#in that case I’d have other peers and adults in charge of me

[disappearingcigarette]

I should figure out why self aware people piss me off

[longitudinalwaveme]

Arkham Files: The Flash (Wally West)

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Wallace “Wally” West, also known as the Flash. Session One. So, Mr. West, how are you? 

Wally: Let’s go over the situation I’m in, shall we? My wife and I visit your creepy, Gothic asylum-perfectly legally, by the way- to make sure that Bruce Wayne is okay, and you get us arrested on bogus charges of trespassing. Then you pull strings to get me stuck in Arkham Asylum while I’m awaiting trial, and now you’re trying to have me declared legally insane so that you can lock me up in here for good. How the heck do you THINK I’m feeling? 

Hugo Strange: Your hostility is unnecessary, Mr. West. I am trying to help you. 

Wally: If this is your definition of ‘helping’ me, I’d hate to see what you do to people you want to hurt. Seriously, did you go to the Zoom Academy of Making Things “Beeetttteerrrr”? 

Hugo Strange: I am nothing like Mr. Zolomon, Mr. West. 

Wally: I’ll say you’re not. Hunter...he’s sick. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. But you? What’s your excuse? 

Hugo Strange: I do not need an excuse, Mr. West. You may not realize it yet, but you-and all the other costumed vigilantes-are doing more harm than good. 

Wally: What do you mean, more harm than good? I’ve had my powers since I was ten years old, and since then I’ve done my best to hold to the promise that I made to Uncle Barry: to use my speed only to help those in need, to combat evil-and never for my own personal gain. I haven’t been perfect at it-I’m not as selfless as Uncle Barry, and I’ve got quite a temper-but I’ve tried. I’ve really, really tried. 

Hugo Strange: Let’s talk about your Uncle Barry, shall we, Mr. West? 

Wally: Why? So you can twist my words and use them to make him out to be some sort of misguided lunatic? Not gonna happen. 

Hugo Strange: Mr. West, I assure you I bear no ill will towards Mr. Allen. Obviously, you bear a great deal of affection for him. I simply wish to know why that is. 

Wally: Because he’s a hero! He’s brave and loyal and honest and kind and good. He cares about everybody. He uses his powers to protect the weak and help the poor and defend the helpless. He became friends with Albert Desmond when nobody else would’ve given him a chance and got him his job at S.T.A.R. Labs, and he’s tried to help Mick Rory get the treatment he needs for his pyromania, too. He’s raised billions of dollars for charities, and he’s helped to save the world more times than I can count. (Pause) And he does all that while also working for justice as a police scientist! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. West, the exploits of Mr. Allen are well-known. I was asking you why you, in particular, are so fond of him. 

Wally: Well, he did marry my favorite aunt. (Pause) More importantly, though...as a kid, I really needed a hero, and he….he was my hero. My parents barely knew I was alive, except when I did something that inconvenienced them. When that happened, my dad would call me names or hit me, and my mom would wail and cry and guilt-trip….and then they’d go right back to obsessing over their own problems or arguing with each other. I...I felt like I was all alone, except for Aunt Iris. She was the one person in my family who really seemed interested in me, and she also had this awesome job as a reporter in a big city. She was really cool, but because I lived two hours away from her, I didn’t get to see her very much. (Pause) When Uncle Barry first became the Flash, I didn’t know who he was...but I idolized him. I was his biggest fan! I was even the President of the Blue Valley Flash Fan Club. (Pause, laughs) President and only member. The other kids thought he was cool, but they weren’t as invested in him as I was. To me, he represented freedom. 

Hugo Strange: It sounds as though you were a rather lonely little boy, Mr. West. 

Wally: Yeah, I guess I was. (Pause) That’s why I was so excited when my folks sent me to live with Aunt Iris in Central City during the summer when I was ten. And that’s when I first met Uncle Barry. Like I said, I didn’t know he was the Flash yet, so at first I thought he was...well, honestly? Kind of a dweeb. But then he told me that he knew the Flash and could introduce me to him. I was so excited, I probably could’ve inhaled an entire shoe. Anyway, Uncle Barry used his super speed to change into the Flash and act like he’d been waiting for me to arrive, and that’s when I met the Flash. He was everything I’d dreamed he would be. Even though I had been a little bit of a brat to him as Barry Allen, he treated me with respect; like he was happy to meet me and have me around, and it put me over the moon. Eventually, he started to explain how he’d gotten his powers, and that’s when it happened: lightning struck twice. I was doused in the same chemicals he’d gotten his super speed from, and I gained access to the speed force. It was the best day of my entire life. Besides the day I married Linda, of course. I became his sidekick, and from that point on, he was like a second father to me. He laughed at my stupid jokes, got me ice cream, took me on field trips, played games with me….all the things I dreamed of having my dad do with me. Eventually, he told me his secret identity. It was shortly before he and Aunt Iris got married, and I was ecstatic to learn that my favorite aunt was going to marry my hero. I was the ring bearer at their wedding, and from that point on, Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris basically raised me. They helped me through my parents’ divorce. Uncle Barry taught me how to balance a checkbook and apply for college scholarships; Aunt Iris helped me get my driver’s license and taught me how to really notice when other people were in need. (Pause) If it hadn’t been for them, I...I don’t know what would’ve happened to me. Maybe I’d be one of Captain Cold’s strays right now. 

Hugo Strange: Mr. West, let me posit a question to you. If your uncle loved you so much, why did he put you in a costume and allow you to fight dangerous criminals? You became the so-called Kid Flash at ten years old, and by the time you were eleven, you had already faced the Weather Wizard, Captain Cold, and the first Mirror Master-to say nothing of your garden-variety gangsters and thugs. Surely, a responsible adult would have ensured that you stayed far away from such violence...and yet Mr. Allen seemed to almost thrust you towards it. 

Wally: (Annoyed) Thrust me toward it? Are you kidding? If Uncle Barry hadn’t allowed me to be his sidekick, I’d have struck out and done superhero work on my own. I wanted to be just like him, remember? If anything, I thrust him into letting me fight criminals. (Pause) Besides, it wasn’t like he was just letting some random kid fight crime. I had super speed, remember? The chances of my getting shot were virtually nil. And the Rogues have a thing about not hurting kids. I wasn’t in any particular danger, especially not with Uncle Barry watching out for me. 

Hugo Strange: Mr. West, you obviously are unaware of this, but your uncle is a very sick man. 

Wally: Have you been listening to anything I said? Uncle Barry is the best man in the world. If that makes him crazy...well, I don’t want to be sane! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. West, I understand that this is difficult for you, but you must face reality. Your uncle was a very eccentric, very lonely man. He had few friends; most of his life was absorbed in his work. He always wanted to be someone special, but he knew that slow, lazy Barry Allen was no one important. Like you, he idolized a superhero-in his case, the Mystery Man known as Jay Garrick, and, like you, he wished that he, like his hero, was special. When his metahuman powers were activated by the lightning strike, his mind, already fragile from years of being mocked and looked down upon by his peers, shattered. He decided to use his powers to emulate the hero he had read about and idolized as a child, so that he could finally be special. Eventually, his antics drew the attention of other, even more damaged individuals, thereby indirectly inspiring the debut of all the costumed oddities that both you and your uncle spend so much time playing cops and robbers with. And then he met you. Another lonely little boy who wanted to be special. When you got your powers, he saw a chance to expand his fantasy world; recklessly endangering you. He may have been deluded enough to call you a sidekick, but what you really were was a child soldier. No wonder your life was sent into such a tailspin when he was temporarily lost in the speed force five years ago. Without him around to help maintain the fantasy that he had indoctrinated you into, you were lost, and the only solution you could think of was to take up the role that he had once filled. You are not a hero, Mr. West. You are a sad, deluded child; just as your uncle is a sad, deluded man. But I will see that you get the help you need. 

Wally: (Furious) That’s a load of bunk, and you know it! I don’t know what your game is, Dr. Strange, but you’re not going to get away with dragging my uncle’s name through the mud! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. West, your loyalty to your uncle is misguided. He is a dangerous vigilante, one who took advantage of your innocence and loneliness to turn you into yet another costumed freak. What he did to you was wrong, and it is my duty to make sure that you, and the rest of the world, realizes that fact. 

Wally: (Very loudly) Don’t you talk about Uncle Barry that way, you filthy liar! (Stands up rapidly; knocks over the chair he was sitting in) 

Hugo Strange: Mr. West, I would advise you to refrain from such open displays of hostility. Otherwise, I will have to recommend that your children not be allowed to visit you, for the sake of their own mental health. 

Wally: And how do you think it affected their mental health to have their parents locked up on phony charges, huh? 

Hugo Strange: Neither of you were fit guardians for them, Mr. West. I understand that having them separated from you was upsetting, but it is for their own good. You and your wife obviously love them, but you are too ill to properly care for them, and your wife was only enabling your behavior. It was simply not a safe environment for the children, so they have been removed from your home until such time as you have been cured and can properly care for them. Two generations of costumed vigilantes is quite….(Hugo Strange is frozen solid) 

Capt. Cold: And he’s got the nerve to call us crazy. Really, accusin’ you an’ your missus of being bad parents? I seen how you dote on those kids, West. Only a nutjob could think you were unsafe for ‘em. 

Wally: Captain Cold? 

Capt. Cold: The one and only. You ready to bust outta this joint, kid? 

Wally: Are you seriously asking me to help you escape prison? 

Capt. Cold: Sam got Lisa and all the guys out already, and I’ve pretty much already escaped, kid. Just figured I’d be nice and get you outta here, too-before the Doc decides to give you a lobotomy. (Freezes and breaks Wally’s metahuman power dampener) Besides, Central City is furious over what happened to you and your missus. They ain’t exactly gonna expedite you back here. 

Wally: All right...but as soon as Iron Heights gets rebuilt, I’m taking all of you Rogues straight back there. 

Capt. Cold: I wouldn’t have it any other way. (Pause) C’mon, kid. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.

[prose-for-hire]

Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows everywhere

Pairing: Spike x reader

Request: Bodyswap anon here! I appreciate you offering but you dont owe me one. Although I did have an idea that was an AU where reader runs a bakery and Spike runs an auto repair shop. I love the "grump is soft for the sunshine one" trope and just wanna see a slow burn of badboi Spike fawning over the shortie wearing bright colors that comes in with a flat tire during a downpour who isnt afraid of him in the slightest. If you like it, go for it! I just love cliches and tropes lol

Requested by: Anon - hope this is okay love 💖

You walked slowly into the seemingly deserted auto-repair shop. It smelled of oil and damp and you wondered if it was even still open for business. There were thick cobwebs in almost every corner and the lighting was only on where it was absolutely necessary. You looked around, blissfully uncaring of how badly things could go if the wrong sort of person worked there. You smiled around the place, your presence a ray of sunshine in the otherwise dull surroundings.

You had your brightest outfit on, dulled only by the flour you always managed to get everywhere on you throughout the day. You owned and almost solely ran a bakery not far from this shop. You stopped in the middle of the garage, looking around and not announcing yourself in case it startled the man bending over and tightening… or was that untightening something on an old looking car.

He paused his job, looking over at you. He took one look at you and rolled his eyes, turning away from you and pretending to be very busy. He had a pretty bad reputation around town, but everyone still went to his shop because he was good at his job.

You cleared your throat softly, maybe he just hadn’t seen you. You had a flat tire and it was late. The dark started to consume you slowly before he turned fully and stalked towards you.

 “You look lost” he said, closing the distance and looking you up and down menacingly as if you were unwelcome. Which, you were. He didn’t like being interrupted. He didn’t like people coming into his shop uninvited. He scowled, something that usually kept people away. But apparently, not you.

“No, I know where I am! I just need some help – I’ve got a flat” You said, a pleasant smile on your face as if you were oblivious to his threatening stance. He sighed, rubbing his hands on an old rag before gesturing at you to show him to your car. You basically skipped away and he followed behind.

 He just grunted when you got there, stepping around you and taking a look at the tire, which was undoubtedly flat. Like, pancake flat. You weren’t even sure how it had happened.

“Yeah, that’s a flat” he stated, looking up at you as if to ask what you expected him to do about it.

“Would you be able to fix it?” You smiled and he peered at you confused as to why you weren’t at least avoiding his eye contact out of fear or respect. 

“Yeah” he scoffed, rolling his eyes at such a stupid question.

“Oh great, that would be really nice!” You gushed, “You’re so kind, thank you!”

 He leaned over and you couldn’t help watch as he expertly changed the tire for you. You sat, trying to make conversation but he didn’t reply to anything that you said. Eventually, he finished up and you thanked him profusely.

“You’re really good at your job” You smiled, complimenting him softly. He looked taken aback, not entirely sure if you were actually making fun of him or not. He just grunted slightly in response so you decided to ask, “How much?”

“350. Flat rate” he shrugged after thinking a moment. You really were too sweet for your own good – in a way he decided to take advantage of. You were a fully grown adult, you knew the usual rate. You weren’t naïve, you were just incredibly kind.

“For one tire?!”

“Take it or leave it” He said, although he had already changed the tire for you so realistically you would have to pay it.

“Pastries!” “If you cut the act and charge me the proper rate you can have as many pastries as you like from my bakery when you come in as a thank you”

 “You own a bakery? Who are we kidding - of course you bloody do” He muttered, raising an eyebrow, “Ok, usual rate... and free pastry for the rest of my life”

“Rest of the month” you entertained his bargain.

“Year”

“You drive a hard bargain, sir!” You exclaimed, before grinning in a way that his expression definitely wasn’t matching, “I’ll see you soon!” you called, jumping into your car and speeding away with him staring after you.

Later that week, he took you up on your deal. You were behind the counter as he sauntered in, “Welcome to Angel Cake’s! It’s nice to see you again – this is my knight in shining armour from the other night!” you dropped your voice and explained to your employee. The young girl who came in on a Saturday to help out looked Spike up and down and raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t liked the sound of him – you were too friendly. Saw the good in people when from what you had explained, there didn’t seem to be any there. Spike had tried to take advantage of you.

“Right, yeah. Spike. Name’s Spike”

“I’m y/n!” You smiled, “Hey, your name doesn’t suit you much – you’re kinder than your name suggests!”

“I think the name’s about right” your co-worker Nina cut in, the younger girl not known for her tact. Spike scowled at her and turned back to you.

“I’m here for my pastry” he stated. No further niceties and no eye contact. He would insist he was trying to avoid being blinded by your colourful choice in outfit for today. You nodded and started busying yourself, choosing him one that you hoped he would enjoy. You put one in a bag and passed it over.

Your hands brushed against each other as you passed him the to-go bag. You shivered and he pulled away too quickly. He snatched the bag up and turned on his heel, stalking out of the door without so much as another word. He came back every two days or so to claim his pastry, sometimes lingering slightly but never saying anything more than which baked goods he would like.

The next two weeks went quickly and it had been really busy in your store. You noticed you hadn’t seen Spike so often – so you decided to do something about it.

“Bugger off – we’re closed” he growled, his back turned away from the door but he could hear footsteps entering. Your footsteps.

“Hey!” You called and he paused when he heard your voice. As if this would have been the only exception to his statement. That is, if he cared. Obviously.

“What do you want? I got business to be doing here, haven’t you got a rainbow you could be skipping over”

“Oh, I was just bringing you something – freshly prepared today! Uh, and you always seem so lonely working here so I thought maybe I could keep you company”

“I don’t get lonely. I like it this way” He insisted. This was a lie. He did feel lonely, some nights desperately so. He looked up at you and you gave him a small smile, a nod of understanding as you were ready to turn away. He thought about your nature slowly as you turned away. You didn’t put on an act, you genuinely felt for him. Cared to ask or swing by. So he made a decision. He opened his mouth before you left and said, “Uh, you can leave those” pointing at the box of donuts you had brought that you had lovingly prepared only moments before you drove over to his shop. He didn’t want you to stay, at least he wouldn’t admit it anyway. You nodded, placing them down and waving an enthusiastic goodbye. Pleased that he had at least taken your treats.

It was now a month later. He was working in his shop and he couldn’t stop thinking about you. His mind always turning back to you. Every waking thought, and the occasional dream too. He tried to shake himself out of it and continue working on a car.

But he couldn’t focus. He decided to have a break. He had been in several times for pastries since your first meeting, some he even paid for himself. He sat down, wiping his hands down his overalls. He grabbed at the pastry and started to bite into it.

He closed his eyes - it was just so good. It was sweet. Like you. Like heaven in his mouth. Your baking. He found himself filling his thoughts with you, often subconsciously but more recently it has been on purpose.

What were you doing? Did you ever think of him the way he thought of you? What would the bread of the day be today?

His eyes snapped open. It finally dawned on him. How he felt for you. He had been soft on you for a while now, he had just been fighting it – and for what? Oh, right. Because he couldn’t face the crippling rejection. Especially not from you. He had isolated himself on purpose after all, too used to the denial of his affections. To people in his past treating him as if he wasn’t worthy of love.

Still, he understood it now. He got it. He liked you – really liked you. And there was nothing he could do to fight it. He wanted to spend time with you. Your soft and kind nature became sweeter to him than the baked goods he loved so much. He didn’t want to be stuck, hiding in the dark anymore. He wanted to be surrounded by light. By your softness. Your bright, cheery smile. The array of dazzling colours that he had started to enjoy gazing upon the sunny tones. He decided he would have to do something about the way he felt.

So, he did. He tried at least. He stood outside having what must have been his second pack of cigarettes in the last hour. He was stood awkwardly outside your bakery chain smoking to gain enough courage to enter. Until, that is, the door opened and you popped your head out.

“Hey! Spike! Nina said you’ve been hovering by the door, trying to decide whether to come in or not for the last hour… are you okay?”

“That bitch-” he muttered under his breath, “Been worse, love. Um, h-how are you?”

“Oh I’m good thank you! I have some freshly baked bread I’d really love you to try! Come in!” You called, tugging at his sleeve slightly. His questioning you was new. He never usually asked. It excited you, but you knew better than to make a fuss over it. You wanted him comfortable after all.

He sat, eating the bread and telling you how good it was. He was almost gushing over your granary loaf and you couldn’t help but beam at him. He explained that it was by far the best bread he had ever eaten.

“Would you- did you want to-” big overexaggerated sigh with his entire body before carrying on, “Are you doing anything in your break?”

“I am now – would you like to go on a walk with me?” You asked.

You walked around the block, happily talking and encouraging him to chip in when he wanted to. You loved hearing from him. However, the heavens had opened and the rain had started to pour. You hadn’t expected this and weren’t dressed for the weather. You managed to hold a conversation and he proved himself correct with every step he took with you. He was falling for you.

“You’re, uh, shivering, love” he noted as he walked in-step beside you.

“I’m a little cold – rain can do that to you I suppose!” You grinned and he frowned ever so lightly. You said words but your mood never appeared to dip. It was as if you were his own personal sunshine, no matter what the outside world threw at you both.

He shrugged his jacket off and offered it to you, nodding his confirmation that he meant it. You smiled wide, not thinking and instead swooping in to hug him. An action that almost knocked him from his feet.

He just stood there. Still, not sure what to do. He found himself really enjoying your embrace, but he didn’t move his hands from his side. He wanted to, but he was embarrassed. What if you felt him hug back and laughed?

“Oops – sorry!” You realised you had been a little too enthusiastic with your hug. Some people don’t like hugs, you reprimanded yourself for a second, before looking back at Spike and beaming, “You want to help me bake this afternoon? Nina’s handling the front” as you shrugged his jacket around your shoulders.

“I, uh, should get back…” He offered, but his expression appeared to be in deep thought. He was conflicted. He really enjoyed your company, it appeared. But he would never agree to an afternoon of baking. He had insulted people for suggesting way less.

“Come on! You might enjoy it!” You couldn’t help but press. You really did want him there.

“Fine. But don’t be expecting it to become a regular thing… I’m just helpin’ you out seeing as you keep bangin’ on about it” he muttered, but secretly he was absolutely thrilled. He couldn’t help glancing at you every moment he felt he could get away with it as you both rounded the corner.

At the bakery, Nina rolled her eyes and scowled at Spike who stuck his two fingers up at her when your back was turned.

You started off reading the recipe, weighing up large quantities as you had a lot to bake. Spike took it surprisingly seriously. He hadn’t realised how much work went into making some of the items you sold. He would never take your pastries for granted again. He actually said this to you out loud, promising you. It made you giggle.

“I always struggle with this part” you say softly, trying to mix the large bowl of cake batter.

“Should I-?” He offered starting to roll up his sleeves and offering to take the duty over for you.

“Maybe we could try it together?” You smiled and he just nodded – in the name of helping you mix it better. Of course he would share the responsibility with you. You trusted him with it and standing that close to you would be a gift.

Usually, you might use an electric mixer. But you wanted to take it all back to basics. And perhaps, allow yourself to become a little closer with Spike. You both had a grip on the long wooden spoon and started to stir it together. He was stood behind you, but close enough for you to feel his presence. You both shared a small smile, without realising it as you watched the mixture become silky smooth.

You stumbled, not used to sharing a workspace and tipped the flour down what happened to be Spike’s front. You managed to pour flour down the front of the apron he had been wearing.

“I’m so sorry!” You said, trying to bite back a giggle.

“You’re going to be” He raised an eyebrow and took a handful of flour and threw it at you – making you squeal. This quickly descended into a flour fight that you decided had to be a draw as you were both covered. You were both laughing and you paused, savouring his smile. It was a real, genuine smile and it made you swoon.

You shared prolonged eye contact, holding your gaze through the flour that was still in the atmosphere around you. You shared another small smile before getting back to your respective tasks.

Eventually, you finished up and started to clear away as the cakes were now baking in the oven, “No way!” Nina exclaimed from the doorway. She was trying to hide her snort of laughter as she came to ask how long the next batch would take and she saw Spike crouching in front of the oven willing the cupcakes to rise through listing off a string of threats. Apparently, threatening them into it whilst he was wearing a baby pink cooking apron. You were crouched beside him, the oven gloves on in anticipation.

“Bugger off, short stack!”

“Nina, there’s a customer waiting” You said softly, giving her a look that said please let us have this. You had taken a shine to Spike. You were nice, but never this understanding with someone. You saw that he wanted to trust and share a connection. You hoped, with you. He just needed a little encouragement. Someone that cared without conditions.

When the cupcakes were finished, as you both sat eating the warm treats straight from the oven Spike had gone quiet. You were starting to worry, but your mood lightened once more when he spoke through a mouthful of cake, “Do you like spending time with me, pet?” he asked, not looking towards you.

“Of course I do!”

“Well then. I think it’s time we teach you how to change your own tire”

“You mean it!?” You cheered, smiling back at him. This was as close to a profession of fondness you would get from him. He had thawed, his temperament softening. But expressing his feelings was still hard. He nodded, offering his hand for you to take. You took it without hesitation and he moved your hand to his lips, kissing once softly. A gesture you would never have expected from him, but it made you melt. You walked towards his shop hand-in-hand, swinging his arm the entire way.

[gemstoneslesbian]

Any backstory hcs? Pls I need it 🥺

Yeah!! 😊 

Okay so--

I believe that he was a child star who grew up with very wealthy parents who are also in the entertainment industry.

✰ He’s very rich, richer than most actors would be, especially actors who are his age & have only recently started to really make it big.

✰ He has a strong air of entitlement and privilege, and is easily dismissive of other people, seeing them as below him.

✰ He got the lead role in a highly popular franchise & has very good media coverage about it-- which is possible for people just starting out, but the more wealthy and privileged someone is (and the more well-known they are), the more connections and power they’ll have, making it more likely for people with his kind of background to land those roles.

✰ I also feel the need to point out his very strong attitude of: I must not fail, I must not be even slightly disliked by anyone I don’t have power over, my reputation matters above all else, the idea of not being successful and in charge and adored isn’t even an option. When we think about a child who was in films from a young age, with the spotlight always on him, growing up in an environment that scolds him much more harshly than most if he’s not Giving A Good Impression, a child who always has to watch himself and build his behaviors around what will make him look Good and Acceptable and Charming and whatever else he needs to be... his intensity and deep-rooted beliefs make sense.

From this starting point, things just kind of revealed themselves to me the more I thought about him and what his history looked like.

Putting this under a read more in case it gets long

tw for mentions of abuse

‎

‎

He was born on March 30, 1996. The reason I chose this date is because:

It makes him older, which allows more time for the whole Celeste-Juan backstory--because I’d like to THINK that at the very least, his manager didn’t date him when he was a minor

It’s during Spring (“refreshing as a spring breeze, dude!”)

March 30 is national “I Am In Control” day

His parents are Aaron and Karen.

He grew up in a mansion even bigger than the one he moved into as an adult.

His parents were frequently gone, and weren’t always around for even major events like his birthday. They had hired help to look after him when they were away, which was sometimes for longer periods of time, since actors sometimes have to temporarily move to another location while movies or shows are being filmed.

He went to a private school for performing arts, the same one his father went to.

It’s a wealthier and more prestigious school, although he still had more wealth than many of his peers

The expectations and competition there were high from a young age

Many of the students there had parents who were in the entertainment industry or were even in the industry themselves; it’s a school that specifically understands and makes accommodations for when students are physically gone for months at a time

Although he didn’t start to get particularly well-known / famous until he was about 17, he played smaller roles in movies and shows pretty much all his life (sometimes with significant gaps in between jobs, since his parents were mostly focused on themselves and it would be easier to let him be a kid at least a little bit).

That’s the quick version of it--child star born to wealthy parents, grew up in a prestigious private performing arts school, moved out on his own when he was 18 into a mansion that his parents bought for him, made it big, fucked himself over and got sent to prison.

There’s a LOT of details I could focus in on, but for the sake of not making my answer too long, I’ll just focus on a few:

‎

‎

His parents

tw for mentions of abuse!

✰ According to Matt, his home life was “normal”, minus the whole part about being a rich actor. He doesn’t view his experiences with his parents as that different than most people, and because of that, he brushes off the idea that it wasn’t a healthy home life. He doesn’t care about his parents, his parents don’t care about him, he (consciously, at least) doesn’t feel bothered by it.

✰ Karen has that stiff, tight-lipped smile kind of vibe. Formal and polite, focused way too much on being proper and Acceptable™. She’s very judgemental, and is quick to scold or “correct” Matt on things-- often in more subtle or underhanded ways. She’s gotten somewhat physical on occasion, in ways Matt would consider “minor” or “common”.

✰ Aaron has a bigger presence. Less stiff and formal, but still definitely places great value on his job and making a good impression on people--just in a more casual and familiar kind of way. He cuts Matt more slack, and may be more likely to tell him how to get away with something as opposed to outright telling him not to do it (though he has plenty of “Do Not Do This” moments as well). He can, however, get more frightening--louder, more intimidating, a scarier kind of anger behind closed doors. Quicker to outright rant and rave about his competitors, quicker to aim his aggression at his wife and child. He’s gotten more physical, though Matt internally downplays that as well-- “it’s not like he [did this or that]”, “he was worse when I was a kid”, “probably no different than what most kids experience”, etc.

✰ When Matt was younger and things were worse, Karen would do her best to protect him or get him somewhere safe when Aaron was at his most dangerous. Because of this, Matt was unknowingly shielded from a good amount.

✰ His father was misogynistic--not in the outright “women belong in the kitchen buh huh huh” way, but through his behaviors and attitudes and double-standards and the ways he spoke about and treated them. Both his parents held a great deal of arrogance and scorn for other people, and have a high amount of entitlement due to their wealth and status.

✰ It’s no secret to Matt that they have underhanded ways of dealing with things, that they sabotage their competitors, and that they can harbor a great deal of scorn and bitterness towards their competitors, especially when things don’t go their way. They don’t bother hiding it from Matt, and his father explicitly helps him get away with things, too. You know that line in the song “Our Word” from 36 Questions that’s “I was told to keep their secrets, and in turn, they’d keep mine”? Yeah.

✰ His parents weren’t very warm and caring. Didn’t bother to really stay in contact with him after he moved out. They celebrated holidays, but not because they wanted to be close as a family-- just because it was a normal thing to do. He didn’t have much of a relationship with his other family, either; mostly he’d just see them on the occasional obligatory family gathering, which honestly wasn’t that frequent. Because of this, he’s never particularly felt a connection to any of his family members, including his parents.

‎

‎

...Since this is so long already, I’ll leave it at that for now LOL but I also have thoughts about his interactions with his peers, his dating life, his behaviors, his work life, etc. But!! That’s some of the basics

[rumbelleshowdown]

Author:  Porcelain Elephants

Prompt:  Like tears in rain.

Group: D

-

First Day Jitters

Bailey Gold was incredibly excited to be starting Kindergarten.  His father was not. Of course, the lack of excitement didn't stop Mr. Gold from waking up early to double-check Bae's choice in clothes or to pack his yellow lunchbox with extra care, adding a short note to remind his son how much he loved him.  But Gold was undoubtedly in a somber mood that didn't match the sunny weather.

"Papa, I'm going to be late," Bae said as he skipped to the Cadillac.

Considering there were forty-five minutes until class started, Gold seriously doubted that they would be late, but Bae was unable to tell time on the grandfather clock in the foyer and much too excited for his own good.

“I promise Bae your first day is going to be perfect.” 

Bae babbled, reciting everything his shop hand Alice had mentioned about school.  Yet Gold wasn't really listening.  Instead he couldn't help but see how everything was changing, and he didn't want it too.   Since Bae was born,  it had been the two of them against the world, with Bae's mother leaving straight from the hospital.   And while the rest of town may see Gold as the evil landlord without a kind word to say, his son was different.  Bae was his entire world,  the sun Gold revolved around, and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do now. 

It is only school, Gold thought to himself,  only a few hours every day.  It shouldn't feel like the end of the world, but it certainly did. 

“And Alice said Miss French reads us a new book every day and even has little songs for us to sing and-“ 

Gold pulled their car to a stop.  “It seems like you have a wonderful day ahead of you.  I wonder if Miss French has something special planned for the first day.”  

Bae scrunched up as his face, his deep thinking contorting his face.  "I think so.  I mean, it's the first day, Papa.  That’s pretty special.”

“You’ll just have to tell me everything later.” Gold said as he unbuckled Bae’s car seat and lifted his son out of the car, holding him close despite the pressure it put on his bum leg.  

Bae gave him a kiss on the cheek.  “I promise Papa.  Absolutely-positively everything.”  

Gold was very aware that they were early, both due to Bae’s excitement and his own need for a long goodbye, but he hadn’t expected the school to be so empty.   The playground was deserted.  A few of the teachers seemed ready with clipboards full of paperwork, but the rest were still chatting amicably.

The two of them had barely been standing there a few moments before a young brunette woman strode forward. 

"Good Morning! Who do we have here?" The women's blue eyes sparkled as she peered intently at Bae.   

Gold squeezed Bae's hand, whose own nerves seemed to have momentarily gotten the better of him, but that little reassurance seemed to be enough.

"I'm Bailey Gold! Today's my first day of Kindergarten!"  

She smiled widely.   "Well, isn't it my lucky day?  I'll be your teacher this year, Bailey.  My name is Miss French."

She bent slightly to extend her hand first to Bae, who shook it tentatively, before shaking Mr. Gold's hand.  Gold was surprised to admit he already liked Miss French, a remarkable feat considering Gold could count the number of people he liked this town on one hand.   But Bae already seemed taken with her, and he liked the way that Miss French went out of her way to make Bae feel important.

"Now Bailey when the bell rings, you'll line up by the basketball hoop with your new classmates," She said pointing and waiting for Bae's solemn little nod to make sure he understood this new task.

"But until then, I have to check in with all the parents, and your Dad has to fill out some adult paperwork."  Miss French made a face on the word adult that made Bae laugh.  "I think now might be a good time to test out the playground equipment if your Dad says it's okay."

“Please Papa?”  

Gold leaned more heavily on his cane so he could kneel next to Bae for one last hug.  "Of course, Bae.  Have fun, and remember I want to know everything."

Bae squeezed his Papa tightly, before dashing off toward the plastic playground. 

“He seems like a good kid.” 

“Aye. Although if you try to teach the class about dinosaurs or pirates, he might try to take over.”

Miss French laughed.  “I’ll be sure to leave the pirate books until next week then to prevent a mutiny.” 

Despite his glum mood, Gold couldn’t help but smile like that.  She had a beautiful laugh. 

"Unfortunately, I do have some paperwork for you.  Most of Bailey's information is already on file. Still, we like to double-check it on the first day, especially the emergency contact and vaccination information."

She handed him one of the clipboards, before leaving to check on the Nolans and their rambunctious daughter.    Gold tried to focus on the forms.  This was supposed to happen; this was just the next step of Bae's childhood.  He shouldn't be mourning the lost hours together in his pawnshop.  School was what his son needed.  Bae was happily running up the steps to the slide, in full view of at least six teachers.  And with a task to do, he should be able to just focus on the paperwork in front of him, but the lines of text seemed to blur.  

The fearsome Mr. Gold wasn't crying. He couldn't be; it had to be just rain.  The fact that there wasn't a cloud in the sky couldn't stop that logic.  He was so caught up on the fact that he couldn’t be crying in front of Storybrooke Elementary that he didn't notice when someone joined him. 

"I wish I could tell you not to worry, Mr. Gold, that everything will be alright, and I'll take good care of Bailey, but I understand that some beginnings are harder than others."  

He could feel the sheer force of her smile despite his stubborn refusal to look up at her, to allow anyone to see the pain lurking inside the lonely man who refused to let the world in.  Her heels were much taller than he would expect of someone in charge of wrangling five-year-olds,  but her bright skirts matched her sunny dispositions. 

His refusal to look at her did little to deter her.  "Most parents cry on the first day.  My own brother wept like a baby when he dropped my niece off, and little Grace has known me her entire life." 

"Isn't that a case for favoritism?" 

Her smile seemed to grow at his response, likely because she had gotten through to him.  "I'll let you in on a secret, Mr. Gold.  Storybrooke is a small town, where everyone knows everyone else's business.  If I could only teach children I had never met or knew nothing about, I’d be out of a job.  But rest assured in my classroom, the only thing that matters is how the children act on the day to day basis." 

Gold sighed. That was good news.  He would hate for Bae to be held accountable for whatever grudge his tenants held against him. 

When her hand touched his shoulder, he realized he said that out loud.   “I’m not going to pretend I haven’t heard the rumors Mr. Gold, but based on what I’ve seen,  you’re certainly not as dark as people say.” 

Her smile seemed so earnest that he felt his heart leap despite the current situation.  “Does it get easier after the first day?” 

Miss French thought for a second.  “I’m not sure watching Bae grow up will ever get easier, but it’ll get easier for you to bring him to school.  You’ll know he’ll laugh and learn and be ready to come home at the end of the day with stories that you’re not sure actually happened.” 

He didn't have much time to think about her answer before the bell rang, and the mass of children began to line up by grade at the edge of the playground.  He thought about it as he re-polished the silverware in his shop and ate his lunch more aggressively than strictly necessary.   And by the time he arrived once again at the school and had Bae wrapped in his arms, Gold thought he understood.

“And Miss French knows EVERYTHING! She taught us a song where we say hello in different languages!” Bae announced, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.  “I can’t sing it yet but one day I’ll know everything too. I really like Miss French”

“I like her too Bae.”  Gold said, despite that being an understatement.  He was looking forward to parent-teacher conferences and the next time he could be alone with Miss French a bit too much.

[duckbeater]

Courtship, pt. 2

Writing about happiness is very difficult and boring. The below are some small attempts I’ve made to write through my happiness. My small, important readership deserves an update, says my brother, whose sensibilities have only rarely steered me catastrophically wrong.

I AM BUYING CHAMPAGNE TO CELEBRATE MY LOVER

Today’s the last day of his job and he’s throwing himself a little party. In September he begins med school and in the next month he’ll put his affairs in order, readying for the big move. I have the sense that tonight begins our diminuendo, despite his staying over last night and spit-fucking me, and I’ll surely stay over tonight, after the many champagne toasts to his prosperous life ahead. 

We’ve started sleeping as two spoons embracing chest to chest, with our faces tucked awkwardly in a neck or an armpit. Of course I wake up gasping, my mouth sucking after a less hot pocket of air, and turn, and enjoy that he pulls me tightly back to him. He’s a heavy sleeper and I’m a light sleeper, and our bedding situation resembles something like a rock in a tumbler with my rolling over and over and over again, arising too early, wildly underslept, shining with sweat, but ecstatic that we’ve touched all night long. I’m attending his celebration in a sleep deficit that I’ve covered with caffeine and a long, soulful run beside the lake. I’ve been thinking about us a lot. 

He wouldn’t call himself my lover, I think, but I’m hoping the expensiveness of the champagne I’m bringing will convince friends in attendance that that’s what we are. I’m hoping my largesse goes noticed and commented on—that it’s interpreted as my being in love with him, and that his peers compel him, by either fretting over my largesse, or pitying me for it, or anyway finding it impressive or amusing or tender or charming—that they tell this young man I’m adoring him and I’m adoring him well. That my adoration seems steadfast and considered. And despite the riskiness of the circumstances (our differences in age, the widening gulf in distance, a sometimes depleting lack of shared cultural references), when we are together I feel comfort and joy. This must be obvious to him without the expensive champagne. I’m always saying it out loud, or anyway variants on the theme of “comfort and joy,” like a seasonal blessing, a profusion of blessings, needing remarked upon. I’m seriously afraid I mother him.

“Let us take in the scene,” I have said before, “let us only observe for the moment my sitting in your lap, your hands on my neck, my constant kisses. What joy!”

He’s done something to my sense of my proportion, and also my prose style. I can’t seem to describe our relationship without slipping into the sardonic, recursive, mildly-institutionalized voice of Robert Walser, a writer I find too cute by half. I’m finding my life too cute by half, I fear. If this is what happiness feels like, I don’t really want much more of it. It’s making me stupid. “People will think that pain has made you stupid,” wrote Walser, a statement that comes back to me when I can’t distinguish between the good times and bad times making me an idiot.

AFTER THE SPIT-FUCKING

We stayed up late talking about what it means to say goodbye to people who don’t know you’ve cared for them. I don’t pretend this conversation had subtext. For the last two years, he’s worked with profoundly disabled people, first as a case worker and then, after the pandemic closed the campus and made that job “nonessential,” as a nursing assistant on the same floor. 

He spent months feeding, changing, bathing and bedding non-ambulatory children and adults. Most cannot speak, a few cannot see, and none can walk, of course. It is a world I’ve rarely thought about—indeed, a world many of us rarely consider, because in its theater of human need are scenes of unremitting hopelessness. It is a languageless suffering and it perdures. I can become very mystified, very shallow-breathed thinking about his care for these souls, however quick he’s been to dissuade me from romanticizing or elevating his ministrations. “One of my verbal residents tells me to fuck myself all the time,” he’s noted. Still, I would point out that birth defects and accidents account for a small percentage of his caseloads’ impairments, and that active neglect and abuse perpetrated intentionally by former guardians (or unwittingly by the American healthcare complex) have hobbled his charges for life. I don’t like hearing stories about choked babies and toddlers left so long in beds their soft bones grow slab-wise, so I’ve asked him, coward that I am, to please skip origins if he’s entering an otherwise benign workaday anecdote.  

His most patient complaint: using his iPhone to FaceTime parents who want to see their son, then listening to one-sided conversations, burbling, giggles, tears, even story-time. His campus closed to all guardians—a devastating precaution. “Don’t send anything xrated today,” he’d text, and I’d know he was hosting a reunion. So I’d keep my clothes on. And he’d answer the phone from an immediately weeping seventy-year-old mother saying, to her forty-year-old son, “Why good evening, Max, good evening. This is your mother. Hi, baby. Hi. I love you. I am your mother. I will always be your mother. I am sorry I cannot touch you, I cannot hold you, I cannot be with you in this time, but you are my Max, and I am your mother. And I love you always. You can hear me and I’m gonna tell you all about my week, okay? And then I’m gonna ask Scotty here how you’ve spent your week, okay?” He said he usually cries on these calls and when I asked why, he said, “Because it seems polite?” And I pressed harder and he said, “Because I get to—I get to connect these people who have missed each other so much, and it’s so sad. They haven’t touched in months. They might not touch this year. My phone sometimes runs out of battery. It’s so weird.”

I’ve asked him whether families are happy to be rid of their incredible dependents and he said that by and large families are miserable to give over members to the institution: that age arbitrates the giving. “A mother and father have a baby at twenty-five. They can care for him well into their fifties—their twenty-five-year-old, their thirty-year-old son. But when these parents enter their sixties? Their seventies? They can’t lift an adult male. They can’t bathe him or change him. Even basic nutrition gets hard. Meal prep is tiring. It’s long. They start to lose track of medications, and they have medications themselves, you know? So the situation gets very difficult and if they want to live, and if they want him to live, they feel like they have to give him up.”

We’re at the point now where intimacy is a given. He doesn’t swallow, but brings me to orgasm, taking me in his mouth and then dribbles it, I guess, my cum, back onto my stomach, apologizing with a flushed red smirk. “I hate that,” he says, “I really hate it.”

“Go ahead, eat it,” I say, joking.

He gives me dark eyes and showily palms the wad into the black pillowcase behind my head.

“Holy Christ!” I yell. “The nerve! The pluck! The audacity!”

There must be a phase in relationships when extracting intimacies—not only of the “terrible things I did in high school”-vein, or the “times I cheated”-vein, or the “unwittingly right wing ideologies I support”-vein—that close couples endeavor. Where you’re always compulsively revelatory, to seem as interesting as you did in early courtship, as erotically forward and emotionally captivating. We’re in that moment and we surprise one another with small tributes as befits that level of affection.

One of the intimacies I proffered is that I’m going through a religious re-awakening, a need for ritual and sacraments. He finds this funny. (I find it embarrassing.) Yet one of his duties has been wheeling charges to his building’s Tuesday Mass, and then helping to administer the Eucharist. I don’t think he in fact touches the host (I don’t think many in his care can safely take of the host; “I’m mostly there in case anyone seizes,” he said), but he did slip a large wafer away for me and now it’s in my apartment, among my candles, possibly growing mold. He asks me when I’m going to eat it and I tell him around Christmas. 

(That was a lie. I’ll eat it when our romance is over, to consecrate the time we had.)

“I eat it,” I say, and he glowers.

I TOLD HIM ABOUT A MYSTERY SURROUNDING MY FAVORITE AUTHOR

Norman Rush. For a decade and better I’ve wondered about the long dedication in Mating, whose last lines read, “...and to the memory of my father, and to my lost child, Liza.” The novel, set in Botswana and borrowing heavily from Rush’s time there as director in the Peace Corps, suggests that perhaps Liza died in Africa or was born still. She goes unmentioned in his Paris Review interview, in subsequent novels, short stories, and reviews. There’s no hint of Liza’s fate. (As I edit this, I recall a phrase in Mortals, the narrator’s idea that “children exposed you to hellmouth, which was the opening of the mouth of hell right in front of you.” Explaining further: “[I]t was the grandmother, the daughter, the granddaughter tumbling through the air, blown out of the airplane by a bomb, the three generations falling and seeing one another fall, down, down, onto the Argolid mountains. With children you created more thin places in the world for hellmouth to break through.” And then, in Subtle Bodies, Rush describes a wayward teen boy, whose angry and aggressive behavior corresponds exactly to Rush’s own troubled teen son. In fact, Subtle Bodies is about the decision to have children at all. Nina follows Ned to a funeral, to fuck him. So, Rush has indeed remarked on children and strife, as he has lived it. Anyhow—) Yet by accident I listened to an old Fresh Air interview where Rush is asked to comment on the aspect of family in his novels, and to clarify that inscription. 

“I have a daughter who is now thirty,” he says, “who was born with diffuse brain atrophy and has been institutionalized for many years. Um. But I think the rest is pretty self-explanatory.”

“What was her condition?” presses his interlocutor.

“She is uh profoundly retarded,” pauses, “and will be so.”

“So you feel she is lost to you?”

“Yes. There is no recognition possible between her and us.”

I reproduced this exchange from notes on my phone. Scotty replied, “I don’t think that’s right, actually. Maybe between her and—who—who was it?”

“Norman Rush and his daughter Liza.”

He said, “Maybe between Liza and her dad—yeah, maybe she was so disabled she couldn’t recognize him. I take care of men like that. But I recognize them.”

We were talking about important books at all (I mean that semi-seriously) because his co-worker had gifted him three works, including a volume of Yeats’ complete poetry.

“Why did Paco give you Yeats?” I asked.

“He thinks I need more poetry,” said Scotty.

(Frankly I have felt and still feel sexual jealousy against Paco, who recently got brilliant red and black knee tattoos of spider webs. Like, Spider-Man spiderwebs, covering both kneecaps. Every few weeks he cooks a large meal for Scotty, and they talk about life until 4 A.M. drunk on bourbon, immobilized by edibles, full and warm and caring, and it makes me mad. It makes me mad, because I can’t really see the point of staying up until the uncomfortable small hours between 2 and 5 unless there is sex involved, but Paco is straight, a father, an excellent chef, a dedicated friend, and so my grousing is a kind of unwarranted possession that baffles me into silence on the matter.)

I didn’t have anything intelligent left to say about Norman Rush. I groped along a narrow thought, however, a thin ledge. “You know—a novelist, especially a novelist as concerned with language and comprehension as Norman Rush, would feel particularly devastated by the condition of his daughter. He would see it as ironic and then as punitive and again as senseless—supporting his comforting regime of a militant atheism.”

Although very sober, I recited the first stanza of The Second Coming, tripping over two lines (but the best lines), saying, “The worst lack all conviction, while the best/Are full of passionate intensity.”

“What?” said Scotty.

“I just—that was Yeats.”

“Who?”

“Go ahead and tell your boy Paco that your hot fuck gave you a teach on William. Butler. Yeats.”

“What?” said Scotty. He grinned at me. He got up and ate a yogurt.

[elisaphoenix13]

Bonds Of Love, Not Blood

Whimpers woke Stephen, but before he could even sit up, he heard shushing and watched through half-lidded eyes as a figure leaned over the crib and picked Valerie up. The baby coos as she's taken out of the master bedroom and the sorcerer relaxes back into the mattress with the knowledge that Tony was taking care of their daughter. He wouldn't mind the extra few minutes. He was on a baby binge for the past couple of weeks, so he was the one mostly caring for Valerie, and while he wasn't about to stop caring for her, he wouldn't mind letting up a bit. So Stephen closes his eyes and drifts off between sleep and awareness, and sighs with content when Tony throws his arm around him and pulls him back against his chest.

Wait...Tony?

Stephen gasps and jolts up into a sitting position, the action throwing his husband's arm off who grumbles in annoyance. If Tony was in bed with him, who took the baby? The sorcerer takes a couple of deep breaths as he tells himself that there were plenty of people that might have come in to take care of Valerie for a little bit, and that she was safe, no matter who it was. When he slipped out of bed and out of the room to check and see who it was, he did not expect what he saw.

Harley had Valerie.

From what Stephen could see, the teenager was soothing his youngest sister as he made her a bottle with one hand, and it brought a smile to his face. Harley could be a menace. He pulled pranks with (or on) Peter, teased his siblings, sometimes purposely shot their resident god with his potato gun...but he loved his family. Sometimes he helped Peter on patrols or with bullies at school, spent time coloring with Diana when Cassie couldn't, and now he was giving his parents a few extra minutes of sleep by taking care of his baby sister. Stephen didn't want to ruin the moment quite yet, so he slipped back into the master bedroom and into bed, and snuggled up to Tony.

"Where was the fire?" Tony asks half asleep.

"No fire. I just thought you had the baby. I went to go see who really had her."

"Did Quill steal Valerie again?"

"No. Harley did." Stephen says with a smile.

Tony blinks as he processes the sorcerer's words. "Harley?"

Stephen hums. "Harley. He's feeding Valerie as we speak."

"These kids continue to surprise me."

Stephen says nothing and curls into his husband's chest, and purrs when Tony throws his arm back over the sorcerer. The couple enjoy their few rare minutes of quiet and no kids, and savor the sound of listening to each breathe. Or to add to Stephen's case, listening to Tony's heartbeat as well. It was only a matter of time before one of the kids woke them up, or even a team member. The last friend to wake them up was Clint, and that was because he was climbing in the vents again. He accidentally fell into the master bedroom and into their bed, rudely waking the couple as well as their infant daughter, and Mama Bear was not pleased. Tony had to punish the archer with clean up duty before Stephen threw him into a hell dimension.

"You smell that?" Tony suddenly asks and Stephen pulls his face away from the engineer's chest just enough to sniff the air.

"Someone's cooking breakfast."

"FRIDAY? Who's in the kitchen?" Tony asks.

"Harley, Boss. He seems to be cooking a variety of food." The AI responds and the parents look at each other before scrambling out of bed.

They leave the bedroom and once again peer over the railing, and indeed find Harley at the stove making bacon, sausage, eggs, and toast. Before they can wonder where their youngest child is, they find the baby dozing in her swing in the living room and Diana watching cartoons on the couch nearby. Peter was nowhere to be seen but that was because he was just leaving his room with a yawn. He blearily looks at his parents before looking down to see who was making breakfast and he gawks.

"Harley can cook?" He whispers incredulously to the two men.

"We're just as surprised." Tony answers and the three of them descend the stairs and into the kitchen.

Harley temporarily looks up from the scrambled eggs in the pan and points in the direction of the living room as he looks back down. "I fed and changed Val. She went back to sleep."

Tony opens and closes his mouth like a fish, and Stephen does them all the favor of asking the oldest child what they've been asking each other.

"Cub...how long have you been able to cook?"

Harley shrugs. "Since before Dad broke into my garage in Tennessee. I had to make my sister food a lot."

"You've been making us cook all this time?" Tony asks.

"It was nice to have a home cooked meal made by my parents."

Well, they couldn't fault him for that. He had been cooking for his sister (and maybe even his mother) for years, and after losing them and coming to live with Tony and them, he wanted to sit back and enjoy a meal he didn't make for once. He wanted to be a kid and that was okay. Him being a kid sometimes drove his parents crazy but that was the whole point. Today, Harley decided to put the child aside for a little while and help out, and Stephen walked over and thanked him by kissing the crown of his head. The boy was an inch shy of him and Tony so that was all he could manage.

"Thank you."

"As soon as I'm finished here, I'm done being mature."

Stephen chuckles. "I expect nothing less."

Tony snags a piece of bacon and munches on it thoughtfully. "What possessed you to do this?"

"You and Mom do so much for us. I figured helping with Valerie for a few minutes so you can get a little more sleep, and making breakfast was the least I could do."

"Thanks kid...really." Tony pats Harley's back as Stephen grabs plates.

Breakfast was thoroughly enjoyed, especially once they didn't need to watch the occupied swing in the living room since Wanda was the first to come up. The witch cooed at the sleeping baby while they finished breakfast, and she picked Valerie up when she finally woke up as Peter started to clean up. Valerie did have her favorite aunts and uncles, and that was based on who held her. The more someone held the baby, the more she warmed up to them. Quill, Scott, Natasha, and Wanda were constants and the others had to fight them for a chance to hold the baby. Not including Tony and Stephen of course.

"Does she have magic too?" Wanda asks as she gently pats Valerie's back and Stephen shakes his head.

"I don't believe so. I didn't notice it before with Diana, but now that Valerie is here, I can sense it. Dia had magic when she was born. Valerie does not. Besides being born from magic, she's a normal baby."

"Finally!" Harley groans out. "Being the only normal kid sucked."

"I gave you a suit kid. Don't complain." Tony remarks.

"I came up early so I could have a chance to hold her. I learned my lesson with Diana...at least the little bit of time we all got to have with her." Wanda states and Peter looks up at her from his homework. 

"Probably a good thing since everyone has to fight a god for Val now"

It wasn't even an exaggeration. Stephen had been right when he said that Quill would be insufferable. The celestial may be occasionally hot-headed, big, and overprotective...but he was a teddy bear when it came to the girls. There were only two adults that didn't have to fight him for the girls and that was Scott and Stephen. It actually made Tony a little annoyed because two of the three girls that Quill protected were hischildren. One would think that Tony would be one of the few that wouldn't have to fight the god for his kids.

"We really need to give those idiots their own." Tony grumbles and Stephen huffs with amusement.

"That wouldn't change a thing. Quill would still hover."

"True." The billionaire admits.

"Boss, you have an incoming call from the NYPD." FRIDAY suddenly says and Tony frowns.

"What do they want?"

"It seems that Mr. Lang has been incarcerated just over an hour ago." She responds and both Tony and Stephen look at each other in confusion.

"What the hell?" Tony goes upstairs to grab his phone and talks to the officer on the line for a few minutes before hanging up. "Stealing? I'm calling bullshit. FRI, find out where Scott was arrested and send me any video feed you can find."

"Yes Boss."

Stephen walks into the bedroom as Tony gets dressed. "What happened?"

"They said he was caught stealing."

"Scott has no reason to do that. He and Quill aren't hurting for money, and even if they were, they would ask us for help. Not to mention he wouldn't risk going back to jail."

"Exactly. I'm calling bullshit and FRIDAY is looking into surveillance right now." Tony pulls on a jacket, and kisses Stephen. "I'll be right back."

Tony leaves the bedroom and then the tower, and Stephen walks back down to the living room to retrieve Valerie from Wanda when she starts to fuss again. She just needed another diaper change and feeding, but stayed with Stephen since she was content in his arms. Wanda moved on to playing with Diana as the boys did their homework for Monday, and a little over an hour later, Tony returned with Scott in tow. The younger looked a little upset as he went into the kitchen to get some juice, and Tony sits on the couch next to Stephen with an annoyed grunt.

"Well?" The sorcerer asks softly.

"Someone planted merchandise into his sweater. The charges were dropped once I showed video evidence, but he's not feeling great about it." 

"Well I have a secret weapon to help him feel better." Stephen says and gets up to join Scott in the kitchen, finding the ex-thief lazily drinking a Capri Sun and staring off into the distance. "Scott."

"...sorry for causing trouble." The younger mumbles.

"You didn't. We don't blame you. Now here."

Stephen pulls Valerie away from his shoulder and holds her out to Scott, and the ex-con takes the infant who coos at the sight of her uncle. Like the sorcerer hoped, it had Scott smiling as he held her to his own shoulder and finished his juice.

"Enjoy it while you can before your husband gets home." Stephen warns and Scott snorts.

"I'd like to see him try to take her away."

"Scott...all he has to do is bring out the galaxy eyes and you'll hand her over."

Scott pouts. "Tony just has to speak Italian."

"I am not having this argument." Stephen huffs and walks back to the living room where the boys have moved on to playing video games after finishing their homework.

Scott had Valerie for all of twenty minutes before Quill got back, and the man immediately went over to his husband to pull him into a hug. The baby on the shorter man's shoulder squeaks at the sudden pressure of the hug and Tony rolls his eyes when Quill demands Scott for the baby. Even though they could hear them tussling in the kitchen, neither Tony nor Stephen were worried. Scott and Quill wouldn't let the baby get hurt, especially the god. He would put himself in harm's way to protect Scott and the girls.

"Was Uncle Scott like this when I was a baby?" Diana asks.

"Sort of. Except he had to fight Aunt Natasha instead of Uncle Quill." Tony answers.

"Because Uncle Quill wasn't here?"

"Exactly."

"HA!" Quill shouts in triumph from the kitchen.

"Stephen gave her to me!" Scott argues and the sorcerer sighs.

"I think I made a mistake." He mutters and Tony laughs.

[zedecksiew]

d100 Adventure Beginnings

Feeling anxious, indoors because of the Covid-19 quarantine, I adapted an idea from Khairani Barokka and asked Twitter to give me emojis.

I’d turn these emoji into oddities, instigations, opening to adventure.

Guess I wanted to travel? In my head, far afield. It took the weekend, but it made me happy. There were many, many typos, but I visited a hundred different microcosms, with a hundred different persons.

Original thread begins HERE; tweets in the thread were tagged / attributed.

+

d100 ADVENTURE BEGINNINGS

1. 🥐 The sandwich comes to you via delivery. You unwrap the foil as the quadrotor buzzes away. There's something in your sandwich, between tempe patties -an oil-stained slip of card. "Come alone," it says. There is a street address. ~

2. [Photograph of a vine tendril] Watering the garden, you see your morning glory stir.

Its tendrils uncoil. Its vines unclench, recede. Knot in on themselves, twine into thin limbs.

They let go of your fence. They have a face. Flower eyes: two purple trumpet blossoms. They offer a hand to shake.

~

3. [Italian flag] Morning ritual: put coffee on, wash face, check phone. Twitter takes a half-hour.

You smell burning. Coffee! Your moka pot is now sooty, long past hissing. A man stands next to it, made of steam.

"Salve," the steam ghost says, tipping his steam cap.

~

4.  🕯️ A warm night. The air is still. The candle flickers in your partner's face. She is checking her wallet. Slips it in her pocket as the candle dies.

"Ah!" she says, in darkness. "So over this power cut."

Time to get more candles.

~

5.  🔧 This is a *great* spot to get a flat: Lonely road, no streetlights, trees knitting their branches overhead. You shiver. You hate that you shiver. You're an adult. You make noise to assert this. The jack clunks on the ground. "Darling?" somebody whispers.

~

6. 🦚 "Make way for Lady Lerna!" cries the page, swinging his censer. Behind him a dozen men bear a gilded litter.

Laughter. Ringed fingers part the curtains. A powdered dowager wearing a cartwheel ruff of peacock eyes peers out. She holds her nose.

You hate her.

~

7. 🐷 Suckling pig. Its split-jaw-ed head faces you. You have never been more aware of an animal corpse.

Goldteeth Liu sips his cognac and asks: "Hey boy, why you not eating? My food not good enough for you is it?

"You feel sweat on your chest, where the wire is.

~

8. 👻 An ordinary corridor. Sconces, faded wallpaper, a painting.

"Behind the painting," a voice says.

A button behind the painting. Press it. The wall goes click. A crack appears.

"Now can I go?"

You unspool your spell, and the spirit leaves for her afterlife.

~

9. 🎲 The dice land. "Nine! Woo!" She moves her token, counting every space with a smack.

"What's with you?" they ask her.

"What you mean?" she giggles. She never did know how to play it cool. But she doesn't have to. Under the table, she puts her feet in your lap.

~

10. 🦷 When you took this assignment, they gave you two false molars:

The one in your right cheek is a transmitter -- a signal for Ops to start the evacuation; The one in your left is a cyanide pill, in case of capture.

Or was it the other way around?

Shit.

~

11. 🐉 From heaven a serpentine form, golden and gleaming. Growling like thunder ground out of the earth.

Descending, approaching --

But getting no bigger? Is it shrinking?

It is in front of you, now. It is as big as your forearm -- no, your finger.

"Bite me," it squeaks.

~

12. 🍞 The curfew has gone on for months. You have survived through food shortages, power cuts, rumours of civil unrest.

But now you are in trouble. Now, you enter your second trimester. Now, you crave.

Gardenia white bread.

You will brave cordons to get it.

~

13. 🧎‍♀️ You are hurrying to your car when somebody calls: "Girl? Girl!"

The voice comes from a red altar under a tree, past the kerb. From a songkok-ed uncle, as tall as your calves.

"Got food ah girl?" the roadside god says. "Two weeks already uncle hasn't eaten."

~ 

14. 👀 Someone has been pasting googly eyes on your stuff:

Your mailbox in the lobby; The telephone pole in front of your parking spot; The flower pot on the balcony.

Creepy. "It's not me!" your housemate says.

This morning, you find googly eyes on your forehead.

~

15. 🔐 The padlock on your front door is broken.

The door swings open onto an empty living room. On the floor: rectangles of dust, where your shelves and cabinets once stood.

As well as a shred of newsprint. "Take this, Mat!" it says.

Your name's not Mat.

~ 

16. 🎟️ Pa played the lottery on his birthday. Always with the same numbers: 1406, 2902. Ma's birthday. Yours.

Pa died last week. Yesterday was his birthday. You bought his numbers from the ticket counter.

Today you check the results: "First jackpot: 1406 2902."

~

17. 🦖 Dusting Dr Khoo's shelves, you accidentally knock over a novelty Tyrannosaurus piggy bank.

It shatters on the parquet floor.

There are ceramic shards, change -- and a passport with Dr Khoo's photo. Under a different name. In Cyrillic script.

Uh oh. 

~

18. 🍳 Eggs in your cast-iron pan -- the last three eggs you have.

Ina: "What are we going to do for protein, now?"

Gan: "We can search the shophouses in town. Or hope to catch a lizard?"

Ina makes a face. You shrug. With your cast-iron pan, you can cook anything.

~

19. 👻 Knock before you enter a hotel room for the first time. Say: "I'm coming in, okay?" Let its other occupants vacate.

But:You bustled in, dropped the card in its holder, threw your suitcase in the closet, dumped yourself on the bed.

So, now:

Don't look up. 

~

20. 🙆‍♀️ From you balcony, you watch your neighbour in the community playground. She is a dancer. She plays music on portable speakers. She practices pirouettes.

You wish you could work up the courage to talk to her.

She looks up, sees you watching, and waves.

~

21. 🗝️ "The key will open any lock," the goblin said.

The key feels heavy in your hand. Plain and iron. But when you bring it near the queen's jewellery box it shifts: turns silver and intricate.

A skeleton key!

"The key only works once," the goblin said.

~

22. 🎥 You don't like the protesters. So naive. And look at how they've spray-painted the street! Anarchists.

The cops charge with riot shields. They are beating protesters --

What are you doing?

You are recording this on your phone.

A cop points his baton at you.

~

23. 🥳 On your birthday you are surprised at the door. Balloons, food, music to dance to. A party! Laughing, you thank you friends.

"Thank Brian!"

"Brian?" you ask.

"Your cousin Brian?" they say. They point. He smiles and waves back. You don't recognise him.

~

24. 🤦‍♀️ Your headache gets worse. On day three your vision blurs; you collapse in your bathroom.

You wake to familiar voice: "Hey."

It is your voice. "Don't panic," your doppelganger says. "You're okay." She dried you off, put you in bed. She will not harm you.

~

25. 🍳 You tried to steal from the Pasha. He is magnanimous, and decided not to behead you. Instead, you will serve him.

You will journey into the wastes. You will brave the fire. You will acquire the Phoenix's egg. The Pasha is a gourmand. He wishes to eat it.

~ 

26. 🐙 "Finding the Perihelion Squid is not a problem," your captain says. "It glows in the water."

Sunset. A ray catches your captain's arm and belly, throwing the sucker-shaped burn marks there into textured relief.

"The problem is fighting it," your captain says.

~

27. 🚦 You stop at the lights. You look at your phone.

Somebody bonks your side-view mirror. "Oi!" you say -- but more people are rushing past. The drivers of the cars in front of you. What are they running from?

Across the intersection, a stampede of water buffalo.

~

28. ™️ "Breath Easy," the billboard says. A beach panorama, with a white family in the foreground: father, mother, daughter -- all three in pastel shirts. Eyes shut, chins up, smiling.

"VitaOX, premium bottled air," the billboard says. "A Sinochem-McDonald's company."

~

29. 🦥 The Colossal Ground Sloth is a geographic enormity.

See that hill, blocking our view of the rising sun? That's not a hill. That's a sloth. It sits, seemingly smiling, covered in trees. When it shudders the birds take flight.

Look: it opens its lake-like eyes.

~

30. 🗽 When the Statue vanishes, America freaks. Who's to blame? Terrorists? SJWs?

Then it turns out the Statue is also missing from all visual media: T-shirts, postcards, patriotic paraphernalia.

The White House settles on its favourite scapegoat -- China.

~

31. 🧩 The map to the Treasure of Sagely Fu is borne on the back of the Divine Tortoise:

Its scutes represent the 38 provinces of the Empire. Its coloration represents the hills and valleys. When Sagely Fu fought the Tortoise, he kicked a chip-mark into its shell.

~

32. 💙 The Heart Of Ice is a crystalline fortress, so high above the sea that the sky is twilight and the air freezes you solid.

There rules the Queen, a goddess of pure and alien elements. If you can make Her shed a tear she will grant you your heart's desire.

~

33. 🌼 The pontianak is a monster -- born when a pregnant woman dies, wronged.

Seeking vengeance, she hunts men. She takes the form of a comely woman. One of her signs is the fragrance of frangipani blossoms.

"Hey," says the bar hostess. She smells of night flowers.

~

34. 🦊 "My foxies," the witch says. "My vulpies."

In her hut are bones, bones, bones. Piled in a bucket. Mounted on display stands. Sniffing your ankle -- fox skeletons, moving as they did in life.

"Can you do cats?" you ask, nodding to the bundle in your arms.

~

35. 🥾 The search parties assemble quietly. A trekker is lost on the mountain. Nobody is happy.

"I told him," one of the guides whisper. "I told him. Don't take anything, I said. You don't know whose things you're taking. But I saw him slip a stone into his pocket."

~ 

36. 🐬 The pool is still. Park management turns this fountain off at 10pm.

You like walking here, at night. You like the granite dolphins, mid-jump, frozen in time. You toss a coin into the fountain for luck. Clink.

There is a splash. A flash of motion. A fin.

~ 

37. 📚 In the book you find a letter, in delicate cursive:

"Dear Emily, Bought this book for your birthday. Which is also Valentine's Day. I will never be able to tell you that I love you. So I will never give this book to you. Sara."

Sara is your mother's name.

~

38. 🌲 A postcard of evergreens. A landscape you've only seen in photos.

You stash it in a notebook, stuff that in your bag.

"Over here," Michelle says. She grins, shimmies out of a space between leaning shelves. A box of double-A batteries. Meaning: jackpot.

~

39. 🥡 You bike to the pick-up.

It's a commissary in the middle of an industrial park. The guy at the counter says nothing. Just looks you up and down. He licks his lips.

"What's in this?" you ask, pointing at the takeaway pack.

"Meat," he says. He licks his lips.

~

40. 🎏 The airships of Vo Langka are fish-shaped.

Carp and arowana are most common -- but advances in aeronautics have made wing-form (ie: stingray-like) aircraft possible.

You are a pilot. Today you will test the first ever flying machine made in imitation of a bird.

~

41. 🐗 The boar charges your golf cart. The caddy veers onto the green.

Gunshots!

Your bodyguards down the beast. It came from the forest behind the golf course -- the one you've earmarked for clearing.

It's not the only forest creature that wants to murder you. 

~

42. ♻️ Your body slides into the furnace.

Your husband will pick through the ash and bones. Tomorrow he'll take a boat, sail a kilometre out, empty your urn in the sea.

The day after, silver pomfrets will school in a person's shape, and you will see the ocean.

~

43. ✨ It's a clear night. "Honey?" you call. "Come see!"

She whines -- you are tearing her from her work, she says. You insist. You point up.

Orion and the Dipper, the soft shine of the sickle moon.

"Wanna go for a walk?" you ask. She slips her arm into yours.

~

44. ✒️ The auto-pen you own is old. Picks up too much background chatter. The newer pens have noise-cancelling wards.

See? You've stopped dictating, but the pen is still writing:

"NO AH NO IT MOTHER PLEASE IT HURTS MAKE IT STOP"

Hell's not a good muse.

~ 

45. 🌌 The transitcraft trembles as it descends on its pillar of plasma.

"Sorry you didn't make it," the pilot says. "Cosmofleet is not for everyone." He's trying to be kind. This does not help.

He leaves you on the pad. Here you are, with packed bags, back home.

~

46. 🤫 The librarian drags you under the counter, pale with terror.

You hear the tread of the logovore. The meaning-eater. Books impaled on its spines -- leeched of their ink, their substance, going see-through, disappearing.

It does that to humans, too.

~

47. 🍥 You spit the fish cake out. From surprise, really. Because it is candy.

A confection of flour, sugar, pink food colouring, floating next to beef slices, on the oily surface of the noodles you ordered.

The kitchen makes you a new bowl. The chef is baffled.

~

48. 🛰️ Satellites no longer obey us.

Meteorology reverts to fortune-telling. Intelligence becomes earth-bound. Defense satellites play games of laser tag.

Broadcasting ends -- well, not really. When you turn on your TV it tells you: CALL YOUR MOTHER SHE MISSES YOU.

~

49. 🌿 Where you buried your cat, something is already growing:

A fresh stem of basil, putting out its mild scent; its green, convex leaves.You pluck a leaf, put it in your mouth. Your cat jumps into your lap. You feel her scrape your finger with her tongue. 

~

50. 🐸 The Weed Toad sprouts spiky fur filled with chlorophyll. Basically: it's a frog with grass on its back. It can be a pest.

When you step into your garden something squeaks.The toad jumps away, incensed. Its siblings hop off, too. Your whole lawn, leaving you. 

~

51. 👾 Pixel Goblins are voxeloids, walking about in waking life. Refugees from a reality whose servers shut down two years ago.

They eat electricity. They line the sidewalk. "Hungry," the Pixel Goblin says. She looks at your phone, hopeful.

You have 11% battery left. 

~

52. ✴️ "I am chaos!" the boy shrieks. "A conduit of magick!"

You can hear that hard "k" from here. Baldie in an Invisibles tee and factory-distressed jeans, thinks he knows magic? Please.

Then he pisses on your headstone. Which is rude. So you possess him.

~

53. 👣 Footprints, made with oil. They cut across the driveway, onto the grass, leaving rainbow sludge on some clovers. They turn the corner of your house.

You turn the corner, too.

In front of you, the prints have stopped, side by side. Their toes now face you.

~

54. 🐷 In the middle of his emergency pandemic address, during a live broadcast, on national television --

The Prime Minister oinks.

He blinks. Clears his throat, looks at the teleprompter -- and oink-oink-oinks.

The PM's eyes blink tears. Then the broadcast cuts out. 

~

55. 🌙 Can we trust the moon?

See its phases -- the way it goes from a bright circle, wanes into a crescent, shuts completely, then opens again, waxing half into full --

Like a creature blinking: slowly, ever so slowly.

The moon has not looked directly at us. Yet. 

~

56. 🌺 You tuck a hibiscus in her hair. "It's pretty!" you say, before she reacts. "Plus it's patriotic."

She rolls her eyes.

Day after the party she wants to meet you. That makes you happy. She's not happy. The flower's driven a root into flesh, behind her ear.

~

57. 🍜 This bowl of noodles, made from soup powder, desiccated ramen, the last remaining tomato in the fridge, one overcooked egg -- 

It's the most delicious thing you've ever tasted.

This shouldn't be possible. You cry. You'll never have anything this good again.

~

58. 🥦 "This," Mother says. "This needs to be half-size."

You know this moment. The kitchen was never your thing. You made an excuse and left to play videogames in your room. Two days later Mother died. Car accident.

This time you stay. You cut the floret in two. 

~

59. 🌵 The Blood Prickle's blossom is prized by cities that border the Pebble Sea. Dried, smoked, its fume delivers accurate prophecies.

The Blood Prickle only blossoms when watered by the viscera of living creatures. You lead your herd of sheep into the desert.

~

60. 🕸️ The bungalow is covered in gossamer, like a suitcase shrink-wrapped at the airport. Shreds stick to you, glue.

"Go away!" the bungalow's owner says. You see her eight eyes peer at you from a window.

"Babe, please," you say.

"Stop stalking me!" she shouts. 

~

61. 🐼 The ghost bear waddles across the plaza and through a wall.

They felled a forest to build this strip mall. But they did not exorcise its ghost. Ghost vines hang from the ceiling. Ghost trees fill changing rooms. In the car park a ghost brook babbles, incoherently.

~

62. 🕯️ You blow out the candle. "Happy birthday!"

Your friends have grey hair. Others dance to Kelly's playlist. Something in your brain snaps -- you do not know how old you are.

There is only one candle on the cake. It tells you: you are however old you want to be. 

~

63. 🍥 At the bottom of an empty paint bucket in your backyard shed, you discover a giant millipede, dark red, curled into a spiral.

You name her Millie. Obviously.

You boyfriend is disgusted. Slightly jealous of the attention you allot her. He was always insecure.

~

64. 🍡 The city is a shadow. Office towers in shards. Hypermalls with their skybridges broken. Collapsed nightclubs.

In the midst of all this, on an overgrown street, incongruously -- the smell of boiling soup. Fry-oil. Fish balls. A lok lok truck, greasy and pristine.

~

65. ✨ The light in her eyes die when you tell her to leave.

You lose your job at the production house. Once again, you are a freelancer. Interviewers pooh-pooh your portfolio.

You will learn how to draw again. Your muse was a crutch. You must do this on your own.

~

66. 🔮 Everything is as kitschy as you expect. Fake-velvet curtains and tablecloth. A set of tarot cards from Etsy. Even a crystal ball!

But when the fortune-teller looks up and sees you, she says: "No no, out."

What?

"You. No. Get out," she says, afraid. 

~

67. 🥵 Ten laps in the pool. Then you pant to the sauna.

Stones sizzle as you open the door. Somebody is here, already. You take the opposite bench. He has an athlete's thighs. Sweat on his obliques make them look oiled.

He looks you up and down. Smirks. Judges.

~

68. 🗨️ In the kitchen Khan grunts. Khan being Khan, you think.

Sylvia comes in. She makes an oinking sound.

He grunts. She oinks again. Hoot-hoot. He hisses in reply. It appears to be a conversation.

Sylvia sees you staring. Waves a hand in your face, asks: "Moo?" 

~

69. 👹 "They are going to hate me," she says, frowning around her tusks."

They are going to love you," you say.

In her nervousness she walks up to the microphone, no intro, just launches right into it. Her poem is electric. She is electric. And she is yours.

~

70. ⚛️ Guards, gyrocopter patrols -- Coilhaus Atomworks’s compound is well-protected. Which is as you expected.

You didn't expect the hex-wards in the inner compound. When you set foot on the manager's balcony, the teak floor shrieks: INTRUDER INTRUDER INTRUDER HERE! 

~

71. 🌂 The Bum Under The Overpass jumps out. You yelp.

"Flee, peasant!" he growls. He reeks. He has a bin lid for a buckler, a brolly for a sword. "I shall shield ye against yon creature!"

You peer into the dark under the overpass -- and notice the hulking shadow there.

~

72. 💀 The captain wears a cutesy plastic skull on a silver chain. You don't think it fits with her camo grease, her fatigues.

"My daughter made this," she says.

You nod. You miss your son, too. All this -- the pay you earn, burning villages -- you do for your children. 

~

73. 🦧 "Orangutan Kong". Some sort of gangster moniker?

No. Kong is actually an orangutan. He escaped from the Zoo, and started working in Goldtooth Tat's crew. As comic relief. Everybody who laughed at him is dead now.

If you want to work for him you should know. 

~

74. 🧠 The robot ploughs through Market Street. Tiles scatter like confetti; cars are stomped flat. Pressure in your ears -- a thunder clap! The police van up the road explodes.

"There!" your partner shouts, pointing. A brain in a glowing jar, in the robot's belly. 

~

75. 💈 You grew up here.The broom, the hair -- the chairs, Naugahyde over industrial frames. The mirrors, angled slightly, either side leading into infinity. The sink where Uncle Kuppu rinsed his razors and shaving brush.

Uncle Kuppu's gone. This place is yours, now. 

~

76. ⚗️ The alchemist stumbles backwards, knocks over a beaker.

"My formula," he whispers. "You're an assassin from the Bankers’ Guild? You can't have me turning lead to gold."

You shake your head. "No. I work with the Silversmiths' Guild. I'm here to protect you." 

~

77. 🔭 It is the fourth victim he has brought home.

They are always young, with tattoos. He restrains them, strangles them by the neck on the floor of his bathroom.

You watch, through your telescope. You should report him. But you like to watch them struggle. 

~

78. ⛩️ The way to Grand Andropolis is lined with 417 red gates -- each one for a glorious victory the Imperial Legions have won over lesser races.

Gate 412 marks the time they slaughtered your parents. You touch it, and swear quietly: you will burn Grand Andropolis. 

~

79. 🌻 The men at the big table drink beer, munch kuaci, laugh.

A woman with sunglasses arrives. The restaurant people tell her: "Kitchen closed already. Drinks?"

Just kuaci, she says.

She watches the men. When she bites the seeds open, you see long canines.

~

80. 🤖 You've never considered yourself technosexual. You thought robots cold. Then you met MARY-K8.

Her bright crystal optic sensors. Her omni-articulated limbs. Her way with words:

"HEY HUMAN USER," she synthesises. "HEART-UNIT NOT FOUND. PERHAPS YOU HAVE IT?"

~ 

81. 🦖 "The job is a museum," your master sighs. "Museum's are the worst."

You ask him why.

"We are exorcists, dumb-dumb! You know how many things the damn spirit can hide in? Can throw at us?"

When you master sees the T-rex skeleton in the atrium, he sighs again. 

~

82. 🎍 Treaties signed between the Yun Empress and the Princes of Elemental Wood have resulted in the Type-4 Rhizomic Footsoldier --

A stiff, lanky construct; needing only sun and soil; grown in vast groves; with souls of bamboo and therefore without mercy ...

~

83. 🧜‍♀️ Each year, the mer send an emissary to bargain with the dry world.

The tide swells, then withdraws just as quick, leaving a carriage of driftwood and flowering coral --

"Dammit!" a voice says. Rattling, from within. "Door's stuck!" A sigh. "Some help, please?" 

~

84. 🧠 "You're always going on about life hacks. So here," Mark says.

His gift is a book. "Telekinesis In 100 Days", its title says.

Mark smirks. "Enjoy!"

You'll show the bastard! It's just day 13. Already you can toss 50-cent coins with a lift of your eyebrow. 

~

85. 📯 The footmen blow their horns. The herald crows: "The Tyrant and Lady van Sur!"

They descend the stairs. The man frail, tubes stuck up his nose; the woman in silk, her wig so heavy it is held up by grav-suspensors --

One push of your remote, and the suspensors fail.

~

86. 🥶 You jolt awake. Ice is pressed to your ankle -- no, chilled skin. A toenail. Feet.

"Jesus. Your feet."

His apology is a snorted murmur. He curls further, pressing into the heat of your belly. His hair tussled, smelling of lavender.

What's his name? Can you remember?

~

87. 🚪 The heavy door is shut. Padlocked. Your lock sprite shakes her head. "Mechanism's rusted solid."

Your spell-dwarf grumbles. "Lead brackets, see? Shock hex won't work."

"Lemme try," your slip-spirit squeaks. Flattens itself, slips under.

Doesn't came back. 

~

88. 🌵 The Saguaro Sea is a vast tangle of sole-cutting rock, thorny brush, towering cacti broad as hillforts.

Here is found the Weeping Roc -- whose cry is a woman wailing; who steals children to feed its blind, featherless chicks.Children like your six-year-old. 

~

89. 💃 Flamenco star Magritte Tanaka's talent is such that people say it is more than just grace and training.

They say she made a bargain. When she dances a devil helps her; plays her like a puppet on strings.

Truth is he forces her. She never wanted to dance.

~

90. 🎸 You stole the keytar of synth legend Razzak Luminem from the Museum of Sidereal Art last month.

Tonight you host its auction. Many have shown up: demon worshipers; glamrock stars; violist perverts; members of the Critics' Cartel -- troublemakers.

Watch yourself. 

~

91. 🙆‍♀️ To fear the sky falling is silly --

Except in Fading Dassho, whose most dilapidated districts sit twilit under an obsolete stellar shield, its support struts increasingly ancient and tottery. A shutter collapsed, just last week -- shattering six thousand souls. 

~

92. 🤖 We sent unmanned drones through the Hell-portal; we assumed exposure to Ultimate Evil would be bad for the human psyche.

All moot, it turned out. Because drones are robots -- and, you know, that cliche about robots turning bad, turning KILL ALL HUMANS?

Well. 

~

93. 🏚️ A manor-turned-hotel, on a cliff, with a history of homicide? TrueCrimeFest 2018's organisers could not resist.

Three days of signings, panels, cosplay -- and a podcaster found garroted in her room.

Horrible! Horrible. (But, really: Best. TrueCrimeFest. Ever.) 

~

94. 🤪 The Rictus Worm causes paralysis. Distorts the muscles of the face.

Your eyes pop, your tongue hangs lolling. You speak drool and sputters. You try the chirurgeon. He thinks you are fooling. Kicks you out.

The Rictus Worm is rare. You feel it in your nape.

~

95. 🌌 One by one the stars disappear. Without their light -- were they ever there?Constellations vanish, nebulae fade. The moon hangs alone in the night sky.

Only our sun and its huddling planets remain. An isolated, solipsistic, self-obsessed apocalypse. 

~

96. 🤗 She welcomes you with open arms. "Happy you're home, Ah Boy," she says, kissing you, Tears on her cheek transferring to yours.

She is your mother; she calls you Ah Boy. Return appropriate amounts of affection. Your mission depends on how well you fool this woman. 

~

97. 🅱️ The mark is made in red ink. The letter "B". Not so bad, outsiders might think --but yours is an euphemistic society.

This is the Competency Test, through which all citizens are streamed. An "A" means you get to stay above-ground. A "B" sends you Below. 

~

98. 🎡 Anna gets into the pod before you. The ferris wheel begins to turn.

Travelling carnivals! Holdovers from a previous world, now surmounted by app-stores. You don't get the appeal. It's not even ironic --

High up, in the pod, Anna kisses you.

Now you get it. 

~

99. ☄️ You still remember your wonder --

A bright blue star, trailing a bright line, bisecting the sky. Staring at it would spoil your eyes, they said.

In your cockpit, as the countdown begins, you think: now you will be a bright blue star. There will be a young girl on the ground, watching.

~ 

100. 🥑 When you halve the avocado you don't find a seed. You find a tiny baby.

It is curled up foetal. It is the colour of mahogany. It fusses slightly -- then starts into a full-blown caterwaul; big droplets of blood well from where your rough knifework has nicked it.

+++

[cath-with-a-c]

Nothing and Everything, 5/7

In which the decision is made

Wordcount: ~2800

TW: implied/referenced homophobia, implied sexual relationship between consenting teenagers

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

2003

Robert huffed, blowing a stray lock of hair away from his eyes and squinted at the car's underbelly. He was trying to fix the suspension for over an hour now, with no luck. Not everyone could be Tony freaking Stark. That was an unforgivable oversight on the universe’s part.

Well, at least he didn’t have to work outside in the sun - the barn was relatively cool.

There was a slight pop somewhere high above and Robert rolled his eyes, focusing on the suspension once again. After a few moments, the faint clatter of the car’s spares scattered around told him that the intruder had reached the ground level.

"This place has a door, you know," Robert called out, grinning.

"Yes, and it's out in the open. Wouldn’t want anyone knowing I’m here," Desmond countered, peering under the car. "May I…" he dropped on his back and slid under the car in one smooth motion, layin himself alongside Robert. "...slither in?“

Rob facepalmed, probably smearing his face with grease and machine oil. "You are taking this Harry Potter shit way too seriously," he accused, half-heartedly.

They've rediscovered the series thanks to Sam and Penny, and Penny, with all her seven-year-old might, had assigned them all houses, picking Hufflepuff for herself, Ravenclaw for Sam and Gryffindor for Rob, because" he looks like a knight, and knights are brave, so there", which left Slytherin for Desmond.

He didn’t seem to mind much, attesting that it suited him, as he was ambitious and cunning, just as his house required. With a hint of dark magic.

That last one? Rob was willing to agree.

Desmond poked his tongue out and hissed like a snake. Ambitious, cunning and an idiot. Rob huffed, trying to hide his laugh, and lightly shoved Desmond’s face away. “Rawr, I guess," he said and snapped his teeth at openly laughing Desmond. “In case you missed it, I'm working. Either help or stay out of the way."

He turned back to the car's underbelly, picking up the wrench. For a couple of moments, everything was quiet and then Desmond's chapped lips found their way under his ear. A shiver tore through Rob's body, pleasant and welcome.

"I told you I'm working," he grumbled, but there was no real heat behind it.

Desmond chuckled in his neck, sound going straight through Rob's blood, making it run faster. "No, you aren't," he said. "You are staring at the ruined suspension with no idea how to fix it."

Well, true. Instead of admitting it aloud, Rob turned his head to shut Desmond with a brief, biting kiss. Desmond relaxed and made a content noise, chasing the kiss when Rob reluctantly pulled away.

"Not here. Someone will see us," he said, placing the wrench under Desmond’s chin to keep him still.

Desmond gave him an unimpressed look. "Who? We're under the car, if you forgot," a crooked half-smile appeared on his lips. “Good luck to anyone trying to lift that bad boy up.”

His eyes were bright, shining in the semi-darkness under the car, lean body pressed against Rob’s side hot and tense. Desmond took him by the hand, lacing their fingers together and brought it to his lips, placing faint kisses to the knuckles.

At this point Rob kind of forgot where his thoughts were headed, the only thing on his brain now was just how to arrange them both in a comfortable way in the incredibly limited space under the car. He dropped the wrench on his chest and tugged his best friend-turned-lover closer, crushing their mouths together to the accompaniment of Desmond’s lewd moan.

When they broke up for air, Rob’s whole body felt on fire, heart beating fast and hard in his chest. Desmond looked positively debauched, messy hair, blush running high on his cheeks, breathing rapid, eyes wide and burning.

This was theirs. Being with Desmond felt so right, every ounce, every moment of it, however sparse and hidden they were. “You are so beautiful,” Rob found himself whispering like it was some sort of a secret, and Desmond laughed, blushing even harder.

“No, you are,” he whispered back and opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped abruptly, at a little creak of the door.

Someone entered the barn. Rob’s breath hitched, heart plummeting and beating somewhere in his stomach. They broke their half-hug, lying side-by-side and staring at the car underbelly, as the steps approached.

“Son, you still there?” the voice called out, and Rob exhaled. Dad. “Oh, hello, Desmond.”

Desmond’s one-sided grin was equally relieved. “Hi, Mr. North,” he replied cheekily. “You don’t sound surprised.”

“You two are practically joined at the hip, I’d be more surprised if you weren’t here,” Dad looked under the car and Robert could only hope his face wasn’t too red. “It’s dinner time, boys. No luck fixing this old thing?”

“Nah,” Robert replied, sliding from under the car first. “I still don’t get how it got so trashed.”

Dad helped him up and gave him an encouraging smile. “It’s okay, son,” he said, eyeing the car. “We’ll have a look at it together later. Come on, food time. You too, Desmond, your mother was looking for you.”

He left the barn just as Desmond got out from under the car. Rob helped him up and for a moment they just stood there, locked hands between them.

Then Desmond stepped closer, squinting at Rob’s face, and cupped his cheek with the free hand, thumb tracing just under Rob’s cheekbone.

“What are you doing?” Rob whispered, breath hitched at the thought of them being almost out in the open, and Desmond gave him another one-sided smile.

“You have grease there,” he explained, and then his face softened. “I love you. You know that, right?” he asked, voice suddenly almost sad. Something wasn’t quite right, but before Rob could comment on how mushy that question was, Desmond leaned forward for a quick kiss, and then for another, deeper and sweeter, before he practically jumped back, licking his lips and grinning crookedly. “I think we should go.”

And, giving his hand one last squeeze, Desmond walked right past Rob, out of the barn, like nothing happened. Robert breathed in and out, slowly, like it could help his racing heart, counted to five and walked out too. He could still taste Desmond on his lips and his heart was beating too fast for it to be healthy. All he wanted to do is go back to kissing his best-friend-turned-lover.

And yet all he could realistically do? Watch Desmond retreat to his own house, shoulders dropping lower with every step, feeling empty as if a dementor was hovering over him. They couldn’t be like Sam and Daria, sucking on each other’s faces in public. Well, semi-public, but still. Couldn’t even hold hands, couldn't hug for too long, because while Brotherhood had no problem with homosexuality as a concept, they still were all expected to have children at some point. And there was no telling how any of the adults would react if they’ve learned about their relationship…

Sometimes Robert wondered if his father knew. What would his father say if he knew? Would he just tell the others? Would he keep it close to himself? Would he disown Robert on the spot? Or worse? And what would happen to Desmond?

Panic started to rise in Robert and he squandered it down, forcefully turning his thoughts to something, or rather someone else. Desmond. Rob pictured the curve of his smile, the way when he laughed he would throw his head back and squeeze his eyes shut. Desmond was… better after they’ve started dating. Less edgy, he was at ease more and laughed more, and his eyes, while still weary, were brighter. Like he made some sort of decision.

Perhaps he was coming to terms with being an assassin. That would be good. Probably.

Honestly, Robert wasn’t sure anymore.

After dinner, Robert completed his chores and was planning on finding Desmond to make plans for the night, but got derailed by Penny, who was put in charge of a litter of puppies for the evening and then promptly lost them.

In the end, they’ve spent almost an hour and a half looking for and herding the pups back where they belonged.

“I guess it’s the last of them,” Robert said, picking up the pup, which whined and tried to lick his face, and putting it back into the paddock to the others.

“Thanks, Robby!” Penny gave him a beaming, if rather toothless, smile and locked the gate. “Wish the magic could work.”

She took a wand from her belt and waved it at the lock, muttering the spell. Robert smiled. “That’s nifty, Pence. Haven’t seen it before, where did you get it?”

“Desmond made it for me,” Penny replied, proudly showing him the complex-looking carvings along the length of it. “Said it was better than the knife.”

Robert nodded. The kids weren’t allowed real weapons outside training, but a lot of them would start wearing wooden knives and daggers by that age. “It sure is more beautiful than any knife I’ve seen,” he told Penny and she beamed at him.

The bell behind them tolled. Once, twice, three times, more, sharp sound cutting through the air, ominous and foreign. Robert froze on the spot, and Penny grabbed at his hand. The bell never tolled in the evening before.

Something has happened. Something really, really bad.

Robert shook his head. “Come on, Pence,” he said, picking the frightened girl up. “We gotta go.”

The otherwise peaceful evening broke into the flurry of action, with everyone flocking to the central hall, adults carrying younger kids, William Miles barking orders like a general. In the midst of it, Robert saw his dad. His face was dark, like a storm cloud.

“Dad, what’s going on?” Robert asked, elbowing his way through.

Father gave him a sad, weary look. “Desmond is gone,” he said after a tiny pause.

The ground slipped away from under Robert’s feet. “What?” he asked again, slowly.

“Maria says his backpack and jacket are gone too,” dad replied, rubbing at his forehead tiredly. “We believe he-”

“Ran away,” Robert finished for him quietly.

Desmond had run away.

His dad’s face softened. “I’m sorry, son,” he said.

“No! This must be a mistake,” Penny looked like she was about to cry. “Desmond is brave! Why would he run away?”

Dad turned to her, smiling sadly. “We don’t know yet, little one. Not until we find him,” he looked back at Robert. “Put the kid down, we will need your help.”

He nodded dumbly and went searching around for Penny’s parents, in the end transferring the protesting girl to her older brother Craig, before joining the others who were organizing into search groups.

 Robert and his dad ended up with Maria, searching the eastern side of the hill. It was quickly getting dark, and Mrs. Miles’ cries were becoming more and more desperate with every hundred feet they made into the forest. Robert felt like she was starting to realize something he knew since they were just kids playing tag.

If Desmond is given any headstart, you are not getting him.

“Desmond, where are you?!” Maria cried out once again, looking around frantically, and her eyes were red and watery. This was the most emotional Robert had ever seen her, most human. He was so perplexed by it, he’d almost missed a tiny movement out the corner of his eye, but when he looked back, there was nothing, only a few low-hanging branches, that were slightly rocking with impact.

They’ve searched the hillside until it was pitch dark and even torchlights weren’t enough, so they had to return. William was already back with his group, and, judging by the uneasy look on Colin’s face and the way Daria was standing two steps in front of Sam, questioning had taken place.

As soon as Robert joined the scene, William turned to him.

“Did you know?” he barked out without any preamble, and Robert’s back straightened involuntarily. “Did you know Desmond was going to run?!”

In the unforgiving shine of the streetlight he looked downright menacing, half of the face in deep shadow and the other pale as a ghost, with grey-blue eye almost looking unnatural.

“No,” Robert shook his head, his throat closing. “I swear, he didn’t tell me anything!”

If only he did...

William stepped closer, seething with anger. They were the same height now, but Robert felt so small compared to him. “Hard to believe,” William all but spat, baring his teeth. “Don’t think I don’t know how close you two are...”

Robert had to fight the urge to take a step back. “Bill, stop it,” his dad said from behind him, but William Miles wasn’t listening.

“...and if you think silence will get you off punishment...”

A figure appeared between them. “Leave my son out of it, Bill!” Robert had never seen his father so angry.

William wasn’t backing down. “Do you really believe his shit-”

“Look at him!” Robert’s dad bellowed. “He is shocked! As well as the others,” he exhaled and rubbed at his forehead tiredly. “I’m sorry Desmond is gone, Bill, I really am, but you can’t take it out on everyone else.”

If looks could kill, Robert’s dad would already be dead. Instead, William Miles stepped back, scowling. “I want the car fixed by morning. We will go looking for Desmond in Rapid City,” he said in a clipped tone, turning away from Robert, allowing him to breathe.

Robert’s dad shook his head. “He won’t go there,” he said softly but Bill waved him off.

“I don’t need your comments, Nolan. Just fix the car,” he barked and father nodded.

“Sure,” he replied and clapped Robert on the shoulder. “Come on, son. We have things to do.”

He nodded silently, watching William’s retreating back for a few moments before following his father. They won’t find Desmond, Robert thought tiredly, he probably wouldn’t stop until he is as far away as possible. Probably will keep to the forest too. Desmond was always good at finding his way by compass.

Father sighed. “I wish Desmond had told someone something, anything. Stupid boy,” he shook his head.

Robert didn’t answer.

Morning came, and the car was more or less ready to go. After William and Maria left with a couple of other adults, the buzz started to slowly die out, but the routines were still thrown out of the window for now, with both adults and kids being too wired up to follow the schedule.

Amidst the commotion, Robert slipped out of the house and went to their clearing. He needed… space. The place still looked like it did yesterday, and that was a little bit comforting.

He sat down, opening his stash and mindlessly sifting through it, shifting things around for no reason. What happened was yet to settle in his head and his guts.

It took Robert a few moments to notice that his swiss army knife was missing, and suddenly he wasn’t able to breathe again, realization hitting him like a ton of bricks.

Desmond was gone. He’d ran away. He isn’t coming back, And, even if the adults manage to get him back. Robert was sure he’s going to try again.

Or do something worse.

Choked up, Robert looked up and around the clearing and noticed something else. Desmond’s stash wasn’t closed properly. After a few moments of consideration and battling with himself, Rob went to check.

It was empty, all the painkillers, and food and band-aids gone. There were a few things left at the bottom, - a wooden medallion with a badger carved into it - the Hufflepuff’s house animal; the heavy, carefully wrapped book from a series Robert vaguely recognized being Sam’s favorite, some sort of fantasy that was being written incredibly slowly, he always complained about it.

And the two new Iron Man comics tucked carefully into ziplocks.

No note. Rob expected there to be at least some sort of note.

He took the comics in his hands, not really seeing them. Why didn’t Desmond tell him anything? Should he had guessed it, from the way Desmond stopped questioning things, stopped dragging the Creed every chance he got? Should he? Did he allow his wishful thinking to get in the way?

Did he even mean anything to Desmond?

He remembered the way Desmond cupped his cheek, the way he said “I love you”, and the way his lips moved for a fraction of a second, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Was it “I’m sorry”? Was it “Run away with me”? Was it something else, that had nothing to do with his escape?

He will never know now.

Sniffing angrily, Robert dropped the comics back into the stash and closed it with a little too much force, stomping away from the clearing.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

part 6

ao3 link

[soulvomit]

I wonder if it was really racism all along

Not against me, a white kid: bear with me here.

Something I resented growing up: the loss of teen culture in the Valley. People who'd enjoyed teen culture in the 50s through 70s, seemed maliciously and hysterically opposed to their own younger siblings and offspring enjoying that same culture.

Granted, we had our own, and it involved trying to repurpose the hidden corners of adult culture that we got to have.

But I'd grown up in the shadow of a certain image of San Fernando Valley teen life, transmitted to me by people born 5-10 years earlier. I waited like a kid waiting for Christmas, for the teen centers and the teen nightclubs that my older friends and peer friends' older siblings got to go to.

They were all gone by the time I was old enough. And as I was hitting my teens, the Valley started to have this culture of hysterical NIMBYism about anywhere teenagers could possibly gather.

Suddenly there was all this "unwholesomeness" and "potential criminality" and pearl clutching in discussing any group of teenagers, as if any teenagers seen together in any public space at all, were a threat to the public good. By the time I was 15, all the NIMBYs had won, and every time anything for teens even threatened to open, hysterical middle aged people got it shut down.

The same pearl clutchers were people who'd enjoyed the teen groups and clubs, or even enjoyed the 50s-70s automobile "cruising" scene (another teen activity that had taken on overtones of delinquence) if they were old enough.

These same people would often say, "it's not how it used to be. That thing is DANGEROUS now," and disallow their kids from the same spaces and activities. Usually there wasn't an explanation of how it was dangerous, or what had changed, beyond something like "well, BAD people do that now."

We were allowed groups and designated spaces only when the group was something authoritarian and "wholesome" like a church youth group or scouting.

It was like teenagehood itself was criminalized... or was it?

It would seem like they didn't want their younger siblings or their own offspring to enjoy the same social scenes. It made no fucking sense. Gen X teens in LA like Gen X teens in a lot of places, largely had to repurpose our spaces from retail spaces (which is why record shops, bookstores, and malls have such nostalgic charge to the Gen X adult.)

What's finally clicked about what happened, how teenagers went from being a courted customer base to being suspected of criminality just based on age:

White people were not talking about racism at that time, let alone with the nuance and depth being used now.

I didn't know that "teenagers hanging out" from the mouths of (almost always white) pearl clutchers, didn't refer to their own kids. In some cases they were referring to formerly white neighborhoods going multicultural, and in some cases they were referring the influx of Latinx families.

Just as when older people who grew up in the SFV before the 80s say, "I miss how the Valley used to be," then nod at each other: the unspoken word at the end of that sentence, is "white."

[cass-chan12]

Felony of the Heart (Ch 2)

Fandom: Fairy Tail Genre: Romance and Friendship Pairing: Main- NaLu. Sides- Gajevy, Gruvia and Jerza

Summary: What would you do if you were forced into a school that deals with Delinquents and young adults that have committed felonies? Lucy Heartfilia would rather chance it than going back home to being married off. What lies ahead for the blonde is unknown but she's convinced she can make it through with him by her side

Chapter one

CHAPTER TWO

"How we need another soul to cling to"- Sylvia Plath

Lying in the darkness was scarier than I imagined.

Sleep would never claim me that first night, from the tiniest of sounds my eyes would snap open and stare at the ceiling for ages. No thought would come to mind, no tear would form in my eyes now would words come to my mouth. All I could focus on was the occasional buzzing of a mosquito or one of the other girl's soft snores. I continued to listen and I would pick up on new sounds such as the strong wind outside creating a gentle howl, or a creaking sound of wood outside the room, which proved we were literally watched over 24/7.

It must be past midnight and the lids of my eyes didn't falter and my twists and turns in my bed from the restlessness made too much commotion, so I decided to stay on the side facing my neighbour's bed. It was the small bluenette I sat next to in Confessional's. She was fast asleep with tear stains on her face; I had heard her cry tonight but chose to ignore it. We all did in this dorm; there were a lot of young girls in here- which led me to ask why they would do such heinous things to get in here. But I can't judge, I don't know them or what they've done. I'm wary of making friends here but the loneliness makes my heart ache. Back at the house this feeling came many times, but I had friends there to stop the aching. I was alone now and I don't know how long it will last.

I did manage to sleep, maybe a few hours. The morning siren went off and boomed across the campus; waking all of us up. Moans and grumbles creaked in the room similar to the movement of zombies, all the girls, including myself, got ready for our first day of learning and disciplining- as the Principal explained to us yesterday.

There were a lot of rules and regulations set, it seemed like they must have copied a prison handbook.

1) All electrical devices are prohibited

2) The main house, Gardens, sports grounds (Aka the boot camp course) are prohibited to enter unless accompanied by a supervisor or teacher.

3) The front and back gate, the fence and the opposite sex's dormitory are prohibited with or without supervisor or teacher. If you are caught in any of these areas, you will be punished with a week's worth of community service.

4) Flashy and bright clothing will be taken from personal items.

5) Personal items must be kept in the provided foot locker under each student's bed.

6) Wake up calls; Monday-Friday 5:30am, Saturday and Sunday 6:00am. Breakfast will be served at 7:00am on all days

7) Before leaving to Breakfast, dormitories must be cleaned to House guardian's approval and students must be dressed accordingly.

8) Classes for students start at 8:00am- 16:00pm. Dinner is at 18:00pm. Lights out at 21:00pm

9) Mondays gather for assembly. Confessional groups are on Sunday at 10:00am.

10) Any attempt of escape will result in a transfer to a state prison.

But the way I understood it, this place was a state prison. This was barely a school besides the actual classes, not to mention we get cleaning assignments every day. It will be tough for me since I didn't have to do that back home, but between cleaning a toilet and going home… I'd clean every single one here instead of going back.

As I put on my clothes I looked to the outside window, some students where already going to the cafeteria in which my stomach growled for attention. I finished putting the ugly grey uniform on and tied my hair loosely with a hair tie that was in my foot locker under my bed. When I got the okay to leave after I cleaned my section I walked down the stairs and peeked into the dormitory rooms I passed and the aura was plain miserable. My generation really loves their sleep…

I reached the outside of the Dorm house and through the trees I noticed the sky was clouding up, slowly becoming overcast. The mood is as depressing as it can get, but now I don't know whether I can last till Lunch. My shoes clacked against the cobblestone pavement and the many shushed tones of voices swept passed me, either it was gossiping or the fear of speaking too loud in the hell hole. I ignored the comments that were loud enough to hear, but one word kept coming up.

Alone

Yes I am alone but so was everyone else. It occurred to me how true that statement was when I collected my breakfast and sat one of the large tables. Everyone spoke to each other but their eyes and expressions showed those of an outsider. I saw a few of the people that where in my Confessional session, I noticed especially the small blue haired girl; whose bed is next to mine in the dorm. She looked lost and depressed, searching for a seat.

I slowly lifted my arm and waved to her, she blinked and shuffled her feet shyly towards me. She placed her tray across from mine and sat down keeping her face downwards hiding her expression. I coughed trying to catch her attention and get some eye contact which seemed like the only attention I could get here.

"I'm Lucy. But you probably know that" I joked dryly.

She looked up like a helpless animal and smiled slightly. "I'm Levy. Likewise" she countered.

I smiled at her and turned my attention back at my food, which looked more inedible than when I picked it up in the first place.

"This food looks foul." I said dropping my spoon back in my bowl.

"Back at my old school, it wasn't any different." Levy said taking a bite from her oatmeal.

I frowned at the plate losing my appetite quick. Until I felt someone else sit at the table.

"Here; try putting this in. It'll make it taste better." A female voice said

I peered up and saw red; a beautiful scarlet red. It was the girl from my Confessional group, and even though her hair was neatly tied up it was still striking as ever. She handed me some Honey in a small container which clearly wasn't given out in the school. I took it stealthily without anyone else seeing and quickly added it to my porridge. I took a bite and moaned in delight, the taste of something so simply sweet was delectable.

"That's so much better, thanks." I said.

She smiled and lifted her tray to walk away. But I coughed to stop her "You want to sit with us?" I asked shyly.

She smiled again with a little red hue sprinkled on her cheeks, giving away the suspicion she wanted to sit there in the first place. She put her tray next to mine and sat down tucking a stray piece of her pretty hair behind her ear. She cautiously brought more honey out of her pocket and added it to her porridge.

"May I ask where you get this?" Levy asked.

Erza 'hmmed' while eating her breakfast. She swallowed and then smiled "Before they took my personal stuff I snatched my recipe for strawberry shortcake and exchanged it for anything I want out the kitchen."

Levy and I were shocked, just how good was this recipe if it gave her fulltime access to the kitchen?

"Wouldn't you get in trouble if one of the dictators found out?" I asked

She smiled again which was comforting since this place really didn't showcase anything to smile about. Erza's features were calm too, it was strangely soothing. I thought about it, her and I were in the same boat. In confessionals Zancrow mentioned she pleaded guilty with the case she was charged with, and not to mention that blue haired kid admitted she was dragged into his situation.

She didn't belong here either.

"Well I had a friend in here before I arrived and he gave me some tips of the school. He also told me that the cafeteria is the safest place to breathe in here." she explained

I looked around the area and it did seem happier than everywhere else. The chattering was louder and sounded like a normal high school; which kind of made me anxious.

"Why is that?" Levy asked.

Erza pushed her tray away from her and rubbed her belly in satisfaction. "Ahhh… I think it has to do with the cafeteria supervisor. Rumour is that he blows his duty to tend to his prized doll collection."

I wasn't sure I heard properly but Levy was laughing which made me giggle a bit too. Sounds like a freaky dude if that were true, but regardless the room seemed less depressing and did lift my mood. It was strange how I made two friends in here, although both really didn't look like they belonged here in the first place.

I couldn't for a fact, believe the small bluenette in front of me, was in here. She was the size of a small child and was in her bed crying her eyes out only a few hours ago. It didn't fit either way you looked at it, but my thoughts went back to what she said in the confessional room, she said she only did what she did to get enough money and run away from home. I can relate, so who am I to judge her. And of course; Erza being dragged into something by that blue-haired guy, from her personality she seemed very girly but at the same time she had an aura of respect around her: Something you wouldn't find in a real Delinquent. I should stop pretences and judging, I will be around these people for who knows how long and I might learn a thing or two like I had meeting Levy and Erza.

It was almost time to go to class so I waved goodbye to Levy and Erza and went back to my dorm to get my books that were pre-ordered by the school. I grabbed the books and stuffed them in a backpack that was in my footlocker. A small slip of paper fell out of one of the books which looked like my schedule. I cringed a bit at my classes; every lesson was just about two hours, I had Math then Languages, after was History then finally Sciences. We had one lunch break for 45 minutes.

I'm going to die today.

I sighed heavily and walked to the school building slowly with the weight of the bag on my back and the wind sweeping past my face. I missed the sun; the trees in this place created an impregnable shield for sunlight to come in. The clouds would sometimes break away for some sunlight, but the only opening there to let sunlight come through was beyond the front gate. My gaze at beyond the gate looked suspicious to the guards patrolling the yards; I shifted my gaze at the school building and avoided eye contact.

Entering the school, there were more guards posted by the door checking our bags and pockets. This made me extremely uncomfortable; the woman guard scratched through my bag and checked my pockets (with no regard to the manner she was doing it.)

The school looked the same with every door I passed or every corner I turned; which would make it very easy to be late to class with everything looking the same. Students were trying to find their homerooms, many of which bumped into me and roughly I might add. Some of the students that did looked incredibly scary, and I was scared that if I had complained I might be flattened.

As I kept walking I recognised the guy with piercings on his face from my Confessional session, Gajeel, I think his name was, except he had them taken out and his long black hair had been chopped off. Normal didn't suit him. He noticed I was staring, his response made me quake in fear.

"What are you staring at you Bitch!" he yelled.

Startling the other students I kept my head down and quickly apologised. I sprinted off down the hall to avoid any further confrontation but stopped as I heard another voice.

"Calm down you shithead!"

My body swung around as I heard the familiar voice. The blur of pink filled my sight and gnarling teeth become the second thing I saw.

"You wanna start with me you pyromaniac?!" Gajeel yelled.

"You started this fight when you yelled at her!"

The boys were centimetres away from starting a fist fight. I quickly dashed to the pink haired pyro and grazed my fingers on his shoulder "Natsu" I mumbled.

He didn't listen and kept staring at Gajeel, growling like a beast. I put my hand on his shoulder this time. "Natsu stop." I said with my voice trembling.

He looked over his shoulder and caught sight of my face. His onyx eyes that displayed anger and ferocity had simmered down and dulled. He was about to say something until I felt a hand grabbing my arm.

I was shoved back by one of the men that had escorted me yesterday. Two more of his co-workers roughly pushed themselves though the crowd that had gathered when the commotion had started. The large men both pushed Natsu and Gajeel against the floor with their arms twisted to their backs. Yelps and hisses emitted from the boys and my own pain of the man's grip was ignored from what my eyes were witnessing.

"I understand your love for violence, but obviously your peanut sized brains don't understand where you currently are" appeared another voice.

My fear escalated. This man was beyond intimidating, he was fairly normal looking but his stature was big and his eyes were cold and vicious. His voice was deep and sent shivers down my spine.

"Greetings Mr Dragneel, Mr Redfox, I am Azuma-sensei; Head of Discipline. You boys are my first cases of the school year, well done." He said formerly with much indifference.

He turned to me and my face felt cold, I could feel myself paling in front of him "Careful miss Heartfilia, getting involved in trivial things like this might just get you into deeper trouble."

He snapped his fingers and the hand that was holding tightly on my arm was let go and left me almost falling to the floor, I stumbled but managed to stay on my feet. I rubbed my arm soothingly and remembered that my arm was still bruised from yesterday's handlings. My eyes lifted up from my arm to see the two boys being taken away outside the school building. I clicked my tongue in distaste, going to such extremities over a fight that didn't even happen. I was close to stopping it anyway.

Remembering the softening of Natsu's eyes reassured me he was going to back down. Natsu… Why did he do that in the first place? Was he itching for a fight or something? Why did he…

"Don't give up. We're in this together."

"We're in this together." I mumbled.

I didn't know what he meant at first but it's all clear now. These people who were called our teachers and our disciplinarians and even our own principal, they are here to do what they are paid to do. That's to torture us. And they ENJOY it. So if they are not looking out for us, then it's up to us to look out for another.

Class seemed like an eternity, it was so close to lunch I could almost hear my stomach yell across the room. 'Just one more period' I told myself.

As I sat at my desk my eyes immediately looked outside the window, fortunately enough my desk was right next to it. High on the second floor I could peer beyond the fences into the lush forest. Although something else caught my eye, I saw two figures and I squinted to concentrate. I rubbed my eye at the realisation of who the figures were.

In the midst of a hot summer's day, Natsu and Gajeel were being severely punished physically. Battered and bruised the boys were digging up trenches and filling them up again. The hard ground made every movement harder than the next and by the looks of it the boys have been working ever since Azuma-sensei took them in this morning.

I lost my appetite. How could I think of food when Natsu was out there suffering because he was looking out for me? I looked over to the two and they were heading towards the boys dorm, what a relief.

"Miss Heartfilia, unless you'd like to join the labour outside, I suggest you pay attention." The teacher, I think his name was Rustyrose-sensei.

My head snapped to the direction to the board with no hesitation and Rustyrose continued on with his class.

My mind didn't concentrate though. It just did a direct U-turn back to Natsu. I felt my cheeks warming up at the thought of him. The boy could really have bad issues with his pyromania, yet why does that make me more curious about him?

Trying to look like I was concentrating, the bell rang signalling lunch time. I almost sprinted to the cafeteria. All thoughts were diminished as my stomach overpowered my brain. Although my Stomach never had a nose and the smell of lunch was less than pleasing. I think it was meatloaf… I think. Sat at an empty table hoping I get Levy or Erza to sit by me… Or even Natsu.

I shook my head furiously. I huffed and shoved a piece of whatever in my mouth, I had confirmed it wasn't meatloaf.

"Gross, what is that?"

My body stiffened at the familiar voice. My head looked up to the pink haired boy that had been plaguing my mind since this morning. He was in a new clean uniform and probably had to shower after the manual work he did. My eyes darted to the scratches and bruises along his arms. I felt terrible.

"I'm so sorry Natsu." I said softly.

His happy smile, which seemed to be the first I've seen of his since I've met him, disappeared. I couldn't look him in the eyes, I would cry if I did. I felt the bench move and looked up to his face which was level to mine.

"Don't be. I honestly don't care what they do to me in here." He said.

He smiled again, I liked it. It was warm, joyful and natural. Like everything he had experienced this morning was nothing.

"If the best they can do is make me work then fine, I don't mind. Because in the end I protected my friend and that's all that matters."

"You hardly know me though. How am I your friend?"

I admit that sounded harsh, it wasn't my intention to make it sound like that. He kept smiling though; I couldn't bring myself to be mean to him with that goofy smile on his face.

"We both have something in common. We both deserve a better life."

The words never hit harder, I wanted to cry at that simple truth. I did deserve one. I craved for it.

"There are some other kids in here that deserve better lives too. I think we should befriend them and start a group." he suggested and interrupted my thoughts.

That wasn't a bad idea. The thought of having more people having your back would help. Although in a school like this you have to be wary.

Then it hit me "I know two people to start with." I said smiling at him.

"Yosh! We're in this together" he said cheerfully, almost making that line of his a motto.

I recited.

"We're in this together"

[davidchill]

This Is My Truth - The Final Blog (For Now)

After over ten years of writing a personal blog I feel that now would be a good time to wrap things up. I’m sure I’ll still write blogs from time-to-time, but they’ll be a completely different animal to this curious beast.

Social media has changed an awful lot over the years. As I scroll through my timeline this morning all I see are snappy memes, gifs, people arguing with strangers about the perils of Brexit, and sponsored posts based on my browsing habits.

Another thing that’s changed is how people engage and interact with others. Over the years I’ve seen friends who appeared to be warm and affable suddenly go stone cold and aloof, virtually overnight. Typed communication can often be misinterpreted or misconstrued, and I have, on a few occasions, tried to strike up friendships with people who I’ve genuinely liked, only for their shields to go up - and I watch them vanish at warp speed.

The truth has always been important to me - so when people lie in order to make their lives easier I find myself distancing myself from them so they don’t need to lie anymore. But I can’t judge anyone. Lying is easy. Anyone can lie. How many lies have got people out of awkward social situations without damaging the friendship? Thousands, I would imagine. The truth is much harder to swallow at times. So if you’ve found this blog to be a difficult read then that’s certainly not a bad thing.

Of course, a few “friends” haven’t stayed the course, and opted to “unfriend” or “unfollow” me on social media for posting “too many dog photos” or “too many blogs on mental health”. Well… all I can offer here is my “sperm” analogy…

“Out of the approximately 1,000 sperm that enter the fallopian tube, only about 200 reach the egg. The rest get attached to the lining of the oviduct, or just give out and die. Out of the approximately 200 sperm that reach the egg, only one fertilizes the egg.”

If you’ve stuck by me on Facebook during the most turbulent period of my life (between 2014 and the present day) then consider yourself a healthy sperm. The others might resurface in a few years when everything in my life is hunky-dory and say “Is it safe to be your friend again?” but they have no chance of reaching the egg.

In this case the “egg” is a metaphor for my “circle of trust”.

Friends don’t fall off the radar when you struggle with your mental health, and nor do they sit back and watch you struggle financially when they *could* throw you a bone. Oh, and they certainly don’t walk away when you share anecdotes about your dog.

So if you are still with me - thank you. And if you’re sitting comfortably then let’s begin...

Keeping the Faith

For much of my adult life I never had a huge amount of faith in myself. Too many crushing doubts played on my mind as to what role I had in this world - or even if I had a part to play. My creative abilities were certainly brought into question, as I lie awake at night wondering when people would wake up and give me the same amount of judgement and scrutiny that I subjected myself to on a daily basis.

Despite a very happy home life I was a prime target for the school bullies - thanks to a winning combination of ginger hair and small, round head - so it’s hardly surprising that I entered adulthood with several insecurities and a huge chip on my shoulder. Children can be cruel and wretched creatures at times. Snotty-nosed brats.

Throughout college I drew comic strips at every available opportunity and was always genuinely flabbergasted when my peers told me how talented and gifted I was - and how much they loved my sense of humour. Well, my written word - as I was practically mute in those days. “You’d be funny if you spoke!” commented one guy.

While most of the students gallivanted off to university I chose not to pursue further education and opted to get a “real” job in order to feed my comic book addiction. So for the next six or seven years I took on a variety of roles… packing plastic, kennel hand, factory worker.

I’m not sure what my parents thought of me coming home covered in dog poo and toner dust - but my duties were the perfect cover for an artistic creative soul who had zero faith in his abilities. I couldn’t fail.

Unfortunately my cover was blown in 1998 when my line manager insisted on promoting me to “champion operator” - a job that involved assembly work, but also gave me the opportunity to walk around with a bit of paper and use the new fangled “e-mail” system that was becoming popular in the workplace. “What is this wizardry?” I asked myself, as I bluffed my way through the job.

It was during this time that I was asked to give a PowerPoint presentation to an office full of co-workers and the type of senior management you’d cross the street to avoid if you saw them out shopping on a Saturday morning. When the CEO gave his feedback on the presentations he threw the spotlight on me and said; “David, I thought you were excellent.”

Swine. “I’m a fraud I tell you!” (I didn’t actually say that out loud)

Thankfully, just before my head expanded to dangerous levels of self belief I was made redundant from the position. This was no reflection on me - the whole company went under. Nothing to do with my “excellent” presentation skills or the time I spent walking around with a bit of paper.

The following year I was inflicted with a condition called spasmodic torticollis and forced to take three months off work. In English; I suffered with a severe muscle spasm in my neck. As a result, my chin was permanently touching my shoulder and only lying down made me feel “normal”. We didn’t have box sets to lift the mood in those days, so it was an extremely dark chapter in my life. I was pumped full of valium, I couldn’t drive or walk the dog, and my mother had to chop my food up for me.

Eventually, after a series of tests, the consultant told me I’d have to have injections in my neck - but this wouldn’t guarantee success. Truth be told I became very low and depressed - but, with the support of my friends and family, I got through each day. One of my church friends even picked me up, took me to church, and prayed for me. This wasn’t like my “last rites” or anything, I hasten to add.

One day, as I walked into town, all hunched up and averting eye contact - something very peculiar happened. My head wasn’t tilting to one side anymore and I found myself walking in a STRAIGHT line. “What is this hogwashery?!” I thought to myself. “I’m walking with my head in an upright position!”

The specialist who mooted the idea of injections then examined me, scratched his head, and concluded that I was some kind of weird “enigma”. Yes, it took three months of pain, frustration and fear to reach the conclusion that I was a bit odd. Blimey, I didn’t need to go through all that to work that one out.

The Slippery Slope

Several years later, and after being made redundant three times between 1998 and 2003, I was beginning to think I was cursed.

In 2006 I quit full-time employment and went down the “self-employed” route - mostly focusing on wedding websites for the subsequent eight years. On reflection that was far too long to spend on one endeavour, and a few close friends urged me to expand my portfolio. Again, I felt “safe” doing wedding websites, the money was coming in, and I didn’t want to run the risk of straying too far. However, I should have taken the advice given to Peter Davison when Patrick Troughton advised him to only play the Doctor for three years. Eight years is a very long time in the world of technological advances, and I became the Ken Barlow of wedding websites.

Looking back, it’s not surprising the work had a detrimental impact on my mental health. I poured my heart and soul into those blasted websites, and sometimes sat up until 3am to please my transatlantic Bridezillas. Sometimes Groomzillas. No, I didn’t *have* to, but when I take on a role I like to give it my all.

Unfortunately because my “office” was then based in my bedroom I could never “switch off” and those sites consumed me to a point where my anxiety and depression deepened. The line between business and pleasure just became far too blurred and it became a seven day week thing.

After all the stress of moving into my maisonette (and then buying the maisonette) I still found the websites to be an extremely negative factor in my mental health. Things got on top of me and I’d begin to procrastinate… put off tasks, until, eventually, I hit my brick wall. My dark place.

Enter Luna, the Staffordshire Bull Terrier X Akita, who took a lot of stick for being the author of my demise. No, she was merely the straw that broke the camels back.

Before I knew it, I lost my regular income after being told that my services were no longer required. Sadly, despite being told that my salary would be safe until January 2014, it was then slashed by £500 for two months on the trot. November and December, respectively.

Suddenly, I had this huge financial hole to fill… and a mortgage to pay. When you lose £1000 without sufficient forewarning then what do you do? No money from extra part-time work would have reached me in time - even if my mind had been “fit” to work. The anxiety just consumed me, and the mind starts imagining these highly unlikely scenarios… My neck condition might flare up again… I might lose the dog… I might lose my home.

Okay, that last one actually happened.

People often tell me that debt is a slippery slope that should be avoided at all costs. People who’ve never experienced debt to the extent that I did. My friends, I’ve taken to that slope. I’m the Eddie “the Eagle” Edwards of the slippery slope.

So yes, I know that debt begins very slowly... and it gradually creeps up on you… the £5 penalty charge on your emergency borrowing becomes £10, £15, £20… and then you’re late with the gas and electric bill… and then BOOM! You’ve lost your home and overzealous cleaners are pulling things off your wall as you struggle to pack everything into boxes.

I lost more that day than I can ever put into words, and I’ve hated myself for it ever since.

Yes, people made my life more difficult than it needed to be, and some people could have helped more - rather than just telling me it’d all be okay. But I lost everything because I lost faith in myself.

There’s No Guarantors

Today, eighteen months after losing my home, I’m sat here writing a business plan - and I find myself in this role reversal. Almost like a weird mirror universe from Star Trek. Suddenly, for perhaps the first time in my life, I have faith in myself - but others are doubting my judgement, or have very little faith in my abilities.

Whenever I hear that someone has been awarded a business loan I punch the air [on their behalf]. Even if it’s someone on Twitter who I don’t know very well - I always make a point of congratulating them and wishing them well in their new endeavour. Or endeavor if they’re American.

With me, I expect a few would question if I knew what I was doing.

Not that I was awarded a business loan, but I came very close. Honestly, my heart sank when Eugene (the guy from the bank) uttered the words “We just need your guarantor…”

Guarantor? Me? Find a guarantor? He might as well have asked me to find the hair of a Sasquatch, a stool sample of a dodo, and the DNA of William the Conqueror.

“Hey, dear,” says a friend, turning to his partner. “David C. Hill is looking for a guarantor for his business loan. You in?” “The same David C. Hill with the anxiety issues?” “Yep.” “The same David C. Hill who had 5,000 comic books printed without testing the market?” “Yep.” “The same David C. Hill who lost his home after falling into a horrifying amount of debt?” “Yes, dear. You in?”

Yes, I had to ask… but of course I can’t blame anyone for not rising to the challenge.

My new bank friend, Eugene, then followed up with a phone call to assure me that the £10,000 funding would be granted if I could give him a name. So I looked at Luna, and for that brief moment her eyes just said “Don’t look at me!”

The “Homer Simpson” in me thought about seeing how far I could go with this guarantor lark. “John. My guarantor’s name is John. John Smith. His address? 12… Evergreen Terrace.”

Sadly, it’s going to be almost impossible for me to come back from that defeat of losing my home. That sort of thing sticks. It’s like I have “not good with money” or “dog who returns to his vomit” scrawled on my forehead. It’s akin to someone on a dodgy register trying to acquire a job as a school caretaker.

No, to paraphrase Tiffany, the pop goddess of 1987… “I think I’m alone now.”

People will argue that if my business plan was that convincing then I wouldn’t need a guarantor. However, these days banks are far more guarded when it comes to funding businesses. I don’t have any assets therefore I need someone with assets to have my back. My 27” iMac won’t cut the mustard as an asset.

Anyway, I’m sure most people can find a guarantor with relative ease. If a guarantor was such a ridiculous concept then requiring a guarantor wouldn’t even be a thing. According to the website, 98% of businesses are successfully funded. So I guess that places me in the 2% camp.

It’s been a week of bad news, and it would be so easy for me to slip into a depression and consume my body weight in wine gums. My car payment has just bounced and I have more rent due in ten days, and now I’m telling people that without funding my business can’t move forward.

I know the rich frown upon those who have to take out loans, and in the last few years I’ve seen the rich grow considerably richer. But I don’t think some people realise how rich they are, and how, if they need something, they can just go out and buy it - or ask their rich family to chip in. Of course most people have worked very hard for their wealth - but the majority of people do work very hard. I know at least two nurses who work for the NHS and they work exceptionally gruelling shifts. So one should never judge the rich - or the poor.

Yes, some people do inherit wealth or marry into rich families, so not all the rich work hard - and not everyone who’s poor works hard either. Sometimes ill-health doesn’t permit you to work long hours - and yes, lazy work shy fops do exist.

If I have to calumniate £5,000 or £10,000 worth of debt in order to make £20k then I’ll do it. All businesses need funding and we don’t all have savings to inject into our cashflow. People who don’t have debt a get bit sniffy about it, but there’s no shame in having manageable debt - and sometimes it’s a necessary evil.

Final Words

There’s always a way forward. Sometimes its not about working harder - it’s about working smarter. And I have enough faith in myself to know that I can work smarter. I’ll find a way forward, even if I do have to accrue debt - even if I have to march into hell for a heavenly cause. People will call me batcrap crazy, and people will cast doubt on me, but that’s to be expected. Life is very short, memories are very precious, and sometimes those of us who want to achieve our goals need to take calculated risks.

My greatest fear is losing faith in myself - because that will be the day that I die. But that’s never going to happen. I mean losing faith in myself - I fully except to die one day! I’m not Connor MacLeod, Mister Immortal, or Captain Jack Harkness.

Thank you to those who have helped me over the last few years - and those who continue to support my work. Make no mistake, when I’m rich I’m not going to live in a huge castle, pull up the drawbridge and yell “Let them eat cake!”. I’m going to live in a modest dwelling and help those who have helped me in the past.

That’s my guarantee.

[wheninrome18-blog]

The Mission

Story I did based on a prompt from @fandomscreenshots :)

“Pennywise, I’m home!”

My voice echoed through the dusty rafters of the Neibolt House, my converses shifting squeakily over the old panels of the old-fashioned floor. I had told him time and time again to at least try and make the house look a little bit more presentable; it was a failed argument every time I brought it up, but I couldn’t help but try. Pennywise was very set on his ways, and if that was living in the remains of a creepy house that had more cobwebs than windows, then so be it.

The front door was opened as I walked in, not paying any attention to it as I typed a quick text to my mom, explaining that I would be at the library for the next couple hours; I hated lying to her but if I had told her the real reason I was because I had a alien clown monster boyfriend to tend to, I think she would send me to some mental hospital faster than I could blink. However, even given his unusual and often horrifying ways, Pennywise had been the best thing to ever happen to me. It’s true that I had my extreme doubts about our relationship at first, but I found myself thinking about him when I wasn’t with him. It was also nice that even with this town’s alarming amount of school bullies, I was untouchable to them because the minute any of them got near me, Pennywise would be there, teeth snarling and claws clenching. That was how we actually met, and I wouldn’t give it back for anything in the world.

I was so preoccupied with texting that I didn’t noticed the front door was not leaning awkwardly against the door like it always was, but instead on the ground. I tripped lightly on it, grimacing as my toe was lightly stubbed. I did a slight hop, holding up my hurt foot as I grabbed the wall nearest me for support. I jumped back when the wall felt cold and sticky.

I stepped slowly away when I finally noticed the amount of blood stains and claw marks on the walls of the house. I mean that was not unusual for this house considering who lives here, but there was a lot more of it than I had remembered. I took a step closer to it this time, noticing the slight odd texture to some of the blood stains. With wide eyes, I realized that most of the blood stains were slowly sliding their way up the walls. The streams of red were twisting painfully and continued to be suspended on the ceiling. This wasn’t just anyone’s blood.

It was Pennywise’s.

I glanced back down at the door, now realizing it was not just lying there randomly. It had been kicked open.

My heart started to race.

“Pennywise!” I screamed, running forward into the house. I frantically checked all the rooms, almost falling through holes in the floor in my mad haste. I threw open the basement door, switching on my phone flashlight as I peered into the old, bloody well that was down there. It was the entrance to Pennywise’s actual lair, but if he knew I was coming, he would usually would be upstairs. We had the routine pretty much down, and it always ended with me walking into the house and running into his long arms.

And at the moment, that was the only place I wanted to be right now.

“Pennywise, can you hear me!” I yelled down the wall, my flashlight scanning the walls, my eyes squinting. I got no answer back. My panicked heart started to catch up with me and my adrenaline started to disappear, leaving me gasping for breath as I turned, sinking to the ground, my back against the outer wall of the well.

I almost wished it was some mean prank he was pulling on me and then any second now he would climb out of the well behind me, cackling his usual laugh, and sweep me up in his silky embrace and would gently drag me down the well to his home.

None of that happened, instead I felt tears slipping down my face as I sat in the cold dirty floor of the basement with only one question on my mind.

What had happened.

I wiped my tears away and brought my knees up to my chest as I thought some more.

With the blood stains upstairs, the broken-down door and the absent Pennywise, I can only assume that there was a struggle, one that Pennywise didn’t win. That was already a preposterous thought to me: Pennywise was all powerful, shapeshifting, teleporting monster; he wasn’t overpowered, he did the overpowering.

I sat up, putting most of my weight on the well as I thought more.

But who would come after Pennywise? Kids could not have done all this, so it had to be adults, but adults didn’t know he existed? He was always careful about that.

I didn’t get much into my detective thinking when a groan from the far corner of the basement made me jump. I shot up, a hopeful smile on my face.

“Pennywise?”

I got no answer, so I crept further into the corner, gasping when a human hand reached out to me in the darkness. I turned on my phone flashlight, aiming it in the direction of the hand.

A middle-aged ma laid there in SWAT-looking uniform. His legs and arms were bent in unnatural angles and his face was bloodied with what looked like teeth and claw marks. I was guessing Pennywise’s handiwork.

“It took 25 of us…” He rasped up to me and I crouched down, trying to listen.

“It took 25 of us, but we brought down your demon boyfriend.” I blinked as the man painfully smirked at me.

“I-I know who you are. We have been surveying him for a while. How could we not know about his obedient human pet?” How was that even possible. Pennywise would have known if we were being watched.

“Where is he.” My voice tried to be as authoritative as it could be, but, I was terrified.

The man groaned, his body twitching as he tried to get some control over his broken limbs.

“Forget it. They are going to eventually kill him. The only reason they left me behind was, so the rest of my team could get back to base as quickly as possible to begin that process.” My phone flashlight trembled as I squeezed my phone, my hands trembling.

“You can’t kill him. He isn’t from this world, hell, this dimension!” I practically screamed.

The man simply chuckled softly. “We’ll find a way, and with each try, we will come closer and closer to understanding him and the way we can end him.”

Car doors being slammed outside the house made me jump and the man smiled.

“I’d run along, girl. My team is back for me and they might think you would be useful for examination too.” I glared at him, before jumping up and running to the window. I had to stand on a nearby brick pile in order to hoist myself up to see out the tiny basement window. Sure enough, large, darkly colored vans were parked outside the Neibolt house. Men with the same uniform as the one on the floor hopped out and began to approach the house. My eyes narrowed at their approach.

I had some options to consider, but at the moment all I could feel was the intense hate towards these men: they had taken Pennywise, hurt him, and are planning to do a lot more of it at their facility, wherever that maybe. If I were anyone else, I’d be happy that someone had gone and taken that monster away. But I was not just somebody.

I was the girlfriend of Pennywise.

I jumped off the brick pile, switching off my phone flashlight before charging up the stairs.

“I’ll tell him you said hi!” The man called hoarsely after me and I flinched at his words.

Not if I get to him first.

I emerged from the basement just in time to hear footsteps echoing from the front foyer. Lucky for me, I knew this house like the back of my hand. I turned the corner leading away from the basement door, which dumped me in the broken-down kitchen, the tables and chairs all overturned and broken. There was a door leading from the kitchen to the living room that I quietly took. All the while, I heard the heavy boots of the men making their way to the basement, I took the long way around the house and snuck out of the front door. The vans were all turned off and I froze when I saw that not everyone in them had gone inside. The driver of one van was still in the car, but it looked like he was busy on his cell phone to noticed me. I silently made my way down the front steps, my body hunched down so the overgrown weeds in front of the house were blocking my view of the lone driver in case he did decide to glance my way.

I made my way to the back of the vans. I tested the handle on the back doors, and luckily, they were left unlocked. I pulled them open, hoisting my small body inside before closing the door as quietly as I could behind me. I was a little alarmed at the sight of a large amount of bloody weapon and other various attack equipment. I also noticed with a slight twinge of fear that the blood that was stained on the weapons as lazily floating in the air around me. I reach out, cupping a small amount of blood that was near me, holding it gently in the palm of my hand. It was warm, still fresh.

With the weight-less blood still in my cupped hands, I slid down, easing myself under a bloody tarp. I guess they had laid it down to the blood wouldn’t get onto the floor of the van, but it worked in my favor as I secured it over my body. I laid my body flat, my hands out in front of me, bring my hands close to my face.

I heard voices nearing the van and there was rough rocking of the van as I felt the men start to climb into the front of the vehicle.

“You mean you saw the thing’s lady friend? What was she like? Clinically insane?” The voice joked, followed by a chorus of deep laughter.

“Nah, but she was easy on the eyes though.” I recognized the voice of the injured man, his voice still strained and pained, but not pained enough to not crack jokes. I jumped as the thoughtlessly tossed bags and what felt like their jackets into the back of the van and I grimaced as most of it had landed on me. I guess it would work well with hiding me a little better.

The van was then started, the engine roaring to life and I felt it lurch forward, the tired crunching underneath the dirt road as it pulled away from the Neibolt house.

The men continued talking, but I refused to listen to anymore of it. I instead brought my hands closer to my face, my fingers creating a small crack to I could just see inside to the floating blood.

“I’m coming for you, just hold tight.” I whispered to it. I had no idea how Pennywise’s magic worked but if there was any way I could communicate with him, this was the only way I thought how.

Pennywise had saved me countless times in the past, but now if was my turn to save him.

 I think I had managed to fall asleep on the way, but I was jolted awake when the van rolled to a rough stop. I had no idea how long we had been driving for, or where we were.  I sat up slightly as I heard the same voices of the men before, followed by the doors slamming and then silence. I slowly peeked out from the tarp. The last think I wanted to do at this point was get caught. I was Pennywise’s only hope.

I was surprised to see that even thought my grip on it had slipped in my sleep, the ball of floating blood had stayed close to me. I smiled, thinking that in some way, Pennywise was a reason behind that.

I counted to 100 before I peeled the tarp completely off me. I was silence all around me, and I could only assume I was alone. I sat up, peeking through the small windows on the van doors, I was in some kind of large garage. It had to be a part of a bigger building, given the high ceilings and various doors. O craned my eyesight around and found I was one van in a long line up of vans, all with the same dark color and logo.

The door was unlocked as I slipped through the door, my feet landing softly on the polished cement floor. The floating blood still stayed with me, huddling close to my neck, staining my skin slightly. My eye scanned the various doors leading out of the garage and I panicked.

How was I ever going to find Pennywise in this place.

Not to mention they probably had video cameras at every corner, guard everywhere, and security systems up the wazoo.

I sighed in defeat, but jumped when I heard voices. I quickly ducked behind the van. Not to mention, if I did get caught, I would mostly likely get arrested for trespassing.

That was when I felt a slight nudge on my neck and I turned, the little blob of blood floating excitedly in front of me. I only started at it dumbfounded. It wiggled, bounced and bobbed in front of my vision.

“What? What are trying to tell me?” I asked it softly, keeping my voice low.

It then suddenly dived down to the ground, sliding easily through the grates of a vent that I hadn’t noticed was there. I blinked.

It bubbled back up through the cracks and back to my eye line. For a second, I thought I saw it gesture downwards.

“You want me to go down there?” I asked it and it seem to nod back at me. I dropped down on all fours, my fingers tracing the outline of the vent. It looked like it was nailed shut to the floor and I my short fingers painfully tried to get under the edges, pulling as hard as I could with no avail. As I pulled and tugged, a swirl of floating red seemed to slide in and under the vent and I jumped back. I glanced back at the van and noticed that the blood still remaining in it was started to seep through the door. It lazily floated down and stained the grates red. I blinked, not entirely sure what I was currently seeing.

There was a soft pop as the nails shot out of the vent corners, and the redness poured into the now open crevasses around the vent. I helped, my fingers now able to grab the edges and lift with all my might. The vent was so heavy, and I huffed, sliding it back and off the opening. I switched my ever-trustworthy phone flashlight, peering into the vent. It was dark, but it did not look like there was any sort of handle/ladder system for me to use. The blood, that was floating lazily around me, suddenly rushed into the vent, the darkness swallowing it right up.

Jump.

I jumped as I heard a shaky, unnerving whisper from the inside of the vent.

I leaned in closer.

We’ll catch you. You’ll float down.

I remembered that Pennywise had often used this tone of voice to talk to me about his day through the drain of my sink as I brushed my teeth if we did not get to see each other that day. It was the perfect way for us to catch up because the bathroom door was closed and locked and if he talked loud enough through the pipes, I could talk to him all through my shower.

Even the voice evened out most of my nerves, jumping down into a dark vent would still leave anyone a little hesitant. My heart started to pound as I heard the same voices of the men as before, but now they were closer. I sighed in exacerbation, position my legs into the opening of the vent as I sat on the edge of it.

“Penny, if you give me a bruised butt, I will kill you.” I hissed softly before I left me grip on the vent edge go and I slipped through the opening.

I fell for a short while, the darkness and stale air rushing by me. I tried my very best not to scream or make any sense of noise. Someone would defiantly get suspicious if they heard a girl screaming from their air conditioner.

Then I felt suddenly warm and the blackness was replaced by red. I gasped, my hands reaching out and brushing against the floating red of Pennywise’s blood. I could feel its warmth stretching, supporting me as best as it could, it had a slightly glow to it, making it easy to see it through the lack of light.

It set me down, silently telling me to bend down. I did as it told me, landing on all fours as I gently nudged me in the direction of what looked like ventilation shaft. I gasped, feeling a little claustrophobic. My back pressed right up against the roof of the shaft. The blood was still there, and it floated out in front of me, slowly moving through the air. Its movements were hard to describe, but I was sure enough to know it was leading me somewhere.

I took a deep breath, my body uneasily moving to follow the trail of floating blood. I could feel droplets of sweat began to form on my forehead and my hair stuck to my mouth, but I didn’t care. I had to get to Pennywise.

The blood eventually stopped over what looked like another vent opening and I stopped before it, lowering myself as best as I could to see through. Directly below me was what looked like control panel with buttons, display panels and blinking lights. Some people in white lab coats were seated leisurely at the panel. One even had his feet up on the panel, ankles crossed as he ate Chinese noodles out of a white take out box. However, their gaze were all looking in the same direction. I angled my head a little to see what exactly they were looking at.

A thick slab of glass separated them from another part of the room. On this opposite side of the glass wall was what look like a giant red cube. It was placed in the middle of the room and all of the men seemed to be watching it with great interest. I was about to wonder what exactly the red cube was when a giant, clawed, hand shot out from the red, slamming against walls of the cube. The hand slowly slides down the wall, the claws leaving no mark.

My blood ran cold once I realized what exactly made the cube the red colored.

It wasn’t even a cube at all. It was a giant, glass cage. On closer examination, I realized the red color seemed to me shifting, swirling, floating.

It was blood. It was Pennywise’s blood.

The blood began to clear, and my hands flew to my mouth as I began to see the limp form of Pennywise lying on the floor of the glass cage. His costume was worn and bloodied, more bloodied than usual. His eyes were flaming orange, the color so intense I could see it all the way up in my secret perch. His hair was flat and the red line on his face were faded and more red lines had branched from those ones. His claws had broken through his usually crisp white gloves but then were chipped, broken. Even his sharp fangs, that could easily break anything that got in his way, seemed dulled.  All in all, he looked awful, hurt, and scared and it broke my heart in two.

What had the done to my Pennywise.

A door opened on the panel side of the glass and I craned my neck to see who had entered. I watched through the vent bars as one of the men with the SWAT look-alike uniforms entered, making the men in white coats all glance at them instead of Pennywise.

Pennywise’s eyes flashed an even brighter shade of orange and a deep, guttural growl echoed the room and his snapped his fangs at them weakly. They paid him no mind.

“We got Nick from the basement of the house. He’s in the infirmary healing after what that monster put him through.” He said, gesturing to Pennywise, who’s eyes narrowed angrily.

The man turned his full attention to Pennywise and leaned over on the panel, clicking on a microphone on the dashboard.

“Yeah, hear that, asshole? We ran into your girlfriend while we were there.”

That got Pennywise moving, and he was standing to his full towering and intimidating height, his inhuman roar making the glass shake slightly, but not enough to break it. Whatever this glass was made of, it was strong.

“She found out we had taken you and she ran home, crying. Jesus, you must have really bewitched her or something. What sane person would care about a monster like you?” He joked, chuckling darkly as he switched off the microphone, but Pennywise remained standing, his teeth bared and his snarl growing and his eyes never leaving the man.

“What have you found out so far?” He asked one of the lab coats and my eyes squinted onto his uniform to where his last name was printed on the upper right chest of the jacket he wore.

Bryant.

“Nothing much. We know it’s defiantly not human or even from this world, but it’s hard to get a good read on it’s blood when it does, you know, that.” One said, gesturing to the red floating mess circling Pennywise in the glass cage.

“What if you just killed him? Maybe the blood would stay still long enough for you to study it or whatever?” Bryant suggested, and my heart skipped a beat. I didn’t listen to the lab coat’s response because I looked up to the floating redness that had lead me here.

“We need to get down to him. Does he know I am here?” I mouthed to it and it shift itself in the direction to the glass cage. As I looked down, I watched as Pennywise’s orange eyes began to ever so slightly slide upwards, his vision traveling beyond the panel of lab coats. The rest of his body remained motionless and still, it was only his eyes that moved. They continued to move upward until our eyes locked. I watched with a loving sense of awe as his right eyes dropped down into a quick wink as his vision was once more lowered back down to the panel.

He knew I was here. He knew I was coming to rescue him.

But how was the next big question I needed to figure out. There was one of me and seemingly never-ending amount of them. Not to mention, given the number of weapons I found in the van, they were a lot stronger than I was. All I had to do was get Pennywise out of the cage and all odds would be evened. The cage seemed to me rendering him weak and vulnerable and the lab coats were doing what they pleased with him while he was in there. Once he was out of the power-sucking cage, it would be game over for everyone in this building. One thing I never underestimated was Pennywise’s level of vengeance.

I shifted myself over the vent, careful to not put my full weight on in as I glanced to see what was on the opposite wall from the control panel and Pennywise’s cage. My eyes lit up when I saw a ready to pull fire alarm. The small, floating mass shifted as I did, and I think it saw what I saw as it started to bounce excitedly. If I can somehow turn that fire alarm on, it most likely distracts the men long enough for me to push whatever button that would release Pennywise from the cage.

I glanced back at the panel and I tried to figure out exactly which button would do just that. Unfortunately, none of them were conveniently labeled “OPEN CAGE”. There was, however, a bright red button that was bigger than all the other buttons. A key slot was directly next to it and I could only hope it was what would open the cage. Why else would they need a key for it?

I glanced back up at the red floating trail of blood, my loyal partner through this entire rescue mission.

“Can you find the key for that?” I asked, pointing to the red button. I didn’t get an answer, but it suddenly turned and floated away from, disappearing through another ventilation shaft. I can only hope it could understand me.

The sudden squeak of a walkie-talkie made me jump slightly and I glanced down, Bryant reaching around and grasping the device from his utility belt.

“What?” He asked, placing the device close to his mouth.

“We found an open vent in the garage near the van we used to go get Nick. One of the vans has an open door and the equipment looks like it has been moved around. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we have a stowaway.” A static-filled voice was heard, and I froze.

A knowing look crossed Bryan’s face, all the color drained away. He turned to Pennywise.

“Seems to me, I underestimated your little lady friend.” He said in a mocking tone, but the slight fear was evident under his voice. Pennywise’s white face broke out into a wide, unnerving grin, multiple sets of teeth visible.

One of the lab coats shuddered.

Bryant lifted the walkie-talkie again, his voice rushed a little frantic.

“It’s the girl Nick saw at the house. She’s here for it. Find her now and make sure she comes no where near the observation deck. The farther away she stays from the monster, the better.”

His voice trailed off, following by the slamming of a door so I assumed he had left the room, leaving just me and the lab coats. I glanced at Pennywise and found him already looking up in my direction. His eyes color had changed into my favorite baby blue color and I could see the fear behind him, His fangs were gone, and his plump red lips were parted, revealing his two cute buck teeth. He let out a pained whimper that I could hear even from my high up hiding spot.

One of the lab coats slammed on a button on the panel.

“Shut it, freak!” I watched with horror as Pennywise dropped to the ground, roaring in pain. I pressed the palms of my hands to my ears, the sound too much for me to handle. The lab coast were nonplused and indifferent to the sound.

There must be some kind of electrical shock connecting to Pennywise in the cage. They were essentially torturing him. I also hadn’t seen him change or otherwise use any of his numerous abilities, so I could only assume that the cage was chocking that out as well. It pained me to think that this was probably the most vulnerable and scared Pennywise had ever felt in his long life.  My blood boiled at the thought and I felt a rage of anger crash through me as my nails dig into my skin. This was probably how Pennywise felt every time he saw me get bullied or someone did something to hurt me.

Something moved in the corner of my eye and I glanced up, seeing the small trickle of blood float its way on back to me. I broke out into a huge smile when I saw it had a small, official looking key floating along with it. It was funny to think of it as carrying the key, but the was essentially what it was doing.

“Good work!” I mouthed as it dropped the key into my outstretched hand. I grasped it tightly and then glanced down at the fire alarm before glancing back up at the blood.

“Do you think you can pull that?” I asked but it’s only answer was to gesture back down to the glass cage. I followed it gaze and could just barely see Pennywise nod slightly in my direction. It dawned on me then that it was probably Pennywise the entire time directing me to him using his stained, floating blood and he was communicating to me through it.

“Okay, ready?” I asked it and it answered me by floating down to the screw along the vent opening silently beginning to unscrew it just as it did in the garage. I swung myself around, putting my feet first; once I was through the vent, I need to be on my feet and running to the panel as fast I could. My heart pounding in my ear in anticipation. I glanced back at Pennywise one last time and he only nodded once before the vent went loose as the last screw was taken out. I kicked it as hard as I could, and the vent fell through, landing loudly on the floor of the panel room. The lab coats all jumped in surprise but judging by their expressions, they were not expecting me to jump through the vent, landing on top of the fallen vent.

They were all on their feet, shouting at me all at the same time, but I was too focused on, my task to even hear them. I felt the rush of the blood float quickly past me in the direction of the fire alarm while I made my advance to the panel. They all rose up to stop me, but they all jumped once the fire alarm went ringing through the air. Even though I was expecting it, it still caught me off guard, making me jump and loose my balance.

I watched in utter horror as the key slipped through my sweaty palm and land on the floor. I went to reach for it, the world moving in slow motion around me.

I felt a hand grab the back of my shirt, yanking me back from the key. I screamed in desperation as more hand grabbed onto me in a not so gentle manner. I had come this close to saving Pennywise and I wasn’t going down without a fight. The lab coat with the best grip on my sneered at my frantic expression, but then there was a flash of red as he screamed, the floating blood coming to my rescue and flying straight into his face, His eyes squeezed shit and he let me go to try and fight the blood off his face, and then was just the leeway I needed to snatch up the key. The other hands that had once yanked me back had since let go and were also focused on the floating blood.

With the key once more in my hand, I flew the rest of the way to the panel, easily finding the slot I put it in. Once it was in, I twisted it, making the bright red button glow. I heard a chorus line of screaming behind me; they must have looked away from the floating blood long enough to realize what I was doing. But, it was too late. My hand smacked the button down just as a striking pain was felt across my back and I found myself sprawled on the cold ground.

My only thought through the entire process was that I had hoped I had pushed the right button.

But not a second later. I got my answer as an unearthly roar was heard, shattering the glass slab and I tucked my head into my arms to avoid the flying glass shards as they handed around me. I didn’t dare lift my head as I heard the same screams from the men in the lab coats, but this time they were accompanied by bones crunching and a higher pitched shrieking.

Suddenly, it was silent, save for the fire alarm.

Then, I felt the familiar touch of a warm, satin glove on my back, the comforting jingle of tiny bells and a cute, red nose gently nudging the side of my face. My eyes hot open and I was met with the same baby blue eyes that I have learned to love.

“Pennywise!” I yelped happily, flying into his long arms. They wrapped around me tightly, and I think they even grew longer so they could coil around me a few times just for safe measure. Over his broad shoulder I watched the same blob of floating blood come closer to us and slide into an open wound on Pennywise’s arm before the injury closed itself up. I smiled.

“I can’t believe you came for me.” I relished in the sound of his goofy voice and I snuggled in closer, my face buried into the frilly collar around his neck.

“Of course, I did. You would have done the same for me.” I said, and he squeezed me tighter in agreement.

We both tensed when we heard shouting outside the door, the pounding of heavy boots coming closer and closer. I felt a deep, low snarl erupt in his chest before I heard it as he escaped through his fangs.

“I should kill everyone one of them and leave their insides out in the woods so lowly animals can feats on them. “ I grimaced at the thought.

“No, please,” I said softly, and he pulled apart to look at me, his expression surprised. I cupped his cheeks, my thumbs tracing the bright red lines on his face. “I lost you once because of these monsters, let’s just leave and hope they never find us again.”

I knew fleeing without killing wasn’t exactly Pennywise’s style, but I think given his slightly weak form and the toll the torture probably took on him made him sigh and he nodded, and I quickly wound my arms back around his neck as he stood with me still wrapped up tight in his arms. I heard the door swung open and I tensed, but all I heard was Pennywise let out a loud, monstrous growl before it went dark and silent around me. The air grew gold and I was thankful for Pennywise’s warm arms around me.

I lifted my head up slightly, the events of the day catching up with me and making me feel sleepy. “Where are we?” I asked quietly. Pennywise started to walk forward, and I could hear leaves crunching under him.

“The woods just outside of town, near your house.” He said, and I groaned. A few hours were defiantly done and gone, and my mother is probably beyond livid that I lied to here about where I was. Pennywise only chuckled.

“Your mother went to sleep a while ago, and a note appeared on your kitchen table hours ago, saying you were at a friend’s house, studying.” His vast abilities never failed to render me speechless; was there anything he couldn’t do?”

I felt the air grow colder and I lifted my head fully off his shoulder to see where we were. I smiled when I saw we were entering an open sewer drain; it was the one I often used to visit him from my house.

“We both need rest and I need to hold you for a while, just so I know that you are actually here.” He spoke quietly, his wide, baby blue eyes finding mine in the darkness. I smiled, leaning up to press a kiss to his red painted pout.

“I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.” I said as we entered the main part of his layer. Without taking his eyes off me, his made his way up his tall tower of stolen things and into his wooden parade box. The door shut behind him without him ever needing to touch it. The light in the room was soft and golden and for the first time that day, I felt complexly safe.

When he first took me here, I knew I needed to make it a little homier. He didn’t understand what that meant so, I took it upon myself to steal some blankets and pillows from my house and make a cozy little nest on the corner of the parade box. I used it far more than he did. It was good for those nights he was out late hunting and I need to catch up on some sleep or homework. I even found I slept better there than in my actual room at my house.

I wasn’t that surprised that upon entering the box, he went straight there, slithering his way into the blanket with me still wrapped up in his arms. I settled myself down on his chest, sighing happily, my eyes drooping.

“Thank you, for what you did today. There isn’t one person in the entire universe who would do what you did today. I knew I owed you my love but after today, I owe you my life.” He said, his gloved thumb tracing circles on my cheek. My eyes closed from the comforting movement.

“You don’t owe me anything. You are still here with me, and that is enough.” My voice was slurred slightly due to my tired state.

He chuckled in response. His lips pressing a kiss to my head.

“Sleep, my silly, brave little one. If anything comes evenly remotely close to you while you are sleeping, it will be killed on sight.” I couldn’t help but giggle and soon his familiar cackle joined in.

“Good to know someone is looking out for me.” I said, my eyes still shit as I traced the red pom poms on his costumer. His only response to that was to squeeze me tighter, his lips pouted as he gently shushed me. It wasn’t long after that I gave into my heavy eyes and soon Pennywise’s gently breathing and slow strokes to my hair were more than enough to put me to sleep.

Hope you enjoyed!! Sorry for an grammar mistakes!

[king-of-katz]

LT3 Press Holiday Sale!

My publisher, Less Than Three Press, is having a Holiday Sale until December 31, 2017 in which the entire book market is 20% off! You can also save an additional 15% off preorders of any upcoming releases (I’ve got one of these!)

Check out some of the amazing reads from other fantastic LT3 authors! It’s a great chance to stock up on things to read over the holidays (and hey, books also make great last minute gifts!)

I like to think I’ve got something for everyone, so let me break this down into...

Standalones!

Beauty and Cruelty  ($5.59) - F/F (side M/M and F/F/M), Urban Fantasy Sleeping Beauty decides to save her people, and the Evil Fairy can’t just let her go hog the glory by herself. Fairy tale endings? In this economy?? Enemies to Lovers; includes a lazy cat and polyamorous swan drama. Rainbow Awards 2016 - Winner of Best Lesbian Debut Book & 2nd place Best Lesbian Fantasy Romance Book. (If you want a physical copy you can hold in your hands, the print version is on sale for $11.99!)

The Cybernetic Tea Shop ($2.39) - Asexual F/F, Retrofuture Sci-Fi Drifting, quiet, and calm. A robot running a tea shop meets a wandering mechanic. A novella about love and learning when to let go and what to hold onto. Includes tea #aesthetic, a yelly mechanical bird, and Robot Feels.

Empty Vessels ($5.59) (NEW!) - M/M(/M) Poly, Paranormal/Urban Fantasy A young man that sees monsters, the ghost that keeps him company, and the weird and haunted world of Others that he wants to protect. Possessed dolls, faceless ghosts, bone girls and horned boys, and things that go bump in the night. Friends to Lovers; includes a deer in an antique store, misuse of bus etiquette, and how to develop a better relationship with trauma-based psychic powers. (It’s also got a print version, on sale for $14.39!)

Smoke Signals ($2.03) (PREORDER - Feb Release!) - M/M, Urban Fantasy Mike St. George, CSR for game distribution company SmokeSignals, wasn’t expecting to be put in charge of the account for an aristocratic, self-centered dragon who hoards video games. He definitely didn’t expect to go to the dragon’s house to manually install each game one at a time. But with a possible promotion in his future, Mike's ready to take on anything. The blue-blooded Zali'thurg might be egotistical and prideful, but at least he’s cute, albeit in an 'apex predator' sort of way. (This one won’t be out in time for the holidays, but between the preorder sale and the holiday sale, it’s a great time to pick it up)

The Pandemonium Series

Some kingdoms are ruled by demons, some by humans, and in others, demons and humans coexist. In all cases, there’s a lot that can go wrong. This fantasy series can be read in order or as standalones!

The Cobbler’s Soleless Son ($1.59) - Bi M/Genderqueer, Fantasy A rowdy adult fairy tale adventure following the valiant attempts of Renart, the cobbler’s son, to outwit and trick his way into a Demon Prince’s bed. The game’s afoot!

Behind Bars ($3.99) - Bi M/NB (side M/M), Fantasy Bartender Pel is part of his human-only city’s brutal anti-demon inquisition. His son doesn’t share his opinions. And while Pel just wants to keep his human son safe from demons, when a stranger comes to town, Pel might end up needing a demon to help keep his son safe from humans. Enemies to Lovers with hot dads & demon cats!

Hair to the Throne ($2.39) - F/F, Trans, Fantasy Hairdresser Merle is not expecting a good time when she’s kidnapped to the depths of Demon Prince Vehr’s castle–but to her surprise, her long-lost best friend is also there. So what’s Merle to do except try to make a new life with the prettiest girl she’s ever seen? Problem: demons. Friends to Lovers; includes way too many eyes for one person to justifiably have.

Anthologies and Omnibuses!

Barred Souls ($11.19) - Bi M/Genderqueer, Fantasy A print-only compilation of Books 1 & 2 of the Pandemonium series, The Cobbler’s Soleless Son & Behind Bars! This edition was a Rainbow Awards 2017 Honorable Mention.

Less Than Dead ($4.79) - lgbt+ zombie anthology by various authors & edited by Samantha Derr; my story is Only Human (M/M Urban Fantasy) Saul comes down with a magical malady, which is really depressing until he meets his new doctor’s secretary, Theo—who is super hot, but also super dead. (The print edition is also on sale for $15.19).

To the Victor ($4.79) (NEW!) lgbt+ knights anthology by various authors & edited by Samantha Derr; my story is Debating the Dragon (F/F Fantasy) Lady knight May wants to win love and glory, and be known far and wide for her great deeds. Too bad she has to work three times as hard as her male peers. So she takes on a quest to rescue a princess from a dragon, but the dragon absolutely has other ideas. (The print edition is also on sale for $19.99).

Please feel free to reblog this post to get the news out! I’d also be delighted if you wanted to visit my webpage, where you can learn more about my books, and find extras like free online stories, interviews, and tea blends.

For my most frequent updates, follow me on Twitter: @MeredithAKatz !

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Flood my Mornings: Ian (V)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

See all past installments via Bonnie’s Master List

Previous installment: Ian (IV): Bree arrives at the hospital

July 22, 1951

“MUMMY!!!” 

Even in the still-foggy and damned painful state of new deliverance, there was the purest and clearest joy in my heart as I reached up to intercept my daughter from Jamie’s arms. “Oh, lovey—” I crushed her tight to my chest and burrowed my face into her hair. “I’m so glad you’re here—I’ve missed you so much.”

“Miss’t you more,” came the muffled reply. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that, little smudge,” I murmured, smoothing back her hair and exhaling deeply with the sheer relief and joy of having her near, of knowing she was safe and mine.  I found myself noticing the differences of her scent from Ian’s, the knowledge soothing and somehow vital as it settled in my senses. My son. My daughter. 

She pushed back against my shoulders, far enough to bestow a sloppy kiss. “Feelin’ all better?”

I grinned, touched. “MUCH bett—”

“Where is-he?”

“What, seeing your Mummy isn’t the whole reason you drove all this way??” 

“Wherrrre?” she insisted, beaming with excitement. 

“Here, a leannan.” Jamie, three steps ahead as always, had retrieved the baby from Penelope’s loving embrace and was already at my elbow. 

Unswaddled against the heat of the day, Ian seemed even more tiny and fragile. My heart stabbed with a wild, heartbreaking anxiety to see his limbs, so incredibly thin and vulnerable in their cotton suit. 

Still, I eased as I felt the warm weight of his head settling securely into the crook of my arm, as I felt the reassuring pressure of Jamie’s hand over mine. “Bree?....This is your little brother.”

Brianna, on her knees, half-facing and half-leaning on me, peered down into Ian’s face....and issued a tiny, inarticulate squeak. 

“Can you say hello?” I nudged, watching her intently and grinning like an idiot. 

She beamed up at me, then Jamie, and then back down at Ian’s sleeping face, absolutely speechless. 

“We’ve two of them now, mo chridhe,” Jamie murmured against my temple, sounds from Penelope’s camera from the other side of the room promising that this moment would be captured forever.  

“Two,” I whispered back, my heart unspeakably full, our children there in our arms. 

He reached out and softly touched Bree’s cheek. “What do ye think of baby Ian, cub?” 

“Beeyin?” Bree, coming out of her rapt reverie, looked at Ian, then gave me a look of half-horrified fascination as though things were suddenly dropping into place. “ACK-shlee he came out y’r tummy?”

I held back most of the laughter, though it was damned difficult, what with Jamie shaking beside me like my own personal earthquake. “He actually did.”

“Wow...” she whispered, looking back to Ian. “Good job, Mummy!” Bree snuggled closer, all but lounging ON the baby in her need to see him up close. “He’s really....all—” A tiny, squealing sigh that might have been ‘cute’. 

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” I murmured, splitting my gaze between them. “And he’s all new. All ours.” 

“I can hold him?” 

After a bit of shifting about, we settled at last with Bree between us on the bed and a pillow laid crosswise on her outstretched legs. Carefully, I eased Ian down onto the cushion, his tiny stockinged-feet curled up against her belly. 

“Now, mind his head,” Jamie instructed Bree, a protective hand hovering by Ian’s ear just in case. “Ye must always be careful wi’ a wean’s head.”

Bree leveled her father with a look of haughty scorn that would have brought any professionally-trained actor to shame. ”I'll be careful of all him, Daddy.” 

Completely oblivious to the laughter from the adults in the room, she returned her attention to her new charge, all serene smiles. “He’s all soft...” Bree ran a finger very gingerly across his cheek, across the full pink lips, pouted in sleep. “... like a blanket.”

“Verra soft indeed,” Jamie murmured, his hand, shifting up ever so slightly to stroke the shocks of downy hair. 

“Why’s he ‘sleep?”

I kissed the top of her head, remembering when it, too, could fit easily in my hand. “So he can grow up big and strong like you.”

“Oh...good.” She picked up one of his hands, grinning. “Hi, Beeyin,” she cooed. “....Glad you’re, um....glad you’re been born....“

Jamie's eyes were the deepest blue I’d ever seen them, crinkled and warm in the midday light of the room as he watched the two of them...then smiled at me.  

“We’ll play a lot.....You can play wi’ George all you wanna, okay?” 

Ian responded to the gracious offer of Bree’s favorite toy rabbit by dreamily searching for milk with his tongue. 

“An’—” Bree went on, making her overtures with a distinctly Fraser-like solemnity, “—an’—won’t let any snakes bite you. Because love, okay?”

Snakes? I mouthed to Jamie over her head. 

Tell ye later, he mouthed back with a grin, and then both of us nearly jumped out of our skins when Bree GASPED.  

“Jees—”

“Wh—” 

“He’s ‘wake!!” she whisper-screamed. 

And sure enough, Ian Fraser was blinking up at his sister with an expression that could only be described as ‘perplexed’, brows furrowed and mouth in a perfect O of concentration,

All three of us stared down, entranced, as Ian slowly brought his hands up toward his face. The tiny fingers fanned out as he stretched in a great yawn, making us all gasp in unison from delight and love. 

“He’s—like a little person!” Bree declared, sounding unsure as to whether to cry or laugh at this revelation; though likely the former, from the happy quaver in her voice. A wonderful human being, this little lass was. My sweet, sweet love. 

“He’s watching you, Bree,” I whispered into her ear, a little choked. Ian was intent upon her, in fact, his watery eyes following the slightest of her movements. 

“I’m watchin’ him, too,” she said. A promise. 

Bree kissed her brother on the forehead. Jamie’s arm came around behind her to encircle my waist. I nuzzled my head against his as I stroked Ian’s hair.  We all, even Ian, exhaled as one. 

The camera clicked, and it was set in stone. The four of us. Forever. 

[comm2800mockumentary-blog]

Blog 7 - Pre-planning (II)

Reflective Entry #1

Pitching and Audience Engagement;

Roscoe and Hight (2001) observe that mockumentaries ‘contain a 'latent reflexivity'...'latent' because it is difficult to predict exactly how audiences will interpret these texts’ (p. 53). Because of this, it was especially important to pitch my idea to those within my stated demographic (18+) and review their feedback. 

After creating my (first) presentation, I pitched it to my peers and members of a older demographic (40-50s) and noted their recognition and criticisms. Please watch this presentation to understand how drastically my ideas have changed! 

Here is what I found: 

:) - appreciate the ‘good’ in the ‘bad’ / humour > my audience seemed to ‘light up’ with this idea. Whether that be due to the mockumentary offering hope for its audience or due to its comic relief, the ‘panel’ seemed excited to see how this would come together and some offered their own stories to make this narrative more dense and relatable.

:) - escapism > offers us a chance to escape the troubles of our current situation 

This was great feedback to hear, especially as they were understanding my aim to draw on and even generate positive energy through the mindset of: ‘every cloud has a silver lining’. However, since my mockumentary would come out after the end of Covid-19, there may be a lack of interest. People may no longer wish to look back on such traumatic times and instead forget about the loss and devastation caused by the virus. 

:/ -  Presenter / protagonist >  In citing mockumentaries which all rely on a presenter to focus their work, there is not much clarity if you will be presenting alone, whether you will be presenting it at all or if some one else will take charge 

In response to this, I think there was a little confusion with the main protagonist of my narrative because initially I didn’t have one (singular) presenter. However, in making this documentary more ‘audience friendly’ and reliable, I decided to opt for one presenter to centre the documentary around. This presenter will / would’ve been someone with quick wit and humour like either of my parents, my sibling or close friends. Practically, this is also ideal as they will be more supportive of my ideas and would be happy to make any adjustments I might have as their director (plus ‘shreditor’!). Additionally, this will keep my budget to a minimum as I will not have to ‘fork out’ for a paid presenter or actor. In documentaries ‘"people" are treated as social actors: they continue to conduct their lives more or less as they would have done without the presence of a camera. They become cultural players...their value resides...in the ways which their everyday behaviour and personality serves the needs of the filmmaker.’ (Nichols 2001, p. 5). 

:( - global tragedy > I think the main issue I found with my audience, regardless or illustrating my desire to make each episode sensitive and relate to an important issue faced by a different demographic / community within society, was the issue of Covid-19 involving mass death. This period has caused utter despair for many and my audience felt as though to produce it in any other way than a standard documentary would result in a major backlash.

My main concern is not to trivialise matters. In reflecting on my script and previous work (including my presentation) I believe that the mock-documentary could be seen as a dismissive attempt to lift moral; neglecting the real issues which Britain, and many other countries, faced since the beginning of Covid-19. To combat this, I decided by loosely following Todorov’s equilibrium, disequilibrium theory, I would be able to showcase both the heartache and nationalism of the crisis. Whilst this is conventionally used in fictional films, I believe this documentary can truly benefit from this pattern of ‘normality, normality falling apart (the crisis), and normality forming again’. Thus divulge into both the negative repercussions of Covid-19 but also expose the benefits which came out of it such as those who survived, regardless of their heath and financial standings.

:( - target market > One of my criticisms involved my target market. An issue - or a positive in this case - with modern technological advancements is arguably that children are more invested into digital media like YouTube than they are the ‘great outdoors’. If this is the case, children make up a very large and reliable market for television and even for non-fiction documentaries/shows. It was suggested to me that I attempt to re-construct this show to make it more accessible to those in the brackets of 4-15 - a more family oriented show. 

I found this very insightful. For instance, during such difficult times, children will have an array of questions regarding the current circumstances. What is going on? Why can’t I go to school? When can I see my friends? Just to name a few! I do believe, thus, that it would be foolish of me to discard them as a big target market. 

The only challenge I’d have here, though, is to make the narrative engaging enough for the children to understand the severity of the issue, whilst not being too graphic or, on the other hand, too censored. To make the documentary informative and educational but also fun and stimulating for a much younger market - who, generally, don’t watch traditional documentaries as we know it in the ‘adult’ world. 

Here are some of my own observations: 

:( - Scripting > the pre-visualisation some-what compromises the ‘truth’ which I wish to explore within my period / historical marker of a mockumentary. Even in providing figments of the 'real’, I lack exposing the general truth in many ways. Perhaps this makes my series no different to the fear-inducing news in the media currently. 

However, the recent  #FactsNotFear campaign has inspired me to educate the audience (using limited humour) with reports and genuine facts of this extraordinary times. Furthermore, Ward (2006) argues that 'not all mock-documentaries are necessarily comedies' (p. 72). I will consider this within my own mockumentary - especially with the concerns of my market. Perhaps ‘making light out of a bad situation’ is a little naive considering the huge devastation the virus has caused.  

[EDIT]

I updated my presentation and it is now available and submitted via the streaming service.