#or is EVERYTHING is the preceding list supposed to be itemized????

[aroguexenolith]

Misplaced modifiers do NOT belong in wage and hour laws >:/

[sapphire-mage]

So You Want to Get Into Middle Era Final Fantasy? (A Guide to Final Fantasy I-VI for Those Who Want To Check Them Out)

Some months ago, I posted a bit of an excerpt about Final Fantasy 1-6 (Oh look, here it is!), as they were coming out in Spring 2023. I kind of hinted towards the end that I’d be down to discuss the later games as well, and I suppose now would be a great chance. As someone who as played all the numbers except 11 (which is not listed), I feel it would help to go to bat on this conversation.

This is a dialogue about ‘which of these games should be you’re first FF’ and/or ‘whether or not you should give the game a go’. I won’t be bashing any of them, but instead, making a case for each of them as a way to draw points as to whether or not you would be interested in them. I may state my opinion on some of them, but overall, I have love for each of them. Let’s begin, shall we?

GENERAL TIPS AND INFO:

-Take note that MOST of these games are turn based combat RPGS, in varying degrees. With certain games, the genre does shift in a certain direction, but they still fit the RPG niche.

-FF7-9 have more ‘active mode’ style turn based RPGs, while FF10 has a more ‘wait’ style, giving you A LOT more time to breathe. FF12 functions more as a single players MMORPG with two AI bots helping you, and FF13 is more of a fast paced turn based style with two AI partners. There’s also.... you’ll see.

-If by some chance, Final Fantasy isn't vibing with you: By all means quit. Maybe pick up one with a story that interests you more. Maybe turn based combat isn't your thing. Maybe you want a better leveling system. Maybe you would rather do more modern adaptations. It varies, but don't be afraid to step away. If it's not your thing, it is not your thing. That's okay.

-When it comes to any of these games: Wait until they are on sale. Square tends to put their games on sale pretty often, and pretty often, those sales are a steal. So keep that in mind!

OKAY! Let’s begin!

Final Fantasy VII

To be clear, I am not talking about the remake. This is OG VII.

Gameplay-wise, VII takes a lot of notes from VI. Individually, characters have unique weapons and limit breaks, but you can equip materia that grant magic, skills, and stat boosts. THAT is where the strategy lies. Using what materia slots your character has, you can strengthen your materia while also making the right load out for upcoming battles.

The story is excellent on it's own. Without going into sequels or prequels, FFVII is actually one of the easiest to understand storylines of the bunch. Everything is pretty straightforward, and anything that isn't explained is left in mystery for mystery's sake (unless you go to prequels and sequels). Best of all: The character development is spread out neatly. Each character gets a lot of time to evolve as a character and improve, which is nice.

The music's fame precedes itself, though it has some that I'm not a fan of (namely 'Under the Rotten Pizza'). But if there is any real problem with FFVII, it's the graphics. Those polygons... have not aged well. I can look past it, but it may be a struggle for some. Especially in certain areas where it gets hard to SEE where to go.

But... It was my first Final Fantasy, and I think it's a superb 'first Final Fantasy' for ANYONE!

General Tip: VII isn't too difficult, as far as the series goes, so I don't have many tips. ...Save for two. First off, KEEP YOUR EYES OPEN EVERYWHERE FOR ITEMS! Especially materia! You can sometimes find materia just lying around, and that one chance to get it might to your only chance for a LONG TIME! So, keep your eyes open for green, blue, red, or purple orbs lying around!

And the second tip... At some point in the game, you'll end up going into some place called the 'Temple of the Ancients'.

When you think you're getting close to the end of that area, you should remove Aerith's/Aeris' accessory, give her a weak armor, and a somewhat weak weapon. It'll help you in a later battle.

You don't have to worry about materia, though. She can keep using whatever materia you want.

Final Fantasy Tactics

WAIT A MINUTE! Tactics?!? T doesn't come after 7!

You see, Final Fantasy Tactics holds such a big place in people's hearts, that many consider it as part of the numerical series despite being a spin-off. I AM ONE SUCH PEOPLE! TACTICS RULES!

First off, the gameplay is completely different. If you've ever played or seen Tactics Ogre, Triangle Strategy, or any '_____ Tactics' game, you should know that THAT is the gameplay styling. It can also be compared to Fire Emblem, but it's a much more different beast in a certain regard. Imagine chess, but with RPG numbers and equipment.

But to make it even better: It has a job system like Final Fantasy V. You can change the class of your characters and keep some of the things they learned from those classes. You can have a Ninja that steals like a thief, a Chemist that can dance, a Black Mage with any other magic, etc. THERE'S EVEN A CLASS THAT LET'S YOU USE MATHEMATICS TO FIGHT! AND IT'S OP IN THE RIGHT HANDS!

Storywise, this is one of the richest, yet most tragic stories in the series. It's not a story that will make your cry, per se, but it is a story that will speak of the struggles of the world. While many characters are lovable (especially the main character, Ramza), the story is very heavy and deals with heavy political themes and questions of morality. How the corruption of greed and power ruins innocent lives. That said, it does all of this quite well, and it makes for an excellent story.

This isn't a good 'first Final Fantasy' as it is a spin off that plays completely different from the rest of the series, but it is an AWESOME game that you should play if the sound of this game tickles your fancy. No requirement to play any other number in the series, either.

THAT SAID, I WOULD RECOMMEND WAITING A BIT, BECAUSE THE LIKELY HOOD OF A TACTICS REMASTER IS QUITE POSSIBLE AT THIS POINT! Especially after the success of Triangle Strategy and Tactics Ogre's remaster. But if you can't wait, be sure to play the 'War of the Lions' port, and not the OG PS1 version. The original had some bugs and poor translation.

General Tips: This game DOES have permadeath for all characters, so don't let that timer go past zero when your party members are KO'd. However, if you win the battle before their timers end, they'll be alive again after the fight.

Also: Ramza's 'Squire' class functions differently than the 'Squire' class does for most non-major playable characters. Keep an eye on it, as the class has some secrets that can benefit you later on. But of course, you can do as you please with Ramza's class and fighting style.

I'm so sorry, VIII fans, but from this bundle, this is my least favorite. But I'm still coming from a place of love and understanding.

VIII is quite different in gameplay compared to most of the previous ones. It works somewhat like 7 in that characters have unique weapons and limit breaks, but then the magic system makes things... interesting. You can equip summons still, but now, you have to 'draw magic' out from enemies and random locations. You can't equip and cast 'Fire' unless you draw individual 'Fire' spells out from your enemies to cast it for yourself. It makes a lot more sense in context.

One of the unique things you can do with your magic is augment your magic to your stats to boost them. You can also equip magic to your weapons to change them. Equipping 'Fire' to your weapons or armor could grant you Fire Elemental Attack or Immunity respectively. Same goes for Status Effects like Poison or Sleep. That aspect is really neat and creative for boss strats.

Since the gameplay is so different, it's hard to recommend as a 'first Final Fantasy', but it is not a bad follow up one.

The story is a bit strange and all-over-the-place at times, but the central focus is on a cute romance between a grumpy teenage boy and a hopeful teenage girl. She drives him a bit crazy, which gets cute and fun. There's also a neat flashback story involving a super awesome character named Laguna, but that's for you to figure out.

If this game has one massive selling point, it's the music. One of the best OSTs in the series. Battle themes, overworld themes, town themes, dungeons themes. STELLAR all around.

General Tips: Some might suggest drawing as much magic as you can until you hit max at the start. ...That is insanely boring and kind of torture. Go at your own pace. Draw when you can and have fun with it. There will be other methods to draw magic later in the game, too.

Also: Be careful over-leveling yourself. This game has a leveling system that levels boss battles along with you, so if you decide to max level, be ready for a difficult final boss.

Talking about this game is going to be difficult, because... this game kind of means so much to me, that speaking ill of it kind of hurts. But I have to speak the truth about certain things. I need to emphasize that this game has my favorite story in the entire series. Ever. Just... My god... It's so good. Maybe not perfect, but it's everything to me.

First, let's talk gameplay. Characters function like FFIV, where characters have predetermined classes and roles, but with IX, they learn new magic, abilities, and skills by equipping specific weapons, armor, or accessories. Even if the weapon or gear sucks, you need to master the spell/skill before moving on to better gear.

Also, worth mentioning: Recent ports have some 'aspect ratio' issues that mess with certain scenes. And sometimes, the game can crash after you beat the final boss. ...Yeah. I don't know why Square did a 'bleh' job with the port. Consider a PS1 version if possible, or be ready to watch the ending on YouTube when you get there.

But... This game's story... Holy moly... There has not been a video game, let alone a Final Fantasy, that has made me cry THIS MUCH! Endwalker came close!

Mind you: This is also, easily, the funniest Final Fantasy. The characters are very cartoonish, and this leads to many antics and running gags.

But the moral of this story... Without spoiling much, Final Fantasy IX talks about the value of life. AND MY GOD, DOES IT RIP YOUR HEART OUT BUT THEN ALSO MEND YOUR HEART WITH LOVE AND KISSES! And as sad as it sounds, it's a sadness that gives you hope, and sometimes, changes you as a person.

If it weren't for technical issues, this would be my favorite FF. There have been rumors of either a remake or a TV adaptation. Keep an eye out for that, and hopefully, they won't pull their punches on some of the heart wrenching moments of the game.

But if you want to experience the story now... It's ready for you to take on. Be ready to laugh, but be ready with some tissues.

General Tips: Make use of what each character can offer! If a certain character isn't living up to their potential, but you HAVE to use them, don't be afraid to have them be an item healer.

Garnet has more powerful attack summons, while Eiko has more support driven summons. Zidane and Freya are secretly two of the most busted characters, but they require a lot of grinding to get them there. Vivi is low tier, but if I can beat final bosses and super bosses with Vivi on my team, you can do anything. And again, don't underestimate Blue Magic. EVER!

(EDIT: I made the fatal error to go watch a certain scene reaction to FFIX after proof reading this, and my nose is clogged from how much I was crying. Again.)

I've heard many people point out that Final Fantasy X is the best 'First Final Fantasy'. It has voice acting. It has solid graphics. It's on every console. The story is easy to grasp (at least, the main two characters are). I'd agree, but I'd also say that that is still up to the eye of the beholder. Someone DYING to meet Sephiroth or having a preference for 2D games will point elsewhere in the end. But yes, FFX is a very safe bet.

From a gameplay standpoint, X SEEMS very forgiving, as it has a built in 'Wait Mode'. It could be one of your character's turn to attack, and you can take AS LONG AS YOU WANT! But it has some rough boss fights. Only bad part is leveling. It involves what is basically a 'giant board game where all characters start on different places, each space being a stat/ability'. IT'S HUGE! It leads to a lot of freedom, which is good, but it is extremely time consuming.

Story is... complicated. The lore and pace of the plot gets a little wonky and hand wavey. Like, "Oh! We need to move the plot to _____, so... RANDOM BULLSHIT!" But... that's not to say the story has no appeal!

The appeal of the story is the relationship between it's main characters, Tidus and Yuna. And not just in a romantic way. Yuna is quite honestly one of the most nuanced characters in Final Fantasy. She's absolutely fascinating, especially for people who have complicated religious history or family. And how Tidus and Yuna connect and lead each other to change is done so well.

And the music! Some of it has a strange bounce to it, but many other tracks are so incredibly beautiful.

General Tip: As mentioned above, the Endgame side quests can be really annoying. Be ready to brace yourself for some tedious or difficult tasks. ...Unless you have no interest in doing them, in which case, carry on with your playthrough.

Oh, and there is a segment where you get the chance to teach Tidus the 'Jecht Shot'. Try your best to get it right the first time. It'll take place after you meet Yuna and get on a boat.

Final Fantasy XII

XII is one of the biggest oddmans out. From this point on, 'turn based combat' is technically over. We're now dealing with more complicated gameplay styles.

Gameplay functions in what I can best describe as an 'auto battle programmer'. On one hand, you can tell your characters what to do, but on the other, you can 'program' them to attack using 'gambits'. For example, 'If Ally HP < 30, use Cure' or 'If Enemy has lowest Health, Attack'. Characters will function and respond to these set ups instantly, and even follow priorities depending on how important you consider each gambit to be for each character.

It's very different from the rest of the series, and it was controversial at the time. That said, I really enjoyed it. Definitely fed the former computer programmer in me.

Story is VERY different from most Final Fantasys. While character arcs and development exists, they do not take the forefront. XII, much like Tactics (which takes place in the same world), focuses more on political drama and revolution. That said, the characters are still fairly fun and interesting, so you're not entering a world of lifeless characters.

Music would probably be my biggest issue. I don't dislike Hitoshi's work. Obviously, I liked Tactic's OST, but XII doesn't have many tracks that stick with me. Still, it sounds better than the Tactics Advance games.

Should go without saying, but this one isn't a great 'First Final Fantasy'. I would recommend it to people who really enjoy computer programming or logic statements, though.

General Tips: This game does not have 'dropped gil/money' like most Final Fantasy games do. Unless your opponent is human, they don't drop money. Instead, monsters will drop spoils such as fur, bones, teeth, etc. THOSE can be sold for money.

Unfortunately, there is also an issue where there are certain items that you shouldn't sell, or else you will cheat yourself out of certain future prizes. You may want to look into that online.

The most controversial game on this line up. I lived through quite a fandom war over this game. Where I lie on that debate can be summarized in three statements. 1. I'm not going to deep into that, as I'm here to speak hope into the ether for this game. 2. The 'Hallway Simulator' criticism is a bit absurd, when MANY games do that. 3. Final Fantasy XIII needs friends and deserves friends, and that's what I want to fight for here.

XIII's gameplay is a step back to being somewhat turn based, but it is a lot more automated. You can only control one character, but you can change the 'classes' of your entire party mid-battle. You'll alternate to deal damage, heal, buff, debuff, and set up the right combo to break your enemy's defenses.

Biggest drawback is that if that character your controlling dies, it's Game Over. BUT the game works in a 'Would you like to retry the battle?' way, so retrying is no big deal.

The story... I'm not gonna lie, I am still SO CONFUSED by the general lore and explanation of what certain things are, but... I GET THE CHARACTERS! While some may say that it's a bit 'anime', the characters go through some great character arcs.

Lightning is controversial for... dumb reasons. Sorry, I like my 'big sister' protagonists, and she's no exception. Lightning is cool as hell. And Vanille is a very off-character whose voice acting and behavior will have you scratching your head... until you figure out what's going on with her.

And finally, the music. I don't know many games Masashi has led on his own, but OH MY GOD, I love the music of this game. Absolutely gorgeous! And the fact that the above song is the BASIC BATTLE THEME is crazy!

General Tips: A large portion of the game is pretty straight forward, though chest are scattered around. You may get the creeping feeling of "Oh god, am I missing side quests as I go through here?"

NOPE! The game will open up at a certain point, and it will be EXTREMELY obvious when it does. Then, and only then, do side quests show up. But it won't be for a while.

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Alright, that about wraps it up. I'm not really planning to cover XI, XIV, or XV. Still haven't played XI, XIV is an entirely different beast, and XV is something I'm still processing. If I did anything beyond here, it would probably be spin-offs? I didn't mention X-2 or XIII's sequels (I haven't played the latter, maybe I should get on that), but maybe there I will.

Ranking the games from 'best Final Fantasy to start with'. Mind you, this isn't a ranking of 'Which games are best'.

Final Fantasy VII

Final Fantasy X

Final Fantasy IX

Final Fantasy VIII

Final Fantasy XIII

Final Fantasy XII

I'm a bit biased. VII was MY first! And I didn't rank Tactics because I feel like people searching for Tactics games will gravitate to Tactics on their own. Or at least, everyone should play/try FFT regardless of FF relationship.

Honestly, I feel like these six (or seven) are very much up to factor of 'Which one interests you the most?' And that drive will guide you more than anything. If you're just DYING to meet Cloud and Sephiroth, then you know the answer. If anything I mentioned got you interested, maybe that's the one to go for.

Even if I recommended AGAINST playing one of them first, do it if you want to. Honestly, everyone has something to gain from each of these. I truly don't believe any of these are 'bad'.

[freepassbound]

10. What are your future plans?

13. All of pets you’ve ever had

22. Your plans for summer

26. What language do you want to learn?

41. Are you happy with where you live?

✨✨✨ please and thank you 😁

10. What are your future plans?

I really don't know. This past year in the new teaching job was really stressful, and if next year is anything like that... well, I don't know that I want to continue with this job. It seems like I could pivot to tutoring full-time without much of a problem - but that carries all kinds of disadvantages around insurance and taxes, and it is more uncertain.

13. All of pets you’ve ever had

Three dogs: one who preceded me and passed when I was literally a toddler (so I don't really remember them); one from when I was in middle school to college, a beagle who would run off after anything; and one from my mid-20s to late-30s, a black lab mutt who loved snuggling and who also wound up absorbing a lot of our neuroses.

22. Your plans for summer

I have nothing concrete; right now I'm just slowly trying to set right all the stuff that went sideways during my bad spell last month. I'm doing some tutoring, I'll probably try to sneak in a short vacation or two, and getting the house sorted has been a checklist item for... seven-and-a-half years now. Nothing remarkable.

26. What language do you want to learn?

French has always been top of the list, even if the original reason isn't valid anymore. I don't suppose I'd change it as the choice, though.

41. Are you happy with where you live?

Hmm. I think it might be more accurate to say that I'm very attached to where I live? I suppose I'm happy enough - I've never seriously imagined living elsewhere (and at this point I almost certainly don't have the financial means to move).

I value my community, and I try to help it out with my work and my custom; I like knowing where everything is, and having long-time favorites.

On a tighter scale, I think it's a pretty nice house, in a reasonably good spot. I wish I could feel comfortable going for a walk or a bike, but the road is too busy and not designed for that (in my opinion). The yard is a source of stress because I don't trust myself with plants and I hate cutting things down - but it's also very nice at the same time, as I get deer stopping by, plus a nice variety of birds, and rabbits, possums... used to get turkeys, but I haven't seen any in a long while.

[hanzi83]

Probably Not The Final Draft

I didn’t even know if I wanted to write this but I can never escape this shit, and it just shows how addicted I am to the discourse as life just passes me by and hoping eventually I am no longer here. The more I wake up to the world being orchestrated to destruct and we continue to sports entertain ourselves into a more fascist world, I don’t know if people know they are brainwashed, or if they are willingly being brainwashed, but this notion of stuff being done transparently on the surface is not supposed to be obvious so there is pushback from people online or alt media that is just as much establishment like rhetoric, especially the aesthetic. People will counter the far right wing shit to some extent, but I still feel the biggest mistake people on the left do is not get conspiratorial about shit to weaponize against the right, because even if a few items on the right wing list turn out to be true, that is all they need to dominate and the only thing I see is constant needs for debate and then it ends up some prominent “left” figures will start easing their way into the right wing mindset, they will common ground that always leads with the person having to be fair to people who don’t ever want to play fair. We insist on having this aesthetic that matches the past when the game is 100 times more advanced. More and more all I am seeing is more people just further themselves into becoming characters for comedic banter nonstop, the sports entertainment personalities take precedent over the systemic issue, even when the systemic issue becomes the focus, it then reduces to shitty debates between other sports entertainers who know it will just be talking in circles with people who are willing to organize a movement where it looks like they are the ones fighting back against the oppressive system, even though they want to normalize their own shitty version. It works out perfect when the right wing trajectory system, much like wrestling bookers, have their world champions out there and purposefully fucking up and we still have to look at it with “America’s dumbest criminal” aesthetic. Sorry, I realize I am not credible enough to give my thoughts on politics through a wrestling lens, but these people have made it so fucking obvious. It is funny because the political crowd, some of them will scoff at wrestling being talked about, but they actually partake and enjoy sports entertainment shit despite looking down at people who watch wrestling. So if the world is supposed to implode, it means that nothing will get done that will really change from a president or prime minister’s “decisions” and then the watered down MSM will limit narratives and not push back when it is a democrat in office but there is pushback, because the shit that is online is just as much the MSM as the MSM is, you notice until the discredited MSM starts hawking points that someone like a Jimmy Dore says then all of a sudden, the shitty MSM is now telling the truth. Ultimately the right wing trajectory system will have their true face of what they have wanted. Again, everything I am saying are just my theories and I don’t have the back up sources for what I am spewing from the top of my head. I know I am not considered the smartest, plus my aesthetic is shit and as shit as my aesthetic is, I still somehow can see where the future is going more so than other political commentators. The MSM will tell overall truths, but that to me are just self preservation truths so in the history books, they can say people warned of what is to come, but in current times, we have lived through so much fucking lies from the US Empire, that no one takes their word on anything seriously unless you happen to be a “whistleblower” that post left and right wing people will amplify. People really think that calling the MSM shit in this current day has any real stock when it has gone to the next level. Suddenly the “independent” media could never have dark money funding it or anything. It used to be so easy to follow the news a bit more because I knew MSM would not tell us everything and then I could refer to supposed independent people who were explaining the propaganda, while then covering up for other government’s propaganda, and then each side gets defensive if you don’t buy their side 100 percent. I don’t know I have seen way too much shit play out where something is bullshit, someone did something problematic etc, and it feels like the intent is not to root for anyone. It doesn’t feel like there is hope. People want to be indoctrinated into the far right, and your hope is that there will be people on the left who can counter, but it turns out people will find a way to start generalizing everyone on the left about coming off as off putting, when the system by design has been there to fuck with people, it has been right wing policies and they are not only getting away with it, but they are winning the culture wars online and dominating and all I ever hear from other “progressive” gate keepers is to be civil and win with ideas, but when shit heads limit what the narratives are, how the fuck are you gonna beat these people when we can’t even expand the narratives. We have to pretend that shit that leaks out online is somehow something the system never wants us to know. It is like how the modern wrestling discourse is, people really think they can only enjoy WWE if the narrative is that WWE didn’t plan for this person to get over. I don’t get this notion to dumb down how smart these people are. It doesn’t mean you have to kiss their ass, but it is perverse because there are permitted sports entertainer accounts that think by naming off stuff on the surface as the big own, when they are helping create the same propaganda with a newer face.

I know I have stated this shit before and I am probably remixing it but I don’t keep track of shit I say word for word all the fucking time and it just feels with more normalized propaganda happening where the right and the neoliberals are making it more difficult for regular people to function in this world, that how can anyone sleep at night thinking that advocating for abduction of trans children or taking away womens rights, trying to erase a racist history while still getting to kill more minorities with impunity and have a bunch of other boring uncharismatic shit heads justify it while filling your head with more trauma porn while people are cheering on the killers, how can anyone think advocating for that kind of side is the normal and just position while screaming how people on the left have gone too far when normally most of the time the examples of the “left” going too far is normally some sensationalist shit that everyone defines by it. We can’t even have an honest look at what society was in the past, and we generalize it in the current form thinking we are better when we are normalizing other racism and ignorance in the process. Like back in the 2000’s, in the midst of all the real edge lord shit, there was a lot of normalized racism and ignorance in general that was normalized with the entertainment consumed, and people don’t want to admit it, but our entertainment and the attitudes reflected upon it have helped brainwash us a little, but back then we didn’t think we were being ignorant or racist etc, because our definition for racism was over the top racism of people not wanting to hang out with other people who were different from them, but in the late 90’s and 2000’s, we hung out with all kinds of minority groups and we somehow thought we were better than the 50’s but we were really fucking ignorant and now in the 2010’s we have looked back and generalized people and things back then when the same system were the ones pushing that kind of shit to be normalized, and now we think in our current aesthetic that we are better than what was the past. We are not. We are always susceptible to propaganda, like when someone becomes a “truth teller” about one stand out racist incident like a Hulk Hogan etc, we think people are telling the truth and they will finally call out the entire system, but people get credit for that and then allow more normalized shit to go down but I can’t call that out because people called out an obvious problematic person one time. It is like how people think that pointing out the hypocrisy in shit really has value, listen these people on the right don’t give a shit if they are hypocrites, and it used to stand out in the 2010’s to point it out but now in our current world, like you think republicans who want child marriage legalized are gonna give a shit if you constantly do nonstop material on their hypocrisy, it is time to find another fucking tactic, because it is not gonna work. It is like whatever side of the fence you want to be on, you will justify being on that side. I am supposed to be hyped up for obvious sports entertainment with George Santos getting in all sorts of legal trouble and still being allowed to fucking be in office, don’t judge me for not knowing the political rules of what is promoted when literally no one in this fucking system is playing by it, but I guess Jamaal Bowman partaking in sports entertainment with Marjorie Taylor Green, which would be the equivalent of a backstage sports entertainment segment that seems over the top to start a feud, then afterwards they then cut their “pro wrestling” promos with MTG lying about being called a white supremacist and how she felt intimidated and she throws a bunch of racist dogwhistles, then Bowman gets to retort and I fuck with his message of what he said, but he is not operating by the same rules that other people from his community face, like if something were to happen to Bowman, it wouldn’t be some random act of occurrence, it would be more dangerous because it would be mafia permitted, but public figures have to make their situation relatable in the exact same way that other people will go through shit. But it becomes political sports entertainment, it becomes the obvious racist shit that we are gonna call out, while normalizing 50 other racist shit. We know MTG is a shitty hypocrite, there is a long list of her harassing people and doing more sports entertainment.

I didn’t want to make this a long blog but I don't know what I am trying to get across. Sometimes I just want to write and wherever I end up going, I end up going because I am trying to refrain from covering the CM Punk shit because I am so annoyed with the nonstop discourse around that, so that is why I am trying to keep it strictly about the overall view I have of where the system is going. If I had any fucking will power I would stop watching this art form though because it is getting a lot worse with the propped up discourse and the gas lighting but then we have to protect the image of someone who needs the discourse centered around them at the detriment of everyone else, even with his planned cancelation, because now people are focusing on his past comments from his 2005 RF Shoot interviews where him and Colt go over what they did to one woman they were training with, hurting her on purpose and justifying it because she didn’t want to learn, and none of the accounts who are literally calling out everyone who didn’t say everything about the Vince accusations, have said anything about this, and maybe Punk/Colt have changed hence why people let this slide, maybe it represents that in the mid 2000’s how much of an ignorant society we lived in where something that Punk/Colt did was not seen as a big deal because those were the attitudes, hell I bet that you shoot interview is what made Vince/Triple H like Punk to any extent. Punk has always been an internet marketing tool, we view the internet as keeping it real but the reason it has so much cache is because it helped propped up entertainers make it to the next level, so Punk in my personal opinion, is in the position of now controlling his negative and positive narrative, so they clearly want this old story out there because maybe it will reflect on who he is now and he will turn heel in real life. When you start off on the internet, they know what your trajectory is gonna be. But maybe at his core he actually does give a shit about women and supports them genuinely, but now we are gonna correlate his past with whatever is revealed in the present since people plan their cancelations before it happens and that justifies why they will be seen as bad guys, but it makes sense because back in the day when people online knew which chicks he had sex with and was in relationships with, we all thought it was fucking cool, but once I realized the probabilities of people in the industry fucking everyone anyways because it is a mafia and open relationship kind of place where they use the relationships as relatable ones with regular people, so now that you think about it, he was such a marketing tool for the internet they had to promote online who he fucked so people would think he is cool. And this is the guy talking about everyone having parasocial relationships and how no one knows him or anyone, he finally does it when his fanbase and other people’s fan bases have run amok online, you literally have the conversation centering around you, you and others have probably given incentive to paid online accounts to take away from the product because they couldn’t wait 8 months until you come back when you are coming back, the entire “They pulled him from the press release” was part of the marketing and he might not show up right away but he will eventually show up again. But people will get on their high horse about “Well CM Punk is simply more entertaining than the product” No you shit heads made the product a lot more shitty with the focus on this fucking guy who will end up coming back anyways, and even if he goes somewhere else, it is still gonna be an online work to me. They sacrificed programming to facilitate this stupid worked shoot shit and people associated have helped dumb shit down so people who are probably paid by the company or Punk online are people who then come up with the solutions that didn’t need to be there because proper booking could’ve fucking happened. And people who are outraged by Punk’s past comments, are you mad about them because you genuinely give a shit about “Bikini girl” or is someone’s trauma being put out there so you can fucking facilitate a feud between CM Punk vs Bryan fucking Alvarez. Sorry it is completely and utter shit, then we have to hear from Brian fucking Last because now we made Cornette a cliche old head character who needs to be involved. The media circus online when shit like this happens, it can’t just be a simple news day, it has to be conflicting reports from different people and people online then get mad, the wrestlers themselves prod the fanbase and then other members of the fanbase are given incentive to help destroy someone’s mentality. But people who suddenly care now about this past interview, you people have overlooked Vince’s bullshit, and the other countless of systemic abuse in these industries and you don’t want to hear about them unless it fits in with your entertainment, and I am no fucking better. If I had any dignity, I would stop watching any of this entertainment shit. But I just hate how people pretend there is a not an overall industry problem and there is never any nuance to the conversation. Nothing will truly change, I didn’t even want to cover it because it is pointless but then I give in and talk about it, but it is like I am just ready for them to get this work out of the way. I really want to hold off on watching the new show or wrestling altogether. I don’t give a shit that Ace Steel is hired or not hired, can’t wait for CM Punk’s cheerleaders turn on Ace once he and Punk fall out and people use the same material they have been using at Colt. But the discourse gets out of control. And the funny part is, because the political shit is making its way into the industries and institutions, you are gonna see some of these political commentators at some point seep into the world of wrestling, the political discourse is all sports entertainment anyway. No one wants to admit it though, they will admit but in a limited way but I can literally break down the system watching wrestling, it is what helps me see how I perceive the world to operate. I am not saying I am right, but it would’ve been easier to boycott the entertainment maybe back then because now it is impossible.

There are people who need me to keep watching despite them suppressing me and keeping under their thumb and people getting comfortable disrespecting me, but it is so much investment for me to be invested into this shit for some reason hence why there are people who are incentivized to wow me to make me feel a little better but it never goes anywhere, and I have been put through the ringer from these people who are in the entertainment and political world for far too long. And the fucked up part of it is I have been through so much spiritual wars that it doesn’t count within “reality” and I still have to deal with people being given incentive in my life to annoy me because that is how industry people get at me since they can’t physically attack me, they can’t attack me on the surface personally when I am online because that would mean admitting that they give a fuck what I say when I am not supposed to be relevant, in fact I have seen messages from people who have admitted when people say shit they don’t like they can organize their engagement to be suppressed and I find it funny that so much effort is done to push me out of the way but then still insist they need me around but unless I have cosigns from other people who want to do Howard Stern like bullshit, because the name of the game is always gonna be chaos in the cogs’ lives nonstop. There is literally nothing that makes me happy on this earth. I wish I could go back in time and change my need to be entertained and be entrenched with the entertainment world because I think it has rotted my brain. And now I am stuck in this world I don’t want to be in with constant sports entertainment that is gonna fuck with our lives. It is not fun being here on this planet and I feel like the longer I am alive, I will have to give into this shit to cross over to the right leaning side and I don’t want to do that, because it feels like everyone is susceptible to it and eventually everyone throws on an NWO shirt, and I don’t want to. I don’t have hope for this world. I feel I wasted so much time, there is nothing for me to look forward to because everything will constantly get fucking worse, and it is amazing because it has gotten bad and you think it can’t get any worse, but they surprise me even more. I am sure I will come back with another blog that is a better draft than the previous one etc because I am writing this really late/early and I am all over the map. Again not one of my best ones, I don’t have all the answers, I can admit that but I feel the ones who do, could organize better shit to go down to prevent the horrible shit from happening. I feel useless on this planet. Why am I needed here? This is just me thinking out loud, I am not trying to say I am gonna kill myself. Which is hilarious people will tell me not to do that but then they will proceed to be the reasons why I would want go down that path in my fucked up head (By the way I left my computer alone for a bit to get something to eat, I come back down, and the place where it says “they will proceed to be the reasons why” the trolls added in all caps “WHY I WANT TO KILL” and I swear I didn’t write that down, but this is more ways to show they can access my shit and do what they want, because it will scare me but I know they are gonna eventually come for me, and the only vindication I will have will take place after I am gone from this planet, but even me leaving my laptop alone for a bit, they will show their true colors. Like me, writing a blog is threatening to you people, like it isn’t good enough, you have used people to isolate me from seeing people for the last decade, you have sent nonstop cogs to come and disrupt my process and make me feel more suicidal, they have suppressed me for so fucking long, but me writing a shitty half ass blog for the sake of it, that no one will talk about, that is so bothersome to you people, you would literally put in caps “I WANT TO KILL” I am trying to seriously think if I wa half asleep and I just wrote in caps because I left it on, but I am pretty sure I didn’t. It doesn’t matter, it just makes me look worse and not the people who would do that kind of shit, and now it is making me not want to write anymore for the time being.

[avengerscompound]

Until the End of the World - 13

Until the End of the World: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count:  2085

Rating:  E

Warnings: pregnancy

Synopsis: Four years after Steve and Bucky got to the bottom of the HYDRA conspiracy that had led to you and your son being hunted for the first three years of his life, you, Bucky, and Steve have carved out a nice life together.  Things are calm and you feel like a family unit.  When Geo starts calling Bucky and Steve ‘dad’, a decision is made to try and add to your family.

Things aren’t as calm as they seem.  When your pregnancy hits the papers, HYDRA rears its head once again, and Steve and Bucky need to track you down to protect the family they had created.

Chapter 13

The paperwork was all put in to adopt Geo.  Steve had put his lawyers on it, petitioning to allow both he and Bucky to go onto the birth certificate as adoptive parents, while you also kept your legal rights as a parent too.  The lawyers had said for everyone not to get their hopes too high, it was hard to be the precedent, but they were on it.  Bucky hoped it worked.  He read that in Canada there had been not only a lesbian couple that had been allowed to have both mothers and the donor father listed on the birth certificate of a child, but also a polyamorous family with two fathers and a mother all listed as parents on their child’s birth certificate too.

Bucky hoped that maybe if both he and Steve could adopt Geo, it would lead to both being listed on their little girl’s birth certificate too.  He hadn’t brought up his idea to go to Canada to have the baby yet.  It might be a little much to convince Steve to have a Canadian baby considering who he was.  But he might if it meant they could both be listed as her parents.

For now, Bucky would keep his fingers crossed and hope that the world might just surprise him and accept him and his family for what they were, even if maybe that was more than he’d earned yet.  There were other things to worry about.

The apartment was finally finished and you, Steve, Bucky, and Geo were moving your things back in.  It wasn’t a huge job, as almost everyone’s belongings had stayed in the apartment and just been covered in drop sheets while the work was done.  But still, there were clothes and Geo’s toys and random miscellaneous items that had drifted to the guest apartment they’d been using while construction had been underway.  Not to mention, even though all their things were there, the new rooms were empty and things needed to be reorganized to fit the space.

Bucky and Steve were in charge of moving the larger things, while you and Geo did smaller runs back and forth with clothes and toys and went about putting up pictures in new places and spreading out nicknacks.

“The baby doesn’t have a bed yet,” Geo said as nosed around the rooms, trying to get a feel for the new space.

The nursery had been done.  It was painted a light purple and Steve had been spending some of his free time painting a forest mural on one wall, but aside from the furniture they’d had built-in, like the wardrobe and sets of drawers, the room was still completely empty.

“We wanted to wait until the place was ready before we bought any,” Steve answered, ruffling Geo’s hair as he passed him in the hall, one large bag hefted over his shoulder.  “Did you want to go out and help us pick when we do that?”

Geo shrugged.  “I don’t mind.  I wanna buy her some toys.”

“We can do that,” Steve agreed.

You came out of the bedroom and dragged the drop sheet off one of the couches, before flopping down on it.

“You okay, babe?”  Bucky asked, stopping near you with his arms full of clothes.

“Yeah.  Just my back is aching and the baby is kicking me so much,” you complained.

“Let me just put this down and I’ll come and rub your back,” Bucky said, carrying the things into the bedroom and dumping them on the bed.  He came back out and removed the drop sheets from all the furniture and took a seat beside you.   “Can you get in a comfortable position?”

You got on your knees and leaned over the arm of the couch, resting your head on your arms.  Bucky began to gently work out the tension in your lower back.  Steve came back through the room followed by Geo as Bucky began to feel your muscles relaxing.

“Maybe it’s a good time for a break anyway,” Steve said.  “Do you want a drink?”

“Lemonade, please,” you half-moaned.

Geo sat down on the recliner and popped it out.  He was still quite small and in the large chair, he looked tiny.  His legs barely went over the side even when it wasn’t in the recline position.  He grabbed his tablet and immediately began playing a game with FRIDAY.  His eyes flickered as he communicated with her using his technopathic abilities.

Steve bought over a tray with a jug of lemonade and five glasses.  “Do we want to order lunch in?”

“Yes, please,” you moaned.

“Maybe you should rest and Bucky and I will finish unpacking,” Steve suggested.

“Gee, thanks for volunteering me, pal,” Bucky teased, earning a soft laugh from Steve.

Steve grabbed his phone and started to flick through it.  “What are we feeling?  Subs?  Something from a deli?  Something a little more hearty?”

“I’m feeling sandwich and soup, and a pickle on the side,” you said.

“I’m fine with that,” Bucky said, his hands sliding up your back a little while he massaged you.

“Geo?”  Steve said.  “You want soup and a sandwich?”

“Mac and cheese, please,” he answered without looking up.

Steve chuckled.  “Always have to make things difficult.  I’ll see what I can find.”

He tapped around on his phone for a little while before he found somewhere and then handed his phone to you.  You added some things to the cart, while Bucky massaged you.  “What are you feeling, Bucky?”  You asked, holding the phone for him to see.

“The Italian and-” his eyes flicked over everything as you scrolled down.  “-the loaded baked potato.”

You added them and sent the order in.  Bucky kept massaging you back and for a while that the only sounds in the room were the hum of the aircon, the tap of Geo’s fingers on the screen of his tablet, and the groans you would make when Bucky hit a particularly sensitive spot.

Eventually, you seemed to tire of the position you were in and you sat back, and put your feet in Bucky’s lap.  He immediately began to rub your feet.

“The good news is, we’re nearly done with the big things,” Steve said.  “We still have to spread out into the extra space, but there’s no rush to do that.”

“That’s good.  Your daughter is kicking the hell out of me,” you said.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Steve said.  “And she’s a little super soldier.”

“Yeah, be careful she doesn’t break one of your ribs,” Bucky said and ran his hands up your leg and pressed it against your stomach.

“How am I supposed to be careful?”  You snarked, moving his hand so it was in a better position.  No one else had been able to feel the kicks yet but this was a normal routine for the family.  You’d tell them you could feel the baby.  Steve or Bucky would put their hand on your stomach.  You’d move it to the spot you could feel them, and then nothing would happen.  Bucky lived in hope though.  It had to happen sooner or later.  “She’s inside me.  What can I do to stop her?”

Bucky chuckled and leaned over and kissed your forehead.  “Nothing with that attitude.”

He sat back and pressed his metal hand down against the baby bump where you held it.

He wasn’t particularly fond of his metal arm.  Sure there was this objective part of him that appreciated the technology.  It was very advanced, even for today’s standards for prosthetics, and he had always been a big fan of technology.  He appreciated that it allowed him to function easily.  He could get by without it and had done for a while and despite the fact, his hair would get caught in it from time to time, it did make it easier to do things like washing his hair and fastening the buttons on his clothes.

However, there were a lot of issues too.  It was heavy for one.  He had to lean to the right to compensate, which made his back ache on the best of days and meant his gate was a little off, and if he had to do a lot of walking or running, his hips would be screaming at him by the end of the day.  The new one was lighter but it still wasn’t as light as his flesh and blood arm.  The way it connected to his body caused problems too.  He wasn’t exactly sure they were all physical problems, or just in his head, but the way the skin rubbed against metal was irritating, and he knew, at least originally, HYDRA hadn’t cared about him, just the arm, so the connections weren’t the best, and they hurt all the time, sometimes sending painful spikes right to his head.  He used to scratch at it a lot like he was trying to dig the metal out of his flesh.  The problem was, all that should have been fixed with the new one, but he still felt it from time-to-time and he’d still find himself stretching at it.

It was how it made him feel about himself that was the worst.  Even though this was a new arm, it served as a constant reminder of what had happened to him.  It was an ever serving trigger to his past torture and enslavement.  It meant that he was never going to be a person first.  It was always the weapon, and then the person.  If he ever got too comfortable in his place at home with you and Steve he just had to look at his arm and remember, he wasn’t a boyfriend and a father.  He was a weapon who was lucky enough to have something to come home to.

It was advanced though.  He could hold it against your stomach and feel the texture of the fabric of your clothes and the slight movement of your body shifting under him.  He didn’t exactly know how they’d made it so he had such fine control and was able to perceive touch with it, but it worked.  Not as well as his real hand, but enough that he would use either when testing fruit for ripeness, or the temperature of water.  He’d never really appreciated that before.  But when he felt that press from inside you as the baby kicked, he had never appreciated that prosthetic arm more.

“Was that her?”  He asked, sitting up quickly.  “I didn’t just glitch did I?”

Steve moved so fast that one second he was over on the recliner and the next he was on his knees beside you.  “You felt her?”

“She did kick there, so … yes?”  You answered.

Bucky switched hands, pressing down on your stomach.  It was like the baby pushed back against him, trying to repel the thing intruding on her limited space.  “I felt her.  It’s soft, but I can feel her.”

Steve pushed Bucky’s hand out of the way and pressed his hand where Bucky’s had just been.  It took a moment but Bucky saw exactly when their daughter kicked because Steve’s face lit up from within.  So much happiness and love and excitement were written on his features.  He leaned down and pressed his forehead on your stomach.  “Hey in there,” he whispered.  “Are you giving your mommy trouble?”

Bucky looked over at Geo.  “G, you want to feel the baby kicking?”

Geo looked up.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah, bud,” you said, waving him over.  “Come feel your sister.”

 He slid off the recliner and came over, Steve made room for him and guided the little boy’s hand to the stop on your stomach where the baby was kicking.  He looked down furrowing his brow.  “Does it feel like a little bump?”  Geo asked.

“Yeah, like a twitch.  She’s still very very small,” you explained.

“I feel it,” he said grinning.  “That’s my sister?”

“Yeah, that’s her,” you said.

“You think she’s giving you a high five, bud?”  Bucky asked.

Geo giggled and nodded. “Yeah, she is.”

Bucky chuckled and rubbed Geo’s arm.  It was strange, he hated his metal arm, and yet, it was what drew Geo’s attention that day he met you, and now it was the one that felt the baby kick first.  It was a sign of so many things that were taking from him, and now it was bringing him new, amazing things.  Maybe he could start seeing it for the positives too.

// NEXT

[angerissue]

ID: UNKNOWN.

@mynameisanakin

It was midday in the Catskills, around the time of year when the days were beginning to shorten and darken, and the temperature was beginning to chill. From his glances outside and the occasional wanderings into the hills for some fresh air, he could see the maple trees blushing with a garish shade of candy apple red, the colours vibrant against the unchanging fir and pine. But attractive as the imagery was, when Bruce was indoors and preoccupied, as he was now, it didn't remain at the forefront of his mind, as if it was somehow immune to permanence. His focus was more immediate and didn’t care about the outdoors.

Cloud-bidden sunlight filtered through the windows, mingling with the fluorescence as he wandered down the hall and towards the kitchenette, a clipboard tucked under his wing and the desire for tea on his mind. Over the past few hours of work, his eyes had grown sore and a bit dry; a bit nearsighted from their fixation on the monitors in the laboratory, a problem that even his eyeglasses wouldn’t thwart. He almost forgot what that was like, to suffer the effects of prolonged screen time. Not that it was ever a bad idea to remind himself every now and again; to retain that connection instead of dismissing it.

(He wasn’t sure it would return again, if he did that.)

Regardless, after a good fifteen minutes or so, he would be back in business again and return to the lab. Not that he hadn’t brought some of his work along with him in the interim, because it felt odd, leaving his work unattended if he was enthralled in it to his current extent. Then again, he would be kidding himself to say this project was different from the rest. Piecemeal modifications to the quinjet’s power source were one project in an excessively long lineup of others. Yes — the efficacy of upgrading the quinjet was questionable. It may not have been practical, to invest in a vehicle that lacked proper permissions in the air and could only be used sparingly; with its cloaking, whenever he felt it necessary to slip from one location to another without using the Hulk.

But it remained a pet project nonetheless. The same went for his research into better performance textiles, mass-scale water purification units, and the applications of the Hulk's plasma — an interesting venture, because its ability to heal deep wounds and transport medicine in the bloodstream had shown promising results in mice, almost to the point of unnerving him with its potential. The only hiccups came whenever he contacted his sources, at which time he requested that they solely provide him with the "frail and ailing" specimens. It had always been an uncomfortable conversation; perhaps it was only Bruce's imagination, but he suspected that some of these men and women, while they were indeed fully aware of his qualifications in the sciences, believed he was gathering up sick mice to observe for kicks. He must have seemed like a sadist. It wouldn't have been difficult for them to believe, given he'd conceived of an AI that fit that bill. And he’d heard the murmurings over the years. Whether the infamous Doctor Banner was merely posturing as an unlucky scientist, and truthfully had ulterior motives for all his supposed blunders. The conspiracy theories had been less prominent and discussed since the snap was reversed, his name included in the list of those behind it, but they were still around.

In truth, he merely believed if the mice were on the verge of succumbing anyhow, they could only improve. Nothing he did could worsen their odds further; add more preventable deaths to his conscience.

But those experiments had been put on hold in favour of the quinjet modifications, part of which were attached to the clipboard that he lowered onto the kitchen island. There was only one remaining mouse in the observatory; a white-furred knockout he had affectionately named Eddie, who no longer lived in the lab, but off in the corner of the living room in a small cage. If he turned his head, he would see it next to the sofa.

Sometimes, Eddie joined him in the lab, seemingly at peace even on the big guy’s shoulder, or in his hand.

And Eddie wasn't a rarity in that sense. It seemed that most animals didn't mind the monster's presence. There was something about that state; he was never quite sure whether his presence alone was calming to animals somehow, or whether there was some attribute in his behaviour that was missing in an ordinary man's. Predictability, perhaps. Whatever the reason, when he wandered into the trees and crossed paths with deer, they seldom skittered away from him. They often approached him to say hello. The warblers and white-bellied thrushes never flew away in anticipation of an incident. Generally, the wildlife lacked fear. The doctor could tell this with certainty, because he could hear... Everything. The natural world's impression of him had been an odd lesson to learn, when he first learned it, but it ultimately made him feel better. Unnatural as he was, he felt anything but in these circumstances. It almost made him wonder if the concept of natural; unnatural, was a wholly human construct. A way of labelling, quantifying, and classifying things that were unfamiliar to them, but in the end, could still fit into the world like a missing puzzle piece. In that sense, perhaps nothing was ever really unnatural.

Bruce opened the kitchen cupboard. Then, fingers curling around the brassy handle, he carefully pulled the maple tea box from its resting spot, placing it on the counter and carding through the multicoloured packets for jasmine tea. The tea box was one of the few earthier items in the more clinical vicinity. A stark contrast, and definitely a conversation piece that could warrant questions, or at least unexpressed intrigue and curiosity, from newcomers.

Said newcomers would find it hard to believe, but the box had been a housewarming gift from Tony. Bruce theorized that he'd bartered for it from some small-time vendor or nabbed it from a pawn shop; it didn’t have the meticulous, almost machined finish that someone would expect from a mass-produced piece; there were flaws, but they were not the typical quality control issues of that production type. And when he saw the engraved name on the underside of the lid (which he presumed was the maker) and searched for it online, he received very few answers. Sometimes, he considered whether Tony himself had carved the tea box, which could feasibly correlate with his more slower-paced lifestyle as of late; one that was less inundated by bleeding-edge tech. Yet Bruce never asked him. One answer could’ve led to five more questions, or worse yet, he could’ve fallen into another one of Tony Stark’s infamous rabbit holes and had trouble digging his way out again. It wouldn’t have been the worst of rabbit holes; woodworking, but the guy had a wife and a kid. Bruce couldn’t have deprived Tony of his time with them; hard-earned time at that, even if the man himself said it was supposedly fine. Bruce didn’t trust his own judgement, but he didn’t trust Tony’s most of the time, either.

However, discussion of the tea box was nonexistent at the observatory. There were seldom newcomers to ask about it.

But he preferred the solitude. With interactions came problems. Quandaries to solve that wouldn't have manifested otherwise, like worms deep in the earth, invisible until someone rooted through the topsoil and disturbed them, throwing everything out of balance. And frankly, it had been ages since the hardest decision he needed to make was determining the kind of tea he wanted to brew. Since one of his decisions didn’t precede a potentially devastating domino effect, because in the company of others, his actions tended to have that outcome. It had taken him far too long to accept that this was unsustainable.

Nothing justified putting innocent people in harm’s way so he could chum around with his teammates.

Not to mention he sorely missed the calmer, easier days that came before all this; before the accident and the team and the culling. He wanted to restore them in the next few years, and beyond. He wanted to remember what they were like. He wanted to flex this old muscle, after allowing it to atrophy for so long, especially because with that atrophy, he had gradually noticed a kind of emptiness forming inside of him, like he didn’t know his truest ideals or intentions anymore; like he was being moulded by the others until he lost his own identity.

Forging a direction of his own was... Paramount to him.

Not that his years with the Avengers didn't bear validation and silver linings of their own, but the moments were often interspersed among more arduous circumstances, which he’d rather have avoided. A positive event derived from a negative event could never be considered a net gain, because they cancelled each other out. And this was what happened with the Avengers, at an uncomfortably frequent rate... The Sokovia relief efforts were a humanitarian, positive venture, but those efforts only happened because of the genocidal Ultron intelligence that had levelled the entire city. Among others. Bruce still bore the consequences from these antithetical happenings. Much as he tried to dismiss them, they still pricked at him every now and then. The fear he would never undo the public’s distrust of him. The omnipresent sense of never being able to make up for lost time, despite doing so now. This... Identity disorder that had proliferated in his mind like a cancer.

That part, in particular, still felt like a bad dream. Something he couldn’t believe was real, nor could ever be real. He had discounted Tony’s input and suggestions about it when he first heard them, and there were still moments when he couldn't accept the man's diagnosis, because it just seemed so outlandish. He'd done plenty of research himself into so-called split personalities. Bundle theories; ego theories. But nothing seemed remotely plausible or realistic. What happened to him in Johannesburg, at the New Avengers' compound, and less than a year ago in this same observatory; it was like something out of a movie... Pseudo scientific... Alien possession. Implanted memories. Dopplegangers. Perhaps Wanda had put something real in his brain, for all her intangible abilities. Perhaps it would show up as a shadow in an MRI. Perhaps the shadow would move.

But in the end, however real the problem was (and there was, indeed, a problem; his loss of time and consciousness could attest to this), Hulk hadn't made an appearance since then.

Bruce almost believed, or wanted to believe, these were isolated events. And Hulk wouldn’t appear again.

He suspected that being alone would help with it.

Perhaps his former teammates knew that he needed time alone. Perhaps it's why an unspoken understanding between them had arisen once he'd settled down, here in the Catskills — an understanding that, while they would continue to call each other acquaintances, they wouldn’t bother each other unless utterly necessary, because their paths had wholly diverged now. Because they had attained some new form of equilibrium with each other, unlike the kind that existed when they were all working together.

And perhaps, some part of Bruce feared that if he updated his teammates on all his recent ventures, it would inspire Tony to return to his own work (however improbable the idea was, since his family life had long been a priority for him). Bruce wasn't sure he wanted the competition. He was finally in a place where he could catch up to, and eventually even surpass, Tony's own milestones in the field, and this would become a lot more difficult if Tony was still chugging away. A selfish notion indeed, but it didn't adversely affect Tony in any manner, so while he did feel the occasional pang of guilt about it, he could ultimately shrug it off.

He poured some water into the electric kettle and plugged it into the backsplash. As he waited for it to warm up, problems and solutions for his current project passed in and out of his thoughts. His mind was never quiet, even now during his self-imposed break, and he couldn't help but cast occasional glances at his clipboard, as if it could record all his ruminations without contact.

Soon, the kettle was whistling. Bruce grabbed a mug from the cupboard and began steeping his tea, electing to stand at the counter rather than taking a seat — at least for now. The mug that he chose was made from white ceramic, and it bore a custom print job with a child's drawing on the front — a colourful crayon scribble of Captain America, which was one in a four-piece set that contained artwork of Thor, Captain America, Iron Man, and the Hulk; what the general public deemed the "big four" of the original Avengers. Multiples of this mug set, which was undoubtedly created by an enthusiastic child who loved superheroes, and a supportive parent who indulged the (perhaps misguided) adulation, had been in a fanmail package for Steve months earlier. Steve had originally offered Bruce a mug with the Hulk on it, but he'd turned it down on the chance that if someone found their way into the observatory and caught a glimpse of that mug, and only that mug, they could draw unwanted conclusions. He wouldn't have that. Rather than retracting the offer, Steve made it bigger and offered him all four mugs. Thus, he owned the entire set — Thor, Captain America, Iron Man, and Hulk.

(The Hulk mug received less use than the others, as evident from its comparative lack of tea stains.)

And at last, Bruce took a seat at the island.

He didn’t think about tea much when he was greener. Drinking it wasn’t something he could humour unless he wanted to make himself uncomfortable. But he couldn't deny the pleasure his ordinary self derived from tea — it was nice to wrap his fingers around a warm mug when they were stiff and sore from tapping at a keyboard. It was nice to let his elbows rest on a tabletop and give his shoulders a break, after they had spent hours propping his hands up for touch and gestural commands. He relished the sensations more the longer he abstained from them, the sensation of eating most of all. His transformed self simply couldn't do this without suffering ill effects; he wasn't designed to ingest things. While he could, theoretically, take a sip without swallowing and chew without swallowing, it lacked the fulfillment of the rest of the process, least physiologically. It was like chewing gum, but much more agitating. If stopping before swallowing were that simple, he imagined people would eat all sorts of things and not suffer the consequences, no matter how harmful. Wouldn't that be nice. As it stood, it wasn't possible.

Thus in a sense, the opportunities when he could eat or drink had become something of a treat for him. It was something that only happened if he slowed down a little, and yanked himself away from his work long enough — and spent some time as a frailer version of himself.

Both of these criteria were rarities.

Blowing across the top of the mug to cool it down, he took a swig of tea. Then he glanced down at his clipboard, the graph paper covered with iterations of a new device, both sketches and measurements. He inspected one set of measurements, then he flipped his pencil and scrubbed away a line of writing before thumbing the shreds from the rubber tip.

Reworking certain components of the quinjet, in a sense, reminded him of the time he designed the observatory. And he missed the design process, frankly, because it gave him a substantial sense of control in comparison to his accommodations at the Avengers facilities, where he could adjust his spaces but not overhaul them entirely; after all, the locations were not his own. Back when he designed the observatory, he could choose doors that locked on his own command, and ones that were tall enough to accommodate both his guises. He could choose the ratio of open space to smaller, more amniotic rooms. So while he didn't build the place, his input on the floor plans made it feel more like home than anything else.  

The entrance faced south and opened up into the main floor, which held the kitchen and living area. The latter space was dressed with a few sofas and a coffee table, and boasted large, open windows that easily permitted the morning sun. If one ventured further into the floor and passed through a closed door, they'd find the laboratories, and living quarters which consisted of his own room and a guest ensuite (it was still unfurnished, given the circumstances), or they could take one of two staircases. The first was a nautilus shell of a metal staircase that spiraled up into the dome, the room fitted with a massive telescope that passed through the paneled ceiling. The second was a straight staircase that led into the basement. The clutter of unused equipment against the pallid walls was evident the moment someone ventured down there — as were the control panels for the power source, which manifested as a sizable column of green light wrapped in thick glass. It originated in the floor of the basement and continued upward, stopping at the ceiling.

It was a proof-of-concept work, but unlike the towering arc reactor back at the Stark Industries headquarters in LA, which eventually gave way to the miniaturized version used in Tony's armour, this was not a publicity stunt for the doctor, but a means to an end. It was purposed as a self-sustaining, cyclical energy source that allowed Banner to work off the grid and operate the lights, appliances, and other power hogs without reliance on external sources.

And there were many of these power hogs. The refrigerator, dishwasher, and laundry unit on the main floor were the least of it — the two laboratories in the deepest part of this floor were outfitted with machinery and computers that never took a snooze, because in most cases, neither did he. (It felt somewhat... Gratuitous to sleep, when the monster didn't need to sleep at all.) The first and larger lab contained the bulk of these devices, being the place for heavy-duty conceptualization and fabrication, like a production line of sorts. It wasn't unusual for novel tech to be scattered throughout the vicinity, sitting pretty on desks and carts in readiness for completion. The second lab was smaller; more old-fashioned, and had less computers, containing the typical assortment of beakers, graduated cylinders, and other apparatus for chemical and biological experimentation instead. Fume hoods, eyewashing stations, and sinks in case of chemical spills were also present, but he never needed to use them. Not for the lack of incidents, but because it had become less of a hassle to hastily undress and, as Tony had consistently put it, "Hulk out" and allow his body to deal with the issue with utmost certainty of negating it, rather than spraying himself with water and hoping for the best.

(His condition could heal wounds; injuries, but not scar tissue. It was the reason he still hadn’t lost the chip of a scar beneath his eye, which he incurred so long ago that his memories of the incident were shrouded. It was odd, knowing something so small wasn't a match for his healing capabilities, while more... Grievous injuries never left a scratch on him.)

If he wasn’t already “Hulked out”, which was the norm.

Nonetheless, the chemistry lab could still be used for engineering in a pinch, if he referred to one of the few computers therein. The observatory ran on a single closed network, so the files were accessible from anywhere within its walls. It was difficult to access this network even if someone did manage to sneak into the building, however; he had made sure of it. Secluding himself from the rest of the world was only one way to ensure his privacy, and it was part of a bigger equation. Therefore, even the doors, not only to the labs but the living quarters and the generator room, were chronically locked and required a biometric scan to open, and it was of a certain kind that only someone with his condition could provide.

So if someone entered the building, they could wander around the kitchen; the living room, and find their way to the first bathroom, but everything else was behind those locked doors. This was for the better, because Bruce valued his privacy, and because guests might be uneasy if they realized the building ran on radioactive isotopes. Not unlike a neutered bomb.

He remained at the island for a few minutes. Uneventful, for the most part, save for the ideas and questions that were tumble-drying in his brain, wearing down both ends of his pencil.

Uneventful.

Then he saw the tea in his mug twitch.

He looked to the mug, intent on confirming the occurrence, suspecting he may have hallucinated somehow. No, he wasn't. It happened again. There. And then, something trembled in the soles of his feet.

Soon, it snowballed into a low-grade rumbling.

He tried to pick apart the reason. There were no trains this far out; nobody would dare budget an endeavour like building a railroad in these plateaus, nor was the area prone to tremors and earthquakes; he had ensured this when he was initially scouting the location.

The lights began to flicker.

With it, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Something was burning. It was a rubbery smell, like raw cable set aflame, mixed with the metallic tinge of static electricity. The tremors in the building were growing, small bits of dust and debris falling onto his shoulders and into his tea from the ceiling. And then, down in the basement, Bruce heard something fall to the floor with a deafening clatter.

His nerves kicked into gear. It was the kind of painful, adrenaline-fueled pulse that came from a sudden surprise.

He abandoned his drink, leaving the kitchenette and hurrying down the stairs to the basement, fluorescent lights running overhead like road markings. As he descended and reached the bottom of the steps, which opened into the basement's storage area for unused lab equipment and furniture (both were abundant, insinuating their owner was a bit of a pack rat and preemptive planner), his direction turned to the generator room. He needed to discern what was happening, and potentially shut off the power if there was a leak. Plutonium was polite if it was stable, but not in other situations. Potentially this one.

When he opened the door and entered the room, he stopped in his tracks. The siren kicking in over the PA system was the least of his worries; that much was expected and normal, if not slightly disconcerting, with the memories of a certain accident at Culver University that it conjured up. But the issue was worse than he'd anticipated, and as it sunk in, his throat seemed to plunge down into his stomach like an elevator in freefall.

The cell was pulsing. The green light became dimmer, then more vivid and brighter, oscillating between the two intensities. This effect became quicker and quicker until it escalated into a strobing effect, cell alternating between a dim glow and a blinding brightness like the chromatophores of a squid. And it was creaking; moaning — as if under duress; as if pressure was building within the glass and prone to bursting free any moment.

He’d never seen this before. Theories stirred and began racing in his worried brain, the first of which... Something must have been overloading it. Somehow. Experience told Banner he must have missed some important factor when he was first designing it; some misplaced detail that would only manifest over the long term. There wasn't a possibility of cross-contamination; there wasn't a possibility for anything except his own errors; nobody else was involved in this. But whatever the case, he needed to shut it down immediately.

But he couldn’t walk forward. Some part of him, however small, told him it wasn’t safe anymore.

Intuition, perhaps.

If he contemplated it more, he may have wondered if Hulk was stopping him from proceeding. If Hulk was calling him stupid. Reckless.

Again.

He was smart to wait. Before him, the chamber cracked, a hairline fracture creeping down the glass in incremental movements. This was all it took. The building heaved, and with a rising shriek that sounded eerily akin to the arrival of a nuclear bomb, the entire chamber exploded, blinding light erupting and shards of thick glass snapping and spraying out into the room like bullets. High pressure followed suit, knocking the wind from his lungs and causing him to lose his balance, gusting him back as he flew into the concrete wall and collided with a dull crack. He collapsed into a heap on the floor, ears ringing from the explosion.

And with a domino reaction of popping glass from above, and an electrical shudder, the lights went out.

Quiet. Still. Dark.

Heart pounding, loud in the blood barrier of his brain, Bruce staggered to his feet in the darkness, wincing as a sharp pain lanced through his lower back and threatened to lock the muscles. Glass crackled and crunched underfoot as he steadied himself, his skin stinging from newfound cuts. His breaths were strained and hurt his throat with every exhale. The inside of his nose felt wet. He smelled blood. He didn’t know what to do; shock had washed over him.

Can’t see... Can’t see. Oh god.

A few moments later, the backup generator kicked in. The room was bathed in a dim, eerie yellow, incandescence winning over the earlier fluorescence. Shadows blotted in the corners of the room and occluded the furniture, as if the recent darkness couldn't recede entirely. A chalky dust floated in the air, irritating the doctor's eyes and tickling his nose and throat. He sucked in a shallow, tense breath, and coughed from the dust that filtered down into his throat and lungs, lifting his elbow up to his mouth to muffle the sound. In concurrence, the air around him whorled in a puff of microscopic debris as, mind buzzing with adrenaline and unable to focus on anything except the damage before him, he tried to assess how bad it was.

The power source was gone. It had taken some of the walls with it, opening up the generator room into the rest of the lackluster basement. He looked up and noticed vein-like cracks throughout the ceiling, congregating into a massive hole where the power source had once inserted. A sickly yellow light poured in from upstairs, slivers of light bleeding in from the surrounding cracks. Instruments and tables from the lab upstairs had fallen through the floor, which were now strewn before him, the furniture and other apparatuses dented and mangled beyond repair from their impact with the floor. Metal trays were bent in half. Carts were relieved of their equipment as they lay dead on their backs, wheels still rolling in their casters. He saw his work, some pieces near completion and others in the beginning stages, destroyed. He didn’t know how far the damage extended past this.

Breathe.

He did, and then he gave another muffled cough, cheeks puffing. The entire place smelled like pig iron and ozone. He looked to the center of the incident, where the power source had been reduced to a smoking pile of dust, broken glass, and metal. At its peak, he saw a shape.

Breathe, Banner.

It was a man. Or, it looked like one. Bruce wouldn’t assume he was ordinary simply because he looked so; he’d been on the receiving end of that phenomenon too often himself.

And this man came from... Nowhere. Materialized, from thin air. There’s no way he could’ve snuck into the lab.

He stared at them, eyes intent. Words didn’t come; they were stuck behind his teeth. He wasn’t sure what he would tell them, anyhow. Every inch of him was on edge, and at the same time, too stunned to muster any kind of reaction; worst of all, this wasn't a simple case of misinterpretation and overreaction on his part. Whatever this person had intended, and whatever justifications and explanations they could give, they had just destroyed what felt like a part of himself, ripping months and months of his work apart like inconsequential sheets of tissue paper and rendering it useless; useless; as if he needed any more problems; what would it take for people to leave him alone and stop dragging him down?

He did what the public asked of him; he stepped out of the spotlight. Graciously. He never wanted it in the first place, not the way it was given to him. He never wanted to be known; half-known, at least, for the notoriety of the Hulk’s temper tantrums; those events were the direct antithesis of his lifelong plans and goals, and he was done with stitching up the wounds it kept opening up. Severing his connection to violence, and keeping his distance from it, he’d become so certain over the years, was imperative for progress. But once again, as it always happened in the past, violence had found him instead. Even here.

Courtesy of his new and egregious... House guest.

His jaw set. He could feel his fists coiling up, trimmed nails digging into the meat of his palms.

(Tch. If you’re gonna chew them out, then chew them out, dummy. Don’t make me do it for you.) 

Bruce's anger was enough to pull him from his stupor. He stumbled towards the man, steps unsteady but intentional. His voice was hoarse, uneven; close to catching in the dryness of his throat, and it was coloured by pain and disbelief from what occurred, but it remained full of the accusation and animosity he wanted to convey. The intent to single them out. Pass off the blame to them. No amount of shock would quell that, nor would the unknown nature of the newcomer; their unknown capabilities. It simply wasn't a factor when it came to the intentions that ailed him. He needed to get their attention.

He needed them to understand what they’ve done.

“Hey!”

Perhaps they would already know it, with the wreckage scattered around them. But he was almost hoping that wasn’t the case. Much as he couldn’t admit it, he wanted the honours all to himself... To yell; to accost them; to blame someone else, because he seldom had the chance, and it was clear as day who the guilty person was in this situation; maybe it was him, but probably not; he wouldn't accept it because if that were the case, a stranger wouldn't have landed in the middle of the room with smoke trailing from their clothes.

They did this. They did this.

His vision flickered.

And if words didn’t get through to them, some part of him had always found pleasure in the alternative.

[ctfo101]

Welcome To CTFO101 World Of CBD

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[stillyourprussianblue]

libations and burnt offerings;

under the moon, long shadows are cast Part III of III

Author: feuillemort [AO3] / stillyourprussianblue [tumblr]

Rating: T

Pairing: 5986 (Gokudera/Haru), 1896 (Hibari/Chrome), DS (Dino/Squalo), 10088 (Byakuran/Bianchi), 8027 (Yamamoto/Tsuna), Lampin (Lambo/I-Pin)

Event: KHRWeen2020

Prompts: Graveyard | Costumes

A broken fourth wall and ramen deliveries on the spookiest night of the year.

[AO3] [image] [Part I] [Part II] [Part III]

“So he’s supposed to be loosely based on a kappa, but throwing a komodo dragon in there with an idol is so wrong!”

“Well at least the animal handler is on standby so Chrome-chan is safe,” Haru responded. “Same with her security team,” she added, eyeing the idol’s bodyguards lining the edges of the set.

Gokudera scoffed. “That airhead’s no use,” he grumbled. “He’s probably playing with the dogs again.”

He kept his back to the rows of grave markers that Haru gazed out over. He’d turned away from the set uncomfortably as his half-sister had thrown off her robes for the scene, Haru keeping watch to let him know when it was safe for his eyes to resume his post. “I meant that’s a sorry excuse for a kappa, even if they use CGI on it later. And those dogs are way too friendly to pass as werewolves.”

“You want them to release aggressive dogs onto set with this celebrity cast?” Haru gave him a look. “There’s a pop idol, a famous youtuber, and supermodels out there and you want to use dogs that are less friendly?”

He returned the look. “No, I’m saying that their cryptids are unrealistic! I’m a fan of the director’s work but no professional would half-ass their research like this!”

���I heard that it’s based on a dream his godson had,” Haru said, frowning slightly as she saw Tsuna chatting with Yamamoto, a leashed cat held in his arms. They shared a laugh over something they were too far away to hear. Sure enough, a bunch of dogs stuck close to his side, tails wagging.

Chrome’s bodyguard stood up from his relaxed perch on a spare tombstone just off the set and moved quickly through the fake cemetery, ducking under boom mics and low hanging branches. The sudden movement caught Haru’s attention.

“Hey!”

“What do you want? Gokudera growled as the back of Haru’s arm smacked into his side. He turned to her furiously, but saw that she was already running out into the graveyard. It only took him a moment longer to process what was happening as more thundering explosions rocked the movie set and he ran to catch up to the costume designer.

“Shit! Oi! Stay off the set, it’s dangerous, you idiot!”

___

Chrome stared up at the dark haired man that was the head of her security detail as he casually tossed aside the explosive he’d snatched in midflight as it had rocketed towards her. It blew up somewhere behind him but all it did was silhouette him for a moment, ruffling his hair and untucking the hem of his shirt. Hibari’s eyes remained locked with hers as she stared up in awe at the cold steel of his gaze that cut through the mayhem and promised murder to anything that dared to cause her harm.

All around them, fire crews were rushing to the scene to put out the minor disaster that was threatening to take over the set. Chrome pushed herself to her feet in the shallow grave.

“Cut! Cut! Cut!” Reborn’s voice boomed through the megaphone.

There was a sharp whistle and the dog actor that had accompanied her into the hole they dug was bounding away. Yamamoto whistled again. “Hey, hellhounds! Come back!”

The rest of the runaway pack was slobbering over a laughing man on the ground. She could only make out blond hair and flailing limbs before he was completely overrun with dogs.

Hibari turned to leave, but paused when Chrome called out. “Wait.”

He glanced over his shoulder to see her looking down at the huge lizard, knowing what she intended to do.

“He can’t get out,” she said, kneeling down beside the Komodo dragon, at least twice her size. She put her whole weight behind it, but couldn’t heave it out of the hole like she wanted to. She was well suited to the role she played despite what critics were saying –he knew she had the heart of a warrior inside such a small body.

The disgruntled lizard turned towards her and his eyes narrowed as its venomous maw reached for her exposed leg.

Before Hibari could jump into the pit and likely incite the wrath of dozens of animal welfare groups the world over, Yamamoto leapt in to wrangle the lizard back into what looked like an elaborate harness, a pack of dogs at his heels.

“Now, now, be good,” he chastised the lizard as he wrestled it into a harness.

Chrome climbed out of the hole to join Hibari, taking in the scene of destruction around them and the loose perimeter of security around the set. If this had happened years ago, the paparazzi would have been waiting to greet her with their dizzying flashes and intrusive lines of questioning. Now the only one waiting for her was her personal bodyguard, his presence enough of a warning for them all to stay back and give her the space she needed.

Hibari gave her a quick once-over.

“I’m okay,” she answered.

Satisfied, he turned away and she followed.

She was joined by Fran who seemed to materialize beside her, but because she didn’t react in alarm, Hibari did nothing. Over the months of filming, Fran had taken a shine to his co-star despite not knowing the idol prior to meeting on set, and Hibari had grown to accept that he would follow Chrome around though neither of them acknowledged the others’ existence.

“You have to stop breaking the fourth wall when we’re filming,” Chrome chastised lightly, referencing their takes from earlier in the day.

But Fran was staring off into space. “Huh?”

“You can’t just start listing off everything you see when you forget your lines,” she continued as they walked side by side.

“Oh, I’m narrating,” Fran replied airily.

“The film already has a narrator,” Chrome replied, looking ahead at Hibari’s retreating back.

“That creepy prophecy girl,” Fran said.

“Oh... mmhm,” she agreed softly.

“I mean she’s here.”

Chrome looked over with an owlish gaze. Hibari stopped a ways away but cast a watchful glance over his shoulder when he sensed her hesitation. He regarded the newcomer curiously.

Yuni approached with a bright smile. “Chrome-chan! Could I get your autograph?”

After a pause, the popstar nodded and accepted the poster and pen that Yuni held to her.

“What do you do after filming?” Yuni asked, hands clasped in front of her, leaning in with inquisitive politesse as Chrome signed the poster.

“Go back to my trailer and review my lines for tomorrow,” Chrome responded, handing the items back.

“I always knew you were dedicated!” Yuni smiled, holding the poster as if it were a treasure.

“We never do anything fun,” Fran complained.

“Can I join you?” Yuni asked. “We can order dinner and go over our lines together! It’ll be fun!”

Fran looked over at Chrome, thinking she would decline, tilting his head curiously when she nodded. “Ohh?”

Yuni fell into step beside them. “Chrome-chan, don’t you ever get lonely when you’re touring?” Yuni asked.

“Ah! Well...” She averted her eye, looking at Hibari’s retreating back. He had gotten bored and decided to go on ahead by himself. “No,” she replied, “not lonely.”

___

“He’s going to tear you apart later,” Haru said as Gokudera ran past them, shooting a glare at Yamamoto. She had collected Bianchi’s robe from the centre of the set and was holding it tightly to her chest until she could more carefully examine it at her workdesk.

Pushing the lizard into its cage, Yamamoto laughed sheepishly. “You think so?”

“Especially when he finds out you weren’t paying attention.”

Yamamoto laughed again. “What do you mean?” But his laugh had given him away and Haru raised an eyebrow at him.

But before she could say anything about how he had been chatting up the director’s godson who had come to visit him, he went on the offensive, his smile charmingly disarming. The pack of dogs milled about around his legs, bumping him this way and that, and he reached down to ruffle their fluffy heads as their tongues lolled out. “You’ve been spending too much time together if you’re making that face!”

Haru’s cheeks coloured immediately but she couldn’t hide the brief scowl that had preceded it. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

He didn’t spare her. “You know, Gokudera!” he replied, leaving her fuming as he ran off, followed by chorus of happily barking mutts. “Put in a good word for me, thanks!”

___

“Luckily Hibari-san saved most of Chrome-chan’s outfit,” Haru said, letting the light material of Chrome’s dress flow between her fingers as she inspected the fabric.

“You mean luckily she’s unhurt right?” Gokudera corrected with a raised eyebrow.

Haru plowed on as if she hadn’t heard him, pretending she wasn’t very aware of the way his eyebrow arched after Yamamoto had pointed out the habit she had picked up. “But Bianchi’s dress is completely ruined! That was our last set for the take before we went onto the scene where she destroys the dress in the lake with the selkies!”

He looked over at the scraps of white material that Haru held onto. It didn’t look like there was much left of the robe; she would have to make another one from scratch. “Yeah well just make another one or something.” He wondered if she would be able to find a replacement in time.

Her head whipped around and she finally fixed her attention on him. If only she wasn’t glaring daggers. “Excuse me! I can’t just make another one like you replace your fireworks.”

He glowered right back. “They’re not fireworks, they’re pyrotechnics. You know this; I’ve explained it to you a million times.”

“And I’ve explained it to you ten million times –these costumes take time!” Haru huffed and laid the pieces of fabric down on the table between them. He could still see the pieces of golden thread wound through the white material, frayed where his devices had torn through them, scorched like the earth on the set that was still smouldering.

She didn’t say anything else, turning her attention back to the work that needed to be done, only noticing that he had walked out after he was gone. He came and went, and she continued with her spot checks on Chrome’s skirt, only giving him a cursory glance when he entered and exited, collecting more objects each time until the table between them filled with flammable compounds all labelled in Gokudera’s neat script, various accelerants, and an assortment of casings and ignitors.

But she paused to look up from her sewing machine when his last trip had him kicking the door shut behind him. He wouldn’t meet her eyes as he deposited in front of her a few bolts of white fabric and golden thread.

“They all look the same,” he grumbled. “I brought them all so you won’t lecture me on the difference between them again.”

“Thanks,” Haru said slowly, turning over the bolts in her hands; there wasn’t much left so she had no margin for error, but what he had brought her was enough. She could make it work.

She pulled a bottle of milk tea from her yellow-polka-dotted lunchbag sitting on the ground next to her, followed by a can that she had grabbed as an afterthought from the convenience store the other day. She placed them both on the table and slid the canned coffee over to him, avoiding the minefield spread out between them.

Gokudera took his seat across from her and accepted the drink, cracking it open with one hand while he swept his hair back out of his face with the other. “Thanks,” he said quietly but she had already turned her attention back to her work. He took a drink of the coffee – she had managed to keep it cold in her insulated lunchbag for him.

The first time they had had to put in overtime like this, there had been a large accident and all spaces on set were being used by the production team and crew members and the two of them had ended up crammed into an abandoned cast member’s room that was purported to be haunted.

She had been anxious to share a crammed workspace with him at first, worried about the potential of something going wrong or of an accidental misfire. But then she had seen how precise his movements were, how carefully he measured out each component and assembled the explosives. His hands were steady as he wired each device, each component meticulously labelled and accounted for.

This night was no different. Gokudera worked in silence, headphones on, expression focused and serene, goggles secured, sitting crookedly on his chair. His usually prickly personality evened out his aura was almost peaceful as he ran his fingers over a length of magnesium ribbon thoughtfully. He reconsidered and picked up the firefly aluminum instead, pushing aside a container of iron oxide to make more space for it.

Haru always grew too engrossed in her work to notice how he observed her in return; the subtle way her brow furrowed as her eyes roved over her work to ensure perfection in each detail, whether it be correcting a crooked stitch or dyeing a slight discolouration in raw materials she received. Her fingers worked nimbly as she straightened out the large pins that kept her creation in place, each movement deliberate and careful as gold ran through her hands and became something more.

They looked up at each other when their stomachs growled, faces aglow from the flickering lights of the jack-o-lanterns that lined the edges of their shared workbench.

Haru smiled and did a quick back stitch to hold her place before she picked up her cellphone. “It’s going to be a long night. I’ll order us some ramen!”

___

“So you didn’t go on?” Dino asked.

“No we couldn’t shoot any of the selkie scenes because you started a fire on set,” Squalo replied as they walked down the dark street, unevenly lit by streetlights. He kicked an empty can down the road as they walked.

“Aww it was an accident! I thought I’d be able to catch you in your mermaid suit today,” Dino said, bending down to pick the can up when they reached it. “I didn’t think that there would be so many cute dogs on the set to play with.”

“It’s not a mermaid suit! It takes fucking forever to get the selkie makeup and prosthetics on in the morning. It’s heavy as shit.” He glowered. “I thought a supermodel would get it.”

Dino tossed the can up and down in his hand, chuckling softly. “Nothing super here, just a model,” he replied. “How’s Reborn treating you?”

“The man’s tough. I can see why you gave up on acting,” Squalo answered.

“Yeah he said I’ve got the charisma but couldn’t act to save my life. Then he shot at me!”

Squalo threw his head back, laughing uproariously. “Fucking kills me every time you tell that story. They say he’s unorthodox but they’ve got no fucking idea.”

The can slipped from Dino’s fingers and hit him in the head before bouncing over the pavement. He sighed before leaning over to pick it up, only to be yanked backwards by his friend.  A motor scooter zipped by right where Dino had been standing moments earlier.

“Lambo, step on it!” a voice commanded as they flew past. “Halloween’s a busy night for delivery requests!”

“VOI!” Squalo took off after them, yelling obscenities. He scooped up the can that Dino had dropped and whipped it at their retreating backs. “Watch where you’re going!”

When he realized that Dino wasn’t following, he retraced his steps only to find him crouched on the sidewalk with two children at his side. The older one had red hair and was dressed as a storm trooper. The only reason that Squalo could tell that he had red hair was because his helmet lay on the ground. The younger child was clinging onto Dino’s back, yelling at a group of teenagers across the street.

“I’m the mighty Skull! You can’t talk to me like that!”

The trio of bullies laughed and jeered.

“Give us our candy back!” Skull yelled. “O-or you’ll pay the consequences! Enma! Show them!”

“Oh yeah?” they jeered. “What’s going to happen? Are you going to get your stormtrooper to shoot us?”

Enma turned red and looked down at his shoes.

“That’s enough!” Dino said sternly. “Give them their candy back.”

But Squalo had enough experience dealing with Dino’s bullies during their school days to know that wouldn’t work. So he loomed over behind them. “VOI! What are you shitheads doing?”

His sudden appearance and shouting startled them and they jumped in surprise, spinning around to face him. His smile was sinister as he cracked his knuckles.

“Squalo! You can’t hit kids!” Dino exclaimed, putting his hand over Skull’s eyes, or at least where he assumed his eyes to be under his visor.

“I don’t see any brats here,” Squalo said, smirking down at them. “I see a shitty vampire, a half-assed wizard, and a... what the hell are you supposed to be?”

The teen responded indignantly through the furry mask covering his face. “A werewolf!”

Squalo squinted. “And crackhead bigfoot here.”

He unsheathed the sword he had at his side that Dino had told him not to take off the set.

“Oh shit he’s insane!”

“Yo let’s dip!”

The teens turned to run, and Squalo followed in pursuit.

Dino sighed and turned his attention to the two kids that stayed with him. Enma watched in silent dismay as Squalo chased down the bullies, catching them by the end of the block.

“What are you dressed as?” Dino asked.

“I’m Skull! The World’s Greatest Hitman!” he answered as if that didn’t leave Dino with more questions than he had started with. “And this is my brother Enma!”

Dino picked up Enma’s stormtrooper helmet and brushed off the scuffs and leaves as best as he could before giving it back to him. He thanked Dino so quietly that he thought the child had mouthed the words.

Squalo returned to their side, sheathing the prop sword and shoving the pillowcases full of candy at Enma. He stuttered a surprised thank you, gathering the superman and Mickey Mouse pillowcases into his arms, grimacing a little as some candy spilled out.

Dino scooped them into his hand and pressed a lollipop into Skull’s fingers before straightening up and putting the rest of the candy back into the pillowcases that Enma held tightly.

“Hey, I know a place that hands out jumbo-sized candy bars,” Dino said.

“Really!?” Skull’s face was obscured by the oversized biker helmet that he wore, but Dino could tell his eyes had widened by the way his voice jumped an octave.

“Haha yeah!” Dino assured. “It’s where we’re headed now if you want to come along?”

“Hey! Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to follow strange men that offer you candy?” Squalo shouted.

Enma looked between apprehensively but nodded. “Stay close,” he murmured, holding his hand out to Skull who ignored it and ran ahead.

“I’ll lead the way!”

“You don’t know where you’re going!” Enma ran after him across the street.

“Look both ways!” Dino called, starting after them, but tripped halfway through the crosswalk.

Squalo caught his arm and righted him gruffly. “Watch it.”

“Thanks Squalo!” Dino grinned.

“Yeah, yeah.” Squalo waved him off. “There’s idiots out here on their shitty vespas; if you got killed by one it’d be pathetic as fuck.”

___

“Thank you!” Yuni called from within the trailer.

“Ah, yeah, thanks,” Fran mumbled, already digging into their order.

Chrome thanked I-Pin as she stepped away from the door.

“That extra order won’t last until a midnight snack,” I-Pin warned.

“There’s no extra order,” Chrome replied, a little confusion bleeding into her tone.

“There were four orders,” I-Pin said, quickly checking the order ticket on her phone. “But three people.”

Chrome placed the fourth order of ramen on at the top of the stairs and looked up. “It’s not an extra.” I-Pin followed her gaze up to the moon. Seeing nothing, she shrugged and wished her a good night before bounding down the stairs to return to where Lambo sat waiting on the vespa.

“Ready?” she asked, putting her helmet on.

“W-w-what’s that?!”

I-Pin looked back at Lambo’s whimper to see him pointing up above the moonlit trailer with a trembling finger.

A silhouetted figure sat on top of the trailer, reclined comfortably with one leg bent in perfect repose. The moon was too bright to see the features of the figure’s face but she could tell they were being watched with lazy predation.

“I-Pin, let’s go!”

The waver in his voice made her trailer and hop on the back of the vespa again, knowing he wouldn’t drive off without her, but that he would cry if they stayed any longer with the spooky atmosphere.

Sitting in reverse with her back against Lambo’s, holding the rest of their deliveries close to her chest, she kept her eyes on the spirit that watched over Chrome until the trees grew so tall they obscured the moon, folding themselves over between them until she could no longer see the trailer or Chrome’s protector as they sped away through the night.

Only when Chrome went back inside did Hibari leap down gracefully to eat the dinner she had left for him.

___

She heard his approach but did not acknowledge it. Byakuran stayed in the entryway of the greenhouse, just watching her care for the toadflax that was a stand-in for the fantasy silk sage. He thought it ironic that she dedicated her attention to a plant that symbolized the desire for the recipient to notice of the giver’s love.

“You noticed the plants were dry when we were filming?”

Bianchi lowered the watering can from the silk sage plant and set it down beside the pot.

“You did too,” she replied. “And you almost broke character.”

“Not all of us perfectly embody our personas,” he said a little plaintively.

She registered his petulant pout and exaggerated expression and thought he fit the bill of a self-indulgent demon rather well.

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Oh,” he repeated a little more softly.

They lapsed into silence as she ran her fingers over the soft leaves that the fictional plant was named for.

She looked up when he approached, painfully aware of his proximity like they had been over the last months of filming together, in a weighted and measured dance with the other, like the gravity of stars drawn together, or the certainty of waves to the shore.

He held up a cluster of flowers to her that looked to be what they used in place of the blood blossoms on set, except the rich colour was much more pigmented and there was an enigmatic scent emanating from them. “What do you think?”

She leaned towards the flowers he offered, holding a strand of hair away from her face; her eyes closed slowly and she inhaled deeply.

“An amaranth.” Bianchi pulled back slightly, the strand of hair slipping over her shoulder to trace lightly over his forearm. She looked up through her thick lashes at him, eyes lidded and lips parted in a small smile. “Decadent.”

He smiled back, pulling away entirely, that strand of her hair trailing down his arm. He let it slip through his fingers. “An amaranth,” he agreed. “For immortality.”

“Immortality?” she repeated breathily, stepping over to close the distance he had created between them.

Byakuran took another step back with a teasing laugh. “For an undying love.”

He seemed to float out of her reach even without the animatronic wings and the wires he wore during filming, but she kept pace with him, used to his movements from the time they spent on set together, with him as her shadow. They were very familiar with each others’ bodies.

“Now why would you give me such a flower?” she asked, her voice low.

He pulled the flower close to his chest before lifting it to his nose to breathe in its scent. “I didn’t give you anything!”

She continued her approach until he found himself with his back against the wall, the moonlight slanting through the glass panels of the ceiling.

“Maybe I’ll take it,” she murmured, plucking it from his fingers and placing it in his breast pocket.

“Should I keep calling you by pet names?”

“Well, it’s gauche to ask a witch for her true name.” He played along; it was hard not to recognize her as the face of the perfume industry, from magazine covers and red carpet events.

“You may continue to call me Byakuran; after all, you named me, witch.”

She played along too; she knew him from his youtube channel, avidly watching his every dessert mukbang video, every unboxing, and every sweet shop review.

“Is that right, demon?” She purred against his lips. He could feel the warmth emanating from her as her body pinned his to the wall, dizzy from that citrus scent wafting from her skin.

“Hurry! The noodles are getting soggy!”

Byakuran pulled the woman further into the shadows, whispering a quiet shhh in her ear, and Bianchi pressed closer still as two people rushed through the greenhouse, one in a red uniform and the other in a cowprint shirt. They darted through the set without so much as a glance around them and then they were gone out the other end.

“Okay, okay, there’s a shortcut through here... Geez, It’s not like Haru will let Gokudera kill us if we’re late again.”

“I’ll kill you if we’re late again!”

Bianchi didn’t even so much as glance over at them, taking the opportunity to pin him against the wall with her gaze. He watched their exit over her shoulder with a dispassionate smile. She wanted to make him feel something.

Wearing her shroud of night, she pulled him under, but the angel wasn’t as unmoved as he seemed. She leaned in to test the waters, just simmering below the surface, and he closed the distance himself to have a taste.

___

“Take care!” Tsuna waved to Enma and Skull as Yamamoto put the bowl of candy down on the side table. The green paint on Yamamoto’s neck and face was starting to rub off on the collar of his shirt, and Tsuna tried not to worry about the staining it would cause in the laundry.

Leave it to his boyfriend to use stage makeup taken from the film set to turn himself into a classic zombie.

Dino hovered just behind them, staring out down the path after them. “You think they’ll be okay?” he asked.

Tsuna shut the front door as Squalo laughed, having already made himself comfortable on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. “Go trick-or-treating with them if you’re that worried,” he called.

Yamamoto put a jumbo chocolate bar in Dino’s hands before leading him over to take a seat beside Squalo. “They’ll be fine!” His flippant tone was somehow reassuring and Dino allowed Yamamoto to take his coat. “They’ve got enough candy in their pillowcases to use them like clubs now!”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing,” Tsuna said, making a face.

An orange tabby cat immediately jumped onto Dino’s lap.

“Even the cat loves you,” Squalo remarked as Natsu settled in and curled up on him, purring up a storm. “Just like the dogs today,” he finished, inclining his head towards Yamamoto who only smiled up at Tsuna, perched on the armrest.

Remembering the hours it had taken to get the prosthetics on only for it to have been wasted and then taken off, Squalo frowned at Yamamoto’s feigned innocence and Tsuna’s flustered guilt.

“Dino and I wanted to visit everyone,” Tsuna began.

“We wanted to get a sneak peek,” Dino said. “Especially since Reborn was making a movie based on Tsuna’s dream!”

“And you got distracted!” Squalo reprimanded, not letting Yamamoto off the hook even though he just laughed it off.

“Tsuna told me I forgot to buy the Halloween candy!” Yamamoto recounted. “But he forgot to prepare dinner for us, so we’re even!”

The doorbell rang again and Tsuna turned away from Dino and Squalo lounging on the couch to answer it, but Yamamoto beat him to it, jogging over with firm hand on Tsuna’s shoulder to tell him to stay put and enjoy his chat, and a quick kiss pressed to his cheek in passing to casually remind him he was adored.

“You said there would be dinner!” Squalo shouted after him.

“Yes, yes,” he called back as he scooped up the bowl of candy and answered the door.

On the other side of the doorframe, Lambo jumped in surprise as a zombie opened the door.

“Delivery!” I-Pin said brightly.

“Oh! I-Pin! Lambo!” he greeted. “That was fast!”

I-Pin rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to be nice, Yamamoto-san. Lambo took his time today. I would’ve driven like you taught me.”

Yamamoto laughed as she handed over his order of ramen. He held the bowl of candy out to I-Pin and she selected a few lollipops for Lambo.

“Yeah, but Lambo,” Yamamoto asked. “I thought you had a Halloween party to go to tonight?” He hesitated when Lambo flapped his hands and began waving his arms, giving him a panicked look.

I-Pin looked between the two of them confusedly.

“Ahh!” Yamamoto smiled knowingly. “I know! You’re helping her out on the scariest night of the year instead of going to the party!”

“VOI!”

Lambo and I-Pin jumped at the voice of the man that had pursued them doggedly earlier in the night. Squalo stalked over to the door to confirm that they were also the one and the same.

“It’s you on that shitty vespa!” Squalo growled.

“Um, trick or treat?” Lambo squeaked, backing away.

I-Pin was one step ahead of him, running back to the motor scooter. “Lambo, let’s go!”

He stumbled away from the door, jumping onto the back of the scooter and grabbing onto the seat for dear life as she took off without warning.

“I-Pin, slow down!” Lambo screamed.

“We gotta’ get to your party!” she called back.

He held his helmet to his head as the chinstrap flapped in the wind, staring at her back. “Don’t we have more deliveries to do?”

“I’ve only got one more for the night,” she replied, “and it’s me getting you to your Halloween party!”

“Oh no you don’t!”

Lambo shrieked as he saw that Squalo and his fury were gaining ground on them. He spun around in the seat, throwing his arms around her waist. “I-Pin, speed up!”

“That, I can do! Hold on tight!” she called back as they raced off into the night, or at least as quickly as the scooter would allow. Lambo held her tightly and hoped that they would arrive unscathed; but also that maybe when they did, she would accept his invitation to join him.

___

The sky was a bright grey, with golden rays filtering through. The full moon had cast long shadows in the night and it would soon pass the torch to the sun’s radiance. Daybreak was eminent over the graveyard, and the night was almost over, but not just yet.

Haru stretched and yawned, uncurling from the position she had held over her sewing machine through the night. She laid out Chrome’s repaired garments and the new robe that she had worked ceaselessly on for Bianchi. After the work was done, she was left with about a yard of material – too small to do anything with besides being used as scrap. She shook it out to remove loose threads and then folded it neatly at her side.

Gokudera had put his head down to rest hours earlier. Haru had noticed when he did not get back up. His back was rising and falling evenly with each breath, his goggles discarded beside his sleeping face. Crates of neatly stacked sticks of dynamite sat around him, carefully prepared and ready to be set off at a moment’s notice.

She stood to clear the empty takeout boxes overturned on the table between them, the disposable chopsticks unbalancing the empty Styrofoam containers. She hoped he liked the ramen she had ordered more than the instant noodles he would have made for them with the electric kettle he had kicked into the corner a few days back; she knew he would not have easily allowed himself the luxury of ordering food if he could find a quicker alternative on his own.

But then again, he was unused to someone else caring for his needs.

Smiling, Haru fluffed out the scrap of fabric again; it wasn’t large enough to be useful in any other way, but it would serve well enough to keep him warm. She settled the small white sheet over his shoulders and reached down to touch his cheek, but paused with her fingers hovering just over his face. Reconsidering, she picked up his can of coffee, swished it around, and finished it. He would wake soon and grumble about the makeshift blanket, but not just yet.

___

[AO3] [Part I] [Part II] [Part III]

[draconivn]

C.02 | Imperfectly Perfect

SUMMARY: Masamune always held to his beliefs to be the ideal leader. His goal in allying with Nobunaga was to learn how to govern his people better, all the sacrifices he would have to obtain just to make sure he could create a world where people wouldn’t go hungry. Then one day, he meets a woman, and she unknowingly turns his world upside down. MASTERPOST: LINK

The crowds fill the streets of Azuchi, the markets bustling with business and wares. 

There’s always new things to see, and it draws a Masamune's single blue eye to look at a few things here and there. It was hard to not have to drag Kojuro around to every shop possible, especially since their shopping list required visiting different shops until they finally get to a fruit stand. 

“This looks like our last stop, my lord.” 

“The maids would’ve been struggling by now,” Masamune remarks, his hand is about to reach for an apple, when a smaller hand darts out to grab it instead. When he looks, he sees the hand belonging to none other than a young child.

She looks up at him in bewilderment, but there’s a hint of mischief in her eyes, ready to take a bite of the fruit when the vendor approaches her with a frown,

“Young lady, if you wish to eat it, you must buy it.”

Masamune chuckles, reaching into his sleeves. “Here, allow me–”

Some coins jingle, a hand being extended in front of the vendor to drop into his hands. “Now, little one, what did we say about taking things at the market?” All attention turns to the woman standing there, wearing a pale green kimono and smiling gently at the girl as she scolds her.

The girl pouts until she gives up after a moment. “Make sure you pay for it first.”

“Good girl,” the woman says, reaching for a few more to offer to the vendor for bagging. Once she receives the bag, she hands it to the girl. “Now that should be enough for you and your sister, so make sure you share.”

The girl nods, holding the bag to her chest and bows to both her and the vendor, “I’m sorry I took before I ate it! I’ll make sure to pay for it next time!” Once her apology is accepted, the little girl smiles gleefully at all of them and runs off.

The woman offers an apologetic expression at the men. “I apologize for that, my lord. I hope she didn’t disturb your shopping.”

Masamune had been watching the exchange between her and the child, though his gaze had been fixed on her the entire time. Her smile was pretty, and she looked cute. Not to mention that she was kind and good-hearted, someone too good for a chaotic time like this. Yet, there’s a feeling of familiarity he’s feeling from her, though he can’t place his finger on it. “No, not at all. You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”

The vendor’s eyes shift between the both of them, then over to the waiting Kojuro just behind Masamune.

“I don’t mind, if it helps to keep her out of trouble. Have a good day, my lords.” With a kind and gentle expression, she bows and turns to leave, making her way gracefully through the crowd.

A moment of silence falls over Masamune, before he decides to hand some of the groceries to Kojuro. “I’ll be right back!” His feet guide him, taking him through the crowd and deeper into the market until he sees her at a stall, looking at a set of brushes. “There you are.”

She stops at the sound of his voice, lifting her head as the brush twiddles between her slender fingers. “Me?”

He grins. “Yes, you.”

She blinks, her emerald green irises glimmering up at him in curiosity. “Is there something I can help you with, my lord?” Her eyes had an interesting colour, one that reminded Masamune of the trees of a forest on a sunny and cool spring day. She also was slightly taller than the average female that he came across, so he wasn’t craning his head down as much to look at her.

“I never got your name.” 

She stares at him for a moment, before she chuckles and a smile blooms on her lips. “That’s because I never gave you my name, Lord Masamune.”

“Oh, so you’ve heard about me?” 

“Your reputation precedes you, but the rumours are far from your image, depending on your environment,” she muses. There’s a glimmer of life in her emerald eyes and a melodic sound falls from her lips in a gentle laugh, shaking her head before moving along the selection of brushes. “Flattery is not something I can give you, if that is what you’re looking for, my lord.” 

“With a voice like yours, I’m sure you saying my name would be a lot better without the honorifics.” 

She arches a brow. “And get my head chopped off for being so discourteous by addressing you in such a manner? I’ll have to decline, thank you.”

He leans in dangerously close, a flirtatious grin on his lips as he picks up a brush set he had his eye on and offers it to her. Despite the amount he wrote, he didn’t shop for brushes too often, but there were very few that he seemed to like and always made sure to purchase them whenever he was in Azuchi. “I recommend this one.” There’s a moment of silence as he holds it up to her view, and makes eye contact before she looks at it to take the item. Masamune chuckles, the brief mumbled ‘thank you’ almost going missed. “I’ve never seen you around Azuchi before.”

Their chatter is nothing but pure small talk, but he knows he has the courage to ask her things. It’s just whether she’ll allow it since she’s being a bit pushy about it. 

“Lots of people go through Azuchi every single day. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I wouldn’t have missed someone like you.”

Despite how evasive she is, she manages to act normally with him, as if he was just another man trying to flirt with her, and this invisible wall rising bit by bit between them the longer he stays. If anything, his line only makes her chuckle and look away to continue her perusal.

If he could just push it down a bit further, he could entice her to a little more. It was always the difficult things that made him crave the chase, made him want to see just what she was hiding from him. “What brings you to Azuchi?”

This time, her next item is an inkstone, and an ink stick. “I suppose the same as any other person passing through Azuchi. See the commerce and free trade, buy pretty things...” She turns to him to give him an exaggerated expression, “... Nothing too special, really.”

He almost laughed at how adorable she was being, making such expressions. Everything he heard her speak, it was like it spoke in volumes on her features, those jades of her eyes just shimmering in light of their playful banter. She’s as mysterious as the name she refuses to tell me, he thinks. “If you like, I can definitely show you around and make sure you won’t get lost. There’s a lot to see, so it’s easy to forget where things are.”

“Mm, the offer is definitely tempting, but I’m sure you’re very busy. It's hard to miss the large convoy you came with a few hours ago, unless you've already settled in.” She turns to the vendor, handing him the brush set. “I’d like to get this, please.” She reaches for her coins, when a set of coins is handed to the vendor instead, leaving her to look up at him, the samurai now standing in front of her. “You didn’t have to–”

“And neither did you. Now we’re even.” He grins cheekily at her, handing her purchase over. “So, will you be in Azuchi for a while?”

She looks at him curiously. “Perhaps. Why?" Before she hears his answer, her attention is diverted to the crowd where Kojuro seems to be struggling with the result of the maids' shopping list and Masamune's occasional shopping.

Masamune follows her gaze for a moment, only to realize his mistake. Lunch. Right. He should get back to Kojuro so they’re not struggling. “Then what do you say to–” He turns back to her, ready to offer some time to sit down for some tea, only to realize she’s no longer standing there. His gaze flickers to the vendor, but he seems preoccupied with another customer to not have noticed where she went. “Where did she…?”

Just like that, it was as if she was never there.

[ancientbrit]

Natter #3 24th June 2020

So, on  Saturday morning, I took part of my breakfast (yogurt) from our backup  fridge in the garage, but when I put the first spoonful in my mouth I noticed that it was warm. Strange that. So I checked the fridge and found that everything in it was warm. The freezer contents - weren't.This was a disaster as I had been to QFC a couple of days previously buying frozen and fresh foods including four half gallons of milk. Jean had been out the day after for the first time in 12 weeks and part of her haul was more milk and ice cream.I imagine that the excitement of being out again at last and back to her old stamping grounds overcame memory. So here we were rushing around trying to save what we could by rearranging everything in the kitchen fridge and then trying to close the door.The old fridge was possibly down on refrigerant and I was a bit annoyed for a brief moment until I remembered when we bought it. It was when we lived at the 'old house' way back in 1970 and it was already a year old when we got it! My word - 50 years old. I should have remembered as it's color is 'Harvest Gold' which hasn't been seen on store shelves in donkeys ages. I tend not to date things by color though, as modern colors mean little to me - 'Taupe' for instance means less than nothing. My lexicon runs in terms of the spectrum. But forgetting it's date made me think back to those 'Old House days' and what we were about then. Those days and other old days that preceded that time.  My memory of 'then' is perfectly clear  - it seems just like it was yesterday even though I know how long ago it actually was. So many friends and relatives who are no longer around to share those times with, One of the things that have remained constant is our phone number. Of course, then we had an exchange name -  Adams 2, which has now been transmuted to numbers - 232, and I think doing this has lost the feeling of romance that it seemed to have for me. When I was a kid many of our dairy and grocery items were delivered to the door by horse-drawn carts - very few people or businesses had a sufficiently high priority during the war to have a petrol ration. Mum had joined the "Co-op" for convenience and of course, there was the benefit of a bonus payout at year's end. I loved these horses and would meet them outside and feed them apples, carrots and whatever else I had to hand. Still firmly in my mind is the Co-op number I had to recite to the driver when we had milk or groceries delivered - 157376.Being horses they would leave proof of their passage along the road and my Dad would pay me a shilling per bucket full of 'Golden Apples' as my Dad referred to this natural function It seemed like it was too demeaning a job for a full-grown adult  and using his term was sort of distancing himself from the unpleasantness.It used to embarrass me a bit too, but you couldn't argue with the reward. it was all grist to the mill, and it did do the roses a power of good. In 1956, I had been out of the RAF for a year and had also just recently returned home from a  very long sojourn in hospital, and my Dad was persuaded, against his will, to have a phone installed. Phones were not then usual to find in most houses and my Dad's reluctance was based on the very real belief that his company could too easily find him at inconvenient times. I told him that it was an absolute necessity in that day and age and so at last it was installed. Our phone number was Fairlands 4725 and as I said, I remember the old exchanges with affection. Others in our neighborhood were Derwent and Vigilant and my favorite Aunt had the best I always felt - Silverthorn - lovely. The Fairlands exchange was essential to me as when I was discharged from the hospital I had left behind a lovely German nurse with whom I had developed special feelings.When I had become sufficiently fit to allow me to leave the hospital and walk around the grounds, I used to collect any outgoing mail from other patients who were still confined to bed and take it some distance up the road, through the snow to a mailbox. Just to make sure I would be okay, Irmgard, for such was her name, would accompany me and we would find a need to indulge in long hugs and exchange lip locks - just to keep the cold at bay you understand? Shared bodily warmth is a great way to defeat the weather! Later, returning to the hospital, which had been a big old private house standing in its own grounds, we would split up at the circular drive with a last goodnight kiss. Irmgard would go round to the kitchen door and I would go the other way to the front door. Knowing that our companion runs were our secret, I was surprised to find the youngish Matron just inside the door. With a twinkle in her eye, she asked if it was cold out and I acknowledged that it was. She told me that I should be careful that I didn't get chapped lips, but then added that lipstick was a sovereign remedy - and departed with a grin. So much for secrecy! Irmgard's phone exchange name at the hospital was Coombe Wood - not exactly what might be termed 'romantic' but association made it so. Our association was quite intense and a forthcoming proposal, whilst welcomed, was at that time impossible for Irmgard to accept. Her sister was soon to marry, another Englishman and they would be returning to England to live after their honeymoon. She would not leave her parents alone just like that. She had been sent to England for a couple of years to improve her English and was soon to return home to Bad Canstatt, just outside Stuttgart. As I was about to return to my studies we were parted and unlikely to meet again any time soon. So our contacts were limited to letters and very rare and expensive phone calls and so the Canstatt exchange also lives brightly in my memory. Unfortunately, long-distance relations tend to strain circumstances and over time our contacts became less and less,     Sometime later I reached a point where I was able to take a trip to the Continent. I wrote to Irmgard to tell her that at last I was able to come over to see her, not being really sure of my reception as I hadn't written for ages.Within days I had a reply and although she was totally delighted that I was coming she told me that she had become engaged. I couldn't really blame her as I had been very lax, but she wanted me to come and meet her family when I arrived. She was really very good and took me all over the city and ended at her parents' home in the evening to a party for her sister and new husband, just returned from their honeymoon on Lake Constance. It was a really nice evening and I got on very well with her parents, but of course, I didn't like her fiance at all! After all this, although I had been given her brother-in-law's name and address back home I was never able to contact him. I would love to have kept up to know how her life proceeded. I still have her framed portrait photograph she sent me when she had first returned home, inscribed "Zur stehten Erinnerung" Deine Irmgard. I have been occupying some of my evenings on the computer lately sorting and printing out the Natters that Jo & Tom and Janet have been good enough to get to me. As they all seem to have been listed well out of order I am busy trying to see what I have and what might yet still be missing. The job has been compounded by the difficulty I have experienced in opening the Flash Drive. Sometimes it allows me to zip along, opening files, but then will stop and nothing will work. Next day I try again and I am off to the races again. But I am getting there slowly and tonight (Monday) I completed taking off hardcopies, Now I can sort through, putting them in chronological order and see what I shall see. Much more later, but there seems to be nothing before 2012 so I guess that was when I started. As I mentioned last Natter I have been attacking Lily of the Valley and I am almost finished - at least with what was visible. Along the way, I have also removed Sword ferns, Cedar seedlings five feet high and Jasmine. The Jasmine was an insignificant rooted cutting, from where I have no recollection. It had been placed in a pot on the ground and had been overgrown by all sorts of stuff and over the last year had gone nuts. It was to be used at the Plant Sale and now there are five separate plants threatening to strangle you on the approach to the greenhouse so of course, they have to go. The final gap in my deer-proof fencing was completed a week ago but I forgot to mention it to the deer and my hostas have now been browsed off on three separate occasions. As soon as it looks like there might be leaves on Empress Wu that might be reaching terminal size, they disappear and I am beginning to think that I will have to curtail totally growing the items they obviously consider their personal snack bar. 'Doesn't really leave much selection but at least, so far, my cardiocrinums don't feature on their menu. 'Have to be grateful for small mercies I suppose. One good thing has come out of this. My neighbor (ex MG Jill) who has allowed me to use three raised beds to grow veg, has been getting worried that I might fall from the area where the raised beds live - on a raised part of the garden with a six-foot-high rock wall as it's western boundary. She sees me stepping back to admire my work and then bailing out over the edge. So she is having a large bed prepared at the bottom of the wall, which will be enclosed by a deer-proof cage. It will also benefit from the heat held by the rock wall - all sorts of interesting possibilities there. She is a good friend. So next year we might actually be able to eat something we have grown. 'Haven't been able to do that for the last four years now, except for Onions and Garlic! Got started on removing existing plants today and I think it was the hardest day's work I have done for ages.I had to have a nap in the afternoon, but I couldn't tell whether that was because I had two early start days or the sheer grind of lifting heavy plants.You have likely realised that I am just stumbling along here so I will finish and get to bed.

Your fearless and weary leader.Gordon

[rachel1987]

GWCFT Part 6

It’s the night of the big show! All our favorite Wonderlandians gather to show off their skills to June Hare. What acts has everyone chosen to perform? Will Hare be able to pull off his big show stopper? And what is Rabbit’s talent, anyway?

x posted on ao3 and FF.net

Hare stood backstage, his chin tilted up, Hatter's hands tying his cape around his collar. "You need to relax…" Hatter mumbled under his breath. "Everything is going to be just fine."

"How did I let you talk me into this?" he heaved, fingers twitching nervously at his chest. He had been alright all day with his mother, the shopping and monotony of it all making him forget about his nerves. But now that he was here and everyone was bustling around getting ready, a wave of nausea washed over him. He had become so nervous and preoccupied he kept knotting his cape ties and Hatter had to step in to help.

"You're last on the set list, don't worry!" Hatter said, brushing off Hare's shoulders and smoothing out the satin fabric. "Your mother is excited to watch you and you're going to be great. Besides you've never gotten nervous like this before a show before. Don't start this now."

Hare furrowed his brow and huffed a little, making him look like a child who was pouting because his mother wouldn't let him have cookies before dinner. Hatter chuckled and gave his bunny a quick smooch. "Why don't you go check on your mom, show her the pretzel machine? I have a few more things I need to do before the show starts."

"Alright," he grumped, giving the Hatter's hand a squeeze before going to his Mother's side. She was sitting in the front row by the Queen, chatting about something that probably didn't matter.

"Look at my boy!" June exclaimed, cutting the Queen off on whatever she was saying, causing her to "harumph" to herself. "You look just darling in that cape. Oh, I knew I should have brought my camera!"

Hare blushed and bounced his head around a little, rolling his eyes. "Thanks, Mom. Hello, your Majesty. Thank you for coming to our talent show."

"Yes, well," the Queen shook her hand in the air as she spoke. "I had a gap in my schedule today and thought it would be a good idea to spend some time with my subjects. After all, one needs to have a little fun from time to time."

"How true that is, your Majesty," Hare said, clasping his hands together by his chest as he spoke. "Would either of you, perhaps, like a pretzel or a drink before the show begins?"

"Yes, I would, thank you," the Queen cut in quickly, not even waiting for Hare to finish his offer before speaking. "Who knows where that Rabbit ran off to? He was supposed to bring me a drink twenty minutes ago and seems to have disappeared."

"Right away, your Majesty," Hare nodded.

"I'll go with you, son," June said as she got to her feet. "Please excuse me, your Highness."

The Queen dismissed them with a wave of her hand and turned her attention to other matters. She was watching the Tweedles spin around, practicing their routine on the other side of the courtyard and found them more interesting than anything else going on.

The pair walked to the pretzel machine that hadn't been turned on yet and Hare ran through it with his mom. "You put the dough in here, there's a salt meter and a unit that shapes, bakes and cools them so they'll be ready to eat when they come out. And a little bell you can ring when it's done."

"What are the lights for?" June asked, enchanted.

"Those are for fun," Hare smiled. "When you push them, they change colors." He then demonstrated them.

"And how do you turn it on?" she asked, brows raised in intrigue. She held her finger under her lip in a familiar pose as she listened, nodding as she took it all in.

"This knob here," Hare pointed. "But once it's on, you can't turn it off. Somehow we never figured out how to fix that. It'll just keep baking till it runs through the dough and then it'll shut down."

"Do you think…" June paused, feeling a little sheepish and her cheeks going pink. "Do you think I can turn it on?"

Hare smiled widely and guffawed. "Of course!" he hopped excitedly. "You just crank it to the left two turns."

June bit her lip and did as she was told and the machine came to life, mechanisms beeping and lights flashing. It didn't take long for the pretzels to start popping out of the contraption and Hare started piling them into bowls that were spread around the table. She seemed very impressed as she picked up one of the first pretzels, giving it a sniff and then a test nibble.

"This is delicious, son," she commended. "Not too salty, not bland. Excellent flavor. All we need is a fondue pot and this would be perfect."

"Why hadn't I thought of that…" Hare muttered to himself, thinking of his full fondue set sitting at home that hadn't been used in ages.

Suddenly, Alice was next to them, a little bit of a flustered expression on her face.

"What's the matter, Alice?" June asked, her motherly intuition rearing its head.

"Her majesty wants to know what's taking so long to get her some refreshments," she shrugged.

The three looked over at the Queen, who was shooting daggers in their direction, arms crossed over her bosom in frustration. Hare panicked a little, fingers flexing as he rushed to get her Majesty a pretzel and a wine cooler, cape whipping behind him as he ran. June and Alice followed behind, each taking some snacks and tea from the refreshment table, going to their seats casually.

The seats were filling as more of the talent and audience arrived. Caterpillar sat himself to the right of the stage, giving himself perhaps the best view out of everyone and Rabbit appeared with a gym bag which he stored behind the curtain for later. The Cat hovered over the crowd, probably already thinking of some sick burns to throw during the show to entertain himself.

Six o'clock rolled around and the Hatter took center stage, a wide smile across his face as he greeted everyone. He was looking extra spiffed up, his usual purple coat and tails speckled with glittering embellishments that sparkled as he moved.

"Ladies and gentleman, cats and Majestys! Welcome to the talent show!" There was a smattering of applause as people settled into their seats, the chatter dying down. "We have a wide array of acts lined up for you tonight. You'll laugh! You'll cry! You might not even believe your eyes! So sit back and enjoy the show." Another round of applause followed and Hatter waited for the noise to settle before introducing the first act.

"Our first act is the upbeat dance stylings of the Tweedles!" He casually stepped to the side, arm outstretched as the Tweedles came through the part in the curtain.

Dum set their oversized boombox to the side of the stage (volume set to 11) and pressed the play button, racing to center to hit his mark before the music began. They stood back to back, arms crossed over their chests, sunglasses covering their eyes for that cool hip-hop look.

The bass boomed from the speakers and they hopped into action, poppin' and lockin', ducking and weaving around each other. They synchronized their movements to each other and the music perfectly, hitting every beat with a gesture or pose that yelled nothing but hip-hop attitude. At one point they did a little rap battle, bouncing verses back and forth off each other with ease. The audience was mesmerized and feeding into their energy, getting hyped up and sucked into the show. Soon people were clapping to the beat and the Hatter couldn't stop himself from doing some dance moves from his seat just off stage. The Tweedles did some flips and jumps, landing just as the music ended, applause filling the area. They got to their feet and bowed, waving at the cheers as Hatter ushered them offstage.

"Thank you, lads. What a great first act, am I right?" Hatter said as he applauded, a bounce still in his step from the energy he gained from the show. "Really marvelous. Such a hard act to follow. But, someone has to do it! And our next act is a dramatic reading of a new story from none other than our resident storyteller, the Caterpillar."

The Caterpillar scooted his way closer to the stage, setting just off to the right of it. There was no way he was even going to attempt to get up on that tiny stage and nobody expected him to.

"Thank you, thank you…" he said to light applause that preceded him to the stage. His lowest set of hands applauded for himself, his middle hands were holding a book tightly and his top hands were moving in a downward motion, as if to settle a crowd of unruly children. "How am I meant to follow an act like that? Well, I would say, with a story." His middle hands passed the book up to his top ones and he flipped through the pages, going to one marked with a red ribbon. This was apparently his journal that his second pair of hands worked in (his best writing hands, if you'd asked him) and it was filled with all of the stories that he was working through.

"This is a story about a boy named Carl who thought it would be a good idea to go into the haunted house alone…" He read the story aloud, bringing the energy of the room down a spell from the last act. His second and third pair of hands worked with him, pulling items from a bag that was slung over one of his shoulders to act as props or sound effects as he read aloud. He droned out the story but somehow brought it to life and everyone felt like they could almost see the tale run through in their mind's eye. The story had twists and turns and one surprise after another. There was a jump scare almost ¾ of the way through that got a lot of them, Rabbit most of all. He almost hopped into the Queen's lap, causing her to make a little bit of a scene. But the Caterpillar reeled them back in to finish the story with a grim message.

"And, in the end, Carl learned that sometimes you must heed the warnings of others. Because, if you don't, the only friends you'll have are the worms in the ground who will feast upon that's left of your corpse."

The audience didn't know how to react to the story the Caterpillar chose to read to them. It was an enthralling tale, but one that probably would have been better saved for their Halloween Campfire session.

The Cat, however, loved it and howled with laughter as he applauded enthusiastically. "The little sucker got what he deserved, haha!" he boomed, tail swishing around with excitement. Everyone looked at him with confused expressions on their faces as the Caterpillar moved his way back to his original spot, Hatter taking the stage again.

"Ooh, spooky story, right folks?" he said with a nervous laugh. He was thinking that perhaps he should have screened the talent before allowing them to perform, but it was too late for that now. "I especially liked the part where the…" he paused and cleared his throat. "Anyway, thank you Caterpillar. We will keep our eyes open for when your next book is published and I'm sure we'll all be sure to grab ourselves a copy."

"I will be selling autographed anthologies after the show," he said as he settled. "Come and see me if you're interested. Oh, and no personal checks, please," he added with the wave of a finger.

"Righty roo," Hatter said with a chuckle. "Now, on to the next act. This little guy has traveled a long way from my tea table to perform his acts of daredevilry for all of you tonight! So please direct your attention to the center of the stage as I present to you: Danger Dormouse!"

Hatter pulled on a yellow cord that was to the left of the stage and the curtain went up, revealing a miniature driving obstacle course set up on a table. It was just below eye level, so even those in the back row had some sort of view of it. The stage, however, was empty of the small mouse with a motorcycle.

From off in the distance, the put-put-put of his motor could be heard and he zoomed in from under the gate door, coming up the center aisle and up a ramp and onto the stage. He was making great speed but was still visible to everyone as he hopped another ramp onto the table, doing a wheelie as his tires screeched. That earned him a surprised round of applause, most of the audience being quite shocked that the Dormouse had this sort of act in him.

About halfway through the routine, Rabbit got a tap on his shoulder and he jumped to see the Hatter there, tilting his head to the side to indicate that he was up next. Rabbit twiddled his fingers and nodded, getting to his feet and sneaking away to prepare himself without anyone noticing.

They watched the Dormouse weave through traffic cones, do a crossing on a narrow beam from one table to another and he even did a handstand on his little cycle while driving it. Every stunt he managed to land received more applause from the audience. And when he pulled off his final trick, jumping over 8 of the Hatter's tophats side-by-side, you'd have thought he had jumped the entirety of the grand canyon by the way the audience reacted. Dee and Dum were so impressed they gave him a standing ovation, thrusting their fists into the air and hooting as the little mouse stood on the stage beside his bike, bowing to everyone.

"Alright, little guy," Hatter said as he entered the stage, applauding his small friend and housemate. The curtain had been dropped behind him and there was a scuffling sound from behind it, if anyone had paid attention to hear it. "Everyone should watch themselves with this guy on the road, am I right?" That received a little bit of a laugh and the Dormouse climbed back into his bike, kicking the stand up before looking up at Hatter. "You be careful on your drive home, alright? I know you have quite a journey to make." The Dormouse chuckled and turned the motor on, zooming away and around the side of the hat house.

"Now, this next act was a last minute addition to the lineup, so even I'll be surprised by what we're about to experience," Hatter introduced as the put-put-put of the motor died away. "Let's give a round of applause for the Queen's right hand bunny, and one of my favorite furry friends, The White Rabbit."

Rabbit took the stage from behind the curtain in a black unitard, leg warmers on his fuzzy legs, sweatbands on his wrists and no roller blades. He carried a small boombox and placed a cassette tape into it, standing upright as he addressed the audience. "I will now go through a day in the life of Rabbit… through interpretive dance." He bent down and pushed the button marked "play", waiting till an early morning music started before he started bounding around the stage, waving his arms.

Everyone in the audience was completely aghast by what they had to sit through for the next few minutes. They followed Rabbit through his day, watching him mime cleaning and cooking and the various frustrations of his life, all through dance and bunny feet shuffling across the stage. Hare couldn't help but notice that his mother's eyes never left Rabbit once. It made him feel uncomfortable and he felt badly for teasing Rabbit about it at the Market the other day.

After what felt like the longest and most agonizing two minutes of their lives, everyone in the audience applauded weakly as Rabbit stood in the center of the stage, one leg lifted up behind him, his arms above his head, the music coming to an end. Rabbit later said the dance was rather invigorating. Dee said he'd rather poke his eyes out with a pencil than sit through it again. The Cheshire Cat couldn't stop cackling to himself over it, wishing he had recorded it for later viewing.

"Well, that was something, Rabbit…" Hatter said, applauding as he entered from stage right, his guitar hanging from his shoulder. He was dragging a stool behind him as he made his way to center stage. "Thank you for sharing that with us…" Rabbit gave one final bow, his ears brushing the ground, before picking up his boombox and exiting the stage.

"After that last exciting little display of talent," Hatter started as he took a seat on the stool, flipping the guitar around to his front and resting it on his knee. "We're going to slow things down a little with a song that I wrote for the occasion." There was still a buzz in the audience about the strangeness they had just experienced and they were having a little bit of a hard time focusing on the Hatter, but his calm demeanor was drawing them in slightly. Hatter strummed the strings on his guitar lazily as he spoke, warming up his fingers to play his new song.

"As everyone here knows, we have a special guest in the audience tonight: Hare's mother June. Give us a wave there, Junie. Righty roo… righty roo… She was in the paper this morning, I hope you all saw that. And so was Hare, but that's a whole other matter…" he cleared his throat, licking his lips as he plucked the cords. "And, in seeing her with Hare over the past day or two, it's gotten me thinking about my own mother: Mother Hatter. So I decided to write a song to her and I hope you'll all be patient with me as I sing it." He paused and his foot started to tap on the floor gently as he began his song with a slow and loving melody.

This was quite a departure from the wild and crazy Hatter that everyone was used to seeing. He was calm and collected, fingers moving away over the neck of the guitar, singing a sweet song about the love of a son for his mother. Hare gasped a little at the tenderness of it, his breath getting caught in his throat as he listened. This was a song directly from the heart and it was beautiful. Even the Queen had to wipe a tear from her eye because it touched her so. His sweet song filled the dimming evening with a tranquility that was surprising to everyone in the vicinity. Every act up until this point was full of energy and excitement (except perhaps for Rabbit's strange display) and this was just plain different.

The Hatter played his song through, hitting the final cords with perfect rhythm, earning him applause from everyone. Hare saw June dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief she had taken from her purse, her makeup smearing a little under her glasses. He returned his gaze to the Hatter, who looked at him and gave him a wink. God, he loved this man.

Hatter relished in the praise for perhaps a little longer than he should have, before he tugged the stool off stage. "Thank you, thank you, you're all too kind," he said with a wide grin, moving his hands in a downward motion to get them all to settle. "Still two more acts to go, folks. Does anyone need a refill on refreshments? More pretzels, we have plenty? No? Ah, righty ho. Well, you're all taking home the extras because I never want to see another pretzel again as long as I live."

Returning to the center of the stage, he maneuvered his guitar onto his back again, clearing his throat to catch everyone's attention. "Now, for a little something by our very own Alice."

Alice took the stage with a bright smile and flashing green eyes, her hands held behind her back as she addressed the crowd. "I'm afraid that I don't have a big flashy act or anything to share with you all tonight," she said with a little bit of a shrug. "But what I did bring to share are a few of my favorite poems from my world that I would like to share with all of you!"

The audience "oohed" as Alice cleared her throat and began reciting a number of poems she had taken the time to memorize over the past couple days. The poems she had chosen were by Robert Frost, TS Eliot, Emily Dickenson and Shel Silverstein, who were not completely unknown to the Wonderlandians. She never fumbled her words or paused to try to remember the next line she had to say, saying every word calmly as if she were making them up as she went along. The Queen shone with pride at the girl's display, nudging June next to her to say that she had helped her learn the words and practice them the day before. The Caterpillar made a mental note to talk to Alice about the talent who was TS Elliot sometime.

After finishing the last of her memorized works, she gave everyone a bow and stood center stage as Hatter came to join her. "Very nice, Alice! Wonderful job," he said, applauding her happily. "Everyone give her a hand!"

The audience clapped for her as she gave them one last bow, rushing to her seat beside the Tweedles in the back row. She passed Hare as she made her way, taking the time to whisper a "Good luck, mr Hare" and give him a reassuring thumbs up before taking her seat.

Hare smiled and nodded, adjusting his collar on his cape before turning his back to the audience. Normally he wasn't one to get stage fright. But this was a whole different set of circumstances. He was performing for his mother and he lacked confidence in his big finale. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, taking a moment as Hatter wound everyone up.

"Righty roo, everybody!" the Hatter said, a wide grin on his face as he introduced the final act of the night. "Everyone, hold onto your hats! This is the act we've all been waiting for! Well, I know June has, anyway," he said, giving her a playful wink, causing her to giggle from her seat. "I give you, the man of mystery, the illustrious illusionist, the Amazing Hair-raising Hare!"

Hare forced a smile on his face and turned around on his heels, holding his arms out so his cape draped over his form just right. There was a light bit of applause, a boost of it coming from where June was seated.

"Thank you, thank you!" Hare said aloud, trying to make his voice sound as confident as possible. He kept his eyes off of his mother, focusing on the other faces in the audience to put himself at ease. He found he kept eyeing Rabbit, which was obviously making the elderly bunny uncomfortable.

"For my first trick of the evening, I will show you one that may ring a bell!" He chuckled to himself, pulling from behind his back three sets of golden rings. He showed them to the audience, running his hand along the golden bands to prove that it was a continuous piece. After some fancy handwork, the three rings were linked perfectly, Hare tugging on them to show that the rings were still solid. He displayed them to the audience, walking down to the Queen and having her inspect them.

"I know gold rings and, yes, these are solid!" she said with a laugh, clearly impressed. Maybe it was the sparkle of the gold, but her eyes glittered a little.

"But what good are three rings stuck together, am I right?" Hare asked, licking his lips a little before taking two of the rings and rubbing them between his gloved fingers. Pressing hard with his fingertips, he felt the metal slip and pulled them apart with ease. He handed the free one to the Queen, before unlinking the second pair as well. Everyone applauded and Hare felt a boost in confidence as he took the three rings from the Queen, tossing them in his magic box behind the curtain and retrieving his next magical item and tucking it away in his jacket.

"For my next trick, I'll need a volunteer from the audience! And who better than my own Mother, June Hare!"

June's eyes widened as her son came down from the stage, taking her gloved hand and leading her up onto the platform with him. She stood there nervously, hands balled up and fingers laced in front of her as she watched him closely.

Everyone in the audience grew nervous when they saw Hare take the handcuffs out from his jacket pocket.

"Don't think about it, Hare!" the Queen pouted, making everyone laugh a little, causing the Hare's happy demeanor flicker a little. His eyes looked at his mother, who was beaming so wide you could see all her teeth. He put on a brave face for her.

"Worry not, your Majesty! This trick is foolproof!" Hare gestured his arm out, holding the handcuff aloft in his other hand. "I'm so confident in it, I would risk handcuffing myself to my own mother to prove that it can be done!"

It probably didn't come out the way it had sounded in his head, but his mother didn't seem offended by the statement and everyone in the audience took it as a sign that he was serious. In fact, his mother seemed a little overwhelmed by being pulled on stage. Quickly, he decided he needed to distract her and give her something to do to settle her nerves.

"But first, I will demonstrate that I can remove them from myself. Ma, if you would be so kind…" He gave her the handcuffs and she snapped them around his wrists nervously, fingers shaking a little as she did it. He took hold of her hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze before continuing. "Thank you…"

Holding his hands out in front of him, he tried to tug at the cuffs, showing that they were indeed locked onto his person. "The cuffs are securely fastened… but not for long?"

With the flip of his wrists, he twisted and turned, causing the cuffs to fall right off. Of course, all the Wonderlandians who went through the great handcuff ordeal knew how the trick worked, but Hare's mother was delighted by the trick and clapped her hands enthusiastically. Her hands reached out to inspect the cuffs for herself, eyes wide with wonder.

"As you can see, there's really nothing to it!" Hare said aloud, turning to his mother. "Now, the real test."

Hatter came on stage and assisted Hare in getting the cuffs around his and June's wrists, stepping aside to allow the act to continue.

"As you can see, the handcuffs are on tight," he raised his arm out and tugged against his mother, showing everyone that they were indeed locked and not going to move. "Now, on the count of three, the cuffs will come off as easily as they had been put on."

June watched as her son guided her in her actions without really realizing it, raising and dropping their connected arm as he counted aloud. She lifted her right arm as he counted, and on the count of three he moved his wrist, causing the cuff to rotate around hers, making them fall off easily. The audience applauded as the cuffs fell to the ground with a clatter. It seemed they were impressed that he'd actually managed to get the trick to work this time around.

Again, June clapped enthusiastically, examining her wrist as if it had been removed from her body and reattached again.

Hare ushered her off stage and back to her seat, Hatter standing on stage with a box and some more magic items when he returned.

"And now, some slight of hand!" he reached into the box and took out three small multicolored balls. With nimble hands, Hare tossed the balls up in the air, not missing a beat as the orbs did their dance. He tossed them high and low, over his shoulder and under his leg, adding a fourth ball with ease as the act went along. The audience was impressed by his skill. He was a clumsy hare and people often forgot that he was a master juggler.

"He sure knows how to handle his balls," the Cat said aloud, causing Dee to laugh out boisterously.

He continued to juggle, tossing the balls to audience members and instructing them to toss them back to him when he gave them the signal. Dum might have thrown the ball a little too hard, because Hare had to stumble back in order to get it, almost causing him to trip over his own feet. But he caught himself, adding to the suspense of the trick, a smattering of applause coming from the audience. After a little more of this, getting 5 balls in the air, he caught them all in a box and gave a short bow, mentally preparing himself for the final trick. Everything had gone well up until this point, he was feeling comfortable on stage, his nerves had gone to the back of his mind. It was now or never.

"My final trick for the evening will shock and amaze you!" Hare said, tossing the box of balls backstage and into a crate with the rest of his magic items. "Hatter, bring in… the box!"

The curtains parted behind Hare and Hatter appeared, dragging a large trunk behind himself. Hare moved around to help at the other end, positioning it in the center of the stage. Hatter gave Hare a reassuring pat on the back, before stepping aside.

"What you see before you is a plain, ordinary box!" Hare said, gesturing a hand toward the trunk in a flamboyant fashion. "This trick requires a volunteer. Alice, if you will, please come look at the box to make sure that it is, in fact, ordinary."

She looked at him and nodded, going to the trunk and investigating it. She opened it with the help of the Hatter and looked inside, tapping on the sides and the lid.

"Looks like a plain box to me." She announced.

"Wonderful, wonderful," Hare said, fluttering his fingers mysteriously for effect. "One more, thing. Did you happen to find something -in- the box?"

Alice took a peek in and pulled out a large velvet bag.

Hare's mother applauded joyously, causing Dum to lean over and say to her "I don't think that was the trick…" causing her to stop.

Hare forced a smile and took the bag from Alice, showing it to the crowd. "Now, Alice, inspect the bag for any holes or imperfections, if you please."

Alice came over and glanced over the bag, turning it this way and that and checking the inside before agreeing that the bag hadn't been tampered with.

"Thank you, Alice," Hare said aloud, taking the bag from her and placing it in the bottom of the box. "Now, Alice, stand in the bag!"

She looked at him, shoulders dropped, her jaw slack. "What?"

Hare's eyes widened and he smiled at the audience, hearing them laugh nervously, before turning to Alice. "Get in the box."

She blinked and shook her head a little, before the Hare put a hand out and guided her into the box, positioning her so she was standing in the bag.

"Now, Alice, I'm going to close you in the bag and lay you down in the box. Do not be frightened! You will come out of this, completely unharmed!" He accentuated the last bit by looking at the audience, gesturing an outstretched hand at them as if he were reeling them in, causing them to Ooh and Aah. Dee might have muttered something along the lines of "I hope Alice has health insurance" before being jammed in the ribs by his brother.

Hare helped Alice pull the bag up around her, seeing her give him a wink to signal him that she was okay, before tying the bag shut above her head. Then, with the Hatter's help, they helped her get in a lying position in the box before closing the lid.

"Now, Hatter, the lock please!"

The audience was on the edge of their seats as Hare put a comedicaly large lock on the front of the lid, jangling it around to show that it was, in fact, sealed.

Hatter came from the left side of the stage with a portable curtain on a rod. He switched it around, making it flutter in the wind, before handing one end to the hare. They walked around the box, before Hare stepped atop it.

"Now, don't look away!" he shouted, wiggling his fingers at the audience a little before lifting the curtain in front of him. Hatter stepped aside as the curtain shook and shimmered in the light, obscuring the view of the trunk from the audience. It continued to shake from side to side for a few moments, before falling to the ground, revealing…

Alice standing atop the box, arms outstretched and wearing Hare's cape.

The entire audience gasped as she was revealed, not missing a beat before they erupted into applause. Everyone jumped to their feet and roared, even the Queen had gotten swept up in the moment. They were all so impressed that they forgot to ask where the Hare went.

With Hatter's help, Alice hopped off of the box and took a bow, before taking a step aside and gesturing toward the trunk.

And nothing happened.

Alice had a strained smile on her face and Hatter was starting to look nervous. She gestured back to the box and still, nothing happened.

"Uh… mr Hare?" Alice asked, going to the box and tugging on the large lock, finding that it was still stuck shut. "Uh oh…"

There was a thumping and banging from inside the trunk as the noise died down and people started to get the feeling something had gone wrong. The box shook a little and scooted around as Hatter bowed down next to it.

"Hare? Are you in there?"

"I can't get out!" Hare shouted from inside. "I can't get the thing open."

"Oh dear…" Alice gasped, hand going to her mouth as she bent down beside the Hatter.

Hatter hit against the back of the trunk, finding that the secret door was stuck. He reached for the lock with his giant hands and gave it a yank, straining to pull it off. After struggling for a few moments, the crowd had gathered at the foot of the stage to get a better look at what was going on.

"Where is the key?" Rabbit asked, pointing at the lock. It was the most obvious solution, why hadn't they thought of it already?

Hatter patted his sides down, but he didn't have it, so he bent down and shouted at the box. "Where's the key, Hare?" he asked, holding his ear against the lid of the trunk to listen for an answer.

"It's in my pocket…" came the response.

June looked like she was about ready to either faint or pull the lid off the trunk with her bare hands. To say she was getting frantic was an understatement. "Did he just say they're in his pocket?"

Hatter laughed and shook his head. "No, he couldn't have!"

"He did, Mr Hatter…" Alice said, biting her lip.

"Oh… well, this is quite a pickle here, isn't it?" Hatter said, scrunching up his face and putting a hand to his hip. "Well, only one thing to do." He got to his feet, everyone having their eyes trained on him as he walked in through the IN door and immediately through the OUT door, holding an ax in his gloved hands. The group parted as he stood at the front of the box, lifting the ax above his head and was about to swing down, when…

"I don't think so!" June exclaimed, putting her arm out.

"But, June! How else are we going to get him out of there?" Hatter asked, still holding the axe above his head.

"A mother has her ways…" she said, raising her hands to her head and pulling two hairpins from her updo. Kneeling down at the lock, she straightened the pins and shoved them into the lock, moving them around with expert fingers. They sat for a few minutes, Hare tapping on the lid of the box every minute or so to let him know he hadn't passed out. Eventually he started making casual conversation with those outside the box, asking what the outside world was like and if the price of gasoline had dropped because it was much too high. He also asked if it would be appropriate for him to sing a song when he got out of the box (they told him no) so he started singing a song about being stuck inside it instead.

A few minutes and broken hairpins later, the lock clicked open and fell to the floor.

"She got it!" Dum exclaimed, jumping to his feet in excitement.

"I'll be damned…" Dee added under his breath as June wrenched the lid open.

She found her son scrunched up inside the box, trap door knocked off its hinges on one side, tied up in the sack.

"He did it!" Hatter rejoiced, giving Alice a hug. "He finally got inside the bag this time."

Desperately, Hare clawed at the mouth of the bag, pulling it down over his sheepish face. The view from inside the box was one he didn't think he'd ever forget. All his friends were looking down at him, expressions varied from surprise to anger to trying to hide laughter.

"Ta-da!" he shouted, with a little bit of a nervous laugh. He wanted to climb back into the box and die right at that very moment. Instead, he allowed Hatter and the Tweedles to help him get out of the box and to his feet, dusting himself off as Alice gave him back the red cape. June fussed over him, giving him a once over to make sure he was alright. If you had looked at her while she was picking the lock, you'd have thought she was keeping very calm, but on the inside she was frantic with worry. Now that her son was sitting on the lid of the box, sipping a calming cup of tea, she was starting to relax.

"Where did you learn to do that, mrs Hare?" Alice asked, very impressed with how well she dealt with the situation. And her skill with a pair of hairpins was very intriguing.

"I'm sorry, dear," June said with a friendly smile, once she realized Alice was talking to her. She was watching Hare from a distance now, just making sure he was okay. "What did you say?"

"I was curious about how you knew to pick the lock, mrs Hare," Alice said, taking a seat beside the elder bunny.

June couldn't keep the shy smile from her face. Her cheeks turned a little pink as she bent toward Alice.

"Let me tell you," June whispered to her, patting the child on the knee. "When you have a son who would accidentally lock himself in rooms as often as Hare did, you had to get good at picking locks," adding a playful wink at the end, she held a finger to her lips to tell Alice it was a secret. The girl nodded and returned with a wink of her own.

[ghostplantss]

Brickclub 1.1.1 - 2 + Introduction

Hello! I’m Alice she/her/hers, trying to catch up to brick club, not the sharpest pencil in the drawer, knows near nothing, so this’ll be something of a miscellaneous collection of rambles just for myself and hopefully it’ll work out!

1.1.1

M. Myriel! I adore you and I’ve missed you terribly

Footnotes and app “common knowledge” say that the inspiration for M. Myriel is de Miollis, bishop of Digne from 1806 to 1838, emigrated to Rome during the revolution, anti-napoleon, bought back church land confiscated by the frev.

Mgr Myriel dans les miserables

According to this article, which I cannot understand since it is in French, jvj was based on pierre Morin, released after 5 years in prison for stealing bread for his sister’s starving family, couldn’t find a job or shelter, was taken in by the aforementioned bishop and died in the battle of Waterloo - does this have anything to do w the pontmercy? 

de miollis was born 19 june, 1753 instead of? 1815 - 75 = 1740? I couldn’t find anything remotely interesting that happened in 1740 except marquis de sade’s birth and hopefully that was an unfortunate coincidence. 

he had 15 siblings, 7 of whom died young, 4 brothers, 4 sisters. of whom one brother took on the family business of conseiller, two (i think) were generals under napoleon - family dinners must’ve been difficult - and the last was a prefect. Hugo says Myriel had 2 brothers, a prefect and a general, which is close enough. de Moillis does not have a sister baptistine, but he does have a sister named anne magdeleine de moillis, married to a marquis, with a servant named genevieve. the article says perhaps hugo thought the name genevieve too noble for a servant, which i find silly bc magloire’s a perfectly lovely name. so i went in looking for his relationship with baptistine and felt terribly cheated to realize hugo had fabricated the sister almost entirely which i suppose is fair.

I think the article says that de Moillis was given the position bc his brother was a general under napoleon. and that the hospital thing fabricated as well but! i’m sloth and articles are so entirely dull. 

A 17th century precursor to Mgr Myriel

This article posits that the creation M. Myriel was influenced by Lancelot’s 17th century novel relation d'un voyage d'aleth which sounds terribly interesting and i must look into it aaaand i’m terribly off topic

SO ANYHOW: 

Myriel emigrated to Italy just as the revolution began and when Napoleon left Italy for France, one by fortune and the other by choice. And he said he was a good man while Napoleon was a great man - I promised myself I’d get throw the next book to call Napoleon a great man at the wall, but alas, I’m reading this digitally - so they’re somewhat opposites! 

Myriel was in an arranged marriage and indulged in affairs, which his later parishioners v consciously forgot, which? I suppose? Shows his love for them is more unconditional than theirs for him? And could? Well? Parallel how ppl were so reluctant to look into the past of Madeleine and how easily they forsook poor jvj as soon as the v ancient news reemerged

Young myriel sounds like such a riot! A bit like? Courfeyrac aka the nicer tholomyès aw imagine if he were cosette’s father instead? I’m sure he wouldn’t abandon her Oh no I’m off topic but I suppose Hugo here’s either saying? Affairs aren’t virtuous and so ppl are capable of change - which would be hypocritical of him - or affairs are ok as long as you take responsibility and such which? i suppose I can get behind. Of course, with the ease of getting divorces nowadays, hopefully people wouldn’t stay in loveless arranged marriages. I remember, when I first read the book, being rather discomfited by the way Myriel seems to ignore how his actions affect women who depend on him? Such as the voluntary scarcity he not only devoted himself to but also foisted upon his sister and sweet Magloire. And? now the way he cheated on his wife, who probably wished no part in this relationship either, but has less freedom than he does in this marriage but ah now I’m terribly off topic and bumming myself out.

I wish there were more said on the 30 years they were married, on their exile to italy, i want to know it all! “Nobody knows” says the omniscient narrator oh come on Hugo spill the beans on myriel! I am the brainless gossiping mob tell me everything

I love magloire and baptistine’s descriptions I love them both! Hugo says a lady needs to be a mother to be venerable but i think that’s just you Hugo you have this odd thing for feral saintly mothers and who can blame you. Mlle. baps is an aspiration! mme. Magloire too! She’s so hard working despite being ill, and it just isn’t right she should be the only one to be so busy when she has asthma

I know I shouldn’t ship them but reason escapes me

1740: born

1758- 1760: 18-20 arranged marriage

1790ish: 50ish emigrated to Italy - wife died of? consumption?

1806: 66 become bishop

1815: 75 current

Cool quotes:

“La révolution survint, les événements se précipitèrent, les familles parlementaires décimées, chassées, traquées, se dispersèrent.” - it flows so nicely!

“M. Myriel devait subir le sort de tout nouveau venu dans une petite ville où il y a beaucoup de bouches qui parlent et fort peu de têtes qui pensent.” - such a burn and this is me! little brain and much tongue

on Mme. Baps: “et cette diaphanéité laissait voir l'ange… Sa personne semblait faite d'ombre … un peu de matière contenant une lueur ; de grands yeux toujours baissés ; un prétexte pour qu'une âme reste sur la terre.” aaa i adore this so much! to imagine her angelic, respectable, and made of shadows! 

1.1.2

Onto chapter 2! So um I know this is terribly off topic, but nap the bonbon said that an archbishop would have a stipend of 15000 francs while a bishop would be given 10000 francs, and this book published after les mis still cited the same numbers as well so it’s odd that Myriel has an annual stipend of 15000 francs? AHHh also! bonbon said that rectors - one class of them at least - would be paid 1500 francs annually, and i’m not entirely sure, but isn’t a curé a rector? as hugo said, myriel never really took more money than he needed. BUT he allocated 1000 francs instead of 1500 for his personal stipend and so I’m! very! confused! i feel like i’m v earnestly explaining how a triangle has four sides. i swear i’ll move on.  

(adding on oh god i just realized?? baps gets 500 a year? i really hope myriel isn’t counting her pension as part of his own personal expenses... though itt does say that “Avec ces quinze cents francs, ces deux vieilles femmes et ce vieillard vivaient.” but that would be rather despicable)

I love the part where he converts the palace to a hospital! hugo started off by describing the extravagance and grandeur of it all, and then juxtaposing it to? the hospital and myriel’s decision to swap houses and there’s something terribly satisfying about the layout. just. how it ends with “Il y a erreur, je vous dis. Vous avez mon logis, et j'ai le vôtre. Rendez-moi ma maison. C'est ici chez vous.” it all wraps so nicely!

The book reiterates how Myriel’s family was ruined by the frev - to what extent, for both of his brothers are employed by the napoleonic government. To that end, it almost appears as a sort of denouncement of violent social change. However, that isn’t quite what myriel believes, it seems, at least according to his budget? since he allocates more to the People as opposed to family, so i’m very confused. Perhaps Hugo is saying that the sacrifices of a few good men who benefit from an unjust system is necessary. 

Myriel took the transportation fee! it was hilarious. of course, i do have mixed feelings because M. Préameneau was right, it’s ridiculous for someone in such a small parish to apply for a carriage fee, which was at least partially why Myriel ultimately chose the donkey. and i’m supposing this most likely sets a terrible precedent for the next bishop of digne who might not have similar philanthropist sentiments. so Hugo’s saying we’re allowed to take advantage of a broken system as long as our own ends are good? how machiavellian! and the buildup was hilarious even if we all knew myriel would never pocket the money himself. poor Mme. Magloire though, it sounded like the household really could have used the money. I think the way she said? that he began by being kind with other people, and now he will end with us? it’s almost rather tragic. that he should’ve neglected the feelings of the people closest to him. 

Hugo seems to have? Baps represent the spirit and Magloire the body, or at least more worldly worries, which seems rather classist of him . I suppose it might be a necessary evil of liking symbols so much - you inevitably fall into stereotypes - and i do love them both, but it makes me uncomfortable. 

Posts from other ppl I want to keep: 

pilf: 

- “il y a toujours encore plus de misère en bas que de fraternité en haut, tout était donné, pour ainsi dire, avant d'être reçu” + charity

- that baps “venerates” her brother, and that he lists all their monetary needs as his own personal expenses, despite the fact that they are the ones managing the household and the money and that they are living off the money same as him, and?? baps only gets 500 yearly, half of what her brother considers a meagre sum

- and aaaa i love how pilf said that it isn’t an admirable move to force those around you to live according to your own morals. just. yes. baps and magloire don’t esp have a choice. and?? magloire and baps really did carry the brunt of the burden. Myriel was able to stay afloat “grâce à la sévère économie de madame Magloire et à l'intelligente administration de mademoiselle Baptistine.” 

akallabeth: 

- how the specificness of the itemized list shows intent and research into the most underserved individuals + causes in his parish: 1. soup for hospital 2. debtors w families

- “And he calls the almsgiving his household expenses. The young man asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?” The bishop responds, “The poor are my family.”” (i couldn’t find this quote! but it is amazing!)

- pfff his swanky, company-provided house. i love it

- 15000 francs approx 3 mil usd or 58 workers’ annual wages, which means?? bap’s pension is worth? two adult male workers’ wages? wow

- Myriel uses vous for Magloire

[do-your-socks-have-holes-in-them]

On the Other Side / Ch15: Movie Night

Last / Masterpost / Next

Summary: For the past thirteen years, a secretive organization has been raising two groups of superpowered children. Half of them, since their very first memories, have been told they’ll grow up to be brave and strong superheroes; the rest were taught a much harsher view of the world, and groomed to become villains. Neither group knows of the other’s existence. But when a certain trio of heroes-to-be meets two future villains who really just want to be left alone, they all realize how much they haven’t been told.

Warnings: non-graphic violence, bullying, child abuse, sympathetic/good Deceit (Devon) is a main character

A/N: And I said, "I'll start updating regularly again." You know, like a liar. (but actually tho im doing a big bang so it's unlikely i'll be able to even try to update anything else regularly until the end of summer :/)

Read on AO3

Late Saturday morning, Thomas regarded the trunk of his car skeptically. “I really don’t think we needed to buy so many tiny flashlights and screwdrivers.”

“Uhm, I really think we did. Who’s the more experienced thief here, Thomas?” Remy’s unsubtle hand gestures made it clear what the answer was supposed to be.

“Just because you stole gum from a convenience store when you were thirteen—”

“I’m now a master criminal, yes, exactly. I’m glad you understand. The tiny flashlights are super important, trust me.”

Thomas sighed, amused. “If you say so. You gonna help me carry these bags?”

“Nope.”

“Remy—”

“I don’t have time, hon, I gotta go talk to Emile about all this, remember?” He neatly dodged Thomas’s attempt to foist a grocery bag on him. “I know you’re gonna miss me, but I’ll see you later, babe, don’t worry.”

Thomas scoffed and swatted his arm, which backfired a bit in that it nearly made him drop one of his bags. “I’ll live.” His words may have been dismissive, but he was smiling. That smile was still on his face as he made his way into the building and through the hallways to his own room. Most of the snacks were left there to be distributed later. He took the rest, along with the less innocuous items hidden at the bottom of the bags, and went down the hall to Logan, Roman, and Patton’s room.

“Good morning,” he called, after knocking in a pattern they’d agreed on the previous night so they would know it was him. He set the bags down and pressed a hand over his mouth in an effort not to “aww” out loud when he saw the kids.

They were all piled together in the blanket fort, and it looked like they’d been there the whole night. Patton was still asleep, tangled in a blanket, while Logan used him to prop up the book he was explaining to Devon- who, of course, tried to act like he already knew it, but his eyes were wide with interest. Meanwhile, Virgil was still curled up under Patton’s arm, where he’d become trapped at some point in the night, and Roman was telling him some grand story, complete with illustrations and various bits acted out. The smaller boy looked enthralled, if a little wary of all the wild gesturing. Roman paused mid-emphasis when Thomas walked in, just short of smacking Logan in the face, and Devon reached out and slowly pushed his arm back down.

Thomas smiled. “Hey guys, I brought you some stuff.”

“Ooh! What is it? Did you get good snacks?” Roman scrambled out of the fort and almost tripped on Patton, who had started to wake up. He turned over, holding Virgil to his chest like a teddy bear. The latter made a face and squirmed away, causing Patton to finally open his eyes.

“Oh. Sorry,” he laughed. Virgil waved him off with a shrug.

The kids gathered around, and Thomas started to show them what he and Remy had bought. “Of course I got good snacks, who do you think I am? Most of them are staying in my room for now, though, because I know you guys.”

There was a chorus of “aww.”

“Other than that, I got some clean clothes for you two, so you won’t need to keep wearing the same outfits all the time or borrow from the other kids. But I had to guess at your sizes, so if something doesn’t fit, tell me, okay?”

Devon and Virgil nodded shyly and took the clothes, hiding them under blankets in the fort for now. They would try them on once Thomas was gone; changing with him right there would be embarrassing, even if he couldn’t see them behind the blankets that hung down.

“Now… everybody come close, this part is secret. Remember the plan we talked about?” They all nodded. “I know not all of you were sure if you wanted to help, and I’m not trying to push you into it or anything, but I got you all some stuff for it- if anyone decides they don’t want to come, that just means there’s extras for those who do participate.”

“I’m coming!” Roman reminded him, in his version of a whisper.

Thomas laughed. “You made that clear, don’t worry. So, uh, we’ve just got a few little things that might be useful- most of it Remy insisted on, so don’t ask me what the putty is for.”

“Ooh, you were with Remy?” Patton grinned, clearly believing he was being subtle.

“We were just doing boring work things, so shush- and quit doing that thing with your eyebrows at me, Logan.” Thomas blushed, wishing he knew how to stop letting children embarrass him. The shopping trip may have been a boring work thing, but it was very hard to convince himself Remy hadn’t been lowkey flirting with him the entire time nonetheless. “Take the stuff already and leave me alone.”

“How about this,” Roman offered, “we’ll stop if and only if you let us have a movie night! I mean, we really need to- did you know they haven’t seen any Disney movies?!”

Thomas hummed, pretending to think hard about it. “That sounds like a deal I can agree to. I’ll bring my laptop in here for you later, how about that? I know you’d rather use the big TV screen," he said over disappointed protests, "but I really don’t want to risk having Devon and Virgil leave the room when it’s not necessary, alright?”

“I guess,” Roman huffed. “But that means you have to give us more snacks for it!”

“Whatever you say.”

Movie night, naturally, had to wait until it was at least evening- you couldn’t very well have one in the morning. Roman and Patton spent nearly all the preceding time planning it and gushing about how amazing it was going to be, to the point where the other three almost wished they weren’t having it, if only to get some peace and quiet. By the time Thomas came back after dinner to let them borrow his computer, the blankets in the fort had been rearranged countless times, and the kids had a list of everything else they wanted in order to make it absolutely perfect. Thomas went along with some of their requests, if not the ones like ‘a bunch of plastic balls so we can turn the room into a ball pit,’ and they managed to get everything arranged without anyone yelling at each other.

The movie they’d all decided on for tonight was Sleeping Beauty- they should start with a classic, right? Logan was in charge of holding the popcorn, because he was the only one who could be trusted not to spill it or eat it all himself. During the opening credits, Roman bounced in place impatiently, while Patton carefully arranged his stuffed animals so he could hold them all and none would feel left out, ignoring Logan’s reminder that they were inanimate objects and had no feelings to hurt. When he was finally satisfied and looked up, he caught Virgil staring at him, looking conflicted. As soon as their eyes met the smaller boy  looked away, blushing and wrapping the too-long sleeves of his jacket around himself. He and Devon had changed into their new clothes by now, but he’d refused to give up that hoodie any longer than was needed to wash it, and even that had been a struggle.

“Hey, Virgil?”

He looked up again, defensive.

“Do you wanna hold one of my toys?”

Virgil shook his head roughly, retreating into his hood. He didn’t need toys, he wasn’t a baby.

“Are you sure? This one’s all the way on the outside, I’m afraid it’s gonna get lonely… would you mind just holding onto it for me?” He held out a black stuffed cat, clearly well-loved by the fact it was missing an eye. Virgil hesitated, but finally took it, setting it down on his lap just so Patton wouldn’t be disappointed. Maybe it wasn’t too bad to hold it for him, as long as he wasn’t actually hugging it or anything.

“Oh- look, look, it’s starting!”

They both turned back to the screen at Roman’s exclamation. The credits had ended, and the fairy-tale book was opening.

“In a far-away land, long ago…”

Roman watched Devon and Virgil, waiting for them to see how great the movie was. Unfortunately, they didn’t seem too impressed. “Don’t you like it?”

Virgil shrugged.

“It’s kinda boring,” Devon admitted. “Like, oh, there’s a king and a queen and a princess and they’re rich and perfect and everyone loves them- who cares?”

“That’s because this is the exposition,” Logan pointed out. “We need to know who they are before we can get to the real beginning of the story, in which a—”

Roman swatted his arm. “Don’t spoil it!”

The movie continued up to the celebration of the baby Aurora’s birth.

“Those gifts suck,” Devon decided. “Why couldn’t they give the princess something cool? They could’ve given her magic powers and instead they just made her really pretty and good at singing.” Virgil nodded in agreement, making a face. They were both startled out of their snark when Maleficent appeared.

“She’s an evil fairy,” Roman stage-whispered.

Logan added on, “It was a great insult for the king and queen to invite everyone in the kingdom and not her, especially when she’s so powerful.”

It was hard to tell if the intended audience for these explanations was actually listening. They were staring at the screen, wide-eyed, as Maleficent turned around and cursed the princess. Roman took this as a good sign that they weren’t bored anymore.

“It’s just so impractical,” complained Logan, watching the pile of spinning wheels burn. “I mean, has the king even considered what this will do to the price of cloth in his kingdom? Everything will have to be imported!"

“Shut up, it’s a fairy tale,” Roman whined.

Devon looked almost impressed. “You know, he has a point.”

“Oh, just watch the movie.”

The three fairies, at least, were not a point of contention. It was generally accepted that, being fairies, they shouldn’t be expected to make sense- although, really, hiding Aurora away from civilization to keep her safe wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Maleficent doesn’t know anything about love, or kindness…”

When said Maleficent came back, it was hard not to notice the younger boys’ nerves. Logan saw Devon go very still and quiet next to him, no longer making fun even though Maleficent’s weird little minions were objectively ridiculous, and Patton could feel Virgil jump with every angry lightning strike, holding the stuffed cat tightly to his chest.

“It’s okay,” Patton told them in a whisper, “she doesn’t win.”

Roman was beginning to despair. “Don’t spoil it, Pat.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “It’s hardly a massive plot twist, Roman. In movies like this, the good guys always win.”

Thankfully, the tension was dispersed by a transition to a much lighter scene. Even Virgil relaxed and giggled at the fairies’ attempt to create a birthday party. Some of the humor was lost on them, however- they didn’t have the faintest idea how to sew or bake, either. What was a “tsp?” The other kids seemed to know. Maybe it should have been obvious what exactly Flora and Fauna were doing wrong.

The scene with Aurora-slash-Briar Rose and Prince Philip… didn’t go over quite so well.

“Oh, oh, he’s back, look! With a horse! Bet you think he’s cool now, right?”

The prince promptly fell off said horse into a stream, and Virgil snickered, raising an eyebrow at Roman. That was about as clear a wordless answer as he could ask for.

And now, the princess was dancing around singing about love?

“Gross,” muttered Devon and Logan in unison.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Logan continued as the two finally danced together. “I suppose I can understand her falling in love so quickly, given that he’s not only a handsome prince, but also the first person she’s ever met besides her guardians.”

“So you admit he’s handsome!”

“But what reason does Philip have for suddenly loving her so much, he’d rather marry her than become king? He’s only known her for a few minutes, and most of that was just listening to her sing without even seeing her.”

“The fairies did give her a magically good voice,” Devon mused. “Maybe she enchanted him to fall in love with her without realizing it.”

Roman reached over and gave them both a light shove. “It’s romantic, quit ruining it!”

“I think it’s cute…”

”Thank you, Patton!”

If Devon was oddly quiet after that, it was because he was grossed out by the sappy love stuff, and then worried about Maleficent’s bird finding the fairies- definitely not anything to do with the song about dreaming of having a friend hitting just slightly close to home. At least the kings were funny.

“Okay, maybe he’s a little cool,” Devon finally mumbled, watching Philip tell his father he was going to marry the random girl he’d just met. That was still a dumb decision, but anyone who could argue with a king and not be at all scared was at least slightly impressive.

Nobody really liked the part where Aurora was all distraught about not being able to meet Philip, so after a bit of sad silence, Roman took the opportunity to check in. “Do you guys like it so far?” he asked, clearly needing the answer to be yes.

Virgil nodded hesitantly, and Devon shrugged: “It’s… not bad. But I still think there should be less stuff about love, and—”

He gasped and cut himself off when Maleficent appeared in the fireplace. Virgil pressed up against him, eyes almost as wide as the hypnotized princess.

“Should’ve known she could just make another spinning wheel…” He tried to sound cool and unimpressed, and not scared. “Stupid king. She’s magic.”

Virgil whispered something in his ear.

“Oh, yeah- it doesn’t even matter, anyway, right? They can just get the prince to come back and kiss her, ‘cause they’re already in love.” His face scrunched up at the thought of kissing, but it was a solution.

However, as everyone else already knew, it wasn’t that easy.

Virgil sat up so quickly when Philip was attacked and captured by Maleficent’s minions that he would have fallen over, had Patton not been there to catch him.

“But did you see how many of ‘em he fought off before they got him?!” Roman punched the blankets around him to demonstrate, making sound effects.

If Roman was still happy, that probably meant Philip would be fine, right? Not that Virgil cared what happened to some stupid prince in a movie. Maleficent could kill him, for all Virgil cared. …But she wouldn’t, right? No, that wouldn’t happen, Patton and Logan had said she didn’t win in the end.

That reasoning didn’t stop both him and Devon from remaining tense for… pretty much the entire rest of the movie. Even if Philip was okay, they really didn’t like seeing him in Maleficent’s dungeon. At least in the Room they didn’t get chained up- Virgil shuddered at the thought.

“See!” Roman exclaimed triumphantly, when the fairies finally arrived to help him get out. “I told you he was cool!”

“I guess,” said Devon, sounding a whole lot more impressed than he wanted to let on. “Fairies are still doing most of the work, though.”

Then came the most exciting part of all: the final battle between Philip and Maleficent. From the moment she landed in front of the castle and turned herself into a dragon until the end of the movie, there were no snarky comments to be heard, and hardly even any disgusted faces made when Aurora was awakened by true love’s kiss.

“See? You didn’t need to be so worried, good prevailed in the end!” It wasn’t until Roman turned to face the two younger boys, and saw them still pale and anxious despite the movie being over, that he realized worrying about the ending may not have been the full issue. “Um… Guys? Is something wrong?”

Virgil and Devon had a brief, tense whispered conversation before Devon spoke up- very quietly, almost like he didn’t want to be heard.

“Are we evil?”

In the moment of stunned silence that followed, Virgil climbed over him, conspicuously placing himself between his friend and Roman. He didn’t seem to realize he was still clutching Patton’s stuffed cat.

“Wh- no! Of course not!” Roman jumped to his feet to emphasize how serious he was, and they both flinched a little. “Why would you think that?!”

Devon waited for Virgil’s cautious nod before saying anything else. “It’s just- Maleficent… she was evil, and she looked like us, kind of, and- and she could shapeshift like me.” He touched the scales on his face and remembered the dragon. “So- it seemed like… the movie was saying those things are evil. I dunno, it’s dumb,” he trailed off, shrinking behind Virgil. “I- I mean, we already knew we’re villains…”

“No, you’re not,” Roman said firmly. He pushed the laptop aside and sat down in front of them, so they couldn’t avoid looking at him. “You’re not anything like her! You’re not evil, you’re nice and you care about people and- and if anything, you’re more like Aurora.”

They both looked up, if only so he could see their skeptical faces. How did that make any sense? She was a princess.

“No, really,” he insisted. “Because you didn’t even do anything wrong, but the teachers and everyone are trying to hurt you because they’re the evil ones, but now you’re gonna get a happy ending! Because I’m the Prince, and I’ll fight them for you.” He stood again and struck a pose to demonstrate.

Devon gave him a soft, genuine smile, then smirked as a thought occurred to him. “Just don’t try to kiss us.”

“Ew, no!”

Everyone laughed. As Roman sat back down, he almost didn’t feel the tug on his shirt. He looked over to see Virgil looking not-quite-at him, chewing on his lip nervously. Once he saw he had Roman’s attention, he took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut and went for it.

“T-thanks. For saying that.”

In an ironic turn of events, Roman was speechless. Virgil’s voice, now that he heard it, was lower than he would have expected from such a tiny kid, and somewhat rough- maybe because he hardly ever talked. And now he was peeking up through his bangs, waiting for Roman’s reaction, looking like he kinda wanted to run away. Oh, shoot, Roman needed to say something back and not make it awkward, didn’t he?

He pushed through his shock to answer, “Of course. It was all true, after all.” Then he nudged Virgil’s hood back slightly in order to mess up his hair, because he couldn’t let things get too mushy. Virgil hissed and smacked his hand away, and the natural order of things was restored.

“But really though, what did you think of the movie?”

Virgil curled up in the blankets. His heart was still beating too fast just from saying four words- if he talked any more, he was afraid he might die from it. But he gave Roman a shy thumbs-up, and from the grin he got in response, that seemed to be good enough.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE LAST INGREDIENT A POPULAR LANGUAGE NEEDS IS TIME

One of the things the equity equation shows us is that, like the US, startups will form as inevitably as water droplets condense on a cold piece of metal. An office environment is supposed to be one.1 Since this is in effect a narrower but open source Don't be evil has been good at letting hackers have their way with it. Part of the problem was that sites felt they were giving something away for free could be pretty high-handed about it. The questions you're answering are pleasantly familiar. And could I have honestly claimed that he was harming his future—that curiosity was simply the first derivative of knowledge. There will be plenty of time to start companies now who never could have before. C was the scripting language of a massively popular language because it is not dense enough. Lisp will be used to hack. The people who want you to do research. There were ashtrays everywhere.

C, but in 1996 the story about Java was that it represented a new model of software. Civil liberties make countries rich. If you disagree with something, it's easier to say you suck than to figure out a way to get great hackers to work on big projects is, ironically, fear of wasting time. To me she seems the best novelist of all time. Stocks will generate greater returns over thirty years, but they also know what they're supposed to get jobs, as if they were one person. From other hackers. I think one of the reasons I disliked the term Web 2. It's too late now to be Stripe, but there's little they can do with it is enormous.

You have to use Java and Windows at work, but at least they probably really do want whatever they're asking for. In 1998, if advertisers paid the maximum that traffic was worth to them, Yahoo's revenues would have decreased. It can be either a compliment or an insult. So someone doing the best work is done by the people who created it as well. But the guys at Google didn't think search was boring and unimportant. Performance isn't everything, you say? It seems like the only way to judge a hacker is to work with him on something. That's a stricter standard than admiration. Or rather, a large organization is compelled by its structure to be one. It is, alas, an atrociously bad one.

That's one reason I'm not typing this on an Apfel laptop. If there are any laws regulating businesses, you can often do it better if you're not a hacker, you can't do anything really risky with it. Do popular languages deserve their popularity? Till now the problem has always been that it's difficult to pick them out. And then of course there's the question, can you afford not to? Also, as a general rule, you can make yourself stupid, you can opt to be valued directly by users, by starting your own company, only for working as an employee of someone else's. It might seem this would require you to be an advantage as an economy gets more liquid, just as there was in the industries that spiked the sharpest before the Depression. On historical time scales, what we have now is pre-beta. You could make a preliminary drawing if you wanted to, but to most people; otherwise someone would already be writing stuff on top of this new trend. The people who've worked for a few years ago.2

Which means anyone who wants to have such incentives can, by turning their comments into bets: if you trade 16. Lisp Machines along with parallel computers were steamrollered by the increasing power of general purpose processors in the 1980s. And you can't go by the indentation. Hackers can be abrupt even in person. But regardless of whether patents are in general a good thing—for example, is a nice, durable medium for finished ideas, but a difference in kind. To many people, Lisp is a slow AI language with a lot of errands undone.3 Maybe it's not a coincidence.

You may feel lousy an hour after eating that pizza, but eating the first couple bites feels great. VCs is that hackers are alarmed by measures like copyrights and patents. In poor countries, things we take for granted are missing. And not just in obvious ways, like making them register, or subjecting them to annoying ads. A hacker may only want to subvert the intended model of things once or twice in a big program. If you become one of the biggest obstacles to creating startups in Europe is the attitude toward employment. Big companies also don't pay people the right way to get an accurate drawing is not to say things they wouldn't say face to face. But others are more capable than all but a handful of American computer science professors which universities in Europe were most admired, and they were wondering what to call it a trick in his case, though.

Remember, hackers are lazy. And there is a big problem. But that is at least a precedent. Design doesn't have to be good. There's one item conspicuously missing from this list: American attitudes. This works so long as there is no one else to do sales and support. On the surface it feels like the kind of productivity that's measured in lines of code. Let users do what they want will also tend to be annoyed by hackers' general attitude of disobedience. No thanks, intellectual homeowners may say, we don't need any outside help.4 How could you make something users want, and for that reason hackers are attracted by the idea of fixing payments was right there in plain sight, they never saw it, because their unconscious mind shrank from the complications involved.

During the 90s a lot of I/O. Within Y Combinator, because we often have to work on a Java project won't be as smart as his fame implies, and she said that yes, he was. It's the job equivalent of the pizza they had for lunch. She writes so well you don't even notice her. I know, one thing they have in common is that they're all more concentrated forms of less addictive predecessors. If you're designing a chair, that's what you're designing for, and there's no way around it: you can't manage a process intended to produce beautiful things without knowing what beautiful is. NPR values, you can't link to them.

Notes

When he wanted to start startups who otherwise wouldn't have had to write an essay about it wrong in How to Make Wealth when I was insane—they could just use that instead of themselves. Conjecture: The variation in wealth, not bogus.

This is why hackers give you such a dangerous mistake to believe, and then using growth rate early on. It would help Web-based applications. Usually people skirt that issue with some question-begging answer like it's inappropriate, while we have. Vision research may be some formal measure that turns out only to your brain that you're paying yourselves high salaries.

Loosely speaking. But filtering out 95% of the Italian word for success. Make Wealth in Hackers Painters, what that means having type II startups, which allowed banks and savings and loans to buy it.

Unless we mass produce social customs. Founders at Work. 25. I even mention the possibility is that they probably wouldn't even cover the extra cost.

Thanks to Marc Andreessen, Dan Giffin, Trevor Blackwell, Patrick Collison, Geoff Ralston, Robert Morris, and Jason Freedman for their feedback on these thoughts.

[sasamdcu]

Honestly, Detective Comics 1000 had some high points and some low points. But overall I felt it was rather lackluster. I figure I’d do a min overview review. Spoilers for literally the entire book it’s my opinions while reading and I am fairly new to comics and don’t know shit so bear that in mind. Please remember this is subjective and my own opinions.

So first off when I got to my shop they only had the 70s variant left, and with good reason. It feels extremely generic and not great. Maybe that’s the point of it emulating the 70s but I don’t know. I feel like a milestone should have something bigger and nicer.

As for stories. Batman’s Longest Case? Ehh, Art was okay. Story was pretty mad. Everyone always claims Batman is the worlds greatest detective. Or at least top 3, HECK it’s DETECTIVE COMICS. And yet it’s basically “It took him 50 years to find a secret society that Hawkman Hawkwoman Martian Manhunter and some other unnamed shmucks who are literally a who’s who have beaten him to it. It doesn’t feel like it matches. To be fair I don’t know some of these other character but like. I get Detective Chimp and The Question but it still felt weird and weak and a pretty poor way to start off the series. It felt extremely weak of a reveal and extremely weak of a story for Snyder, which is a shame his work during New 52 is what got me into Batman so I was hoping for more from him.

And then he finds in a book that says that the gun that killed his parents is at some costume pawn shop for villains items. That he somehow didn’t know that already? Like that should be pretty easy to find. Dude outright says he’s selling to suburban moms. It was. 3/10. I give points because what he did with the gun was alright. Okay I know I’m joking I know the whole gun plot line was actually the second story Manufactured For Use but the way they led together and left the title card at the end made it feel like one story and it just felt like there was an awkward transition. That’s just kinda bad layouting though.

The Legend of Knute Brody though? Fantastic. Great. The art had a stylistic charm(Dustin is always great at these kind of comedic stories with this art I find. It has a feel of the cartoon and really emphasizes the emotions in a great way) The story was fun, unique and different. It was new and really showed some cool family bonding. Really good. One of the best stories of the issue, Good job Paul Dini and the art team.

The Batman’s design. I wanna praise the art here. It’s really cool and how it uses the darks is fantastic. Unfortunately the story while okay is generic and bland as shit. Like. I’ve read this story a million times. That said of all the more bland generic stories in this issue like the first two? This one is the best. It’s got fantastic execution even if it doesn’t do anything new. Feels like a good filler issue for during a regular run.

Return to Crime Alley and Heretic are literally the more generic stories of Batman’s Design. While Heretic could maybe be something if it was part of a run Return to Crime Alley was just so heavy handed it was just. I dunno, these are the worse options for the generic story lines but without the fantastic art. Heretic has a decent throwback to older art styles that fits the book and brings nostalgia. I wasn’t reading then though so it doesn’t really do anything for me and just highlights what I don’t like about some older comic runs art.

I know was fantastic. This for me would be another highlight, the art is great. the way the story focuses on Bruce and his existence through the eyes of one of his adversaries is neat and the idea behind it is intriguing and different. I really liked it. I read the DC website preview which was this story and it’s what convinced me to buy the issue for sure. I thought if it was a bunch of stories like this it would be fantastic. Unfortunately not many other stories held up.

I loathe the Last Crime in Gotham, the story and the art. I don’t know if the art was supposed to be so janky and anatomically incorrect on purpose because it’s some warped future but like. Oof. It felt like everything I’ve heard complained about super hero bodies rolled into one. And as far as a future where crime is over? It really didn’t play with that idea enough for it to feel like anything other than just someone throwing darts at a list. (Edit: I literally just learned about Earth-2 so I’m much more lenient on this and it’s more interesting now, and I understand that it’s more just for the super long time readers or diehards from the Golden Era. My kneejerk reaction is the fact that it falls flat and makes no sense for pretty much no newer readers. Carry on, I’ll give yall the oldschool homage.)

The Precedent was decent. Though the dialogue especially Dick’s near the end feels really off and stilted. Like it feels like a robot monologueing without any emotion from any of the characters. The concept was okay though. I would think it would have come across stronger if they had panels show casing each of his proteges. Though that might have been saved specifically only for the next story.

The Batman’s Greatest Case. Honestly a decent story, great ideas. I loved it a lot. Except one thing. No Harper Row. Which like hear me out. This is all about the family. Harper was brought into the family. She left sure, but they literally state IN THE STORY, the only way out is death essentially. She left the costume behind but not the family. Like the last time she was mentioned years ago Cass was visiting her apartment still and hanging out. I really feel that she should have been there, maybe not in costume like, but in plain clothes with her mask. She was fighting in a suit(the regular black) without her identity before joining the family so when she became Bluebird is sort of when she joined the family. And while she left the suit behind, that was from before she was a part of the family. I think even if in the background it would have been a strong statement that you can leave the life behind but you’ll still be a part of the family if she was there. That you don’t need to be currently active to be a part. They really missed out what how that one small inclusion could have added so much. Also would have been a great way to remind people she exists in case anyone wanted to use her. I almost have a feeling she was explicitly banned because it feels like the rebirth team hates her and wants her forgotten. Which is a shame because she was a cool character and part of the family and I feel like the whole family should have been there. Like Huntress is fucking there and she’s not. I may have fallen behind but I don’t remember Huntress ever being as close to the family as Harper. It’s like she was the awkward stand in to replace Harper after the editor said to take Harper out. That 100% feels like what happened. Harper and Cass on that rock would have made so much sense.

Anyways rant aside the last story was alright. And then the preview for the new story starting next issue seemed solid and the new villain/hero? antihero? who knows. Seems neat. It left a good impression for things to come. Things that wont include Harper because the editorial team is trying to bury her. Bless up Greg Weisman for Young Justice bringing us Justice.

Anyways overall it was a letdown as a milestone but had some good moments.

[alsoyouremischievous]

Sides Carry On

Summary: Roman Prince will do anything to protect the life he’s found through magic. This includes enduring lectures from his best friends Logan and Patton, overcoming his evil roommate Virgil, working for the Mage, and defeating the Insidious Humdrum. His life seems to be set out for him - but things can never be easy, can they?

AO3 Link

Ch. 1 

Chapter two

Roman

I don’t think about Watford over the summers. It just isn’t good for me, so I don’t let myself.

I had to learn the hard way, of course. After my first year, I spent the entirety of summer daydreaming about all the things I’d left behind. Imagining the towers of the school, wishing for the amazing food (or really any food that doesn’t come on metal trays), remembering the magic of it all. I even became nostalgic for classes at Watford. More than any of it though, I longed for the people I’d met there - Logan, Patton, the Mage. I was terribly alone for someone surrounded by other castaway boys.

I was sick with the loss of it. Watford School of Magicks started to feel like just another fantasy of my overactive imagination. Something to make the time pass like when I’d dreamt of becoming an actor someday… Or that my parents, the real ones, would come back for me.

My mum would be an actress, obviously. And my dad would be some rugged athletic type. They would weep and plead for me to understand that they’d had no choice but to leave me. They were simply too young, and her career was on the line.

“But we always missed you, Roman,” they’d declare. “We’ve been searching for you.”  And I would forgive them, and they would take me away to their mansion hidden away behind a waterfall.

Waterfall mansion… Magickal boarding school…

They both felt like creations of my unchained whimsy in the light of day. Especially when you wake up in one bunk of eight to the room, with all the other discards.

I exhausted my memory of Watford so thoroughly that when proof of it being a reality came around with the fall, I was almost unconvinced. Even with the bus fare and papers and a note from the Mage himself right in front of me, I was scared to believe.

So now during the summers, I dedicate myself to ensuring all thoughts of my better life are locked up thoroughly. For months I shut myself away from it all, not allowing myself to miss it, or long for it. That way the World of Mages can show up as a reward for surviving the summer if it shows up at all. Which it always has, thus far.

At first, I was given the impression that eventually the Mage might allow me to spend summers at Watford, or maybe even at his side, wherever he ventures all summer long. Despite my enthusiasm for the idea, it was decided that I would be better off left with the Normals for part of the year. To allow me to be close to the language (as though anyone spoke to me away from Watford) and to keep my wits about me.

“Let hardship sharpen your blade, Roman."

I eventually realized he wasn’t talking about the Sword of Mages, which is my actual blade. He was talking about me. I’m the blade, The Mage’s sword.

I’m fairly convinced that these summers in children’s homes don’t make me any sharper. They do make me hungry though. Cause me to crave Watford like life itself.

Virgil and his side - all the old, rich families - they don’t think anyone can understand magic the way they can. They believe they are the only ones that should be trusted with it.

But no one loves magic like I do.

None of the other magicians, not my peers and not their parents, know what it’s like to live without magic at all.

Only I know.

Which is why I will do anything to ensure that it is always there for me to come home to.

***

I try not to let Watford into my thoughts when I’m away, but this year… Well, this year I failed.

After the events that occurred last year, I was shocked that the Mage even bothered paying attention to something like the end of term. Who interrupts a war to send the kids home for summer vacation?

Which isn’t to say I’m even a kid anymore. Legally, care wouldn’t have needed to keep me past sixteen, which means I could have gone off somewhere on my own. I could afford to support myself, what with my hard earned bag of leprechaun’s gold.

Still, the mage insists on keeping me in children’s homes. Shuffling me around like the ball in a cups trick. As though I would be safe wherever he decides to drop me, and the Humdrum couldn’t just summon me, the way he managed to do to me and Logan at the end of last term.

“He can summon you?! ” Logan had exclaimed as soon as we were in the clear. “And across a body of water no less. This shouldn’t be possible Roman, there is no precedent.”

“Well the next time he summons me like a half-assed squirrel demon,” I said, “ I’ll tell him so!”

Logan was unfortunate enough to have been holding me by the arm when I’d been spirited away, which is why I assume he’d been brought along. His quick thinking is the only reason either of us escaped.

“Roman,” he’d intoned on the train back to Watford that day, “this is serious.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious! I know this is serious, Logan, he’s got my fucking number.”

“How is it possible that we still know so little about him?” He fumed. “ He’s so…”

“Insidious,” I said. “Being ‘The Insidious Humdrum’, and all that.”

“This is no time for kidding around, Roman. Even you must see that this is…”

“I know, Logan”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Logan so lost for words as he was that day, trailing off and unable to keep his head on straight.

When we finally returned, the Mage heard us out, made sure we weren’t harmed and sent us on our way. Just sent us home, without a second thought.

It didn’t make any sense.

So, of course, I spent this whole summer thinking of Watford despite best efforts. Everything that had happened, and everything that might still happen… Everything that’s at stake.

All of the good things, however, were kept at bay. The good things are what hurt the most anyway.

I keep a list, of all the things I miss most, and I’m not allowed to touch it in my head until I’m about an hour from Watford. That’s when I allow myself to go over it and really feel how much I’ve missed it all before I finally get it all back.

My list of good things started when I was twelve, and it could do with having a few things crossed off of it, but that’s more difficult than one might expect.

Things I miss most about Watford:

No. 1 - Sour cherry scones

I’d never had cherry scones before Watford. I’d only been given the raisin ones, or more often the plain sort, and always the kind that were a little (or a lot) burnt.

At Watford, they have freshly baked cherry scones for breakfast every day if you so desire. Unless you sleep in and all the best foods are gone. They’re also ready for tea in the afternoon just before things like clubs and football and homework get started.

I always have tea with Logan and Patton. Even after all these years, Logan will scold us for eating the scones. “Dinner is in two hours, how much sustenance could you possibly need from now until then?” he’ll tsk at us.

Patton tried to calculate how many scones we’ve eaten since we started at Watford, once, but he got bored before he reached the answer. I suspect Logan might know. At the very least he could figure it out, but I doubt he’d indulge us with the answer if we asked for it. Maybe to better scold us.

I just can’t pass up the scones if they’re there. They’re soft and light and a little bit salty and I'm always allowed to eat them. They're a dream.

No. 2 - Logan

This spot on the list used to belong to “roast beef.” But a few years back, I decided to limit myself to one food item. Otherwise, the list turns into the food song from Oliver! , and I get so hungry that my stomach cramps.

I’m not sure that Logan should rank higher than Patton; they’re both my best friends. But Logan made the list first. He befriended me the very first week at school when he was still unsure about his enthusiastic roommate.

I didn’t know what to think of him when we met. He was a skinny little boy with light brown skin and a shock of blue hair. He wore pointy spectacles, the kind you might wear going as a witch for Halloween, and there was this giant blue ring weighing down his left hand. He was trying to help me with an assignment, and I think I just stared at him.

“I know you’re Roman Prince,” he said. “My mum told me you’d be here. She says you’re incredibly powerful, even more so than myself. I’m Logan Bunce.”

“I didn’t know someone like you could be named Logan,” I said. Stupidly.

He blinked back at me. “What do you suppose someone ‘like me’, might be named?” he’d implored, not quite yet mastering his poker face or his ‘superior’ face that I’m so familiar with now, but pulling off some combination of the two.

“I don’t know.” I didn’t know. Other boys I had met who looked like him were named Saanvi or Adit, and they definitely hadn’t had hair like his. “Saanvi?”

“Someone like me could have any sort of name, Roman,” Logan said.

“Oh. Right, my apologies.” I stuttered.

“I feel it also important to point out that we can also do whatever we desire with our hair,” he’d added, turning back to the assignment, fixing his hair away from his eyes. “I believe it’s considered impolite to stare, although different rules may apply between friends.”

“Are we friends?” I’d asked, surprised and the slightest bit in awe.

“I’m helping you with your lesson. It was my understanding that this is a thing that friends do.”

He was. He’d succeeded in helping me shrink a soccer ball to the size of a marble.

“I thought you were only helping me because I’m dumb,” I said.

“Everyone is dumb,” he’d asserted. “I’m helping you because I like you.”

It turned out that he’d accidentally turned his hair that color, trying out a new spell, and he hadn’t been able to hide it before anyone saw. He’d been too embarrassed to admit it had been a mistake. When Patton and I had realized we’d figured out how to do it ourselves in solidarity, Patton’s hair turning soft cotton candy colors of pink and light blue, and mine becoming a regal red hue.

Logan’s mum is Indian, and his dad is English. Or really they’re both English in that they’re both from London. He admitted later that his parents had wanted him to stay away from me. “My mum said that no one knew where you came from and that you may be dangerous.”

“Why didn’t you listen to her?” I asked.

“I just said, Roman, no one knew where you came from and you may have been dangerous.” To say nothing of his atrocious survival instincts, I do admire his small rebellion. I’m under the impression that his parents always wanted him to be more social than he naturally is. Making his first friend into the one person they’d ushered him away from must have felt like some small victory.

“And anyway, I couldn’t stand to watch such an awful display of magic,” he said. “You were holding your wand backward.”

I miss Logan every summer, even when I tell myself not to. The Mage doesn’t allow me to write or call anyone, but Logan still finds ways to send messages from him and Patton both. Once he’d actually possessed an old man down at the shop, the one who always forgot to put in his teeth, and he’d talked right through him. It was nice to hear from him and everything, but it was so disturbing that I asked him not to attempt it again, emergencies aside.

No. 3 - Patton

Patton came into my life a couple weeks after Logan had declared our friendship.

The Crucible had cast him and Logan in a room together, so I had a general idea of what he was like based off of Logan’s comments. Before we were formally introduced I already knew that Patton was very emotional, that he loved cookies and dad jokes, and that he would try to hug a cactus if he thought it was sad. He lived up to expectations but completely surprised me by how comforting his presence could be. His actions from anyone else would be overwhelming and likely to drive me away, but Patton overcame this by being entirely genuine.

It didn’t take five minutes for the chubby kid with his golden hair and blinding smile to worm his way into my heart.

Logan had been perplexed over why they had ended up put together. The Crucible cast roommates in a way that most pairs were compatible or could form some sort of bond. He couldn’t understand why he ended up with someone who seemed to be his polar opposite.

Patton immediately took a liking to Logan even in the face of the others obvious reluctance to any sort of bonding happening between them. That’s how we met - Patton seeking Logan out to spend time with him despite already having made friends with the majority of student in our year some way or another. And to be fair to Logan, he really did warm up to Patton rather quickly after I accepted his friendship.

I’m glad that they were put together by an outside force because, even with Patton’s ability to charm almost anyone, I don’t think they would have been close if they weren't. The Crucible definitely didn’t make a mistake with them. They balance each other out perfectly despite their bickering. The only mistake the Crucible made was putting me and Virgil Grimm-Pitch anywhere we might have to breathe the same air.

I miss Patton right along with Logan each year. Sometimes he gets Logan to send cookies along with his messages. They’re never very good, but they always make me smile.

No. 4 - The theater

I don’t get to act as much as I used to. I don’t have enough time to between all the schemes I get caught up in and going out on missions for the Mage. You just can’t reliably perform when the godforsaken Humdrum could summon you away at any moment he cares to, so I’m not in the drama club. Which means I don’t get to be in any of the plays that Watford puts on.

I do get to act though. I’m allowed time to do monologues or perform scenes if I can convince another to join me. And it’s a glorious stage: fantastic lighting, and scarlet curtains. The acoustics in there are simply divine…

Virgil is in the drama club. Of course. The villain.

He’s only a techie, but he’s part of the productions and he handles his position the way he handles everything else. Capably, with vigilance. And an absolute disdain for the world at large.

No. 5 - My school uniform

I put this on the list when I was twelve. You have to realize that when I first got my uniform, it was also the first time I’d ever had clothes that weren’t secondhand, and that fit me properly. For someone used to ratty tees and jeans that were too short on me, receiving an impeccably fitted blazer and dress pants with a tie to complete the look… Well, suddenly I felt taller. And stylish. Until Virgil walked into the room, much taller than me and confident enough to scoff at following dress codes.

There are eight years at Watford. The first and second years wear striped blazers in two shades of purple and green, with dark grey dress pants, green sweaters, and red ties.

Additionally, there is a boater hat that must be worn on the grounds until you reach sixth year. Teachers enforce this mostly to see which of us have strong enough Stay put spells to keep the wind from carrying them away. Logan always took care of mine for fear that I would end up sleeping in it should I attempt the spell.

There’s a brand new uniform waiting for me every fall when I reach our room. It will be laid out for me on my bed, clean and pressed and perfectly fitted, no matter how I’ve changed or grown.

The upper years, which is me now, wear green blazers with white piping, and red sweaters if we want them. Capes are optional, too, which I wear of course. They’re fabulous. I’ll never understand why Logan avoids them. Patton wears his sometimes, just to wrap up in it as though it's a blanket.

I like the uniform, and knowing what I’m going to wear every day. I’m not sure what I’ll end up wearing next year when my time at Watford is finished.

I had thought I would join the Mage’s Men, who have their own uniforms which look like an amalgam of Robin hood and MI6. Then the Mage told me that isn’t my path.

That’s how the Mage talks to me. “It’s not your path, Roman. Your destiny lies elsewhere.”

He wishes for me to be separate from the average, with private training and special lessons. I’m not sure he would even let me go to school at Watford at all if he weren’t headmaster there. That and he knows Watford to be the safest place for me.

If I were to let the Mage dress me after leaving Watford I might end up kitted out like a superhero. Or an actual prince.

I’m not asking anyone what I should wear after I leave. I’m eighteen. I’ll dress myself.

Or Logan and Patton will help.

No. 6 - My room

I should say “our room,” but I don’t miss the sharing-with-Virgil part of it.

Your room and your roommate get picked out for you in your first year and you don’t ever get to switch. Trust me. I’ve tried. At the very least you never have to clear out your things.

Sharing a room with someone who would like nothing more than to murder me, and has felt this way since we were eleven, is a very stressful and dismal experience.

The Crucible must have felt bad for casting Virgil and me together because we got the best room there is at Watford. Logan says it’s very unlikely that the crucible is sentient in any way, but I believe it must have felt guilty.

We live in Mummers House, on the edge of the school grounds. It’s a four and a half story building made out of stone, and our room is at the very top, located in a turret facing the moat that surrounds the school. The turret just happens to be too small for two rooms, but significantly bigger than the other student accommodations, which means we get our own en-suite.

Virgil is not a bad person to share a bathroom with. He’s in there all morning, presumably applying his eyeshadow beneath his eyes like a moron, but he’s clean. Also, he’s extremely territorial so his stuff is never in my way. Logan says our bathroom smells like cedar and bergamot, and that’s got to be Virgil for it certainly isn’t me.

No. 7 - The Mage

I also put the Mage on the list when I was twelve, and since then there have been many times that I’ve wondered if I should take him off.

For example, there was the time in sixth year, when he ignored me. Whenever I spoke to him he would send me away claiming to be in the middle of something serious.

That still happens quite often. I understand, of course, he is the headmaster. And more than that he practically runs the World of Mages, since he’s head of the Coven. It’s not like he’s my dad. He’s not my anything.

It’s just that he is the closest I’ve got to anything.

If he hadn’t come to get me I wouldn’t know who I am or anything about the World of Mages. He even still looks out for me sometimes, mostly when I’m least likely to pay attention. When he does have time for me, to actually talk, it makes me feel completely grounded. I fight better when he’s around. And think better. Somehow, when I’m with him, I can buy into the things he’s always told me. I can believe that I’m the most powerful magician ever to face the World of Mages.

I even believe, just for a while, that so much power is a good thing, or at least that it will be. Someday. That I’ll get my shit together eventually and solve more problems than I cause.

The Mage, coincidentally, is the only one allowed to reach me over the break.

No. 8 - Magic

Not my magic, as that doesn’t ever leave me and doesn’t actually give me any comfort.

What I miss is being around magic. The casual, ambient sort of magic that comes from being with magicians who don’t know any other way of life. People casting spells in the hallways and throughout lessons. Someone sending a plate of sausages down the dinner table like it’s bouncing on wires.

It isn’t actually a world of its own, the World of Mages. There aren’t any magical cities or villages inhabited solely by those with magic. Magicians are spread out around the world just like any other group of people, which is supposedly safer. That’s what Logan’s mum said anyway, that it prevents us being too far removed from mundanity the way the fairies did. The fairies found it tedious dealing with the rest of the world and so they wandered into the woods for a couple centuries and lost their way back.

Which makes Watford the only place that magicians live together unless they’re related I guess. Social clubs for magicians exist, and there are parties and social gatherings, but Watford remains the only place where we’re all together all the time. I think that may be why people have been coupling up like nobodies business in the last few years. Apparently not meeting your spouse at Watford could mean ending up alone.

When I’m alone, magic becomes something personal and burdensome. It’s a heavy secret.

But at Watford, magic is just the air that we breathe. Magic makes me a part of something bigger, as opposed to setting me apart the way it does for three quarters of the year.

No. 9 - Picani and the goats

I started helping Picani the goatherd in second year. For a while, hanging out with the goats was pretty much my favorite thing. (Which Virgil had a field day with.) Picani is the nicest person at Watford. He’s younger than the teachers and surprisingly powerful for somebody who decided to spend his life taking care of goats.

“I don’t think power has anything to do with it,” Picani would say. “You don’t make someone play thrashcanball just because they’re tall.”

“I think you meant basketball.” Living at Watford does leave you a bit out of touch. Logan’s mum did have a point about not removing ourselves from society.

“Same difference. I’m not a soldier, so I don’t see why I should have to fight for a living because I can throw a punch.” I don’t think Picani has punched anyone in his life.

The Mage claims we’re all soldiers, so long as you have an ounce of magic in you. He says that is what's dangerous about the old ways, having magicians treat magic as something they don’t have to protect. Feeling entitled to magic, or using it as a toy.

Picani doesn’t have a dog for the goats. He just uses his staff. I’ve seen him turn the whole herd with a wave of his hand. He’d started teaching me, even, how to pull the goats back one by one; how to make them all feel at once that they’d gone too far. I even helped with the birthing one spring.

I don’t get to spend time with Picani often anymore.

He and the goats remain on the list though. I like stopping to think of them for a minute.

No. 10 - The Wavering Wood

I should take this one off the list.

Fuck the Wavering wood.

Ch. 3