just adds a fun layer to john's character. he's so highly trained, so lethal, we see him move through that really sleek, cool world. and then he's biting people's hands and and slapping the back of their head and kicking them in the nuts. it's not flashy and it's not that cool-looking, but it is effective and that's the point.

[yllowpages]

⚡      random  INCORRECT  QUOTE  EDITS,  bc  i  feel  like  it  (:      /      @yllowpages    +    eliza.

[yllowpages]

💕 Say something nice about your own writing.

i'm always very hard on myself honestly but i'll pat myself on the back for my dialogue a lot of the time. i, usually, feel like i'm able to get my characters' voices down fairly well. understanding how they speak and what phrases they'd use and how frequently they speak and whether they'd rather respond with silence than anything. especially with canon characters, i do often revisit their source material to brush up since hearing their voice can help me figure things out when i'm stuck on a reply, trying to figure out what they'd say. which means i am guilty of stealing exact lines from their source material at times but if it's applicable and it works, it works. with any ocs, i'll look to media that inspired them and their voices. or simply look up things from the face/voiceclaim so i can have that sound in my head and go through line options. but all of these things, i think, help lead me to a place where i can capture their voices decently in my replies.

but this also means if i watch a lot of things with any characters i don't write then characters from that thing can seep into my head, even if i have zero intention of writing them, and i have to like... recenter myself so i'm not accidentally throwing random shit in there during the process sdgjksl

[yllowpages]

🍵 What does your writing process look like? Do you make physical notes first? Do you use docs?

i kind of almost always start by writing down any dialogue and/or important actions i feel my character would respond with. that's often the first thing i'm able to think of right away and then i can get into the process of waxing poetic about context and action and everything else.

but it also changes with every reply honestly. there is the occasion i do struggle with my dialogue so i start with the narration and try to use that to help inform my dialogue or inform how my character should word things, since sometimes i just have to take some time to mess with the cadence.

in regards to any non-rp writing, i actually enjoy writing screenplays a lot (which is why i focus on dialogue an action first and then go to everything else sdgjks) and my process there is a lot different. i've taken to handwriting most of them because i enjoy the process of stopping to leave myself notes in the margins for when i inevitably do a rewrite (plus once the handwritten draft is done, transcribing it to digital serves as a rewrite at the same time since i can make changes on the fly). but also that writing feels a lot more casual and my rp writing feels more formal since i'm diving a little deeper into characters' psyche through narration since, in this case, it's meant to be read, whereas a screenplay is meant to be watched.

[yllowpages]

VERY SPECIFIC MUNDAY ASKS

🫧 Why did you pick this particular muse? 💭 Replying and writing opens: Yes or No? Why? ✨ Faceclaims that aren't banned but you cannot stand? 🐠 Do you write outside of the RPC? 🪼 How many languages do you speak? 🐇 What is the best way to approach you? 🍵 What does your writing process look like? Do you make physical notes first? Do you use docs? 🍡 Favourite snack while writing? 🥤 Favourtie drink while writing? 🗯 Show us the last youtube video you watched. 🌊 What was the first muse you've ever written? 🌱 What was the last book you read? 🪻 Do you prefer sending memes or receiving them? 🍭 Say something nice about your appearance. 🎀 Say something nice about your character. 🪷 Whose writing do you admire? 💕 Say something nice about your own writing. 🍑 What is something you hyperfocus on in your portrayal? 💫 Say something nice about a random mun.