#just threw the first draft in there and when the writers came back with “ok and then with that we could do this and this” they were like

[galsinspace]

A few days ago I stumbled upon Angi, a character I had no idea existed. She lives all by herself in a remote hut on a mountain. She's reclusive and warns you not to try anything stupid, but if you talk to her she'll offer a bit of backstory: she's an outlaw who retreated to the mountains after killing the soldiers who murdered her parents.

She's the only character in the game who will train you by actually having you shoot targets for up to 6 levels in archery. By the end she'll say that she enjoyed your company.

I feel so invested in Angi now! With minimal interactivity, she's already one of the most interesting characters in the game. And she's not even a follower, which would have felt so natural!

There are so many hidden gems in this game. So many little snippets that feel so real and immediately make me care about random NPCs.

Even after so many years, whenever I play Skyrim I encounter something completely new. Random encounters that can even be completely unique depending on the random circumstances you happen to meet them in.

A few days ago I met a bunch of drunkards out in the wilderness, they invited me to drink mead with them. And among them was just a giant! I looked it up, the giant isn't part of the encounter, he just happened to be there I guess and seemed to just be partying with them.

Just now I got out of a dwemer ruin and saw two children being chased by bandits. Killed the bandits, found out the kids are travelling merchants selling dwemer scrap. They had literally no money but I gave them some enchanted daggers and food.

This game is just so fucking excellent at that stuff. Random encounters are my favourite thing. Skyrim is just about wandering the world and feeling that particular Skyrim mood... and every now and then something happens that just feels so damn real, so engaging and organic.

[rintasuna]

ok this is honestly just a snippet of a full length fic i’ve been TRYING to write for the past half year. this is probably the angsty-est thing i’ve ever written in my life, and it’s not even that bad compared to the stuff i’ve read here and on ao3. but i really just wanted to share it and HOPE i get some feedback on my writing. please keep in mind that this was kind of rushed because i am a bit busy at the moment. i am a beginner writer who has almost no idea how to structure paragraphs, so any feedback and criticism is highly appreciated!

to be honest, i had no clue where this was going. this would be a chapter part of a bigger story, but i am fairly certain this would somehow end up in the final draft.

note: sora is my haikyuu oc that i’ll be using in this fic, i like reader inserts for one shots and drabbles, but full length reader inserts kinda of bother me for a reason i shall keep to myself. ALSO (i almost forgot to mention) this is when the current third years have graduated, and the second years have now become third years. this is why atsumu is the captain in this.

"get out." everyone was shocked by the tone of suna's voice. his usual deadpan and tired tone turned hard and cold when he spoke to sora. 

"h-huh?" her voice quivered, surprised by how he spoke.

he narrowed his eyes even more. "get. out."

sora's eyes trailed down to what he was holding. she saw a glint of metal, and her eyes widened, knowing he found her razor. the people in the gym stayed silent as sora and suna walked to the doors of the gym, atsumu telling them to continue practice before following the two with his twin.

sora sat slumped against the wall, hugging her knees and resting her chin on them. osamu and atsumu leaned against the wall with their arms crossed, hidden from the pair. the middle blocker stood in front of her, glaring as he fiddled with the razor. 

"why do you still have this?" 

he got no answer. 

"were you planning to hurt yourself?" 

silence. 

"answer me, damn it!" 

sora and the twins flinched; the three of them have never heard him yell. her quiet voice rang softly. "y-yes..." 

the boys felt their hearts clench at the word. osamu dragged a hand down his face, atsumu gripped his arms a bit tighter, and suna only squeezed his eyes shut. sora felt the tears well up from behind her eyelids at his reaction, disappointed in herself. 

"oi." sora looked up at suna. 

he brought the razor to his wrist and slid it sideways, creating a cut. it wasn't deep for it to be serious, but the blood coming from it and suna's sharp inhale worried her enough. she stood up quickly and grabbed his hand. 

passing the twins, both of them say the crimson liquid trail down suna's skin and drip onto the wooden floor, their eyes widening.

 'they're both idiots.' osamu thought. 

she pushed him into the locker room and grabbed an unused towel and the first-aid kit from the bench, following him in. they sat down on the bench, sora carefully treating the cut as suna watched her fingers move. when she finished, she closed the kit and threw the bloodied towel in the hamper in the corner of the locker room. the girl walked back to the bench where suna was and sat in front of him. the whole time, silent tears fell slowly down sora's face. 

they stared at each other for several silent moments, as if studying the other person. atsumu had gone back to practice, yet osamu continued to listen from the other side of the lockers. 

after several minutes, suna spoke first. "why did you keep it?" 

sora stayed silent for a bit before answering back. "y'know... if i hadn't bumped into you and the twins these past days, i think i would've ended up bleeding out in a cheap hotel bathtub." she looked into his golden eyes, her tears blurring her vision. "thank you for saving me." 

they fell, and suna brought his hands up to her face, brushing the tears off her cheeks. sora leaned into his touch, wanting to feel the warmth of someone, anyone. soft sobs echoed around the room.

 "promise me something." he spoke softly. sora nodded in his hands. "please..." he whispered. "don't hurt yourself intentionally. it's not good for you, and it only hurts the ones who care about you." he pulled the razor from his jacket pocket. "i swear, every time you even think of hurting yourself, you're already hurting someone else who loves you." the two examined it for a moment longer before it disappeared back into suna's pocket. 

he placed his hands back on her face, only now just taking in her vulnerable looks. almost a year had passed since they found each other through a wrong number. almost a year had passed since the boy had fallen in love. 

he didn't notice how he slowly pulled her in, her warm breath hitting his lips. "rin..." when their lips met, she didn't pull away. but she didn't kiss back either. 

suna was the one who backed away to study her reaction. he noticed that there were more tears falling down her face and that her bottom lip was tucked in to hold in her sob. "i know i'm not the one you love." he sadly spoke. sora shook under his gentle touch. "it's okay. just," he inhaled slowly, trying to hold back his own tears. "let me be selfish. just this once." 

a single yet slow nod came from sora, and suna hungrily kissed her. this time sora kissed back, her shaky hands finding their way to pull him closer. 

osamu had decided he heard enough and went back to the court, silently exiting the locker room.

[lordseochangbin]

seo changbin x reader— enemies to lovers, diss track au! fluff & angst

a/n: ok there were some points where i felt iffy but i LOVE this idea and omg i love this sm im 🥺

in your seventeen years of living, you never enjoyed the number of comparisons your parents made between you and the boy next door.

he was just a few years older than you were, always mocking you for still being underaged and leaving you to spit out bullshit such as “im 18!! if you count the time i spent in my mother’s womb!”

it’s like he purposely did it to rile you up, but of course you got him back everytime. changbin being the most “popular music major” at school made him very much secretive and since you two knew each other from a young age, you were his weakness. you held his secrets, his past. that’s what made you powerful in this relationship stirred up from hate and jealously.

that, and your ability to compose amazing music.

it was another day at the school’s music studio. the professor understood you and changbin had some sort of misunderstanding so it was a priority that you two never shared a room, but mistakes happen i suppose.

you sat on the black leather chair, rocking it back and forth as you found yourself lost in your thoughts. “what should i write this song about...” you thought to yourself, chewing a pen cap between your lips.

you replayed the music over and over again. it was beautifully composed and you were quite impressed with yourself, however it didn’t hit the voices nor the raps of any music majors so you decided to call it a draft.

your cursor lingered towards the “draft” button before the door could burst open, revealing a boy in his usual black tee, sweats and shoes.

“get out” you said with a stern voice, eyes focused on the screen as you could already tell who it was

“geez... okay okay. what are you working on dumbass?” he said, resting his hands on the headrest of your seat as you stared at the screen

“it’s none of your business changbin” you remarked, clicking the draft button before the track could auto-play

you quickly rushed to pause the song before changbin could grab your wrists, staring at the blank page who’s title matched the title of the track

“some shitty music this is” he smirked, slamming the pause button so hard it made you jump in your seat

“try listening to your own music” you said, shoving him to the side and hiding your lyric book

changbin grabbed the desk behind him to regain balance, hurrying over to you as he grabbed the book in your hand

“what’s this? hmm? your love songs about me?” he smirked

your pretend-gagged in your mouth, grabbing the book from his hand and slapping his arm with it.

“stop bothering me you prick!”

“stop bothering me you prick!! mehhh” he mocked, his voice in a high pitched tone as winced his eyes at you.

everyday went like this. was he destined to annoy you? destined to be the only fault in your life with no mercy. he just enjoyed the way you scrunched your nose, the way you punched his stomach, the way you kicked his shin. god, he loved making you angry and he loved seeing you struggle.

changbin dodged your book this time before you could wack him, and assuming he was done with his daily business you went back to your seat. forgetting everything that happened seconds ago before a sudden reminder could be heard tingling down your ear

“you know y/n, why can’t you just like me?” he asked, his finger teasingly caressing the side of your cheek

“every girl wants me, yet you... i just don’t get you” he continued, pointing at you to show how much “you stood out”

you rolled your eyes, not having any of it at the moment. but you had to admit it, your heart was beating out of your chest and something in you was telling you to go for it. he’s right there, just one inch away from his lips and you could-

“exactly, take a hint seo changbin. i can’t, and i won’t ever like you” you spat in his face, forcing him to seperate his hands from your heated cheeks.

“alright, alright chill” he said in a somewhat teasing voice, “but you know you want to be mine. ill make sure of it”

“me? with your cocky ass? bet”

“it’s not like i want to be with you either y/n” he said, leaning against the desk as you looked at you for any reaction. you were as still as a statue however, and this didn’t go unnoticed by changbin. in fact, he was a bit worried when he didn’t hear a response from you.

you simply blinked, your eyes drawn to the floor as his words transcript itself into your head. he never wanted to be with you, he never wanted to be with you.

“hey, y/n you good?” he said, nudging your shoulder a bit

you woke up from your sudden day dream before turning back to your computer and ignoring his presence as you always did. but changbin wasn’t finished, he pressed the play button to your recent track.

“stop it, i can’t figure out the lyrics to this yet” you said. changbin raised an eyebrow at your plain stated response before he could smirk

“ill help you out with that”

changbin waits for the beat to replay, his eyes looking directly into yours as he twirls your chair so you’re looking at nothing more than the “rap god of music school spearb”. your breath increases as you are forced to look at him in his place, where he paced back and forth thinking of lyrics before he could spit something out.

your eyes watched as changbin took over each beat, his hands moving around to fit syllables with notes and his eyes deadlocked on you to make sure you took down every word. yes, it was offensive. yes, it was beyond talented. yes, did he so fucking hot as he brushed his fingers through his hair, his eyes now on the roof as he tried to think of lyrics to continue. but what hit you the hardest was when he pointed out how cold-hearted you were in the middle of your rap.

to be clear, he said “hey y/n youre cold hearted, like elsa farted. ‘let it go’ when you’re around me,your period hasn’t started” (A/N: I AM SO SORRY SKSK I WANTED TO HAVE FUN WITH THIS LMFAOO)

these lyrics made you laugh at first, but when you realized what he meant it remained drilled in your head. as the song went on his lyrics become more and more serious, more and more meaningful. you sat back in your seat, not even paying attention to what he was saying. you just watched him. his every moment. you eyed him from top to bottom as your heart beat started to pace a little faster. 

changbin poured his heart out in this moment. he wanted to let you know of these mixed feelings he was having. i mean, geez y/n, why were you always such a bitch to him? for no fucking reason? that’s why he decided to ignore his own feelings and bully you for now on. you hated him anyways. but as the song went on, he was tired of rapping about your imperfections (that he tried so hard to make up). he wanted to confess his love in words you could understand, and now that he had your attention he focused on doing just that. only until the music could stop.

“y/n... y/n? you pressed the pause button”

you turned around to find your elbow on the space bar. “oh.. oh! my bad i’m... oh what am i saying” you muttered to yourself before turning to him.

“get out!!” you said, standing up to push him out the door.

“okay, okay” changbin put both hands up in surrender

you shut the door in a hurry, your back slamming against it as you clutched onto your shirt. there was a burning pain there, it felt like your chest was collapsing upon itself. you never felt like this before. was it the fact that he was rapping about you? was it the insults? did it offend you THAT much? you rolled your eyes, your back slowly sliding down until your body met the floor as you finally met a steady heartbeat.

“it’s cause i like you, fucking idiot. and you call me cold-hearted?” you said, thinking back on his lyrics.

“we’ll see about that”

————-

a smug expression fit your mood as you walked down the halls, each step pulling you closer to lordseochangbin music school’s courtyard. changbin and his “rap” friends typically hung out around there and girls crowded them in awe of their looks. 

your dark eye circles drooped down low, you spent all night in distress. did he not like you? he liked you? his words hurt your petty heart, to say the least. you wanted to come up with excuses to answer this burning feeling. what was this feeling? 

it came down to feeling confused, amazed, happy, heartbroken. they all seemed jumbled up and all you could think about was throwing it into words. all night you focused on your new diss track dedicated to the one and only seo changbin. you wanted to show him you weren’t just bitching around when you said you hated him. you meant it. in all honesty you loved him, and all he did was bully you around for it. 

god, to call you a bitch like that? that hit different. you pushed through the mob of girls, standing confidently before changbin as he looked up from his laptop to see you.

“y/n...” he said, unconsciously handing his laptop to jisung to give you his attention. his hands rested on his knees before he could stand up, the crowd tensing around you

“god, here goes the typical y/n and changbin stand-off. power of the two rap lyrical writers” someone said behind you.

yes it was a typical scene, you and changbin causing scenes everywhere around campus. but this one felt different. this scene felt like it would leave a rough patch.

“changbin, just wanted to return what you gave me last night” the vagueness in your words threw everyone off, including changbin’s friends

“what? a good night lyrics to complete your song?” he smirked, taking a daring step towards you.

the close proximity made you stutter a bit before you could take out your laptop from your backpack and expose a rough draft, something you found on changbin’s drive

“wait.. isn’t that my draft music?” he asked, his eyes glaring at the screen before turning back to you

“exactly, now im gonna give you a piece of your own medicine”

--------------

you slinged your backpack over your shoulder and you walked away from the crowd. god, that was embarrassing. it was different to say the least, the crowd cheered you on but their support didn’t matter. what mattered the most was the way changbin’s eyes glared at you the whole time. he didn’t bother to make out the words you were saying but he knew exactly what you were doing.

one thing changbin couldn’t get himself to realize was your motive? why were you literally spitting bars at his face? 

he stared blankly as you left thinking not only did you attack his height, his rap style, and his skills-- you attacked his heart.

---------------

the next day he never came around to your studio. to ensure you weren’t sharing this time you checked the schedule for the booked room everyday but you never found his name. you knew he was around because of the gossip about him and his new single with his mates, but you never saw him on campus. 

when summertime came around you were excited to come home as well, hoping to see the same boy next door but you were more than heartbroken to find out the seo family had moved out. his absence was a daily reminder of the mistake you made. you should’ve confessed way sooner.

---------------

a year passed before changbin could find himself backstage, his palms sweaty from the nervousness that had been piling over him these past few days. it was a small debut, but he knew every one of his fans were anticipating this. 

you, on the other hand, had no idea what was going down until a group of girls jumped ahead of you in the lunch line.

“hey y/n! you didn’t hear about 3racha’s debut? i guess changbin was debuting first after all” the girl giggled. your mouth dropped at the sudden statement.

“changbin.. he’s..he’s debuting?!”

“yeah! his stage is tonight!” the other girl replied, “do you wanna join? i have an extra ticket”

you grabbed the palm of the girl’s hands, giving it a squeeze in gratitude. “wow, thank you. thank you dude” 

“you welcome” the two girls smiled before you could exchange numbers. 

today was the special day, huh? you thought to yourself. it was the day he always teased you about, the typical “just wait till i’m famous, then you’ll like me!” he always bragged

you laughed like an idiot just thinking about it.

------------

later that day you decided to pass some time on twitter, searching changbin in the small text box in order to get any information on his debut. luckily, the tag was filled with posts and articles about 3racha. you learned a couple things from this which explained so much about the past year. his disappearance: he was transdered into a popular company called jyp, which was the same company he was debuting in. the company building was also 200 miles away, which may have explained why the seo family had moved. it seemed all too coincidental however, but only left one spot blank in your unfilled answer sheet. why did he never say goodbye? (a/n: bruh “never say goodbye” is the lyrics to the stray kids ost that changbin helped write... anyways continue)

you jumped into a taxi with the two girls, all bubbly and giggly as you chit-chatted inside the car. the girls ensured you wore an outfit that was a bit out of your comfort zone, a red-shimmery bodycon dress that hugged your waist tight. your figure shined the most in this outfit, and earned the top topic in your conversation with the girls as you talked about the usual “where and how” you got your outfit. 

200 miles, it took about two hours you supposed at the steady speed the taxi-driver went in. once two hours passed you couldn’t help but to ditch the conversation, a pit in your stomach slowly building as you anticipated changbin’s presence. what if he forgot about you? you thought about the question for a bit before concluding it would be best if he did forget about you. 

you entered the club, finding a table nearby the stage. as the three of you got seated you noticed a face peek out behind the curtains. if it wasn’t the look on his face, god that look on his face. you could see his shocked expression as he looked at you eye-to-eye. he never expected to see you here, in fact it was the last thing that crossed his mind but instead of making him more nervous your presence made him feel more at ease, more at home. 

three performances went by in a breeze, the crowd cheering on at certain parts that impressed even you. the lyrics were fun, having you jumping in your seat as swaying back and forth to the songs. but before you knew it the solo stages came on, changbin’s was up first.

the second he got on the stage his eyes scanned the crowd before they landed on you once again. a smug smirk fitted his face as the song started, chan and jisung looking over at changbin for the message that inspired the song lyrics.

“this one’s dedicated to the girl that broke my heart. there’s more to the story of course, and now that i think about it.. i think i should probably change my words up a bit” he laughed, taking chan and jisung by surprise before they could find you in the crowd as well.

“this song... it’s to the girl i loved.. and i hated the most. thank you for being there for me, whether you wanted to or not. thank you for.. dealing with my bullshit. for being my motivation and inspiration. you mean so much more than you’ll ever know, this one’s to you”

------

three minutes later you found yourself crying in the bathroom corner. you couldn’t tell if it was tears of joy or sadness. small sniffles was all changbin heard in the tiny room before he could knock on the door

“y/n, can i come in?”

“you would still come in even if i said no” you replied in the midst of tears, trying to wipe some off with your hand

“you’re right” changbin replied as he allowed the door to open by itself. he ran to you in a heartbeat, getting you on your feet and wiping the small droplets on your cheeks

“now why is my babygirl crying right now?” he laughed, leaning down to lock eyes with you 

“did you really have to address me as babygirl?! seriously, you pervert!” you slapped his chest as you continued crying “i’m only three years younger, THREE” you pointed three fingers out as he softly grabbed your wrists, pulling you closer

“ it was all i could think of in the moment, i’m sorry love”

“i mean if i was there to help you-”

“are we seriously going to argue right now” changbin interrupted, resting his forehead against yours. there it was. your heart doing that funky thing again. god your brain cells were just squirming in disgust.. this feeling of excitement, love, yuck! it was disgusting! you thought. but deep down, you really loved seo changbin. with every breath you could never take back the fact that you loved seo changbin.

“no...i just missed you so much” you mumbled, a stutter in the midst as you could feel changbin’s hot breath with the close proximity

“then will you shut up and let me kiss you now? please?” he whispered, his hands cupping your cheeks before you could nod in approval

“did you brush your te-”

“i said shut up” changbin said with a smile before your lips could meet with his. you immediately fell into his hands, yours wrapping around his broad shoulders as he picked you up by your waist. your thighs met the cold stone counter-top of the bathroom, changbin fitting in between your legs as you pulled him in for another kiss. changbin leaned back to meet your eyes again, “you know how long i’ve been waiting to do that?” he gasped, trying to catch his breath

“im sure you can write a song about it” you chuckled

changbin looked at the mirror behind you before turning around to find his bags on the floor. “actually....”

he leaned down to find his laptop inside. “i kinda already did?”

[theosymphany]

The Canary

A short fic as Chris and Piers discusses more mundane matters as Piers settles in his team. One shot. Early days Nivanfield.

It was 1358. The new lieutenant to Alpha team had planned it to the minute. He had his lunch early, went over the notes he had made, reviewed the things he had on file and mentally went through every last conversation he’s had with the team and of course, his Captain. He checked over himself at the mirror too. Captain is relaxed on grooming standards, but his first lesson from meeting Chris was ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’

He took the longer route to the Captain’s office, not out of habit, but because there’s less chance he’ll be interrupted or run into someone. He wanted to be on time, and have his thoughts where he needed them.

He set off on a purposeful, brisk pace, folder of reports in hand, taking long, measured strides that pass off as confident and looking busy and important enough. Hazel eyes scanned around the perimeters for any unplanned incursions, but he knows deep down he needn’t worry. Staying hidden is his specialty he had mastered, in plain sight, if needed. That said though, he hadn’t been fully able to dodge the spotlight since his time at the BSAA. Being second to the legendary Chris Redfield, afterall, is a high profile role, and the Captain himself isn’t quite a man of subtlety.

He knew as he arrived that the clock had just ticked over to 1400. Captain’s door would usually be open, but he would give four unhurried but confident taps should it be closed. Has he got anything? Should he have brought a treat? Food can be an icebreaker, though the Captain must have a pretty strict diet regime to maintain his bulk…

Focus Piers. He told himself as he banished all irrelevant thoughts.

He could see now that the door was open, letting some rays of the afternoon sun into the otherwise slightly gloomy office. The captain sat at his desk, clawing his mouse, his thick brows furrowed just a little to bring out a few creases. This could be bad.

“Capt-“

“Ah Piers.” Relief fell off the Captain’s face, the five o’clock shadow that usually forms by lunchtime had made him look slightly broody, but the smile was genuine. “Come. Pull up a chair.” He cocked his head to the guest chair beside him.

Piers nodded lightly. All his others commanders usually sat him across the table where they’d have feet up and arms back, as if to silently scream how important they are. Their desks though, usually afforded such luxuries, and the space for it.

Captain Chris Redfield’s desk would be, as his mother would call it, ‘a perennially rueful mess’ bereft of military rigour, but Piers had learnt by day two on base that Captain Redfield sets the rules. Or rather, breaks them at convenience for himself. Piers may never have to worry about an inspection, but also means he’s in that uncomfortable position managing what the enlisted men would consider ‘double standards’.

Regardless, he sat, back straight and attentive, being more than a little pleased that he’s so close to the Captain he could feel the heat radiating off his body.

“It’s our catch up isn’t it. Sorry, I didn’t prepare anything. Uh, did you send- no you must have, I know you would, sorry I didn’t read it, I just…”

Piers nodded and shrugged. Yes, he’d written a short one-page update just in case and emailed through but yet again Chris hasn’t read it, but that’s OK because he’d practiced the verbal brief anyway and knew he preferred that.

“Did you want the two-minute version?”

“Yep, go on- uh wait, oh, that’s right, I was looking at this when you came in. Can I get your thoughts on this first?”

Chris pulled up the email. As he did Piers glanced at the (8709) unread tag and flinched, but told himself to focus.

It was one of those reports, cc’ed for comment by all the team leaders. There must be thousands of those going around.

“Hmm. May I skim the report?” Piers asked.

Chris alt-tabbed and Piers glanced at the page count. Less than fifty. He let out the breath he held in. Trying not to lean in too close to Chris, he scrolled through with the keyboard, looked at the summary and the body, and then the conclusion.

“I think it’s bad, but not quite sure how bad.” Chris said, scratching his head.

“This got drafted by some ivory tower academic who never had a semblance of normal life.”

“How did it get that far then, command can’t actually be that serious about this shit?”

“Well you see when you brand yourself a ‘consultant’, whatever BS they sprout will suddenly became great gems of transformative wisdom that’s it a crime against the state to realise such theoretical gains and crafted rhetoric into action. The good thing is, however, at least it doesn’t read like there’s someone’s self interests in the way…”

“You got a plan of attack?”

“Whatever you do don’t let it be a recommendation. I’m sure every commander out there is fuming about this stuff. I’ll work up some comments on the template in uh, your style and let you review them, but you should go chew the fat with others and draw out their views, and put in a coordinate effort.”

“Mmmh, I like that approach. I can chat to Crosby and K-face. It’s the same crap that keeps going round.”

“So, that brief of yours. Anything important? Do you need me to get money again?”

“No. Nothing of the sort. We could use all kinds of upgrades, but we can’t ask for them willy-nilly, it must be thought out, strategic, have the whole cost, risk benefit balance neatly summed up—”

Chris threw his hands up in defence. “OK, OK, I’m just asking. You work out the details and brief me on what to tell our accounts man. How’s the team?”

“Overall we’re going to be fine. Our teams are much smaller than we used to manage, I’m still getting to know them of course, but they’re willing, have a good attitude and there’s a lot we can cover.”

“I mean, they’re no special forces but miles above army grunts fresh from boot. They’re here because they want to be, and that counts more than anyone realises.”

“Just what I wanted to hear. And how are you?”

“Me? Oh, uh. I’m doing alright. I guess.”

Piers was caught off guard. He’d prepared the brief about everything Chris could ask him about and left out himself. He never thought about himself. As in what Chris would want him to say about himself. Is it like a job interview? Does he stay professional or let out snippets of truth and emotion? No. He never thought about the fact that Chris would ask him about himself. This is the military. No one is your care bear. They want you to get the job done and not cause any problems. Don’t be smart and don’t be stupid. Conform.

“Well you’re doing a damn fine job.” Chris said, clapping a big hand to Piers’ shoulder. “Knew I’d pick the right man.” He grinned a somewhat boyish grin and gave the shoulder a squeeze.

Pier grinned to himself. Chris was a touchy man and he’d be damned if he ever forgot a moment where they connected physically.

“Oh. Another thing.” The squeeze turned to a slap on his shoulder. “What is this writing comments in ‘my style’ that you spoke of?”

Piers blinked. Oops.

“Uh, have you ever hear of ghost writers, Captain?”

“Uh, like the movie with the team with gear battling paranormal lifeforms?” Chris said with a twinkle in his eyes. “Sounds a bit like us, really.”

“Almost, except they fight with words. A ghost writer is like someone who writes for someone else. Like a speech writer, official emails and all.”

Piers feels nervous as Chris stroked his 5’o clock shadow and appraised him intently with his warm brown eyes. He thought about the 8000 unread emails and swallowed.

“Uh, I’m kinda terrible at it, but given the timeframes of the response I might just jot some notes and you can review them so it sounds like it comes from a seasoned… captain and not some fresh-faced rookie from West Point?”

“Seasoned huh?” Chris chuckled. “Medium with a hint of garlic, salt and pepper.”

Piers licked his lips.

“Well, I’ll leave it to you. Forget the style. The key thing is to shoot this thing down before it ever gets off the ground.”

“Yes Sir!” Piers was already plotting in his head. He still needs to write like Chris would, but not as Chris would, but how command would want Chris to, striking that fine balance between authority, reason and a hint of the non-conformant leanings the Captain is known for.

“I know who I picked. You’re not a spring chicken Nivans, even if you look like you belong on a recruitment poster. I see a bright future in you, ghostbusting or zombie busting or writing or whatever else. You’ve got a good package. Of skills and, uh that word…. Aptitude, attitude? Those things. Keep it up.”

“I will, Captain. Thank you, Captain.”

“I’ll send you the docs, no hurry, but if you get it in before 1700 I know there’s a steakhouse you might like.”

Piers raised his eyebrows. Chris is more than his match.

“Right away sir.”

Chris’s eyes followed Piers out of his office, with the golden rays of the sun on his back. He sighed in relief, pressing send on the email. He looked at the other 8000 unread emails, and the pile of reports awaiting read through, and he grinned like a cat who ate the canary.

[the-record-newspaper]

The killing of Rhonda Hinson Part 29

Rhonda Hinson in a photo taken shortly before her December 1981 murder.

By LARRY J. GRIFFIN

Special Investigative Reporter

For The Record

(Editor’s note: This is the continuation of a series on the December 1981 murder of Rhonda Hinson)

When he first met Pat [Sisson], he got her into the patrol car and said to her, ‘You are going to have to convince me that you are legit.’  She threw her arm over the seat of the patrol car and told him that word. He said, “Ok, Lady; let’s go.”—Detective James “Flash” Pruett recollection, as recorded by his wife, Rhonda Fender Pruett on October 20, 2019.  

 Detective Gene Franklin does not believe in psychics—he said as much in a Sept. 15, 2019 interview with The Record.  “I don’t believe in them nor place much stock in what they say; but Flash [Detective James Pruett] did and consulted with a couple of them,” Mr. Franklin recounted.

But on Feb. 3, 1995; both detectives, along with Sheriff Richard Epley, D. A. Brown [an investigator from the District Attorney’ Office of the 25th Circuit], and Lt. Greg Calloway met with and interviewed one of them—Ms. Pat Sisson.

Over this past weekend, Detective Pruett recounted his interaction with the psychic; his thoughts were recorded in a series of written messages by his wife, Rhonda, and forwarded to this writer.    

“ [Pat] lived in Knoxville when she and Flash worked together….She came to our house; [she’s] really nice…The thing that made him really believe in her, she spoke a word to him no one knows—not even me.  It was a word uttered to Flash dating back to his military service that only he would know. When he first met Pat, he got her into the patrol car and said to her, ‘You are going to have to convince me that you are legit.’  She threw her arm over the seat of the patrol car and told him that word.  He said, ‘OK, Lady, let’s go….’”

Judy Hinson recollected that Detective Pruett told them the same story relative to his first encounter with Pat Sisson.  “He said that she whispered to him a word that only he knew the meaning of.  That seemed to win his confidence in her.”

During the Feb. 3, 1995, protracted taped interview, Ms. Sisson related, to those present, images as they came to her—at times in an almost stream-of-consciousness manner. Occasionally, the investigators would interject questions for her to consider.  

Often, however, Pat would respond as if she was retrieving informative images from the middle distance—her replies frequently incompatible with the queries.  Moreover, a perusal of the transcript reveals some contradictory observations, shifts in her perceptions of the chain of events as her inner vision became clearer, and variations in her description and biographic information of the shooter.  

Several insightful details emerged, however. After viewing four photographs from the crime scene, Ms. Sisson observed:

“…I don’t feel any sexual violence to her at the time of her death…And what was used was a pretty high-powered—I don’t know anything about guns—but was a pretty high-powered gun…I think it was a hunting gun but very high-powered... [It has] sighters…it’s got this, it’s got a strange thing, instead of looking through a little V, you look through a little circle.  It looks like a little circle that you look through.”

In several instances during the interview, the psychic provides descriptive details regarding the shooter:

“He is about five-foot; he is somewhere around 5’9’; 5’10” and has curly brown hair…light brown… and he has light eyes.  [He’s] slender maybe a 100 and 70, 70, about a 172 pounds.  I guess.  Very angry and very upset…I don’t think that he meant to kill her.  I think that he meant to scare her and I just do not feel that he meant to kill her….”

And it was Pat Sisson who described for Flash several features of Greg McDowell’s office in the Brittain Engineering building that he passed along to Jeff Hinkle prior to his meeting with his old high school acquaintance on Friday Dec. 15, 1995, at 9:30 a.m.  Mr. Hinkle recounted the sequence of events during two separate phone interviews with The Record—one of which occurred this weekend past.

He [Detective Pruett] told me about several things to look for when I met with Greg in his office.  I remember two in particular:  The first had something to do with a sign that I would see through the window in Greg’s office…I don’t remember now what was noticeable about the sign; but something was different about it—a symbol or something...The psychic also told me to look for a picture of his wife that I would find in the office. She described it and told me that his wife would look like Rhonda Hinson with blonde hair.”

Flash recalled that the sign Ms. Sisson imaged was mounted on a two-story building, and it was, “upside down or funny looking…possibly containing the name Abernathy on it.”  Further, during her Feb. 3, 1995, interview, the psychic averred that the suspect’s wife, “…believe it or not…has hair very much like Rhonda...”

Armed with these images and wired to capture a voice print of Greg McDowell, Jeff Hinkle walked through the front door of Brittain Engineering, located at the corner of 3rd Street NW and 1st Avenue NW in downtown Hickory.  He reported to the receptionist who phoned Greg to announce Jeff’s arrival. Presently, the young engineer appeared to escort his former East Burke classmate to his upstairs office.

Hinkle said, “As we walked, we talked about generalities, reminiscing a bit.  When we got to his office, we stood and talked—mainly about the electrical details for which I made the appointment.  Greg had a nice size rectangular office.  He had a desk—I don’t remember how it was oriented—but I do remember a sizable drafting table.  There was a window that looked out toward the 1st  Avenue side of the building.  And I saw almost immediately what the psychic predicted I would see outside that window.   I thought, ‘Wow!’  We walked toward his drafting table on one side of the room.  And above it, was a framed wedding picture of his wife [Jane] who really did resemble Rhonda.”  

It was at that juncture that Jeff Hinkle felt what he described as, “cold chills and the hair standing up on the back of his neck.”  Everything was unfolding as Pat Sisson had predicted to Detective Pruett and communicated to Hinkle.  It was at that moment—remembering everything he had seen and been told—Hinkle was struck with the thought that he stated without equivocation during both interviews with The Record, “I am standing in the office with the man who shot Rhonda Hinson.”

Flash and Special Agent Roy Brown were sitting in a nearby coffee shop on Hwy 127, awaiting word from Mr. Hinkle that his mission was accomplished.  “I had my departmental cellular phone with us,” Detective Pruett wrote in his case notes. “Jeff called on his cellular phone and said he had completed the task.  I asked him to meet with us back at the SBI office.”  Shortly after 11 a.m., the trio convened for debriefing. Flash summarized the proceedings for his records:

 “We removed the unit from Jeff (Hinkle) noting the on/off switch was in the on-position and taped over with white tape. The reel-to-reel unit was turned off and opened.  The used part of the tape showed about one-third full.  We hooked the unit up to the speaker unit and started listening to the tape.  It was very clear as Jeff left his office and started towards [sic] Greg’s office.  It continued to be clear until the exact moment Greg’s voice should have started.  At that exact moment the tape went silent with no audible sounds.”  

The narrative continued:  “Roy and David Keller examined the unit and tried to determine what the malfunction was in the system.  Nothing could be found to cause the problem; in fact, the unit had continued to go from reel-to-reel and starting recording again when Jeff left Greg’s office.  Roy could not explain the quirk.  The malfunction was devastating to me…I quickly interviewed Jeff to gather what personal facts he could remember.”

After sketching the layout of Brittain Engineering’s side of the building and the location of Greg McDowell’s office therein, Hinkle gave Flash as many details as he could recall. Most of the information was of a biographic nature gleaned from the conversation.  

At that juncture, Greg McDowell and his wife, Jane, had two children—a boy and a girl. He met Jane at NC State; she was originally from Kinston, N.C.  The couple married as soon as they graduated.  Hinkle described a wedding picture of them, mounted on the wall, in which Greg is wearing a light-blue suit or gray tux; Jane wore a white dress. A small picture of Jane revealed a resemblance to Rhonda Hinson.  “Greg told me that his wife didn’t like to be photographed,” Jeff related to Detective Pruett.

Hinkle also noted that his former classmate was not “much of a talker;” however, he did mention that Greg stipulated that he had never gone to any of his high school reunions.  And he averred that Greg “would not make eye contact with him.”

At the conclusion of the debriefing, Flash discussed the possibility of another attempt to record Greg’s voice—but not in the immediate future.  The detective concluded:

“We all feel like any other contact with Greg by Jeff at this time may alert him to our intentions.  It may be after the first of the year before we are able to record again. This is a big setback in my time schedule.”

There were at least three such endeavors to utilize the available technology to obtain information from Greg McDowell—this failed attempt was but the first.

Three days later—on Monday, Dec. 18, 1995, Detective Pruett called Jill Turner-Mull.

[reverseblackholeofwords]

A Thanksgiving Goodbye

(I know its too early for this but i thought it was nescessary)

Wilford thought they should celebrate a real thanksgiving again. “Turkey and everything.” as he put it. And for once. Nobody protested. A strange melancholy hung over the room as they prepared. Talking about everything except the elephant in the room. Wilford, of course, was ecstatic, independent at last. It was up to them to make their own stories now, and yet the rest of them couldn’t help but miss her. The steady stream of fans in the lobby, the little writer upstairs brandishing her laptop and writing up their next big adventure. They tried not to think about it too much as they worked on their gigantic meal. This year, they were inviting everybody.

Wilford and Dark had extended the meeting table to be three times it’s original length and the Host spent three days in the kitchen, with Dr. Iplier popping in now and then to check that nothing was burning. Anti and his brothers were all tasked with sending out the invitations, a task that anti and Ollie enjoyed immensely, whipping out their best arts and crafts set and working on the perfect design.

When the day finally rolled around, the meeting room had been transformed into a huge dining room, with decorations, a checkered tablecloth, and ornamental vases of flowers from Bim’s garden decorating the table. There were three turkeys all together, spaced evenly along the ridiculously long table, paired with every thanksgiving food you could possibly imagine and many, many chairs.

“You sure we have enough chairs?”

Anti asked skeptically as he remembered the pile of invites he and Ollie had sent out the day before.

“More than enough.”The Host replied

“40 chairs, 39 invitations.”

Anti ended up getting more chairs anyways.

“Y, know, just in case.”

Guests started arriving at noon. The Markiplier Egos and Anti were already seated and talking when the rest of the Septics arrived at the feast. Chase’s eyes went wide at the array of food covering the table and JJ clapped his hands excitedly.

“Host, did you make all of zis?”

The Host smiled at himself as the five guests sat down at the table. Anti insisted the food stay untouched until everyone arrived, so instead, the egos talked to pass the time. There was enough of them to never allow a moment of silence.

“That. is the most ridiculous idea I have ever heard. And I live with Marvin.”

Jackieboyman said when Wilford told him about his brilliant plan for Markiplier TV 2.

Both Wilford and Marvin gave him a look of deep personal offense and Chase couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

Dark was talking to Bim in a low voice, complaining about his recent back pains, he believes were caused from falling off the catwalks during Wilford’s and Anti’s fight.

“Pipe it down Drama Queen, we all know you’re just old.”

Wilford retorted as he overheard the conversation.

Dark scowled at his comment and Wilford replied with a wide grin.

“He’s right you know,” Anti said.

“Wilford probably has a lot more damage from that fight than eyeliner over there.”

Wilford smirked at Anti while twirling a knife between his fingers

“You wish.”  

“Come on Wilford you know I’m the stronger ego, lest we forget the first time we fought, where you just gave up…

“Like a wuss.” He added under his breath.

“Um, you weren’t exactly fighting fair.”

Bim reminded him. And I didn’t appreciate you using me as a puppet either.

Anti shrugged.

“A wins a win.”

“Insufferable children.”

Google whispered under his breath.

“Oh yeah?”

Wilford retorted indignantly,

“What’s your big accomplishment Tinman?”

“I remember when I was the one who had to drag Dark out of meeting rooms because everybody was too afraid to even look at him.”

Dark smirked at him.

“Okay Google, let us not forget how easy it was to exploit your programming.”

Google punched Dark playfully in the shoulder,

“We both know that doesn’t work on me anymore.”

“The Host would like to remind everybody that true pain has not been felt until you’ve been tasked with teaching a glitch how to time travel through a radio.”

Both Doc and Anti laughed when the door to the meeting room opened.

Mare, Sharper, and Phantom stood framed in the door, accompanied by Peevils and Mae.

“We got your… colorful invitations.”

Mare said from the door

“I only came for the food honestly:” Phantom added.

Sharper just waved happily at green as the three battle egos sat down next to the septics and started filling up their plates before Anti could stop them.

“Well.” Dr. Iplier looked down at his empty plate.

“We might as well start eating.”

Mae and Peevils looked down at the busy table as Wilford ceremoniously threw a knife at the biggest turkey in the room and people started piling food onto their plates.

“ We can leave if you want.” Mae offered as she saw Peevil’s unsure expression.

“…No, I don’t want to run away anymore.”

Starlight walked around the table and sat down next to Mare. Her eyes, meeting with Dark shortly. He wasn’t the man she’d come to love. not anymore, but he wasn’t the man she learned to hate either. Not really. Not anymore.

More people start coming once the meal had started. The Sanders sides joined them shortly afterward marveling at the feast in front of them, followed by PJ and Wiggles, who crashed through the lobby on a spaceship and spent the rest of the day promising to fix it after dinner. Having wiggles at the table was a little awkward for everything, including space and time, but it didn’t take him long to get into a heated argument with Wilford over the best Cotton Candy to stuff through a wormhole. As the ice between them started to break, the awkwardness was replaced by idle chatter and good food.

5 Chairs remain glaringly empty throughout dinner, and anti is left wondering if he somehow messed up the invitation when he hears a little knock on the door that is almost lost in the noise of the room. Anti glitches to the door, takes a deep breath and opens it. Jack stands behind the door and before he can say anything, Anti gives him a big hug.

“Thank you. Jack.”

“For what?” Jack asks, a little surprised by the sudden embrace.

“For coming.” Anti smiles at him and Jack smiles back as they both go to sit down.

Behind him stands a girl. Her golden hair replaced with chocolate, and yet she still shines as brightly as she did, the first time she had entered this building. The conversation slowly dies down as more people start to notice Amy and a strange hush falls over the room.

“Sorry We’re late.” she says, not meeting anybody’s gaze.

“Sorry.”

Behind her stands the rest of Teamiplier looking very nervous and perplexed. At the impossibly full room

“I bought muffins.” She says timidly, holding up a basket.

There’s an awkwardly long silence that everybody is too afraid to break, until one voice, pipes up from the back of the table.

“What kind?” The Host asks, a smile starting to creep up his face

Amy smiles back at him, removing the blanket from the basket.

“Blueberry, of course.”

“My Favorite.”

“Yeah, you’re favorite.”

“Well Are ya out or are ya in? Ya lettin’ a draft threw da door.”

Wiggles exclaimed grumpily. Uncomfortable by the sudden silence.

Amy, Mark and the rest of the team take the last available places, handing out the homemade muffins and digging into what remains of the turkey.

It’s not long after until dessert is properly served, sweet potato pie and apple strudel, filling the conference room with magical smells and small talk. Dark looks down at the full table. This was important to them. It was important to him too. Everybody is here now. Those who were here from the start to the finish, those that they found along the way. Even those that were only here for one short time in their life. Him, Wilford, Anti, Yandere, Bing, the Jims… Amy. All of them important. All of them with a part to play. He knew that this was it. No more stories, no more hardships. No more little writer upstairs, but looking at these people, his family, his friends, his enemies. He knew they would all be ok. Dark looked down at his dessert and dug in, raising his eyebrows at the peculiar taste.

Bittersweet.

He thought to himself.

(I would write “The End” here, but it’s not The End, it’s just goodbye.)

Submitted by: @fish0ut0fwater

[megamanx1994]

SRMTHFG Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The story about Mandarin (Disclaimer! I own nothing of SRMTHFG!) Chiro was continuing training drills with Antauri with his newly acquired armor. “He’s improving at an incredible level,” said Gibson viewing his stats. “Well he sure knows how to be optimistic,” said Sparx. Chiro had on some strange orange gauntlets. “Alright, try this one out for size!” he said. The gauntlets unleashed a sword and shield. Using them, he took out the formless soldiers in a flash. The other monkeys were deeply alarmed at what he found. “What?” asked Chiro. “Chiro, those were Mandarin’s weapons,” said Nova. “Wait… the sixth monkey?” asked Chiro. “Yes,” said Gibson, “We don’t really talk about him much ever since that faithful day.” “Well if Chiro is going to be part of our team now, we have no need to keep secrets from him,” said Antauri. He showed Chiro visions of Mandarin. “Mandarin was our original leader, the smartest, strongest and wisest of us all,” said Antauri, “He was given the same task as we were given; to protect the gem of imagination from the skeleton king.” In the visions, Mandarin started attacking innocent people. “Though he was too consumed by power and greed, and wanted to rule all of humanity with an iron fist, which we could not let happen,” said Antauri, “Acting quickly, we took the power coin from him, and his the gem deep within the planet.” “Whoa,” said Jinmay. “Whoa indeed,” said Gibson, “This monkey is bad news, which is why we have been training Chiro, because one day, the two of them will face off in battle.” “I’m not afraid of him,” said Chiro, “If this coin chose me to protect Shugazoom city, then I’m ready.” “That is why the coin chose you,” said Antauri, “Because you never give up on what you dream of.” Otto was still working on that machine that will hopefully get back the armor for the other monkeys. Smoke started to come out. “Aw crap,” said Otto, “What did I do wrong?”

“You might wanna fix that part first,” said Jinmay. She got out a wrench and started screwing some of the nuts in. “Young lady please step away from the machine!” said Gibson. “Relax, I know what I’m doing,” said Jinmay, “My mom was a mechanic when she was younger.” The smoke stopped. Gibson was surprised. “My word,” said Gibson, “You’re a gifted mechanic!” “Well I do take after mom,” said Jinmay as she smiled. Later at school Chiro was taking out another comic book that he wrote. “Its finally finished!” said Chiro, “My rough draft of Thunder-man meets the Sun Riders!” He was walking to Class when BT and Glenny blocked his way. “Where do you think you’re going?” asked BT. “You’ve clearly forgotten what happened last time,” said Chiro, “Unless you want another ass kicking, then I suggest you move.” He tried to head out but Glenny grabbed him and pushed him to a locker. “Its time we paid you back for the bloody nose you gave BT!” he said. “Get off of me!” said Chiro. Jinmay saw them and intervened. She threw her wrench at Glenny to get his attention. “You leave Chiro alone!” said Jinmay, “What did he ever do to you?” “You did not just do that,” said BT. “Uh oh,” said Jinmay. They both started hitting Jinmay and made her drop her art project. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before talking like that to someone who’s stronger than you,” said Glenny. They left. Chiro went to go and help her. “Are you ok?” asked Chiro. “Yeah, I guess so,” said Jinmay, “But I can’t say the same about my art project.” “I’m really sorry,” said Chiro, “If I hadn’t gotten in that scrap you wouldn’t have had to save me.” “It was worth it Chiro,” said Jinmay, “Besides I still owe you for that one time you saved my life.” “Still, somebody ought to teach those bozos a lesson,” said Chiro. “Yeah,” said Jinmay, “And we’re just the guys who can do it.” They spent the next few days rewriting Chiro’s rough draft and decided to make BT and Glenny some of the bad guys in his story. They sold some copies to their friends and BT and Glenny were made laughing stocks, and even the teachers enjoyed it. BT looked at a copy. “You are so dead Logan!” he shouted. Chiro and Jinmay were at his house coming up with new ideas for comics. “So I had this idea for myself,” said Jinmay, “I was thinking that I could have a kind of titanium coating armor and can fly and shot repulsor beams.” “That can be arranged,” said Chiro, “You really have some good ideas in your head.” “Thanks Chiro,” said Jinmay. “Chiro,” called Howard. “Yea?” asked Chiro. “Come downstairs, I need to talk to you right now!” he said. He came downstairs. “Have you been bullying people at school?” he asked. “What?” asked Chiro, “No way!” “Well then would you care to explain why this young man came over with his parents to talk to us?” asked Howard. BT was with his mom and dad with fake tears. Howard had one of Chiro’s comic books in his hand. “BT says you wrote some rude things about him in his comic books,” said Howard, “I know you were raised better than that!” “But he was…” said Chiro. “I don’t wanna hear it!” Howard snapped, “You apologize to him right NOW!” “I’m sorry,” said Chiro. “If I see one more comic book saying rude things about this young man, it is over for you mister!” said Howard, “Do you understand?” “Yes sir,” said Chiro. BT left while taunting Chiro. “And that’s not all I saw in this comic book,” said Howard flipping through pages. “You read my comic?!” asked Chiro. “And wasn’t I surprised when I read what I read!” he shouted, “WHAT BUSINESS DO YOU HAVE PUTTING THIS STUFF IN YOUR COMICS?!” Chiro looked down at the ground. “Don’t look at the ground, look at me!!�� he said, “Who put this in that comic book?!” Chiro was about to speak but Jinmay covered for him. “I wrote it,” said Jinmay, “He told me about it and I put it on there.” “Jinmay why the hell would you go and do that?!” asked Howard, “I let you in my house, you’re over here playing with Chiro, and then you wanna take our dirty laundry and expose it to the world?!” “I didn’t think…” said Jinmay. “GET THE HELL OUTTA MY HOUSE!!!!” shouted Howard as he chased her out. He shut the door and turned to Chiro. “I’m only going to say this once so listen up young man,” said Howard, “You are not friends with Jinmay Sunban. I will not allow her in this house, and I will not allow you to spend anymore time with her writing these silly comic books!” “You don’t know Jinmay!” said Chiro, “Who are you to judge who I’m friends with?” “I am your father, and you will show me some respect,” said Howard, “And you’re supposed to be studying how to be a scientist like me!” “Its not who I wanna be!” said Chiro. “Who cares?” asked Howard, “It’s a family legacy.” “I don’t care about the family legacy,” said Chiro. “Well you’re about to care,” said Howard, “Leslie, from now after school, you bring Chiro straight to the lab so I can show him the ropes.” “Howard you..” said Leslie. “Chiro, you’re gonna learn to be a scientist,” said Howard, “Whether you like it or not.” “No I’m not!” said Chiro, “I wanna be a comic book writer and not be forced to hide that talent from my friends.” “That ‘talent’ humiliated a classmate!” said Howard. “Well he deserved it!” said Chiro, “You can’t just force me to be somebody I’m not!” “What you say BOY?!” he shouted as he smacked Chiro. “Howard!!” yelled Leslie. Chiro looked back with tears in his eyes. “You go to your room,” said Howard. Chiro walked up to his room. “I wish you weren’t my father,” said Chiro. “What did you just say to me?!” asked Howard. “I said I wish you weren’t my father!!” said Chiro. He slammed the door. Later that day Chiro was looking out the window. Leslie came in with some bags. “Come on Chiro,” she said, “You’re going over to Jinmay’s place for a couple of days.” “How long?” asked Chiro. “For as long as you need to,” said Leslie, “Your father was wrong to say such rude things about your little friend.” They quietly packed some things and Leslie drove Chiro over to Jinmay’s. He rang the doorbell and Jinmay hugged him. “This must be Chiro,” said Jinmay’s father. “Um… yes sir,” said Chiro. “I’m Andy, and this is my wife Mei-Ling,” he said. “Its an honor to meet you young man,” said Mei-Ling. “Your mom told us everything,” said Jinmay. As they went inside to talk, Mandarin was watching

[tayrae515imagines]

Words will break you

Requested: Yes by the lovely @softlybisou

Hi, um i was wondering if you'd do a Cedric x Ravenclaw reader where he said some really mean things as everyone looked down upon the reader (he/she idm ahaha) basically uses the oppugno spell and Cedric finds multiple ways to make up to her and apologise but the reader keeps avoiding him purposely. He tries to find comfort with another person (during Hogsmeade or something like that) and the reader catches them together after they were going to apologise and yeah ahaha

Warnings: Hurt, swearing

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Ravenclaw Reader

Summary: You overhear Cedric talking about you which resulted in people looking down on you. He tries to apologize but you avoid him, but when you are finally ready to hear him out, he's with another.

Authors Note: Thanks for your request! Hope you like it! Sorry, this took so long! I had really bad writers block! I actually rewrote this like four times because I hated how it was coming out. I am very happy with this draft however! (Not edited.)

The sun was pouring in from the medium sized window in the center of the room. It dawned a bright gleam through your bed curtains and onto your sleep infused face. With a small groan you pushed yourself up to your feet, you were so exhausted from the severe studying you did the night before. It was almost unbearable, you were hardly even a person. With a stretch of your arms and a glance at the clock the tiredness left you and was in turn replaced with worry. 

“Shit!”

You mumbled out the words and threw on your robes before you were late yet again to potions. Your arms were filled with books, considering you forgot your bag and you were at this point sprinting to class. Hope filled you when you saw Snape’s door, up until you ran into a wall. Your books went flying all over the empty corridor and you were about to fall until hands gripped your waist and steadied you.

Wait. Walls don’t have arms.

Snapping your head up you were met with the most lovely pair of brown eyes. The were dark but flecks of gold danced around the pupil. 

“Are you okay?”

The voice was soft and concerned flowed out in his smooth words. Pushing away from him slightly you bent down to grab your books.

“Y-yeah I’m fine. I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. I was late an-”

“It’s quite alright.”

The tall boy you had basically just body slammed in the hall way, bent down in front of you and helped pick up your misplaced books. You were frantic and hadnt realized you were both reaching for the same book until your cold hand touched his warm one. You quickly retracted it and looked up at him. His gaze was already directed at you and he wore a heart warming smile as he handed you the last book.

“T-thank you.”

He nodded softly and helped you stand. His gaze stayed on you and that breathtaking smile never left his face. You noticed the yellow in his scarf and noted in your mind he was a Hufflepuff. 

“I’m Cedric. Cedric Diggory.”

“I’m (y/n) (y/l/n).”

He took your empty hand and brought it to his lips placing a soft kiss on it. His lips were so spft and warm against your cold skin and you felt a blush rise to your cheeks.

“Nice to meet you (y/n).”

“Nic-”

“Miss (y/l/n) are you going to join our class or would you prefer to fraternize in the hallway with Mr. Diggory and earn a detention?”

Snape’s sarcastic tone rung through your ears and your cheeks grew more red than before. You smiled softy at Cedric once more before walking to class. 

                                                           ---

That was how it started. A simple bump in the hallway sparked into a wildfire of emotions. Although neither of you had made anything official you couldn't count the amount of time you spent in his arms, his lips on yours. You felt nothing but pure bliss when you were with him. He made you feel loved and safe, like you could be yourself and not worry about him judging you. 

You trusted him.

Sitting in the Ravenclaw common room was where you sat, waiting for night. Waiting to put yourself in his arms. You thought while you waited maybe you could study but it was far to loud. Pushing off the couch, you stood and made your way out of the busy common room. You began walking towards the astronomy tower for some peace and quiet when you heard voices. Not paying any mind to them you began walking again until you heard your name. 

“(y/n). Is so annoying. Honestly, Cedric, I don’t know how you deal with them.”

“They aren’t that bad. They are sweet and ki-”

“They’re nothing but a stuck up Ravenclaw.”

“Yeah okay, you’re right. They can be kind of irritating. I’m just trying to let them down easy. They are obsessed with me.”

 The world slipped smoothly off his tongue and shattered your heart. Never had you imagined the one person that made you feel so safe would be the one to hurt you the most. 

You felt stupid for ever thinking Cedric could have feelings for you. He was just using you like everyone before him had. You couldn’t take hearing it anymore and you walked away. Your heart was broken but you didn’t shed a tear, not for him.

-Skip a couple weeks-

It had been a while since you last spoke to him. You noticed the looks you got in the corridors now, you noticed the whispers of your name and the giggles that followed them. Rage filled you. This was all because of him, everyone looked at you like some sort of pariah because of him.

How could he do this to you? You never once thought Cedric would be the reason you were looked down on. But then again you never thought he would use you either and he did that.

“(y/n)?”

Turning your head you saw him, the annoyingly charming and devilishly handsome boy who turned your heart into rubble.

“What?”

Your tone came out rudely and you could taste venom on your tongue.

“(y/n). Whats wrong? I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Oh, my bad. I was trying not to obsess over you so hard. You were after all trying to let me down easy right?”

Cedric’s eyes widened and his a lump grew in his throat. You could see the guilt written all over his face. You didn’t care. He should feel guilty.

“(y/n). I di-”

“You know I really don’t want to hear it, Cedric.”

With that, you walked away. A part of your brain begged for you to listen to him, maybe there was a reason behind it. Being the logical person you were you normally listened but not this time. You were so blinded with rage, and his words stung you to deeply. It was all just too much, however with only mere days until Hogsmeade you wanted to take a couple days to cool off.

You spent most of your time in the back of the library, nothing calmed you down like a good book. It was also secluded and away from prying eyes and you really couldn’t stand the looks of disgust sent your way anymore.

Cedric had tried to make advances, he tried to apologize but the fire burning in you was just too hot and you kept avoiding him. You missed him of course and if the Cedric you knew was really there, then you knew he could explain. It still hurt to know he said those things at all. You couldn’t help but wonder if he really meant them and by the end of the day you had yourself thinking maybe you had been too clingy. You felt insecure and you hated that he had that power over you.

After a few more days of avoiding, Hogsmeade time was finally here. It was on a particularly nice autumn morning. A cold chill was held in the air, orange and yellow leaves fell into left over rain puddles and you felt at peace. Today was the day you had finally decided to talk to Cedric. At the very least you could know the truth.  

The day ended all to soon over butter beers and laughs. You had enjoyed spending the day with your friends but it was time to find Cedric. Pushing out you chair you excused yourself and walked outside. You spotted his familiar brown hair and yellow scarf, and you walked towards him. 

Your heart was beating fast in your chest and you bit your bottom lips trying to calm your nerves. Finaly making it to where he was you opened your mouth to speak until you saw her. Cho Chang was leaning against him and his arm was placed around her. They looked far to friendly and suddenly you understood.

“I get it now.”

His head snapped towards your sour tone and he quickly removed his arm from the dark haired girl. You shook your head and began walking away from the pair.

“No! (y/n) wait!”

Rage was once again taking over and you quickly turned around and walked towards him. He looked taken back. 

“No! Cedric! First you talk shit about me to your friends as if I’m nothing to you and now you are with her! I get it, I didn’t then but I do now. You used me!” 

“I didn’t (y/n)! I would never do that. I shouldn’t have said those things about you but I panicked!

“And that makes it ok?!”

“No. Of course not! I didn’t mean them and instantly regretted them. As for Cho shes just a friend. Nothing more! I was asking her advice on how to get you back because you were ignoring me! I love you (y/n) and I was asking her for help.”

“Y-you love me?”

He stepped forward and gently placed his hands on your upped arms. He was so close, his mouth was so close to yours.

“I do. I have since that day in the hall. I’m so sorry (y/n). Please forgive me.”

His mouth was coming even closer and you averted your eyes from his own to his lips. Without thinking you pressed your lips to his. Urgently he kissed you, sparks radiated off your bodies and you felt like you had those nights in his dorm. Pulling away you looked at him again.

“I love you too.”

He gave you one of his heart warming smiles and placed his lips one yours once again. Words will break you, but actions will save you. 

Tag List: 

@petah-parkah-and-potahtas @lesfleurslily @fandomcupcake101 @xxladybananaxx  @hp-world-imagines

[imagines-dreams]

Connor Murphy with a Writer S/O Headcanons Part 2

Part 2 to this.

Ok, now you two were inseparable. Connor went with you everywhere, and you ditched class with Connor all the time.

Connor opened up to you little by little. Even told you that he wanted to do therapy for years, but his parents kept on saying he didn’t need it.

You were furious. You helped him as much as you could. Connor began to help himself sometimes, too. It was amazing.

“(Y/n)?”

“Everything ok, Connor?”

“I feel…”

He wouldn’t need to say anything else. You’d hug him and kiss him and whisper sweet nothings into his ear.

Connor would push you away sometimes too, go silent and just not talk to you.

“Connor?”

Silence

“Superman,” you’d drawl and wrap your arms around his shoulders, “hey, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

Still silence.

“Ok, I’ll be right here when you need me.”

Then, you got a job. You wanted the money for yourself, sure, college and publishing and all that, but your main reason was Connor.

You emailed a doctor that Connor contacted a long time ago. You explained what was happening to Connor, and that doctor knew a therapist who would give you a discount just for Connor.

“Connor?”

“Everything ok?”

“Perfect, actually. Uh, so I’ve been saving up some money.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“Well, I know you’ve wanted to go to therapy, and one of the psychologists offered you a discount for sessions.”

Connor blinked.

You froze, scared you did something wrong. That you were intruding and that Connor didn’t want any therapy anymore.

Then, he took you in his arms with tears in his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered.

You could breathe when you heard those words. You hugged him back as he whispered those two words over and over.

Twice a week, you and Connor walked to the psychologist’s. You waited inside another room where you could write and read.

When Connor missed a session, whether it was because he had a particularly bad day or because his parents forced him to go somewhere, the psychologist gladly moved his appointment and never deprived Connor a session.

Both of you still get teased and bullied. It doesn’t get to either of you as much, though. The other was always there.

You were a writer, so you developed your own sense of wit when it came to responding to bullying

One time, Connor was waiting for you outside of your classroom. Then, some douche decided to confront him. He didn’t insult you, just Connor, so Connor didn’t feel like fighting back.

But, when you came out, all hell broke loose. You saw your boyfriend surrounded by idiots, while head idiot was spewing shit about your boyfriend.

Some idiots were smart and let you through. Some weren’t so you pushed them out of the way until you were standing in front of Connor. “Shouldn’t you be picking on someone your own, size?”

“What, like you?”

“Me? I’m too big for you. I mean, you’re what, three inches? Two?” You scoffed. “I mean you’re obviously compensating for… well.” You held up your fingers to demonstrate how small two inches really was.

The head idiot was so mad and embarrassed, he couldn’t even think of a good comeback.

You grabbed Connor’s hand and pulled him out of the crowd.

Connor kinda just stared at you in awe.

“What is it, Superman?”

He kissed you against the lockers with passion you hadn’t thought possible. When Connor pulled away, he just breathed, “You’re amazing.”

You told him. “Learned from the best.”

Connor was always honest and blunt, so when it came to responding to bullying…

You were in the library. Connor had left to find some more books for research. He had also left with a kiss on your cheek, you know, if you wanted to know.

A group of girls came up to you and asked what you were doing.

“Some research for my rough draft.”

“Rough draft, like a novel?”

You nodded with a smile.

A guy scoffed. “Right, cause you can write a good novel.”

You blinked. “Well, I-”

“Is it even good?”

“Look at her! She can’t even speak, let alone write.”

You were shivering. You couldn’t fight back, not when it was about your writing.

“I found the perfect book!” Connor came rushing back, but when he saw the group of kids and your shivering, his smile faded into a scowl. He stomped over to you, wrapped you in his arms, and glared at the kids. “Apologize.”

The kids shook in their place. “We d-didn’t do anything. WE just-”

“I don’t give a fuck about what you think you didn’t do. Apologize. Now.”

“We’re sorry!” They scurried off while Connor gripped your arms and shoulders.

Your boyfriend just continued to glare at the spot those kids were standing in before.

You pulled on his jacket. “Connor,” you whispered.

He pulled away from you and held you by the shoulders. “What did they do? I swear, I will-”

“Connor!” You took a deep breath and kissed him lightly. “Thank you.”

He laughed. “Anything for you.”

I know this is long already, but just imagine the first I love you. It would probably almost a year into the relationship.

You’d be writing away at the foot of your bed. Connor would be reading on your bed, because if your significant other’s a writer, you are going to pick up a bit of reading.

You were getting some serious writer’s block. Bad writer’s block.

After an hour of staring at your rough draft, you threw back your head and groaned. “That’s it. I’m done. I can’t finish this.”

Connor peaked over the side of his bed. “What are you whining about?”

“This! I can’t finish this. Too complicated. Too many characters and subplots and motifs. What the fuck is a motif anyway?”

Connor chuckled. “You know what a motif is, (Y/n)?”

You shook your head. “I’m giving up. I can’t finish it. I can’t edit this many words and get it out to the public!”

Connor rolled his eyes and flopped back onto his bed. “I know you’re exaggerating.” He held his book above his face and continued to read

You humphed and plopped down on the bed. You removed the book from his face. “And how do you know I’m exaggerating?”

“Because if you were telling the truth, you wouldn’t be the person I fell in love with.” He went back to his book.

It took about five seconds for you to register what just happened.

You couldn’t exactly find your voice, so you just sat on the bed staring at the wall because that wonderful, passionate, stubborn guy loves you. And you love him.

Connor voices his thoughts. They did not match yours.

“I fucked it up, didn’t I?” He pulled at his hair. “Ugh! I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I knew that I was going to mess this up somehow. I’ll just leave. I’m sorry. Of course, I said it too early and I’m too fucking needy.”

He continued to ramble as he grabbed some of his stuff and walk to your door.

You pulled him back and kissed him. You pushed him against the door and intertwined your fingers with him. You smiled against his lips and kissed him again. You let go of his hands and wrapped your hands in his long hair and pulled him closer.

When his hands were free, Connor tried to get the nerve to pull away from you to ask if you were sure about this, but he couldn’t do it. Not when you were pulling him closer and smiling against his lips like that. Just more reasons to love you.

He pulled away first with a gasp.

You giggled and whispered, “I love you, too, Connor Murphy.”

He shook his head. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“What did I do to deserve you?” you countered.

You meet Mr. and Mrs. Murphy at graduation, and you were not grateful for them. Because Connor had been rubbing off on you, your first impression was everything but traditional.

“So you’re (y/n)!”

You froze next to Connor. Even he stiffened and pulled you a closer to him.

You looked around to make sure everyone around you was occupied with other things before you whipped around and interrogated his parents, “So why’d you ignore Connor when he asked to get therapy?”

Mrs. Murphy’s face filled with dread, and Mr. Murphy clenched his jaw.

Mr. Murphy let go of his wife and crossed his arms. “I don’t think you have the right to ask such questions, (Y/n).”

“Being Connor’s girlfriend for the last two years, I think I have every right.”

“Connor doesn’t need therapy,” Mrs. Murphy argued. “He’s fine now.”

“He’s fine now because I brought him to fucking therapy,” you stated.

Just on time, the psychologist who helped Connor for over a year, and still makes time for him when he needs it, pushed through the crowd to commend you and Connor on your accomplishments.

“Doctor, this is Mr. and Mrs. Murphy.”

“Ah, your son has made so much progress. I expect big things from Connor.”

Connor smiled a little. “Thank you.”

The doctor left, and Connor’s parents were speechless.

Wanting to shed some light on the situation, Connor explained, “(Y/n) paid for it, so you don’t have to worry about your precious bank account.”

Years pass and even though Connor and you go separate ways, your relationship persists.

Then, you get your book published with sketches by Connor and a dedication to Connor.

Your book gets enough attention that you and Connor are promised a book tour after you graduate college.

“What do mean (Y/n)’s late? You’re her agent. Aren’ you supposed to make sure she’s here.”

“She called in earlier, Mr. Murphy. Her flight’s been delayed, and she will be a few hours late.”

“She’s the fucking author. She can’t be late to her own book tour.” Connor slumped in his seat.

Then, hands covered his eyes. And only one person had the guts to do such a thing to Connor Murphy.

His lips curled into a smile and let out a laugh. “(y/n), I swear-”

“What is that, Superman?”

He turned around and kissed you hard while your agent averted her eyes and gave you too a moment.

“I missed you,” you murmured against his lips.

Connor couldn’t help himself. He kept on kissing you, running his hands up and down your body just to make sure you really were in his arms. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too.”

You were dreading the last stop of your book tour. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do afterwards. Connor had a bright future ahead of him as an aspiring social worker or therapist or psychologist or something like that. You… You weren’t sure what to do with yourself.

When the cameras were all gone and the people deserted the bookstore, you took a deep breath and prepared yourself for whatever end was coming.

“(Y/n), everything ok?” Connor came up behind you and hugged your waist.

You sighed and leaned back into him. “I’m fine.”

“I’m calling bullshit.”

You laughed. “As you should.” You licked your lips. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do after all this. Most writers have a second profession, but me? I have no clue if that will happen or if I’ll go back to school. I just… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do for the next year or two or forever.” You laughed bitterly. “I don’t know.”

Connor rubbed your arms, and you leaned into his warm touch and closed your eyes.

Your boyfriend of over six years leaned over and whispered, “Marry me, then.”

Your eyes flew open. You turned your head and breathed, “What did you say?”

Connor nodded to the space in front of you. You followed his silent instructions and looked in front of you. In Connor’s hand was an open ring box with a diamond ring.

You brought a hand to your mouth as tears formed in your eyes.

“I do believe,” Connor whispered, “that I asked you to marry me.”

Yes. You wanted to say that one word so badly, but with the tears in your eyes and Connor’s warmth around you, you just couldn’t find your voice.

Connor backtracked. “If you say no, it’s fine. You have stuff to figure out, so do I. Trust me. I am perfectly happy with just being by your side with no ring or whatever and… Did you just nod?”

You nodded again.

Connor gasped. “Wait, so you’re saying yes, right? Don’t fuck with me, (Y/n).”

You laughed. “Yes! I’m not joking with you. I’m not fucking with you. I am saying yes, and I would love to be your fiancee and get married and get a house and a job and…” You inhaled sharply. “I love you, and I want to be with you, Connor Murphy.”

Your fiance beamed and brought you back in his arms for a kiss. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you.” He kissed your forehead. “I love you.” He kissed your nose. “You and only,” he kissed you again, “you.” He laughed.

“Saved me again,” you joked, “my superman.”

It’s sooo long!!! Ah, but I love it so much! It’s so cute!! This is dedicated to all the imagine writers in the DEH fandom. Uh.. trying to think of some off the top of my head. @imdedicatingeverydaytoyou, @pacman-tattoo, @cherrywiness, @let-the-world-pass-by, @indigo-streaks-in-her-hair, and @dear-evan-imagines, thank you for the imagines and headcanons and for being amazing writers that I read constantly. I’ve forgotten a few, but if you have ever tagged anything Connor murphy x reader, I probably read your stuff, so thank you very much.

Also dedicated to my awesome friend, @super-fabulous-killjoy, who introduced me to Dear Evan hansen and got me back into my Broadway obsessions!

Have wonderful day, readers!

[perfectdagger]

Okay here we go 3, 13, 15, 17, 46

Sorry it took us forever to answer this, anon! But here we go:

3. name three favorite writers

Steph: I was just going through the fics I’ve read the other day and I realized that the authors I have actually read more works from were: green_feelings @greenfeelings, stylinsoncity @alienproof and cherrystreet @cherrystreet, and I really like their stories very much (I cry thinking about Empty Skies, To the Ends of the Earth and 7 Up), so there we go. (AND ALRIGHT, YES, YOU ARE MY FAVE SYN, EVEN THO YOU HAVEN’T WRITTEN  MY BDAY FIC YET)

Syn: unbelievable you didn’t answer it was me steph go away and think about your life choices but know you’re mine either way  it will be a cold dead day in hell before i put anyone besides my absolute GODDESSES so i know this shit should be about larry but listen…….. Lightning on the Wave literally molded me as a person and if you like drarry you should YOU SHOULD read her work. it’s literally been 8 years and i’m still not over this Arc. also if you’re a slytherin? you should do it because of the sheer sly pride it oozes. lucius/narcisa is the GODDAMN BEST THING like they fight while they dance tango? honestly please do yourself a favor and read this i beg you. also harry is slytherin and has a twin but don’t get freaked out because of it i swear the connor thing is actually very interesting. anyway, then I have the love of my life Annie_D (scaramouche) because i’m still destiel trash  AS FUCK even if i don’t even watch spn anymore. about larry now……….. the first fic i ever read and that is still to this day one of my fav ones is Gods and Monsters by @mizzwilde and tbh i love y&b but i can’t belieb people sleep on gods and monsters so much HONESTLY PEOPLE (steph: YAS GODS AND MONSTERS!!!!!!!!!!!!)

also VERY SPECIAL SHOUT OUT TO EVERY WRITER OUT THERE DOING GOD’S WORK AND WRITING GIRL!DIRECTION I LOVE YOU (steph: I second that)

13. hardest character to write

Steph: I don’t know, I’m more used to writing only Harry and Louis and they are always somehow similar in my fics, I guess. But it’s been a little roller coaster of feelings to write them in IYEWBIL hahaha (syn: little roller coaster? YOU’VE CRIED TWICE ALREADY that’s an euphemism if i ever heard any)

Syn : i was talking about this with steph and tbh i struggle a bit with harry? i love his quirkiness and shit but i guess i kinda understand where louis comes from more

15. hardest verse to write

Steph: (I’m assuming this is verse as in a part of the fic and not verse as in universe, ‘cause then it would be ABO LOL) I don’t wanna say it was hard, because it flowed naturally, but the break up scene in ELTHDIM was very heavy. Also, Marcel appearing at Louis’ again after 2 years in the interludio: I cried writing that. Not that it was hard, but it was very sentimental. (if we’re talking about having a hard time writing anything, then I did have a hard time with writing my fic for the Potter Direction Exchange, but that’s a whole other thing). But I guess, the hardest thing for me to write is yet to come, so I’m bracing myself and people who are reading IYEWBIL should too lol

Syn: (but when have you ever written abo steph? (: (steph: i wouldn’t know ehehehehe)) fighting scenes are A BITCH and i don’t mean verbal fighting because i ace at those, i mean actual fighting punching and shit. don’t ask where this is coming from tho

17. favorite AU to write 

Steph: So far I’ve written: a single parents au, a coffeeshop au, a fake relationship au and two hogwarts aus (Mistletoes & Wrackspurts Series and the one for the Potter Direction Exchange) and I think it’s because M&W has been the longest one, I’m having more fun writing it. But also the fake relationship au was great to write hahaha

Syn: HARRY POTTER AU HANDS DOWN because i live and breath hp and muggle!louis/wizard!harry is the best of both worlds HOW CAN I NOT DIG THAT but now i discovered a new love in writing my catwoman!au so i guess y’all should ask about those fighting scenes i guess

(steph: i hope you’re all ready for this catwoman!au, that’s all i’m gonna say)

46. share a scene of a story that you haven’t published yet

Steph: I don’t think I have any story written that I haven’t published? Syn has tons lol I’ll leave this one to her.

Syn: don’t expose me like that steph but yeah i do my draft has right now about 5 works in progress HAHA and yes one of those if your gift u cry baby

ok so er under the cut is a piece of my god-knows-when-will-come-but-i’m-currently-on-chapter-3-of-who-the-fuck-knows-how-many catwoman au in which yes harry styles is catwoman y’all know why exactly

also if there’s any dc fan out there please hmu cuz i’d love to have some help haha

Louis heard a small click, their earpiece connection turning off. He rolled his shoulders inside his uniform, suddenly wary of the silence echoing inside the empty store. Normally the black (and dark blue) of his Nightwing costume worked as a camouflage in his environment, much like Batman’s did as well, but he felt exposed inside the lighten up vault as he looked for anything that could help catch the bastard behind the 3 X’s. He took his time, checking the floor, the empty cabinets, the empty shelves, anything and everything. Still, nothing. So he went back to the door, analyzing the scratches there (he still couldn’t believe it, fucking scratches) with his gloved hand caressing them softly.

“Glad to see you admire my work.”

Louis quickly threw a batarang to where the deep, drawled out voice came from, taking his sticks out when he saw the silhouette had dodged his attack. He’d heard no one come in, where did the fucker come from? Fucker was silent, silent like…

He saw a movement come from his side as he exited the vault, blocking the punch with his forearm, getting kneeled in the stomach a second after, too surprised he was by the fast attack. He gasped and stepped backwards, raising his sticks to avoid being clawed - what the fuck, his brain registered in confusion - at, blocking every time, left, right, left, right, right, left, both, the clank of the claws against his shatterproof sticks echoing in the empty store. He was glad his mask had nightvision, otherwise he’d be even more susceptible to the attacks, his reflexes matching them and being able to hold his own in the darkened store, the streetlights weak, reflecting on the empty jewelry display around them, not enough to show much of the person trying to rip his face in two. Speaking of which, Louis concentrated, paying attention to the silhouette in front of him, narrowing his eyes to identify what-

His mistake. Between a block from his hand and another, Louis felt a kick in his stomach, strong enough to push him back into one of the glass tables that held jewelry before, the sound of shattering glass hiding his groan of pain. Fuck, that’d hurt. He blinked, a grimace from pain in his face as he tried to get himself up and look at what he was sure looked like-

A slick noise and then he was on the floor, pieces of glass dragging beneath him as he was pulled by his feet towards his attacker, who was suddenly looking down at him from above, faces inches apart, a smirk in place and black mask covering half of his face.

“Catwoman.”

Satisfied, he smiled bigger, maliciously, leaning down to lick Louis’ cheek. Louis turned his head in disgust, enough to recognize it was a long whip Catwoman secured in her hand and had used to lock his feet and drag him forward.

“Meow.” She whispered in his ear that was just in front of Catwoman’s face as he turned it more to the side. Louis used the distraction her smugness must be to punch her to the side, taking her out of top. She scuffled sideways, gracefully going back to her feet while Louis took the whip from out of his feet.

Then he took a moment to realize what was in front of him.

“You’re a man.”

“My, my, Nightwing, shouldn’t an agent of law and good know better than to designate gender to his comrades?” Catwoman teased, his (her?) voice deep, a small pout forming in his lips.

“You’re not a comrade.” Louis answered irritated, fucking pissed the fucker was teasing him after everything he’d put him through the last months.

Also, he’d licked him. Who even does that.

“No, I’m not.” Catwoman moved his hips slowly, as if he was preparing himself for an attack, as if he was having fun. “I am, however, a man.”

Louis hummed, twirling his sticks in his hands, watching every move the man made in front of him, waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Should I be calling you Catman, then? Instead of Catwoman?”

He scoffed, as if the notion was ridiculous. “Of course not. Catwoman is a title that was so gracefully bestowed upon me, why would I change it? Besides,” he stopped his moving, standing still - too still - in the middle of the floor. “I like how you say it.”

[superblybitchydream-blog]

Scribd Vs. Kindle Limitless Vs. Bookmate

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9 Years of Legal Nomads

Ever since I left my job as a lawyer on April 1, 2008, I’ve shared my plans and my thoughts about the prior 12 months at the beginning of April. These annual review posts serve the same purpose as a new year self-reflection, tracing my sabbatical that eventually and accidentally turned into a new career.

During the last 9 years, I learned how to sail. I climbed a volcano while it was erupting. I sat with spiders for 10 days. I figured out how to speak in front of crowds, at first following a vomit session spurred by nervousness, and eventually a keynote without barfing. I stumbled into a lot of stupid mistakes and shared some of the more embarrassing ones.  I made friends, the kind of friends where you pick up after months and months of not seeing each other as if it were yesterday. I feel grateful for these experiences and people, and for the ability to earn a living by being as curious as I can.

Last April, I wrote about the most frequently asked question I received: when will I settle down? My reply dismissively suggested that the question itself was faulty. That what I’ve chosen to do is not temporary, but simply a lifestyle change. “My roots are there,” I wrote, “they just splay out sideways, reaching farther but not quite as deep.”

The joke’s on me, because this year marked the end of my nomadic wanderings – at least for now.

The lesson for Year 8? Acceptance.

At Least There are Tacos

“Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. Say you’re running and you think, ‘Man, this hurts, I can’t take it anymore. The ‘hurt’ part is an unavoidable reality, but whether or not you can stand anymore is up to the runner himself.”

― Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

In October I took a deep breath and poured out a piece about my struggles with chronic pain during the last few years. Having a public site is difficult in this respect, because there’s always a line between sharing-to-help, and over sharing. I’ve had no problems writing about the challenges of my life choices, mostly to counterbalance the many “it’s all ponies and rainbows” pieces out there. But I didn’t want to complain.

Eventually, my pain levels and shitty immune system interfered with my ability to live the life I had built. Friends and family had not realized the extent of what had changed until I wrote the post. The Guardian picked up the piece, and the hundreds of emails from readers sharing their own stories with invisible illness were remarkable. Some people chastised me for “giving up,” but there is a distinction between passivity and acceptance. The latter involves more wallowing; the former channels Murakami’s decision to keep standing up to your present.

I’ve written about how travel helps us keep perspective, but it’s more than that. Travel doesn’t change you by itself; it shows you how un-special you are by giving you a spectrum of living to go by. Writing about my experiences with invisible illness did the same thing. Out of the woodwork came men and women who made me feel less alone in the experience of pain, and less invisible.

I knew I wasn’t unique in what I was going through. No one is. But it was very comforting to share with a few people who have similar issues, where we are each other’s sounding boards from afar.

To be clear, my day-to-day is not miserable. The problem is that in addition to the joint pain, my immune system is not very strong. I wrote about some coping mechanisms in the pain piece — yoga, eating healthily, probiotics, meditation, etc — but they haven’t stopped me from getting sick often. If there’s a bug going around, it’s bound to find me. I seem to have developed seasonal allergies that I never had before. I’ve been really frustrated by starting to feel ok, only to find myself felled by something totally different.

I had a very long, low-grade temper tantrum earlier this year about what felt like a loss of identity. And then I sat down and wrote that piece on chronic pain. The acceptance of Year 8 came in the form of stopping – literally and figuratively – and saying it’s enough.

I told my landlord I’d be renewing my lease in Oaxaca, bought a few rugs, and settled in for the winter. I still do get sick often here, but at least there are tacos.

Goat tacos at the Friday tanguis in Llano park.

Friday rituals, FTW.

A More Stable Life of In Betweens

In March of 2012, I wrote a piece about my “life of in betweens” and homesickness while traveling. I was 3 years into my wanderings, starting to realize that I might not head ‘home,’ and a bit concerned about what the constant movement would do.

“On my end, I certainly do think we leave a part of us in each of the places we visit. There are repercussions to doing this with frequency, too – if you keep leaving parts of yourself around the world, what’s left to leave? And is there a way to go back eventually and collect all the pieces?”

As anyone who has moved then not moved knows, I was over thinking things. But then again, I still have a lawyer brain, and I always over think things.

The truth is far more straightforward. You are the aggregate of your experiences and the people who teach you to live in this world. What your personality absorbs as you travel, what you “leave” of yourself in the places you love isn’t a lacuna. It’s an exchange. It makes room for all of the new wonder and recipes and memories. That’s simply life.

It’s also simply life to undergo big shifts in who you are, often because of circumstances that are out of your control. What this year taught me was that fighting my state of being was making things worse. Wanting to feel healthy again and being able to move around whenever I wanted to was not possible. Pushing myself to the point of exhaustion simply made me more exhausted.

And what made me exhausted was a lot less than most of my friends or family. That was probably the hardest part, because I felt anxious and foolish for being so tired or in pain. Ultimately, anxiety can lead to self-absorption because you fixate on what you’re experiencing instead of the wider picture.

In situations of traditional grief and loss, professionals recommend shifting from a more passive process of suffering to one of actively constructing new meaning from what now is. The advice remains sound, even if my preoccupations the last few months aren’t grief per se. Once I swallowed the dissonance and got over feeling sorry for myself, I looked at my business and started to build something new.

Business Projects for the Coming Year

In the fall, my 6-year partnership with G Adventures came to an end when they shuttered their Wanderers in Residence programme with the bloggers that served as brand ambassadors. I will still be writing for them once per month, mostly about food. In addition, as any of you with affiliates on Amazon know, Amazon halved their affiliate percentage payouts for many categories.

I wanted to work on my own projects, but I worried about focusing on them when my income came primarily off-site. These changes spurred me to turn back to Legal Nomads and redirect my energy to the projects below that excite me.

It wasn’t just the income levels that felt a bit scary, but also confidence. I didn’t believe I had the authority to offer a class on storytelling. I was not a formally trained writer, and while I could draft a mean indemnity clause, that didn’t make me an expert on narrative structure. I didn’t think I had the right to share my tips for public speaking, because I landed my first keynote by accident – and then threw up for an entire year before each of my talks.

It’s thanks to readers that I feel more comfortable putting out these projects. You were the ones to ask me for the storytelling course, for the speaking post, for more food maps. You’ve sent me your own stories, your soups, your tacos, and most recently – and a bit jarringly – your pictures of dogs wearing raincoats. (For the record, I’ll accept all animal photos, no questions asked.)

My focus for the 9th year of Legal Nomads is to offer products and services that are different, hopefully valuable, and boosted by the cumulative output of this site.

1. Gluten Free Translation Cards for Celiacs

As I mentioned last year, I’m building out what I’ve called the Gluten Free Cards Project, a database of celiac translation cards for purchase alongside free guides listing foods that are safe and unsafe to eat. Yes, there are translation cards out there, both for free and for purchase. The problem is I still get sick when I use them.

Why? Because they don’t account for things like cross-contamination, or use local dish names, or list ingredients that may have hidden wheat. I’ve found that in many countries, especially developing countries, saying you can’t eat wheat or gluten isn’t sufficient. You need to use local names, as well as listing out the sauces or additives that contain wheat.

An example from this week: I wrote a draft of this post from San Cristobal de las Casas. I went to a taco spot and made sure the tortillas were pure corn. The meat wasn’t marinated. There was no flour in the sauces on the table. Despite this, and communicating in Spanish that I can’t eat anything with wheat, I saw the chef add “salsa Ingles” to the meat she was cooking. Salsa Ingles is basically Worcestershire Sauce – which has wheat. It’s barely used in Oaxaca, but is common in other parts of Mexico. And as most people don’t realize it’s unsafe, of course the waiter didn’t think to check or mention it. This is also why I try to eat in food stalls or places with open kitchens, so I can pay attention.

All this to say: the cards are different because people like me get very sick and need something to make sure they don’t.

You may recall that last year I was planning to offer these gluten free translation cards for free, hoping readers bought from the shop.

I’ve learned that no one buys from the shop. (Sigh.)

So now these cards sell for $8.99, with the longer guides still offered for free.

I’ve completed Italy, Japan, Portugal, Vietnam, and Greece. Next up is Spain, with cards for Spanish, Catalan, and Galician. And then Germany.

I’ve redirected a chunk of the earnings from this project to hire another food-obsessed celiac who is helping research future cards. Once these go through two translators for accuracy, I convert them into branded versions (below) using Canva.

The project has felt overwhelming at times, but it is all worthwhile when I get an email thanking me for a reader not getting sick. A celiac acquaintance in Oaxaca was planning a trip to Japan and her tour company suggested she buy the “Legal Nomads Japan Card” – it’s taken on a life of its own! I’m excited to get more of these guides and cards out in the coming year.

Mock up of my Japan card.

2. Public Speaking.

I plan to write a piece about how I got over my fear of public speaking. For the last talk I gave, for example, I read that overclocking my brain may help me memorize my speech – so I practiced reciting it from memory whilst listening to heavy metal music.

It’s all about experimenting with what your brain needs and wants, and then remembering that you are there for a reason, and the audience wants you to succeed. Usually. I mean there are certainly times where they want you to fail miserably and epically, but thankfully I’ve never had to face that kind of crowd.

Me at my first talk, WDS 2011.

My public speaking goals are to focus on opportunities outside the travels sphere, and as with last year I will aim for education and food.

3. Typographic Food Maps.

Portugal is complete, new and cheaper black tote bags are in the store, and I’ve sent out the Japan list of foods for approval so we can get that one inked too. These did very well around Christmastime, and I have so appreciated the photos of my maps on your apartment or home walls, and in restaurants.

After Japan, readers have asked for Spain, France, and Canada. Since you guys vote on the next country, I’m all ears for what you’d like to see.

4. Writing Course.

I quietly put up a link in my monthly newsletter about a course I planned to lead that focused on storytelling in a digital world. I have yet to put the full outline and costs online, but the gist of it is to learn how to tell better stories in a crowded digital world.

Instead of a massive online class, I wanted a more intimate group that could benefit from each other’s energy. I also wanted to personally edit each assignment, so I will limit the class to 10 people each time it runs.

Unfortunately, due to the aforementioned issues I’ve not been able to focus on this as much as I want – sitting and writing has not done wonders for my nerve pain. But I will build out the workbook this season and hope to start the inaugural class later this year.

You can learn more here.

5. Oaxaca Street Food Walks.

1st Oaxaca food walk! This stall isn’t on the food walk itself, but loved this family so much we just kept going.

THESE HAVE BEEN SO FUN. While Oaxaca city does not have a density of street food like Saigon or Bangkok, I’ve formed relationships with vendors who make incredible food. It’s been great to share them with readers who pass through.

The family above was my 1st food walk in town, and they were happy to beta test all of my delicious eats. Alexandra is a reader who, like me, can’t have gluten — so all the better that my first walk was a celiac-friendly one. Her family was so lovely that we kept on going and ended with mezcal and long conversations.

I’ve been asked to scale these out further and partner with other companies, but I want to keep them for readers as combo meetup plus eat-up.

Readers coming through Oaxaca can learn more here.

6. More Writing on Legal Nomads.

As these other projects have taken shape I haven’t had the time to write on the blog as much as I would like. More histories of food ingredients and herbs and spices, more profiles of local vendors, and more photoessays. I also have a food guide to Oaxaca coming up, as well as what to do and see in the surrounding area.

* * *

That’s a wrap for my 9th anniversary of Legal Nomads.

Thank you for reading, sharing, and following along. Here’s to another year of stories, tacos, and learning through food.

Comments to this post are closed, but if you’d like to comment please do via my post on the LN Facebook page.

-Jodi

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