#other pants I had to buy in larger sizes looked so terrible on me I hardly ever wanted to even leave the house ngl

[occamstfs]

How To Be A Father

This was meant to be a shorter one but it seems to have gotten away from me, I hope you enjoy! I’ve got a special one coming later this week! Gonna do a little epistolary/diary multi TF to celebrate 500 Followers !! - Occam

Franklin’s older brother, Jack, was a soon-to-be dad, he is terribly nervous about raising a kid, as anyone should be. Franklin was looking for some way he could show his support. His eyes scan the shelves of the local bookstore, sure that there must be something of use in the advice section. He has only just graduated university and remains in a sea of uncertainty but at the very least he could buy his brother some pittance of a self-help book.

There wasn’t exactly a sea of options available, many of them were clearly religious, some were on raising children in other cultures, one particularly gaudy one was a guide on rearing the perfect American citizen. Franklin prepared to throw in the towel and order a book to be delivered, before at the end of the aisle he saw a simple clear cover, upon which was written, “How To Be A Father.” It didn’t even have the author’s name on the front. Franklin couldn’t help but let his interest be piqued as he goes to pick it up.

As he does so it’s almost as if the lights of the store dim as the monochrome cover continues to call out to him. Before checking the contents he checks the back looking for any hint of what lies between the pages and finds another completely featureless page. At this point Franklin’s eyes would usually roll as he returns this obnoxious marketing mishap to the shelf, but instead his brows furrow. He simply must know what is inside. He rushes to open to the first page as his mind can only obsessively demand the contents of the book. 

He opens to the middle of the guide, stumbling on a photo of what may as well be the platonic ideal of man. Franklin’s stomach lurches in discomfort, his heart pangs knowing he could never be such a man, as the image in front of him. His eyes trace the jawline defined even through a dense beard. He hungers to be even a hundredth as masculine as the imagine in front of him. Franklin glances at the next page hoping for some recipe to be just like him, rubbing his hairless jaw as he turns eyes blurring as he reads the sentence:

"A Real Father Is Strong."

He audibly grunts as he reads the sentence and holds that exemplar of man in his mind. He doesn’t dare desire to be a father, but strength. How could he not want that? He looks down the page hoping for work out tips but his eyes find no purchase as the words blur together. Nevertheless he stares at the smudges, willing them to give him answers, as the book begins to work its own will unto him.

Franklin has spent little time on his body. It has never been a priority for him, and yet now he wants strength? The book grows warm in his hands as his eyes roll back. He bites his lip as he feels the warmth begin to surge from the book into his arms. Veins begin to bulge in his hands as they continue up his arms. His hands grow calluses from day after day of lifting iron. His forearms burst forth growing to a size larger than his calves are currently. He feels his shirt soon grow tight around his biceps as muscle begins to bulge. Thick veins appear down the direct center of his arms as he is overcome with pleasure.

The strength does not stop flowing into him as his arms start to rip open his sleeves however. Just as soon as his massive biceps make room for themselves his chest begins to demand its own attention. Muscles that he didn’t even know he had cramp on his chest as pecs burst out of his chest shooting buttons down the aisle. Just after this he feels his back expand similarly giving him a wingspan he never dreamed he could achieve. His knees buckle as he feels the warmth force itself into his lower body. 

He slams to the floor loudly as his growing limbs fall out from under him. Sensing challenge from the forearms his calves rip holes into his pants as they reach a size and definition of a bodybuilder and his thighs swiftly follow suit creating a tear from his waist down to his feet, fully exposing Franklin’s lower body as he struggles to stay conscious. Not to be out done he feels his feet begin to press against to press against the boundaries of his shoes, the tongue bulging out as he starts to hear the fabric tear before he’s interrupted-

“Um, Excuse me sir? Do you need help up?,” asks a clerk at the bookstore, seeing Franklin on the floor.

Franklin’s face blazed red at being caught in such a compromising position as he shoots up to standing. “I! So sorry I don’t-“ he struggles to explain what he thinks happened having fully lost himself in his growth. As he looks down at himself however he sees that although his clothes are fitting tighter, there are no rips to be seen. His nipples make themselves well apparent through the polo, but his sleeves remain untorn, and his pants hug his waist and ass but are clearly in one piece. There is also a massive bulge in his pants though it is thankfully not growing at the moment.

Franklin starts to make small talk with the clerk who checked on them but before getting very far he is thrown off guard as the clerk replies, “I don’t know sir”. Why the kid keeps calling him sir? Kid? Franklin is sure they’re about the same age the kid can’t be less than  twenty three? Well wait? Franklin isn’t twenty three either, that had to have been? Franklin feels his mind start to heat up as a massive headache starts to build. He stares down at his feet as the clerk once more grows concerned.  

The problem does not stay for long however as he sees the book he was so obsessed with is on the floor. That can’t be right! As he goes to pick it up he finds it is on a new page! Excited to learn what new wisdom lies in store he is greeted once more with an all too eye catching man. It’s a mirror selfie which should have no place in what is presumably an advice book. His body is absolutely shredded as he smirks from the page, but even more eye-catching is his massive cock.

Franklin does his best to look away from this clear attempt at softcore porn lest he have yet another issue growing out of his clothing. Unfortunately the text opposite the image is even less help to this end, Franklin can’t help himself but read:

"A Real Father Is Horny."

If the power flowing into him from the book filled him with pleasure, it was truly nothing compared to the energy and desire burning through his veins now. The clerk's eyes widen as the sound of fabric stretching emanates from Franklin’s crotch before being immediately followed by the loud tear of a zipper bursting off. He quickly looks away before seeing whatever has apparently burst from Franklin's pants as he stares at the man in shock.

The embarrassment only heightens Franklin's ecstasy, his clothes caress his powerful body as he feels his balls pulse as he feels them shift into overdrive, begging Franklin for release as they fill his barely hanging on briefs. Briefly keeping his lust at bay he looks up to see the clerk still in front of him and chokes back a grunt of hunger. His body flexes to pounce before he hesitates, god, he looks like he could be my kid. But that would- That can’t be right. 

Before he can question any further he feels his balls grow even bluer as his cock begins to create rips in his underwear. Putting off his lust just long enough to avoid criminal charges he runs from the man who he could have sworn was his age, or his son’s age? His breath catches in his chest as he storms down the aisle. He feels his nipples scratch against his shirt as pre soaks through his increasingly torn briefs. He clenches his jaw to avoid moaning as he leaves a trail of sweat in his wake, barely making it inside the restroom and locking the door.

The cool air shocks his body as he holds his sweaty body against the door. Directly across from him is the mirror, seeing himself sets his hunger aflame higher than anybody can sustain. He sees his cock fully burst from his pants, sticking out straight from his crotch, the length he would’ve sworn his forearm was. Looking back to the mirror he flexes at himself and fully loses the ability to hold back. He moans as he cums without even touching his cock. His balls pulse as they continue producing five more loads to take the place of this one as he slides against the door, leaving a trail of sweat on the door as he moans and closes his eyes.

When he reopens them he finds himself in a thankfully different scene. There is no sign that he came all over the floor of a public restroom and he did not have a boner burst from his pants in front of that clerk. He’s been this horny his whole life, he knows how to handle himself. Fuck did he turn him on though. Franklin decides he needs to masturbate more, can’t be getting so horny for college hunks now that his son’s going to school. Fuck! He doesn’t have a son! Franklin knows something horrible is happening but before he can even start to make a connection he sees in front of him, precisely where he thought he came on the floor, his book. Lying open to a new page. He hasn’t the willpower to even feign resistance. He sees a powerful bear of a man. Franklin craves his power. He craves his virility. He needs to be more like him. He doesn’t even need to read the page opposite for it is already ingrained into him.

"A Real Father Is Mature."

He burps as his tight abs quickly begin to soften and slightly bloat into what can only be described as a dad bod. He rubs his still growing stomach as his pubes inch above his waistline and shadow the whole of his torso.  His body loses definition though he of course exercises to stay tight and strong as any real father should. He feels his hairline then as dark arm hair inches up towards his shoulders. He smirks as he reaches up to scratch at his ever-present stubble. Exposing his hairier pit to the fresh air, he laughs as his mind is filled with thousands of jokes, each worse than the last. You could say he’s Armed for every occasion he laughs as he flexes at himself in the mirror, each chuckle sounding deeper than the last.

Frank looks in the mirror ahead of him and feels and starts to chub up once more. He looks younger than he remembers being, although with each laugh at his own jokes his hair starts to grey and his forehead lines grow deeper. Each final change cementing him as a real father like the book suggests. He needs to go try these dad jokes out on an audience now. His son Jack would love to hear them.

Frank feels content looking at the book in front of him. This will be the perfect gift for his kid. This thing’ll make a dad out of anyone, lord knows it's worked wonders for him! Frank chuckles to himself, as his stubble grows out into a beard, thinking about whatever less-than-clever joke he’ll tell his son when he gives it to him as he heads out of the bookstore. He eyes the clerk that went to help him earlier as a hunger begins to build within Frank once more. The twink seems to be looking at a book on the shelf as if he’s never seen one before. He starts to reach out to its white cover as he thinks to himself, couldn’t hurt to see what’s inside.

[dukeofriven]

So I haven't watched Spy Kids for probably 20 years? It came out in 2001, I never saw in theatres, but my stepbrother had it on VHS. I remember watching it several times when my step-mum and father first started dating but never after they moved into a house together, which I think cannot have been any later than 2003. The podcast How Did This Get Made just got me to watch 2004's Sleepover staring Spy Kids' Alex Vega, and it had me going 'man, I should rewatch Spy Kids, a film I used to love—hell I should watch all the Spy Kids movies because I've only ever seen the first and Robert Rodriguez is a director whose work I want to dive into' and since its 2023, with a little bit of effort I can easily do that. (Also, I always thought, based on a vague knowledge of their similar poster design, that Spy Kids 3D and The Adventures of Sharkboy and Lavagirl were the same movie, but apparently not! Also, Sharkboy et al. had a 2021 sequel? That was popular? And is getting its own sequel? Will have to investigate.) Thoughts on the opening ten minutes of my Spy Kids rewatch:

This production logo is so ugly it causes me physical pain. I hate this boy with his Kate Moss arms (Miraculous Ladybug arms, for you youngsters out there), his ugly beanie, and unbearable smirk.

Also, the telecine weave on the production logos is very noticeable, they're bouncing all over the place and it got me idly musing as to when more modern image stabilization techniques simply took that away. Not that we really noticed in 2001 because even with auto-tracking, gate-weave and other playback artifacts were just accepted as a given on your eight hundred pound convex CRT TV with 480 Ps of resolution that output enough radiation to kill grandma with a Jeopardy marathon. Do young people know about VHS tracking, auto or otherwise? Does the above paragraph make any sense to them at all? Do they know the pleasures of laying your hand on a still-warm television screen and having your whole body shiver as the static discharge runs through your unresistant flesh? Kids today with their big pants and their blue-tooth hula-hoops and their fancy PSPs just can't understand.

The opening shot of the movie is so under-exposed (or, more likely, over-exposed and then over-corrected in post) that Rodiguez's 'written and directed' credit is unreadable. You can see its blur to the right of the red 'FILM' there. It's so bad I thought there was something wrong with my copy so I... uh... found a new copy with a larger file size and it turns out that, nope, it actually just looks like that. Even in fancy 1080p this is just a terrible ærial shot. There's some fantastic shots and cuts in this film so to open with such a stinker is bizarre. Was it bad coverage that day, only one good shot in the can, did somebody fuck-up the film in the lab? I am curious.

Carla Gugino is so cute in this movie it's criminal. Not to be a lesbian but oh my god oh my fucking god. 12 year-old me was all about Carmen but adult me just wants 90 straight minutes of Carla Gugino in casualwear wandering around her lovely home smiling coyly. I would buy a BluRay player to own that movie on BluRay. I'd not picked-up that she played the mom on The Haunting of Hill House because she had long styled hair instead of this absolutely flawless textured pixie cut. 10/10, no notes.

I would like to spend an hour talking about the incredible tilework in that bathroom and nothing but the incredible tilework in that bathroom. I will update you if the film has any further shots of the incredible tilework in that bathroom but I fear it does not. As as an aside, kind of furious that this film was not more influential in the field of home decor. Two decades of effing shiplap and cold grey suburban blandness—what if we'd given up on bloated cookie cutter micro-mcmansion shitboxes and instead gone all-in on brightly coloured Andalusian rough plaster and stonework? What if we all had great tilework in our bathrooms, like the kitchen sink in Howl's Moving Castle?

You know what I mean, you depraved tile nerds.

I don't want you to think Antonio Banderas is not also a total smokeshow in this movie. Because boy howdy. He's a goddamn hunk.

There's a four-second long shot of Banderas flicking this ring box along the coping of the Eiffel Tower balustrade, and all I can think of how hard it was to get to get that box to stay in a straight line, how completely frictionless the box must be (did he shellac it?), and if his marriage prospects would have been ruined had it—in all rational likelihood—gone flying off the railing and smashed into the Champs de Mars.

You know you're in for a rollicking good time when the helicopter perfectly slices-off the stone heads of the two statues, but it's the padre giving the benediction while attack choppers go roaring over head that gives you chills.

A particular shout-out to this lovely unnamed bridesmaid on the left here who not only takes 'putting a parachute on the bride' in stride but looks gleeful and fabulous doing it. Where's her movie?

In 2001 we really thought computers were going to be cool and fun instead of machines that sold our personal lives to corporations and gave children crippling anxiety disorders.

Carla Gugino has a track built into the floor so that her vanity-computer chair can slide backwards across the room so she can have face-to-face chats with her husband. From this we learn two things: 1) she does this so often she's automated it for maximum efficiency, and 2) Banderos, in an ordinary desk chair, never attempts (or knows better than to attempt?) the reverse. To be continued?

[ego--x]

So, I am absolutely NOT a killstar stan but. When I ordered a batch of clothes lately, I saw one of their pants in sale and was like. You know what, fuck it, it’s cheap let’s give it a try. AND WHAT CAN I SAY. If they do one thing right it’s making bigger sizes look fucking NEAT. I get now why people that are bigger love their brand so much, they’re doing a lot right in that department!

That being said - I didn’t even notice the cross on the pants when I ordered them, imagine my surprise when I unpacked them and went JADHAJDH SEIFER CROSS SEIFER CROSS SEIF--

Also comes with these thingies to attach and I LOVE.

[slashersins]

(  this  came  about  due  to  me  and  @bloodysnowdrops  talking  about  our  favorite  shape’s  eating  habits  ) 

how  you  met  michael  .  .  .

you cooked him dinner . well , you cooked yourself dinner . michael was hungry , the scent of a freshly cooked meal luring him to your home , he watched you finish said meal , and broke in . he was fully expecting to devour whatever was made so the gnawing burn in his stomach would ease after dealing with the screaming , a fight , having to chase you and hunt you down . a nice kill before dinner . 

instead , for some reason , you made him a plate , with larger portions than on your own , and slid it across the table . there was a stand off . michael standing , watching , staring at you with an intense empty gaze before his eyes finally settled on the offering . a slight head tilt , and then he was sitting . you were smart enough - or maybe dumb enough - to look away while michael ate , staring at your own food and not raising your head . it was obvious who this man was . and you were hoping dinner would save your life . lucky for you it did . and when you looked up after eating , michael was gone . just as quietly as he had emerged . 

but . . . there was an issue with feeding the shape . like a feral cat you left out a can of food for at your back door , he came back . never a sound made  . never a word uttered between you . for weeks , michael showed up . the same time . always at night , and always usually covered in grime and gore . always for a free meal , a good meal . better than the tasteless gruel served in the sanitarium . so he kept you alive . not at all docile . not at all safe . always ready to snap your neck , to stab your chest , to draw your blood . you were useful in staving off michael’s need for nourishment . that was all . 

eventually , enough was enough and you were tired of having to clean up the mess michael made when he came in . you were tired of having to go and buy new knives as yours kept disappearing - and you didn’t want to think about where they ended up . 

it was a fight , trying to get michael clean . you tried to tell him that he couldn’t have his dinner until he showered as if he was some prepubescent boy being scolded by his mother . you ended up having to clean up more than just blood and dirt off your kitchen floor that night . and somehow michael still left with a plate of food in his hand , miraculously untouched by his rage at being denied a meal . 

then - then an idea struck . michael was much like a feral cat still . he wasn’t your pet , just a stray that came around for food . someone who only kept you alive for that very purpose . but maybe , just maybe you could persuade him like you would a stray . all you’d need is a treat . something special , something enticing . so , you made him a cake . 

to your utter surprise , it worked . the smell of baked goods had put michael on high alert . and he was hellbent on sniffing it out , finding it and devouring the sweet treat , but to his annoyance he had no idea where it was in the house . not that he was against tearing it apart in his search , but the gnawing hunger in his stomach had him hovering over you in the kitchen like a lethal tiger as you finished making dinner . and instead of leaving after he was finished eating , michael stayed . 

you were thankful that michael could take a hint , as well as concerned that he seemed to know where and what every room in your house was . the simple “i was thinking of eating some dessert after a bath or something. ya know , as a treat !” was enough for michael to take the hint . he stalked to the bathroom and stripped , stepping into the shower with no resistance , only giving you an empty sideways glance when you popped in to grab his blood soaked coveralls in hopes of finally cleaning them . 

he reemerged just as you finished loading the washer with the strongest detergent you had , and twice the amount needed . and you were thankful that the over sized shirt and sweat pants you’d bought for just this hopeful chance fit him . 

he was swift to sit back at the table , looking at you expectantly with his cold gaze . he wanted his cake dammit . and you knew better than to keep the boogyman waiting , so his treat was promptly set before him . and you left him alone to eat . 

after that . . . michael came around more often . stayed longer . stayed the night and used your shower with the expectation of having his clothes washed each time . it was a shift in the way things were . and well , you couldn’t say it was terrible . another reason to keep you around you guess . and you couldn’t help the satisfaction that came with knowing in some ways the stray might be becoming somewhat tame . somewhat . or maybe not at all . at least it was a sense of normalcy . and that sated you . 

soon it went from michael sitting on the couch , staring at the tv , always on high alert and aware of you at all times to michael sleeping there . still as the dead and stiff , feet hanging off the edge of the couch . it didn’t look comfortable in the least . but there wasn’t much of a solution . there was only one bed in the house , and it already had an occupant in it . plus you weren’t too sure about what boundaries you might be overstepping if you invited michael to share the sleep space . 

like many things , however , michael solved that problem himself . when you were unceremoniously shoved out of your own bed and onto the floor , only to get up and see michael laying in your bed . taking up all the space , and looking literally dead . somehow the feral cat you’d invited in was taking over . and now it was you sleeping on the couch . at least it was you sized . you made sure to steal the covers in retaliation . it took a few nights before you finally relented to michael’s less than  polite way of telling you he was sleepy. or maybe you were just tired of being shoved to the floor , but you permanently relented to sleeping on the couch .

it’s been a few months . maybe four or five since your first encounter with michael . and things were going smoothly . or as smoothly as it can go with an impromptu serial killer roommate . at least in your eyes . 

michael . . . michael was feeling antsy . angry . confused . he was feeling emotions . and he didn’t do emotions , not the ones that made his hands twitch , and head hurt . not the ones that he felt each time he started walking towards your home after a kill . 

excitement he was familiar with . there was always that warm tug of adrenaline when he chased a victim , the satisfaction of a kill warming his blood and rendering him sated for a moment . but this . . . it was different . this excitement hurried his normally slow and careful steps . it had his finger tips buzzing , itching to open the back door you learned to leave unlocked for him . it had his heart beating ever so quicker in anticipation of hearing you welcome him home and telling him what you’d both be having for dinner . he hadn’t noticed this feeling before . this warmth . he wasn’t capable of feeling so . . . domesticated . was he ?

and that , that made the familiar anger surge through him . was he being domesticated ? was he being tamed ? what was this feeling ? furious at himself for having these weak emotions , these unfamiliar , unsafe emotions , he quietly raged while his mind raced with solutions to this problem . but that only lead to more . 

he could kill you . you wouldn’t be expecting it . you wouldn’t run . he could easily step inside , walk behind you and bury his knife in your back . watch as you bled out on the floor as he ate whatever food you’d made for them . that was something he could do . his solution . but his grip on his knife faltered as he took another step . a new feeling . a new emotion flooded his senses as he thought of your lifeless body . as he thought of your face contorted in pain and eyes empty as they stared at nothing . it was a weight on his chest , crushing and his heart seemed to twist violently . he couldn’t kill you . but he had to. 

and yet he stood rooted in the ground . still as a statue as he stared hard at the glint of the moonlight on his blade . you couldn’t be so important to him . all you did was provide food and shelter . anyone could do that . anyone could cook a meal that he could eat . he didn’t need you . all those thoughts swirling until he turned on his heel . he had to prove it to himself . show himself that he was just attached for basic needs . show himself that you truly meant nothing . just a place to sleep . just a free meal . nothing else . 

it lasted two weeks . no michael . dinners for two served to only one , the other half spending time in the fridge for when the man showed back up . sleepless nights spent on the couch . he wasn’t dead . the murders and missing people reports continued as usual . but he hadn’t come home . still , you waited . the food still made . desserts made desperately - even resorting to sticking pies on the windowsill to cool in hopes to find it missing only to find it still there . two weeks and no michael . and for some reason , you were a wreck . worried and lonely . missing the deadly man that you’d come to enjoy the company of . quiet as he may be , always masked , always eating your food and stealing your bed . but for that short while he’d been yours . maybe this was why you were always told not to feed strays . 

it was no better for michael . food tasted like ash . too burnt , too under cooked , too unseasoned , too over seasoned . it was disgusting even if it satisfied the ache in his stomach . and the annoyance of having to deal with screaming and kicking and fighting and police sirens that sped his eating - it was irritating . it made him more brutal . more bloody . and the way it dried and itched on his unwashed coveralls irritated his skin . the wrongness of the beds , too firm and too soft and too filthy . smelling too much like body odor or sex or just -

he was rage personified even more so . tired and hungry for a meal made by someone he didn’t want to think about . wanting to take his time in devouring his food , in gouging himself on sweets cooked only for him . to stand for as little or as long as he’d prefer under a hot shower , using the body wash and shampoo that wasn’t his but wasn’t one of his victims . missing the refreshing feeling of clean clothes and looking in wonder at how all the blood stains seemed to fade away . 

it was all he could think of while eating . after the high of a kill wore off . when he was trying to force himself to sleep on whatever bed or couch or piece of earth he could find that night . and it didn’t help that those thoughts were followed by you welcoming him home , offering him dinner , asking to watch a movie and eat cake or pie or cookies or whatever you’d baked that night . of the way your eyes lit up when the clothes you got him fit while his coveralls washed and the rattling of the washer and dryer boomed in the house so loud the tv had to be at max volume . 

it lasted two weeks . two weeks . and michael finds himself standing in the kitchen of your home . there’s no food cooking . and the lights are off . yet the glow of the tv is easy to see , and the volume , for once , is at a normal light mummer . and there you are . curled up on the couch , looking ready for bed , with two boxes of pizza on the table . one unopened , and one half eaten . a tub of ice cream with a spoon stuck in it in your lap . 

he takes in the scene . you may not have cooked but you ordered enough food for two . yet its just two . you have a dessert that you’ve barely touched , you’re all ready to fall asleep on your couch despite having your bed to yourself . you’ve been waiting for him . 

something inside of michael snaps , it had him moving from his spot standing over you , watching with cold calculating eyes . he’s by your side in a heartbeat , silent and sudden . he cares little as he lifts his mask enough to uncover his mouth , taking the unopened box of pizza to claim and devour his own slice . he doesn’t blink when you jump suddenly , startled by his arrival . he just eats . ignoring the bubbling , warm sensation that envelops him as your attention shifts to him . as he tastes food that was purchased just for him and swallows it down . he doesn’t give you a glance or pause . that is until you speak .

it’s wavering , watery like you might cry , or have been . but there’s so much relief in it , a happiness that even michael can recognize . and his eyes shift to your face , head tilted slightly as you smile brightly . even as hot tears stream down your cheeks . 

“ welcome home , michael . i got us some pizza and ice cream . i missed you . ”

[defenderrosetyler]

Short Straw

Prompt from @flamencodiva​ : “Right, who’s drawn the short straw this time?”

Beta: @wonder-cole​

A/N: I love Gen, and I love the couple that she and Jared make, but this is a pure act of fiction and they are not together for the purpose of this fic!!

A/N 2: The song in this fic is Burn it to the Ground from Nickleback.

“Come on Y/N, just go over and talk to him! He’s cute, and attractive, he may even buy you a drink,” one of her friends pestered her. Y/N rolled her eyes as she tugged at her ponytail and tightened it. She’d been keeping her hair pulled back a lot during the Texas heat. She and her friends had been called out to Texas to be extras in the new reboot of Walker the TV show with the one and only Jared Padalecki. Jared was attractive in his previous role of Sam Winchester in Supernatural. For his new role as Cordell Walker, the widowed Texas Ranger? Damn he looked smokin “Drawing of sticks?” Y/N asked.  

Out of the three friends gathered extra straws they had asked for and each took their own, before revealing who had the shorter of the two…. “Right, who’s drawn the short straw this time?” One of the friends said before Y/N’s face lit up bright red. The other two girls giggled, moving to push Y/N towards where Jared had been hiding and not recognized much by the fans in the area. The western cowboy hat was helping conceal who he was. Most Texans had a cowboy hat in this area anyway, so hardly anyone noticed.

Gathering her courage, Y/N grabbed her own brown western hat, swallowed the lump in her throat, walking over toward Jared’s tall shadow. She politely tapped him on the shoulder and he turned and y/c/e met Jareds and Y/n felt whatever words she was going to say to him fall right at the tip of her tongue. His eyes were beautiful, they reminded Y/N of  a mosaic, each sliver of his iris a different color - blue, green, gold, brown. 

“Let me guess, you were the loser of rock paper scissors.” Jared says seeing Y/N in stunned shock and amazement and knew this was common when fangirls approached him. Blinking as she registered what he’d said to her, Y/N nodded embarrassed as her cheeks flushed a bright red color. 

“Is it that obvious?” Jared nodded with a chuckle. 

Of course Jared knew this game. He and former co-star Jensen Ackles, did this all the time; well, in character anyway. Jared and Jensen, aka Sam and Dean Winchester, always won their arguments over a game of rock paper scissors. To which Sam was usually the winner, only on a few rare occasions did the younger brother let the elder win. 

Y/N let out a breath, hearing him laugh, so she wasn’t making a total fool of herself anyway. That was good at least. Rubbing the back of her neck, Y/N tried to feel less awkward. “Can I buy you a drink?” “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Jared says, his tone could almost be taken as a flirt. “How about this, I buy you a drink, and you owe me a dance out on the floor?” 

It was a compromise. One all y/n could do in response is nod. She did have a drink at her table, but she wasn’t about to turn Jared down. After looking at Y/N for what seemed like forever, he smiled, placing her order to the bartender. Placed in Y/N’s hand was a jack and coke. Something simple, yet not too strong for her; Thank goodness there were such services like Uber and a taxi that could take her home if she needed it. She sure as hell wasn’t driving after all the alcohol in her system. “So, what brings you to Texas?’ Jared asks, trying to start a normal conversation with Y/N. 

After the first round of drinks were completed, Jared held out his hand for her, leaving the woman to blink as she heard the guitar of a song kicked on followed by its bass. Y/N paled. “Jare, no.” 

Jared laughed as he kept pulling Y/N to the dance floor where there was a group gathering to dance with the tune. She’d had enough drinks in her to definitely not be coordinated enough for this. Having looked up the song when she was on her way down, and the dance, Y/N knew she was in a world of trouble.

Well, it's midnight, damn right

We're wound up too tight

Wasn’t that the truth, it wasn’t midnight, but it was damn near close…. Y/N watched the steps for the first round and tried to talk it aloud to herself. Jared was already in the line and kicking up his leg and clearly having fun.

We're going off tonight

To kick out every light

Take anything we want

Drink everything in sight

We're going till the world stops turning

While we burn it to the ground tonight

Y/N took a deep breath and moved in step with the crowd. The steps weren’t difficult per say, but it wasn’t the easiest thing to do. Thank God her boots weren’t terribly high heeled. Her eyes widened when it came to the kicking portion of the dance, and Jared’s leg went as high as his collar bone. When Y/N tried, all she could do was kick as high as her hips. 

The more turns performed, the more Y/N started to let loose around Jared. On one of the turns, Y/N lost her footing and ended up tripping into the taller man's arms, his muscles holding her to his chest. As he helped her stand, Jared’s lips inched toward hers, pressing against hers gently.

The house door slammed as Y/N was pinned against it. She and Jared had shared a few soft kisses in the cab seat of the Uber they’d ordered, using Jared’s card, as much as Y/N had insisted she pay, since he’d bought most of their drinks. Y/N’s panties were soaked, and she hoped Jared knew it. The man had run his hands up to her legs and had stopped at her knees. Damn her for not wearing a skirt. Then again, with that leg kicking, flashing underwear would not have been the smartest choice.

“Jared,” Y/N gasped and moaned. Jared’s kisses were down her neck and nipping at the flesh of her collar bone, his cock hard against his jeans and clearly he needed attention too. “Shh,” he whispered, kissing her, pulling Y/N with him towards the bedroom. While walking, Y/N tried to tug at his shirt, how the hell did he manage to keep that hat on? Oh that's right, he wore button down shirts. The button down shirt was torn open, buttons flying across the wood floor, causing Y/N to giggle.

Jared sits Y/N down on the bed and makes quick removal of her jeans and her black lacy thong, all in one movement. “Hold on tight baby girl.” Jared says as his Cordell Walker accent kicked in and it took all Y/N had in her to not cum on the spot with his words

Before Y/N could let out her next breath, Jared had her legs over his shoulders, his mouth mere inches away from her pussy, blowing warm air just across her sensitive clit. Goosebumps prickled Y/N’s flesh, causing her to shiver, causing Jared to smirk at her. Moans filled the bedroom as Jared continued to work her clit. “You like that don’t you, you little whore” he says. Fingers curled inside Y/N, looking for that ultimate sweet spot inside her, the spot that would leave her cumming all over his fingers and possibly making a mess of his bedding. Oh well, it needed to be washed anyway.

“Jared, please, don’t be a tease.” Y/N begged, toes curling, back arched up as she let out a breath and came over his fingers. She hadn’t gotten a chance to warn him that she was about to be sent into her orgasm, which Jared seemed to be pleased with judging by the hot ass smirk on his face. 

“I never said I wasn’t going to be a tease baby girl,” Jared smirked as he took his mouth and began to kiss her wet pussy lips. Y/N moaned, gripping and tugging at his flesh. He’d chosen to keep the cowboy hat he'd worn at the bar after removing his shirt and damn, could he look more like a country god? Jared’s kisses were slow and gentle, Y/N didn’t mind slow and gentle. What she really wanted was that hot kind of sex you see in the movies.

“Jared, Oh fuck.” Y/N gasped as he brushed her sensitive clit, his tongue swirled inside her trembling walls as she shook as she came against Jared. Moans left her mouth as a half chant and her panting breath. The taller man didn’t give Y/N a chance to fully ride out her orgasm before shifting his position, his cock hovering at her entrance. There was a moment of him rubbing his rock hard cock against her juices. He let out a moan as he eased inside her, pushing all the way inside her till his hips were pressed against her. 

“You like that don’t you, you little cock slut. You knew where the shorter straw was, you knew you wanted me to take you here and fuck you in my bed and make you scream my name didn’t you?” Jared pants in her ear, tugging at her ear lobe, “You just wanted to be my little whore didn’t you?” Y/N was in a state of bliss, wanting to reply to him. Was he a ‘Sir’ kind of man? Or was he a ‘Daddy?’ There were so many kinks running through her head she didn’t know what to think. He was hitting places inside her she’d never had a man hit before. Then again, Jared Padalecki was a lot thicker and larger than any man she’d slept with. Jared’s movements were as smooth as a choreographed dance. Y/N wrapped her legs around his hips. Attempting if it was possible to send him even deeper inside her. “That's right baby, take all of my cock,” He grunted with each thrust, panting as he pushed himself to the edge. Truth be told, Jared had been rock hard seeing her walk into the bar hours earlier. Y/N’s jeans hugged the curves of her hips, ass, her whole body perfectly. The top she’d worn was low cut, it was clear she hadn’t been wearing a bra, could have worn one but with the size of her breasts? She had every right to show them off. 

The bedroom was filled with moans and groans from both parties occupying the bed. Cries of Jared’s name as Y/N worked through each orgasm. Positions changed every so often, Jared even asked her to ride his cock cowgirl style, to which Y/N had no problem taking his hat and smirked as if she’d been riding a mechanical bull at the bar. Jared’s cock twitched inside her as he was nearing his own orgasm, wanting to paint her walls with his white hot cum he’d been holding back for what seemed almost too long. 

Jared had nearly came in her mouth as she’d sucked him off. On her knees in between his legs, her pussy soaked from the orgasm he’d given her before they shifted to Jared receiving a blowjob. Jared was intent on pushing Y/N as far as she was able to, but she looked like she could swallow his entire length. He’d pushed gently to allow her time to adjust to his size, but holy fuck when she had the ability to push past her gag reflex? Damn it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

“You gonna cum for me Cowboy?” Y/N smirked as she noticed Jared’s change in rhythm. He was slamming a lot harder now and yet it was slower for a few minutes before resuming the pounding of her pussy. “Where do you want me, you little slut? Want me to cum in this little pussy and let my cum run down your leg so people know you were just fucked?” Jared pants. All Y/N could do was nod, rubbing her over sensitive clit as she’d cried out his name and pulled his mouth to hers as he cried out her name, warm ropes of hot cum exploded from the tip of his cock. As promised, as Jared slowly pulled back, white cum slowly eased out of her pussy, Y/N tried desperately to keep all of it inside her. His cum was so warm, it made her feel giddy inside. 

Jared moved to collapse on the bed, his breath heaving as he attempted to catch his breath. Both of their bodies were covered in sweat. Once able to move, Y/N moved to spoon herself into Jared’s arms. 

“Best sex we’ve had in a while,” Jared says with a smirk.

“Agreed, stranger foreplay made it more fun. I actually was glad I didn’t wear a dress, if I flashed my pussy to anyone else, you’d have gotten jealous and started a brawl then where would we be?” Jared chuckled and kissed her head, brushing away her sweat soaked hair. 

“Once we’re able to move, I’m making you a large ass breakfast.”

Jared leaned up to look down at Y/N, “Is that before or after I ask you to marry me?”

 Tags:

 @simsadventures​​ @mummybear​ @impala-dreamer​ @holylulusworld​ @snffbeebee​ @saxxxology @akshi8278​​ ​ @deansmyapplepie   @luci-in-trenchcoats @samskia-writes @winchester-fantasies​​ @talesmaniac89​​ @stusbunker​​ @idreamofplaid​ @cherrypiebbyblog​​ @cleighwrites​​ @jxackles​​ @flamencodiva​​ @wonder-cole​​ @msmarvelouswinchester​​ @downanddirtydean​​ @janicho88​​ @lacednleathered​​

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

ZOOted | group chatzy

TIMING: Midday, August 29, 2021. LOCATION: The Main Street of Downtown. SUMMARY: What’s black and white and silent all over? The creatures at the zoo make their grand escape. TRIGGERS: Brief vomit (marked in chatzy), animal death.

Anara Kingston was just getting ready to open up her family bistro for the day, hands propped on her hips as she admired the storefront that multiple generations had made thrive on the corner of Main Street in Downtown White Crest. There was your usual display of signage, an eye-catching banner that advertised a meatball sandwich special, and a small paper in the lower left corner of the front window that proudly read ‘127 days since last accident’. The notice was actually one of the larger draws of the establishment in a town such as White Crest, where oddities and danger seemed to lurk around every dark corner. People wanted to feel safe while they ate, munching on overpriced meals while they tarried the day away. Anara leaned forward to polish the glass in front of the advertisement of their sanctity, only to stiffen when she heard a foreign braying of...was that a donkey? No. She’d been around enough of the farms that peppered White Crest to know it wasn’t the sound of such a creature. 

A clopping of hooves was quick to follow the strange barking, and to the shop owner’s amazement, none other than a genuine zebra had begun to parade down Main Street, children and adults laughing and pointing alike as the escaped creature began to graze on the flowerbeds of a plant shop. 

Nell stared for a solid minute at the zebra that had waltzed down Main Street as if he owned the place, already trying to figure out whether this was some bullshit she was willing to deal with today, or if she should simply call Kaden at Animal Control and make this his problem. Unfortunately her decision was made for her as a swarm of pixies, seemingly also escaped from the zoo, buzzed after the zebra to tug at anything they could get their grimy little hands around. With a deep sigh, Nell made her way over to the swarm that was doing their best to scalp a woman by yanking at her hair. This was now officially a problem she needed to solve.

Sai huffed as he ran down the sidewalk after a black horned Scapegoat that had gleefully decided to aid some oddly silent goats on their break towards glorious freedom. “No Ibulba! They live in the zoo!”

Keys rattled as Metzli strode towards their gallery, deciding to walk through Main Street. Yuca was leashed and in tow, picking up her pace in excitement. She always loved walking about the gallery. All the pets and enrichment she could ask for, making for a very happy cat. That was until, a swarm of sprites zoomed past the two and made the vampire stumble and trip, dropping their umbrella. Yuca mewled terribly, angry and shocked by the sudden interruption. 

Metzli barely had enough time to react as they saw the swarm circling back around. Eyes widened and they reached for a door, any door to  swiftly let Yuca inside, but it was no use. The sun made their skin sting and bones ache, but getting their cat to safety was the top priority. Leaping into an alleyway, only a few of the sprites managed to find them and picked and prodded at their skin. “What the fuck!” They yelled, hoping they could catch someone’s attention as they wrapped their arms around Yuca. 

It had been drizzling on and off all day, leaving the pavement tiles slightly slicker than Chloe liked as she navigated her trolley along the road. Her mind was fractured in several place - thinking about the strange flower order she’d processed for a funeral this morning that for some reason wanted tree roots in the bouquet as well as flowers, about the grocery shop she’d just finished, and the painting of Lydia’s face that stuck with her. She didn’t notice the rumbling of animals at first, until something pig-sized, black, and white cantered past her. Chloe screamed, jumping back as she waved her umbrella at the mime-like creature, her eyes wide. After a second, her hand clutching her chest, Chloe realised it wasn’t another evil type of mime, but just a… an anteater? No, what were they called… The ones with the longer noses that looked a little like pie-bald pigs…. The word would come to her in a moment, but it didn’t look too threatening. 

Unfortunately, most things in White Crest didn’t. 

Bly had spent the morning in a coffee shop with Nas and overall it had been a really freaking good time. Nas had to meet up with his girlfriend so he had left them alone in the shop until they had finished their coffee. Leaving with the shop, overpacked backpack slung over their shoulder, they stopped short. Was there like a fair and they had missed the advertisements? It didn’t really seem like a fair, but White Crest was weird like that. “So, uh, is this like an event? I didn’t buy a ticket so I’m not sure if I’m allowed to be here?” They looked over to a person nearby, hands splayed out in front of them. “I don’t have cash on me either, so I can’t even buy a ticket!”

White Crest’s one and only white Bengal tiger prowled around, looking at all of the strange and new sights that one never gets to see from behind a cage. However, she only had one thing on her mind. Where, oh where, was that zebra?

Alcher didn’t often go into town, but something had piqued her interest today. She could smell the animals crowding the streets, free from their cells at the local zoo. It was something she knew would be fun to watch, if not join in on. Unfortunately, being a wolf in this commotion might end up with her being chased by the humans who thought animals belonged in cages as well, so it was in her human guise that she showed up downtown, arms folded as she watched. Someone spoke up nearby, and Alcher shrugged. An event, not that would be funny. A smile curled her lips. “I can not say, but I can say I am enjoying this, are you?”

Nell didn’t necessarily want to kill the sprites. After all, as far as murderous pint-sized things went, they were decently harmless for the most part. And perhaps she could relate with being so angry at a world while being so little. Not that she’d ever admit that. So instead of burning them to bits with some form of iron, she looked around for any sort of box, container, something to hold the creature within. Seeing the person struggling with their umbrella nearby she yelled out to them. “You got a box or something? A bag? Anything?”

Morgan couldn’t remember how she’d convinced herself that taking Sundew along her usual weekend walk/leisurely shopping trip would be relaxing. On their way, the smug pixie delighted in reading every sign, front page, and logo they passed. When Morgan said Sundew didn’t have to, she knew how smart she was, she seriously didn’t have to, the pixie only cackled and circled higher to see more things, and then spoke of her ambition to market something to humans as ‘natural and organic’ and fill it with cat droppings. And this was before Morgan went from giving Bex a look of apology one next and starting a zebra eyeball-to-eyeball the next.

If Morgan had ever learned anything useful about zebras, it vanished in that moment. All she could process were its stripes, its beady, wicked little black eyes, and the tension freezing her cold muscles. 

“That's a dummy looking horsey,” Sundew giggled. “It’s hair is almost as funny looking as yours!”

Morgan ached to take the pixie and squeeze her quiet, but it dawned on her, just in time, that there were a lot of people she recognized just beyond her (at least one she never wanted to see) and stare-down with a zebra was going to be the least of her concerns. 

“Sai!” Morgan called. “You’re proficient in animal handling, right??”

Things in White Crest had been pretty mild, all things considered, which to experts like Leah meant that mischief was right around the corner.  She had been thinking it all morning, and the thoughts continued to plague her as she sat for a quick lunch in the park.  No sooner had the thought crossed her mind again than she heard a rumbling close by- literally around the corner.  She stood up suddenly, confusion lacing her features, and walked toward Main street where she saw the contents of the zoo quite literally spilling out into town.  A couple of lemurs hung from a tree nearby and suddenly, a dalmatian soared past her, running in the direction of a pet supply shop.  Did the zoo hold dalmations now, too?

“Uhhh, I mean, I am trying to enjoy it but, like, there’s a tiger here now.” Bly said etched the animal began to look around looking like it was trying to find prey. “I’m pretty sure it would probably try to eat me if it had a chance. I don’t want to be eaten today?” There was a lemur somewhere nearby, Bly could hear it and they were starting to think this wasn’t an event. “Do you think we should like call the government or something?”

Sai ran up to one of the zoo employees that’d been rather nonchalantly pursuing the escaping animals, recognizing their striped uniform and panda hat. “I’m sorry… sir did you ..” he panted hands on his knees. “See which …way…the …goats..went?” 

The Quiet Panda Fan regarded Sai expressionlessly for a time. Eyes with strange white pupils and black irises, contacts no doubt, seemed to bore into some deep place inside of the wizard. The Panda Fan turned and walked into an alley out of sight. 

“Oh thanks!” Sai followed after, thinking Ibulba and the goat exodus had run into a dead end. He walked into the alley only to watch the Panda fan be torn apart by some unseen force, sinews, sin, and fuzzy panda kitsch unraveling into a haze of hair-thin black and white strands. The pale and dark flesh-ribbons swirled around Sai like a school of curious Koi fish before slithering onto the walls of the alley. Black and white murals of zebras, penguins, pandas danced beneath a picture of a black sun with white rays all over the alley walls. Above it all were the words “BENEATH THE LOATHSOME NOISE OF LIFE, BLESSED SILENCE WAITS.”

Sai swallowed as he stared, but thankfully Morgan's voice called out from somewhere on the street. “Uh…uh, yes! Yes I can help,” the wizard shouted, running aware from the black and white murals now adorning the alley bricks.

Forming into a ball to protect Yuca and their face, Metzli heard Nell call out her question. They answered in a frustrated huff, “Does it look like a have a fucking box?!” Swatting away with an arm they growled and hit several of the few sprites picking at them, even managing to grab one and bite its head off without a second thought. 

Somewhere, in the distance, screaming could be heard. A waddle of penguins had just stolen a man’s coffee.

“I think it’s cute,” Bex had said when Morgan insisted Sundew didn’t need to read every sign possible as they strolled downtown. She was like a toddler, learning to read for the first time, and eager to show off and prove to people how smart they were. Bex gave Sundew a smile, and a quiet wink when Morgan stopped and Bex nearly ran into her. In the street, a zebra trotted by, and for a moment, Bex wasn’t sure she was seeing things right. She rubbed her eyes, looked between the animal and Morgan, snapping to and realizing it was, in fact, real, when she called out to Sai. What was he doing here? Why was there a zebra downtown? But as she looked around, she noticed more animals roaming the streets and took off in a trot after Morgan. “What’s going on-- what is that?” Wide curious eyes, not sure if she was supposed to panic or be of help somehow.

The anteater? Pig? shaped animal slowed to a trot in front of Chloe, then snuffled at a nearby plant pot full of purple gardenias, its long nose prodding and poking at the flowers. Skeptically, Chloe bristled the umbrella at it, not trusting that anything this innocuous looking could truly be innocuous. Someone yelled at her and she tore away her eyes from the creature for a second to look at the young woman. “Uh!” She yelled back, looking at her trolley full of groceries, before remembering that she’d packed some extra reusable cotton bags in case she bought more. Turning her gaze back to the animal that was now happily monching on the flowers, she pulled out the reusable bags. “Will these do? What is going on??”

Alcher regarded the tiger that was pointed out with a placid expression. “She is beautiful, isn’t she?” The child was complaining, and they smelled so human, it made Alcher’s nose crinkle through the scents of animals free from their prisons. “You do not know that. Not all animals are vicious and want to eat everything.” A shrug, and she was strolling away from them and into the street. “What good can men in suits do? I say enjoy the show, kinder, perhaps it is a free one.” 

Nell growled in frustration as the first person proved useless, though she supposed they were busy protecting their cat. Fine. As always, she’d have to do it herself. But then another woman procured a plastic bag, and there was hope for the people of the world and their abilities to respond to a crisis once again. “It’s gonna have to do!” Nell said while reaching out for the bags, already thinking of a spell she could use to make them stronger, harder to be torn apart by little sprite hands. “Looks like a jail break,” Nell replied dryly, recognizing some of the animals from the zoo.

The tiger could smell her prey in the distance. It was near a group of the two legged creatures, those humans who locked her in behind those bars and watched her. Now, she watched them. Now, they would not separate her from her meal. She moved forward with the confidence of a prisoner released from her cage after too long. Like a prisoner, she wanted a good meal, and she wanted it fresh. One of the humans, a strange smelling one, one that did not seem human at all, regarded her, and so the tiger returned the look only for a moment. She was so hungry. She would eat.

The sprites became preoccupied by Nell’s trapping attempt, giving Metzli enough time to get up and run off with Yuca in their arms. That’s when they saw the rest of the animals roaming about the street. Zebras, tigers, and several others. Supernatural others. “Whoa…” They said, amazed and confused. “What is happ—” They were interrupted by running into someone, and that someone was Morgan. 

“My familiar is criminal,” declared Sai mournfully as he reached Morgan, Bex, and another clumsy person,  face flushed from a long sprint down several streets.

“I guess?” Bly had to admit it did make sense that animals didn’t always want to eat people. Still… They didn’t want to test it. “They might get hurt if we don’t help them though! A tiger or a zebra isn’t going to do well in Maine. It’s cold here.” Then the tiger was looking at them and Bly was pretty thankful they didn’t pee themself. They slowly inched behind the intense lady, “I don’t like this. Making eye contact with a tiger is a bad idea!”

Sundew had never dreamed of a more perfect day. The humans looked so silly with their faces like that and one of them made the funniest sound when a fluffy cloud of sprites swarmed and picked at her nisty-nasty hair. 

Sundew flew out of her hiding spot on Morgan’s shoulder and conjured a mallet just her size between her fingers. She bonked the human running toward them to help, then she flew toward the sprites, cackling, “Yes! Yes! Cage-free chaos!” Then she flew to the nearest human and bit their hand and left the image of a lion paw on their wrist instead. “Woopsie! Better get that checked out! I hope your premiums are good!”

Morgan looked from Sundew, to Sai, to Bex, to the zebra, and back again. There were people losing their coffee, people losing their sanity, Nell and Chloe maybe doing something clever with a plastic bag, and it was all too much. 

“What do you mean criminal?” She cried. “Did Ibulba do this?” Normally this would’ve been outrageous but nothing was outrageous today. The zebra bared his teeth and Morgan jumped back and ran into someone else. 

“Oh, hi. Nice day for a walk, huh? You really might wanna consider going anywhere else right now.” Then she saw Sundew fluttering back their way with a familiar, dangerous look on her face. “Or better yet, get down! This really isn’t safe for anyone!”

Chloe eyed the animal chewing on the plants, itching around it carefully. When she looked up at Nell again, she frowned, finally realising that the ungulate creature wasn’t the only thing running around. All of the animals were black and white, and despite the havoc they were creating, they were much quieter than a normal stampede. “Are you going to use a bag to try and stop-” Chloe gestured at the skunks, snakes and single cow, as well as the terrifying creature beside them. Its nose was too long and flexible. She didn’t trust it.

Bex glanced between Sai and Morgan. Sai seemed breathless and Morgan seemed panicked and Sundew was off making trouble with some small, butterfly-looking creatures that seemed to like her. As far as animal handling went, Bex had rolled low, she’d never been around animals in her life, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know anything about them. The zebra brayed at them and she scooted behind Morgan as well, when someone bumped into them. A familiar someone. 

“Metzli??” she breathed, raising a brow. Why were they here? It was still daytime! “Oh, watchout!” She called, tugging on their arm as Sundew whizzed toward them, ready to spread more antics. “Sundew, no, please!” she tried. The pixie rarely listened to Bex, even though she often let them braid her hair in the garden and laugh about silly pixie things.

Nell shook her head while she mumbled a quick spell under her breath, and the cotton bag stiffened into something much harder. “What?” she asked with vague annoyance on her features while she tried to figure out how to herd the sprites into the bag. “You want me to use the bag on the tapir?” That was the long-nosed thing standing next to Chloe, right? She remembered seeing them in the jungles of South America. “If you wanna keep it as a pet you’re gonna have to use something else. Maybe think of a name for it first. But no- this is for them!” she replied, gesturing towards the swarm of pixies.

“Maybe? I don’t know? She is aiding and abetting it at least, and her unluck is very powerful ,” Sai confessed glumly, as if somehow convinced his magic goat would be put on trial for zoo escapes.

It was too late, Metzli was knocked to the ground and Yuca yelled out in terror. She almost ran off, but they managed to grab her leash and pull her back in as they got to their feet. They were too frantic between the chaos and trying to get into some shade. “Oh. Hi Bex!” They said in a daze and ran under a nearby canopy for protection with Yuca in their arms once again. Her hackles were raised and she was growling. 

Leah watched from across the street as a panda bear chewed on pages from a book, and that was the last straw.  Chaos and carnage she could let go, but book destruction?  Unacceptable.  She stomped across the street toward the bear, taking a deep breath to settle herself as she went.

The tiger and her gorgeous coat stopped to regard Alcher for a moment, and what a sight she was. Alcher simply stood and admired her back, giving a nod. She didn’t need help stalking her prey, but the proud zebra had strutted further down the street and seemed to be oblivious to the chaos it had caused, if maybe proud. Alcher could relate. She would want to kill it, too. Perhaps it would taste sweet, like the smell of fae hanging in the air. Fae blood was a treasure for someone like Alcher, though she did not indulge often-- fae held grudges, fae remembered, fae had magic she didn’t want to mess with. Alcher turned to beckon to the child, whose worry was palpable. “I think they’ll do just fine. Keep up, if you don’t want to be the next meal.”

The lemurs began jumping on people, using their little hands to flip people off. They’d learned things during school field trips.

Sundew would later tell her troop that she’d made fifty humans think they were turning into animals even if it was only more like ten. 

“Can’t catch me!” She giggled, whizzing by Bex. She pulled on the girl’s hair as hard as she could, humans were so silly when they weeble-wobbled, and did several circles in the air to show how much she was enjoying herself. She circled around to where the sprites were clustering and touched her toes to the tops of their heads as she crowed, “Fly my pretties, fly!” Just to get them good and riled up. 

The zebra in front of Morgan pulled its ears back and huffed silently, then, swift as chaos, it reared and lunged at Morgan, knocking her down as it pranced toward freedom. Morgan wheezed, wincing as her chest bent back into the right shape, and looked ahead into the thick cluster of goats and animals. “What I’m hearing, Sai, is that this is only gonna get worse until we find your goat. And so we gotta—“ she gestured vaguely at the mess brewing in front of them. “Find her?”

A tall jogger sighed and scooped up a grizzly bear cub that’d been making excited friendly noises at the bibio-voric panda bear and had begun to imitate to see if human literature was indeed delicious. “No Zeke,” Roy sighed, chiding his youngest sibling. “We can’t play with cousin right now.”

Bly’s mouth was dry, this lady just nodded at the tiger. The tiger who was hunting was nodded at by a Lady who didn’t seem to care. Their fingers drummed a rhythm against their sternum, drowning out the pounding underneath it. “You think it might be hungry after a different meal?” Their voice was reaching a scared squeaking pitch. “Should I call my mom?”

“No! I thought you wanted to use the bag on the tapir! It looks shifty!” Chloe yelled back, eyeing it suspiciously again. “I don’t want it as a pet!” All bickering about the tapir faded away as she saw the sprites twisting around in the air. Chloe froze, shrinking in on herself as she clutched her iron necklace her breath racing. “I- I can’t- I can’t I can’t-” She handed Nell an iron necklace with a long iron chain on it, fingers trembling as she pressed her back against the wall. Please don’t notice me, please don’t notice me, she thought as loud as she could.

Bex recoiled. “See if I ever share my gummies with you again!” she growled at the pixie as she incited a rebellion among the butterfly beings. Her eyes roamed again until she found Metzli under a canopy, cradling their cat. “Maybe you should get out of here? Your cat seems angry and scared and I think it’s just gonna get um--” she glanced back at Morgan, the zebra, wincing at the hit, refraining from calling out to her-- “worse.” She waved her hands a moment. “At least stay here! I’ll be back.” She backed away, then, and made her way over to Sai. “Which way did she go? Can you, like, track her?” She tried to think of a way for herself to be useful, but barring becoming a distraction, she couldn’t think of much. “Maybe we should split up?”

The tiger was close enough, now, her prey nearly in her mouth it was so close. She looked to the human that did not smell like a human, to the cub human next to her. They were not important. One did not smell like prey, and the other was too small to worry with. The tiger had her prey. She looked back at it and let out a silent snarl. Sound had not come out of her, not anymore. Not since she had been locked behind those bars, since the colors in her fur dripped from her like rain water. She lunged, teeth and claws sinking into the hind end of her prey. It, too, could not properly cry out. The tiger finally had her meal.

“She probably wants to take the petting zoo goats to the farm,” Sai said, watching with wide eyes as Morgan went from definitely dead to bodily wholeness in the span of seconds. “Which…would mean I’d be harboring stolen property aw shit noooooo!”

Bea heard the yells before she saw anything out of the ordinary. All she had wanted was to buy a bottle of wine and have a bubble bath tonight. Sighing, the witch cracked open a bottle, screw top, Thank God, and took a sip. She saw her sister doing something and determined it was likely best to go help her. “Hey, Nellie,” She said casually as she offered the bottle to her sister. “Who let the animals out of the zoo?”

The tiger took its prey and Alcher grinned. The young human was panicking and she rolled her eyes. “What good would that do? If you want to survive, you must think smarter.” She didn’t know why she was even bothering with this human child, but she didn’t know how to walk away anymore. She’d grown...soft. Shuddering, Alcher turned away. She could smell them on the air, her cousins. They were traveling together and were getting closer. She had been waiting for this. It was time to make a new home for them. “Come,” she ushered to the child, “I want to show you something.” 

Nell shot the other woman an incredulous look, sparing the black and white tapir once more glance before calling back to her in exasperation. “It’s a vegetarian!” The witch couldn’t remember the fancy name for ‘plant-eater’ right now. She wasn’t sure what to make of the blond’s alarm, but it only took Nell a moment to recognize the iron that had been deposited into her hand. She still didn’t want to kill the things...but maybe she could use this to herd them. It covered more ground than her knife, anyway. Swinging the chain above her head in a wide circle, Nell moved towards the sprites with her bag in the other hand. “Get!” she yelled out of instinct, as if she were wrangling some particularly rowdy cattle. “Into the bag and I won’t singe your wings off!” Bea? What the hell? Where had Bea come from? “I don’t know who let them out. Would you care to help get them back in?”

Miriam had decided to go for a walk, her skin mostly covered as she wore a large sun hat and glasses, looking for a meal before she headed back home. She was drawn to an intense amount of misery and pain, despair coming from a particular area of town. She was curious, this much concentrated agony unusual. “That little fucker waddled away with my cappuccino!” was all Miriam heard as she stumbled upon, well, a herd. All sorts of wildlife ran amok, and she blinked against the sight of it. She should turn around. She was going to turn around. This was just a little much for even her.

Mom always said not to lose your head. She also always said that letting strangers show you things would often end up poorly. Bly had already lost their head, might as well let a stranger show them something. Plus, she wasn’t scared and it was a good idea to be with someone who wasn’t losing their shit. “Uh, yeah sure? Is it another tiger cus I’m not sure if I can deal with that. Especially after witnessing that…” They trailed off looking at the tiger feasting, it made their stomach turn.

Of course Yuca was upset, her predators were roaming about and Metzli could do close to nothing to help as long as the sun was around. People were running and screaming as they glared quietly. They opted to simply threaten, baring their teeth in a predatory show of dominance under the safety of the shadows, petting Yuca and cooing at her every so often. They needed just a little more time before they were able to bolt back home. 

The wine was ignored and Bea let out a little huff through her nose. She wouldn’t offer next time then. Screwing the top back on, she placed the bottle back into her tote bag gingerly. It was a pretty nice wine. “Direct me, Nell. I don’t exactly have experience in this.” If Nell wasn’t here, deep in the fray like she always was, Bea might have considered leaving, but her sister was and so Bea couldn’t leave. “What are you going to do with the bag after you get them?”

The  sprites were only too happy to listen to Sundew. With a cascade of hissing and fluttering they rose, spread and circled the room. When the iron started flying into their cluster, their humming grew louder. Yes, it was going to be a cutting kind of day after all. 

Morgan nodded along to Sai’s words. “Mkay. No one is harboring stolen animals. Petting zoo. We got this. We totally got this.” She stood slowly and staggered forward. But maybe, uh—” Morgan didn’t want to broadcast that she couldn’t remember what Ibulba looked like under these circumstances, but just then, every fluffy goat in the distance looked the same. “A description so we can all be equally aware and prepared would help!” She nodded encouragingly, then stuck her hand into her bag and took out a snack to eat on her way to the goats. 

Alcher walked through the animals as they gave her a wide berth, especially those one might consider prey. Even in this form, they could sense what she was and she moved like a fish through water, smooth and gliding, the child in tow. Good, they’d decided to follow. She made her way down the alley and towards the edge of the streets, where it met fields of grass and eventually grew into trees. She looked back at the child. “Not a tiger, no,” she pointed at the pack of only black and white wolves, stalking the edge of the forest. They, too, had found prey, and Alcher was eager to watch. “Watch how nature truly works. This is what the world makes of those who are weak.” Of those who are prey, like little human children. 

“Everything here is weirdly quiet and mime shaped so the tapir probably eats hearts on the DL!” Chloe yelled back. When she noticed the sprites, her body trembled, remembering the time she’d seen them swarm and slaughter a nearby bird. The other thing she’d learned was that wherever there were sprites, there were pixies lording over them like a bite sized monarch. She shied further back into the street, terrified to get any closer, when suddenly the sprites grew more and more energetic, spreading out and urging into a frenzy. One zipped inches from Chloe’s face as she choked on the kind of scream banned by fae promise, unable to  do so much as swat them away. “Maybe- maybe- maybe something sweet!” Fae were renowned for their sweet tooths, she knew.

Sai shoved a hand in his pocket and grabbed a handful of Parmesan cheese from the baggie in there. He covertly held the Parmesan flat on his hand while moving closer to Morgan to screen the cheese from view. The Tyromancer murmured a few phrases under his breath and the cheese grains shaped themselves into a moving perfect replica of the black horned Scapegoat. “That's her”

Bro, Mom was one hundred percent right. This was a bad idea. A messed up teaching moment. The dizziness wasn’t fading as Bly looked over the scene that this woman had lead them too. “I really, really prefer when I see nature working through a documentary.” Why had they had coffee today? That always made their anxiety spike and their anxiety was already spoke. “I mean this is metal as fuck, like maybe you should write for horror movies, but I’m not a prey animal? I’m not going to be in situations like this very often and a pack of wolves isn’t going to eat me. I’m not weak. Or like I’m not usually weak?”

Bex watched in awe as Sai shaped the cheese, a bit gleeful at the creation of it. She wondered if one day she could do something like that. Maybe not with cheese. Definitely not with cheese. She glanced up and squinted down the street towards where Morgan was headed, the heard of goats far enough away to look like a stripe of cotton on the horizon. “Okay,” she nodded and started off across the street, looking both ways and letting a heard of quick moving raccoons scuttle down the road towards the alleys before turning to head up the sidewalk. She spotted Nell and Bea and another woman dealing with the sprites and decided it was probably better to not disturb them, pulling her own magic to the edge of her fingertips in case she’d need it. “Ibulba!” she called out as she got closer, “I’ve got um-- apples for you!” Goats liked apples, right?

Nell patience was worn thin. She already had so little of it to begin with, especially these days in the wake of everything that had happened over the past few months. Without warning she whipped the iron chain hard and fast enough to slice clean through a swath of the sprites, killing them instantly as their burned halves fell to the ground. “Get in the bag while you still can.” Again it had come to violence. Was this what she was supposed to be doing? Killing sprites and helping people? But the sprites weren’t being helped. The reason she couldn’t be worthy in the way Dave had said— was it because she’d never been able to solve things without adding more violence? Trying to shake her head of the thoughts she spoke again to Bea. “I’m gonna put them in the bag and glue them to the fucking ground. Then I’ll deal with them after.” Bea wanted direction. The biggest threat was the tiger, though she seemed happy now that she’d gotten her meal. “Just herd the animals back towards the zoo. Starting with this guy-” Nell nodded in the tapir’s direction. “A shadow leash or something.” The blond’s continued fear drew Nell’s attention, and she didn’t hesitate to dissect the sprite into two, the necklace swinging inches from the woman’s face. 

Alcher frowned and turned to look back at the child, golden eyes reflecting sunlight in a way human ones could not. “Oh, but you are, child,” was all she said, before she moved forward swiftly and finally ripped free of her human flesh. She wanted to join the pack, the ache of needing one too hard to resist. 

There was finally a chance, a chance to run in the midst of the chaos. Everyone was doing their best to do a multitude of things. Stop the chaos, run from the chaos, and even ensuing more chaos. Normally, Metzli would be excited by their own dangerous plans, but they would never dare risk Yuca’s life like that. And so they ran as fast as they could, inconspicuously. Running past Bex, they pulled her to the side as an ostrich that was running next to them nearly trampled her. “Watch your back!” They yelled as they continued to run, and get the fuck away from the fun. It was fun they were willing to miss out on. “This doesn’t mean I like you though!” Their voice trailed off into the distance as they finally escaped with Yuca. Passing by Bly and taking the chance for a little chaos. “Watch out. There’s a leopard behind you…!” Even yelling “Made you look!” As they continued. 

Ibulba was watching approvingly as the quiet petting zoo goats tore through an upscale clothing store. Stalls and hangers toppled inside the store, the destruction escalating in unlikely domino effects as some unseen force seemed to play havoc with probability. Ibulba and several other goats were munching on a delicious Marie-Chantal Miller wedding dress they’d pulled out from the shattered viewing window. But her ears perked up at her name. 

Ibulba turned to face the familiar she-human who was holding an apple to her. Ibubla turned back to look, and saw the sacking of the silky human-covering place was well in hand. She trotted over to Bex, seeming at home in the surrounding anarchy, and took a prospective bite of the apple.

Bex stumbled when Metzli whizzed by her, yanking her out of the path of a storming ostrich. Scrunching her nose, she shouted back, “Yes you do!” before she reached her destination and found the clothing store in utter disarray. Well...most of the dresses were tacky, anyway. She wondered if expensive clothing tasted better than bargain bin. But Ibulba was happily trotting over to her and she held out the apple she’d had in her bag and reached out to pat her head. “Hey there,” she said casually, smiling at her. “Sai’s kinda worried about you, ya know. Can you go back to him? I think he really needs your help.” From what Bex had seen of her, and knew of her, she was fiercely protective of her spellcaster. It was the bond between familiar and caster Nell had told Bex about, and she couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. “Besides, looks like your friends’ve got everything under control here.” 

Shadow leash. Bea could handle that, and she could start gathering a decent amount of animals with her as she went with them. “Alright. I’ll be back when I can okay.” It was good to see Nell take charge. There was energy in her voice, a commanding tone that had been missing. “You’re doing a good job,” She said offhandedly as she subtly made a shadow leash for the tapir. The animal moved uncomfortably as it realized what she had done but she was already walking along, forcing him to follow.

VOMIT TW BEGIN

This was it, this lady was a serial killer and Bly was about to be a victim. Then her skin… changed and there was a wolf in her place and finally that bile that had been working it’s way up erupted, Bly choking on it as they let out a surprised wail. As they spit it up into the grass, someone screamed about a leopard and it took all Bly’s strength to sprint away as fast as they could. They were pretty sure they had screamed, but they were running to fast to know what left them as they reentered the chaos. 

VOMIT TW END

Morgan had just enough calm to take note of the image without choking on her fried brains. “Beautiful,” she deadpanned, and shambled with Bex toward that goat.

Sundew flew somersaults into the air, faster and faster, speeding toward the ground. A big black and white furry creature sneezed and swatted at her and sent her veering off course, into Morgan’s head. 

Morgan caught the pixie in the palm of her hand. She had a few irritated words lined up and ready to go when a hundred little cuts pinged on her head and back. The sprites, scattering from the threat of iron, had landed on her, and had decided to take out their aggression on her body. Morgan lurched away from Bex and Ibulba and fell on her knees.

“What was that for?” Sundew asked. She had fully expected to meet the eternal pixie night after that swipe, but the dummy boob had caught her on purpose and for absolutely no trade at all. 

Morgan was a little occupied with being bitten by angry sprites. She gave Sundew a dirty glare, so clear even the pixie knew what had to be done. She gave a whistle and ordered the sprites to go home. “There, are you happy now, Dummy Boob?” She asked. 

Morgan looked around, dazed and bleary eyed. “You know…maybe yeah,” she said dryly. “Come on. I’ve got a real live bad luck goat for you to meet. And a big ol farm she needs to go home to.”

From an alley, a friend was watching. It was not seen. It was not heard. But it was watching. Perhaps it, too, would one day find a companion to romp through the streets and eat with.

While the sprites rammed into Morgan, Nell saw red. With another uttering of her magic, and a tug on the bond that linked her and the witch’s familiar, Taki was blipping into existence at her side, as easily summoned as breathing air after nearly a decade of doing it. “Roast them,” she told Taki, waiting for the fiery inferno of his breath to make barbecue out of the bothersome pint-sized fae. “Morgan, duck!” A swath of flames erupted from the Ovinikk’s mouth before Nell could realize the sprites were retreating on the orders of Sundew— and the stragglers of the pack screeched as they were set ablaze. 

Ibulba closed her amber eyes and concentrated for a moment. She could feel her partner’s mounting anxiety from here. When Ibubla was still a kid,  she’d been presented with a young he-human. He suffered from convulsions and visions, but Ibulba has souldbounded with him nevertheless, discerning that his gentleness and diligence would provide balance to her chaos. Ibulba reached through the bond and found her human partner. 

Ibulba opened her eyes, munching pensively on the apple while nodding for Bex to follow. Several petting zoo goats looked up questioningly, but Ibulba knew she’d done what she could. They must find their own freedom and delicious silky snacks now. She had a hyperventilating partner to attend to. 

Ibulba wove her way unerringly through the stampedes, seeming to navigate through some superior sense of probability. She occasionally checked to see if Bex was following. Eventually she sprinted straight into her caster’s embrace, allowing him to bury his face and mumble inane worried things into her wooly fur.

Relieved, Bex followed Ibulba back to Sai, who grabbed her and hugged her so gratefully, it was as if they’d been parted for years. Or, perhaps, that their distance had pained him. She heard Nell’s familiar voice, too, and looked up from Sai and Ibulba, watching as Taki opened his mouth and let out a roar of flames. Something heavy fell in Bex’s stomach as she heard the anguished cries of the small butterfly critters. Winced and looked away, deciding that keeping her focus on Sai and Ibulba was the best idea. “C’mon, we should maybe get her back to the farm,” she ushered, looking back over her shoulder at Nell and wondering if she noticed her, too. She looked angry. Bex wished she could reach out with her own magic and help calm her down, but that wasn’t within her grasp yet. She patted Ibulba’s head again and smiled at Sai as best she could. “Maybe invest in a leash, too,” she teased.

There was little left of the tiger’s prey as her stomach became overly full. Still, it was so good, so fresh. She would not waste it. And, as the humans’ sounds grew louder, she would not be caught again. No more cages. No more bars. Only fresh, warm prey. She grabbed what was left by its leg and began dragging it off, away from the noise. She would finish it later, after some peace and quiet and freedom.

“T-t-the tiger,” one of the zoo keepers, scrawny and trembling and a voice that was beginning to fail every few words, managed to say. They were a new hire. They’d find their words eventually. Or perhaps lose them. They pointed in the direction of where the tiger had gone, but it was too late to go after her with all the other chaos on the loose. They would have to follow the blood smears and hope it led them to her. After all, how hard would it be to locate a white tiger?

It was all gloved hands on deck as the rest of the zoo keepers, along with some of White Crest’s finest joined together with tranquilizers and began systematically and, for the most part, silently dispatching animals to get them sent back to the zoo. It would be hard work, but it would be done.

While the tiger wandered off, Anara Kingston took inventory of the wreckage that had been done to the front of her bistro, the lemurs that were still flipping the bird to anyone who so much as glanced in their direction, and the actual birds that were fluttering around with teeth that looked a little too human. Hold on. Birds didn’t have teeth, did they? It didn’t matter anymore. With a resigned sigh she turned back towards the sign she’d been so proud to display, sullenly erasing the number on it, changing it to read ‘0 days since last accident.’

[forevercloudnine]

batman forever riddlebat ship meme

(This one was inevitable. God, do I love this movie. @heroes-etc​ gave me questions from this ship meme.)

2. Who is the most insecure and what makes them feel better?

The obvious answer here is Edward because he is... clearly and pathologically insecure in his identity and requiring outside approval. You could argue he gets over this once he adopts his flamboyant supervillain identity, but as soon as he steps out of it to be Edward Nygma again he’s as self-conscious as ever. On some level his Bruce cosplay at the Nygmatech party is probably supposed to be a dig at his former idol, but it’s pretty transparent that he’s paranoid about not measuring up, especially once Bruce actually walks in.

As for what makes him feel better, two obvious high points of his self-esteem right off the bat (lol) are when Bruce is giving him positive attention in his intro scene, and directly afterwards when he’s murdering his boss for ragging on him.

Of course, neither external validation or murder is, like, a permanent solution to insecurity. Obviously. If they ever got together Bruce would probably make him go to therapy, which would be incredibly hypocritical because, as Dr. Meridian points out in this movie, that’s not exactly something Bruce is doing. Although in Bruce’s defense, if you count the novelizations as canon for this continuity, the psychiatrist Alfred hired for him as a child basically wrote him off as a lost cause that was going to inevitably self-destruct at some point in adulthood. So I can see why he’d think therapy isn’t for him. 

"Young Bruce may seem quite the stalwart, but there’s still a child beneath that veneer of calm acceptance [...] The day will come when that veneer crumbles, and the boy reacts to the memory of his ordeal. Such matters may be postponed, but not indefinitely. And the longer this one is delayed, the greater the damage will be to his psyche.”

“Still,” Alfred pressed. “How do you think this will all come out? Off the record, if you prefer.”

Another pause. “I am not terribly optimistic,” the stout man admitted. “But I assure you, I will do my best.”

Alternatively, Bruce just lets Edward borrow his clothes and calls it a day. It’s less time consuming than therapy and both the movie and novelization demonstrate how into that Edward is.

He was murmuring to himself, “We’ll probably be dining at Wayne Manor together.” He envisioned Bruce sitting across from him, and began to launch into a narrative [...] “Yes. Yes. A Party in my honor? I should have rented a tuxedo. What?” he couldn’t believe it, “One of yours, Bruce?” He gave it a moment’s thought and then shrugged. “Why not? We are the same size.”

3. Who is the most romantic?

 Uh, not Bruce! Batman Forever is the most thoughtfully romantic he gets in the entire series, and even here his only two dates ideas are “whatever Gotham social event my secretary tells me I need a date for” and “coming on to my date in my alternate identity to see if she loves me enough not to cheat on me with Batman.” Also, he vacillates between staunchly refusing to do any flirting at all and dishing out the least romantic pick-up lines possible.

You say “bad writing,” I say “totally in character for a hot rich guy who knows that this is as hard as he has to try to get into someone’s pants.” Bruce might love his partner with the intensity of a thousand dying suns, but he’s still sending Alfred to buy all their Valentine’s Day presents. His idea of a romantic evening for two is finally trusting someone enough to tell them his secret identity. If he’s done that already, or they already figured it out, then his playbook is over. That’s clearly the only romantic fantasy he’s ever allowed himself.  

(I was going to say he does this once every movie, but he actually never does this in Batman & Robin specifically because he doesn’t actually care about Julie Madison. She proposes to him and he gets her name wrong while shooting her down. Add that to the “Bruce Wayne isn’t romantic” box.)

The ridiculous amount of magazine cut-outs populating Edward’s apartment indicates that he probably has a very vibrant and extensive set of fantasies involving Bruce, which is hinted at a couple times in the novelization.

Edward would certainly know him when he saw him. He’d spent enough time anticipating the moment, after all [...] Finally he was going to be meeting Bruce Wayne face-to-face, and he had every moment of the encounter scripted [...] He’d rehearsed it to perfection in his mind for weeks upon months.

In the grand scheme of things... in the fabulous, sweeping, intertwining destinies of Bruce Wayne and Edward Nygma, such a slip would not even rate a footnote.

He becomes suddenly and painfully aware that if Bruce Wayne walked away without Edward Nygma by his side, then that would be it. It would be finished. All these weeks, months... indeed, a lifetime of planning... and it was crumbling under him just like that.

Of course, that doesn’t necessarily mean his fantasies are all romantic in the traditional sense of the word. This is a man who was charmed by Harvey holding a charity circus hostage with some kind of graffitied missile warhead. Tonally, there’s not even that much of a difference between his crush collages and his riddle death threats.

What’s weirder, using a magazine cutout of someone you hate to make a pop-up card of their face, or using a magazine cutout of someone you love to replace the anatomically correct heart in the cardiovascular system diagram you keep in your apartment/arcade/makeshift laboratory? Probably the former, since it was made with the express purpose of Bruce actually seeing it. Although presumably Edward was planning on taking Bruce to his apartment at some point? And in the novelization, he actually drags Bruce into his cubicle to look at his Wayne Shrine.

He grabbed Bruce’s arms and shouted “No, don’t leave me! I need you!” [...] Bruce was thunderstruck as he was pulled partway into Edward’s office... and then he caught sight of the shrine. 

Edwards’s head bobbed eagerly. Now, finally, Bruce would understand the depth of Nygma’s devotion to his idol. He would see how important he was to Nygma.

Notably, the only thing that upsets Bruce about the fact that one of his employees has a serial killer wall dedicated to him at their work station (@heroes-etc: realistically.... IS this the first time this has happened? i doubt it.) is the fact that the shrine includes a picture of him taken directly after his parents’ death, which is obviously a huge trigger for Bruce’s PTSD.

Wayne’s gaze zeroed in on the picture of himself as a young man. 

The eyes of Wayne the elder locked with Wayne the younger, and when he slowly turned his scrutiny back to Edward Nygma, Edward could feel the temperature in the cubicle drop to subzero.

Later, once Bruce isn’t being actively reminded of the most traumatizing day of his life, he reflects that he could probably relate to Edward’s specific brand of crazy, and hopes that it’s not too late to try again (it is).

He paused momentarily at Edward Nygma’s cubicle, thinking about the intensity he’d seen in the man’s eyes the other day. Nygma’s ideas might have been a bit odd, but that sort of passion—if properly channeled—could accomplish miracles. That was something Bruce Wayne certainly knew better than anyone else. Perhaps after this fiasco was the time to take Nygma aside under less-pressured circumstances. Start again...

With any other character, I would call bull on their being this unphased by someone being obsessed enough with them to build a stalker shrine, but, like. It’s Batman. He probably has a stalker shrine to Michelle Pfeiffer Catwoman in his cave somewhere. When they start dating, Edward mails the weirdest magazine cutout valentines to his office on the regular, and every time Bruce has to assure his staff that it’s not a ransom letter and it’s just “his boyfriend being romantic.”

9. What is the most embarrassing thing they have done in front of each other?

I mean, by most people’s standards, any one of the things that Edward does in front of Bruce could easily be the most embarrassing thing to happen to them in their lifetime. But for the most part, Edward seems blissfully free of that kind of self-consciousness. He accidentally introduces himself to Bruce as “[extended moaning sound] Bruce Wayne” and shakes it off without even registering his mistake. Even when he feels like Bruce has rejected him and his project, his emotional state is more shocked, saddened, and angry than it is ashamed. He does apologize to Bruce, during the scene where they first meet, for holding on to his hand too long during their handshake. And by “handshake” I mean that Bruce extends his hand to be shaken, and Edward just grabs on and holds it without any motion whatsoever for the entire first half of their conversation. Which might be the only time he ever apologizes in the entire movie. So I’ll say that was his moment of embarrassment.

Bruce only really embarrasses himself in front of Alfred, but Edward does manage to trick Bruce into getting scanned by his mind reading device at the Nygmatech party. Being tricked in general would be pretty awkward for Bruce, since this movie goes out of its way to show the audience how SMART and CLEVER and KNOWLEDGEABLE ABOUT BRAINWAVES Bruce is at every opportunity. But being tricked into getting your mind read is about a million times more embarrassing than just running into a wall like some kind of Looney Tune. Obviously having access to Bruce’s mind allows Edward to figure out that his former boss/current obsessee is Batman, but also it’s just got to be super weird in there. Bruce is a bizarre man.  

12. What first changes when it starts getting serious?

Whether he’s idolizing Bruce or plotting his destruction, Edward is still seeing the subject of his lifelong obsession as a larger than life exaggeration of the real man. Some of that pedestal would probably survive into the beginning of a romantic relationship, but by the time they got serious Edward would have had to recognize that Bruce has both positive and negative traits. He would also have had to grapple with the fact that the man he once assumed would make everything in his life better is a lot of work to be around, especially in this movie’s continuity where the trauma of his family’s death and his guilt over allowing enemies like Joker to die are genuinely affecting Bruce’s day-to-day functionality.

(A lot of things, Chase.)

Edward’s introduction scene demonstrates that he doesn’t see Bruce as having these kinds of problems. His Escapism Wish Fulfillment Device TM is clearly a very personal project for him, since he, you know. Is kind of already living in a Bruce-centric fantasy world.

When he’s pitching it to Bruce, however, he states that he doesn’t think someone like Bruce would ever need to escape reality (which could just be ingratiating flattery, but he barely seems aware of what he’s saying at the time because he’s too busy staring with his mouth open at Bruce putting on glasses).

(Side note: an interjection from @heroes-etc​

Anyway, moving on.)

Obviously we know he’s wrong, since Bruce escapes his reality every night by dressing up like a bat and scaring people. Normally that’s just subtext (or me being cynical and creating subtext), but Batman Forever introduced a hot psychiatrist who is constantly poking at Batman for being a power fantasy created by a traumatized mind to cope with intense feelings of helplessness in childhood. 

 The novelization makes it clear that it’s not the illusion of perfection that Edward is attracted to, however. The picture of Bruce in Crime Alley is what kickstarts Edward’s obsession, not because Bruce seemed flawless but because he seemed to be going through similar pain as Edward (whatever Edward’s pain even IS in this continuity). So I think recognizing Bruce’s issues would be less of a dealbreaker and more of a point of connection, were they to get serious.

He saw, there in Bruce Wayne’s face, an intensity that mirrored his own. An anger, a frustration at the hand that fate had dealt him. There were no tears on Bruce’s face. Instead there was a smoldering intelligence that Edward intuitively sensed was on par with his own. 

There was something in Bruce’s eyes, something in that gaze. There was Bruce, in a moment of raw emotion, his parents just having been cruelly taken from him. And there was no self-pity. Just cold, hard anger.

[...] Ed still had the newspaper with him when he was walking home from school. Not that he needed it to read; the contents were safely locked away in his skull, thanks to his photographic memory. But he wanted to clip out the articles and pictures about Bruce Wayne. He found the young man fascinating, as if he had discovered a soulmate of sorts.

For Bruce, on the other hand, getting serious presumably just means attempting to include Edward more and more in the found family he builds in the latter half of the 90’s Batman movies. Alfred approving a love interest is not quite as tantamount in this continuity as it is sometimes (Micheal Gough Alfred is pretty laid back), but Bruce is still spending all of his non-Batman, non-socialite time with his butler. So if Edward wants to hang out with Bruce, he has to either get on Alfred’s good side or prepare for a lot of “romantic quality time” where his boyfriend’s dad is glaring at him from the background.

Dick is less important to get on the good side of, since he and Bruce argue all the time in these movies (apparently one of the proposed scripts for Batman & Robin was Bruce kicking Dick out of the house and making him go to college, where Dick would cope with his dad-related anger by bullying his psychology professor Dr. Crane into becoming a supervillain. I personally feel like I deserved to see that Scarecrow origin). So if Dick doesn’t like Bruce’s new boyfriend, it’s just one more thing for them to be catty to each other about.  

Alfred’s niece Barbara Wilson on the other hand (who is adorable as a fusion of Barbara Gordon and Julia Pennyworth, do not @ me) would be absolutely vital for Edward to win over, because her opinion could easily either make or break his standing with her uncle. Also Bruce decided to adopt her within five minutes of meeting her, so he’s obviously fond.

19. Where do they go on their first date?

Edward’s fantasy sequence in the novelization makes it obvious enough that he would really, really like to have dinner at Wayne Manor. Hanging out at someone’s house isn’t really a traditional first date, especially if one of you is a billionaire who could have taken you literally anywhere, but clearly none of that matters to Bruce, because that’s exactly the first date he invites Vicki Vale on in Batman (1989).

It’s pretty painfully awkward (“You want to know the truth? I don’t think I’ve ever been in this room before”) until Bruce gives up on the formality and takes her down to eat the rest of their courses with Alfred in the kitchen.

I feel like his first date with Edward could probably go the same way, with a few major differences. One, Edward would have been super enthused about eating in the fancy dining hall, and Bruce would have only suggested finishing their meal in the kitchen because Edward clearly wanted to see As Much Of The Manor As Possible. Two, when Alfred offers to stop embarrassing Bruce and leave them alone for the end of their date, Edward would have insisted he stay and break out the baby albums. You cannot convince me that Alfred is not a scrapbooker. Actually, does what Edward’s doing count as scrapbooking? Maybe they could compare notes.

[just-mirko]

 BINARY  

BNHA HACKER AU - CHAPTER 6

MASTERLIST

Mirko x F!Reader

Warnings: Blood, Me calling out all of you readers as bottoms.

WC: 2.1K

--

She gazed at my face with indistinguishable emotion. Her teeth were barred in a mix between a grimace and a smile. The blood that was smeared beneath her mouth where I had injured her; the red blood matched her wild eyes.

“I win,” She said quietly...

--

             Her breathing was slowing, though I still could not distinguish between each of our pants. Blood rushed to my head, making me feel hot, cold, and everything in between. My gaze was fixated on the small stream of blood making its way down her chin, next to where the previous blood had been smeared in a weak attempt to get it off her face. Looking up from the corner of her lip, our eyes met, and for a second, we both stilled. The ringing in my ears got remarkably silent. I could only image the same was happening for her.

             The corner of my lips tugged into a small smile and her grip on my wrists weakened the slightest bit, letting blood flow back into my aching fingertips. My muscles relaxed a small amount, no longer having to strain to keep them from being stretched too much.

             A small pause was shown in her features. For a moment Mirko seemed open and free. It was a short second though, and that look glazed back over. I was met with the same eyes I always saw behind the silver mask.

             She rolled from atop me with a thud and laid on the sparring mat next to me. Her presence was quiet, but reassuring: slightly cocky as well, seeing as she totally wiped the floor with me. The only good hit I managed to get was a throw towards her jaw, and even then, she only flinched when it drew blood. Even on the hard mat my limbs felt like jello as I melted into the floor. Oh, what I would give to just fall asleep right now. I have not been that active in so long. Our fight was less than 5 minutes but was so filled with movement and pain that my energy drained quick.

             “Has everyone completed their first match?” I heard Nezu say. To me, it felt like I was hearing it from underneath 10ft of water. Falling into the deep end.

             “Yea” A chorus of voices responded, some sounding worse for wear than the others. Mine was one of the worse ones. The back of my throat was scratchy. Some other students brought water bottles with them, but I hadn’t even brought mine to the academy.

             I guess I should buy a new one later. I silently noted.

             I sat up, into a crossed leg position on the mat. My back instantly slouched over from the soreness in my muscles. Staying upright was a struggle.

             “Well…” Nezu began, his finger tapping his lips. -Nose? I do not know mouse terminology- as he pondered the next words to say. “Your matches weren’t  terrible I guess, but it was far from proficient.”

             I was dazed and looking around at the other students. A smirk could not help but make its way onto my face when I saw that hawks was missing one of the larger feathers on his wing. One feather we even stuck in the ceiling. Ha! He constantly gazed back up at it, willing it to fall down, but It was wedged there.

             “Some of you have sustained a few bruises, and sores, do you have any injuries that require immediate attention?” He asked, scanning the room looking for students in pain When his gaze landed on Mirko.

             “Are you still bleeding?” He asked inquisitively. He knew it wasn’t a major injury, but whatever he had planned next wouldn’t suit well if she just kept spilling her red blood cells everywhere.

             “(Y/N)” Nezu called cheerfully with a slightly mischievous undertone.

             “Take her to the common room, there is a first aid kit near the doors in. Do try and help her with a band aid or two.”

             I was about to speak up when he beat me to it,

             “You wont miss anything, we will just be giving feedback on the fights that happened with everyone’s partners.”

             I looked towards Mirko. She brought a finger up to her face and rubbed her lip lightly, checking for blood. It came back red. The liquid was seeming to slow down though, but the amount of slowly drying blood smeared across her jawline and dribbling down her neck wasn’t a good look. Well god, it did look really hot on her, but I could imagine the taste of iron was something she wanted to get out of her mouth.

             Gesturing her head towards the door, Mirko stood up lightly. Her recovery was amazing. So soon after a fight and she was already as energetic as ever.

             She reached out to me and I took her hand, when she pulled me up, I could feel a few joints in me leg pop uncomfortably. The would definitely swell up a little by tomorrow.

             We walked through the exit doors silently, not wanting to disrupt the rest of the class more than we already had. The hallways were so dark compared to the bright penthouse training area lined with windows.

             The ride down the elevator was nothing short of awkward, I stood an arms distance apart in the corner, my head filled with so many thoughts that I could not translate into words.

             “I’m sorry for punching you like that” I sheepishly mumbled quietly. It’s my fault that she had to miss a portion of class. On the first day at that. I should’ve aimed for her shoulder or something.

             Her white ears twitched towards me.

             “Hey, it was a good punch Bunny, kind of deserved it after I pinned you that roughly... Hey are your wrists okay?” She said the last sentence quickly. Maybe she was afraid that got hurt.

             “I’m okay!” I quickly respond, moving my arms straight in front of me to show my hands. I rolled them a little to show each side and prove they were nothing more than a little red.

             I said with a smile, “They are barely sore anymore.”

             She took one of my hands and gently turned it over, looking at the join and checking for what I assumed was bruises. Satisfied that there were no injuries. She let out a small sigh, though she still held my hand carefully. The tips of her nails tickled lightly against my palm.

             Under my breath, in the lowest tone possible, I quietly admitted to myself.

             “Hey, it’s not like I didn’t like it”

             “Did you say something?” Mirko’s voice was eerily calm. Its not like she heard it though: she probably though it was just talking to myself.

             The elevator ride down to the common room ended when a small ding resonated into the metal box.  We stepped off and opened the large wooden doors.

             I told her to go sit down on the couch while I fished for the first aid kit.

             I found it in a small shelf under a box of medical tape and gauze.

             “Got it!”

             I walked towards Mirko, holding the box in my hands, wondering where to place it. I settled on the coffee table. Both of us were silent as I sat right next to her. I was not aware of how close I sat, until I turned to her, alcohol wipes in hand, less than a foot from her face.

             I froze in place and my heartbeat picked up. I took a gulp and gently took her face in my hand before beginning to remove some of the dried blood. I was nearly eye level with her chin when we were both sitting down, so it was easy to avoid eye contact. While I focused, I got into a sort of trance. I was trying to be as delicate as possible as to not reopen the cut, though some of the blood was tough to remove

             Once that was over, I just had to apply an antibiotic cream, then a band aid.

             I put a bit of the ointment on my thumb then placed my hand on both sides of her face to make sure she did not move. Carefully, I brushed the bottom of her lip with my thumb, making sure to get the wound, and a little bit of the area around it covered.  Her face was so warm under my touch, and soft too. Each small exhale made a little puff of warm air fan across the fingertips, sending shivers down my spine.

             Lastly, I unwrapped the band aid and positioned it over her face before tapping it down and making sure it stayed on.

             “How much do you know about rabbits (Y/N)?” Mirko’s voice was no louder than a whisper, and our faces were so close that every word she said was clear.

             “Not that much more than the average person.” Why was she saying this suddenly? Did she have magic healing powers with her quirk? Was she allergic to the ointment or something? Was she just being a pretentious little bitch like hawks?

             “You see bunnies have really good hearing.” Wait oh god. Did she hear me say that? Was that why-

             My mind quickly went to what I had said 5 minutes ago in the elevator.

-

             Under my breath, in the lowest tone possible, I quietly admitted to myself.

             “Hey, it’s not like I didn’t like it”

-

             “W-what do you mean by that Mirko” I said, and I could feel my face heating up. She noticed it too and chucked to herself. It was a deep rumbling sound that would have made me feel calm in any other situation.

             “Nothing, just thought you would want to know.” A grin was back on her face, flashing sharp canines, the last thing you would have expected on a rabbit quirk holder.

             “Hey, stop doing that you’re going to reopen the cut” I said and lightly punched her shoulder. I did not want all my work to go to waste. My hand went back up to the band aid on her face and my finger grazed the size of her lip.

             “My parents always kissed my boo boos (injuries) when I got hurt” Mirko said boldly, and my hand froze up next to her face. Was she implying. No. no no.

             I wasn’t going to kiss her. If It was on her hand maybe if she insisted but right under her lip… No (Y/N) pull yourself together.

             That cut was so close to her mouth and I could not I don’t. That would just be so embarrassing and I-

             “Hey (Y/NNNN), You spaced out a little bit” She teased.

             “N-no I-I can’t” Did she really have this effect on me? One second, I was bold and brash, but the second she calls me out on saying that I enjoyed having her top me. (If you are reading this fanfic this applies to you. Do not lie to yourself. We all want to be topped my Mirko).

             “Aww but how else will I get better” Her face tilted down towards me, and the slightest bit closer.

             “Just a little peck would make all the pain go away”

She was reading me like an open book. Pressing all my buttons. Everything I said she was right through. Oh she definitely deserved the punch.

             “I-“

             My voice stopped when I felt a light brush on my side next to the top of my hip bone. One of her hands was delicately just waiting there, barely making any movement. Maybe if I just leaned in, her fingertips would connect, trace gentle shapes in my side while-

             Both my hands were close to my chest. I was rubbing my fingertips together in a slight fidget though. All my anxiety was shown to her.

             Her other hand- her left hand- reached up towards my cheek, though she was not touching me, just like on my hip. She wouldn’t do a single thing till I did something first.

             With a tiny smile she remarked “I can hear your heartbeat.”

             “Why are you so scared?” She asked.

             Her nails contacted my hip and my check, though she still, wasn’t touching me.

             “Maybe you want me, to make the first move-“Her eyelids closed slightly while she looked down at me fondly.

             Each word I wanted to say did not come out. Because in my head, I was saying she was right.

[paulfwesley]

A Split Second (Part Four) [Bryce Lahela x f!MC]

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x f!MC (Dr. Claire King).

Chapter Rating: T.

Word Count: 3.3K.

Description: She might not know what her faith is, but someone reminds her how to hold on to it. TW: guns, violence, blood. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. 

Disclaimer: Characters, storyline, and parts of the dialogue are taken from Pixelberry’s Choices’ Open Heart. They fully own the characters, dialogue, backgrounds, etc. MC Claire King’s background is my own creation, based off of MC in-game’s personality.

Author’s Note: I’m sorry this took so long!! And I’m also sorry because there is one more part after this XD But that will be the last part, I promise!! This chapter took on a life of its own. Bryce isn’t in it, but it’s definitely something that I realized Claire needed in the development of this story. If you’d like to be tagged please let me know! I don’t count people liking the actual post because I don’t know if that’s you wanting to be tagged XD so be sure to comment and tell me!

Tagging: @commander-rahrah @jaydito-tjjd @anotherbeingsworld @shakespeareanwannabe @bitchloveskcbaseball @wisegirl9 @rookie-ramsey @mrsdrakewalkerblog @omgjasminesimone @frenchieswiftie @jamespotterthefirst @elladines @thanialis @lucy-268 @sherrylove @bloomingsivan @lahellacute @araihc-ce @ltimeisanillusionl 

Enjoy! 

Claire’s favourite time of the year was Christmas. She loved decorating her home, she loved watching Christmas movies, she loved giving gifts, really loved getting gifts. But despite her favourite holiday centering around the birth of the figure of the religion, she didn’t know if she could call herself a Christian. 

But that didn’t stop her from sitting in the back pew of the hospital’s multi faith room. It was a small place, roughly the size of the diagnostic team’s room, with three pews on either side of the room. She had expected for there to be a giant figure of Jesus painted in stained glass on the window, but because of the place being a multi faith room, they couldn’t. A tall podium sat at the front of the room, probably for when leaders of the faith came to speak to the people desperately seeking any kind of reprieve from the worry that plagued their every waking moment. 

Admittedly there were a lot of places Claire could have gone. The cafeteria, where she could have stress ate until Bryce’s surgery was over, but with G.S.Ws there was always the chance that complications could arise, and she wasn’t sure how much her poor stomach could handle, especially when she thought about eating anything her stomach clenched. 

She briefly considered a supply closet, but she could still remember the burning shame she felt when June found her there crying her eyes out at the news of Kyra’s relapse. It was too risky, especially because of the coming and going that arose with the need for supplies in there.

Then she thought about waiting it out in the resident lounge, but there she’d be surrounded by her friends. She’d have to talk with them, listen to them give reassurances that nothing would happen to Bryce, but Claire didn’t want to listen to empty promises. Her friends had seen her in bad states before: blood soaking her scrubs, exhaustion draining her face, the occasional stench that emitted off of her when she was so caught up in a case she forgot to shower. But she didn’t want them to see her like this: eyes bloodshot, nose red, tissue tucked into her sleeve for easy access when a rack of sobs hit her like a freight train. She just wanted to be somewhere she could shut her brain off. 

That was when her mind flashed to the multi faith room. It was always quiet in here, save for the odd sniffle or sob that came out of a person while they prayed for their husband to make it through the night, their sister to make it through her surgery, their grandfather’s diagnosis to be anything but what they feared the most. Otherwise, it was a place where people came to find some shred of peace. The silence was comfortable; it was a recognition that everyone in the small room was suffering somehow, but who found companionship with each other in the sense that they all sent their pleas to a guy sitting on a cloud in the sky. 

Tonight, though, the multi faith room was surprisingly empty. Someone had to have been in there earlier, because the collection of candles that sat on the table in front of the podium were lit, the flames of each individual candle small but creating a larger, stable symbol of hope. Each candle represented an unknown person, a life no one knew, a story untold, but every tiny wick created a sense of solidarity, the knowledge that someone was thinking of you, that this point in time, there was a place in the darkness where all hope was extinguished, but burning on as a deliberate point to prove that your life mattered, that it was being prayed for, that you were being fought for. An ember to glow with the reminder that someone wanted, needed you to stay.  

All the same, she chose the pew in the very back. She huddled against the armrest, tucking her knees under her and curling into the side as much as she could. She rested her joined hands under her head in the hopes that she would be less tempted to check the watch on her wrist and despair at how long the surgery was taking. She made Dr. Emery promise that she’d page her as soon as the surgery was over, but she didn’t know how long that would take, so Claire settled in for what could possibly be the longest night of her life. 

Her eyes hurt, her head aching with exhaustion now that all the adrenaline had flushed out of her system. She was still in the blood soaked clothes she had been in when she tried to cover Bryce’s wound, but she couldn’t bring herself to get up and change out of them. Instead she lay there, the high air conditioning blasting through her clothes and stiffening the material, chafing against her chest. Still she didn’t move. Her memories of Bryce paralyzed her. 

She relieved every single moment backwards right from the moment he had been whisked into the O.R. room all the way back to the first time she had seen him in the changing room on her first day in Edenbrook, when she had no idea who he’d become to her. Back then, he was just a meat headed jockey; someone fun to hook up with, but who Claire thought was the ‘no strings attached’ type, which was fine with her, because as each day passed she found herself more and more enamored with Ethan. But then Ethan left, and Bryce stepped up to help, and she finally started to see him in a new light. No, he wasn’t the type to buy you a drink at the bar, flirt with you just the right amount, laugh when he knew you wanted him to, knew just what to say to reel you in, and then go with you back to your place and then be gone without a word before you even woke up the next morning.

No. Bryce Lahela was the type to make terrible jokes. He talked during movies. He bought shots for his friends because he had heard they were going to compete against each other. He laughed at everything you said: your good jokes, your bad jokes, especially your terrible jokes, the ones you made because you knew only he would laugh at them. He’d bring you back to his place, lavish you, make you feel warm and loved and safe, and then the next morning he’d bring you breakfast in bed to share, even if it was just toaster waffles and he ate all of the strawberries even though you pleaded for him to spare you at least one. Bryce was safe. Bryce was loving. Bryce was home. 

And she didn’t know if he’d die not knowing how much she loved him. 

The idea twinged her chest, slowly spreading through her like a parasite, devouring all threads of hope and spitting out something that was ruined and beyond repair. She squeezed her eyes shut when she felt tears brimming, and she curled herself into a smaller ball, if that was even possible. It was as if she was hoping that the more she compressed herself, the more she’d be able to crush the pain that snaked her muscles. 

She faintly heard the doors to the chapel opening. The thought of sitting up crossed her mind, because she was technically in a place of worship and she really shouldn’t have her feet up in a pew, but then she thought that this was a place people came when they were desperate, when medicine and hopeful statistics and the comforting words of doctors weren’t enough for them. Those people who were in no place to judge how she dealt with her emotions. So she kept her eyes shut, drinking in a shuddery breath through her mouth. 

Movement in the chapel, footsteps echoing softly on the carpeted floor. The footsteps grew louder, and suddenly the seat next to her dipped with a weight of someone sitting down, the body heat of their dress pants brushing against her feet. She still kept her eyes shut, though. If someone needed her presence just to feel like they weren’t alone, so be it. 

“I’ve known you for a little over a year, yet I never knew you were religious,” the agonizingly familiar voice said and Claire’s eyes immediately snapped open. She dropped her feet to the ground and sat up, turning her head so her eyes met his soft blue ones. Ethan gave her an easy smile, the look you’d give a child to reassure them that a needle was nothing to be scared of. “You didn’t peg me for the type to be singing Christmas carols about Jesus.”

Claire sniffled, blinking heavily before finally turning to face the front. “I mean, I decorate a Christmas tree and I paint Easter eggs, but I don’t know about church every Sunday or not mixing certain types of cloth.” She tilted her head back, letting her neck rest on the back of the seat. “But when I needed a place to be by myself, to be quiet, to feel some sort of peace… this is where I ended up.”

Ethan stared at her. At the wrinkles around her eyes. The dryness of her nose that came with the repeated rubbing of tissues. The redness in her swollen cheeks. “Lahela’s still in surgery.” 

Her chest dipped. When she didn’t respond, Ethan continued. “That was the last update I could get from Harper. She’s the best. She’ll do what she can for Lahela. She--”

“I don’t need you to tell me what I already know, Ethan,” she cut in dryly. The words came out harsher than she intended. She always spoke cordially with Ethan, professionally, nicely even, considering that their split hadn’t really been… amicable. But now, tonight, she didn’t have the room to decipher the lingering tightness in her chest whenever she looked at him. Any emotions she felt tonight were for Bryce, the man she had only become certain of when she was on the verge of losing him. 

Ethan went silent. “Then what do you need?”

“Just distract me.” She turned her eyes to him without lifting her head. “How did you find me here?”

“Aurora Emery saw you in here,” he responded. “She didn’t want to disturb you, though. But when I ran into her and asked if she’d seen you, she told me.”

She wasn’t sure if she should murder Aurora or thank her. She didn’t necessarily want to see Ethan but… but even after all this time, she still associated him with comfort, especially when he wasn’t open about it, which wasn’t what she wanted. 

His leg bounced, his foot tapping against the floor. “The cops were looking for you. They wanted a statement.”

She cocked a brow. “And?”

“And I told them I didn’t know where you were,” Ethan answered. He gave her a once-over, taking in her frazzled appearance. “I figured after what happened, you wouldn’t be in the mood to really talk to anyone. Besides, Sienna had already filled us in on what had happened, but they wanted an eyewitness report.”

The corner of her lips turned up slightly. “Thanks for that.”

“I know this is probably a stupid question,” he started. “But are you okay?”

“Someone pointed a gun in my face today,” she hummed. She lifted her head and gave Ethan an incredulous look. “Would you be okay?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I’m honestly surprised you’re as calm as you are.”

The anger she thought she had suppressed, that she hadn’t felt in months, flashed through her. “I’m not as fragile as you think.”

“Right,” he acknowledged, the word lingering in the awkward air she had created. Claire squeezed her eyes shut and crossed her arms over her chest, sinking back into the weathered cushion while ignoring the discomfort of the wooden top. 

After a few more silent seconds, Ethan finally said, “So… Lahela, huh?”

She didn’t even bother opening her eyes. A snort escaped her lips before she could stop it. “It’s a little late to play the jealous ex, don’t you think?” 

“No, I know,” Ethan quickly backtracked, his tone filled with alarm, but with a forlorn undertone that Claire only recognized because she was well versed in the language of Ethan Ramsey. “I just meant… he’s a good guy, if you had to pick someone.”

Claire couldn’t help but wonder if Ethan was trying to imply that he wasn’t a good guy, but she didn’t have the strength or energy to launch into that discussion. Instead, she said, “He is a good guy. The best, really. It just took me a while to see it.” Her shoulders deflated. “Too long, if I’m going to be honest.”

“I’m no stranger to feeling like you’ve waited too long,” Ethan said quietly. The words cut through Claire, though only deep enough to leave a superficial wound. “But I’m sure Lahela knows how you feel.”

“He doesn’t,” she retorted. She opened her eyes to see Ethan staring at her, confusion raising his brows. Claire pushed herself up so she sat properly. “He thought all he was to me was just a rebound. But he’s not. He’s everything to me. He makes me happy, feel warm, feel safe…” To her horror tears blurred her vision. She didn’t want to be the type of person that cried to her ex about her current boyfriend (though Claire wasn’t even sure that was who Bryce was to her) but here she was. Yet instead of making her feel awkward, Ethan just waited patiently, his face neutral, his eyes betraying none of the emotions she wondered he felt hearing her talk about someone else to him. He dipped his chin for her to continue, and encouraged, she did. She bit her lip to keep it from wobbling and sobbed, “But I couldn’t do the same for him. He got shot because of me.” 

Ethan put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Rookie, pull yourself together.”

That nickname. One she hadn’t heard since her final day as an intern, when he had accidentally let it slip before correcting himself with the reminder that she was no longer an intern. It was a nickname she had loathed when he gave it to her; it made her feel impossibly small and feeling like she had to live up to it. But over time she began to associate the challenge that came with the word rookie, the drive that made her want to work harder, the validation when she realized that at some point, the word had turned from a nickname that Ethan had given her because he hadn’t known her name to a name that she had built a positive reputation around. Claire King: the Rookie of the intern year of 2019. The best of the best, the woman who refused to let herself be broken. And now, with Ethan using it just now, those feelings came rushing back to her. 

She straightened her back and instinctively raised her chin, like she was poised to report a diagnosis or defend her actions. Ethan gave her an approving smile. “Bryce didn’t get shot because of you. If he did, it was because he loved you, and he would rather it be him in pain than you.”

“But I didn’t ask him to do that!” Claire sobbed, unable to contain the despair slugging through her veins. 

“You didn’t have to,” he pointed out. “The moment Bryce had seen that gun pointing at you, he had made up his mind.”

She gave him a look. “And how do you know that?” 

“Because if it were me, I would have made the same decision,” he revealed, 

The tension was so thick in the air around them it could have been cut clean through with a knife. “Ethan…” she breathed.

“I know,” he said, whispered. The words were so simple. Short, one syllable each. Yet they were heavy, wistful, filled with the joyous memories of a life that had been, haunted by the possibilities of a future that might have been. If she wasn’t Claire King, junior fellow on the diagnostic’s team. If he wasn’t Ethan Ramsey, the country’s best diagnostician, and the leader of the diagnostic’s team. It was a truth that went unsaid, the mournful melodies hidden by the words of a promising love song. Their love was one that was fleeting, never meant to thrive, never meant to see the light of day, never meant to go beyond the secret wishes that things were different. 

She darted her gaze away from him, focusing on the stain on the patch of carpet that she was praying was coffee. Ethan cleared his throat. “You can’t blame yourself for Bryce’s choices, or even for the gunman’s choices. All you can do is have faith that Harper is amazing at her job and that Lahela is strong enough to make it through the other side.”

She chuckled humourlessly, giving the empty space around her a long look. “Ethan Ramsey, I had no idea you were such a poet.”

Ethan snorted, and that launched the both of them into a fit of laughter, tears streaming down their cheeks and clutching their aching sides. They would finally sober up, but then one of them would break again, and then that would make them lose it again. 

The door to the chapels opened, and a short old lady took one step in and turned to find the source of laughter. When her disapproving gaze landed on Ethan and Claire, they both stopped laughing. Instead of stepping inside, the woman clicked her tongue in disbelief and shook her head in disgust before stepping out. Ethan and Claire looked at each other again before dissolving into another round of laughter. 

Finally, after what seemed like ages, Claire’s laughs ceased. She wiped at the corner of her eyes. “Thank you, Ethan,” she said. “I needed that.”

“Hey, I’m a doctor,” he offered, a familiar twinkle in his eyes. “It’s my job to make people feel better.”

A smile graced her face, while the ghost of one tugged on Ethan’s lips. It was a gesture of understanding between two people who had loved and lost, and who recognized that while ending things had been the right decision, they would always need each other in their lives. It was in that moment that Claire realized that she and Ethan had needed each other, but were never meant to end up together. In Ethan, Claire had found a mentor, someone who understood her passion and who recognized her talent, who could push her to be the best she could be. In Claire, Ethan had found someone he had been wandering for years without-- a true friend. Someone who listened without judgment, who offered solutions, who reminded you of what mattered in life, someone who was just there when they needed you to be. 

And in Bryce, Claire thought, she had found a true partner. In Bryce, she had found the person she was meant to end up with, who would swing their joined hands obnoxiously while they walked down the street while she apologized to passerbys but who did it because it brought a smile to her face. In Bryce, she found someone she knew she could count on to never run away. In Bryce, she had found her soulmate. 

Her pager buzzed. The vibration froze her, rendering her unable to move. With an encouraging nod from Ethan, Claire sucked in a steadying breath. She was ready. 

She pulled her pager out of her pocket. Looked down at the words that, regardless of what they were, would change her life forever. 

He made it.

[lunawho47]

Buzzfeed Unsolved: The Mysterious Doctor and the Omen of the Blue Box (Part 1)

Fandoms: Buzzfeed Unsolved and Doctor Who

Genre: Total Crackfic, Humor

Rating: 16+ (for language)

Summary: A script for Buzzfeed Unsolved, in which our two favorite jackasses, the Ghoul Boys, discuss the various internet theories surrounding the identity of various mysterious figures known only as “the Doctor” and the blue box that tends to appear around them.  Well, Ryan wants to discuss the theories; Shane thinks it’s all urban legends and bullshit.

A/N: So, I’ve read a lot of these mock scripts going around for Unsolved discussing CW’s Supernatural as though it was real, and I thought they were hilarious.  So, my brain started wondering what theories the reddit and conspiracy boards would think up about mentions of the Doctor, the Doctor’s companions, UNIT, and Torchwood.  And to be honest, my brain came up with A LOT of theories that would make sense, and this format seemed a fun way to discuss all of them.  It was originally going to be a one shot, but as I started writing, Shane kept interrupting in my head about how stupid all of it sounds, and that kept making the script longer and longer.  So, it’s now going to be a few parts long cos the history of DW (even when seriously truncated) takes a long time to go through when you try to use the serials to make arguments about the Doctor’s potential identity(s).  

So, here’s part 1.  Please let me know if you like it and would like to see more.  And if Shane and Ryan sound anything like themselves because if they don’t then the whole thing is nowhere near as funny as it should be.

Ryan: Today on Buzzfeed Unsolved we're looking into the puzzling mystery of an entity known only as "The Doctor" and the corresponding omen of a blue box.  It's a mystery that, in its more comprehensive moments, is whimsically strange and, most of the time, is just plain batshit bizarre.

Shane: Okay, so I can hear the air quotes around the name, and you called it an entity.  Are we talking like, cryptid creature that is based in reality or am I going to be sitting through theories about zombie plagues and Ant-man Ax murderers again?  Just what am I in for here?

Ryan: No zombie plagues, and the Doctor has never murdered anyone with an ax.  At least, not in any of the records available. It's just...well, it's hard to explain here, so let's just get right into it.  Just bear in mind this is Gene Wilder Willy Wonka levels of weird when it's at its most sensical.  And it's rare that this story makes any sense at all.

Shane: Alright, I'll confess I'm...intrigued.  I'm ready to listen.

Ryan: Alright, here we go.  *opens folder*

Ryan (in his Unsolved VO):  The first documented evidence of a being calling itself "The Doctor" is in the files of now deceased British UNIT officer Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart.

Shane:  Wait.  UNIT?  What's that? Sounds like something out of a video game.

Ryan: (wheeze) It does a bit, yeah. But there is paperwork evidence that verifies this group -- lame as the acronym is -- actually existed.  They were set up in the mid-1960s by the United Nations to look into unexplained phenomena and for a long time they were a covert operation.  The British Prime Minister knew they existed, and they answered to Geneva, but they weren't known to the wider public until after they shut down three years ago.

Shane:  I'm sure that meeting went GREAT.  'Hey, everybody, thanks for coming down this Monday morning. Erm...thanks for protecting us from alien invasions for the last 50 years and for keeping such a great secret about it.  Here's your reward: you're all fired, and we're going to tell the entire world what your names were and let you deal with the press about it for the rest of your life.  Have a great rest of your Monday!'  (Wheeze) What a bunch of shitty bosses.

Ryan: I mean, based on what little there is to read about how UNIT operated, the Brigadier we'll be talking about really had to go to bat for the organization in front of the Prime Minister a lot over the years in order to keep the operation going.  After the Brigadier died, they were able to keep going for awhile, but as you'll see from some of these stories we'll be looking at today, the organization was considered obsolete long before it was disbanded.

Shane: Okay, so the Doctor first appears in conjunction with this UNIT?

Ryan: Right, so in the 1960s, there was some weird circumstance that led to the London Underground shutting down and the Brigadier, who was only a Colonel in the regular British army at the time, ran into what he described as a "(quote) man with a foppish haircut, ratty waistcoat, and tartan patterned clown pants; a young teenage girl; and a full Scotsman (end quote)."  

Shane: So which is the Doctor?  

Ryan: In this case, it's the first description.  The man with the clown pants on.  (wheeze)

Shane: (wheeze) Do you think he had clown shoes on, too?

Ryan: See, I know exactly what you're picturing right now.  You're thinking of a guy with a depressing Beatles haircut and complete clown regalia, including the extra large shoes.

Shane: I am.  100%  And you know, given some of the things we saw when traveling around London, including on (*with a terribly fake posh Oxbridge accent*) the Tube, a man dressed as a clown running around the platforms underground wouldn't even register as weird on a normal day.

Ryan: (Conceding) That is true.  And on a normal day, I'd agree with you.  But, bear in mind, this was the 1960s -- not the modern day -- and the Tube at the time was closed to the public because of this unknown threat the army was trying to deal with.  And what's even more notable -- the reason why the future Brigadier apparently wrote about it in his official report to the Prime Minister -- is that the man who called himself the Doctor, together with the two other civilians, saved the day.  The details are sparse, but the Brigadier makes it clear that the Doctor is the one who figured out what was really going on and managed to deal with whatever the situation was with minimal casualties.

And that's just the first time the Doctor and the future Brigadier crossed paths.  There are later documents that report the Brigadier -- now promoted from Colonel and officially a Brigadier -- came across the same man and Scotsman, but a different young girl in London just weeks after the military organization known as UNIT was founded.  And AGAIN, whatever the situation actually was, the Doctor and his friends were the ones that helped UNIT save the day.

Shane: Am I the only one who finds it suspicious that the details are always missing?  Like, shady organization set up by the government to look into extraterrestrial happenings?  Sure. (*puts hands in the air in surrender to argument*) I'll buy that.  Governments do shady shit all the time.  But, I mean, things like shutting down the London Underground and alien happenings in the city of London itself.  People are going to notice, right?  And how shitty are the Brigadier's write ups that no one remembers or knows any of the happenings in Britain's capital?  "Dear Prime Minister, stuff happened.  Doctor did some other stuff.  Stuff stopped.  The end.  TTYL."  Sounds like someone was crap at his job and when things just luckily worked out, everyone just swept it under the rug.

Ryan: You see, I would agree with you there.  BUT...there are pictures.  We can't show them to the audience because of copyright, but if you know where to look online, people love to discuss the Doctor and all the people who have gone missing while looking for the Doctor, so.  Investigate at your own peril. But, Shane, here you go.

*the audience can't see the photos hidden by Ryan's open folder, but we see Shane's expression.*

Shane: (*laughs*)  That Doctor looks like a moron.  I mean, I still think the Brigadier must have been crap at his job, but he was bang on his descriptor of the Doctor looking like a clown.  And I take it the guy in the kilt is the Scotsman?

Ryan: Yeah, I looked up what full Scotsman means when I read the description and apparently it means a guy who wears a kilt with no underwear on underneath it.  Before that, I just assumed that it meant this other guy was wandering around the Underground, playing bagpipes and singing songs from Highlander or something.

Shane: You thought this guy was wandering around singing Who Wants to Live Forever over a decade before the film came out.  (wheeze)

Ryan:  Well, when we get into the theories that idea won't seem entirely out of place, I don't think.

Shane: Well, I'm going to go ahead and call a preemptive bullshit on that theory.

Ryan: Noted.

Ryan: (back in Theory VO) The next record of the Doctor's appearance comes about in the 1970s when a man is admitted to a local hospital after collapsing outside of a blue box in the woods.

Shane: There was a blue box in the woods?  Like, human sized or was he scrunched up in it like Shroedinger's cat?

Ryan: We'll get back to the box in a minute, but it's larger than a human, yeah.  In fact, it was something called a Police Public Call Box, which were common to see on city or town street corners in Britain in the 1950s and 1960s. The idea was that if police or citizens saw a crime being committed, they could either phone the police from the box or shove the criminal in the police box and go fetch a policeman.  But what's weird about the box in this case is: 1) it's in the middle of the woods, and not even on like, a hiking path or anything.  But, the legit WOODS.  And 2) it's the 1970s and police call boxes are no longer really a thing at this point.  But, once the man calling himself the Doctor gets to the hospital it gets even stranger.

Shane:  I mean, everything about this story so far feels like the Brigadier spinning a yarn, but keep going.

Ryan: So, the Brigadier gets a phone call from the hospital that a man called the Doctor has been admitted to the hospital.

Shane: Wait, how did the hospital know to call the Brigadier about that?  Was there a national bulletin?  Is the Doctor a wanted man or something?

Ryan: I don't know, man.  Maybe the police just call UNIT whenever something with the label "fucking weird" comes across their desk.  I don't know.  This is just what the report says.

Ryan: (theory voice) Due to a situation UNIT was overseeing in the area at the time, the Doctor's appearance was notably auspicious for the Brigadier, so the UNIT officer went to see if his friend could help with the investigation.  However, when he got the hospital, he discovered that he the man calling himself 'The Doctor' was not anyone he recognized.

Shane: Wait...what?

Ryan: (laughing).  I told you the situation at the hospital is weird.  So, the Brigadier is told that this man who has helped him out before has been admitted to a hospital that is nearby a situation that UNIT is investigating -- a clear sign, in the Brigadier's mind, that this Doctor who is injured is the same one he's met twice before -- and then discovers that it's a completely different man.

Shane: Well, I mean...that's not *too* weird.  I mean, the man is in a hospital, and you usually see doctors in a hospital.  And I'm sure a lot of doctors are known more by their title than their surname.  There are millions of doctors on the planet, so I don't know if two different people wanting to be called Doctor is all that unusual.

Ryan: (with a haughty smile) That makes perfect sense, but listen to this.

Ryan: (Theory voice)  The Brigadier assumed at first that the patient calling himself the Doctor was a coincidence and started to leave the room.  However, he found himself called back when he heard the unknown man call the Brigadier by name. The conversation made it clear that, not only did the patient know the Brigadier's full name, but also knew the circumstances under which the Doctor and the Brigadier had met both times before. Information which, at the time, was highly classified and known only to those in the Prime Minister's office and those who had been in the UNIT planning room at the time of the situational crises.

Shane: Okay, I'm going to call it.  I'm going with spy.  I think the Doctor is a code name and this guy inherited  the call sign and the information from the Doctor's previous operations.  

Ryan: So, you think this is like, a 007 scenario?  

Shane: I mean, I'm sure you'll peddle some alien abduction theory or some other supernatural bullshit, but...yeah.  I'm going spy call sign.  Makes sense to me so far.

Ryan: Well, you might not be a *total* dipshit, but...we'll see.  There's still quite a bit more to cover. This isn't even the tip of the weird iceberg.

Shane: (sarcastically) Oh joy...

[celticfeather]

Akatsuki Fic: Campfires

A brooding clan-killer and a man who prefers to see himself more shark than human are not the most likely, or friendly, of new partners. But hunted and hated, their backs on are the wall, and the Akatsuki starts to form a complex refuge for its members. Their missions blur the lines between men, beasts, and gods, and Itachi must either accept his complicity in evil, or contemplate revolt.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13409132/1/Campfires

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019778/chapters/49992863

-Chapter 1: Dawn

The tongues of flames danced against the stars like heathens frenzied before a war, springing into the night with a fibrous crackling. The one called Pain stood like a preacher, tall and black,  his shadow painted by the leaping blaze onto the rockface behind him. His voice was low and commanding, yet vibrant, like velvet over steel. From everywhere and nowhere it echoed around the chasm like the voice of a god. “And if you join us, Uchiha Itachi, make clear your mark.” Itachi raised his arm and the thick kunai glinted black and orange. The metal fang plunged down, and with a jumping spark, the knife slit a ragged slash across his headband’s gentle leaf. “You are damned to the world, Itachi. May you find refuge in our Dawn, and together we shall light the world in the rays of a new peace.” No devilish cheering welcomed their new member. There stood a half dozen of his new comrades in black robes with red clouds, their dark eyes peeking out from high collars. Among them he noted the bandages of a Mist swordsman, and he recognized the grinning snake eyes of Orochimaru.

Now at least, damned by his nation as he was, Itachi had no orders to follow but his own. He would protect the Leaf from the shadows. And from this Akatsuki, whatever it was. He was washed with a strange sense of peace. It was not relief. What was done was done. Compared to yours, our pain will be over in an instant, his father’s last words echoed through his mind. He was unsure if they were sympathetic or the curse of a dying man. But it mattered not. The deed was done.

He wondered what had happened to Sasuke. The Hokage himself must be consoling him now. Maybe the boy would be sent to live with another family, or an orphanage. No, probably not, unsavory types would be waiting to adopt the boy. “Hey, you.” Itachi looked over, his thoughts of family broken. A man older and taller than he had prodded him on the shoulder. “Name’s Kakuzu. Follow the rules, don’t be brash, and I won’t kill you.” He gave Itachi a small leather pouch. “What is this?” “Ten thousand yen.” An unexpected gift. But since his days in Anbu, Itachi was reticent to show surprise around people he wasn’t sure he liked. “That’s for the month. If you need food or an inn, buy it. Petty theft is beneath us, and attention costs money.” Ten thousand yen was hardly generous for a month’s travels. In fact, an ordinary human would die of exposure. The inflation rate had been such that fifty years ago one could travel a few weeks on 10,000 yen. Now it would suffice for only a few bowls of ramen. “Hey now, Kakuzu! Let him live a little bit! No one lives forever! Oh wait, you do, heheHAHA!”

Kakuzu narrowed his eyes hatefully at the interruption. The high pitched voice sounded like it belonged to a teenager. Itachi looked in its direction, and giggles simmered from the orange mask. Kakuzu growled, and ‘Tobi’ yelped and wilted. Finding the boy sufficiently scared, he did not press his advantage. Itachi suppressed his unease: the disguised, giggling, Madara was also alive far beyond a human lifespan. It unnerved him to see him manifest this boyish farce after they had worked together only hours prior to massacre their clan. But Itachi‘s face was an aloof, slightly irritated mask. “Rumor has it,” a woman’s cool voice uttered to him, “Kakuzu fought the first Hokage.” “Is that so,” Itachi echoed. If true, this Kakuzu would be eighty-five years old at minimum. He only looked forty. It seemed that Orochimaru and Madara were not unique among those who experimented with eternal youth. He would have to tread carefully here.

Itachi studied the woman. She was older than him, early twenties maybe. Her hair was bluish. He had only now seen her leave Pain’s side, and she was the only female member of the group. He wondered if she and pain were romantically involved. It was strangely like an academy clique: the one woman had chosen the highest ranking man of the group. “Konan is my name,” she told him. “I hope you can find a home here.” “Uchiha Itachi. A pleasure.” She did not seem terrible. The mist ninja with the executioner’s sword and red face paint stepped forward to Itachi. He smiled his mangled, filed, teeth at Itachi, and extended his bandaged hand. “Looks like you’re the only other shoe without a mate, kid. Biwa Juzo.”

“Now,” the gravelly voice of Pain claimed order. “Our organization needs to gather funds if we are to achieve our goals. You have your partners and your missions-- you are dismissed.” (keep reading)

A long time later, Juzo was dead.

Itachi did not know if the swordsman understood he would die when he jumped to shield Itachi from the Misukage’s strike, or if it had been an impulse he did not live to regret. The Kage’s blast had shattered his sword, and sated its iron-hungry blade in its owner’s abdomen. Not risking a burial, Itachi had returned the hilt to Juzo’s hand and fled the Land of Water for his life.

He wondered if he was still there— if the crows found him. He hoped they had. If it were him, he would prefer crows to the Mist intelligence corp-- and especially Zetsu.

Itachi’s newest partner introduced himself a few hours ago. The eyes that now walked beside his were white and devoid of mammalian emotion, and Itachi had not yet noticed Hoshigaki Kisame blink. The ex-mist ninja was of hulking stature, maybe two meters, which brought Itachi’s highest hairs up only to his jaw. He might have been thirty, but he had a strange face and it was hard to tell. His skin carried a faint bluish sheen, and his cheekbones were slashed with what could best be described as partial gills. Itachi had once pondered a similar thought with Orochimaru: Were you born looking like an animal?

Itachi found the Mist ninja’s desire to be partnered with him ignoble. By the end of the bizarre introduction speech involving live shark births, this Kisame seemed to advocate fratricidal cannibalism. Respecting Itachi because he killed his family was a poor way to gain his admiration.

“Isn’t this a mission for state ninja?” Kisame’s voice broke his thoughts. “A jounin could handle this.”

“The Land of Iron has no ninja village,” Itachi said. “The Ishikawa tiger, too, is an endangered species, and I do not think the neighboring waterfall ninja would agree to hunt it.”

Earlier, the pair had debriefed each other on their strengths and strategies. Kisame, as far as he had trusted to self-report, had massive stamina, lethal dexterity with water style, and was skilled with the chakra absorbing sword he carried. Itachi had listed fire style, shuriken, and genjutsu as his advantages. It seemed a profitable marriage of skills. 

“Hm. Now, how to find the poor sap?”

“My tracking skills are… above average,” Itachi said. Red gleamed out from under his high collar. 

“Right. I’ll let you lead.”

His world flared in the expanded spectrum of colors and avian detail of the sharingan. Itachi looked at the tree limbs above them, where a bird’s nest balanced lithely on a swaying branch. In the nest’s carefully woven lining was a tiny tuft of orange fibers: a mixture of orange guard hairs and slightly lighter whitish underfur. Among the orange was a single black hair of the same length.

A few minutes later he saw some twigs broken by a large quadruped. Then he saw a smeared paw print with retracted claws. They continued into a shallow ravine. Kisame followed quietly, but a crackle came from his direction: his living sword was excited.

Itachi peered from the bushes and signaled to Kisame. Through a leafy window they spied a massive cat, far larger than an ordinary animal, nearing the size of a horse carriage. Bunches of muscles rippled on its haunches as it lapped a sandpaper tongue at the creek. Facing profile to them, it yawned, and fangs longer than kunai flashed in the light. Itachi reached into his robe to draw a single knife. A strike to the brain would be sufficient. 

“Allow me,” Kisame said, unshouldering the huge, blunt, Samehada from his back. “Pity to let such nice chakra soak the sand.”

Itachi tipped his knife back into his robe in consent. More than he would like to see this over, he would like to observe how this Hoshigaki Kisame operated.

Kisame alighted before the beast in the clearing. Surely the tiger was unaccustomed to being approached by anything living, especially not something smaller than it. It sprang with coiled fury at the man that dared, but its front claws met only earth. Shiny brown river pebbles sprayed loudly into the air and clattered back down to the ground.

Brandishing the thirty-kilo sword, a grinning Kisame landed spritely five meters from the tiger’s impact. With the darting grace of a tropical fish, he danced away from the cat’s frustrated strikes, his sword carving the air around it, but never cutting it, until the cat grew weak. At last it stared at the two men, panting, black lips curled back over yellow teeth.  

Kisame had to turn his whole head to look at Itachi. For, perhaps like a shark, he was incapable of moving his eyes much in their sockets. “Can you sedate it, Itachi?”

The cat’s pupils, black slashes on yellow disks, dilated to wide spheres as Itachi set the animal under a genjutsu. It was always a strange procedure with beasts. Genjutsu involved manipulating chakra flow to the brain, and in a brain that was not human, it was a coarse process. Itachi could not communicate complex images like he could with humans, so instead he instilled it with feelings of darkness and warmth. 

Kisame approached the sleeping tiger and drew the broadside of Samehada along its jugular. The sword’s scales rippled, and Itachi knew the cat was dead. Itachi revealed his kunai. 

“Could probably get some gold for the pelt, too,” Kisame said, slinging the purring Samehada to his back.

Probably they could. But Itachi was not Kakuzu, and he did not desire to carry a bloody tiger pelt around for a few extra yen. Itachi crouched over the carcass, and with careful incisions he removed its teeth. They clattered against each other in his leather pouch. Whatever some royal leech would do with them to cure his presumed impotency, Itachi did not know. 

“Someone’s coming,” Kisame warned him.

“Just merchants,” Itachi said. The rogues sprang into the trees. They heard the surprise of the men to find the freshly killed tiger. They’d feed the village! Get drunk! They invoked the gods for their luck. Kisame smiled devilishly but Itachi was unamused. Soon enough, the two rouge ninja were over the border of the Land of Rice.

Obtain the teeth, the scroll, the real or metaphorical scalp-- the object was the only variable. Then he brought them to a collection office. He gave the reward to Kakuzu and awaited further orders. The string of missions seemed to be the only constant in Itachi's life since the Uchiha massacre.

The sun yellowed and sank as they traveled. Juzo, his senior, was usually the one to suggest respite. But now that Juzo was dead, Itachi supposed this responsibility fell to him now. He slowed, halted, and sprang down from the tree to the clayish earth. A shaded wood surrounded them, and willow boughs trailed gently on a narrow, clear river with a sandy bank. The sinking sun painted dappled golden strokes on the surface of the water, and fish tail slapped from the waves. Kisame alighted after him. 

“What do you say, Itachi? Fancy a fish dinner? We’ll see who can catch the most.” Kisame’s gently rough voice was surprisingly only baritone for a man his size. As many fish as two elite ninja could catch? “What a wanton slaughter.” “I can eat a lot of fish,” Kisame said. “We’ll do first to catch five,” Itachi decided. “Fine.” Kisame strode to the bank. With a blur of signs and motion of his arm, a sphere of water rose, and a wriggling green bass shimmered inside. He released it from the water prison jutsu and the first thrashing fish tumbled to the earth, and he removed its gills with a stomp. Kisame raised his hand to snare his next victim. Itachi slid kunai between his knuckles like bear claws, three in his right, two in his left. He ignited his sharingan, and like an osprey he saw through the water like glass. He pinpointed the motion of five adult fish, observed the current, and noted the water’s angle of refraction. He jumped high, extended his arms, and let the kunai fly. Easily as wooden targets, each knife struck its living mark. “Impressive,” Kisame said with restrained mirth, dispelling a ball of water and depositing a fish on the bank. “But in my book, fish don’t count as caught when they’re pinned to the bottom of a creek.” There may have been a flicker of perturbance on Itachi’s face. But it must have been a trick of the light. Itachi was not annoyed.

Itachi shed his robe and with a few launching steps he pierced the chilled water in a shallow dive. The fish were weighted by the knives to the riverbed, their eyes wide and mouths open. He snatched the knives by the handles and kicked hard towards the surface. When Itachi breached, he looked to the bank to see Kisame perched on a tree root, one elbow on his knee, grinning widely. His five fish were lined up in size-order at his feet, each about the length of a sandal. “A bit too slow, unfortunately,” Kisame grinned. “I knew I lost the moment I had to dive in,” Itachi said, stepping drenched to the bank. Having to retrieve the fish was a technicality— losing gracefully was not a skill Itachi had to often practice. “No, Itachi. You lost the moment you humored a shark to a fishing match.“ Doubtful, Itachi thought. But he said nothing as he removed the knives and placed his five fish on the bank. “Would you go find some sticks to spit them on?” the victor asked with a gesture to the forest. Itachi did so. Upon returning, Kisame had gathered kindling and larger branches, and arranged them into a conical shape

 “Be a pal and light us up?” Itachi wove a sign and blew a thin jet of flame at the base of the cone. Which, aerating nicely, set the tiny pyre ablaze. “We both have our fields Itachi. You’re not terrible... for a leaf ninja.” Kisame said. The two rogues speared their ten fish in a radial pattern around the flames. Perhaps a bit too soon, Kisame selected a fish and sank his huge teeth into its head. A wretched, wet, splintery sound crunched across the flames as Kisame ate his catch skull, spine, organs and all. Maybe he was doing it to see if it would bother Itachi. Kisame grinned. Or maybe that was just his face. Either way the mist ninja’s huge triangular teeth made quick work of the food. Itachi bit into the side of his fish, now especially careful not to eat its needle thin ribs. Its flesh was moist, hot and salty, and he felt strength flowing back into his body. He allowed his spine to sink against the tree trunk he leaned against. He was cold and tired, and it felt good to have a hot meal around a fire… Even with company as reptilian as Kisame.

At that moment, a sudden jab of pain split behind Itachi‘s eyes and he coughed into his hand. He discreetly curled his fingers into a fist to conceal the blood on his palm.

“Eat a bone?” Itachi cleared his throat and swallowed the blood. “No.” Kisame grunted, his eyes flashing from his soaked partner to the icy stream. “Do you drink, Itachi?” 

“Not alone.”

“You might as well start the fun kind of sinning. It’ll warm you up.” Kisame tossed the greasy stick into the forest and reached for the next largest fish. As he bit a steaming, flaky hunk out of it, he reached for a waterskin on his body. He removed the cap, and passed it to the young man. “Kakuzu would not be pleased to hear what you spend your allowance on,”  Itachi said. “That stinge gave me his speech. He can try to punish me.”

  “Kakuzu has already killed two members of the Akatsuki.” Kisame laughed. “You’re kidding!” “Afraid not.” “Did Pain punish him?”

“No. Our leader has many killers, but only one bookkeeper.”

“Hm. Better hope we develop new talents then, eh?”

Itachi took a few swallows of the sharp but sweet rice wine and returned it to Kisame. Kisame sniffed the lip of the waterskin: he closed his eyes but made no remark. 

The fire flickered lower. Itachi had gathered a little pile of fish bones at his feet. Fish were pretty animals, not frivolous, with graceful spines and streamlined skulls. He counted three heads in his pile. He was comfortably full. Kisame had eaten seven of them, bones and all.

“I learned something today. I wasn’t sure you could use genjutsu on a tiger,” Kisame said. He picked his huge teeth with a shard of rib, then chewed on it as if it were a stem of wheat. He did this until it was pliable, and then swallowed it.

“Men and beasts are very different,” Itachi said.

“Are they?” It was a challenge rather than a simple reaction. Kisame’s contracted eyes studied him.

“Unquestionably.” Itachi held his gaze.

Kisame grunted but said nothing. Instead of glancing down in defeat, his hard eyes swept deliberately and coolly to the side. Thus, Kisame postponed a conclusion to their discussion, at least until he was certain he could win it.  The mist ninja sat with his hands clasped over his stomach. They rested by the fire until it elapsed into smoke and the spirited flames sobered into glowing black and red coals. 

“So Itachi, how does this work? Do we sleep on the ground? Take watches?” “In peaceful conditions, I don’t watch. But I do sleep in a tree for concealment,” Itachi said. “Leaf ninja,” Kisame muttered. “Sleeping in trees like a bunch of monkeys.“ In a flicker, Itachi had climbed the oak above them to its lowest fork. Kisame covered the ashes with a kick and leapt to the limb opposite him. They faced each other for a moment, chins down, listening in the silence for possible observers. Sensing no one, Kisame turned his back and fastened Samehada to the underside of the branch. The weave of his robe was tight and warm, and Itachi tipped his chin inside its high collar. His breath filled the cavity with warm air, and it was not uncomfortable. Crickets chirped. Neither of them said good night. 

Day 2----

Dawn corded its cold light through the pine needles and onto Itachi’s eyelids. As he parted their red curtains, he saw a young crow. It stared for a moment, curious at the oddly placed human, then shuffled its wings and darted off. Rising gently, Itachi stepped to the other side of the trunk to rouse his new partner.

Round fish eyes opened on his approach. “Did you know, sharks never fully sleep?”

Great.  

“Let’s get these teeth to the collection point,” Itachi said.

He led the way until the building became visible from the forest. As was often the case, the underground bounty office had its cover as a mortician’s practice. Morticians had plenty of space for storing bodies, and arriving there from the country with a corpse on one’s shoulder was considered only slightly rude. 

“Who goes in?” Kisame asked.

“I’ll go. You watch.”

Itachi entered the building: he tipped his chin under his collar until only his coal black eyes peered out. Itachi was not an immediately intimidating man. He was of average height, average build, perhaps even thin. There was nothing special about his coloration. But the representative at the counter knew the red-clouded robes, and rising from his collar, Itachi’s eyes gleamed garnet.

The collection man’s knuckles tensed a tendinous white as he stared at the approaching Akatsuki. Itachi halted, and hailed him as stipulated:

 “What rings the Dawn, and shall bring Man to his haven?”

“Our world glimpses Death’s yawn: the hoarse call of the raven.”

Good. Itachi placed his pouch with the teeth on the counter. The man inspected the smooth oranged teeth and accepted them. He set a case of cash on the counter and displayed it to the Uchiha. Itachi did not count the money: no contractor had been foolish enough to short change the organization since a recent incident involving Kakuzu.  

One million yen. Not bad for a glorified pet hunt. Now they just had to deliver the money to the Akatsuki’s ancient master of coin or one of his henchmen. The zombie pair were conducting a mission some forty kilometers away; they could meet them in just a few hours.

“I’ll carry that,” Kisame said when Itachi emerged with the large briefcase. Itachi gave it to him and they set off north. They traveled a quiet hour before Kisame spoke.

“I smell blood.”

Itachi had sensed nothing unusual. Kisame’s strengths were complementary to his indeed. With a gesture of his hand, Itachi instructed Kisame to lead. The shark-ninja’s sense of smell was better than his, but not at the level of a ninja hound’s, because in just another few long leaps, Kisame had grounded himself on a dirt cart path.

Hung upside down on a tree was a human body. The victim’s feet were tied together with a strip of cloth and jabbed through with a stake into the trunk. Itachi thought the man was less than thirty minutes dead. Blood dripped down from his death wound, down his sternum, his throat, to collect on the jut of his jaw and dye maroon swirls in the muddy water of the cart treds. 

“Huh,” Kisame surmised, wrinkling his wide nose. He looked at Itachi.

“This is the Akatsuki’s doing. One of us makes such displays,” Itachi said. 

Itachi cut down the corpse. He strode powerfully, urgently, along the path. Between the trees appeared a traditional inn with the peaked roof of mountain tribes, dark wood paneling, and pale stucco walls. An inn of the piquant sort, judging by the oiran fan and floral carvings on the upper balconies. A familiar black robe with red clouds lay discarded on a bench outside. “Do Akatsuki go to brothels?” Kisame asked. Itachi didn’t answer. On the ground outside the brothel was a circle drawn in blood. “He’s going to kill those women.” “So?”

Itachi rushed forward. 

At the instance of his arrival, an individual strode out of the building’s door. He was young, zealous, handsome, and walked with his smooth chest bared bared. His muscled arm was wrapped around the thin waist of a pale woman with long black hair. Mid sentence, he recognized Itachi. 

“Hey hey, Itachi! Wouldn’t think I’d find you at a place like this. Where’s your new partner?” Hidan greeted.

Itachi’s voice was low. “You paid these people for a service. Their deaths were not part of that.” Like a friendly dog Hidan smiled. A friendly dog, who just in case the friend was a foe, smiled to remind him he had teeth. “Well! I haven’t paid anyone yet, and I think Lord Jashin will appreciate their talent!”

The woman’s smile faltered. No sooner had she realized the danger, Hidan threw her against the wall and held her by the throat. He drew his pike. 

That damn Kakuzu. Maybe if he wasn’t squeezing Hidan’s purse, the cultist would not have extra incentive settle his debts with death. Or maybe Hidan would just kill anyone weaker than him regardless. Itachi’s patience for negotiation had elapsed. Flickering, he grabbed the girl and deposited her next to Kisame in the yard. “What am I supposed to do with this?” Kisame said, but Itachi had already flickered back to Hidan some ten meters away. Now Hidan’s teeth flashed impatiently when he spoke. “You’re annoyingly noble for a member of an evil organization, you know that?”

“Where is Kakuzu,” Itachi asked, though as customary for his questions, his voice lacked a submissive rise pitch at the end. The bothersomely rational waterfall ninja would surely restrain his partner from this idiocy if he were around.

“Think I need him, huh?” 

“Idiots require supervision.”

Shrieking, Hidan raised his scythe and sprang at Itachi. 

Sharingan! Hidan froze. Inside the fictional realm, Hidan was tied to a tree trunk. Itachi created a replica of the retractable pike he tried to use on the prostitute, and with its sharp point, Itachi punctured the man’s intestines. Drawing it out, Hidan flexed his fingers in convulsing pain and howled like a jackal. Itachi felt a presence in his realm he did not invite. A hulking black monster lumbered out from behind the trunk, humanoid in shape with flesh of black fire revealing a white skeleton. It had a skull like a goat and its glowing pink eyes regarded Itachi hungrily. Hidan’s trembling lips parted in rapture as he beheld it. With a bony talon the monster pressed Hidan on his sweating forehead. The brothel, the forest, the yard had returned. The genjutsu was broken. Itachi seized a reactionary few steps back. Hidan was not skilled enough to break out of that on his own. What was that skeletal monster? Did he just witness his god? “You,” Hidan said breathily. Trembling and weakened, he leant on his scythe as he stood. "You'll pay for that!" he swore, swinging the blade at Itachi's throat Itachi would have to fight Hidan without genjutsu. His ninjutsu wouldn’t kill him. And close quarters taijutsu was risky, since one graze could make that blood ritual of his troublesome. He would have to incapacitate Hidan. Chop off a limb. That was how he would win.

Hidan swung at Itachi with the graceless zeal of a chunin, and each time, his weapon only met the air. Itachi drew his tanto blade. Hidan smashed his scythe into the earth on another missed strike, which grounded him. Placing all of his strength in the blow, Itachi cleaved through Hidan’s tibia, crushed his fibula, and Hidan was gracelessly grounded, separated from the bottom half of his leg. Bleeding heavily, Hidan’s severed shin spun to a halt a few meters away. 

“FUCK!”

In the corner of his vision Itachi was aware of Kisame standing tense: he had been ready to act, but must have decided it unwise. Itachi paced forward, shortsword swinging, and when he swung it through the air, the blood leapt off in a fine spray to speckle a tree in red. The blade had cracked beyond repair: he had been reckless to cleave the two bones in Hidan’s shin in one strike. To the music of Hidan’s curses, Itachi began to wipe the soiled blade in the grass. He would have to bury the thing, better children did not find it.

The toothed crown of a plant, like a venus fly trap, emerged from the grass nearby. Zetsu’s head had materialized from the dirt and Itachi’s hands stilled in surprise.

“Hello, Zetsu,“ Itachi greeted the head.  

“Hello.“ Then, “They’re here, Pain,” the strange plant ninja said.

Pain appeared. Robe billowing, he stood between Hidan and Itachi. His presence was magnetic and every head turned to him. “What,” Pain growled, “is the meaning of this infighting?” “I was just... behind on my sacrifices...” Hidan breathed from the ground, and struggled to prop himself up. “When this prick insulted me, gutted me in a genjutsu, and then. Lobbed. Off. My. Fucking. Leg.” “Hidan. Killing civilians and leaving witnesses awards you with the bounty of the five nations. We can not afford this attention.”

“Sorry about that, sir,” Hidan muttered, looking diffusively at the ground.

Pain’s attention swiveled to the next unruly young adult. “Itachi, we are no heroes. Never compromise our goals by attacking our members.”

Itachi dipped his chin in an acknowledgement that was not quite submission. Pain strolled forward to the wooden building. The brothel’s matron, three prostitutes, and a few men stared out at the colorful flock of S ranked ninja from the porch and balcony. Pain extended his right arm. “What are you doing?” Itachi demanded. Pain unfurled his fingers. “Shinra Tensei.” The wooden house exploded in a rain of splinters and structure. Wooden beams and ceramic roof tiles hailed down around them. Itachi searched Pain’s expression for a reason. Instead, Pain’s ringed eyes fixated at the surviving girl who stood shivering next to Kisame. “Kisame,” Pain ordered. Massive Kisame took the girl, placed either hand on the side of her face, framing it in a gesture that seemed almost intimate. But a ligament in Kisame’s forearms twitched, and she was dead before her corpse hit the ground. 

Fire erupted from the uprooted gas pipes and ravenous flames quickly devoured the wooden house. The black beams stood like a skeleton among a roaring, moaning fire that devoured the wood and paper structure. The intense dry heat prickled against the moisture of Itachi’s scleras, but despite it, he could not blink. Pain rounded on Itachi. Backlit by the flames, he saw his own face reflected in the rippling fog-colored eyes that locked him.

 “Our enemies hunt us as we speak. Because of you, Itachi, too many saw too much. If I decide that anyone is disloyal to the Akatsuki, I will kill him.” Itachi stared into eyes more ancient, more evolved, and more knowing than his own. He learned then he was not free in his outlawry. Even he must tread the line between light and dark as closely as he dared. Should his steps toward the light be too obvious, he would find his own neck on the rope, and dead men can protect no one. 

—

Author’s Note:

暁 Akatsuki = Dawn

A step away from my usual work, but I recently fell in love with Naruto Shippuden. I have chapter two, Cannibals, about finished and will post it soon.

*Special thanks to myochiikurin for her hard work beta reading this chapter and the next!

I thought the life of Itachi and the others members settling into their lives in the Akatsuki was the most compelling and underexplored aspect in the Naruto universe, and thought I’d give filling the gap of this organization my try.

Feedback is greatly appreciated,

Celtic

Next Chapter on Tumblr: https://celticfeather.tumblr.com/post/188589156066/akatsuki-fic-campfires-ch-2-cannibals

(Follow on FF or Ao3:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13409132/1/Campfires

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019778/chapters/49992863  )

[ahiddenpath]

My Favorite Writing Stuff

One of the best things about writing is that all you need is a pen and paper!  But we all have our favorite tools and luxuries, and I thought it might be fun to talk about mine below the cut.  Lotsa pics, long post.

Word Processors

Scrivener

The single writing item I use most is my word processor, Scrivener, by Literature and Latte.  At some point waaaaaay back in 2012, I found myself writing Growing Up with You in Microsoft Word...  And having to wait ten seconds for the screen to adjust and load new text as I scrolled.  It was just too danged long for the program to handle.  Just reading my manuscript was a nightmare, let alone copying and pasting to move text, shuffle paragraphs, etc.  Making a new doc for each chapter quickly became a clunky chore.

THEN I FOUND SCRIVENER, AND IT’S THE BEST.

Scrivener is... not very user friendly; there’s definitely a learning curve.  But it was immediately so much better for writing long fiction than Word that I bought a book on the program and read it from cover to cover, which...  I don’t think I’ve ever done before.  That’s how much of a game changer this was.

The feature I rely on most is the binder.

This is the binder for Four Years, which currently has...  Forty-eight chapters.  I corralled the chapters into two folders, one for the first year of college (1), and one for the second (2).  

If I click folder 1, all of the chapters appear, each snug in their own folder.  Once the Scrivener file loads, there is no further loading time.  Each folder can be moved by clicking and dragging, as can each text file inside each folder.  FREEDOM!

This feature alone was worth the price of the program.  They offer a free trial, so please check it out if you’re interested!

Portable Word Processors

I’ve mentioned these before, but I have two portable gadgets that allow me to write on the go, distraction free.

Alpha Smart Neo 2

This might look like the baby of a toddler’s toy computer and a keyboard, but it’s actually my baby.

Just kidding!  Sort of!  The Alpha Smart Neo 2 is a portable word processor that boots up in a second, is powered by three AA batteries for eons, and weighs about 2 pounds.  They are no longer in production (which is a crime), but there are oodles available on Ebay for about $20-30.  

(I used to own and talk about my Alpha Smart 3000.  The Alpha Smart Neo 2 is the latest model before the company shut down, and the keyboard is nicer; it’s quieter and easier on the fingers).

I honestly can’t say enough about this device.  I rarely draft on a computer anymore; it’s just too easy to find yourself surfing the web, falling down a research vortex, or even reading your manuscript instead of writing.  Alpha Smarts can remember what you wrote until you delete it.  That’s it.  That’s all they do.  It’s beautiful.

I write about 800 words/hr on a computer.  I write about 1,500 words/hr on an Alpha Smart.  Distractions are so, so real.

When you’re ready to port your writing from your Alpha Smart to your word processor, all you have to do is connect a printer cable to your Alpha Smart, then plug the usb end into your computer.  Open your word processor, turn on your Alpha Smart, select the file you want to transfer, and hit send.  If you forget any of this, it’s written on the back of the Alpha Smart.

I know that no one should blame their success or failure on their tools, but...  I wouldn’t be able to write nearly as much without my Alpha Smart.  And if you ever do writing meet ups, you’ll be the only person who isn’t fighting for a power outlet!  It also fits easily into a tote bag or backpack.

Oh, Alpha Smart Neo 2.  My partner and friend!

Freewrite

The Freewrite by Astrohaus is... um.  Well, it’s a lot like the Alpha Smart Neo 2, except that it’s waaaay more expensive, much harder to use, and has terrible firmware.

There are cool things about it, for sure!  For one, it has this weird...  Pseudo typewriter feel.  It’s much larger and heavier than an Alpha Smart, and I’m not sure that I actually consider it portable...  But the thick, angled base practically functions as a lap desk.  It’s comfortable to use and has a nice mechanical keyboard.

It has wifi capability, so you can send drafts directly to your dropbox/cloud/email, no cords or transfers needed.  The screen is an e-ink scree, like a Kindle Paperwhite, easy on the eyes and readable in the sun.  It’s also backlit, which is the one major win over the Alpha Smart.

I bought mine used off ebay for a fraction of the list price (this thing is NOT worth $600 on any planet, goodness gracious mercy dang!  I paid about $180), and, um...  I still don’t know if it was worth it, not when I can buy an Alpha Smart Neo 2 for $30 tops.  I mean, I like the e-ink and the backlit screen, but...  There’s a lag between typing and the words populating on the screen.  There are no arrows to fix a typo.  I had to send 10 emails back and forth to tech support to get it updated and working.  It was not broken, and I understood all the directions...  It’s just god awful firmware.  I also lost a draft because it wipes your device if you open their Sprinter program while using your Freewrite.  

I still use it, though!  The tactile sensation is really nice, the keys make a satisfying clickety clackety, the E-ink screen is lovely, I adore the option to write in a not-that-well-lit room, and the wifi transfer is faster than my Alpha Smart’s wired method.  But I still can’t recommend it as long as Alpha Smart Neo 2s are available, not unless you’re some combination of the following: a writing nut who writes so gosh dang much that these toys are worth it, someone who is big on tactile sensation, someone who likes hipster stuff, or someone who would love an Alpha Smart but can’t read the electronic screen well.  If this is you, make sure you also have a strong grasp on how to talk to and understand tech support, because you will need them.

Just never ever EVER open Sprinter...

Notebooks

Leuchtturm1917, hard cover, A5, dotted

MAY I INTRODUCE YOU TO MY LOVE, THE LEUCHTTURM NOTEBOOK.

WHERE DO I EVEN START.

The Leuchtturm is...  Just the best.  The hard cover takes abuse well, stickers hold onto it nicely, it has two ribbon bookmarks and an elastic closure, there’s a folder attached to the back inside cover...  The dot version is unobtrusive and encourages smaller writing, which helps the notebook last.  And it is available in a rainbow of colors!

The paper is lovely, the pages are numbered, and IT HAS AN INDEX.

I’m a scientist, and working in a Leuchtturm is just like working in a fancy, expensive lab notebook.  The set up is done already, man.  You just gotta jot down what pages contain what.  IT’S SO ORGANIZED, with almost zero effort!  Mi amor.

Sure, I could make an index page and number all of my pages manually...  But I’ve met myself.  I won’t do it.  When you combine all of these lovely features, you have one unbeatable notebook.

Plus, they’re easy to obtain in the states!  I order them off Amazon or buy them at my local Barnes & Nobles.

Midori MD Notebook, A5, grid

The Midori has even nicer quality paper than the Leuchtturm, but the cover can’t take abuse, and it lacks the nice features.  I truly appreciate the paper quality, but the other features bring me back to my Leuchtturms every time.

It’s a Japanese item and is more difficult to import to the states.  You can get them off Amazon, though!

Pens

I use Uni-ball Signo 207 gel pens.  They write comfortably, and using them feels satisfying.  They should be available in most Walmart/Target type stores, at least in the states!  

It should be noted that I’m just not a pen buff.  I tried fountain pens, and it was more trouble than it was worth for me.

Folios/Traveler’s Notebooks

Okay, so you found the perfect notebook!  Wanna make it SUPER DUPER FANCY PANTS?!  Well, you could try a traveler’s notebook.  

I only learned what a traveler’s notebook is about a year ago, so if you’re also in the dark...  It’s a leather cover that holds notebooks inside with elastic.  I own these chic sparrows, one for my Midori notebook (or whatever notebook I’m using at the time), and one for my journal.

My full name is etched into them, so please pardon my censorship XD

The chic sparrow traveler’s notebooks are so elegant and decadent and...  I won’t lie, I literally move one or both around the house with me, just so I can look at them.  

The one on the left is a Mr. Darcy deluxe, size A5, in the Wickham color.  The one on the right is an Enchanted Woods deluxe, size A5, in the Elderwood color.

They have lots of pockets on the inside, a pen loop, and elastics to hold multiple notebooks.  This one is strung with a Midori notebook.  I also have a smaller B6 one that I use as a wallet!  It holds a small notebook, so I can write down those ideas that always happen when I’m out and don’t have paper.  The pockets hold IDs, credit cards, and cash.

It’s just this... magical, opulent item.  While it’s likely the least practical thing on this list, it’s very special to me.

Lap Desks

I HAVE A HARRY POTTER RAVENCLAW STORAGE DESK FROM POTTERY BARN AND I FEEL LIKE A WITCH WHEN I USE IT.

Oh dear, I took a terrible picture, it looks so lovely in person.  

The top can slide in both directions, revealing enough storage for several A5 notebooks, pens, and more.  It’s a great way to cart your stuff into your favorite cozy nook for a writing session.  Plus, you’ll feel like a Hogwarts student!  It’s available in all four house designs, plus a Hogwarts crest version.

Pottery Barn puts these on sale occasionally.  I’d aim for 25% off before buying.

My Writing Bag

I decked out a tote bag in writing pins to carry my Alpha Smart, thesaurus, a notebook, and pens.  You can use any bag, as long as it accommodates what you need!  Here are my fave sources for writing-related pins:

Literary Emporium, who makes my favorite pin, “Still I Rise,” a Maya Angelou quote.  They have the most gorgeous pins.

When life gives you lemons, read them, advice for the ages

And fandom:

Digivice pin

My beloved Sailor Moon pin, the loveliest pin I’ve ever seen (not shown because it lives on my Sailor Moon jacket!).  All of the inner senshi are available!

THAT’S ALL, THAT WAS SO MUCH.  Please let me know if you try any of these out!

[figureviews]

Review: Nendoroid 803 Conan Edogawa

For some people anime conventions are a chance to have fun... for my wallet they’re the reason he’s emptied due to me getting new Nendo in my collection.

Conan Edogawaf rom the popular anime series "Meitantei Conan" based on the homonym manga, came into my collection exactly when I spotted him (along with other Nendos I’ll talk later on) in an anime convention... (below in an official photo).

I’ll be frank, I was a little hesitant in getting this little guy because I love the manga but I wasn’t sure a Nendo version of Conan would work well since Conan is... well, already chibified so I feared it would simply feel like having a copy of him more than a cute Nendo.

Well... copy or not I’ll admit his Nendo version is still adourable so I’m happy he came home!

His package is... of the old standard size but with a larger window showing him compared to the old standard model. It not only has the Good Smile logo but also the made at GSC's 'Lucky Factory' in Tottori, Japan logo. I guess they were afraid if they were to make it in China there would be too many bootleg of such a popular chara. Try to avoid them as well, the original is so much better.

If you’re not familiar with the old package here there’s a comparative image.

They’re not terribly different but still you can see how the window showing Conan is larger. I wonder if this is the standard package for Nendo made in Tottori as Chris Redfield which I previously reviewed, also made in Tottori had it as well and the same goes for Tanya Degurechaff and Sakura Miku Bloomed in Japan which I’ll review in future and which are also made in Tottori.

Anyway, going on, let’s give a look at Conan’s blister pack.

As you can see the plastic wrapping is the same of the other blister pack, here, look at him without all that wrapping for a better view.

As you can see already he comes with a good amount of spare parts. Nothing over the top but it’s clear they gave him many options for posing.

The stand and the brace (let’s get over with the boring part immediately) are the standard ones.

Of course we’ve instructions in English and Japanese.

And now let’s move to more juicy stuffs, let’s look at all of Conan’s disassembled parts!

Quite a difference in amount compared to Okanehira, isn’t that right? Really, if I compare him and Conan I feel sorry for him.

So, going with order we’ve:

Legs first.

Conan comes with a total of 5 legs, which are meant to be 3 right legs and 2 left legs.

Although you can see bent legs they aren’t actually for sitting, just for kneeling. They don’t really work that well on sitting due to Conan’s short which hint at how his legs are in a straight position. In fact the only slightly bent leg is the one on the left (which Conan uses to go on the skateboard) which, to work, has on its top an extra part that hints at how the fold of the pants get bent.

As I was pretty curious about the working of that leg I couldn’t help but immediately try it out.

Uhum... up close you might notice how the folding of the pants on the leg doesn’t perfectly match with the pants (unless I had a defective leg?) but it’s still something that can work.

Anyway 5 legs are a good selection which gives him mobility options.

Arms and hands now.

6 harms, 3 right and 3 left but with an addition of 2 extra right hands and 1 left hand for definitely A LOT of posing.

It’s also worth to note that you can detatch the bowtie from the hand holding it so you can use that hand for other posing.

As it happens often with chibified figures, proportions of objects change according to the characters holding them or wearing them. While hats or helmets become much smaller when a Nendo hold them opposed to when he wears them, in the bowtie case, the bowtie Conan hold is much bigger than the ones he wear... in fact this Nendo comes with two different bowties, one for wearing and one for holding.

In fact if you look at the upper part of his body...

...you can notice the bowtie can be easily detatched so that Conan won’t look like wearing his bowtie while holding his bowtie.

As the position for speaking in the bowtie still covers the part where the bowtie is, it succesfully hids the slot in which the bowtie would need to be inserted.

The photo don’t really do justice to the colour of Conan’s clothes but they’re bright and ‘television-like’. Sure, they’re very simple and essential but I still love how they come out.

Faceplates now!

They’re the standard amount, 3. The interesting part is that, apart from the serious version, they’ve a sideway look, a hint that Conan is normally better when displayed not straight but slightly turned.

And, of course, Conan has his eyeglasses.

The shape of Conan’s hair allows the glasses to remain firmly on Conan as the tips of the frame can attach to the frontal part of the hair, while the frontal part of the eyeglasses is further insured in it’s stillness by both by standing on top of Conan’s nose (they don’t quite rest on it but if they come slightly lose it would stop them from sliding down) and also by having the hair covering them slightly. Mind you, it isn’t pressing them down, it’s just stopping them from getting distant from the face.

So let’s look at the hair.

If you want the hair isn’t really shaded, they’re mostly a single colour but it’s also a faithful and good reprodution of Conan’s hair. And yes, if you need to, you can detatch the strand of hair at the top of the back part of the head.

Oh, I forgot to mention, Conan also comes with his skateboard which is really faithfully reproduced.

In case you’re curious this is the original.

And with the skateboard we’ve finished Conan’s accessories.

If I’ve to be fully honest I wish they had given him a soccer ball and a pose for him to kick it as not only Conan often uses a soccer ball to knock down escaping culprits...

...but playing with it is also is favourite method to relax himself.

An alternate pair of glasses with the radar included would also be nice.

... while I think it would have been difficult to use the pose for when he’s using his watch (in his small Nendo size the watch is not even visible)....

but well, although I’m saying so, I still think Conan has enough parts that allow him to make enough poses. So while extra would have been welcomed, he’s already a fully furnished Nendo.

So let’s look in deep to those poses. Conan has many poses that are recurring in the series... but in many variations. Due to this I couldn’t quite find the perfectly matching pictures.

For example the first pose Good Smile proposes is a mix of this two poses.

The bowtie pose is performed actually in various way during the series which include kneeling but also standing or sitting.

As for the skateboard pose... both the manga and the anime presents us with some HIGHLY dynamic skateboard poses so the pose Good Smile suggests feels rather tame but it still works.

The “Only one truth prevails!” pose also comes in many variations.

And the dumbfounded pose also comes in many variants.

Overall the poses are all good and you can vary them to make them more appealing as Conan, as said before, comes with many spares.

Overall I think it’s a really good and well furnished Nendo.

Would anyone who’s not fan of the series, want to buy him?

Hum... maybe.

While I think Conan is really good as a reproduction of his own character, on the whole he comes as a Nendo with the body of a child and with clothes a bit peculiar. You might want him if you plan to custom make a child... otherwises... hum... I’m not sure.

Still, I love this little one!

On an interesting addition I’ll mention Re-ment too also released a Meitantei Conan set, the small day collection.

Accessories don’t involve just Conan but also the rest of the cast... but if you want to give a better look at the Conan accessories here they are... and they include the soccer ball!

[sarcasticdebate]

Oasis

Relationships: Echo & Spacekru, Echo & Bellamy Blake - AO3

Rating: G

Summary: Western AU Echo wanders into a new town, fleeing from the one she was chased out of and wanting nothing more than some water to drink. She doesn't expect to be so enamored by the town or it's people. 

If it were a little later in the night, and she had allowed herself a glass of that moonshine, maybe she would mention the deep sorrow that’s sat with her since she passed by Poles Ridge, the most southern landmark on a map that had placed Geda at the center. How she’s farther from home than she’s ever been before in her life. A home that’s not hers anymore, and maybe never should have been. 

The town emerges on the western horizon, a cracky outcropping against the dry flat terrain. From this distance it’s about the size of her thumbnail, the edges around it simmering in the heat. Echo considers passing it by, but she can hear her horse panting under her, and the dried riverbed she’s being following for the past forty miles doesn’t seem to be getting any wetter.

The town will have water at least, and that’s enough incentive for her to turn her reigns. Still, the horse and herself are too tired to traverse even the short distance in anything like a timely fashion. She dismounts when they are about halfway there, noticing how rocky her perch has become. Her horse needs more water than her and it’s been a dry couple of days.

Luckily the town doesn’t stop growing, and it’s motivation enough to keep her moving forward. As if sensing her own resilience, the horse remains strong too, and they stumble into the small town just before dusk.

If the place has a name, it isn’t being advertised, and she doesn’t bothering asking anyone she passes by. A few of them meet her eyes and tip their hats. One man who has the look of an immigrant from across the Pacific waves from behind his cart of vegetables, but otherwise, the townspeople recognize her as an outsider and give her room to breath.

Green’s Inn & Bar is situated near the center of town, with three stories for boarding and stables out back. A little boy sits under the overhang of the back porch and springs to his feet when he sees her, taking over the reigns of her horse with a gentle pat to his nose, and a toothy grin for her. His joy surprises her a bit, as unburdened as it is. Echo hands him a few cents without thinking about it, and if possible his delight grows at the sight of the copper coin.

“Thank you ma’am!” he calls as he takes a pail in hand and prances off towards a well somewhere. Echo cannot remember having so much easy energy as a child. Perhaps he just has good parents, or maybe it’s an indication of the kinder nature of the town in general. She can only hope.

Climbing the three steps into the salon makes her thighs burn more than it should, but her entire body burns, her skin cracked and dry and muscles tense from exertion.

“What can I get you?” asks the woman behind the bar as Echo heaves herself into a barstool.

“Just water,” Echo answers, and the woman turns to fill the order with a nod. Echo’s eyes drift shut without her permission, the restlessness of the short shifts of sleep she had dared to take on horseback the previous night creeping up on her. The tavern is quiet now, past the lunch rush and before dinner, and it wouldn’t have been hard for her to drift off if it weren’t for the man who decides to strike up a conversation with her.

“C’mon, you want something stronger than water,” he says, “Let me buy you a drink.”

Echo’s eyelids peel back, annoyance settling across her brow. There’s very little she’d like less then getting solicited at the moment.  

The man has a thin, dirty face and bright eyes. There’s a gun on his belt, but he’s shorter than her and not terribly fit, she could take him easily if he were to try anything. But she doesn’t think he will. The way he tilts his hips and crosses his arms is far from flirtatious. Not to mention his scowl.

“Alcohol is damaging when you’re dehydrated,” she says, the dryness of her tone a result of both the feeling in her mouth and her general annoyance. Unfortunately he doesn’t take the clear dismissal for what it is, tilting his head like the fact she knows something so obvious makes her more interesting. Or challenging. The frown isn’t as deep.

“Ignore him,” says another voice, female this time, and coming from her other side. “John’s been sober six years and ‘as forgotten how booze work.” The woman has darker skin, more appropriate for the desert sun, and a mark around her eye like a sailor’s tattoo. Her eyes are bright too, but not with enthusiasm. More like the shimmering waves of heat on the horizon at mid day, the ones that make water seem just a step away. Echo notices the gun on her hip too.

“You’re new in town,” the woman remarks, taking the seat next to Echo without asking. As if it were an invitation, the man, John, takes the seat on her right.

“Just passing through,” Echo says, wishing they’d get the hint and just scram.

“Passing through? Hope little Jordan’s taking care of your horse.” Echo was never groomed with manners. The next thing out of her mouth would have been a lashing dismissal to leave her well the fuck alone, if the conversation hadn’t been interrupted with a loud cough.

“Murphy, Emori, I hope you aren’t giving this lady any trouble?” Her uninvited companions turn at the sound with matching eyerolls. The new party stands behind them, his voice is deep and authoritative. Something inside her perks up immediately upon hearing it. He has his thumbs tucked beneath his belt too make his chest seem larger. The sherrif badge on his breast gleams.

“Us, Bellamy? Never,” John (Murphy?) says with clearly false affront.

“Then leave her alone,” he says, with exasperation this time rather than sternness.

“Nothing wrong with a conversation, Bellamy,” Emori says, but swings herself out of the chair nonetheless. “Sorry I never caught your name, I’m Emori,” she says.

“Echo,” she relents, a consolation for their leaving. Emori smiles like she doesn’t believe that’s her real name, but will except it for the time being. She gives her a wave before going to meet Murphy at the pool table, her hand and fingers curved like a ginger root. Echo turns her gaze to Bellamy quickly.

“Sorry about them,” he says, indicating if he can take Murphy’s vacated chair. She nods. Pleasant company she will take. “I’m convinced the two of them are the best con men west of the Mississippi, didn’t want you getting caught up in it. It’s sorta my job to manage the crime,” he says with a short chuckle, pointing to the badge like she might have somehow missed it.

“Really?” she questioned with disbelief, casting the couple a quick glance. As far as she can tell the pair are flirting outrageously as they take turns stretching out across the pool table.

“Probably planning on learning your schedule so they could nick your horse when you leave, something of a bad habit the two of them have.”

She inspects Bellamy’s face. The lines of his humor are still there, but they lay over years of turmoil and hard work, she can see it weathered on his face. The generosity doesn’t fit neatly into that mosaic. People are weathered like that too, where she’s from, and they have a way of dealing with thieves.

“Why don’t you hang them?” she asks. Bellamy blinks.

“It’s been done,” he says, somber. “Didn’t quite stick.”

He coughs, shallow and awkward from his throat. “Besides, they keep all the other raiders and gangs away. Orchestrated a ‘mining accident’ that’s kept McCreary and his boys out of these parts for years.”

Echo has some concerns about his methods of law enforcement, but she doesn’t get a chance to voice them, interrupted by the server.

“Sorry for the wait, here’s your water,” she says, handing over a bigger glass than Echo could have dreamed. “And some cabbage soup. Best stuff in town, my husband grows the cabbages himself, and it’s more nutritious than you think. You looked like you could use a good meal.”

There’s a hunk of bread next to the steaming bowl of soup and she tears into it immediately, caught off guard by her own hunger. Sustaining herself off of canned rations and the burnt game she’d shot for the past week has done no favors for her stomach.

“Thank you,” she says, remembering her manners after a gulp of the soup burns the top of her mouth.

“Of course!” The patronne says, and then turns to Bellamy. “And what can I get for you?”

“The same as she’s having, Harper” He says with a smile, “And Monty’s finest moonshine, if you don’t mind.”

Harper laughs, even as she slides down the bar to fill the order, “You know that stuff is all nauseating.”

“Just the way I like it.”

Echo sets down the glass of water, half of which she’s already downed.

“This is a nice place,” she remarks, in part to Bellamy, but mostly to herself. Recognizing someone’s needs isn’t something she’s used to in customer service. The atmosphere here is camaradic too, rather than sordid. She cups her hands around the bowl of soup, the warmth seeping into her skin.

“Yeah, Harper’s a good soul,” Bellamy says, following the woman’s back as she prepares his drink. Echo nods in agreement, but that isn’t quite what she meant.

“Not just her, your town in general. The people here are generous, they seem happy.” Bellamy tilts his head like she’s some antiquity.

“You’ve been here less than an hour and you’ve gleaned all that? After those idiots tried to scam you?”

“It doesn’t take long to feel the nature of a place,” Echo argues. She’s good at first impressions, she knows she’s right. “Even your criminals do their part to protect this town, how many places can say the same?”

That at least gives him pause, although he still seems on the fence about agreeing with her. “You must be doing your job well Sheriff Bellamy.”

He’s more pensive then, his face a little darker. Things haven’t always been like this, then. Maybe they won’t be for much longer. She wonders what he sacrificed of himself to reach this state of peace.

“I do my best,” is all he concedes. “What about you?” He asks, “What kind of place are you from?”

Does she want to tell him? The events of the past month burn her mouth hotter than the soup ever could, and there’s no real harm in this stranger knowing. Not when his kindness lifts the dark circles from under his eyes.

“A harsher one than here,” she says, “in Dakota territory.”

Bellamy shifts in his seat, and for a moment she believes he’s going to defend the cruel environment of his town, some sort of showing of male bravado, but instead he nods at her to continue when she pauses.

“Winters are always the worst, but we knew how to deal with them. It was this summer we didn’t know how to handle. The wells dried up.”

Bellamy’s face fell, even talking about it now makes the back of her throat itch. She takes another drink of water.

“I was the deputy of a town whose neighbors were killing each other for their water stores.”

It is at that moment Harper comes back with Bellamy’s food and drink. Her face was as equally stricken as his.

“Well God bless you,” she says with genuine sympathy, and for some reason Echo finds comfort in the sad pinch of her brows. She recognizes empathy of course, but can hardly remember the last time any was granted onto her.

“I thought we needed outside help,” Echo continues, acknowledging Harper with a small nod, “a commision or something to get water or at least move the people out till the dry months were past. But the mayor and our sheriff disagreed. They thought that if they allowed the townspeople lowered the population enough we would be able to ration the stores and make it by ourselves.

“I love-loved Geda, I couldn’t see it torn apart like that. When I protested their plan I was chased out of town.”

“I’m so sorry,” Harper says, her fingers are curled around the edges of her sleeves.

“As am I,” Bellamy agrees in his lower register.

There’s more to say of course. She could explain the pain and confusion she’s felt the past few weeks, thinking of the bodies of her friends and neighbors that she left behind. People she had sworn to protect. Or the anger that had made her sick the first night, the brine in her mouth a manifestation of the sourness the betrayal of her leaders had left her with. If it were a little later in the night, and she had allowed herself a glass of that moonshine, maybe she would mention the deep sorrow that’s sat with her since she passed by Poles Ridge, the most southern landmark on a map that had placed Geda at the center. How she’s farther from home than she’s ever been before in her life. A home that’s not hers anymore, and maybe never should have been.

“Well, you’re welcome here as long as you need to stay,” Harper says, “We have rooms for long-term lodging, and if you can’t pay for it there’s plenty of ways to help around here. Monty is always clambering for another pair of hands in the garden.”

“That I am,” says a new voice, Harper’s husband, who Echo recognizes even without his hat and cart of vegetables, and who seems to recognize her in turn. The look on his face suggests he’s heard the tail end of her story.  “I unpacked everything into the cellar,” he says just to Harper, followed by a brief kiss. He looks about ready to strike up a conversation with Bellamy, but is caught with his mouth half open at the look of concentration on Bellamy’s face.

“Or you might think about working for me,” he says after a held moment. He continues quickly once all the present company turn to him in confusion. “I have a deputy, and no plans to leave her jobless,” he says, to the benefit of Harper, who looked about ready to lash into him at the comment. The woman in question is no doubt a friend of hers. “But Raven’s more concerned with city planning, and getting the railroad to come this way than she’s ever been with watching crime. I could use another deputy with a good head on her shoulders, especially…”

He drifts off, but the look of contained excitement on Monty’s face suggests he suspects where Bellamy was going. “Especially when you’re mayor,” he finishes for him.

“You’re really going to run?” Harper asks with obvious excitement, the revelation news to her.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, “I talked to Clarke about it today. She wasn’t exactly happy about it, but I can’t stand by her single minded viewpoints anymore. Killing anyone who might be a threat to the town isn’t a sound method of crime control,” here he indicates his head behind him, to where Murphy and Emori are still loitering about the pool table, eavesdropping Echo realizes now. “but she’s still unwilling to change. So we’ve decided to make it a fair race. I actually came by to tell you both. Meeting you was just a happy accident,” he says to Echo specifically. “You seem experienced in the type of situation we’re dealing with. I’d love to have you on my team.”

“You’ve known me less than an hour and you’ve gleaned all that?” she says, genuinely curious, but with a fair amount of good humor as well. By all accounts Bellamy seems to be a good man who associates with good, if morally dubious, people.

“It doesn’t take me long to gather the nature of a person,” he says with an intimate smile. For the first time in recent memory, her chest feels lighter, her heart excited. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know the horrible things she’s done in the name of justice and protection, no doubt he’s done the same, he’s seen the good in her too.

“Well that’s a load of horseshit,” Murphy interrupts, coming back to the bar. Emori reclaims her seat on Echo’s left, sneaking a sip of Bellamy’s untouched moonshine with only Echo to notice. “And to think our mayor is going to have your ego.”

“Be quiet, Murphy” Bellamy says, still focused on Echo.

“I think I’d like to stay for awhile,” she says. “Yours seems a worthy cause to fight for.”

Bellamy smiles at her as the other four erupt into debates about how to gain Bellamy favor in the election. His eyes only break away from hers when there’s a commotion at the door. A woman in fashionable yet practical clothing bursts into the room, her arms encumbered by a large stack of papers that seems at risk of falling at each of her limping steps.

“I just got back from the press, look at these bad boys,” she says to the room at large, holding up a poster with BELLAMY BLAKE FOR MAYOR printed proudly down the middle.

“Thank you Raven,” Bellamy says as Harper hurries over to take some of the papers, wasting no time in sticking them to her walls. “This is Echo,” he introduces, “She’s from up north, I’ve recruited her.”

“I’m Raven, it’s a pleasure,” she says, reaching out to shake her hand, then turning to Monty, “get me a drink, would you Green?”

The bar is a flurry of activity after that as the six of them discuss the town’s issues, and Echo is no expert, but she contributes when she can and the others listen and respond and make her question her ideals. Stories are flung around the room, Echo’s among them, and what an odd feeling it is, to feel accepted despite it.

Other patronnes come and go, stopping by to question Bellamy or to clap him on the back. Some even address her, wondering about her endeavors or welcoming her. Harper leaves at one point to collect her son, only for the boy to refuse going to bed and run around the bar to the delight of everyone except his parents. But eventually he’s tucked in, and the bar clears out, Bellamy the last to go. Monty brings her up to her new room, small but comfortable, the few belongings left in her saddlebag already there.

Echo pours herself another glass of water from the pitcher before climbing into bed. She finishes  it and feels sated.

[razmahdaz-art]

A Second Chance For More. Chapter 8

More super Shimada Bros, and Casual Hanzo is here! Woo! My Boy! Also a genuinely touching moment that felt great to write. This ain’t over, obviously. Next chapter may be the last? Possibly? Stay tuned to find out. :3

    Hanzo did exactly as Angela instructed. Strict bed rest for the following few days, using a wheelchair to get around the base and not stressing his leg muscles to much. And just as she said, he was walking before he knew it. She had given him a temporary pair of legs to use until Torbjorn was back to make him permanent sets of casual and battle prosthetics. It was a bit of an adjustment, since the ones he were using for the mean time were significantly lighter than the ones he had. But soon enough, he was back to walking, running, and even exercising with his new legs. It was a good feeling, a literal and figurative weight, being lifted off his body.

    But this wasn’t the only change he had gone through. As soon as he was able to walk and get around by himself again, he was in and out of town in the following days, finishing those ‘errands’ he said he would be getting done.

    First thing he did was get a haircut. After all, he hadn’t gotten a proper one in maybe a year, and he was sick of his same old long hair that was completely terrible to maintain. He went to a small shop to get it done and was oblivious to what he exactly wanted. He could go short again, like when he was working for his father’s business, or he could simply get a trim and dye the greys. It took him a while until he finally decided to go with something new. He wasn’t one for quick or brash decisions, but considering that he was changing a few things, might as well try something new. After he sat in the chair for what seemed like hours, feeling an electric razor brush against his scalp and his hair being pulled in multiple directions so every angle could be taken care of, his chair was turned back towards the mirror and he barely recognized himself. A clean and well cut undercut, all greys in his hair disappeared. The remaining hair was laid flat against the one side of his head and as soon as he left the salon, he pulled the still long hair back into a small, tight bun, an unruly strand of his bangs remaining free to hang in his face.

    Second, was some new clothes. This was easy for him, since he wasn’t going to change his regular style too much. He really just needed clothes to help get him through the harsher winter than he was used to. Hanamura never got large amounts of snow, and if was to visit Genji in Nepal, he thought it may be a great idea to get warmer clothes than the ones he had. And new shoes, since the ones he wore over his old legs were a size or two larger than his new ones. He just grabbed what he needed, snow boots and some regular tennis shoes were really all he needed right now, and warmer jackets, jeans that could hold layers under them, and some undershirts.

    The last thing was a bit of a quick decision. He was about to leave and return to the base until he saw small tattoo and piercing shop. At first, he didn’t think twice about, just thinking ‘maybe later’, but then the thought of ‘What would Genji say?’ crept its way into his head. He already had a small hole in his ear from when he was young and dumb, caused by stolen alcohol and his brothers promise to pay for the earring and piercing itself. What would be wrong with one more? Temptation won, and he walked in the shop.

    “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!” Genji shouted, watching his brother walk off the air lift in a completely new outfit, a silver barbell in the bridge of his nose, and his hair practically gone. Hanzo fixed the duffle bag on his back as his brother gripped his shoulders with as much force as a snake biting into its prey. Hanzo himself just seemed to chuckle at his brothers reaction. “WHAT...JUST...WHY?” He seemed to ask, not fully believing that his was his older, stuck up, does math for fun, brother.

    “I’ve changed a lot this year. I just thought it was time for something new,” Hanzo said, his hands gripping his brother’s arms in a similar way. Genji still seemed surprised and shocked at what he was seeing, but a shit eating grin crept across his face. He let go of his older sibling and he started escorting him towards a room that was close to his. “Alright, Mr. Mid-life-crisis. Anything else i should know about? Did you get a tramp stamp or buy a car?” Genji asked a bit sarcastically. Hanzo simply just rolled his eyes, before stopping in their tracks. The other looked somewhat confused when he started to roll up one of his pants legs. And in place of the harsh, cold, bulky metal that made up his lower leg was a thinner, leaner and cleaner model. Genji covered his mouth in surprise, before realizing something. He was about to shout again, but didn’t knowing there were others around.

    “You little bitch! That’s why you didn’t text me a few days ago!” He muttered, making Hanzo laugh again. He pulled his pants leg down again before standing straight with a smirk on his face, standing to meet his brothers gaze. “Perhaps,” He said smugly. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve stayed behind,” Genji said, seemingly a bit disappointed by the fact that his brother had kept these quite major changes from him. Hanzo put his hand on his younger brothers shoulder, and gave the most caring smile he could. “Because. I wished to surprise you,” He said in a kind tone. It perked Genji up, a smile returning to his scarred face. His hand moved to his brothers, resting metal on flesh.

    “Is that some way of telling me you didn’t get me a Christmas present?” He joked, earning a laugh from his older sibling. He retracted his hand and stuck it into his jacket’s pocket, smirking a bit before he spoke. “Again. Perhaps,” Hanzo stated calmly as they continued walking the hall to where Hanzo would be staying, sharing light hearted conversations the way there. They had finally reached the small guest room, Genji opening the door and letting his brother see the surroundings. It was an adequately sized room, but was almost completely barren besides the bed, a small closet, a bedside table and some incense that were ready to burned upon it. “There are extra blankets in the closet, since it gets to be 40 below outside,” Genji informed, leaning in the doorway. “I’ll leave you to your business. I’ll be with Zenyatta in the main meditation temple if you need to find me. If not, I'll be back in a few hours,” He said, patting his brother on the shoulder. Hanzo nodded and began to place his things on the floor and wherever he felt like they could be without being in the way or looking like a mess. Genji was just about to leave, before turning back to speak a final time.

    “Thank you for coming Anija. It means more than you’d think,” He said. Hanzo just looked up at his brother with a warm smile. “I’m happy to be here. After all, it’s the first family Christmas in over a decade,” he replied just before his brother left. He thought he saw Genji’s eyes turn a bit red, as if he was tearing up.

    The night came and it came quickly. Hanzo had settled himself into the room quite quickly, putting his bow under the bed (one could always be prepared) and the duffle bag with his clothes in it inside the closet. He doubted he’d be around long enough for it to be better to actually hang his clothes. He did have time to go see Genji once he was done, but decided that he just wanted to stay in his room for a while, exploring his new surroundings. While he was putting his bow under the bed, he found a small box of dusty books that seemly haven't been touched in months. He rummaged through a few of them, some texts and teachings from the monks that he now shared space with, some were old legends and stories that seemed to come up from India. He only found one book that he could read, a very old tale taking place in the 1920’s America about rich lovers and their quarrels. It wasn’t quite what Hanzo would normally read, but since it was his only option, he sat on his bed with his legs crossed and started to read. It wasn’t great, but for how old it was, it wasn’t terrible.

He was already half way through the book when his brother walked in, without knocking. ‘Some things never change,’ Hanzo thought, watching his brother come in. He was wearing clothes, a thick and oversized sweatshirt and jeans. His hands were behind his back and he walked towards his brother smiling. “What’d ya find?” He asked, peering over a bit to see the semi tattered book in his brothers lap. Hanzo held up the cover to show his brother. “Found it under the bed. It was the only thing i could read, so, might as well,” He said, folding the corner of a page to mark his place before he closed the book and put it on the nightstand. “It isn’t great. Decent at best,” he commented, stretching his back a bit. It wasn’t until now he realized he was hunched over almost the entire time he was reading. Genji sat on the edge of the bed, his hands remaining out of site. “Glad to see you weren’t bored,” He said with a smile.

“So...Even if you didn’t get me a present, i did manage to nab you one,” Genji said. His hands finally came out from behind him revealing a small package that didn’t seem to be wrapped as well as it could. “You don’t have to open it now, but if you wish you may.” Hanzo took the gift and held it in his hands. Of course, he had gotten his brother something, but he hadn’t expected anything in return. It was two days till Christmas was actually upon them, but he was very tempted to open the gift. Hanzo set the present aside and got up to go to the closet before digging around in his duffle bag. He was a tad relieved when he saw his wrapping wasn’t completely wrinkled or tattered. He brought it over to his bed and handed it to his brother who seemed a bit suspicious of what he was handed. He ran his hand over the neat and clean wrapping, attempting to guess what the neat box could hold.

“What did you get me?” He asked, looking at Hanzo with a curious gaze. “A gift,” Hanzo answered with a smirk. “Did you expect me to tell you?” He asked with a small chuckle, picking up his own present. “Worth a shot,” Genji replied with a huff. They sat there for a few moments, looking at their respective gifts, debating whether or not to wait. Silence filled the air and they looked at each other as if both agreeing to not wait until Christmas day to open the gifts.

Hanzo carefully started to peel the wrapping away while his brother was practically shredding his. It didn’t take long to see what they had received. He held in his hand a brand new, darker coloured and shiny new sake bottle, made of stainless steel. With it came a bottle of very expensive sake that Hanzo hadn’t drunken in years. An old favorite that he used to exclusively drink in his younger days. As far as he knew, you could only get this in a few stores in Japan, meaning Genji had either hid this from him for who knows how long, or made a stop to Japan on his way to Nepal. He smiled as he turned the bottle over and over in his hand, seeing a small engraving in the bottom. Words in traditional Japanese spelling.

‘To the best older brother one could ask for.’ Hanzo smiled at the lettering, his thumb running over the small grooves that made up the text. He looked up to thank his brother, but was met with a face of shock and tear filled eyes.

Genji had been staring at his gift for quite a few moments. In his hands was a black, minimalistic frame that held a long forgotten picture. Standing side by side, in training gear and in the old Shimada Castle garden was a young and quite happy looking pair of siblings. Genji’s thumb ran over the face of the shorter person in the picture. The other’s arm was wrapped around his shoulder and the pair were just smiling for the photo, unaware of the coming years. Genji looked up at his brother, who just gave him the same warm smile as the young man in the picture. Before Hanzo could even speak or thank his brother for his gift, Genji had both arms around him, bringing him into a more than tight hug. He was taken off guard quickly, but he soon returned the hug.

“How...How did you…,” Genji stuttered, his voice wavering. “As it turns out, our old home isn’t as well protected as it once was. A few missions ago, when we went back to Hanamura, i snuck into some storage areas and found it. I assumed you would have wanted it,” He answered, his hand running across his younger brothers back in an attempt to soothe him. He himself was feeling a bit teary when he saw how much it meant to his brother. “It was the last picture we were in together. I couldn’t just leave it,” He added.

They stayed still for a minute or so, and Genji backed away. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, before returning to look at the picture. “God...Compared to your gift, mine is terrible,” He said, the pair chuckling a small bit. But Hanzo picked up the bottle and turned it over in his hand once more. “No, It is wonderful. Thank you, Genji. It means a lot,” He said, finally giving thanks for his gift. Genji took a deep breath and set the frame in his lap, still a bit shaky. “And thank you. I’d never imagine that i’d see this ever again,” he said gratefully. Hanzo picked up the bottle of sake and thought for a moment before holding it up and beginning to open it.

“Would you like some?” He offered as he finally got the glass bottle open. Genji smiled a bit and nodded. “That’d be nice right about now,” He said, crumpling up the wrapping paper and tossed it to the side so it was out of sight.

They drank for a small while, barely talking as they did. They eventually moved towards the window sill, sitting in the large opening together, like they had done when they were kids. They passed the sake bottle back and forth (after Hanzo had filled up his new bottle and stashed it for later) while they looked up at the clear, starry night sky. Genji would occasionally check and tap at his phone, but it was very infrequent. He smiled a bit as he his phone screen illuminated his face. “You really should’ve given Jesse your number,” He said bluntly. Hanzo’s head almost panicked a bit when his brother said it, but he kept his cool when he went to respond. “Why?” He simply asked. “He keeps texting me and asking about you, like how you’re doing and junk,” He answered, putting his phone in his sweatshirt pocket. He was passed the bottle and he took a small sip, thinking about cutting himself off for the night.

Hanzo just let out a hum, not really sure what to say or if he should say anything. It was endearing to know Jesse was inquiring about him, and it made him wonder about the other. “I’m glad that you two have figured things out. Makes me happy to see my best friend and brother get along,” Genji said, bringing Hanzo back from his own thoughts. He smiled a bit, happy that they had made amends. “You’re not the only one,” Hanzo replied taking the bottle back and closing it. He set it to the side and continued to look out towards the mountainous scenery and dark sky dotted with distant stars. Genji did the same, his leg dangling from the sill and almost touching the small roofing just a few feet below them. It was quiet, serine, and Hanzo felt like finally, just maybe, he’d redeemed himself after months of trying to mend things.

And maybe with it, he’d gotten a little bit more.

[theunsentletterstoyou]

Dear Muse:

Hi S.

I feel I owe you an explanation, as best I can, of me unintentionally being a total creep on your birthday, though feelings are always tricky to put in writing and this won’t be adequate. Hopefully this will reassure you that I never meant to make you uncomfortable in the slightest – really the very last thing I ever wanted. I feel awful and I’m (still, a month on!) really sorry. I know you said not to worry about it at all and you're probably long over it yourself, but I can’t help it! This might not help. It might make things worse. I’m a terrible judge of these things, as you can probably tell. But here goes.

I don’t fancy you. While I doubt you believe that, it should hopefully go without saying. I mean – eleven and a half year age gap?! But just to be totally clear.

But I sort of approach that feeling from two directions, which collide very uncomfortably and add up to something that from anyone else's point of view probably looks romantic.

First – ever since you were three and impressed me so much with how incredibly mature you were for your age (I'm really surprised you remembered that conversation, last month, so many years on – how on earth do you so clearly remember so long ago and being so young?), I've had the hugest squish on you – to borrow a term from Tumblr. Like a crush, only platonic. A very intense feeling of friendship and desire to be your BFF, basically. I've always really liked you. (Not "like liked", but regular liked, but then again LIKED bold italic underline and larger size, you could say). Not love, but way stronger than regular friendship; I have no idea why. I always regretted that we weren't closer friends than we were. And even after we lost touch for so long I still remembered you very fondly and wanted to be friends again. I'm just rubbish at not letting life get in the way, and suddenly months became years became almost a decade. Turns out seeing you again ended up in almost instinctively releasing all that "HELLO FRIEND :D!" in a great rush before thinking how strong that's coming on from your viewpoint. Oooooops.

Second – you are beautiful. Really unexpectedly pretty.

I don’t mean sexy. I couldn’t find you sexy if I tried. I mean (1) eleven and a half year gap, so UGH, and (2) old close friends, and (3) I first knew you when you were a little baby and vaguely remember changing your nappy once, which would rather kill that thought even if it arose. There's this thing called the Westermarck effect – where someone who has grown up with someone else or known that person as a child can never find them sexy, scientifically it prevents inbreeding – which is very much in effect here. You’re not dating material in my eyes, just not attractive like that, and never will be.

But having said that, looking so to speak with the eye of an artist rather than a lover, the way one might look at a pretty flower or a sunset or a cute kitten or something (horribly objectifying, sorry, but there isn't a better way to put it), or the way I can tell certain celebrities are handsome – David Beckham, say, or Bradley Cooper – without any romantic interest, in the general sense of the word, you are extraordinarily beautiful.

Except it’s stronger than that. The same general feeling as finding a random celebrity generally good-looking or admiring a nice landscape or painting, only up to eleven. For an even better comparison: Seeing you is like walking around on a rainy day, when everything's grey and dull, and then suddenly the rain lets up a bit and the sun shines a bit, and a really bright rainbow appears. And I can’t help but stop and stare at it, with this “wow!” sense of wonder and awe, and think of how beautiful it is. And it’s not something I could ever have any sort of relationship with or even touch – and I have no desire to, even the thought of that makes no sense at all. But the striking sudden and unexpected beauty of it sticks in the mind long after the rainbow itself vanishes, and leaves me with a lasting sense of joy. I think most people I know would react to a rainbow the same way. You’re like that. I did write a song very, very long ago (when you were 3-4) calling you “Rainbow Child” – you might have heard it back in May – it’s still so true.

But there's no real sense of love attached, except insofar as I love everyone in your family (the totally non-romantic way, just a very strong friendship almost like extended family). It's definitely not attraction in the usual sense and I have absolutely no interest in anything more than friendship ever – “oh good”, I hear you say – it’s just “this girl! She's so... well she doesn't seem to be anything in particular. But wow, look!”

You just have one of those faces – this is something I've experienced with a couple of other people – that seems to stand out from far away even in a crowd, as if you were highlighted, to the point that I ask myself “there was a crowd too?” It's literally attractive, compelling like a magnet, my eyes almost can't help but be drawn to you when you're in the same place as me, and my thoughts do the same when you're not. It’s sort of like, if you’re looking at a big painting and most of it is black and white but there’s a red circle somewhere – your eyes just immediately and consistently want to go to the red circle. And you might walk away from the painting and think about that red circle again later in the day because it’s just so visually appealing to you compared to everything around it.

Another comparison I could make was brought on by something Sinead and I were chatting about before you turned up when I popped in last month: at one point she showed me your DVD collection and we got to discussing films, and she mentioned how a clip from one film got inexplicably stuck in her mind for ages afterwards, like a sort of “visual earworm” I think was her phrase. You know the thing: it's like having a favourite song that's so nice you want to listen to it over and over on a loop as long as you can, and maybe that song's a bit catchy and gets stuck in your head, and you find yourself humming it, even when you're not listening to it. And again, you couldn't date music – but you could certainly call some tunes beautiful. I get a visual version of that with your face. Like a Vine loop, maybe. Speaking of which, your actual Vine is insanely addictive!

It reminds me of something I once read in someone's autobiography:

“One of the most vivid experiences I have ever had was sitting quietly for at least an hour before a picture by the Dutch painter Vermeer, and absorbing its sheer beauty… The room was crowded with people, but I was oblivious of them, as I was equally oblivious of the passage of time. As a result of this act of concentration the vision of this particular masterpiece is indelibly stamped on my mind which has forever been enriched by it. I know that my ordinary acts of seeing and observation have been sharpened by that experience. There was drawn from me an acknowledgement of the greatness of the artist and his painting and I caught, with awe, the light of his inspiration and creativeness. It awoke in me a desire to follow in his footsteps and create something beautiful.”

In general, the way I feel about you is the feeling one gets when looking at a beautiful painting. But more specifically, like that man with that particular painting, your face is imprinted on my memory. It's sort of formed the background to most of my other thoughts since late April. Look up Shakespeare's Sonnet 113 and you get a pretty good description (admittedly in olde language) of how I feel. Normally when I see something pretty I just think “wow pretty” for a moment and move on. I’m not sure why you stick so much! I suppose it was the combination of you being quite pretty and that being completely unexpected – at another point we were looking at the family photos on your wall and Sinead showed me an old Vine clip of hers featuring a few of them which pretty much perfectly sums everything up from my point of view – you might know it, the one where she's comparing old photos to your present-day family with increasing surprise. "Then. Now. / Then - now. / Then, now! / THEN! NOW! What's happening to the world?!" She remarked, and I wasn’t going to actually say it but agreed, that your whole face has really changed. Even between then and now too and that wasn't even too long ago! And until April, I hadn’t seen you for so long, since you were seven going on eight: still don't really have any idea how I've managed to keep in touch with your whole family but keep missing hearing from you directly for over a decade. I've always been bad at keeping up with people but that was absurd. I missed you hugely, by the way. So since then I’ve felt exactly like her in that clip, only stronger (“THEN!! / NOW!!” :O :O :O).

You probably got the idea a few comparisons ago, but I just wanted to be totally clear. Getting technical for a bit (because that's how I roll...), I find you incredibly aesthetically attractive. This is a thing that's distinct from, but usually linked to and the beginning of, attraction in the conventional sexual or romantic sense – yes, those are two distinct things. If you know, just skip the rest of this paragraph! There's sexual attraction (“I'd like to get in your pants/hugs/kisses/touching up and ultimately make babies”) which is absolutely not there AT ALL. There's romantic attraction (“I'd like to date you/buy you flowers/"long walks on the beach" etc etc and ultimately marry you”) which is also definitely not there at all. And then there's what this actually is. Aesthetic attraction, in this case disconnected from any other sort. Which is “I wouldn't like any sort of relationship with you beyond simple friendship and could do fine even without that, and have zero interest in any sort of physical contact, but WHOA, your face, I want to look at it SO MUCH, no more than look, but really look and look for as long as possible and just never stop – in an ideal world I'd like to spend time around you just watching you, from a nice respectful distance, and just... drink you in, because you're so incredibly good-looking”.

On top of this (possibly a sort of by-product, but I don't know), as I once told your sister, and you might already know and have seen some of it – every time I've ever seen you, going back years, I've come out shortly afterwards (within a week or two) with some sort of art. Sometimes music, sometimes poems (you've seen a few), sometimes a short story or two, pictures once (not of you – I can't draw people!) And it's quite good art, or so most people who've seen it reckon. Which is remarkable because otherwise I'm not artistic in the slightest. I'd be happy to show you any of it, just ask. You just... really inspire me creatively, for some reason, and that bit has actually been around practically since you were born. If I had to sum you up in a word it would be muse.

I think my point is made. I brought you a present out of simple appreciation and wanting to just… thank you for just being you, super pretty and inspiring you – no actual desire for any relationship of any sort attached. I’m leaving everything right here. It was hard to tone things right. I was going to send you a birthday card, at least, anyway. I’d do the same for Sinead just out of general friendship. I didn't sign it with my name out of the worry you'd react just the way you did. Wasn't expecting for you to answer the door right as I stuck it through your letter box though – so much for anonymity.

I know what you're thinking: if he doesn’t fancy me, then why the "someone special" and why sign the card "admirer"? Simply because anything more (in both cases) was too strong, but anything less not enough. It was hard to find a word for how I feel – for a particularly close-feeling and beautiful friend but it never quite crossing into love –and I picked and phrased the card very, very carefully. Probably not carefully enough, but I tried. (Thank goodness “someone special” is a card category, it does the job quite well.) Even “admirer” is a bit strong, but having linguistic-geek leanings, I settled on admirer for etymological (language origin) reasons: it comes from Latin ad-mirare – literally, to look at, with affection and respect. For some reason it all seemed like a good idea at the time!

That was going to be the last deliberate direct contact I ever had with you after you said you weren't comfortable with it. But I just wanted to clear things up as well as possible, so that hopefully you aren’t uncomfortable any more. I know this is the third(?) time I’ve said “you won’t hear from me again” (random encounters aside), but this time I mean it, unless you care to reply.

I hope you know now I meant well, and would never not mean well. And I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable even now. That's the very last thing I'd ever want; the thought of you creeped out feels like physical harm to me.

I hope you enjoyed the Isle of Wight! Always a pleasure to host you :) 

With friendship

T

“Memories” – or “Thoughts on a Visual Earworm” early June 2016 

I cannot forget you! Although I last saw you in April, And now it is June, in my mind I can still see your face. Both waking and sleeping, your memory fills every moment, And summer's long days seem pale shadows of Summer's sweet grace. In all idle moments, my mind jumps to thoughts and to visions Of memories of you, both old and more recent to see, And trees, houses, people – my eye ‘shapes them all to your feature’, As Shakespeare once wrote! Tell me, when will I ever be free? Will it take till the summer fades out into red-golden autumn For Summer to fade from my memory into the past? Or will even in winter each day seem as bright as the summer And might memory-glimpses of you to the New Year last?

And why am I thinking of you? I’d not seen you in ages, Since you were a child, barely thought of you most of that time, Then I saw you again for the briefest few hours – but for weeks since You’ve written yourself into poem after verse after rhyme! You’re almost a stranger to me, and so very much younger, And we barely spoke – so why should I be thinking of you, When many more people have been in my life for much longer, And meant so much more to me: family, friends, lovers true? Why over them all does your likeness seem laid every moment? Why do you inspire every word, line and note of my art? Why though we might not meet in person again for ten more years, Do I find you in each passing moment engraved on my heart?

I wish I could tell what I’m feeling for you, but can’t place it – Romantic it’s not, for the thought makes me sick to my core, Yet a joy and a wonder at thinking of you overwhelms me And a lively creativeness turning to art more and more. It links to a realisation that you are attractive: In strictest of senses – my mind turning always to you, But not in a way that says ‘her I would like for a lover’ (Thank goodness, you cry) – more ‘I’d like to spend time watching you, Then drawing and painting and singing and writing about you’: Like poetry given girl’s form, or a portrait made living, Or a song in a body, that’s how you seem to me, sweet Summer; ‘Aesthetic attraction’, that could be the term for the feeling.

You stand out in a crowd, as if highlighted under a spotlight, As if life were an image in sepia, black, white and grey, But a single bright colourful part of it grabs the attention, And remains in the memory long after looking away. Or as if, on a dull rainy day, there shines out a bright rainbow, An iris of colour so vivid that cuts through the rain And illumines the world with a halo of red, orange, yellow, Green, indigo, violet bright – and then fades out again, Yet while it is there one can’t help but to stare at its beauty, It fills all the heart with a wonder, a joy and an awe, And its image enlivens the mind with its bright shining colours, So that all of the rest of the day the world seems dull no more. 

I don’t love you: you can’t love a painting, you can’t love a rainbow, Or a flower, or a sunset, but ‘beautiful’, yes, you could say, And could want to stop, stare at them, dazzled with wondrous amazement, And drink in the transcendent beauty of such things all day. And that's what you’re like, Summer, ‘Rainbow Child’ (so I once called you In a song that I took from a novel): if I had the choice And if rainbows and sunsets and beautiful you didn't vanish, I’d spend hours just watching your face, listening to your sweet voice. When we’re in the same room, your face draws my eye like a strong magnet, When we’re not, I still find that my thoughts to you keep on returning, Like a visual kind of an earworm, stuck in my memory On a loop, red-brown hair and bright eyes in my mind always burning. 

Whenever I see you, I find myself turning creative, And trying to capture your beauty in colour and line, But I cannot paint, cannot draw, so it turns into music And poems and prose, to describe your sweet face so divine. (Or rather to try to describe it – my words cannot capture How you move, how you talk, how you laugh, how you smile, how you look: Ten poems would not be enough, and I'm getting the feeling One couldn't sum you up in words even in a whole book!) A ‘muse’ I would call you – a girl who inspires an artist: Indeed I’m no artist except after I have seen you, But then how it flows out, the music and poems and colours, Attempting to echo the memory of beauty so true! 

I felt it when you were young too – but now stronger than ever, And far longer-lasting – a month it’s been, yet still you're here In my mind, in my eye, and on all things imprinting your likeness, A sight that with each passing moment seems ever more dear; So lovely, like art made incarnate, infusing my memory With big brown eyes, dark waves of hair, and a face from a dream, Well named, as reflecting the beauty of beautiful summer – The sun, sky, leaves, flowers in bloom; like that season you seem, Full of light, full of laughter and joy, so vivacious and vibrant, Even when summer passes, still Summer will live in you yet: Though autumn and winter tear leaves from trees, bring cold and darkness, Remembering you will bring sunshine: and I can’t forget.