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gunterfan1992 · 8 months

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Episode Review: “Cake the Cat”/“Prismo the Wishmaster” (Fionna & Cake, Eps. 3-4)

I wish I had the strength to stay up until the exact moment these episodes are released, hurriedly consume them in a haze while writing down my thoughts, and post my review before the sun has a chance to come up. But alas, as an old man—i.e., a 31-year old—I am not quite as strong as I used to be. (Remember dear friends: Eram quod es; eris quod sum!)

In other words, please excuse me if my reviews take a day or two to post! I have to watch 'em after I get home from work!

Airdate: September 7, 2023

Story by: Anthony Burch, Adam Muto, Hanna K. Nyström, Jack Pendarvis, Kate Tsang

Storyboarded by: Hanna K. Nyström, Anna Syvertsson, Jacob Winkler, Haewon Lee, Nicole Rodriguez

Directed by: Ryann Shannon (supervising), Hans Tseng (art)

Like the title card I have included here, the plot of "Cake the Cat" is relatively straightforward: After finding herself in Ooo (and gaining speaking abilities thanks to a universal translator), Cake explores the world around her. Along the way, she befriends Squirrel (from season five's "Up a Tree") and accidentally destroys an outdoor market. Meanwhile, in her own world, Fionna tries desperately to find her missing pet. But after Simon tries once again to summon GOLB, Fionna suddenly finds herself transported to Ooo, where she reunites with Cake.

"Cake the Cat" might not be the deepest episode from the "Adventure Time Extended Universe" (hmm, maybe the "ATEU"?), but what it lacks in depth, it makes up for with humor. In particular, the episode manages to get considerable mileage out of Cake just acting like a normal (albeit talking) cat: she scratches people, tears things up, snatches food away, and very nearly massacres a small woodland critter, etc. As someone who adores cats and has long put up with their, shall we say, bullshit, these scenes were right on the money. Cake might indeed mean well, but she is still a cat, and cats get into all sorts of hijinks (that's part of the reason why I love them).

"This episode, out of the four that have aired so far, feels the most like "old school" Adventure Time, largely due to the allusions it makes to older episodes: For instance, one subplot in "Cake the Cat" sees the titular character scratch the dickens out of the insane "Tree Gang" from season five's "Up a Tree." (In fact, one could even make a compelling argument that the first half of this episode is basically just a sequel to "Up a Tree"!) Cake's market shenanigans and the ire they raise with the forest folk also echo the events of season two's "Storytelling" (in which Finn makes a gaggle of forest critters' lives hell in a half-baked attempt to find a good story). Like its season two predecessor, "Cake the Cat" heavily relies on the main character's obliviousness, which often leads to some great bits of dark humor (e.g., the shredded pillow man, who, while 'bleeding out' feathers, wheezes, "I… clapped for you!"). But despite these similarities, "Cake the Cat" has enough flourishes to make it its own thing, thereby preventing it from feeling like a tired retread."

One such "flourish" is the heavy focus on Roz Ryan. Most of the past Fionna and Cake episodes have underutilized Cake, treating her as little more than a sassy one-liner machine. "Cake the Cat," on the other hand, not only makes use of Ryan's acting skills, but it also lets her flex her musical prowess by having her sing the song "Cake on The Loose." Ultimately, the decision to not relegate Cake to a secondary role allows for some much-needed character development. Her interactions with Squirrel, for instance, let us know that she's a survivalist who will not tolerate bullies. We also learn that Cake sees Fionna less as a family member and more as a bossy (albeit beloved) roommate. True, these are small glimpses into an established character, but because Cake has long been underdeveloped, they help to flesh out her character, allowing her to come into her own. This is a trend that the following episode will continue…

Airdate: September 7, 2023

Story by: Anthony Burch, Adam Muto, Hanna K. Nyström, Jack Pendarvis, Kate Tsang

Storyboarded by: Iggy Craig, Graham Falk, Jim Campbell, Lucyola Langi

Directed by: Steve Wolfhard (supervising), Hans Tseng (art)

Like "Simon Petrikov" before it, "Prismo the Wishmaster" is a darker installment that subverts the levity that preceded it.

And I'm OK with that!

The episode begins with Prismo beaming up Fionna, Cake, and Simon and revealing to them the truth behind the whole "Fionna and Cake" thing: This "fan fiction" is actually a fictional universe of his own creation. Tired of constantly bringing other people's realities to life, Prismo decided to create a universe of his own. There was just a tiny problem: Doing so violated the cosmological rules that Prismo must follow as the god of wishes. He thus decided to hide the "Fionna and Cake" world in the mind of Ice King—out of sight, out of mind (literally). Unfortunately, GOLB's resetting of the crown threw a wrench into these plans, resulting in his "unauthorized crossover" being detected. This violation consequently summoned Scarab, an antagonistic "god auditor" who yearns for Prismo's job as wishmaster. The episode concludes with Prismo zapping Fionna, Cake, and Simon to Farmworld seconds before Scarab can capture them.

Before talking about the meat of the episode, let me briefly talk about the [Psychic Tandem War] Elephant in the [Time] Room: Prismo's voice. In the initial series, as I am sure many of you are aware, Prismo was voiced by Kumail Nanjiani, a talented comedian perhaps best known for his role in the HBO series Silicon Valley. There was something about Nanjiani's voice that really clicked with the Prismo character—his laid back, somewhat monotonous way of speaking just really fits with Prismo's "chill deity" thing.. Alas, Nanjiani does not reprise his role in "Prismo the Wishmaster" (instead, the character is voiced by Sean Rohani). What? you might be asking, Was there some drama? Did the actor have a falling-out with the crew? No. The answer is far, far more infuriating: Nanjiani's reps apparently declined to tell the very actor they were working for that the Adventure Time folks had wanted him back! Nanjiani has often said that Prismo is one of his favorite characters that he has had the opportunity to play, and so I can only imagine how crestfallen and mad he probably was when all of this came to light. Absolutely nothing against Mr. Rohani, but considering that the voice actor he replaced never wanted to be replaced, I hope that the studio can let Nanjiani overdub Prismo's lines for future streams of the episode. (Ya know, to fix the time line and all that jazz.)

Now, back to our review! Just as "Cake the Cat" recalls the vibes of older episodes, "Prismo the Wishmaster" also echoes with the past, feeling in many ways like a spiritual cousin to season six's "Is That You?" (the masterful episode, solely storyboarded by Jesse Moynihan, that skillfully undid Prismo's death in a way that felt neither cheap nor forced). The similarities between "Prismo the Wishmaster" and "Is That You?" are largely due to their setting (both episodes take place almost entirety in Prismo's time cube), and their shared interest in what I guess you could call "character duplication." But just like "Cake the Cat," this episode is fun and familiar, while still managing to be new and exciting.

I particularly enjoyed the episode's deepening of the already complex cosmology of the Oooniverse. Back in 2020, in the first edition of "Exploring the Land of Ooo," I speculated that the world in which Finn and Jake live owes much to the dualistic cosmology of Gnosticism, specifically the religious movement known as Manichaeism. This approach to reality views the world as fundamentally divided in two. On one side, there is the "Father of Greatness" (roughly equivalent to the Judeo-Christian idea of "God," who creates and orders reality), and on the other side, there is the "King of Darkness" (roughly equivalent to "the Devil," who embodies darkness and death). Adventure Time seems to draw inspiration from this conceptual split, with GOLB being the Oooish version of the "King of Darkness," who revels in chaos and destruction, and "Prismo's Boss" being akin to the "Father of Greatness," who is interested in order and structure. Additionally, Scarab and the various gods who govern the universe remind me of the Gnostic concept of archons (entities that rule over the day-to-day affairs of the physical cosmos), but perhaps that's a topic for another day...

Speaking of Scarab, going into Fionna and Cake, I was particularly curious how the show was going to one-up the Lich. His story arc was nicely capped off in "Together Again," and so I appreciate the producers' decision to create a new villain for this series. As someone who often deals with inane bureaucracy, I quite like the idea of a "god auditor," and Kayleigh McKee does a great job infusing Scarab with a dignified sort of malevolence. Scarab feels textbook lawful evil to me, but unlike a lot of the other baddies in the Oooniverse who are doin' it up the only way they know how, Scarab does not feel affable in any way. He's a cold, sterile regulator, akin to the T-1000 from Terminator 2: Judgment Day, who is interested in only one thing: eliminating his targets. In a word, he feels like a legitimate threat, and that's exciting!

Another major triumph of "Prismo the Wishmaster" is that it fully justifies why this entire miniseries is happening. One of my biggest worries going into this string of episodes was that, while fun, it would not do a good job of legitimizing its own existence. This was largely due to my own biases. After all, I've always enjoyed Fionna and Cake, but I have never adored their episodes. In my mind, they were fun excursions; nothing more, nothing less. However, "Prismo the Wishmaster" expertly grounds their existence in the Ooo that we know, demonstrating that the Fionna and Cake series is not a dull victory lap, nor is it a masturbatory exercise in excess. Instead, it is a bona fide extension of Adventure Time's mythology. Fionna the Human and Cake the Cat are now just as "real" as Finn and Jake ever were. Instead of being simple parodies, they now have a certain depth to them.

Simply put, they matter.

Final “Cake the Cat” Grade: B+

Final “Prismo the Wishmaster” Grade: A

#adventure time #atimers #review #fionna and cake #fionna #fionna campbell #cake #cake the cat #prismo #prismo the wishmaster #kumail nanjiani

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neonponders · 1 year

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To @kittyphoenix12-xx for Harringrove for Turkey!! Thank you so much for donated and a big thank you for your endless patience!! 💗

~ read on ao3 ~

• • •

Steve Harrington smelled. That was Billy’s current problem.

Because Harrington smelled good. Like the gold and amber warmth in sunlight that has soaked into a slept-in, pine-green blanket sort of way.

Billy didn’t like thinking of smells in terms of colors, but here he sat. Smelling colors while being stuck on Steve Harrington because their last names were right next to each other. Hawkins was so small that even outside of school, Billy felt like he was playing bumper cars.

And he could always find Steve. That proved to be a boon and a curse at this very moment, because Billy swung wide between feeling deliciously warm and satiated on Steve’s lap, and absolutely furious and indignant at being on four legs instead of two.

“Ow! Jesus shit, I should’ve known you were a cat,” Steve griped after a claw sliced his palm open. The smell of salty blood was gratifying, at least. Billy yowled deep in his chest as Steve picked him up like a heavy towel, dumping him onto the passenger seat. “I’ll apologize to you later. For now, try not to piss on the upholstery.”

How in gods name a party in bum fuck Hawkins had turned into Billy riding in Steve Harrington’s car…more specifically, how a piss in the woods had turned into Billy writhing in the most itchy, burning, bone-piercing ache, and then staring up at Steve…who seemed weirdly larger than Billy remembered.

Steve wasn’t larger.

Billy had turned into a cat.

And his excursion to the woods had been too successful, because he would very much like to give Steve’s car exactly what it deserves.

“Are you still Billy in there? Because you’re not speaking English right now, dude,” Steve said as he drove through the winding suburban roads. Billy stood on his passenger seat with his front paws on the window ledge. He was vaguely aware that his voice—his fucking meow—was deeper than a standard cat’s whine, but he was too overwhelmed to give a shit.

Night vision was nothing like movies made it out to be. Instead of really being able to see through shadows, his eyes snatched onto every moving detail. Hawkins had a lot more rabbits than Billy had previously noticed. And deer. Why the hell were deer strolling around backyard pools and flowerbeds?

Sound moved differently around his ears than it did for a human head. But on top of it all was Steve. All of his car. Every variation of scent that one human teenager could saturate within the interior of his stupid BMW. Behind it all, Billy could distinguish what must have been the aromas left behind by the original driver, Harrington Senior, but Steve had long since moved into this vehicle.

Billy could smell the days he landed in the car after basketball practice. The mornings he drove after a fresh shower. He could smell the moist soil on Steve’s shoes now and the salty freshness of new sweat and outdoor air on his skin—

“Jesus Christ,” Steve groaned. “I always knew you got mouthy when you were full of yourself but this is something else. Someone’s going to think I cat-napped you.”

Billy cast a silent glare at him, willing Steve’s brain to blow a fuse as Billy fumed, Worse, you gave me paws, asshole!

Almost like he had heard this, Steve sighed, “I assume you didn’t know you were able to turn into a cat, huh? We’re here.”

Billy’s smaller body sagged with the car turning into a driveway and rocking with the brakes. In record speed and agility, Billy sleuthed out of the war when Steve stepped out on his side—

“Wait a second, Billy! ” Steve shouted, and to Billy’s acute annoyance, he paused. Steve took advantage of the moment and stretched his arms out before they fell to slap against this thighs. “Where are you gonna go? I know you don’t think much of it, but Hawkins is dangerous at night. Can you at least let me take you inside and explain?”

Billy hissed, ears pinned back against his skull. In the back of his mind, he felt his earring weighing down the thin pinna of his ear. You’re not carrying me like a fucking pet.

Steve huffed tiredly. “I know you understand me. At least let me help you get back on two legs.”

Billy growled again, but even he could hear the annoyed tolerance in his yowl. Relief infused Steve’s features when he realized Billy’s slow footfalls were in the direction of the house. He pressed his thumb against his house key as he teased, “I won’t make you eat cat food—Hey!”

Billy swiped at the back of his ankle, catalyzing Steve’s pace toward the front door. Despite being a witch, Steve used his key to unlock the house and toed his shoes off on the welcome mat. Billy didn’t have clothes to remove. They were bunched up under Steve’s elbow—after Billy had zapped into a smaller body and Steve used the clothes like a burrito to wrestle Billy into the BMW.

Billy’s ears swiveled toward the sound of Steve rubbing his hands together. For a long moment, Billy processed how Steve’s fidgeting meant nervous, alongside Billy’s own desire to claw his way up Steve’s body so he wasn’t standing below knee level anymore. Considering this would result in Steve carrying him, Billy grumbled a low growl and started walking down the length of the foyer towards what he presumed would be a living room—

“Here, we’re gonna need to burn something.” Billy froze, Steve’s jogged steps making the floor tremble on his way to the sliding glass door. As soon as he looked back at Billy, he realized this and winced. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

Billy yowled on his way past Harrington’s stupidly large feet. Steve followed him out but left the door open. The backyard was…too much. The landscaping was all fragrant herbs and then there was the pool. Thankfully the saltwater was not as pungent as a chlorine pool, but Billy found himself retreating back to the carpet just inside the door. From there, he observed Steve ripping leaves off of one plant, and then flowers form another.

When he noticed Billy sitting inside, he barked, “What? Get out here.”

Billy pawed at his nose. He and Steve stared at each other until Billy chirped at him and touched his nose again. Steve’s large eyes drifted down to the herbs in his hand, before he pivoted to look at all the criminals in his smelly yard. “Oh. Okay.”

He came inside and, to Billy’s relief, shut the door. Like he was wadding up a ball of paper, Steve crushed the leaves and flowers in his hands before sprinkling them over the carpet. To Billy’s surprise and fondness, he recognized the flowers.

No wonder Harrington’s never with the weed kids behind the bleachers. He grows his own stash.

Billy filed this away for later, under the caveat of how, if this went well enough, he might hit Steve up for some of this later. Preferably free, at the expense of Steve’s guilt for getting him in this situation in the first place.

Billy’s mind infused with the familiar sour fragrance, as well as the neutral bitterness of green things. His ear twitched, making him vaguely aware of Steve going to the kitchen. Not having a pair of eyes on him helped him relax after what felt like a long night. It had only been perhaps half an hour, but Billy lowered himself over the carpet all the same, sniffing at the leaves and petals, wondering distantly what kind of spell Steve could do. Didn’t witches need cauldrons or something? Steve had just dumped everything on the floor…

The kitchen began to smell like spaghetti sauce. The telltale oven door sounds before garlic bread infused the air. Billy let his back legs flop to the side as he blinked slowly, one side of his skull drifting on sour kush, and the other tickling with the promise of spaghetti and bread…

Perhaps the pain brought his mind into clarity. Or simple hunger. Either way, Billy distinctly thought, Why the shit is Harrington cooking dinner instead of helping me? the same time he found Steve watching him over the island counter.

What’s more, Steve grinned like a teenager after experiencing his first tequila sunrise. “That was easier than I thought.”

Out of some whim of annoyance, Billy stood up—

All the way up.

Blood rushed to his head and he teetered, heavy, human feet loud and clumsy underneath him. All of a sudden, Steve’s hands were around his ribs, holding him up like a child. In other circumstances, Billy would have knocked his hands off and shoved him to the ground, but he had never faced this kind of nausea before. It was like all of his limbs had gone numb and his blood was too slow getting back to his fingertips and toes.

“Come here, sit down. I’ll get you a soda. You’ll feel better in a few minutes. I hope.”

“You’re a ray of sunshine,” Billy groaned. He couldn’t say that Steve was wrong, since with every step toward the couch, he did feel more clarity. Clear enough to notice Steve jerking the throw blanket down to spare the couch from Billy’s naked ass. “I’ll try not to be insulted by that.”

“You can wrap up in it, asshole,” Steve remarked on his way to the fridge. When he came back, he poured the ginger ale into a glass. Billy huffed at the gallantry, causing Steve to warn, “Don’t make me prefer you as a cat. Do you want food or not?”

“Oh, I’d love some. Do I get a placemat too?”

“No, but I can get you a bib,” Steve smiled.

“The faster you feed me, the less likely I am to beat your ass…unless you’ve got other tricks up your sleeve that you’ve been holding out on me.”

Something behind Steve’s eyes lit up, visibly processing that as a compliment. Billy frowned a little, since his track record over Steve was still one to zero.

Instead of answering, Steve worked on getting two heaping piles of pasta to the coffee table, with half a baguette, each, slathered with garlic butter. Billy nursed his soda, taking one, wrapped up forkful at a time. His stomach had just shrunken to the size of a cat’s, after all. And now that he thought about it…

“After drinking at the party, why haven’t I thrown up yet? My stomach has just accordion shifted between sizes.”

Steve’s eyes went wide as he worked on chewing through the lump of food in his cheek. “Wishful thinking? Please don’t barf.”

Billy’s lashes fell to half-mast. “So you don’t know anything about turning into a cat even though you forced this on me?”

“I didn’t force anything! You can turn into a cat on your own.”

“I’ve never run on four paws, Harrington,” he argued tiredly. Billy resigned himself to beat his ass tomorrow. For now, he just wanted this meal and a heavy night’s sleep.

Steve sighed and set his pasta on the table. “I take it your dad and stepmom don’t go for moonlit runs in the woods?”

Billy grimaced at him. “The hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you don’t know anything about this. Which means your mom is a big freaking help—”

“Don’t talk about my mom,” Billy said quietly. Like one monotone warning.

Steve took it. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

Billy pursed his lips into an impertinent line as his nostrils flared with his inhalation. “If I can turn into a cat, why haven’t I? Plenty of nights behind me to have discovered that party trick.”

The air crunched with Steve’s bite into his bread. His cheek refilled as he shoved the bite to the side and enunciated, “Well, you’re not a werewolf. If no one prompted you to change, I guess, why would you?”

“Then what were you doing in the woods, Steve?” Billy accused. “You were awfully available to scoop me up as soon as I went down.”

Steve countered, “What were you doing so close to me?”

“Taking a piss. Regular woodland activities. Last I checked, Hawkins was way too Christian to have Wiccans.”

Steve shook his head. “What are those?”

“It’s like witch religion. California’s full of them. They own half the incense stores that front for weed sales.”

Steve’s brows lifted, absorbing that with a chirped, “Huh.”

Billy’s eyes widened. “Explain, already! Don’t make me leave you bloody on the floor again.”

“Christ, okay,” Steve cursed under his breath. He rubbed his hands over his face and took a deep breath. “I’m a witch but an atheist one, I guess. All the practice but none of the…pagan stuff. We don’t needs god mojo but we still need energy for spells. The party was like a power plant.”

Billy plunged his fork back into his food, feeling like this was even enough footing for his stomach accept nourishment. Even if Steve sounded like a crackpot. “What sort of spells? Trying to get Wheeler to take you back?”

“No, we’ve been over for months.”

“New girlfriend?”

“I’m too busy getting rejected from colleges and job applying to have one right now.”

“So, what, then? A spell for good fortune? What does a rich boy like you need help with?”

Steve exhaled heavily again. His large hands rubbed over his knees, making Billy glad his heightened ears and nose were gone. “Witches don’t need Satan or gods…but familiars are real.”

“What is that? Familiar what?”

“An animal familiar,” Steve reiterated, and the light bulb went on above Billy’s head.

“You cast a spell to get a dog?”

“I cast a spell to invite a willing animal to keep me company. That’s the whole shtick about witchcraft: consent. I can’t just go into a pet store and buy one. I can put out an invitation, but that’s about it. And then you showed up.”

“I’m not a damn animal, Harrington,” Billy growled.

“I know, but unfortunately for both of us, you’re the one who answered the invitation.”

“I didn’t answer shit, but you’d be damn lucky to have me.”

A laugh sputtered out of Steve. And then of all the questions to ask, “Do you even like me? Outside of all the bullshit you throw at me, do you actually have an interest me? If you can answer honestly, I’ll make you a stronger drink.”

Billy frowned at him, staring hard enough that Steve squirmed, “What? What? ”

“Who was the one who lied to my face?”

Steve cleared his throat, having the grace to look ashamed. “Me.”

“Who was the one trying to make you suck less at basketball?”

“Your coaching needs a lot of work. I can’t tell the difference between harassment and advice from you.”

“Tommy was right there, giving you shit about Wheeler and Byers. You were an easy target, but who tried to remind you that girls don’t matter?”

Steve’s face scrunched up until he licked his lips with a popping sound. “I can’t tell the difference between a guy who hates women and a guy who’s just gay. Especially when you’re both—is that what I’m supposed to get from that?”

“I didn’t say shit about being gay,” Billy fumed. “That’s like me assuming you wanted something disgusting from those animals.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” Steve recoiled. “Relax, jesus. I mean, I don’t know a lot about it, but realizing you were the one in the woods wasn’t the worst news I’d ever gotten.”

Something diffused in the air between them. Like a coiling wire had finally relaxed and unwound. Billy’s eyes narrowed at him as he processed that. “What exactly is a familiar supposed to do?”

Steve shrugged. “Nothing, really. Just keep me company. Maybe act as a lookout and an alarm bell while I’m distracted with spells.”

“And you’d…want me to keep you company.”

For the first time tonight…not the first time in a while, though, Billy noticed how tired Steve looked. His posture was bad, and he looked like he hadn’t had any wind in his sails for a long while. Frankly, he looked lonely. Billy knew what that looked like. Every time he saw it in the mirror, he smiled at whoever stared at him the most and got them in his bed.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I guess I would. If you could get your head out of your ass long enough.”

“No, I’m gay, we can’t do that.”

“That’s impressive. You should put that flexibility to better use.”

Billy couldn’t help the smile warming his features. “Like what?”

“Like practicing being a cat. It’s as much a part of you as running or swimming. I’d love to hear you purr.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Or mine,” Steve huffed, and Billy grinned.

“Yeah, or that. What did you use to make me change back?”

Steve had to get another bite down before he answered, “Weed and catnip. I was trying to make you relax long enough for your body to do the rest.”

Billy shook his head. “You’re lucky I’m sore like a car wreck.”

“That’s why you should practice,” Steve chimed encouragingly.

“I’m not going to sit on your lap so you can pet my fur. Get over yourself.”

Steve shrugged, unbothered. “That’s a shame. You smell nice as a cat.”

Billy froze, and whatever grimace he wore made Steve clear a laugh out of his throat and say, “I didn’t know cats smell good. Like a clean, salty breeze. It suits you better than those awful colognes you use.”

“You know what? I’m not sore enough to hit you.”

They had a long night ahead of them. And against all odds, many nights to come.

#harringrove #harringroveforturkey #harringrove for turkey #shape shifter!billy #witch!steve #familiar!billy #neonponders #fic rec

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un-unavoidableanxiousball · 1 month

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✨ Meowpheus ✨

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Masterlist

Prompt used: Bite, Flashbacks

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: The Sandman

Pairing: Dream of The Endless/Hob Gadling

Characters: Hob Gadling, Dream of The Endless, random OC Patricia created just for this

Tags: hurt/comfort, possible out of character,

! Warnings ! : flashback (if I succeeded) of an ambush (though it's probably more of a subtext), blood

Word count: 1868

This is one hell of a slippery slope, I swear.

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New Year's Eve is coming up.

Hob has a love-hate relationship of sorts with this holiday. Well... he doesn't have anything against the holiday itself, but what it entails — fireworks.

It was the sounds that bothered him. That's also the reason for his near half-century hatred of poppers or bang snaps. Reminded him a bit too much of artillery shells bursting in the air. But after his participation in The Great War and WWII?

(However brief that one was. It got too dangerous too fast. Sue him for not wanting a part in that.)

He had found out the hard way that sudden flashes of light have joined "Hob's private party of various PTSD triggers".

He can certainly try to avoid getting triggered. But one can only go so far out of their way to do so. Been there, done that.

Because surely a notorious tendency to move out of cities around New Year's Eve is such a fantastic habit. Heading to the closest available secluded and unpopulated areas can be a nightmare. There's traffic and weather to consider, and ughh, the iced-over roads. All in all not really ideal in the long run.

Nowadays, at times like this, he opted to staying inside and listening to music or other media with his noise cancelling headphones.

He'd stay holed up in his apartment. High stock of food? — some leftovers from Christmas Dinner, but most just from his excessive grocery runs for Christmas — ✓Check.

Hob is sure to avoid any reasons to go outside. Whether he succeeds or not is a whole other thing.

He did actually pick up the habit of listening to music when outdoors. It helps. It's not foolproof, that's for certain, but if it works - it works.

Nonetheless there are moments when taking off those headphones is simply polite and right thing to do.

Like today.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Dream had found himself on high alert the second Hob had gotten out of bed. There was a tension to him that Dream hasn't seen before. He tried his best to provide comfort for his friend, but it didn't seem to be helping much.

The entire time the air between them was charged with uncertainty and apprehension. Perhaps Hob can read him - even in cat form - like an open book. It shouldn't be surprising. After all, by their sixth meeting, in 1889, Hob already saw more than Dream had liked or let on at the time. The human hadn't even been afraid to speak his mind.

Dream witnessed how throughout the day it was getting worse. To an unobservant individual nothing would have been amiss. But Dream has known Hob longer, than any human ever could, therefore he saw those changes with no difficulty. Hob lead fewer conversations with even fewer words and little Hob-like expressiveness.

Dream lazily follows Hob's movement.

When push came to shove, it took mere seconds for Hob to cave.

✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎✿︎

Back and forth between the fridge, the oven and the cupboards.

A melody softly escapes the immortal's lips now and again. Not unfamiliar, but Dream won't delve into its name or by whom.

After stewing the minced meat, Hob goes ahead with layering the pasta sheets, sliced cheese and prepared meat into a pyrex dish.

The oven's digital clock struck 17:53 when Hob's phone starts ringing.

"Hello?"

The response isn't audible that far from the counter Dream lies on. Scratch that, it would be hard to hear from a closer distance anyway, because Hob has earphones plugged in. Whatever it was, it was enough for Hob's shoulders to tense.

"Pat!" Hob turns to turn off the oven.

"What's wrong? You never call me." Dream lifts his head at the worried tone and is quickly approached. Shaky fingers caress his head and neck.

"Oh love," his eyes close, "do you need me to come over?"

Hob slowly opens his eyes, eyebrows raise and with a softer voice, "Do you want me to?"

The answer must be positive, because his friend says, "Take some deep breaths for me, Patts." with that placating type of smile, and "I'll be right there."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"-bert. Rob, hello. Earth to Robbie Rob Bobby-"

Hob is shaken from his thoughts, only to be greeted by a finger poking his cheek repeatedly. His gaze flows from the finger up the arm to the shoulders and finally rest on Patricia's irritated face.

Oops.

"There you are! I've been trying to get your attention for minutes, Rob."

"Sorry, Patts. I got to lost in my thoughts again." He gives a nervous chuckle, then adds with humor "Who would've thought bloodshed is so enticing."

"Rob!" She gasps with indignation and hits him upside the head, "I don't need you to protect my honour. I can handle myself."

"I know. I know you can." He brings up his hands in an "I-mean-you-no-harm" gesture.

He clears his throat, "So...can we go through it again?"

"You know, if I wanted someone to sit around and ignore me I might as well have chosen Logan." Patricia stands up from the kitchen counter to resume pacing. "You are a fantastic guy, Robert. I need your help, so focus stays here mister."

"Full attention. Got it. No distractions." Hob nods his head and throws a sheepish smile.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Dream settles on Hob's lap and absentmindedly listens to the conversation between Patricia and Hob. From time to time Hob's hand goes down his spine or to scratch his head. That's fine, Dream is here to offer support and comfort. No more or less at the moment.

Patricia's earnest and expressive voice introduces an unnoticeable tune. Electric hum makes for a quiet echoic bass line. Freshly put kettle on the stove awaits its solo part.

It happens some time along Patricia's second retelling - a sudden noise that puts an end to this unheard odd melody and silent calm.

Dream's attention shoots to his friend. Immediately notes the distant yet focused look in Hob's eyes. Dream, not noticing Hob scanning the place, was just about to direct that focus to him, but-

A second cracking sound slips through the open window, and with it-

Patricia gasps as Hob falls to the ground and scrambles away to a wall.

For a second there was nothing else, but Hob's heavy breathing audible.

Suddenly the kettle started to whistle and all hell broke loose.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Hob holds his breath, strains his ears and waits.

He listens and listens. His heartbeat strong and loud within his chest. Adrenaline rushing through his blood. He scans the room for the best place to hide, the closest weapon. Just in case his ears were right.

He doesn't know how long he waits but there it is again!

He drops to the ground and swiftly crawls to the wall. Away from any door's or window's view.

His hand itches. A wooden chair's leg will suffice. He has to break it away.

Not yet.

His heart hammers in his chest. He waits ready for an opportunity to present itself.

Now!

With precise moves the wooden chair gives out with ease.

A long whistle blast, perfect. Good enough to mask that racket with.

Then he snaps his head around upon hearing a hurt yelp.

Hob for the first time acknowledges the other's presence. He sees Helen cradling her hand to her chest. Sees the blood staining her dress.

God's wounds. It's one thing to witness fellow comrades being wounded in action. Quite another when it's innocent civilians.

The sound of an opening window snaps him back to the present. He swings with force at it, anticipating someone to reach through it, to hurt them.

Except - no one did.

Fuck.

He can't go back to his waiting position, he compromised his location. He closes his eyes and inhales. He needs to think.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Dream jumps on a stool and without hesitation bites Patricia in her left hand.

She yelps but brings her attention to the cat.

There, at least she's no longer frozen.

Dream gestures his head toward the window.

Patricia with her hand pressed to her chest, looks back and forth between Dream, Hob and the window. Like she's unsure what Dream wants her to do.

At last she approaches the window and shuts it.

So he narrows his eyes and with theatrical exaggeration snaps his jaws. A clear intent. It's not hard to understand.

Suddenly Hob takes a big swing with the leg and Patricia misses being hit by a hair.

She takes multiple steps backwards. They both see Hob freeze.

In seconds his attention is back on Patricia.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Hob opens his eyes and turns to Helen, and whisper, "Are you okay?"

Why is there so much blood?

"Yeah..."

He doesn't see her look at him puzzled. With efficiency he tears a fragment of his shirt, approaches her and wraps Helen's hand to stop the bleeding somewhat.

"That should do it."

He grabs her other hand and drags her to the bedroom. Once there Hob makes her sit behind the closet while he, himself, guards the door. Listening and ready to defend. He calms his heart. He looks at her and puts his finger to his lips.

She nods. Good.

He closes his eyes and focuses on his hearing.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-ˋˏ✄┈

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Dream follows them close behind and stands near the sitting woman, watching closely both humans.

Minutes pass and the impromptu bandage on Patricia's hand is starting to leak. Drop by drop it adds to the main stain on her shirt, expanding it.

At some point Hob slid down the wall to the floor.

Dream in measured steps goes to Hob and decides to lie next to the immortal human's leg.

In took a few long moments, but finally Hob has opened his eyes and noticed Dream.

"Oh."

Hob lets go of the wooden leg. He groans and thumps his head on the wall behind him.

"You with us now, Robert?" Patricia speaks up shakily, unsure.

"Yep, body and mind in one place." Hob chuckles with no humor.

"You know that cat of yours is very protective of you. I have a wound to prove it." Patricia gestures at her hand. Dream narrows his eyes at the woman.

Of course I'm protective of him, he's my only friend.

Patricia lets out a thoughtful hum, "I wonder if it'll scar..."

A breathy exhale leaves Hob.

"Vicious, isn't he?" A crooked smile disappears as quickly as it appeared. Dream in response licks Hob's fingers.

"Are you alright? You gave me quite a scare there Robert. I bet your cat too."

"Hm?" Hob lifts his head, "Oh. Don't worry, I'm fine. It was a long time coming." A poor imitation of a carefree-like voice, but it still holds tention beneath. Such a simple thing betraying one's emotional state.

"If you say so." Patricia's voice is woven with doubt.

"Really, Patts. You don't have to worry."

"Ok, I believe you.",

Hob raises his eyebrow, "Okay?"

"Okay," then, "as long as you receive help... not my business."

Hob sends her a grateful smile. "Thanks."

He nods his head and takes deep breaths. Minute long silence passes.

"So listen, about your problem, I dunno if you want my advice or not. But if I were you I'd think it would be for the best if..."

────────────※ ·❆· ※────────────

<- Previous Part Next Part ->

────────────※ ·❆· ※────────────

Also sorry for taking so long to write this. TwT

Positive and constructive criticism is welcome. I'll embrace any advice coming my way.

@fandom-free-bingo

#bingo #dreamling #FrostyEditionBingo #FandomFreeBingo #dreamling fanfic #fanfic #hob gadling #dream of the endless #meowpheus #the sandman #hurt/comfort #my ocs #flashback

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xadoheandterra · 1 month

Text

I've been stuck in a Hazbin brainspace so I've started scribbling thoughts down. Here's a bit of something-something that I'm working on between Undertale fic. This is from Husk's perspective, before the pilot sort of events as I'm trying to get a feel for these characters.

I have determined a few things when writing and so built a few odd headcanons: Alastor treats Husk like an indoor/outdoor pet cat (and that Husk essentially lives in what is Alastor's home because of this), and Husk, while disliking his Deal with Alastor, did in fact fully agree to it and does not necessarily regret it. He regrets some things, but not actually making the Deal. He had his reasons for agreeing to it, and he knew he very well could have not taken the Deal.

Also that there are different forms of contracts/deals/agreements throughout Hell. Deal's from Dealmaker's like Alastor are binding verbal agreements with a handshake which is different to Contracts like what Val and Angel Dust have, or to Bet's which is what Husk worked with when he was an Overlord. Each version has a unique tie to how Sinner's manifest / what Sin they primarily dealt in....

Anyway, scene below cut.

The day had started like any other day had started for the past seven years. Husk woke up, rolled out of bed, grabbed the nearest bottle of booze, and flopped over onto the old couch. A flick of his playing cards switched on the old radio settled into the corner, already tuned into the 666 News reBroadcast. Half on his side, bottle in hand, Husk took a deep swig and then grabbed at the pile of letters and reports and began to shuffle through them with near exhausted boredom. Typically once he'd sorted the papers into their appropriate folders he'd already be on his second bottle, potentially his third if it was a bad day.

After the papers Husk would have to step outside and perform a quick, but thorough, look over the territory that nestled in the shadow of an old and wrecked radio tower. If it was needed he'd push out other encroaching Overlord's as they tried to get a snatch of the territory--mostly it was the damn Vee's and their stupid technology that they tried to shove everywhere--before finally Husk would get the chance to wind down and enjoy himself in the nearest bar for drinks and games with stakes in them.

Today Husk got as far as being flopped over on the couch, booze in one hand, papers and reports in the other, when a strange static tingle raced down his spine. He could feel the fur along his back and down to his tail fluff up; his wings twitched and the feathers ruffled slightly as Husk dragged himself upright. He stared blankly at one report and tried to place the odd, static feeling, but found he couldn't. It was familiar; Husk knew the sensation was familiar, not unlike the feel of the chains around his neck, the metaphysical manifestation of his Deal. It weighed heavy; heavier than he could remember in a long, long time.

With a groan Husk set the papers down and massaged at the bridge of his nose. He glanced down to the bottle of some unnamed liquor, probably some sort of 'shine considering the types of Sinner's that had made their home in this area of Pride, before Husk set that down on the table as well. Hands free, he buried his face in them.

"Prissy bastard," Husk grumbled aloud and to himself as he could hear the phantom sounds of chains rattling. Alastor, he realized bitterly. Seven years the bastard had been missing, presumed dead by most of Pride although Husk and the others who had made Deals with the Radio Demon were well aware that was a bunch of bullshit. Alastor was no more dead than the rest of them, and no stupid angel would rightly be able to take the fucker's head off. He had been missing though, and even with all of them searching he hadn't been found.

Seven years without the prissy bastard should have meant seven years of peace. Instead it was seven years of bullshit managing a territory that he was a part of, but not the master of. Instead it meant seven years of working his tail off to keep things stable for when Alastor would decide to show his goddamn face again. It meant seven years of fending and protecting and nurturing what was already there, and hoping he wouldn't become food for the Radio Demon when he inevitably returned. It was seven years of all the Overlord bullshit that Husk honestly had not wanted to deal with again. It'd been bad enough being an Overlord with a gambling addiction a mile wide, and enough Souls to make himself a prime target.

Husk didn't regret it, the Deal he'd made and the position it put him in. He couldn't. He'd known well enough the type of Sinner Alastor had been when he'd Bet Soul after Soul in their game until he had nothing left but himself. He'd known well enough the type of slump he'd found himself in, the way the depression ate at him much as it had done in life, in the way drink and vices and gambling had nothing for him. Truthfully Husk had wanted to lose, and when he was on the cusp of it all Alastor leaned in with his hand out, smile wide, and offered a Deal instead of a Bet.

Like every sorry sack of shit that Alastor targeted but did not kill, Husk eventually took the Deal. Oh at first he tried to fight; he'd been an Overlord, he knew his way around violence just as much as the other guy. He tried to take back what Alastor had won, he tried to kill the Radio Demon--he tried to get the Radio Demon to kill him. Husk spent what felt like days in the radio tower, under the careful ministrations of a man who took him apart gleefully until Husk decided even a Deal with a Dealmaker was better than nothing.

They hadn't shook on it then, either. Not at first. No, first Husk had to heal up. He'd sobered up somewhere in the midst of the torture, and now he had to heal, so heal was what he did. He healed under the watchful eye of the Radio Demon who made idle chatter in the days it took Husk to pull himself fully back together. He healed, and watched Alastor preserve and then eat the pieces he'd so gleefully torn off of Husk when the other man had him under his claws. When Husk had time to be, had time to heal, had time to actually ponder the Deal and think about it--that was when they shook on it. That was when Alastor owned him, mind, body, and Soul.

"My, you have let yourself go, haven't you my dear Husker?"

"Shit!"

Husk jolted on the couch, flailed for a second and then crashed into the table with the folders, reports, and his bottle of booze. The bottle toppled sideways, dropped to the floor and spilled its drink everywhere as Husk tried to get all six of his limbs under control and stand himself upright with wide eyes. His gaze snapped unerringly to the location of the tingle of static down his spine, the weight of the chain at his neck an invisible tether, until he could stare at the red dressed, grinning Radio Demon. He looked whole. He looked healthy.

Husk blinked, slow, as his gaze lingered on Alastor's neck. He had a chain. He stared for a long moment, and when the record scratch reached him he snapped his gaze back upright to Alastor's face, fur pale as he scrambled around the couch. His foot landed in wet, sticky booze and he had a moment to realize the room was a right shit hole, filled with empty bottles and spilled drink and fuck Alastor was here. Seven years and suddenly Alastor was here.

"B-Boss!" Husk found himself saying through a grimace-grin, his eyes wide as terror raced through his veins like the static that bristled his fur. He could feel the way his ears were laid flat against his skull, how his tail twitched with agitation. He tried to hastily present himself before Alastor only to slip on a wayward empty bottle and fall to the ground in another heap of limbs and broken glass.

Those red, red eyes stayed unerringly on Husk's form, smile twitched wide. A faint laugh track played from the microphone held tight in Alastor's hands, the only visible sign of amusement that Alastor gave in this moment. It burned against Husk's pride, and he could feel the flush stain the edges of the fur of his face as he groaned.

"Clean yourself up my dear Husker," Alastor said as he leaned forward, hands planted firmly on his microphone. "Then find me in my room and tell me what has happened in my absence."

Husk groaned, grumbled a soft, "Y-Yes sir," and waited with baited breath as Alastor turned and headed to the one door that remained untouched in seven years. As soon as it closed behind the taller demon Husk reached up, dug his fingers into his face, and groaned. If he had some inclination that Alastor was back, he would have done something to clean up the place. Now--now he would be lucky if Alastor didn't decide to flay him for the mess when he went into that room to tell the man everything.

Frustrated Husk rolled back onto his feet. He ignored the glass that dug into his wings and the fur along his back. Instead he wiggled his fingers and as if through a magic trick a trash bag slipped down his arm and into his waiting palm. He eyed the mess with a grimace and, not for the first time in the past seven years, wished he had a way to contact Nifty.

#fanfic #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #alastor hazbin hotel #fic: chain on your neck

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marzmud · 2 years

Text

Maxis Makeovers: The Rebellious Vampires

A completely vanilla/cc-free makeover of Maxis' gallery household "The Rebellious Vampires," featuring Kat Cave, Markus Crow, and Miss Hell.

Search origin id: marzmud or #TTTP to find them on the gallery!

More pictures, pack requirements, and tray files beneath the cut.

I just think Miss Hell deserves to be a Creature™. (Note: if you download her from the gallery her name will be changed to "Miss Hellena," due to gallery restrictions.) All three have fleshed out likes and dislikes, but no sexual orientation preferences. I did not change their original traits or aspirations. Markus' dark form was removed because it was exactly the same as his normal one.

EDIT: Markus' eyes have been edited to not be so big. Outfit previews from left to right: Kat, Markus, Miss Hell, Miss Hell's dark form.

Packs used:

Get to Work, Get Together, City Living, Cats & Dogs, Seasons, Get Famous, Island Living, Discover University, Eco Lifestyle, Snowy Escape, High School Years, Outdoor Retreat, Spa Day, Vampires, Jungle Adventure, Strangerville, Realm of Magic, My Wedding Stories, Werewolves, Luxury Party, Perfect Patio, Spooky Stuff, Movie Hangout, Romantic Garden, Vintage Glamour, Fitness, Moschino, Incheon Arrivals, Moonlight Chic.

DOWNLOAD: tray files @ sfs (no ads) mirror: patreon (always free)

@maxismatchccworld @public-ccfinds @mmoutfitters @emilyccfinds

#ts4 #sims 4 #maxis match #ts4cc #s4cc #ts4 vanilla #townie makeovers #sim download #sim dump #premades #Kat Cave #Markus Crow #Miss Hell #TTTP #cc: sims

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pinkiepiebones · 11 months

Note

Renfield fic prompt: Rebecca and Robert are at dinner (shippy or platonic) and Rebecca's sister shows up at an outdoor restaurant. Rebecca is trying to fumble through a lie of how she met Robert when a cricket hops by, Robert hasn't had a bug in weeks and instincts/cravings just kick in. Right in front of the sister. (From My-Little-Wraithlings)

"So how'd you two meet, anyway?"

"Oh, uh, well. It's a funny story, right? Rob?"

Rebecca glances to Robert. Robert isn't paying attention. He's looking at the ground. Rebecca follows his gaze.

Fuck.

Kate Quincy is not nosy. Well, she is, but only on case work. She doesn't pry into her little sister's life. She occasionally asks how things are, but she's not one to interrogate her sister about things like who she's dating or shit like that. She checked on her via the occasional text, and that was fine. But when she sees Rebecca and that British guy hanging out, she figures, what the hell. They're out in public. I can stop and chat without violating Rebecca's privacy.

Kate walks up to the two. They're sitting at one of those cute little outdoor dining patios of a restaurant, and laughing about something. It looks like their food hasn't arrived yet, so, Kate reasons, I'm not really interrupting lunch.

"Well, hey you two" she says cheerfully, making her presence known. Rebecca does a double-take and stops laughing. Robert follows her lead but gives Kate a shy wave.

"Uh, Kate, hi- sorry, I didn't know you were off duty today, or I would've called..." It's a lie, and both Quincy girls know it. Rebecca was terrible at calling. Still, Kate smiles.

"Oh, no biggie. I was just on a walk and saw you with- It's Renfield, right?" she asks, addressing Robert. He inclines his head a little bit.

"Ah, Robert" he says softly, then quickly adds "but Renfield's fine, too. It's my last name." He looks at the ground, as if he's embarrassed to say the next thing. "I'm trying to get used to my first name again."

So Kate nods, committing the name to memory. It was so weird- she knew she had met him before. He had some kind of weird herbal supplement called 'Dracula Blood.' And she thought she had a memory of him being connected to a century of worldwide crime, but those memories were fuzzier every day, as though some weird spell had been unleashed, maybe when some kind of powerful entity died, that eroded certain memories. Besides, he was in his late 30s at the most. How could he be some sort of prolific criminal?

Kate shifts her attention to the present. To her sister. The fact that Rebecca hasn't told her to leave yet is amazing.

"So how'd you two meet, anyway?"

"Oh, uh, well. It's a funny story, right? Rob?"

Rebecca glances to Robert. Robert isn't paying attention. He's looking at the ground. Rebecca follows his gaze.

Fuck.

Robert's watching a cricket hop around on the terracotta patio. He's got the look of a cat watching a mouse. Or a cricket. Cats will hunt most things that move. Rebecca's watching him with increasing worry.

"Uh, well, Robert, here, he studies bugs, and-"

Kate follows her sister's concerned look in time to see Robert dive for the bug.

Rebecca thinks If my life were a shitty comedy, this is where I'd go 'uh, check please.'

Robert crams the bug in his mouth and Rebecca starts to concoct a story but Kate's kneeling, and she's helping Robert up. "Holy shit, are you okay?"

Robert nods. "Oh, yeah, I-" He snaps his fingers. "I'm hypoglycemic" he declares with the confidence of a toddler telling a lie. That is, with great confidence.

"What" Rebecca says flatly.

"Oh, that's low blood sugar, right?" Kate asks as Robert sits back down. "I've read insects are really great sources of protein..." Kate uses her deductive reasoning. "So, you study insects for their health benefits?"

"Exactly?" Robert says with a glance to Rebecca that seems to say 'what the fuck am I doing please help me.'

Kate looks to Rebecca, who gives Robert a look and a series of gestures before saying, "uhh, yeah, he's- that's what he does. I met him when I was still on the force, someone called about a British pervert in the park and I found him, um, tangled in a bush, on a bug hunt. We had a laugh about it and became friends."

"Yes, that is exactly the story, I was mistaken for a-" Robert glares at Rebecca- "a British pervert, whatever that means, and she wanted to be friends, as one does."

Kate's fine with all of this. "Aww, that's such a good meet-cute! But you're not dating, huh?"

Robert and Rebecca look at each other. Robert looks down again and Rebecca reaches over to put her hand on his.

"He's actually still getting over a really bad breakup," Rebecca says in a surprisingly gentle way. "It was a, a really long relationship, too, so it's gonna be a while before he's comfortable to date again. I'm just happy to be his friend right now, y'know?"

Kate moves over and gives Rebecca's shoulder a squeeze in lieu of a hug. "You've really grown up, Rebecca. I'm proud of you."

She wants to talk more but her phone rings. She sighs. "It's work, I gotta run. Weird missing persons cases lately. Anyway, it was nice to see you two!" Kate steps away to answer her phone.

Rebecca takes her hand off of Robert's and then smacks it lightly. "The fuck was that? You pounce on a bug and then say you're hypo-whatever?"

"It was a good cricket. Flavourful."

Rebecca groans and pulls out her phone. "You're a fucking weirdo. Now I gotta make a note of all the shit we just told Kate so we can keep the story straight."

Robert huffed. "I'm a weirdo? I didn't call you a fucking British pervert."

"Well, yeah, I'm not British. Woulda made no sense."

"So I can call you an American pervert, then?"

Rebecca sticks her tongue out at Robert.

The waiter clears his throat. "Umm... who had the chicken?"

#renfield #I really tried! I'm sorry

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swede · 8 months

Text

so… will you support me if i make an oc possibly maybe??

juliette marie fontaine

- soprano

- born of her mother’s infidelity, her father is unaware and forever will be. juliette does not know her true father

- started singing at the age of four

- parents saw her talent and immediately got her a tutor starting right then and there

- parents are low-ranking aristocrats who want to climb the social ladder using her

- huge chip on her shoulder because of a dead sister, a sister who never was; a stillborn child who came before juliette who her parents still pray for

- juliette cannot be what they want and dream for but she can try

- not necessarily mean but definitely not overtly kind, helpful, or friendly. her emotions are all surface-level and superficial and for show

- she acts like how people EXPECT HER TO, publicly, in private it is much different. she can be extremely cold and cruel.

- her dream is to manipulate her way into a marriage and out of the theatre; she’ll be miserable but free

- at present she has been in the theatre starting when she was seventeen, she is now twenty-seven and after a decade is ready to quit wholly

- abhors most men very easily and without regret; however, she knows she must tolerate them. bisexual with a high lean to femininity.

- expensive taste. fine clothing and perfectly done hair and always has something a little sweet to eat on her person. chocolates are her weakness. dessert wines are her favorite. picky about wines and people.

- has a pet cat named miette, a brown-white ragdoll

- loves the outdoors. loves reading. loves escaping. she adores a good story, though fairytales she has not touched since she was a child.

- theatre itself is a form of escapism for her, despite her growing hatred of it. she will throw herself into any role so wholeheartedly, so seamlessly, so devotedly, it would appear she loves what she is doing. in reality, she only does it as means to survive.

- not religious whatsoever, raised in a catholic household with catholic ideals and expectations. she feels god has abandoned her long ago. she does not pray or attend mass.

- proclivity towards composing, though she would never speak of it. she can be found on off days plucking at a harpsichord.

- neat handwriting, but each letter is extremely thin and pointed. her writing almost looks scratched in.

- her dream role is angelica, queen of cathay, in handel’s opera orlando

- she has very rarely been an understudy or small role. she has almost always been a lead.

- there is exactly ONE man in her life who she doesn’t hate, he’s a twig-like little composer from austria who she inexplicably adores for some reason. they banter and chat about anything and everything etc etc. they love to annoy one another. juliette spoils him silly with gifts as he is much much deeper into poverty than she ever will be, anything he needs she’ll buy. he is without a doubt the only man she wholeheartedly trusts and cares about. they met by accident, she stayed late and he was sneaking into the theatre to see the stage for himself, she laughs at him and makes sure he is never found out

- she’s AMBITCHOUS… she will never back down from what she wants. if there’s something she desires, she’ll get it, come hell or high water

#okay so i have been word-vomiting into my notes app #here r all my bullet points regarding her!!!!#i scored. an obnoxiously good url for her #‘tragique’ literally just tragic in french #HOWWWWW WAS IT NOT TAKEN???#omfg #is for me!!!#anyw please indulge me #idk if i will a thousand percent do anything but #i have ideas and i want to make her a psd coloring #and i want to dick around in ps for her #soooo!!!#tbd.

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googoobabajogwick · 1 year

Text

Hot knife chpt:2

description: the day had finally came.

triggers: talks of violence against women, mentions of smut but not graphic, unhealthy coping mechanisms and unhealthy relationships, a break up.. reader is still unhinged...

word count: 6.8k

mini authors note: lol surprise ! things wont always be this fast...

<---->

Hot Knife Chapter Two: Watch Him Rain on My Parade

Well his promise lasted for longer than you thought.

Sixteen years to be exact.

You couldn't lie, it was the best time of your life. Living with your soulmate felt like living in paradise. It was a very messy break up. Of course you had tried several times to hurt him, destroy his cars, houses, steal his money, everything. Although you weren’t married you made his life a living hell for the first year after breaking up.

It hurt, really bad. You did not like being hurt. Thoughts of marriage, real marriage, were running through your head. The two of you had best decided that since your lifestyles were so much different than the average civilians you both just ended up giving each other your own marker. That was the closest thing to marriage you were going to get. Plus it was so much more intimate, a blood oath.

Yet when you were with him, you still thought about rings, would you take his last name or would he take yours? You’d ask him, never one to shy away from what you were thinking and he’d entertain them like he’d always had but that’s all it was, entertaining. Then it happened. What was just a small scratch on your brain became a full on obsession.

It was on your mind all the time. Spending holidays together, neither of you ever waking up to an empty bed to complete a private contract, a dog and a cat. You imagined a small little cabin in the woods, you with your best friend, your boyfriend maybe even someday husband in solitaire. Hunting, fishing, gardening, sitting by the fire at night…

That was your life before and you wanted to bring him to that life. You knew he’d do well because if he loved you then he’d have to love the outdoors but you also knew that he was a man who loved the quiet life and to be alone. The obsession grew and grew to the point you were so sure even he’d want to follow you.

The two of you were filthy rich at this point.. What if you just did it? Then you could actually have a life together. It was funny at first because you were the crazy one. You loved taking hits and leaving there bloodier than you entered, why would you ever want to leave this job? But your Jardani or should you now say John, was in his prime and living out the fame of being the most feared man on earth.

You scoffed at the name John Wick. You knew he said he made that his name due to a rough translation/ homage to his real name, but it was quite funny the name he used to instill fear in peoples minds, was the same name you used to degrade him during sex. You still could remember the first time you brought up leaving and when you left like it was yesterday.

Laughing, you straddled John— who was back in his boxers after a good couple rounds of sex— as he now prefered to be called. The two of you were horndogs and that never went away the entire sixteen years you were together. You were wearing his U.S. Marines shirt from his service time many years ago. It was your favorite, big and comfortable.

You had just gotten back from cleaning yourself up in the bathroom. He had scolded you for calling him Jardani. It was John now, John Wick officially. Though he’d never care if you continued to call him by his real name. Especially when it sounded so sweet coming from your lips.

Things had been tense but like always, he made everything better. He knew what to say every time or should you say, he always knew what to do. How to make you feel loved. You gave him a slight smack for his comment while you were in the bathroom.

“I just still can’t get over it, Jonathan Wick? Like John Wick?” You laughed, “I’m going to feel like I’m domming you every time I address you.” He laughed.

“I wouldn’t call it “domming” me, more like, me worshiping the woman I love by letting her have her way?” John was not a man who was dominated.

“Fine but I know your dirty little secret.” You smiled.

Before you could say anything else he pulled you down so your head was on his shoulder. His cue for ‘no more talking.’ The two of you laid there cuddling, with you on top of him for what felt like hours before you just couldn’t get the idea out of your head. You tried to push it away but it wasn’t working. Deciding to trust communication once again you asked,

“Dani, what if we left? You change your name to John Wick— or something else, I change mine and we just go live together somewhere in the woods? I think you’d do well out there.”

You’d opened up to John about how you grew up in the woods, before you were orphaned, your parents killed by cops. Hunting was in your blood and you also craved isolation. Being off the grid sounded nice. You really were all over the place. A girl who everyone thought was attractive, confident, smart, every aspect that would lead to someone being extroverted but instead you were blunt, quiet and you often disliked conversation.

The cover didn’t not match the book.

Even when John met you all those years ago at twelve when he met you with The Director. There was something dark and cold about you that made her sure you’d be a good team. You’d marched right up to him and ordered him to go get you a glass of water from wherever was closest and when he refused you called him swine and spit on his face. He couldn’t lie, although he really wanted to punch you across the face, you were cute.

How far you two came was crazy. You were hopeful but a lot of that hope went down the drain when you saw his face. It was something between a, ‘you can't be serious.’ And a, ‘You’ve got to be joking.’ You felt like you were going to puke, which you had done the day before. The idea of leaving plagued your mind and the nerves got to you.

Nervous thoughts that you’d make yourself out to be the idiot you were scared of becoming all those years ago. Perhaps you were as stupid as you were afraid you were going to get. Your heart started to race and you wanted to be anywhere but in front of him.

You stood up and pulled up your pants without even looking at him. It was starting, all the hurt you knew was eventually going to happen had caught up. John was confused, grabbing for his shirt while calling your name. You glared at him and were so furious you almost hit him. It didn’t take a lot to get you angry, but angry enough to want to hit him was a lot.

“Woah! What are you doing?” He asked.

“You take me for a fool you asshole. Well, you genius, I do want to get out. I’m done with this shit. You have days to decide, I’m doing a couple hits and I’m gone. Ghost.” You sneered at him.

The two of you had already been arguing a lot lately and it didn’t help that you could go from zero to one hundred real quick. He was always taking contracts but the long ones and the big ones. The ones that took weeks to months, ones where he’d come home bleeding a life threatening amount. Jardani no doubt was a natural, you were too but you preferred to be fastidious with the hits you’d take.

It was like when you both started dating the two of you switched personalities. You became more open with him and he got harder to talk to. Either choosing to not talk at all or acting like everything was fine. Then he joined the Marines and you would miss him for months, he'd come back and accept some contracts. That’s not to say you didn’t spend any time together but he was always gone.

Always promising that he’d take you on vacation only to call the day before your flight and tell you that he had to stay a couple more days. It was a cycle. John would come home, you’d be sobbing, he’d stand there in silence, making you feel like you were going insane, as you yelled at him, the two of you would sleep in separate rooms until he’d apologize. Then the two of you would have sex and everything would be right in the world again.

Till the next time and there was always a next time. All you wanted was to spend time with him and to be with him. His solution? Take more hits together. You almost smacked him. Why in the world would you want to go out and risk your life assassinating someone— or more like some people because a hit designed for two people wasn’t small— when cuddling, eating and sex were on your mind?

“I think we should talk about this.” Jardani grabbed your wrist and you ripped it away.

He looked shocked but was glad you didn’t smack him across the face like you would every time he’d touch you when you didn’t want to be touched. This was normal as of late but you never acted so upset over words that weren’t even said!

You glared at him while running around the apartment to find a to go bag so you could stay at The Continental for two days while you prepared your leave. John was playing stupid, at least that’s what you told yourself. Your eyes burned but you held the tears back.

“No. I want a yes or no. Two days.” You grabbed your bag and left.

Physically leaving was going to be easy as you had made a friend named Algo. Algo was short for Algorithm. She was a woman you met through a friend’s friend. She needed help with an abusive boyfriend, so you helped her. Algo happened to be an amazing hacker, so much so she had helped you make real deal fake IDs and hack into government records.

You could never get away with living a normal life so that’s what you planned to be, a vigilante, but one that helped women who needed help. Algo would be your right hand woman. She would and could find anything you needed, she could also erase anything you needed or even hide. She’d become a good friend in the past few months you’ve known her.

You took the hits being more brutal than ever. Much more blunt force, knives stranglings and dismembering than usual. You were perfect with a gun but sometimes preferred to get dirtier, scarier.

Like John had his pencil story, due to your medical knowledge your story was that you sedated a man till he was half asleep and amputated his leg off, you told him his sons would be eating it if he didn’t fess up what you wanted to know.

Making a man watch his own amputation was a story that got around. Mad doctor they called you, Dr. Death, Angel of death (a popular one it seemed) and Hel, the Goddess of Death. Sometimes even you couldn’t understand your constant comparison to Goddesses but it certainly fed your ego. How could it not? It’s not how you wanted to live your life though.

So many missed calls from Jardani, voicemails asking you to please talk to him, texts telling you he loved you but you should think about everything. That this was so sudden and you weren’t thinking right. After that text you blocked him. How dare he. You knew he’d show up to The Continental, he already had, but Charon wouldn’t let him know what room you were in. Even for multiple gold coins.

“I’m sorry sir, she does not wish to be disturbed.” Charon’s proper and deep voice would respond every time.

John had gotten so desperate he’d hang around the hotel or even outside. Still he never saw you. The anguish got terrible to the point he was convinced you were sneaking out somehow and scared a poor maid, stopping her in her tracks to look through her cart. You weren’t there and Winston scolded him for scaring the life out of his staff. He went home, if you didn’t want him finding you, you wouldn’t be found.

You were always too good at that.

The day finally came as you sat packing your bags. John walked into your shared apartment and stared at your actions. This was the first time he’d seen you since you left. He looked at you with sadness in his eyes that you didn’t want to look at. You heard a sigh and still didn’t look up as you packed the last of your things. If you looked at him, you may change your mind.

“You were being serious?”

You were going to hit him.

“Was I being serious? Why the fuck would I lie about that? And how I just left you? Also if you haven’t noticed I’ve been pretty dry. Are you fucking stupid?” Yes, you were being rude but you also felt like he was flushing sixteen years down the drain.

“Mia dea, Why would we leave? We are invincible in this world.”

“Maybe I just want to feel normal.” You cried.

“Maybe we aren’t normal.”

You paced while biting your nails on one hand while the other rubbed your stomach. The two of you had been together so long, you loved him so much. The more you thought about it though, what if you did want kids in the future? Jardani would be the only man you’d ever let father your kids, if you were to have them. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him your whole vision. This was humiliating enough.

“We could try…” You sniffled.

Jardani sighed. Was this really the end? Being the most feared came with a lot of bombs in cars, home break ins, jumpings just when you wanted to run to the grocery store. They never learned their lesson, and you didn’t want to live that life anymore. Plus you hated working for the high table, you wanted to do your own shit.

“Are you saying no? Are we ending things right now? You felt defeated and like you were about to throw up.

“I would never want things to end, I just don’t think we should leave. Why don’t you try thinking about it more? Please.” He pleaded with you.

John walked up to you and pulled you into a hug. He kissed where your scar was, then your neck and your ear. His grip was tight and you almost wondered if he was even going to let go. Your boyfriend’s hands rubbed up and down along your hips. He pressed his forehead in the crook of your neck.

“Come on, we can talk about this.” He went on to say more but you gaged and ripped yourself away from him.

You ran into the bathroom and threw up. Without a second thought he came into the bathroom.

“Get the fuck out of here!” John took a step back at how loud you screamed.

“You just threw up. You also did a couple days before you left me, I’m worried you’re sick.” He considered kneeling by you as you threw up some more but you seemed pretty pissed.

“It happens when I’m upset, big whoop. You should know that.” Your cheek was laying on the back of your hand that gripped the seat. “That was because I was starting to think about this.” You sobbed.

After waiting for the nausea to pass you flushed, stood up and pushed past him to wash your hands and brush your teeth. You ignored him as you brushed but you looked exhausted. You dissociated in that bathroom going back and forth and back and forth with that stupid toothbrush but no matter how imaginative you were you couldn’t escape the horrible reality that you were breaking up. Tears streamed down your face like the faucet you were standing right in front of.

When you finished you turned to look at him. You cried even harder at how sad he looked. You’d never seen such desperation in his watery eyes. No matter what you thought, this crushed him. John loved you so much he was almost tempted but he couldn’t, not now and not yet. Plus it seemed impossible. Everyone usually died trying, and the few that made it, never really retire. They would kill you. Too many loose ends in a life like this.

“They will kill you… Sweetheart, please.” He wanted to hold you one more time, his skin itched to reach out and grab you.

“You seem so sure.” You snapped at him and he looked at you like you stabbed him.

“Don’t you ever accuse me of that. I never would, I love you, you’re my heart. No amount of money ever.” Jardani couldn’t even say it.

You felt a bit bad because you knew he’d never hurt you, ever. To insinuate that he would kill you, well it was the thing that made John Wick cry. If he did that he couldn’t live with himself, ever. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t never feel angry with you; just deep, painful sorrow. A couple tears dripped down his face but not many.

John was raised to conceal his emotions even more than you, to the point that even in private it was difficult for him to be open with you. You began to cry harder wanting to hold and comfort him because it was more than rare for him to cry. It could be counted on one hand the amount of times he cried in front of you and each time you were there to embrace him.

He had no idea where this was coming from. The last time you were together you went out to eat and had sex and laughed and…. Everything seemed so amazing. Still though, your mind was set. He was done with you. Your eyes flickered to your markers that were on display in your bedroom and you saw him tense.

“Please don’t.” It was a whispered plea and warning.

Don’t leave and don’t force me.

You pushed past him, out of the bathroom, walked up to it and grabbed it. Your lip trembled as you looked at it and with one sharp intake you shoved it into your pocket and turned to grab your bags. It wouldn’t work anyways, they could always be canceled out if either one of you tried to do something evil to one another.

“Well fuck you Jardani. So much for worshiping, serving and loving me.”

With that you grabbed your final suitcase, you could buy whatever you didn’t have and walked to leave. He moved to grab your arm but you screamed at him making him jump back in shock before running. It was better than punching that pretty face of his. You couldn’t stop the sob that left your throat as you made your way down the street.

“Wait! Y/N! Please let’s just talk about this!” He called out to you.

You knew he was running after you, but all you knew was that you had to get to a certain law firm that was close by that Algo had told you about. Of course this happened. Even though you were in your thirties at this point you couldn’t help but feel like that scared nineteen year old girl was laughing in your face. Tears streamed down your face as you wiped the snot from your nose as you ran.

He followed you until he lost you in the crowd of people. At the law firm was a woman who went by the name Anna. You would be safe there. The word safe made you cringe, you knew he’d never hurt you but safe as in, he would not be welcomed and you knew if you really didn’t want to see him, he would respect your wishes.

That was almost twenty years ago but you still felt hatred for the man, even though you loved him so. Your hair had started to gray and small age wrinkles had started to appear but you were still beautiful. Aging in women is a beautiful thing and you don’t doubt that but fighting definitely isn’t as easy as it used to be.

You had almost become “The Director” yourself, but a better one in your opinion. Using your skills you opened a secret sanctuary for women called The Izanami no Mikoto, suggested by one of the first members, a Japanese woman named Shizuoka. Women had a choice to join and all had been saved from sort of violence. All the pledge was that everyone was to get a tattoo that said F.W.I, standing for female-who-invites.

The goal was just to protect women, that was it. You were actually surprised the organization had gone under the radar for as long as it had been but it was hard to find you with your new nickname Kalika. It was given to you by a Hindi woman who believed you emerged from the Goddess of all Goddesses. Her story, more complicated than a simple, “good or evil?”

You always tried to push that ‘Kalika’ was everyone in the INM. Every member agreed to protect the innocent and destroy all evil. It broke your heart to know that these women put you on such a high pedestal because you chose to protect and save them. Every woman was the goddess of her own life. Plus you didn’t want to be worshiped by the same people you considered friends. You were still just an ordinary woman.

Okay, maybe not that ordinary.

Everyone close to you still called you by your real name but the little title helped keep you hidden. You did very good for yourself, you had the money and honestly helping women gave you a purpose you felt. Torturing evil men made you very happy. Yet there was one secret, a secret so big that nobody knew except the women of your sanctuary, that by the odds of everything you birthed, two, beautiful twin girls.

Only months after your disappearance and break up and you found out you were pregnant. You couldn’t believe it, children were just a mere thought, nothing you ever had planned. Multiple times you had thought to tell John, perhaps that would change his mind, but you were selfish and angry. If he only wanted to leave because you had kids you would feel like he didn’t want you, and that he’d hate you.

Instead all the women of the Izanami no Mikoto helped raise and take care of your daughters. In a way they had multiple mothers and made up so much more for the loss of a father figure, but that didn’t stop you from informing them who their father was. They just had no desire to meet him themselves. It still hurt you to know he would’ve been an amazing father.

In fact in the twenty years since your break up you had only visited him in the ten year mark. You showed up to his house, your girls were about nine when you realized there was one more thing tying you to John.

Thunder was booming in the sky as you knocked on the wooden door, your body shivered as the cold wind blew. A beautiful woman with long brown hair answered the door. Your heart was crushed at the sight but it didn’t stop the reason you were there.

“Hello, who are you?” She sounded so sweet but she looked confused and you could hear a hint of worry for you in her tone.

“Hello ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you but I’m looking for uh… Jonathan Tick?” You improvised looking down at the book and acted like you were flipping through the files in your brain for this name you knew so well.

“Well, no Tick’s live here but the Wick’s do.” She laughed

Wick’s as in more than one. They were married. It took all your willpower to not leave right then and there.

“Sorry, I knew it was something with Ick…” You faked a nervous laugh. “There’s a very important book I need restored and someone told me he could help.”

You’d heard he was into that business from Emily. A young girl who worked at an antique book shop but she never met him, just answered calls and paged him through to her boss. That’s all you wanted and needed to know. So you grabbed an old book you had lying around and used it as an excuse to talk to him.

She gave you a smile but a questioning look before calling for John. When he showed up to the door his eyes widened and he felt his heart drop to his stomach. Like it was second nature he pushed Helen behind him. You being here could either be very bad or very goo- Well, there would be no good reason for you to be here. If anything could make you feel even more sick it was that action. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

Like you were strangers. Guess ten years would do that to you.

You explained how you found him and why you were at his house— The book. Your ex-lover made an excuse and brought you down to the basement where before he could say anything, you pulled out the marker he gave you. The smile on your face was gone, you looked pissed and all you wanted to do was get out of there. For once you saw him look sick.

“I don’t want this in my box of things, so I need you to do me my favor.”

He took a deep breath, getting ready for whatever outburst could come from you after he uttered the sentence,

“I’m not in the business anymore.”

Those simple words broke your heart more than it already was.

“What?”

John for once looked uncomfortable and out of control. He stepped from one foot to the other and bit his lip. You had never seen him look so nervous and so guilty.

“I retired, for Helen.”

Ah. So Helen was her name.

The tears threaten to fall from your eyes but after all the shit you’ve been through you wouldn’t let them, well you’d try to keep it in. You bit your lip and nodded while praying them away. Once you felt you had it under control, you walked up to him and slammed the marker into his chest.

“You dishonest piece of fucking shit, you have to honor this. Don’t make me drag you back in, except the request and live your life peacefully you dumbass.” You for once were trying to be calm and not explode.

John looked like he was thinking for a bit. Did you not know The High Table put a hit out on you? Worldwide? After such a long time, you stopped being a priority for them. You couldn’t bring him back without bringing yourself back. What was scarier to him was the look in your eyes. It screamed that you didn’t care. Your ex lover almost wanted to ask you what you’d been up to but it wasn’t the time.

He sighed and grabbed the marker from your hand and stared at it. The round object reminded him of so many memories you had together. He’d hear you out. If it was doable he’d honor it but if it was too dangerous he’d decline. Knowing you though, he was scared of what your request was.

“What do you want?”

You wouldn’t even look him in the eye. As you looked around all the work in progress books and finished books that were ready to be returned to their buyers. All the framed photos of him and Helen… The tears almost started streaming. You wanted this life and you so badly wanted to tell him that you had two beautiful daughters who were about ten.

Then you turned to look at him. Your hands were in your pockets and your hood was still up. John was still as handsome as you remembered. Almost even looked as young as you could remember but you saw the age lines that were starting to appear. You whimpered at what you could’ve had but covered it up quickly by telling him the favor you needed.

“I need you to talk to Jimmy, a friend I have, Zuri, she killed her pimp and the police are after her. I need you to make sure they stop.”

“You know Jimmy you could ask him your-“ You cut him off.

“I want this fucking marker gone! I’d appreciate you letting me finish mine but I know you Jardani. You’ll wait till it’s needed. Well not me, we aren’t bound together anymore and I want this completed so you can fully be out of my life.”

Your pants were loud, you were trying to be quiet but there was no doubt Helen heard you yelling. A tear fell, after so long of keeping them in you cried. You wiped at them in a violent manner. John wanted to hug you but he knew he couldn’t. For multiple reasons.

“Please. Please just do this for me.” It came out as a whisper.

After a few moments of silence besides the sound of you sniffling he nodded. He could never say no to you. John couldn’t believe you were even standing in front of him. Ten years it had been. He honestly believed he’d never see you again. The whole moment felt so surreal.

The High Table had put a bounty on your head.

Not too big but big enough to raise the heads of a few.

Nothing ever came of it though, your name was on the list for years before it was just… Gone.

This is why he’d do it for you, he told himself. If you dragged him back in, you’d be killed. Although it had been easier pretending you were dead instead of living your life without him at first, he even believed it once your name was off the board. Deep down he always knew you weren’t. Seeing you was weird. There was no other way to put it.

As soon as he agreed you ran out of the house, you ignored even the questions coming from Helen as you ran. All you wanted was to get back to your girls. They were the only people you could say you ever loved more than John.

You could try and say you never hated Helen, to say you didn’t would be a lie. Against everything you tried to tell yourself it wasn’t her. It was an obvious fact that John had mentioned you in the past, you saw it in her eyes, but did not tell her about the deepness of your love.

Still, you couldn’t help but think, what did she have to make him leave that you didn’t? All the promises he made to you in sixteen years seemed nothing compared to the ones he made to her in five years. You didn’t want to sound like a child but it wasn’t fair.

That’s not to say life was fair to John either, a small, muffled voice yelled to you as you listened to the information your fellow women brought to you. Helen Wick was dead, from an unknown illness. Your heart broke for the woman who died. A loss of a woman was a loss to the INM, no matter the affiliation. The thing you thought about but also told yourself you couldn’t care about was how he was feeling.

That is until Algo informed you John Wick was going on a rampage and that it seemed he had one hour until he was excommunicato. Fourteen million was a lot, and that was a lot you could put towards helping your women. Your daughters, now at twenty were prepared and ready to go after him. After all, you trained them, with the help of your fellow survivors.

Still you told them no. If John had known they were his kids he’d let them chop him up in a heartbeat but since he didn’t even know of their existence they’d be just another enemy, another pair of bodies. You stayed out of it. Your organization didn’t work for the high table, you were just a vigilante organization with the cover of a women's treatment facility, which it was, the fighting and training was just behind the scenes.

To them, Kalika was another woman who just was doing what she thought was right, not the Goddess of destruction, the young girl who once trained beside Jardani Jonovoich. You thought you were safe, you thought your daughters were safe but you knew he had your marker. You’d like to believe he wouldn’t drag you into his mess but the thought scratched at the back of your head and bubbled deep within your stomach.

That feeling in your stomach was right. You don’t know how, but he found you. Well maybe you had a mini idea but you didn't even want to think about that right now. Avoidance; That was common with you. Your daughters were busy helping the workers in the treatment facility as you sat with him in your office. He looked tired but prepared for whatever war he started.

You listened to his whole story. By the end of it you were on your second shot of vodka. That was the bad habit you had, you were a big drinker and this, this was a reason to drink. Immediately you took two more and looked up at him. The buzz was strong but you weren’t drunk. He looked so tired as he let his eyes wander around the room, analyzing all your photographs.

You had two photos on your desk. John recognized the person in one of them, it was of you with Algo, he had met her a couple times. The other one piqued his interest a little more. You were with two girls who were young. He didn't think much of it as you had an abundance of photos all over your office, but this one was on your desk. John felt like he may have been hallucinating, those two girls look a lot like you…

“You fell off a fucking roof and survived?” You gave him an incredulous look.

John looked uncomfortable as he shifted his attention back to you. He shuffled in his seat. He knew you hated him and you were going to hate him even more after this, but he had an idea you already guessed why he was here. He nodded his head yes.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You just stared at him.

“Well good, you deserved it. What brainless fucker would give D’Antonio their marker? Oh wait.” A condescending chuckle left your mouth. “He’s sitting right in front of me.”

He let out an obnoxious and loud sigh. John expected you to be hostile towards him but already?

“Yeah, I get it. I've heard it before.” He snapped at you.

“Let me guess? Winston?” He could tell by the way you bit your bottom lip while grinning you already knew the answer.

Even though you were arguing and not at all happy to see him, it felt unreal that he was talking and sitting across from you, updating you on his life. It had crossed his mind more than enough times, wondering what you would think. While he was hunting down Losef, when he was forced back to kill Gianna, as he was falling off the roof… John should've known it would bring you some kind of satisfaction to see him struggling.

After all, you made it clear you hated him. How could it not be when you hacked into multiple of his bank accounts, sent multiple people after him the first month and a half, sabotaged his contracts and blew up multiple of his luxury cars. Still, it didn't go unnoticed that you left his prized mustang alone. You loved that car almost as much as he did. He shook his head yes.

“Thought so. Now get it over with where’s the marker?” You put your hand out and waited for him to place it in your palm.

Your throat felt tight when you felt the metallic disk hit your skin, the humorous mood you found yourself in seconds before, gone. You knew this day would come. You knew it, you knew it, you knew it. In the past you loved looking at your markers. You had them displayed in your old apartment. A scream almost escaped your throat but still it. What you couldn’t help were the tears that started to stream down your cheeks. This wasn’t a sad cry though, it was an angry one. The alcohol wasn’t helping either.

You stood up and without even thinking just began to destroy everything in your office. Your computer went flying, the curtains were ripped down, pictures, all the glass Knick Knacks were thrown and shattered. John tried to dodge the flying objects you whipped at him all while calling your name.

Your shoulders and chest heaved as you gained your breath back. The tears still poured as you picked up the somehow unharmed vodka bottle and just started to chug. John tried to stop you but you finished it before he could. There wasn’t much in it anyways, most of it had spilt all over the floor during your rampage.

Next you tried to shatter the bottle over his head, which you achieved but it wasn’t that easy as you swung it in a blind rage at him. Glass went flying everywhere as he cradled his head and yelled your name.

“Can we please just talk!”

“I don’t want to talk to you!” You screamed.

Sensing his moment of weakness you lunged at him and wrestled him to the ground. In a way you felt a little guilty, this was much easier since you knew he could never have fully recovered from falling off that roof. Against all odds though he was able to flip you over and hold you down with his legs and his arms.

You still flailed everywhere screaming your head off. The feeling of being held down sent you to places you didn’t want to go, especially if it was by a man. You head butted him, getting him to let you escape his grip. Like a scared animal you crawled to the other side of the room, not caring about the glass shards that were embedded in your hands. Then John heard the most heart wrenching sob of his life. You were hyperventilating.

“Don’t touch me! I hate you! All I asked was for you to talk to a friend. Now you come here, to my own sanctuary asking me to help you because you fucked up.” Coughs wrecked your body.

“All because you were sad your wife and her puppy died. Yeah well John, I’ve been pretty fucking sad too and I didn’t go and kill almost the entire Russian mafia and get excommunicato!”

John watched you from where he still sat on the floor, his nose bleeding. He loved Helen, he did but he could never have that connection like he had with you. The two of you were partners, you both grew up in the Roma Ruska together. You were together for sixteen years. Now he watched you have a panic attack on the floor, and it was all because of him.

You staggered up and held your bloodied hands in front of you. John heard you groan as the blood started to drip down your arms. The cuts were deep. Damn you were going to be in a world of hurt later, your body just wasn’t what it used to be. Only sniffles left you as you started towards the door, forgetting about him on the floor. You needed to see your daughters.

“I have to go see Kat and Darya..” Your mind was moving a mile a minute.

“Are they the doctors here?” John questioned while looking at the photo of you with the two young girls that now laid on the ground next to him.

That must be them.

A deranged laugh left your mouth as you turned and looked at him.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you that you have two twenty year old daughters. Twins.” You talked about your daughters in a soft tone while his eyes shot to the photo once more, this time wider.

Before he could even respond you walked right out the door.0

#john wick fanfic #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you

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fear-the-hippo · 7 months

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So My Hubris Got The Better Of Me

It’s getting Cold outside, so the other day I brought my succulents in so they could be happy and not perish.

Now, I had been aware that they had An Inhabitant for some time, as I’d seen the smallish orb web this inhabitant had constructed between the flower stalk of my aloe and the deck rail, but didn’t know where they were when I went to do this. I’d seen an absolute speck of a spider on them at one point, but it had been a while and they were nowhere to be seen as I was detaching their web from it (sorry, friend), so I’d assumed they were elsewhere, presumably either the deck rail or the outdoor chaise lounge which also had anchor points connected to it.

I was wrong.

The SECOND I set the pot down on a table inside, they show up. I guess the vibrations dislodged them from hiding in a flower or whatever the hell they were doing, because they kind of fall down and swing over onto the underside of a fake plant on the table nearby.

I did not know this friend even existed. The teeny speck I’d known about had been brown and stereotypically shaped. This friend was a cat-faced spider (Araneus gemmoides). Still a small one, but definitely Different. About the size of a tack head.

‘Okay,’ I thought to myself, ‘I’ve picked up jumping spiders, I’m mostly chill when things end up on me now, and this friend is tiny. I’ll just pick them up and carry them outside. No big deal. I’m not nearly as scared of spiders as I used to be.’

……So uh. The reason spiders freak me out has to do with a combination of how fast they are and how erratic they are/ how their legs move when they run around. I don’t love centipedes for the same reason.

Jumping spiders don’t do this. Jumping spiders just kinda teleport.

Cat-faced spiders, however….

The second I scoop this tiny friend up, they spazz out. Which. Fair. Me too, dude.

This immediately makes me Freak The Hell Out. So now, for a brief second, both me and the spider are panicking. The spider wants off this ride and is behaving accordingly. I just kind of freeze up while my heartbeat goes crazy at the feeling of 8 little legs skitter-skittering across my hands.

Spider finally finds the edge of my hand and Mission Impossible-s herself down onto the table. Cool. I remember how to breathe.

Spider is still freaking out. I can’t leave because I don’t want to lose them, but need something else to carry them out on because…. Well. Yeah. Hands don’t work so great, apparently.

So I’m like. Herding this poor spider around the tabletop and yelling at my mom to get paper + a cup, she’s downstairs doing laundry and apparently finds the concept of a cup deeply confusing even once she comes upstairs, and eventually just like. Gives up on me and hands me a Costco pamphlet.

Which. Only solves half the problem, technically, but. Whatever.

Spider runs onto the pamphlet and I carry them outside, occasionally switching hands to avoid a Repeat Incident, and deposit them on the railing.

And proceed to just. Die laughing. Partly because my stress/adrenaline crash response is to laugh and also because this whole scenario is so stupid on so many levels.

So yeah that happened.

TL:DR overestimated my ability to pick up a spider. Here’s a pic of the perpetrator (below the cut)

#invertebrates #Arthropods #arachnids #spiders #cat-faced spider #Araneus gemmoides #tw arachnophobia #tw spiders #Storytime

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whatavery · 4 days

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Albani's Suits (Commission)

Here's a commission I wrote for @/GoodVibesJonah on Twitter, a piece featuring his newer OC Giovanni Romano reflecting upon his life and the events that led him to where he is in life.

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Turning the sign in the door over as he closed up his shop was one of the biggest reliefs Giovanni experienced daily. Not so much because it meant that his work day was over, but rather because it ensured he'd be left alone for the time being. Springtime meant that more customers were likely to show up, wanting new clothes for the outdoor season to come. Indeed, he'd already had plenty to do these past few weeks. The beginning of each season usually brought him far more business, though in his case summer tended to be the busiest season.

Giovanni Romano occupied a comparatively small, albeit lucrative niche in the market, being a maker of fine Italian suits. He was ill-equipped to dress people warmly during winter time, but whether for work or for pleasure, he knew how to make people look good. His tailor shop was dimly lit for the time being. The dark floorboards faintly reflected the glow of the electronic lights hanging from the ceiling as Giovanni made his way across to the mannequin that held his latest unfinished commission. He wheeled the disembodied torso out of the way till it stood by the desk nearby where a sketch with measurements was placed. He’d finish tomorrow, hopefully.

Making his way to the counter where he conducted his business, the immense, Italian Savannah Cat settled down. He placed his hands upon the smooth, wooden counter and sighed. He had seen a decent amount of business over the last week, and as he counted his money one more time, he grimaced. He knew that most of his patronage wasn't organically and naturally drawn to his shop, but rather funneled towards him by an external force.

Giovanni snorted. “Che palle, che palle…”

Thinking about those accursed flower-wearing patrons made him slightly sick. He'd dealt with them for years now, and although the rather reliable flow of money was nice, Giovanni would be lying if he said he enjoyed dealing with his patrons’ employers. Granted, he did live this lie fairly often, given how often they came by. Although he tried his best to keep Marigold at a distance, even while directly interacting with them, he still found himself being pulled back towards them over and over.

He knew what they did, although he liked to pretend like he didn’t. Giovanni's mind felt more on ease whenever he told himself that they were just a group of gentlemen who took to wearing the same garish, loud, orange pin that clashed with everything he made them. He hated that pin, partially for that reason. He had yet to make a suit for a patron that wasn't ruined by the inclusion of that horrid flower. At least in his eyes.

But for as much as Giovanni hated Marigold and what they did, he knew he didn’t have any moral high ground. His hands had been soaked in blood long before he even came to America. Hell, if those Marigold people like Mr. Sweet knew the full extent of it, odds were they would have tried far harder to recruit him into their fold. They would surely have far more to hold over his head to keep him in line at least.

Those bastards.

While people like Giovanni were scraping by, those fat cats were comfortably sitting in that big, ugly hotel. Angrily locking the money away in the register, Giovanni gave up on counting. He slammed it shut and turned away, closing his eyes. A trail of blood – or rather fire – had followed Giovanni all the way from Italy and across the sea.

Even as a boy, he had experienced death and destruction. Reaching into the pocket of his vest, Giovanni pulled out a coin. It was but a measly 20 centesimo – small change in Italy, virtually worthless in America. And yet Giovanni had held onto it for decades now. It was some of the first money he'd made for himself when he was just an apprentice back in Italy. And unlikely as it seemed, making that decision for himself had set him on the trajectory that would lead him to America.

A flutter of wings sounded, coming closer and closer to Giovanni. He wasn't alarmed, however. Archimedes landed on his right shoulder and Giovanni looked over as he ran his thumb over the small copper-nickel coin in his hand. The raven had fluttered down from the rafters where he spent most of his time, out of sight of patrons who often found the sight of a live raven alarming. Giovanni held up the coin for his small companion to inspect. Leaning his head to the left to watch as the iridescent, black bird try to nip at the coin with his thick beak, before giving an affectionate nip to Giovanni's finger instead.

Turning the coin over in his hand, Giovanni only remembered all too well why he had clung to it. The tailor market had been surprisingly fierce and competitive where he had his start so many years ago. Not only was it apparently commonplace for tailors to antagonize one another when speaking to their patrons, but more nefarious practices were also being committed. Giovanni had seen both his master and his competitors at it; he’d seen it escalating from what could be considered malicious pranks, to straight up vandalism. And that was the point of escalation that had led to the fire.

It had been the last thing he’d experienced in the tailor shop where he was being taught. Though his master was as fiercely competitive and capable of sabotage as the perpetrator, Giovanni was almost certain that the outcome wasn't intended. But he'd avenged his master at the ripe age of seventeen and taken over the business. Even now, his store Albani Suits bore the surname of his deceased master.

Giovanni clutched the coin in his fist so hard that it hurt, the rounded edge digging into his palm, at least as much as it could. He swore under his breath. In hindsight Giovanni doubted that the tailor responsible had set the fires with his own hands, but he’d still taken to punishing him for what he had done. It was the first life he had taken. Although he still felt many conflicting emotions over what he did, he didn’t regret leaving the man in the Italian countryside, feeding him to the corvids that haunted the open fields.

And from there, Giovanni had let the cycle of sabotage continue, taking to burning down several other tailor shops with little to no remorse. He always let them make the first move, before responding with a fiery retaliation.

But you could only burn down so many buildings before it started to lead back to the single tailor shop that remained unscathed. Though the market was far less aggressive there, it had been the same in New York too as Giovanni had left a trail of fires in his wake.

And now he was here.

There had been no competitors in St. Louis that had warranted Giovanni to burn them down, but even so… his arrival had been met with suspicion and accusations, namely from Marigold. Even now, he wanted to spit on the floor as he remembered the day he’d been brought to the hotel that he likewise wished to burn to the ground.

Holding up his free hand, Giovanni watched as Archimedes took a small jump and landed on his index finger, gripping it firmly with his feet. After putting his coin away at long last, Giovanni stroked along those smooth, black feathers. Even in the dim light of the shop, they had that unmistakably bluish glow when the light caught them just right. He had always liked that; he even tried to mimic it with the materials he used for black suits, but no fabric he knew of could properly capture a raven’s natural iridescence.

Giovanni set the large bird back on his shoulder as he checked the front door again, making sure it was locked, before he turned the lights off. Making his way upstairs, he brought Archimedes with him. The bird was his only company most of the time – at least the only company he tolerated. Though many old tales spoke ill of these birds, Giovanni felt a strange kinship with Archimedes. He wasn't just a pet.

Even now, looking at this raven he'd raised from an abandoned chick to adulthood, he was reminded of what he had done in his 45 yeas of living. That was what his feathered companion was – a living reminder of what he’d been through and of how cruel the world could be, even reflected in this beautiful, black avian’s eyes. He was also a reminder of the beautiful things in life.

Giovanni's living quarters weren't much to speak of, though he was perfectly pleased with them. He didn’t want to buy expensive furniture or appliances; he still lived as though any one of his nonexistent competitors could light his shop on fire at any time.

Moving to a window, he slid it open and allowed the cool evening air to pour inside. Archimedes ruffled his feathers a bit before hopping onto the windowsill. He glanced up at Giovanni, as if asking for permission. He simply stroked the bird’s chin and neck, which seemed to be good enough as the raven took flight through the window.

Giovanni knew he'd be back. He never flew far away and often times took to sitting on the signs of buildings in the surrounding area. The Savannah Cat left the window open for the bird, as he set about making food for himself. Though the Italian population in St. Louis wasn't as big as in New York, Giovanni was still glad he could find food that reminded him of home, even if home itself wouldn’t welcome him back. He’d carved out a life for himself here, and that was more than enough, even if it meant he had to deal with a band of people as bad as himself. He supposed this was his comeuppance, and whether he liked it or not, he felt as though he deserved to live with it – and with himself.

#lackadaisy #lackadaisy fanfiction #lackadaisy oc

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