#unless i missed something. like she never (at least in act 5) made direct reference to it. idk abt her lines

[crimsongrimoire]

no outright spoilers, but like. prior to act 5 i was like "lmao what if furina didn't know neuvillette is a dragon. maybe she never really questioned how he's lived a suspiciously long time and took that at face value. that'd be funny"

...and now there's maybe a sliver of a possibility that could be true and it's still kinda funny

[shirophantomvox]

Hold My Hand- Illumi x Reader

OMG thank you! My first international fan! Thank you for this wonderful prompt! This was requested by @illucilfer .

Summary: Today’s story takes place in a 1950s diner by a frequently used Interstate; Interstate 95. We know this dinner for its delicious hamburgers, hot dogs, milkshakes, and jukebox records, but every night one Patreon never returns home. A few men who were angry about your recent arrest have shot you both. As you both stare at each other exchanging mental signals, everyone around you tries to help you to the hospital. Y/N is narrating the story. I seem to have fewer grammar errors that way. FYI, Bold and italicized font will reference a thought or flashback.

Story Navigation

Let’s get started!

The leaves have turned bright yellow and orange, fluttering every second to the ground. I could hear little children a while away laughing and playing in the community park; throwing up the leaves, jumping into piles, and throwing them at each other. The smell of freshly baked donuts brightened everyone’s mood. All you had to do was take one bite and your face would brighten and crack a smile. Dining at Cupid’s Kitchen will always have your heart and interest.

Interstate 95 was always heavy with traffic during this time of year. The folks of Dallas celebrated mulch annually. The “Mulch Fest” was a street fair that stretched 1.5 miles to the east that contained music, drinks, farmer panels, homemaker Q&A, and other activities that southerners enjoy. Illumi and I are only here because of an unfinished assignment. We have worked night and day for countless days trying to catch Jack “Da Hamor” Gilberton, but he was nowhere to be found. Eventually, I allowed my anger to get the best of me and made the executive decision to take a day off. I barred Illumi from searching, tracking, or any form of hunting for our target. The life of a bounty hunter and an assassin can thrill, but it can drive you insane if you allow it.

Ironically, Illumi and I both enjoy fall. It is perfect for cuddling (although he acts as if he’s too good to cuddle), wearing creative hoodies, going to pumpkin patches, and attending apple orchids. I tend to “lose my cool” when we have dates there. When I was a child, my family did not go on trips like these because they were over an hour away from our home and I had 5 siblings. But once I made money for myself, I made it my mission to go to one at least 5 times out of the year. Illumi enjoys the different fudge, hot cider, and candy apples. He almost broke a tooth on one!

“Say cheese snag-a’-tooth!”

“Stop it. It’s not funny!”

“It is! Could you imagine if you lost your two front teeth? You’d look almost adorable as you did in the 1st grade!”

“How did you know about that?”

“Duh! It happens to everyone, but your mother showed me the pictures, of course.”

“Curses!”

Illumi’s sweet tooth is just like Killua’s; both have a weakness for chocolate. Except, Killua will admit defeat while his older brother keeps denying it.

Cupid’s Dinner has been in Dallas for over 55 years. A black woman established it in 1945 by the name of Mary-Lou Benson. Since then, Mary’s family has been running the shop, making sure all of her customers are happy with the service. During the turn of each season, Cupid’s Dinner gives its customer's food options based on the season. The fall options include donuts, candy apples, different flavored cider, fudge, and hot coffee specials. As much as everything looked appetizing, I could not order it all. Our server, Little Ben, placed our drinks in front of us and handed us the menu. I could tell he was happy with his line of work, just as I was to be with Illumi.

“You all take your time. I’ll be back in five.”

Ilumi glanced on both sides of the room, scanning for Jack Gilberton, already forgetting the agreement we established.

“Illumi, what are you doing?”

“Huh?”

“You keep looking around like you’ve seen Da Hamor. Eat your donut and relax, sweetheart.”

“I cannot relax. I must stay on alert.”

“If I can relax, so can you. It’s not that hard.”

“Fine. If I die, it’s on your head… literally.”

The jingling bell rang almost every second when a customer walked in. It was a joy to everyone's ears; the spirit of Mary Lou-Benson was alive and well. An overwhelming feeling of love seemed to have overtaken the diner. After examining the bistro for quite some time now, each customer had been using their cellphones at the table instead of chatting with their families. Many traditional families hated that about this generation but they should be open to new traditions forming. Illumi dislikes using cell phones or tablets at the table unless we use them for missions. He has emphasized how rude it is to be surfing the web about utter nonsense while someone is speaking. This is a pet peeve of his, something I’ll never step on his toe about. Although I think that is overdoing it, I respect it.

Little Ben served our table quickly, leaving us with two dishes of a classic chicken sandwich, kettle chips, one chocolate, and vanilla milkshake. Milkshakes were my weakness; I nearly foam at the mouth when I see one. When I found out that Illumi had NEVER had a milkshake, I almost fainted.

“No. I’ve never had a milkshake.”

“Huh? You’re missing out, pal.”

“What’s the big deal? Isn’t it frozen milk?”

“Not just frozen milk. You can add many flavors, toppings, and whip cream!”

“Well, then. You’ll have to show me sometime.”

We thanked Little Ben for his service as he clocked out for the day.

“I have to admit these sandwiches look very appetizing.”

“You can say that again!”

Before I nibbled on my sandwich, I wanted to take a moment and adore the man before me; Illumi Zoldyck. A man full of mysteries, professionalism, skill, and talent. His enormous eyes were immersed in the large pieces of chicken in between the sourdough bread. He licked his index finger vigorously; allowing the homemade honey mustard to drip enough from the bread to the plate in between licks. Just the sight of him actually relaxing for once has blown me away. For once, Illumi Zoldyck could be himself and I had the privilege to witness it.

“Um… why are you staring at me? Do I have food on my face,” he asked; violently wiping his mouth off with a provided cloth napkin.

“Oh! Ha, ha; no reason. I wanted to see your reaction after drinking your milkshake. That’s all.”

“Why? It’s just a drink.”

“Whatever you say, babe.”

“Babe? What happened to LuLu or Illumi-Lu?”

I gasped and pretended to be surprised… although I was a little.

“I did not know that you liked those pet names. I assumed it mortified you.”

“Who told you that? That never rolled off my tongue. “What I said was” — He bent closer to the table and to me; glancing both to the right and left to ensure no wandering ears were around — “I prefer Illumi-Lu to be said in the bedroom and LuLu when we’re alone, like how we are right now.”

“Aww…. ok,” I yelled in excitement.

“Don’t blow it out of proportion, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

As we ate, Illumi hummed along to the tune that played a few times on the restaurant's jukebox. Illumi and I were born in the mid-90s, but listening to 50s music was a part of his aesthetic. I was told that he had an “old soul” which sounds romantic at first until you realize how men were during that era. His raging temper was a noticeable toxic trait, but it has drastically improved. Nonchalantly sipping on his milkshake and then eating more of his chips, he grazed the soft part of his left hand over mine as he continued to hum.

“What’s the name of this song? You seem to know it rather well.”

“Put your head on my shoulder, a famous song from the 60s. I heard my parents sing it once and since then, they have addicted me to it. Do you like it?”

“Yes, in fact, I love it. All of this is—”

“A surprise to you? Well, enjoy it while it lasts because once I find Jack Gilberton, this side of me will hide for a while.”

“Understood.”

Damn! I was just feeling connected to him again!

The music swelled; everyone seemed to be happy. Not an evil spirit insight to disrupt this beautiful moment. For once in my life, my raven-haired beauty actually held my hand tight, stole a few of my barbecue kettle chips, and gazed into my eyes harmlessly. His lips brushed against both of my hands, ever so lightly placing kisses on both sides of them. Illumi’s gentle smile warmed my heart as my lingering thoughts of hope stayed intact.

The welcoming bell jingled again. Two men in black leather jackets, stone-washed blue jeans, and tattooed all over their arms came into the diner. The men seemed to be bikers who had just left their own “spot” but one thing struck me as they continued to walk towards the staff. They both wore sunglasses when the sunset for the day. Not to mention that the lights were not dim in the diner and the moon was as bright as ever. The second man had his eyes glued in my direction. My heart beat faster as I wondered if Jack Gilberton had found us. Could you imagine?

Put your head on my shoulder

Hold me in your arms, baby

Squeeze me oh-so-tight

Show me you love me too

I am used to coming in contact with enemies on my hit list, but given Jack’s criminal history; I felt like I may not survive his attacks. Illumi will survive, but just barely. Both men approached the checkout, crowing over Little Ben’s sister. She was a short woman but full of might, and I could tell by the shakiness in her voice she was frightened. I wanted to step in so badly, but I didn't want to blow my cover just in case it was, in fact, Jack Gilberton. After I assume, ordering food, both men stood by the entrance, blocking it from others from entering and leaving. The sound of their old, beat up-lighters crackled as one lit a joint and the other lit a cigarette. This horrid smell ruined the atmosphere because they were not in a designated area and it drowned out the lovely aroma of the food being served.

“If you gentlemen would like to smoke, you need to go outside. There is no smoking in here.”

“What? You think you’re better than me because you don’t smoke?”

“Huh? I never said that, sir. I asked for you to go outside. Not all of our customers can deal with it.”

They did not move a muscle. The sound of their mucous laughter made everyone’s stomach turn. They laughed at the young girl and called her many slurs. Little Ben’s sister didn’t flinch, nor did she cry; she remained still, staring at the men. I had just enough of their obnoxious behavior.

“If you do not leave, I will call the police.”

“The hell you won’t.”

Put your lips next to mine, dear

Won't you kiss me once, baby?

He drew a gun from his left side. He aimed it at Little Ben’s sister and demanded that she emptied the drawer. She refused. Her stone, iron will reminded me of Illumi; no matter the circumstance, they remained intact, determined to fight until the end. Bravery is always encouraged, but too much will cause your life to be taken away. Little Ben’s sister grabbed a fake till that they kept under the real one and threw it at both men. Fake money fluttered everywhere in the small diner, mimicking confetti. Gunshots rang in all directions as the imbeciles recklessly shot, aiming for Little Ben’s sister. Everyone threw themselves on the ground to avoid being shot, but luck cannot spread itself throughout an entire room of people. A young child, an older man, and another worker were shot in their lower leg. Blood reflected from the ground as it continued to seep. Ignoring injured civilians is a jackass move and continuing to deny the fact would prove that the oath I pledge to meant nothing. Sure, bounty hunters must remain hidden, but if someone is injured, I must help them.

The child was lying lifeless on the polished marble floor. He would not respond to my shaking or my silent whispers. When I rolled him over, my heart broke into a million pieces. This child had no chance of survival; a few bullets struck his chest, one just inches away from his heart. A tear rolled down my cheek.

“Why must the good die young,” I whispered to myself.

“... Because snitches get stitches.”

Before I could gain sight of who stated this utterly corny response, I felt an overwhelming amount of pain in my lower back. It felt like a million tiny needles were jabbed so far through my skin that they entered my intestine. I could still hear, but my body would not move. I tried and tried, but my brain would not signal my legs.

Move! Move, damn it!

It’s odd; I could hear myself talk, but my body would not move at all. The sound of another thudding body made my mind jump. My heart had already been pounding enough to try to resuscitate my organs to move, but a familiar semi-blurring sight of none other than Mr. Illumi Zoldyck cleared my sight. My brain went wild. I didn’t know if Illumi died or if he became paralyzed, but one thing is for sure. We finally made eye contact that felt special; something I hadn’t felt since the day I met him. Our contact felt like magnets; an unbreakable bond. Suddenly, my icy hand felt warmth around my palm and fingers. Illumi simultaneously fell in a way that connected our hands. Our unbreakable bond, the warmth of his fingers laying on top of mine, and the gaze we shared somehow made me feel like it was just the two of us alone. I could hear his thoughts loud and clear; thoughts that came from the heart.

“Please help me. Before it’s too late, LuLu,” I cried, thinking I was going insane. “I don’t want to leave if it means leaving you behind.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

“Please! I want to live a life. Life as a bounty hunter, build a support system to our children, and a good lover is all I want to be.”

“You are a warrior and so am I. We have been through worse. This is nothing.”

Mere eye contact is all we need to exchange wandering conversations. The bond that we’ve created is something so strong that I haven’t realized it until now. The warmth emitted from his loose grasp seems to lose its effectiveness. It blurred my vision beyond recognition, leaving Illumi as a near figment of my imagination.

“Oh no. I guess this is it.”

My vision darkened. Illumi was slipping away as my lingering thoughts almost made my heart give out from exhaustion. I was ready to accept my fate, but it seemed like fate had other plans. My vision was still darkening by the second, but my sense of touch remained there. Smooth fingers outline my arms, torso, and chest. I heard muffled voices yelling and screaming about calling for assistance, but I didn’t care if they came or not. I made peace with my life’s end. Bit by bit, my breathing slowed down, but my sense of touch remained heightened. I felt a rubber glove touch my face and neck, examining it for any damage.

The jukebox continued to play Illumi’s favorite song, Put Your Head on my Shoulder. I remembered the day I laid my head on his shoulder; boy, what an endearing moment that was. It was something I took for granted, something I should have savored, for I never knew that this moment would have happened. The song grew muffled by the second verse. That verse repeated every time I tried to force myself to take what felt like my last gaze at my raven-haired beauty.

Just a kiss goodnight, maybe

You and I will fall in love (you and I will fall in love)

-FIN.

A/N: Since you’ve made it to the end, I’ll say something. The reader did not die in the end. They were later revived at the hospital.

[duhragonball]

Battle Tendency Liveblog JJBA Ch.48-52

This is the “Joseph vs. Straizo” arc, so I’ll just lead off with one of my favorite moments from the entire JoJo franchise, when Joseph furiously declares war on Straizo with tears in his eyes.   In the anime, voice actor Tomokazu Sugita delivered this with such intensity that it actually overshadowed the machine gun.

None of the dubs or translations can do it justice, including this panel from the JoJo’s Colored Adventure scanlation project.   This is a faithful translation of Joseph’s line, as far as I can tell, except they always leave off the last part: “宣戦布告だぜ!!”  In romanji, that’s: “Sensen fukokuda ze!!”    And it means  “This is war!!”  

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Last time, we saw the Joestars treating their new friend Smokey Brown, to dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant.   Some mafia jerk caused trouble, Joseph whooped his ass, and then a second mafia guy apologized and shared a rumor he recently heard: Robert Speedwagon was found dead in a Mexican riverbed, apparently killed by a Tibetan monk.  

From there, we see that Joseph immediately realizes that this must have been Straizo, and Erina suspects that it must have something to do with the Stone Masks and the battle with Dio fifty years ago.   Smokey warns Joseph to consider the source, but Joseph is pretty sure it’s credible information, since mafia guys are all about money.   I’m not sure what that has to do with whether he’s telling the truth, though.   Either way, Joseph slugs the guy for just blurting out such terrible news in front of Granny Erina.  

Now, at this point, Joseph and Erina are making all these Phantom Blood references, and Smokey has no idea what they’re talking about.   And I think seeing this panel helped me understand Smokey’s role as a viewpoint character.  When the Part began, it seemed like Smokey was sort of the narrator for the thing, which works because he’s a good viewpoint character, and he seemed to be settling in as a sidekick like Speedwagon and Poco in Part 1.   But shortly after this he just vanishes from Battle Tendency altogether, and then he shows up at the end like it’s no big deal.   I never quite understood that, and I think this is the sort of thing that fuels the “Araki forgot” memes, but it actually makes a lot of sense.  

See, Smokey’s primary function is to be the viewpoint character, specifically for the readers who missed out on Phantom Blood.    BT is a direct continuation of the previous part, in a way that none of the other JoJo parts are.   Most of the main BT cast was deeply affected by what happened in Part 1.   A few of them lived through it, and the ones that didn’t have personal connections to it.    So they constantly talk about Stone Masks and Dio without really stopping to explain any of it.   Well, if you don’t know what they’re talking about, you can take heart in the fact that Smokey doesn’t know either.   So as long as he can keep up with the story, so can the uninitiated readers.  For now, all that matters is that he’s impressed by the Joestars’ great kindness, and he’s intrigued and disturbed by these hints of a tragic past in their family.  

And eventually, Smokey learns just what happened to the Joestar Family, or at least everything that the reader needs to know to follow Part 2.   But that doesn’t happen until near the end, which is why he shows up to hear the secrets revealed.   But for most of the story, he steps aside, because that’s mostly about Joseph dealing with events in the here and now, so Joseph can act as his own viewpoint character.  

But is Speedwagon truly dead?   The story flashes back to the previous night, after Straizo killed his own disciples and clobbered Speedwagon.   They’re in this temple where Speedwagon discovered more Stone Masks, like the one Dio used, but Speedwagon also discovered an immortal man petrified in a stone column.    Straizo was enlisted to destroy this “Pillar Man” with his Hamon power, but instead he wants to use one of the Stone Masks to turn himself into a vampire.  

Before he does this, he reads Speedy’s translations of the writing on the walls of the temple.    The ancient Aztec cultists who built it said that the Pillar Man was immortal and had many powers, but he was vulnerable to the sun, just like the vampires from Part 1.   But the writings warn that the Pillar Man created the Stone Masks because of this weakness, and one day, “when he befriends the sun, the world will be his.”  That doesn’t seem to follow, since the only thing the Stone Masks seem to be able to do is make new vampires, who are just as vulnerable to sunlight as the Pillar Man.   

Anyway, Straizo doesn’t seem to care.   He just doesn’t want to die of old age, and he’s become disillusioned with the Hamon power he has, so he’s turning heel and going full goth on us.   To avoid Dio’s mistakes, he plans to eliminate any witnesses, including Joseph and Erina.  Then he’ll go into hiding and figure out a long term plan, with the rest of the world unaware of his existence. 

You know, now that I write that out, I’m amazed by how similar that plan is to what Dio ends up doing in Part 3.   In Part 1, he set about turning a whole town into zombies, and planning to unleash them on the world without any real agenda.    But in Part 3 he eventually holed up in a swank mansion in Cairo and took great pains to stay hidden while he acquired more power.   Parts 5 and 8 carry that same idea even further, with villains who go to great lengths to cover up their very existence.   

At any rate, we only see Speedwagon pass out in this scene, so it’s unclear whether he actually dies or not.   Really, using Speedwagon in this way is a pretty smart play.   He’s an old man, and he was never going to survive another 50-year time-skip into the next part, so it’s safe to assume that Part 2 is his swan song.   But how will he die, and when?   It could be at the very start, or maybe somewhere in the middle.  

Anyway, Straizo just walks up to a cafe in New York to confront Joseph, and Joseph whips out a machine gun and shoots his ass.   This whole time, Straizo had assumed that the untrained grandson of Jonathan Joestar would be easy pickings, but Joseph’s a lot more skilled with Hamon than he expected, and he’s tricky too. 

As Joseph fires on Straizo, he recalls how worried Erina was about all this.   The story kind of glosses over it, but Joseph seems to have worked out Straizo’s entire plan.   I guess that’s not much of a stretch.   He and Speedwagon were together with a temple full of Stone Masks, and then Straizo turned on Speedwagon.    Why else would he do that, unless he used the Stone Mask to turn into a vampire like Dio did?   And once you arrive at that conclusion, it isn’t hard to figure out what Straizo’s next move would be.    And that’s how Joseph was so prepared for this.    After the shooting stops, Smokey freaks out about Joseph murdering a dude, but Joseph was expecting a vampire the whole time. 

I also like Joseph’s line in the flashback.   Erina isn’t worried for herself, but for Joseph, because it looks like he’s being pulled into this same tragic fate as the rest of the family.   But Joseph resolves to face this head on.    “If this is my fate, then I accept it.”  Pretty sure Will Zeppeli said the same thing when he discovered that he would die saving Jonathan.  

There’s similar “call-to-adventure” moments in the other parts.   Jonathan has his when he accepts Zeppeli’s offer to train him to battle Dio again.  Jotaro has his when he defeats and saves Kakyoin, then learns what’ll happen to his mother if he doesn’t go.   Josuke has his when Angelo shows up and he has to avenge his grandfather.   Giorno kind of always had a hankering to take on Passione, but I think things got serious once he had a choice between killing or sparing Bruno.  There could be no turning back from that point.  For Jolyne, it was the moment she had a clear path to escape the prison but decided to go back in because that was where her enemy was.    For Johnny, it was that one battle where he chose to crawl towards the danger to save Gyro instead of withdrawing to safety.   For Gappy... I’d have to study that a bit.   

But for Joseph Joestar, it’s this moment.  Erina never sent Joseph to learn the Ripple from the Hamon monastary, and she seems to have taken great pains to keep him out of trouble, but now trouble has come to them, and Joseph isn’t about to back down.   

So yeah, bullets don’t actually kill vampires, but Joseph was hoping to destroy his head with some of those shots, or at least slow Straizo down long enough to finish him off.   Instead Straizo reveals that he has the power to shoot high pressure fluid from his eyes, the same move Dio used to kill Jonathan at the end of Part 1.   He calls this “Space Ripper Stingy Eyes” which is either stupid or brilliant depending on your mood, I guess.   He used it to protect his head from the machine gun fire, and then he uses it again to shoot Joseph... except he hits Joseph’s reflection in a nearby mirror, and I guess he didn’t notice the real thing standing behind him.

What makes this fight so awesome is that these two are determined to kill each other, and they each have extremely simple moves to defeat one another, but they have all these tricks and schemes to protect themselves.   Joseph manages to hit Straizo with Hamon, but it does nothing... because Straizo was a Hamon master before turning into a vampire.   He can’t use the Ripple without destroying himself now, but he still knows how to defend against it.   For instance, he’s got this scarf woven from dead bugs, because it conducts Hamon energy far more effectively than his own body.    So it just absorbs Joseph’s attacks and disperses the energy harmlessly away.   

Does it really have to be made of dead bugs?   I feel like Tonpetti just told him that as a prank.   “No, really (snort!) the only thing that works is dead bugs.  (tee-hee!)   It smells awful but you have to wear it (ha!).”

But Joseph has his own tricks, like... putting a dozen grenades on his opponent’s back when he isn’t looking!  Seriously, there was zero opportunity for him to do this.    One moment he steps over Straizo’s body to see if he’s still alive, and the next moment he supposedly planted all these things on his scarf.   I get that he could pull a string connected to the pin without being noticed, but that’s the only part that makes sense about this.   It’s still awesome, though.   If Jonathan had access to explosives, Part 1 would have been a lot shorter.  

I really think this was the battle that set the tone for Stand Battles in later Parts.   Araki loves these off-panel tricks in combat, and they’re a lot easier to explain when all of your characters have magic super powers.   If Joseph had Hermit Purple in this fight, there’d be no problem at all.   He could just use Hermit Purple to snake through the ventilation shafts and hook up all the grenades.   In fact, it’s tempting to suggest that Joseph was unconsciously using Hermit Purple throughout Part 2, but I don’t want to get into that right now.

Anyway, explosions don’t stop vampires any more than machine gun fire.   Straizo’s body is in pieces, but the pieces just slither back together and regenerate.   Wait, wouldn’t his head have been vaporized in that blast?   Also, Straizo spends the rest of this battle in the nude, so we know that stupid scarf is out of the equation.   Why didn’t Joseph just go back in the cafe and finish Straizo off while he was still in pieces?

Again, it’s easy to say “lol Araki forgot”, but I think it’s a lot more sensible to suggest that Joseph forgot.   As clever as he is, he went in with the Ripple, a machine gun, and a dozen grenades, and Straizo had an answer to all three.   He doesn’t want to press the attack because he’s out of tricks.   All he’s got left is another Hamon attack, which means Straizo will see it coming.   Or he’s still worried about the scarf, and hasn’t realized that it’s gone now.    In any event, he’s running away, creating some distance before Straizo can make his next move.

Also, there’s a lot of bystanders gathering around, so it makes sense to take the fight elsewhere.   Some guy named “Bruty” tries to stop Joseph to impress his girlfriend, but that backfires spectacularly.  Was Bruty in the anime?  I feel like he wasn’t, but I don’t want to check. 

The one I do remember is this girl photographer.   Spider-Man hadn’t been invented yet, so in those days photographers just sort of wandered around with their camera, waiting for Spidey to debut.   This exploding vampire diner is the best she could do in 1938.  

I just really like this lady.   There’s a spark in her eye and I just assumed she would end up being Joseph’s love interest by the end of the story.    Well, we’ll get to that.  

Instead, she’s a hostage.  Joseph and Smokey run to the Brooklyn Bridge?   I guess?   It’s a bridge, I’m sure of that much.   Anyway, Straizo catches this lady and takes her with him to intercept them.   He threatens to kill her unless Joseph faces him again.   But Straizo offers to spare Joseph and never trouble him again if Joseph runs away.   This is because Straizo figures that if Joseph chickens out now, then he’ll never be a threat to Straizo in the future, no matter how powerful his Hamon abilities become. 

Joseph tries to call his bluff, but then Straizo rips out one of the girl’s teeth to prove he means business, and Joseph gets furious all over again.  I don’t think he was ever planning to abandon this fight, but he was probably hoping to get Straizo to give up his hostage at least.   Now he’s just pissed, and Straizo is impressed.  Joseph tries to act cool, but he just can’t hide his passionate feelings.    This is in stark contrast to Jotaro, who wagered his own soul in a poker game and bluffed his way to victory. 

So Straizo tries again with the Space Ripper Stingy Eyes, but this time Joseph blocks it with two shot glasses charged with Hamon power, and then he lands the decisive blow.   But before Straizo dies, Joseph demands to know why Straizo dumped Speedwagon and the others in the river.   Not only does Joseph want to give him a proper burial, but he doesn’t understand why Straizo would have dumped them in the river, since that was how Joseph knew to expect him.  

Wait, I thought Straizo wanted Joseph to know he was coming.   Oh well.

Anyway, Straizo explains that he had to do it, because the Pillar Man was absorbing the blood from his victims.   Straizo was worried that the Pillar Man might awaken, so he put them in the river instead to be safe.    Nevertheless, he suspects that the Pillar Man will reawaken eventually anyway, and Straizo now realizes that it will be Joseph’s destiny to face him some day.    Then Straizo just uses the Ripple one last time, and self-destructs. 

It always seemed strange to me that Straizo saw the danger of the Pillar Man and just left things the way they were.   Maybe he planned to deal with him later, or maybe he just didn’t know or care about it until Joseph defeated him, and he felt a moral obligation to warn someone. 

I guess he could have destroyed the Pillar Man like Speedwagon wanted him to do in the first place, but it seems like Straizo didn’t realize that blood would wake him up until after he was already a vampire, and unable to use the Ripple.  For that matter, it remains to be seen if Hamon will work on Pillar Men.   

Anyway, what else is going on?   Oh, yeah, Europe is getting closer and closer to World War II.   The official start of the war is usually considered to be September 1, 1939, but Italy invaded Ethiopia in 1935, and Japan invaded China in 1937, and Germany annexed Austria and conquered Czechoslovakia in 1938, the year Battle Tendency is set.  So we’re in this weird time period where there’s Nazis in the story, and the British-American protagonist doesn’t care for them, but isn’t trying to kill them on sight.   I’ll be coming back to this topic later on. 

I think the main reason for including Nazi Germany in this story was to draw parallels between their goals and those of the fictional villains.    The Nazis believed themselves to be the “Master Race”, the most “evolved” people, and this made them worthy to rule the world.   Araki notes that they turned to all sorts of sci-fi/occult/fantasy stuff in their war.   Similarly, you have villains like Dio and Straizo turning to mysterious Stone Masks for spooky powers, and then you have the Pillar Man himself, who apparently sought the means to “befriend the sun” and rule over the world.    So the Nazis fit into this theme of trying to claim some sort of supremacy over other beings.  

But what’s their role in this story?   Well, the Germans have an “information base” in Mexico, run by a guy named Stroheim.   He makes pretty ladies shave him with a straight razor, and if he gets a nick he makes them lick the blood off, and then he threatens to cut off their tongues.   Also, he trained his dog to not eat treats until given permission. He’s a sick fuck, is my point. 

Wait, no, my point was that his staff discovered the bodies that Straizo dumped in the river, including Speedwagon, who’s still alive, somehow.      I guess Straizo was going to finish him off but he got in a hurry when he saw the Pillar Man absorbing the blood from the others.  Not sure how Speedwagon survived that ordeal, but Stroheim’s men have been taking care of him this whole time, and he was unconscious until recently, so it might have been touch-and-go for a while. 

            Back in New York, Joseph doesn’t know what this is all about, but he decides to go to Mexico himself to get to the bottom of it...

[loyalflutist]

Knight in Shining Armor (F!Byleth x Dorothea)

Challenge: Bylethea Week 2019 (Twitter) Day 6: After the War

A/N: This is actually a direct continuation of Day 5′s OS, so feel free to refer to that! Otherwise, it could still act as a standalone in a way.

------

Would this be the last time she would see her wife? That sort of question never crossed through Byleth’s mind. No matter how many times she was sent out under Edelgard’s orders, she would always return home.

She was unstoppable. Despite her weakened health, despite the frail heart, despite the abnormal gait, Byleth lived up to her nickname as the Ashen Demon. The woman easily crushed their spirits by mere existence. Terror ran through their spine, her enemies frantically cutting her down. Their actions were elementary. Byleth simply had to sidestep a few times and swing the Sword of Creator with a flick of her wrist. Victory was always one-sided for the Adrestian Empire against Those Who Slither in the Dark.

But what about this time?

A shaky exhale slithered out of her bleeding lips, her head hung, and wrists bound from behind the chair. Droplets of cool water dribbled in the background as the bruised warrior slowly breathed. Goosebumps formed on her exposed skin after having shed the tattered, large overcoat, the piece of attire crumbled in the far corner. Byleth shuddered from the chilly damp atmosphere.

‘ I messed up big time, didn’t I. ‘

Was 29 years of age starting to catch up to her? Impossible, as her deceased father, Jeralt, was far older than that and was in tip-top shape. Could it be from arrogance? Byleth relished in the pride of becoming a hero for the Adrestian Empire and for striking fear in the hearts of her enemies as the Ashen Demon. Whatever it was, she couldn’t fix her mistake. She was stuck in this underground cellar with no natural light peeking in, only the faint, neon blue, technological lights inscribed into the solid walls.

It was a trap she should have seen from a mile away. She, Edelgard, and Ferdinand raced to tackle the main headquarter of Those Who Slither in the Dark. Other members of the Black Eagles Strike Squad were to act as a diversion to the terrorist organization. Soldiers and commanders engaged in a violent skirmish as the three headed into the depths of Shambhala and descended into the secret tunnel.

Edelgard led the two volunteers deep into the dark terrain. Man-made lights eventually filled their vision and dispersed the black surroundings. They were greeted with the city standing without light. Yet it was too late for the trio as the emperor stepped on a thin, silver wire. Boobytraps were rare in this time era. Technological advancements procured simple ones, but not ones that were as futuristic as the ones Those Who Slither in the Dark had.

She hurriedly grabbed the back of their attires and summoned all her strength to chuck them backward. The impressive feat caused the nobles to fly away from their professor. A loud slam echoed throughout the suffocating chamber, a metal barred box trapping its prey. And the moment they landed on their behinds, Byleth was surrounded by hidden assassins and soldiers, their lances, daggers, and swords aimed at the encased female. Edelgard and Ferdinand were spared the misfortune of being captured by the cursed group thanks to Byleth.

Or rather, this was Those Who Slither in the Dark’s intention.

‘ At least they ran away. I don’t know what would’ve happened if they were captured too… ‘

The tales Edelgard and Hubert spoke of about the dreadful organization were full of truths. What made matters worse was the fact that they hadn’t spoken about the horrifying details that encompassed Those Who Slither in the Dark.

“You still awake?” Their dark, lanky boots stopped in front of her. Byleth’s eyes trailed upward to the captor’s face. The sight of the cruel male made her blood run cold. It was none other than Thales, the leader of Those Who Slither in the Dark. A faint smirk ran across his lips as he remarked, “You just don’t know when to give up, do you, Byleth?”

“…”

She glared at him. Seeing as how she will not answer to his rhetorical question, Thales came closer to the wounded female. Standing above the limped ex-mercenary, he added,

“Your body houses the same power that we’ve bestowed to Nemesis. I think it is time we resurrect him.”

“In your dreams,” she spat on his shoes. Never losing that fiery gaze, the teal-haired harshly whispered, “I don’t have the power of the progenitor god anymore. You’re too late.”

“Yet you are still connected to Sothis. Am I wrong?”

“…”

Another silent treatment. This time, it was not well-received, Thales sinking his fist into her abdomen. Byleth’s navy eyes widened, her mouth wide open from the sudden strike. He kept his hand buried into her abdomen and bent down just enough to speak into her eardrum.

“I suggest you tell us the truth, Byleth. You will suffer if you do not.”

“Nngh…”

Despite having the wind knocked out of her system, Byleth remained steadfast on keeping her mouth shut. The torture she endured from him earlier was nothing… sort of. His methods of roughing her up were more extreme compared to the times when she was a mercenary. However, if she was able to survive two of his sessions in the past two days, she could bear through another. Another sharp gasp left her throat when Thales twisted his wrist, burrowing the fist further in. The immense pressure squeezed uncomfortably upon her intestines.

“Think carefully, Byleth. I wouldn’t want to get answers from you the same way as I did to Dorothea.”

“!!!”

This was a first! Fury colored her vision red as she snapped open her jaw. She instantly lurched forward to bite his ear. Tear that pale cartilage off and make him suffer, even if it’s for a little bit. It was unfortunate that he pulled away just in time. His hand was gone, but it instantly came back to her, this time to the face. He socked her squarely on the nose. It was shocking that the fragile body part hadn’t been crushed or fractured from the powerful blow.

An outcry was heard from her and the weight of her body caused the steel chair to fall sideways. She winced when her head collided against the smooth flooring. Stars danced in her vision as the neon lights blinded half of her sight. Byleth groaned from the burst of needle-like pains frenzied her face and skull. She nearly blacked out… but wouldn’t allow herself to do so. Instead, Byleth forced herself to shoot a glare at the leader.

Thales felt humored. He took one step and pressed his foot against her side. The weight of his boot caused her ribs to creak, Byleth biting her tongue to remain silent.

“Don’t act so surprised, Byleth. Those Who Slither in the Dark know everything and everyone in Fodlan… especially you.”

Tears pricked from the corner of her eyes as the old male began his dialogues.

“Dorothea Arnault… She was a precious… hostage. No… Hostage is not the right word. She was vital to finding you. At least, that’s what we originally thought.”

Byleth gasped when he stomped on her bruised side, his features contorted.

“That cursed songstress had nothing to tell us! Even after we’ve tortured her, she wouldn’t tell her where you are. Had it not been for Edelgard von Hresvelg either, we would’ve killed her off long ago.”

“…”

Just… why didn’t Dorothea tell her this? Weren’t they wives now? Byleth grimaced. Ever since she came back from her coma, she immediately leapt back into the fray. The Black Eagles Strike Squad and the Adrestian Empire were so preoccupied with the three-way war… When the instructor had tea sessions with the opera singer, she would never touch upon events that occurred during the five years Byleth disappeared. Thinking back upon it… Byleth never really tried to delve into her wife’s traumatic history. Even when they got together, Dorothea strongly urged that they make new memories in place of old ones.

‘ It’s no wonder why Dorothea argued with me… ‘

It wasn’t just weak health or missing her wife in the end. Dorothea feared that the same fate she experienced would befall upon the very person she loved. Too bad Byleth didn’t listen to her… and it was horrible that Byleth never took the time out of her day to really sit down and relieve Dorothea of the nightmares and depression that plagued the poor woman.

“…I have something to say to you… Thales…”

Thales’s attention reverted to the warrior. A shadow overcame his white eyes as Byleth snarled, “You’re going to regret touching my wife.”

“Wife? How amusing.” He slammed his foot once more. “All the more reason to move forward with our plans.”

“I’m going to kill you..!” She gritted her teeth and barked, “You’ll wish you’ve never captured me here!”

Anger was a foreign concept to the retired professor. She may be irritated and annoyed, but never scathing in pure fury. Byleth squirmed under his iron foothold. Thales squinted his eyes. Then, he laughed. She was just like a bug! The way she squirmed and growled at him… she was more pathetic than a bug, actually! He couldn’t hurt her anymore. In fact, he didn’t want to, the sight of the struggling warrior far too entertaining.

Thales took a couple of steps back. “Perhaps keeping you here for another day isn’t going to hurt our resources. Besides…” He snapped his fingers. One of the two followers for the organization stepped forward from the cell. “I would like to find Dorothea again. This might make you talk.”

“YOU…” Byleth hollered, watching in horror as the listener took a step away from the premise, “DON’T YOU DARE LAY A FINGER ON HER!”

“Not unless you tell us what we need to know,” Thales warned.

“…”

“Smile, Byleth. You have a choice here. I’m not all that generous. I’ve never given anyone any options… not even to Edelgard and Dorothea.”

“You monster!”

“Only if you make me one.”

Byleth audibly snarled at their leader as a dog. She viciously tugged against the bondage and desperately wiggled out of her ensnarement. Thales never was a man to play around. His words were absolute. Those Who Slither in the Dark would always accomplish their goals. Their passion and determination were frightening. The teal-haired slowly lost her strength to fight for freedom and pummel him into submission. Byleth laid still, her chest rapidly rising and falling, her hues darkened while watching the sadistic man.

Was it really going to end this way? In the end, she was never going to come home, was she? If she did… would it cost Dorothea’s life?

Byleth squeezed her eyes shut.

‘ I’m… I’m so sorry, Dorothea… ‘

“ARGH!”

The remaining guard in this room bellowed from the top of his lungs. Byleth’s and Thale’s attention swerved to the man. He was on fire, the flames searing through his exposed epidermis, the black cloths and chainmail melting into his sensitive skin. Screams and wails filled the cramped room as he dashed out of the room. Thales could hardly cast a spell of his own when electricity crackled through his sturdy figure. Yet what would have downed most ordinary man or woman did not apply to the leader.

“You…!”

At that moment, Byleth stared at the person, who wielded the Sword of Creator, standing before the greatest enemy in Fodlan.

“Dorothea…?”

How did she manage— But… why?

Standing behind Dorothea was none other than Edelgard and Hubert. They both quickly parted way towards Byleth as Thales’s gaze focused on only one person: Dorothea. A bead of sweat slid down his face as he forced a chuckle.

“What a surprise to see you again, Dorothea. Did you come here to die?”

“Not today,” the songstress pointed the relic in his direction. Although one should not use these ancient weapons, ever since the disappearances of the Crests and its system dissolvement, these artifacts were nothing more than ordinary weapons adorned in mystical materials. (Excluding Byleth, who still possess some inherited level of the Crest of Flames thanks to Sothis’s permanent connection.) Dorothea frowned. “I’ve come to take back my professor and defeat you.”

“Defeat me? You?” He almost buckled from laughter. “You’re nothing compared to the strength I have.”

When she charged forward with the Sword of Creator, Thales grinned. It was reckless of her. Did she not learn this from the Officers Academy of rushing headfirst without a plan? Dark energy enveloped his dominant hand as he reeled it back. He didn’t bother to use up all his energy in delivering a punishing blow. A direct hit to her stomach. Dorothea felt a spray of pain seep into her surrounding muscles as spit flew out of her mouth. At that same moment, the sword slipped out of her grasp and flew upward into the air. The songstress flew in the opposite direction and slammed into the thick wall.

Dorothea managed to crack an eye open as Thales came close.

“See? You were never a challenge, to begin with.”

She coughed and stared up at the intimidating man. Then, she slyly smiled.

“You… You may be right, but… I have my wife!”

“What—?!”

Thales had an issue with hyper fixation. When Edelgard and Hubert slipped past his figure, he was so focused on Dorothea, his mind automatically ignored them. It was a devastating biological mistake to make. And he cursed them.

Turning around caused the Sword of Creator, bright in its glory, to puncture into his chest. Blood flowed into his mouth and trickled out as the tip protruded out of his back. Byleth had slammed the blade so hard, the hilt smashed right into his chest cavity. Thales could only gasp for breath. His hands violently shook, the pair grabbing ahold of Byleth’s back. His fingertips tried to claw at her in a futile attempt to get back. What he didn’t notice was how weak his attempts were.

Byleth tore the weapon out of his tainted body. Then, she twirled the sword and gave a diagonal slash in his direction. Blood spurted from his newly-formed gash, its crimson substance splattered onto her weakened figure. His death was immediate after the final blow. When he crumbled to the ground, the injured professor glanced at Dorothea.

“Dorothea…”

Dorothea had gotten up from the floor, brushing the debris that soiled her vermillion robe. The punch that the songstress had sustained was minimized thanks to the thick armor plate hidden underneath the attire. (It was a good thing she had listened to Byleth long ago about it.) Linhardt, who was supposed to be retired in a remote village, was present and had cast white magic on Dorothea’s injuries in addition. This made her healthy as a horse, ready to get into another fight if needed.

“…”

Byleth felt like the invisible weight amplified its pressure on her shoulders. The ex-mercenary’s knees buckled, the sensation overwhelming her balance. Her vision began to fade in and out, the whole world begins to tilt sideways.

“Byleth!”

Dorothea rushed in to catch her slumped lover. Byleth barely held onto her consciousness as she murmured,

“You came…”

“Of course I did,” her wife responded.

It was a good thing Dorothea listened to her gut feelings. Since the night she tossed and turned, Linhardt stopped by that same night, providing a message that they should hurry to Shambhala. He predicted that their presence is needed now more than ever for Byleth. How did he know? Linhardt prefers to call it an educated guess... or it was just another fancy way of saying that he had a horrible nagging feeling like Dorothea. Regardless, they hurried as fast as they could to the destination from afar. Bumping into Edelgard, Ferdinand, and Hubert was by chance. That led them to crawl into the underground city and demolish the dreadful organization.

She shifted her position so she could cup one side of Byleth’s swollen face. Scabs from old cuts and broken skin riddled parts of her sturdy features. Dorothea dryly swallowed, knowing that her face would be scarred. She had once been captured by Those Who Slither in the Dark. They hadn't tortured her as Thales bluffed it to be, but it wasn't a pleasant experience either, Edelgard luckily coming to her rescue. The fact that they did a number on Byleth... Dorothea felt her blood pressure rise.

“Oh, why did he do this to you…?”

“Probably… bored out of his mind…”

“This is no joking matter!”

Then again, if she was able to joke around, that probably meant Byleth isn’t in danger of dying. She hadn’t lost much blood either, save it for the beating she’s experienced these past three days. The songstress had to resist the temptation to shake her wife silly when the teacher added,

“Looks like my… my knight… in shining armor… came to save me.” Byleth faint smiled. “Thank you…”

From that day onward, Those Who Slither in the Dark were no more, the remaining members arrested and executed for their criminal activities. Byleth was finally able to retire from her duty as a tactician and a key figure to dismantling the corrupted group. Not that she had a choice as her weakened health began to deteriorate even more after the events with Thales. Going into battle was still possible, but it was more out of self-defense and last resort. It pained the professor to use a cane for the rest of her life... but at least she was alive and by her wife's side. Now, she was stuck with the duty of handling simple responsibilities such as watching over the house and hosting her famous tea sessions with alumni.

Tranquility befalls them. At long last, they were finally able to live their lives in peace. Yet what if danger arises again?

"It's my turn to be your knight and protector, Byleth," Dorothea boldly proclaimed as they snuggled in the comfort of their homes. The two spouses laid on the bed, the songstress resting her head on top of her wife's chest. Their fingers were intertwined as she continued, "I'll always come to your rescue... just as how you did with me."

[mvdipetsch]

Outside of London; A Guide.

Hello, friends! I think there’s a semi-substantial amount of roleplays based around England, but honestly 90% of them are in London and while that’s great, England is made up of a lot of cities and I figured I’d show some #representation. 

In this guide we cover: Housing in England, location and travel! 

Disclaimer: This is based off of my experience and the experience of those around me. Most of my knowledge is concentrated around Birmingham, as that is where I grew up, but I’ve spent a fair amount of time in Stoke-on-Trent, Blackpool and Liverpool so I feel that I have a semi-decent shot at helping out. 

If you found this guide helpful, please reblog this as it helps to show me that there is interest and I’m not just shouting into a void. If you have any suggestions or comments about things I could/should cover in these guides please let me know! Any specific questions? Shoot me an ask and I’ll do my best to help you out. 

Location, Location, Location. 

England is divided into counties. There many of them, and realistically they don’t affect anything. All it really means is that your resources (police, fire, ambulance, charities, etc.) are organised by that one area. For instance - the buses in my city are all organised by Network West Midlands. They deal with every bus service (if it’s an NXBus) in the West Midlands. Ultimately, it doesn’t really affect anything. 

From my city to my university, it’s a 3-ish hour drive. That is a long drive. I know some people regard that as nothing, but when everything is so close together, it’s a lot. It’s not really a drive that people would make a lot - this is why train transport (while not that big) tends to be used to get from city to city. 

Only really in the inner cities are things that expensive. When you move away from the main city, things can get pretty affordable, but the inner city is still often really accessible via bus, driving or even train. When I’m at my boyfriend’s I’ll get the bus into the city centre, but when I’m at my mom’s sometimes it’s quicker to just jump on a train. Train tickets are also pretty inexpensive if you’re moving within the city. It’s when you’re heading to smaller cities that the problems arise. For instance, I can get to London for under £10, and to Liverpool for not much more. However, for me to get from Birmingham (a major city) to my University (a not-so-major city of about 200k) it’s £60+ with a change. On coach, it’s £14 with a change + it takes 5-ish hours (there are direct coaches that cost £30~ which is still significantly cheaper than the train) University students will commonly take a coach to and from their university to their hometown if it’s ridiculously priced. 

The higher north you go, typically the cheaper it is. This is dependent upon where in that city you are, but the general consensus is that north = cheaper. Obviously if you’re in Manchester city centre then it’s going to be a bit more pricey, but the general cost of living / food / etc. is seen to be cheaper the more north you go. A good way to judge how expensive a place is, is by how much the bus fare is. Birmingham bus fare is £4.00 for a daysaver (one ticket, on the bus as much as you like) but when I was in Liverpool I paid something like £1.20 for an U18 ticket. That’s a big difference. (For reference - Birmingham is the smack-bang middle of England. Liverpool is about 2 hours north, near Manchester.) 

Typically, when it comes to travelling; 

Driving

Cars in the UK are predominantly manual (with a gear stick) but we can still get automatic cars. Manual cars are also cheaper than automatic and you can drive an automatic with a manual license but you cannot drive a manual with an automatic license. 

My mom lives seven minutes from her work (she timed it, she’s got no life) but there are people who live up to thirty minutes away and have to take the motorway. This means that if there’s a massive accident, you can sit there for six hours, bored out of your skull

It’s also worth saying that if you live in a/the city centre, you’re not taking your car to work. It’s ridiculously expensive and parking is so few and far between, it’s really not worth it. People can and do drive, but plenty of people will also opt for a train or bus.

Buses

If you don’t drive the bus is often a very viable option. Buses will commonly run from 6:30/7 until 11:30/12 (at least where I am) but you can get night buses or buses that run later, they’re just a bit rare. 

Students (in college or secondary school, typically) are VERY common on buses. As in public buses. Unless someone has an impairment and go to a special school suited to their needs, you make your own way. Which often means that you jump on that bus with every man and his dog. 

Sunday service is real and it’s a pain in the arse. Buses that run every 10-ish minutes during the week drop to 20 between 9 and 5 and then drop to every 30 minutes after that (sometimes even every hour.) This means that if you miss your bus... you can be waiting for a very long time. 

Trains

Train’s are far more common for longer commutes. Also trains aren’t really that common for secondary school students (they either get dropped off in a car, walk or take the bus) but college students can and do take the train. My best friend takes an hour’s train ride to and from her college every day, and a lot of my teachers will get the train to college (my college is in the city centre, so it’s pretty logical.) Regardless, trains aren’t as common. 

Housing

Houses in England are attached. It is rare that you will see detached (stand alone) houses. Most houses will share their walls with their neighbours, unless they’re the end house in which case they’re called “semi-detached” cause... only half of them is attached. That tends to mean that if your neighbours have a baby, you can hear them crying. You can hear when the tv is too loud and all that kind of stuff. 

When you move out, there tends to be a few options in terms of who actually owns where you live. The options normally are:

Council. 

You sign up on the website, the council give you a priority rating and a set amount of points. These points are determined by the people in your household and your needs. A single mother with two kids will get more points than a single person with no dependants.

There is also a ‘bedroom’ tax, which states that you have to pay a tax if you live in a council property and are seen as having more bedrooms than you need. If, for instance you have two children of opposite genders that are aged seven and three, you have to pay extra tax for that third bedroom because it’s deemed as unnecessary. However if you have two children and they’re of different genders and one of them is over the age of ten (10) then you do not have to pay the tax. If they are of the same gender, then it is until one of them is sixteen (16).

Council and Housing Associations are most beneficial to those who are receiving benefits or are not working enough to cover rent by themselves. 

Housing Association

The way a housing association works is effectively the same as a landlord and the council. You apply on the council website for the aforementioned points and begin to bid on properties. When this happens, you may bid on a property that happens to be owned by a HA. The HA then acts as your landlord. HAs are pretty okay, dependent upon the area + such. When you live in a HA, any housing benefit you receive will immediately be paid from the council to the HA. This can cause issues if your money gets fucked up (which is more common than not because the housing system in the UK is BROKEN.) 

Private Rent

Private is when you have a landlord. I mean, that’s pretty self-explanatory really. You have an issue? Call the landlord. I’ve never had a landlord so I can’t really comment much on this. I will say that most landlords likely won’t accept housing benefit as a form of payment.

Private own. 

This is just the whole mortgage, thing. You know how this goes. 

There are a few different types of housing options when it comes to England and I’d imagine that this is pretty true for up and down the city.

Blocks of flats.

Blocks of flats are huge high-rises. They’re not as common anymore but there are still quite a few knocking about. If you remember the tragedy of Grenfell Tower, that was a high-rise. 

Blocks of flats can be owned by the local council or be privately rented. I’ve never lived in a flat, so my knowledge isn’t the best. They all tend to have names and there’s normally at least two together. 

A ‘flat’ is basically an apartment. So it’s a bunch of different flats (which, in high rises, commonly have two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room and a bathroom) High rises have a lot of flats in them. Commonly there’s at least 13 floors, with between around four and six flats per floor. So you can get a lot of people in a high rise. 

Maisonette. 

A maisonette looks like a wide house. It’s normally one to two floors, with flats that have three (or more) bedrooms. Maisonettes are considerably bigger, in terms of the flats inside, and consist of maybe two flats per floor. Maisonettes can also be council, privately rented or housing association. 

Bungalow.

A bungalow is a home without any stairs. They can be council, privately rented or privately owned. Bungalows aren’t that common anymore, but they’re great for people who have difficulty with stairs and such. Also most bungalows are actually pretty decent sizes too. 

Houses.

Houses in the UK are broken down into one of three categories:

Detached

Semi-Detached

Attached

This is literally just based upon how many of your walls are shared with your neighbour. Detached houses are really uncommon in the UK and are usually found in richer areas. Semi-detached is mainly just the house at the end of your street, so semi-detached and attached are the main two. 

Also it’s pretty common that you only have windows of two of the four house walls. Even if you’re in a semi-detached house, you’ll only have front and back windows. 

Houses can be privately owned, privately rented, housing association or council.

Most houses follow a similar layout. Typically three bedrooms, with either one bathroom or a room just for the toilet + then the bathroom (with a bath + sink + such.) It’s also super common for one room to be a ‘box room’ which is normally pretty small. My room at my mom’s house is the ‘box room’ and it fits a 3/4 bed, a chest of draws, and a metal rack that I use as a bookshelf. There is not a lot of room in there. 

And there you have it! I think I covered most things regarding transport and housing in the UK, and I really hope that it was as informative as possible. Stay groovy, my dudes. 

[neshatriumphs]

A Boy Called Red 9

Bonded

Mercedes didn’t feel safe with Marley around but she did believe that Marley would be protective of Sam and that made her feel a little better. If Marley was looking after Sam, she might be able to focus on other things, comfortably. Well, as comfortably as she could do things with a crazed looking white woman with matted hair, a busted up face and missing teeth staring at her. She looked like a completely different girl than the one that had jacked her up searching for the old woman. Those wolves really did a number on her. But, they weren’t trying to kill her, clearly. They only meant to cause her pain. They probably were watching her when they released her. But, she seemed smart enough that she wouldn’t have come back without being sure that she lost them first. After she left, to go back to Isabelle, the two of them were there for days. Sam sighed and said, “I wonder what the longest period of time that she ever spent down here was.” Mercedes didn’t say anything to him. “This is cozy up until you’ve gotta take a crap. I mean, what do you do?”

“Probably bury it in the farthest space from here,” she said. “Or bag it and deposit it in the wild. I don’t think that she just stayed down here for weeks at a time. Maybe times whenever her house was being ran through. There wasn’t a lot of food in the house, so my theory is that she kept most of it down here and brought up what she needed at the moment, in case someone barged in and she had to hideout for a while.”

“I spent a lot of time in a panic room. It had a working toilet, ton of canned goods, some jerky and soup with meat and stuff. But, we didn’t have a lot of meat. You didn’t have steaks or burgers, you know? And… at the time, that seemed so wrong to me. I honestly wondered, what kind of life is it to not be able to have a burger?” He laughed at himself and held his ribs, “Meanwhile, somewhere, you and your mom were scavenging through the woods.”

“We weren’t always in the woods. I feel like we were in an apartment complex. My mom started taking in orphans and runaways… they’d move on and leave behind meat donations, is how she explained it to me. It wasn’t until people came looking for folk and neighbors started pointing fingers at her that we had to leave. She says that she goes back into town sometimes, for meat donations. I usually have to stay hidden away when she does. She comes back all beat up and scratched up, missing chunks and having new scars. I nurse her, we eat, we rest, then we move on.”

“I’m curious about something, because everybody calls you cub, but you look like you’re probably like my age.”

“Are you asking me how old I am?”

“I’m curious about how old you are.”

“Were people still doing birthdays where you came from?”

“Kinda. After television stopped broadcasting and calendars stopped being made, most people didn’t know when a week passed or a month. But, if you still had a phone and a charger, you could plug it in sometimes and find out what date it was… for a while.”

“Well… My mom says that I’m sixteen. That doesn’t seem right to me, but like you said, I can’t really tell time. I never made any tally marks when the sun came up or went down to know how many days had passed. Maybe I should start. It’s gone down and came back up five times since you and I have been here.” She looked around and eventually picked up a plastic jar that looked like it once had jumbo sized pickles in it, then grabbed 5 pebbles and threw them in. “This way, we’ll at least be able to know how long we’ve been together.” She looked at him and he was smiling, his busted face making him look a sad sight, even though his eyes were bright. She cleared her throat and said, “Not together! But, you know… On this journey, or whatever!” She hugged the jar to herself and wiggled her legs, nervously.

.

By the time that they surfaced, she counted the pebbles in the jar - 16 of them. Her mother had to be back in the woods by now, but Sam insisted that they find Isabelle. “She’s got like a lair and stuff. I slept in a cell, but there were kids and stuff there, so I know that they have resources.”

“Do you remember what I was supposed to say to her?” Mercedes asked.

“What?” Sam wondered.

“The slingshot boy gave me a password.”

“She’s met me already,” Sam said.

“Right. But, she hasn’t met me. What if he’s not there and the crazy fur girl is. She doesn’t trust me and she doesn’t like me.”

“Wherever you go, I go. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” Sam said. Now that he was all healed up, he felt like a man again. He was brave and protective. He wasn’t going to allow trouble to come on the only friend that he’d made here. They packed up the bags for a few days and set off to leave the tunnel. He got out first, then helped her up. They picked up the bags that they’d thrown out and she tried to remember how this was covered whenever Kurt and she came to it. It was good enough, unless someone had seen them. Sam looked at his compass for a bit, then back at her lagging behind, “Please stay close enough that we can’t be separated. I don’t know where traps are in these woods.” 

She sighed and caught up, “God, acting like my mother,” she complained. He looked at her, very offended. She winced, remembering that her mother specifically was responsible for his grandmother’s death and to compare them was in such, such poor taste. “I am so sorry. I just meant that you’re kinda buggin…” He continued walking, sulking face in full effect and this time, she remained close, but quiet. She’d probably said enough. 

She was walking, trying to keep up with his long legged strides, practically jogging when she hit her toe on a rock, made a yelp and almost fell. Sam dropped the compass and his bag as he rushed to catch her and stand her back up. “You okay? Are you okay?” He was examining her, looking worried. She nodded her head. She was fine, just embarrassed. He sighed and picked up his things, “Be more careful,” he said. But, he had slowed down for her to be able to keep up a little better. 

Whenever the sun appeared to be going down, she found a cave and he shook his head, “I think that spot’s taken,” he told her. 

“Who told you that?” She wondered.

“Marley.” 

By this time, she knew Marley’s name. “If it’s night fall and it’s taken, they’ll either start a fire to keep warm or they’ll prowl the woods for suckas like us. Either way… this cave is ours tonight. We can’t navigate in the dark. You aren’t from the woods, and I’ve never been allowed to be out at night.”

“Listen. You and me gotta have each other’s backs. If they know how to move around in the dark, we’ve gotta learn.”

“When will we be able to? They hunt at night!”

“Let’s climb a tree. Can you climb a tree?” He asked.

“Not well!” 

“I’ll help you.” Sam climbed the tree, pausing every now and then to try to help pull her up with him. She was extremely nervous about all of this, but he was so determined and focused that she simply trusted him. Whenever they got high up into the tree, he said, “Our eyes will adjust to the dark. We can spend some nights training them, in the treetops. They don’t hunt for sheep in trees.” She nodded, but he couldn’t see her, so he reached out to find her and found her hand. She wrapped her fingers around his and squeezed. He smiled about it, but she couldn’t see him. 

The sun went down and came up 3 more times while they were out and about, but they hadn’t found Isabelle’s place and that night, they had a brush with the wolves, for once. “Who are they?”

“One of them fits the description of a boy that had a scuffle with Packmaster Mike and the other is that Wolf Bitch’s cub, the black one.”

“And… They’re treading our territory?” Jesse asked. “For what?”

“Probably trying to find Isabelle. You know that Marley is one of hers. She’s been spotted with the boy. I can’t explain the cub, though.”

“What about your boyfriend?” 

“If you’re referring to Kurt, I’m sure he’s still with Isabelle. He was a part of the fight, too. The bounty that Mike put on his head was for slaying a couple of his wolves with stones.”

“The slingshot,” they both said. Jesse finished off with, “Well, I am into the idea of getting those two into this pack, if you find them. I’d love to have a couple of young wolves that could both lead Wolf Bitch to me AND survive a scuffle with Mike. Don’t let them get to Isabelle. Bring them to me, as soon as they’re found. Let them know that they need a pack. We’re the only one that can both provide and protect them.” When they’re voices went away, Mercedes finally exhaled in the tree. She didn’t realize that she was holding her breath.

“What were they talking about?” Sam whispered.

“I guess it's somebody else Mama has pissed off. I didn’t recognize the voices, but they did mention Kurt.”

“Marley told me that his boyfriend killed a bunch of kids for his packmaster, to enter the pack. That means this is the pack that sent them into hiding…” He shut his mouth when he saw Blaine moving around, coming back in their direction, looking for something or someone. Their eyes were adjusted to the dark for the night, and Sam could make him out, a pale figure, dressed fancy, like Kurt, but with a fur coat on and a bowtie. He had curly hair all over his head, but Sam couldn’t make out his face in the dark.

“If you’re not in this pack, it was very unwise of you to be here,” Blaine said. “If we find you, there’s no telling what we’ll have to do…” He went to a few bushes, looked behind whatever he saw. Nothing. He glanced up at the tree and Sam and Mercedes both clung to each other, being perfectly still. Blaine left. They worried that maybe he’d seen them and was coming back with pack members, but he never did. 

Their plan to kick anybody who tried to come up that tree to get them didn’t need to be put into effect, but both of them were a little bit more scared than they had been when they set off to find Isabelle. At sunrise, whenever they began climbing out of the tree, Mercedes actually said, “I wish Marley was here…” Sam gasped. Mercedes froze and her eyes looked around, wondering if they were about to be killed.

“I know where one of her traps are! But, it’s in Mike’s territory.”

“You mean 3 days back that way?” She wondered pointing her thumb. 

“No. It’s not that far and it’s that way,” he pointed another direction. “I got off course after my fight with Pinky and them and fell into a trap.” He grabbed her hand and began running, forgetting again how short her little legs were. Whenever they reached it, she was ready to collapse. He was breathing hard. “I gotta warn you… The fall is gonna hurt.”

“More than my damn lungs?” She wondered. He laughed, took her hand and looked at her, wondering if she was ready. She nodded her head, shut her eyes and they leaped into the trap. Whenever they landed, she groaned and he immediately checked on her.

“Took you longer than I thought,” a woman’s voice said. Sam helped Mercedes up and looked at her. It was Isabelle. “We should get moving, if we want to make it back to my chambers by nightfall.” Marley reinforced the trap, growled at Mercedes, then walked behind them as they followed Isabelle through these tunnels. 

Mercedes asked Sam, “Do you know this woman?”

“Her voice… You’re Isabelle, aren’t you?” He asked. He was mostly unconscious whenever they “met.” 

She smiled at them and asked, “Why are you here?”

Mercedes gasped and said, “OH! Mama caught me in the right hole!” Isabelle nodded her head once at her and then kept walking. Sam looked confused. That didn’t answer his question, but he’d been unconscious for that exchange, as well.

“You’ll be able to sleep on an actual bed tonight, but our chambers are set up like a campsite. We basically moved our campgrounds underground, in these tunnels. We took the wood that the cabins were made of for our fires…”

“And for building stuff and making traps,” Marley said, cheerfully. She pressed close up against Sam and Mercedes bucked up to her, reflexively. Marley smiled down at her, looking nefarious with her sharp new teeth, that she must’ve made herself. “Oh,” she said and laughed. “The cub is ready to fight?”

Sam pulled Mercedes to him and kept walking. She and Marley glared at each other. “Easy, Cub,” Sam teased. 

“I don’t know why I reacted that way,” she admitted softly, not taking her eyes off of Marley.

“Because you’re territorial,” he said, rubbing her arm with the hand that he had around her.

“I can’t be territorial about something that doesn’t belong to me,” she said, more to herself that to him. He simply smiled and at her and moved his hand to her waist.

. 

Isabelle brought them to a room where there were several beds, with little tables on the sides of them, most with possessions on them, and trunks at the feet of the beds that Sam was sure held things too. “There aren’t currently any empty beds next to each other, but you can pick any two that don’t have someone’s things there already.” Sam placed his bag on a nightstand and Mercedes placed hers on a bed, across the way. She took a small baggy of pebbles out and poured them on the nightstand to count what she had collected since they had been in the woods, and she recalled what she had counted before they left and added them together in her brain. She pulled out a journal and wrote Day 21: We found Isabelle.

Whenever everyone was in bed, going to sleep for the night, or doing something to occupy their minds, until they could fall asleep, Mercedes was staring at the ceiling. She couldn’t seem to sleep. Her mind was racing. She was wondering about that pack that wanted them, wondering about her mother, wondering how Sam would react whenever they ran into her, wondering about Sam… But, he interrupted her thoughts when he came and climbed into her bed. “Sam?”

“I can’t sleep without you next to me,” he said. He admitted it like he was confessing something that she would judge him for, but warmth flushed over him. She felt the same way. She snuggled into him and was asleep within minutes. Marley passed by to check in on everyone and almost panicked when she noticed Sam’s empty bed, but there he was… cozied up with his little cub. She had quite the surprise for them in the morning.

[internethorrorfan]

Commentarypasta: Childhood parts 1, 2 and 3 (originally posted on Deviantart in 2017)

The first was story was pretty bad, wasn't it? But at least it was short. We won't be so lucky this time, boils and ghouls. I don't know if I'm doing the whole thing but there'll be at least 2 or 3 parts of this. Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story... Childhood by Miss Megaheart Prologue: You are a pig! A filthy, disgusting, horrendously fat pig!”

“Says the woman who gave birth to that disgusting thing that people expect us to love!” Why'd you even carry it to term?

"Is it my fault she’s that terrible? Have you forgotten that she is a combination of the two of us? She is ugly, stupid, and disgusting because she’s your kid too!”

“Shut up! She can hear us!”

“She’s just a dumb kid! She doesn’t understand what our words mean!” Spoilers: She really shouldn't but she does anyway because this story is stupid.

They were wrong. Entirely wrong. You Oh this an X reader by the way. I think you can figure out my opinion on such stories based on the "Anti Creepypasta X Reader" stamp on my profile.  But if you want an elaboration: I think almost all X reader characters are either too specific to for someone (aka me) to fully insert themselves into and/or aren't specific enough for people to care about them otherwise. From now on all unnamed/ x reader characters in stories I riff are referred to as "Mary Sue". For obvious reasons. heard every single word and, despite your young age, you knew exactly what it meant. Spoilers: Absolutely no you did not. Though they usually seemed so nice and caring to you, when you weren’t with them, they would say the meanest things.  And you don't tell people about this because...? In case you don’t know who “they” are, I’ll tell you. Oh I know who They are. Really bland and forgettable. Your parents. Yes, that’s right, it was your parents who screamed their hatred for you loud enough to reach your room. Well who the hell else would they be? Every night, you would lay in bed, listening to their ranting about how much they hated you while you silently cried yourself to sleep. CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWLING IN MY SKIIIIIIIIN! It had been like this since your third birthday, which was only a few months ago.  I'm sorry, what? She's only 3 years old and she's able to comprehend all this crap? We're a paragraph into "Childhood" and I 'm already regretting my life decisions. If only I wasn't being held at gunpoint to riff bad creepypastas on the internet... You never knew why they hated you, Because having things like "character motivations" is something good writers would do. only that you knew they did. But, sadly, you had no choice but to absorb the hate and love them. No. They were your only family and, well, any family is better than no family. Right?  It is literally impossible for a 3 year old to be thinking like this. Plus, while 3 year olds are stupid, they aren't stupid enough to think their parents being abusive is normal. Little Sue here should be scared of her parents because they yell all the time, not be ignoring it and acting like nothing is wrong and that they're a normal happy loving family.  And does adoption not exist in this universe? Soon, the yelling stopped and the house went silent. You yawned and went to sleep, one last tear falling down your face. THESE WOUNDS THEY WILL NOT HEAL! ~Timeskip to the next morning. “Hey mama? Where are we going?” “We’re going for a walk in the forest sweetie.” “Okay mama.” Mary Sue knows her parents despise her, she shouldn't be acting so cordial around them! Your dad was driving the car on a beaten dirt road. This should have the beginning of the paragraph. Also why didn't Sue ask them where they were going before they got in the car? Occasionally, you’d hit a few bumps which made you bounce in your seat. I'm sure this is a completely necessary detail. There was nothing but forests, flowers, bushes, and other forms of nature for miles and miles and miles. The first miles was enough, thank you. Plus "forests, flowers, bushes and other forms of nature"? This is one of the most redundant sentences I've ever read. You held tightly to the family scrapbook your parents were working on since you were born Why in God's name would your parents ever bother making a family scrapbook if they hate each other and you? and your (animal) plush. You were getting bored and wanted to go back home, Back home to the endless shrieking of your parents about how they literally wished you were never born. but you were far away from any civilization and in a moving car, Thanks for telling me she was in a moving car, I thought she was in an alien spacecraft the whole time. so therefore, you had to sit. After a few minutes,  "After a few minutes" from what? Since you left the house? Because if it's only been a few minutes Mary Sue shouldn't be this bored and they shouldn't be "far away from any civilization" unless they were already out in the middle of nowhere. the car finally stopped in front of a path. Your parents got out of the car and opened your door. Chapter 1:

“(Y/N), do you have all your stuff?” Who said that?

You nodded your head as you grabbed your stuffie It was a plush a few sentences ago. What's the significance of the stuffed animal/plushy anyway? To make her more "KAWAII DESU OMG!"? and scrapbook Why does she need to bring the scrapbook? Does the scrapbook serve any kind of narrative purpose? and followed your parents into the forest. There were all sorts of wildlife and nature. Nature: "the phenomena of the physical world collectively, including plants, animals, the landscape, and other features and products of the earth, as opposed to humans or human creations". Saying "there were all sorts of wildlife and nature" is like saying there were all sorts of people and humans. It was the type of forest you’d see in a fairy tale or Disney movie. It was very pretty. I got that it was pretty when you compared it to fairy tales and Disney movies! Soon, your little legs began to get sore from all the walking How long have you been walking? because you’re only 3. Then act like a three year old and not like someone in middle school. Lucky for you, there was a nice spot for you to sit down. A flat, large rock to lean on and an oak tree to keep you shady right next to it. You literally could have just said there was a large rock to sit down on. Nearby was a bush with little round red berries. As opposed to triangular berries. Your dad stood in front of you as you sat down. “Now (Y/N), stay here while mama and daddy go get some smacks PROOFREAD. from a store. If you get hungry and you eat all of your (fave meat) you can eat some of those berries.” He pointed to the bush and you nodded your head. He handed you a bag with a few cookies, Why did he give you cookies if he wants you to eat those berries after you finish your meat? a bottle of (fave juice), and some (fave meat) in a container. They already gave her some meat to eat and they're telling her they're gonna get snacks from the store! How much food does this kid eat? Why are they even giving you food at all if they hate you? You smiled at him They hate you and you know that! as he and your mother walked down the path. “Buh bye!” you cooed cheerfully. This one sentence is pretty much the only time 3 year old Sue acts like a 3 year old. Still, she shouldn't be this happy, loving and comfortable around people who yell and scream all the time, especially since she's the smartest toddler ever and completely understands everything around her including her parents hating her and wishing she were never even born.

~Parents POV~

“We finally did it. We finally abandoned the brat.”  Why didn't you put Mary Sue up for adoption right after she was born? Gee, it's almost like these are 1 dimensional caricatures of abusive parents thrown into the story for the sole purpose of trying to make our main character more sympathetic or something. “Yes! Plus she’s so far in the woods no one will find her!” “It was genius to tell her to eat those poisoned berries!”  Why did you give her extra food to eat then? And why'd you tell her to eat it last? Just give her the poisoned berries right off the bat and tell her to eat them. Or just shove them down her throat if you're gonna kill her. Your parents continued gloating about how you were finally out of their lives forever as they started the car engine. Right before finding puppies to kick and orphans to eat, I imagine. Your dad took the wheel as they steered out of the forest…Leaving you behind… Really? I couldn't have figured that out myself! Chapter 2: You started to get a little scared now. Your parents left when the sun was high in the sky, also called noon. Just say they left at noon! The sun was starting to go down now, making it darker and eerie shadows distort, "Making it darker and eerie shadows distort"? Did that make sense to you when you wrote this? almost like they wanted to claw at you. You had just finished all the food in your bag except for the (fave meat) So you're full and you have something to eat for later? Why are you treating this as if it were a bad thing? and you only had a little bit of (fave juice) left. That’s when it hit you hard. The truth you found started to make you cry. Most 3 year olds are still working on learning their colors and shapes and "Childhood" would have you believe they have the same intellectual levels as 5-8 year olds. The truth is… Nirvana is a vastly overrated band. Your parents aren’t coming back. Tense swaps! Hooray! They abandoned you completely. Yeah, I got that. You heard a rustling in a bush and you turned your tear stained face in the direction of the rustling. A strange thing came slowly towards you and stared. It had pale skin and had long claws. It had sharp teeth and it was the size of you, because you are a 3 year old kid who was abandoned by her family.  If anyone knows what this sentence is supposed to mean I'd be glad to hear it because I sure as hell don't. It didn’t scare you though. You didn’t know why, but you just weren’t. A pale skinned monster with glowing eyes, sharp teeth and long claws doesn't scare you but being alone for a few hours does? “I… Am… The… Rake…” the strange thing said as it studied your frail body, like how an owl might look at a mouse. What the hell kind of simile is this? Do owls commonly eat mice? You sniffled before you told “Rake” your name. You assumed that you weren’t scared because you were too sad to be scared.  I'm seriously having trouble fathoming how someone at some point could think "too sad to be scared" was not only an actual possible thing but also something good enough to put in their story. “So… Hungry…” Rake said as he stepped closer to you. You peered into the bag and grabbed the (fave meat) container. You opened it and put it in front of him. Just because you're not scared of someone doesn't mean you like/trust them! Sue couldn't trust her parents so why would she trust a literal monster the first time she lays eyes on him? He looked at it, then back at you, then back to the meat. He took a small bite, testing the taste, followed by viciously chewing, mauling, and eating the meat. Using three synonyms for the same thing in the same sentence does not a good writer make. You watched him, unsure if you should stay with him You have no reason too. or run away and try to find a way home. You chose to stay, hoping he wouldn’t hurt you. Remember kids: staying with someone who might hurt or kill you is better than being alone. He licked his lips. “Thank you (Y/N). For that, I will not kill you. So giving the Rake food stops him from attacking you? Someone should tell these guys. What are you doing here anyways?” Why do you care?

“My mama and daddy left me behind.” You started crying again. "Now who's going to verbally abuse and neglect me?!?"

You stopped when your stomach growled loudly. You just finished eating! You got up and picked a handful of berries. You ate the entire handful, dropping a few. You dropping a few berries is completely pointless information. Rake was confused, About what? How this author can't tell the difference between toddlers and little kids? but after you ate the berries, he realized what you did. He screeched for you to stop, He seriously cares about the safety and wellbeing of a random toddler he met a few moments ago just because she gave him some meat for no reason? only he was too late. “THOSE WERE POISONOUS!” You looked at him, confused. “Daddy said I can eat these "The daddy that screeches his hatred and disgust of my very existence every night told me I could eat these! Why shouldn't I trust him?" berri- GACK!” You started to almost vomit and you felt your insides fill with overwhelming pain. You coughed up a puddle of blood as your breathing became gasps for oxygen. Rake started getting scared. What is it with creepypasta fanfiction and popular CP characters becoming attached to the OCs the very instant they meet them? The Rake of all characters shouldn't give one iota of a crap that some 3 year old he just met is going to die from eating poisoned berries, especially since by his own admission he was going to kill her.  “Slenderman! Quick! I need your help!” he screeched.  Soon after, a tall man in a suit with snow coloured skin and no face stood behind him. The man looked at the sight. A little girl She's a toddler not a little girl. , on the ground, practically dying, and Rake, panicking. I, don't, think, this, sentence, has, enough, commas, do, you?

“I’ll take her back to the mansion. You grab her stuff.” he said as he picked you up. And Slender Man cares about Mary Sue because...?

You spat up more blood while losing consciousness. Leaving everything black... Chapter 3:

While you were passed out, you dreamed of the day you questioned you mother Proofreading is not a polite suggestion! about her love. “Mama?” “Yes sweetie?” “Do you love me?” “Of course we love you!” “But you always say mean things.” 3 year olds don't even know what their ass is for and this author thinks that they can fully understand all words and their meanings with complete clarity. “It’s only about other people named (Y/N).” “Okay mama.” Literally the beginning of this story said Mary Sue could understand everything her mom and dad said and knew they despised her. This was the first draft wasn't it? You were suddenly brought back to reality. Your head was really hurting, "Really hurting"? That's seriously the best description you can come up with? along with your chest and stomach. You looked around the unfamiliar room, searching for any life. There stood the man you saw before, and Rake. Rake looked somewhat relieved, Because he just knows you so well. while you couldn’t tell how the man felt. He shouldn't feel anything at all about you.

“Is she okay Slenderman?” Neither of you should be even remotely invested in this girl's life. 

“Yes she is. But she needs rest. That was a dangerous dosage of poisonous nightshade berries. Any child knows to stay away from those.” Because all children, especially toddlers, can identify poisonous nightshade berries on sight.

“Before I called for you, after eating the berries, she said her father told her that she could eat these.” The first nine words of that sentence could be completely removed and the story would have been better off for it. The man called Slenderman Just say Slender Man. would’ve had a shocked face, if he had one that is. Has Slender Man never heard of abusive parents before? You were on top of something soft, which turned out to be a bed. JUST SAY SHE WAS ON A BED! You were crying. I think I might have used "Crawling in my skin" a little too early. Not because you were scared, because you weren’t. You're a 3 year old who's been abandoned by their parents in a large unfamiliar place, you've been almost poisoned to death, and you've seen a literal monster that admitted he was going to kill you and he only refrained because you gave him something he wanted. You should be screaming and bawling your eyes out in fear and sadness. Piss off with this "I'm not scared" crap. But because you couldn’t believe your parents would let you almost die. They were literally shouting at each other for hours about how much they hated you and wished you didn't exist just last night! And you yourself said this was a regular occurrence! You shouldn't be so shocked! Also, say it with me, THREE YEAR OLDS AREN'T THAT SMART!

Because you wanted your parents to love you. They hated you and you knew that. You shouldn't know these things since you're a damn toddler, but you do, so this is even more moronic. Slenderman noticed you crying. He grabbed a handkerchief and wiped away your tears. Because Slender Man's just such a kind nurturing father figure when he's not impaling the corpses of his victims on trees.

“Now, now, young one. You may stay with us creepypastas.” WHY?!? For what possible reason would Slender Man ever want a three old to live with him? 3 year olds can barley understand the world around them, they can't bathe themselves, some need pull ups to make sure they don't soil themselves, they throw tantrums when they don't get their way, they're too short to reach anything, they can only attend to an activity for a few minutes before getting bored and they need near constant attention to make sure they don't hurt themselves because they're so stupid there are tests showing dogs might be smarter than them. Having a toddler around would benefit Slenderman in absolutely no way at all. Did the Rake convince Slenderman to let her stay by telling the harrowing story of how she give him non descript meat to eat? Slenderman said somehow, confusing you since he didn’t have a mouth. That's the part that confuses you? Not literally everything that's happened in this story? Nonetheless, you didn’t wanna stay outside, and you knew that your parents couldn’t careless Was the backspace key broken when this story was written? about what happened to you.

“O-Okay… My n-name is (Y/N)…”

“Lovely name. Almost as lovely as the forest.”  I have the sudden urge to burn down every forest in sight, don't know why that could be. You heard someone come down the stairs. He looked like Slenderman, except he had a wacky Seriously out of all the words you could have chosen you chose "wacky"? bowtie and his suit was covered in colorful polkadots. He also had a top hat with the same design as his suit and he had a happy looking face. When will people figure out Splendor Man isn't a creepypasta character? The Slender Bros have even less connections to creepypasta than Masky and Hoodie do.

“Brother where is the can- AAAAAAAAAAAWWWWW! Who’s this adorable little girl here?!” he squeeled as he grabbed you and hugged you. Someone's actually in-character in Childhood? Surely this is an oversight by the author.

“This is (Y/N). She was abandoned by her parents and tricked into poisonous nightshade berries.” Slenderman said as he grabbed you and sat you down in a chair. More superfluous sentences! Hooray! You looked at the new guy, All these weirdoes are new to you. who looked like he was about cry. “Who… Who… WHO COULD DO SUCH A THING TO SUCH A SWEET LITTLE GIRL!?!?!?” he cried as he clung to you. Slender Man just put her down! What, did Splendor Man just pick her up again? If so,what was the point of even saying Slender Man put her down? Everyone in the room So glad you established previously other people were in the room with them. What room are they in anyway? stared at him. “You have to stay with us. No she doesn't! Just put her up for adoption! I can’t believe they would do something like that. My name is Splendorman.” You giggled as you hugged him. “Okay Mr. Splendorman!” That was the beginning of your life with the creepypasta family. More like the beginning of the end for my sanity.

Chapter 4: Slenderman and Splendorman lead you upstairs, down the hall, and into a room on your right side. It was a bedroom. YOUR bedroom, to be exact. 

You literally got just here! You can't have a bedroom specifically for you! With a bunk bed! Your parents never let you have one.

Because you’re an only child! There's no reason for you to have a bunk bed! Especially since you're only 3 years old and leaving you on a high place can be really dangerous! You giggled and climbed a ladder leading to the top bunk. Then you fell off, hurt yourself and burst into tears because you're a toddler and toddlers are stupid. Other than that, the room seemed very bland. The walls were white, the dresser was white, the bed sheets were white, and the only thing with colour was a desk that sat in the corner. It was a pale (F/C) colour. A toddler would not be this excited over a boring white room. But hey, you have a bunk bed, those are awesome. Another tense swap!

You yawned a little bit. How does one yawn "a little bit"? It was dark outside and you needed rest from eating nightshade berries and almost dying. All the meandering redundant pointless sentences in this story are really getting on my nerves.

“I’m afraid we don’t have sleepwear but do not worry! We will get them tomorrow!” Splendorman said. All she did was yawn. She didn't actually say she was sleepy. How are going to get pajamas when you're monsters? You guys can't exactly walk into a store. Slenderman did a face palm-err, head palm.(?) Figure stuff like this out before you post chapters of your story onto a public website.

“Okay. Goodnight.” you cooed as your eyes drifted shut. You're a toddler and your primary caregivers have abandoned you and tried poisoning you to death, leaving you to essentially be kidnapped and forced to live with scary monsters you know nothing about in an unfamiliar place. You should be severely traumatized by all this, be terrified and bawling your eyes out, not happily cooing and acting like nothing bad has happened.

~Timeskip to tomorrow~

You had just come home from getting you some clothes and other stuff for your room. Because 3 year olds commonly pick their own clothes and essential belongings. Earlier that day you spent learning about creepypastas Creepypastas are stories, not beings. and their names. You were also told that there were always new creepypastas coming into the mansion. You've been there for a few hours. Everyone and everything here is new to you. Such as B.O.B. Yay! B.O.B.! A lot of people forget about him. He looked like a combination of Slenderman and Rake.

B.O.B. looks nothing like Slender Man at all. But, like all of them, surprising because of how young you were, you weren’t scared a little bit. A toddler isn't scared of real monsters. A toddler. A TODDLER. “Okay now. (Y/N), we will be back in a little bit. We have to go kil-err I mean… Go for a walk.” “Okay Mr. Slenderman!” My brain is melting out of my ears and on we're on chapter 4.

When they left you decided to explore the mansion. You went into the room next to your room and it was empty. Thanks I really needed to know that. You left that room and checked the next room. It looked like another bedroom. The walls were orange with white floors. There was a black desk next to the bed with a red gem shaped light. The bed sheets were red and the pillow was orange. Lying on the bed was a stuffed animal. A fox. It had 2 tails, when you realized that this was a Miles Power, better known as Tails, plush. She went into another room and found the Tails Doll lying on a bed. I just summed up the entirety of this paragraph in one sentence. Why does the Tails Doll need his own room anyway? You loved games What toddler plays video games? And why would your parents, who constantly yelled their disgust of their very existence at you, ever let you play video games? so you instinctively grabbed the plush. Author you don't know how toddlers work. You definitely don't know how instincts work. “Aaaaw. You’re so cute. Something no three year old has ever said. Let’s go play a game!” “No. Put me down child.” Your (E/C) eyes shot open. I thought you weren't scared of anything. You looked at the stuffed fox you were just cuddling. You weren't cuddling it you were holding it. It had a red gem on its head and its eyes were open. It didn’t look amused at all. You put it back down on the bed. “I’m the Tails Doll. You must be the new child (Y/N).” You nodded your head As apposed to what, nodding your nipples? at Tails Doll. You left the room waving goodbye to the doll.

STOP. WASTING. EVERYONE'S. TIME. You went back to your room and played with your (fave animal) stuffie, Miss Fluffy. This is not relevant info in any way shape or form. ~Timeskip to 3 hours later~ “We’re home. Tails Doll, where’s (Y/N)?” “I think she’s chillin’ in her room.” "Bruh!" Slenderman peeked in your room to see you drawing pictures of some of the creepypastas. “Those are very lovely drawings. Coming from a three year old? No they aren't. I’ll put them up on the fridge.” Why was the Rake looking for food in the forest when they have a fridge?  “Okay Mr. Slenderman.” You had drawn Slenderman, Splendorman, Rake, B.O.B, Tails Doll, and you. Because you're just know them so well. I don't think even toddlers get attached to new people this easily, especially when they've spent almost no time with her at all.. And are, you know, monsters. You were a pretty good artist, despite that you were only 3. The scribblings of a mental patient are better than a 3 year old's drawings.. The Creepypasta Family is the best family. Stop the ride, I wanna get off! Better than your real family. That’s for sure. Because a family of monsters and serial killers is truly the highest standard a family can ever achieve.

Chapter 5

It has been 10 years since you joined the creepypastas. You were now 13 This story's called "Childhood" and we've completely skipped her childhood. Wow.

and became Slenderman’s proxy.

Just when I though this couldn't get dumber. 13 year olds are moody, hormonal weaklings who're currently undergoing massive changes in their body and have had little to no time to develop life skills. They'd be completely useless as assassins. Well, one of his proxies. You had met and befriended many of the creepypastas You've met and befriended multiple online horror stories? That's pretty impressive. that have joined throughout the years. The other proxies of Slenderman were Masky, Who is not a proxy or a creepypasta character.  who had brown hair, Tim's hair is black. a white mask with black eyes and lips, and an orange hoodie, An orange hoodie?

Does this look like an orange hoodie to you? and Hoody, who wore a hoodie that looked just like Masky’s Brian's hoodie was pale yellow so even if Tim wore an orange hoodie as Masky they wouldn't be wearing the same thing. and a black mask with red eyes and a red mouth that was always frowning. Just say he has a red frown! This is ridiculous! You would always wear a black hoodie, Because all clichéd uninspired creepypasta OCs wear hoodies. (F/C) gloves, grey jeans, and black sneakers whenever you guys went on a mission. Nobody cares about your damn clothes. “Oi Slendy.' “Hm? Oh, (Y/N). What is it?” “When do I get to go kill something. This question seems to be missing something. I wonder what it is? Also our protagonist, aka the person we're supposed to like, is complaining about not being able to kill innocent people for fun. Also why was Slenderman hiding them murdering people when she was 3 if he was just gonna raise her to be a killer anyway? I mean, I always scout out the victim’s home for Masky, Hoody, In addition to not being proxies or creepypasta characters Hoodie and Masky are also not serial killers. or you to physically and mentally torture and kill. I have never gotten the chance to.” Because you’re 13 years old and too weak to properly do things like that. “Well, you only became my proxy 2 weeks ago. We want to find you a suitable victim. Do not fret child. You will get the chance.” Jesus H. Christ! Proxies aren't people that intentionally ally themselves with Slenderman and do nothing but kill random people! You smiled as you walked into your room, bumping into one of the new Creepypastas, Jeff the killer. I'm wonder sometimes if the people who write these stories think Jeff's full name is "Jeff T. Killer". He had black hair, black eyelids, a huge smile cut into his cheeks, and skin the colour of Slendy’s. You weren’t close or anything, but you two were good friends.  That means you're close. “Hey (Y/N), quit it.”  “Quit what?” “Quit being so clumsy. You dropped a plate of cookies this morning and made so many chocolate chips go to waste.” "Filler: the story" ladies and gentlemen.

“Oh shut up Jeff. You could’ve eaten them straight off the floor.”

“Whatever!” You both laughed as you walked into your room. Over the years it’s gone through some changes. Who cares? first it was all very bland with white walls, floor, and bed sheets. The very last chapter told us that! Now, the walls were a crimson blood colour, Because red and black are the only colors that exist in creepypasta. the floor was a grey carpet, and the bed sheets were scarlet. The desk, dresser, and bunk bed stayed the same, however. Fascinating. You had a bookshelf with manga and other awesome books. Because literally everyone on the entire planet loves manga and anime. You had a love seat, but you rather preferred to call it “2 person sofa”. This story would be 50 times shorter if you excised all the meaningless lines from it. You had a small red coffee table in front of the “2 person sofa”. You had a TV with some game consoles hooked up. So, long story short, you had the best bedroom in the world. This whole paragraph could have and should have been cut from "Childhood" entirely.

There was a knock on your door. You opened it, only to reveal a newer creepypasta, Ben Drowned. Ben Drowned is the name of the story not the character. He's not Ben Drowned, son of Bobby and Betty Drowned, descendant of the great Bartholomew Drwoned. He was about a year older than you, so 14. Ben was 12 when he died. He had blonde hair, black eyes with red pupils, and pale skin. This is not BEN's canon appearance and when will people figure this out? He often wore a Legend Of Zelda Link outfit. As apposed to a Call of Duty Link outfit. You two were good friends as well. In fact, he was one of your best and closest friends. “Sup (Y/N). You know where Tails Doll and Sonic.EXE are?” “I think they’re in the basement with Pinkie. She needed some of that ‘special ingredient’ for her cupcakes, Cupcakes is a fanfiction, not a creepypasta! I don't care that it's on the wiki, the wiki is stupid! so they went and got her some.” “I see. I’ll get them later. They seem to be busy. “Oh! Ben. Slendy has a job for you too. There’s some jerk making fun of us, especially you, so Slendy wants you to teach him a lesson by screwing up his games, electronics. You get the picture.” “Okay. See ya later (Y/N).” As Slenderman’s proxy, you and Masky and Hoody and Slenderman were always busy. It appears this author doesn't know how to use commas properly. Which means you knew about all the missions assigned to the creepypastas So many of these "Slender Mansion" stories mention the creepypasta characters going on "missions". What kind of missions? Are "creepypastas" assassins? Spies? Deeply religious? and helped keep track of all the creepypastas that came to the mansion. So far, you were probably a little less productive in the killing part. Proxies aren't just assassins! They can be but they're so much more than that. Probably because you haven’t had a chance to. But you knew who you needed to kill. You had to kill them before your time was up and it was too late. That sure means something. You wanted and needed to kill your parents. There's no reason for you to do that. At all. You were three years old when they abandoned you, you should barley remember them at all. Chapter 6:

“Slendy. Slendy. Slendy. Slendy. Slendy. Slendy. Slendy. Slendy.”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT (Y/N)!?!?!?”

“I want to go killing. When can I go?”

“Stop whining. Soon you will.”

“That’s too long! He didn't give you an exact time. I wanna go killing now! Please!” Our protagonist is literally begging to murder innocent people and we're supposed to un-ironically like her and want her to succeed. By this point, you were getting sick of waiting and wanted to kill badly. We should want her to do this why exactly? Slenderman would always say “soon”. But to you, right now, “soon” wasn’t soon enough. You didn’t care if that meant you had to kill a mouse. Then kill a mouse. Kill a fly. Kill a small animal in the woods. Just shut up and kill something. You wanted to kill and that was that. Everyday you’d bug Slenderman about it and he was getting sick of it.

“I will leave you in the forest if you don’t stop whining and annoying me.”

“I don’t care. I’ll just find the mansion again. Look, if I can’t kill a human, at least let me kill a small animal.” As if Mary Sue wasn't despicable enough.

Smile Dog’s Glad you established Smile Dog was in the room. Wait a minute, Jeff, BEN, Slenderman, B.O.B., The Rake, Masky and Hoodie get descriptions and introductions but the other characters don't? smile turned into a frown and he looked towards you, whimpering. Smile Dog isn't an actual dog! He's a supernatural entity that looks like a dog!

You kneeled before the dog and stroked his fur. Like 90 percent of CP fanfictions, this story treats Smile Dog as if he were a completely normal dog who happens to have red/black fur and kill people and not a supernatural entity that spreads through a picture on the internet before appearing in people's dreams and telling them to "Spread the Word".

“Not you Smile Dog. Or you Grinny Cat.” "It's a creepypasta fanfiction, I have to be a hypocrite on top of being a psychopath."

Grinny Cat His name's just Grinny. looked at you, then went back to sleep. You sighed as you left to go bug Masky and Hoody.

“Masky. Masky. Masky. Masky. Masky. Masky. Masky. Masky. Masky. Take me to go on a killing spree now. I want to kill someone.” I'm honestly kind of disgusted that this author expects us to genuinely sympathize with this character.

Masky turned towards you. He put the book he was reading down and stared into your (E/C) eyes.

“Sorry (Y/N). Can’t do that until I finish the mission I’m on.”

“Which is?”

“Ignoring you.” You go, Tim!

You frowned and went to your room. You turned on the GameCube and played some Super Smash Bros. for an hour. WE DON'T NEED TO KNOW THIS. You got bored and went to go see Slenderman. “SLENDY IF I WANNA GO KILLING SO HELP ME ZALGO Why do these stories always use Zalgo in place of God when Zalgo's the bad guy in the majority of them? IM GONNA GO KILLING!!” So on top of being a hypocritical psychopath Mary Sue is also an entitled brat.

Slenderman looked at you, He has no face. surprised. He sighed and put away his work. What work could Slenderman possibly be doing?

“You win. Meet us in the garden after dinner.” Now she's spoiled on top of all the other crap. Lovely.

“YES! VICTORY! BOOYAH!” This person isn't even real and I want to deck her in the face.

Slenderman sighed as you danced your way out of his room. Scratch decking her in the face, I want to throttle Mary Sue here. This was not what he had planned.

Not at all. He actually planned for her to become a travelling hot dog vendor.

Chapter 7:

This is it. You finally get to go killing. Stop treating this like a good thing. You grab a katana I'm sorry, WHAT? Where the hell did you get a katana from? Out of your ass?

and ran right to the garden as soon as you finished your dinner. There were Slenderman, Masky, and Hoody. You were wearing the outfit you usually wore on a mission. Why do fanfic writers think long, drawn out descriptions of people's clothes are the most exciting things in the world? A black hoodie, grey jeans, (F/C) gloves, and black sneakers. I'm pretty sure you already established this but I'm not going back and checking. You had the biggest smile on your face as you approached your teammates. You pulled the hood over you (H/L) (H/C) hair.

“Yay! I get to go killing!” Our hero, ladies and gentlemen!

“Yeah yeah (Y/N), that’s enough.” Masky said as he patted your back. You were just so excited that you were shaking as you gripped your katana tightly. I highly doubt 13 year olds have the strength and dexterity to properly pick up a katana. Even if they did they'd have to go through absolutely exhausting training in order to use it. For cryin' out loud, there's an entire book's worth of rules for the thing! Slenderman grabbed onto the three of you with his tentacle appendages Because...? and teleported you outside a small brick house. You peered into the window to see an empty living room. It was dark inside, so you knew the person who was living there was asleep. The living room having it's lights off doesn't mean the person living in the house is asleep. You had taught yourself sneaky ways of entering and escaping locked rooms Did Slenderman regularly leave you in locked rooms? ever since you were 5, so you quietly pried the window open with ease. With what? You had learned that you shouldn’t open doors more than the amount of space needed to crawl through, in case there was an emergency. I know how to do that! Most people know how to do that! That's not a special skill in any way. You slowly crawled through the window Carrying a katana? and closed it, giving the others a thumbs up. You looked around the house, finding a stairway. You slowly walked up, katana in hand. There was a small bedroom. You slowly opened it, revealing a middle aged man. You approached the man, raising the katana above your head. You slowly inserted the katana into the man’s chest. Katanas are made for slashing, not stabbing. You'd ruin it by using it that way. There's videos of people breaking katanas by just swinging them. He began to scream loudly, causing you to smile. After you pushed it in halfway, you took it and slit the man’s throat with it. Katanas are not that precise. You sat on the edge of the bed as you watched him die painfully. I'm pretty sure that would have killed him instantly but what do I know?

~Masky POV~

Me, Slenderman, and Hoody stood outside the house. There's no reason for any of you to be here. (Y/N) had been in there for about 10 minutes. I heard a man screaming. More likely in pain and fear. I started getting really impatient. I know it’s her first kill, but it only took Jeff on his first kill a stab and it was done. Ignoring the awful grammar, in the creepypasta nobody else was there when Jeff killed his family so how does Masky know how fast it took?

“Slender when can I go inside? (Y/N) is taking too long.”

“Wait. This is her first kill.” These stories always treat murder as some rite of passage or requirement amongst creepypasta characters when creepypasta in general is about horror and not killing. How does killing random people accomplish anything anway?

As if on cue, (Y/N) crawled out the window, blood halfway up the katana Jeff had given her a few weeks ago. So JEFF was the one who pulled the katana out his ass! Now it makes perfect sense. She had the biggest smile I ever saw.

“So… How was your first kill ever?”

“It was awesome Masky! That guy almost started screaming like a girl Almost? but he sure was loud! And he seemed to squirm a lot. But other than that it was awesome!”

I was actually kinda glad she enjoyed it. I don’t have a crush on her or anything, but we’re partners and friends. It's good thing you don't have a crush on her since you're 26 and she's 13. Why even bring up the crush thing at all? Spoiler alert this doesn't lead to anything.

We look out for each other. I gave her a high five as Hoody gave her a pat on the back. I'm 100 percent positive the one who wrote this doesn't even know what Marble Hornets is.

~Normal POV~

Slenderman teleported you back to the mansion. Once you got inside, everyone cheered! Ben floated next to you and gave you a bro fist. It's called a fist bump. They threw you a party in honor of your first kill ever. Is there a fandom that glorifies murder more than the creepypasta fandom? If so than count me out. There were cupcakes, ice cream, cookies, chips, punch, (Slendy made sure it wasn’t spiked) She can murder innocent people for fun but God forbid she drink when underage. popcorn, and candies. You had never seen Jeff eat that much ice cream before getting brain freeze. I've never read a more meandering time-wasting filler-ridden story like this in my life. It was quite a party. You flopped into bed It was quite an amazing fun interesting party anyway enough of that. and looked at Miss Fluffy, your (fave animal) stuffie You're 13, you shouldn't be calling it a "stuffie". Plus we already know this! since you were a baby, who always sat on your shelf since you turned 8. This is such an important detail. You slowly closed your eyes as you drifted off to sleep. Chapter 8: It’s been 3 years since your first kill. WHAT?!? You mean that last few chapters was utterly pointless? Why am I not surprised! And seriously nothing noteworthy happened in 3 years? It was only a month until your 16th birthday. You had become an official creepypasta. YOU. WISH. Your CP name was (CP/N). You still remained as one of Slendy’s proxies. You were told by Slendy that he was bringing in ANOTHER proxy of his. You did some research and found out a little bit about the new guy. His name is Toby Rogers, aka Ticci Toby. Dear Creepypasta fandom: Ticci Toby is the name bullies used to make fun of him in middle school it's not his proxy name or killer name or whatever. He apparently had Tourette Syndrome which caused him to twitch, and C.I.P.A, which meant he didn’t feel any pain.

Today was the day he comes 'Nother tense swap. to the mansion. You had to be up at midnight to prepare for his arrival. For what reason?

You were sleeping soundly when you felt someone gently shake your shoulder. You heard what sounded like Masky. You looked and saw that he had climbed up to the top bunk that you always slept in. Tim's in his late 20's, he doesn't need to climb to the top of a bunk bed to reach it.

“(Y/N) wake up. Time to get ready.”

“Mmf… Okay, okay, I’m up…”

You really didn’t like being woken up, but if it was important, you made an exception. You sat up and stretched as Masky left the room. You decided that you should be allowed to just wear (F/C) pyjamas, This person doesn't know how to spell pajamas correctly and they're writing about serial killers. so you walked out of the hall. There was the sound of the clicking of buttons and music in the room next to yours. Ben’s room. ‘Huh. He’s probably just playing video games.’ Just once I'd like to see BEN from Ben Drowned in these stories and not BEN from Pasta Monsters. you thought as you made your way downstairs. Masky and Hoody were trying to figure out what Toby would like for breakfast.

“Toast?”

“No Hoody. How about english muffin?” Just the one.

“No that isn’t a good idea either Masky.”

These guys are your friends and partners, but sometimes they’re friggin’ clueless. Because taking time to make decisions makes you clueless apparently.  Evidently you had to worry about it because you were the one who searched up what type of food Toby likes. Who the hell gives a damn? And that food was pancakes and waffles.

“You guys are my friends. Mary Sue having friends is the most unrealistic part of this story so far. But sometimes you guys are morons.”

“Well is it my fault we don’t have waffles (Y/N)?”

“Masky you are lazy. We may not have waffles, but we have pancake ingredients.”

You grabbed the ingredients and made some delicious chocolate chip pancakes. You made sure to make some for Masky, Hoody, you, and Toby. So you ended up making lots of pancakes for everyone. Then just say you made pancakes for everyone. As soon as placed the last pancake on Toby’s plate, Slendy His name is Slenderman! had come back with the new guy. You had your back turned with your headphones in, listening to (fave band). Slendy used his appendages to take them out.

“(Y/N), meet Toby. You two will be working together from now on. They have no reason to.

Toby had brown hair and dark brown eyes. His skin was really pale. He extended his hand, smiling with pure white teeth. You shook his hand.

“Hi. I-I’m Ticci T-Toby. Toby would NEVER call himself that. J-Just call m-me T-Toby.” Slenderman already introduced you anyway.

“Hello Toby. I’m (CP/N). But you can call me (Y/N).”

“Are those…?”

“Yes. In honor of your arrival, I made us pancakes.”

Toby’s smile got wider. You smiled sweetly as you sat down at the table. There any reason you sweetly smiled besides clumsily setting up the forced cliché romance between these two? No? That's what I thought. Toby sat next to you, digging into the stack of pancakes you had made for him. In almost a second they were gone. 'Man that boy loves pancakes.’" you thought as he got up to put away his plate. Slendy looked at the 4 of you. He sighed.

“One of you is going to have to share a room with Toby.”

“I can’t. Me and Hoody You ever notice how in these "Slender Mansion" stories Tim and Brian always call each other Masky and Hoodie and they never take their masks/costumes off even indoors? are enough people to sleep in the same room.”

You suspected that it was that they must’ve been weirded out by Toby’s twitching. So that meant you and Toby were officially roommates. No it doesn't.

“I still have a bottom bunk.”

“Thanks (Y/N). Y-You’re really n-nice. You haven't even known her for an hour. S-Sorry for the s-stuttering. I-I’m just a l-little nervous and shy a-around new p-people.” Toby stutters because he has Tourette's, not because he's "shy'.

“No problem Toby. I think we’ll get along fine!” He smiled as his leg twitched slightly. After cleaning up, you showed him around the mansion, introduced him to the others, Shouldn't Slenderman be doing that? even told him about the funny and interesting things that happened to you. Nothing interesting or funny has happened to you. I should know, I've been reading along. You thought it was best to get along if you were gonna work together and share a room.

“So when Smile Dog came here he was only a puppy?” “Yep! He actually looked like a normal puppy, but grew up and looked like him.” I'm calling it now: not only has the writer never read Smile Dog but she's never even heard of the original picture.

“What about Grinny Cat?” Is the writer under the impression that "Cat" is his last name?

“Same went for him. I love how the author rips off Pasta Monsters without even knowing what it is. Except as a kitten. I greatly appreciate you telling us Grinny Cat didn't arrive to the mansion as a puppy.

“You have some cool stories (Y/N). How did you end up here?” Neither of those were cool or even stories.

Oh Zalgo. No. Out of all the questions, he had to ask that one. You looked down from your top bunk that you two were sitting on. A tear fell down your face and landed on the grey carpet. That was 13 years ago. Get over it.

“I… I-I don’t wanna t-talk about it…” you said softly as you wiped away a tear. Toby got the hint that it wasn’t a pleasant story and hugged you.

“Sorry! I-I didn’t know!”

“I-It’s okay T-Toby.”

“(Y/N), if there’s something wrong, just tell me.” You took a deep breath. You turned towards him.

“My parents left me to die when I was 3. They tricked me into eating nightshade berries. Rake What happened to the Rake? I don't think he's been mentioned at all since the 4th or 5th chapter. and Slendy saved me and brought me here. They were much better than my real parents. That’s why my parents are going to die.” You only spent 3 years of your life with your abusive parents, 2 of which you spent as a baby. You should have only the most faintest memories of your parents. You've spent the grand majority of your life with supposedly "the best family" so stop whining. Toby’s eyes were shocked. What does that even mean? His dad may have been an alcoholic and yelled at him, his mom, and his sister.  Toby's dad didn't just yell at Toby, he beat him. Bit of an oversight there. But his dad never abandoned him. Well, not physically. "Being abandoned by your dad is WAY worse than getting beaten up by him on a regular basis!" Toby looked into you (E/C) orbs. You smiled and hugged him, muttering a 'thank you’. You were glad someone was actually there to help you and understood you. You've had tons of friends and family figures for years. Toby is not the first person to "like, OMIGOD, totally understand" you. Shut your damn mouth you whiny entitled emo little brat. That was the first day you met him. You don't say?

And you loved that day. You've known each other for hours and you're already this close? This story is seriously rivaling "A Meet I'll Never Forget" in how rushed yet padded out everything is. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ok guys I think i'm gonna take a break from Childhood for a little bit. This...thing is 20 chapters long and the first 7 chapters are already completly abysmal. The worst is yet to come in Childhood, mark my words. It'll probably a little while before I finish Childhood but rest assured we'll get back to this. In the mean time I'll be riffing some shorter stories.

[hellotinywonder]

(re)Generation 2018: meet your heroes.

DAY THE FIRST, Wednesday:

Snow. Darnit.  I’m going delay my trip a day.

DAY TWO, Thursday:

I got up at 5:30a, trekked down to my conveniently already-packed car through the snow, but the streets were clear, and I began my drive westward and northward. Dawn over snowy mountains is spectacular.

I visited with puppeteer friends in Richmond, saw their local makerspace, and hung out with an old friend from my touring days and her new dog, Dave, a rescued sweetheart from Puerto Rico.

DAY THREE, Friday:

Off to DC, with literally NO traffic. I had brunch with the incredible JoJo (Burlesque Poetess), who is a Doctor Who nerd of equal or greater value, and extended bandfamily from ten years ago.  It’s been so great to reconnect and talk art and ideas and nerdy references. And how we engage with the universe, and how sometimes the universe engages right back.

After brunch I headed to visit my friend Matt and his wife.  It was great.  I met Matt a few years ago at a convention, all because I had PuppetCapaldi with me, Matt used to write and draw for Doctor Who comics, and has since become one of my closest art friends and advisors and person to send random texts to in a crisis.  Good people, but this is the first time we’ve hung out in person since our initial meeting.  It was great.  A few hours later I was off to Baltimore.

It took 3 hours. Which didn’t mean much to me, as I don’t drive DC to Baltimore often.  But yes… I later learned it should be a 45 min trip. I parked eventually and made my way to the hotel for ReGen.  I knew only one person going in, and I promptly sought him out: Drew Meyer.  I snuck into the back of his panel (it’s worth mentioning that I met Drew the same day I met Matt, and PuppetCapaldi did those introductions too) and tried to use context clues to make out what it was about.  I got as far as Drew referring to the Tardis as “sort of like a windowless van”, when I abandoned that notion and decided I’d just make a note of it, so I could mock him in my end of trip summary… like… now.

After touching base, and handing off my puppet suitcase (Drew was storing it onsite so I could attend the March for Our Lives the next day without needing to worry about a giant rolly-bag and crowds) I caught Irene Richard coming out of the panel she had just hosted with Rachel Talalay.  I feel like I’ve known Irene for years, I think it’s how decidedly New Yorker she is, but this was our first time actually meeting.  We hit it off, as I knew we would, and then by some twist of awkwardness and fate, I was standing at a table with Rachel Talalay admiring a scribbled storyboard movement sketch.  I love things like that.  Process-peeks. I realized I didn’t have anything to say to Rachel (aside from the whole: You’re awesome, inspiring, and your eye is fantastic), which is bothersome, because I’m a fairly interesting person at times, and I want to learn so much from her, she’s a powerhouse in the industry I am just starting to dabble in, and am always keeping an eye on.  I didn’t have any puppets with me to reinforce that I make stuff, etc.  That’s fine, there was a whole weekend ahead.

I skipped out to dinner with Drew and his friend Brent, and shortly after went home to my friend’s house, where there was a party.

The party, I won’t get into too much, but I walked in and it was like knowing everyone.  They were activists, peers, they had a prison letter writing campaign going on in the dining room.  I had such a wonderful time meeting everyone, it was a completely unexpected bonus.  I miss my punkrock anarcho activist friends. Good to see organization like that in Baltimore.  I slept in a room with multiple accordions.  Perfection.  Thank you Jonathan for your hospitality and your excellence.

DAY what is it now? Four? FOUR, Saturday:

I got up early, mostly because I had been and would be antsy about giving my panel on puppet and prop-making that night.  No one else in the house is up, and I need coffee and to get to the March.

I get a Lyft to town, remembering seeing a Starbucks a block or two away from the hotel. I’m traveling with just a little backpack and my travel mug as my puppets are stored at Drew’s so I get out and head off to it.  *Normally I’d avoid Starbucks and hit up a local cafe, but the Baltimore Harbour is rather commercialized I couldn’t find an indie place to scope out.  I was not alone in this…

I walk in, an amalgamation of bleary-eyes and nerves, and to my left I see a familiar figure and hear a voice, and at first I dismiss it, as I don’t quite place it- holy damnit.  It’s Peter Capaldi. ***Now, I am going to stop you here.  Peter Capaldi is a big deal to me.  I met him last year, PuppetCapaldi in tow, and some friends got me to make a 24 hour comic about it. (It’s here https://tinyurl.com/y9cfma2t) worth a read, and it’s flipping cute, and I might reference it once or twice more.***

He’s talking with Rachel. I make my way past them, because they are having a conversation and the day is young, and I am about to go shake my fist at government, and I need coffee and… While I’m waiting in line, they finish their conversation and get up. Fine, universe, I might as well, I wanted to reconnect with Rachel anyway, so I do.  I say hello, I explain that this is a very bizarre and rather delightful start to my day at least. Rachel introduces me, Peter shakes my hand. “I’m Peter.” “Valerie.” We talk for a short while. Peter grabs my travel mug and inquires about my Scottish flag sticker with EU stars super-imposed. I explain that, while I am not from the UK, I’ve kept up on Brexit and I talk about meeting with the remainers outside of Westminster, and when I was in Glasgow- Glasgow?  Oh yes, and then I point to the sticker next to it, which is a map of one of my favourite cities in the world: Glasgow (my travel mug is adorned in stickers from places I’ve been recently, namely Glasgow and Berlin, and Tokyo…) Peter doesn’t quite recognize it, so I point out The Clyde, and it clicks. “Oh!”  He says, then we start to talk about Glasgow.  It’s brilliant.  He points to a place on the map and shows us: “I have a flat right around here.”  I show him where I stayed, across from Kelvingrove. “Oh, that’s the West Side.”  He’s right, but I act jokingly incensed.  Glasgow, Glasgow, Glasgow, and then it’s time to go.  We say our goodbyes.  And they are on their way and I will see them later and…. I need coffee.

I walk back to the hotel a few minutes later (to set eyes on puppets, make sure everyone’s all set, and tuck them away at the Pixel Who booth, who have lovingly adopted us for the weekend), glowing.  It occurs to me I just got to talk to Peter Capaldi about Glasgow.  Not Doctor Who, not The Thick of It, not Puppets, just Glasgow, a city we have a mutual fondness for.  This is somehow the best thing ever.

Okay, get your head together, Valerie.  It’s time to go to the March.  So I do, it’s about 4 blocks away, an easy walk and the whole time I’m overwhelmed with what today might end up being like. The March is indescribable.  I went to the local Baltimore version, knowing DC would be too much to contend with if I am to teach a puppet workshop that evening, but I believe it was worth stepping out wherever and being counted in the hundreds of thousands of people demanding better gun control in the US.  Kids are on the microphone, empowered by their peers, and finding their voice, and demanding their safety, and I’m already just emotionally dilated and I begin to cry. It was such a powerful morning.

After a couple hours, I’m starting to fade.  I leave the March, return to the hotel, get some food and grab my date, a 3 year old, beat to hell, semi-retired PuppetCapaldi.  He is the goshdarn belle of the ball when it comes to conventions like these, especially when Peter is present. We go to a panel interview of Peter.  As he’s my aforementioned ArtHero, I am terribly interested in what he has to say, but I don’t care as much about meta Doctor Who information unless it’s fun anecdotes of monsters and puppetry, of which there are a couple.  The only thing I am interested in him answering related to Doctor Who is what was it like to make something like this in the world of Brexit or Trump, or how does Doctor Who intersect with our current reality, because sometimes it seems to offer direct commentary, and Saturday (with the March) was just a particularly important day.  A sort of: did Doctor Who, the franchise, feel it has a duty of care, with how it couches its viewpoint in media, etc.  I never got to ask that question, but someone asked one similar. His answer was lovely, talking about how ultimately Doctor Who is being made for kids, and giving them the globalist (universalist) perspective of The Doctor will help shape their thinking and the world as they inherit it.  That world leaders should be afraid, because Doctor Who is communicating with the generations that will replace them. It wasn’t quite the question I had, but it was close enough.  Thank you, whoever asked it.  I looked for her after (she had blue wristlets), but never found her.

I ran into Rachel again after this, and donated to WhoAgainstGuns and got a lovely postcard of the (now dismantled) Tardis interior, which I love, a set I desperately wish I could have seen, could have been on, and I did try.  She signed it to me. “To Valerie from Starbucks” and we talked about how we both ended up there that morning for lack of other options.  I apologized for bothering them, but there was no need.  It also caught me offguard to be remembered. That’s a long time problem for myself.  I’ve written about it many times before.  I am getting accustomed to the concept that people do in fact have object permanence when dealing with me.  It’s nice to be remembered.

I’m about to go get our little family photo taken, when Michelle Gomez passes by and sees PuppetCapaldi she makes “the face” as I have come to call it. “Whaaaaarghourgh!”  She yells as she’s rushed by.  I make a note to find her later.  She made the “I know that guy!” face, and I think she wants a picture with it.

I am currently, in present as-I-write-this day, realizing how darn wordy I am.  I’ll try to condense. We have our photo taken.  Peter puts together that I am me.  The woman from this morning, but also that we have met before, once he sees the puppets.  I let him play with the finger puppet, and before I know it we’re looking into the monitor (THEY HAVE A MONITOR, BLESS YOU!) and I’m talking about finding focus, etc.  A photo is taken of me adjusting Peter’s arm while he stares down the camera, and then one where I look at the camera but he, and all puppets present, are focused on the monitor. Both are super adorable.

We’re removing puppets, etc and Peter says “You made all these, yes?”  Oh yes.  Someone prompts me and I mention the puppet I brought that is loosely based on Armando Iannucci, not that anyone would recognize it.  “I would recognize him”  Peter says. “Bring him by and show me.”  So, that’s that.  I’m off.  A bit thrilled that I’m getting a reputation as the puppet lady.  I mean, I’m certainly working at it, but attaining it is an altogether different feeling.

I’m sitting outside in the hallway playing with two little girls who were there for photos and talking to them about puppets and Sesame Street, and that sort of thing, when Peter and his folks pass us.  The girls and I (and PuppetCapaldi) wave at them, and I continue to pack my photo into my Spacejunk sketchbook and then I’m alone in the hall.  I head for the elevators and as I turn the corner I walk into the most wonderful scene:

Young Theo Tidemann (who I did not know at the time) has just started playing ukulele at Peter’s request, while we’re all waiting for elevators. Theo starts “I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You.”  It’s wonderful.  It’s sweet. It’s about to get even better.  Peter starts to sing along, then slowly we all do.  A bunch of strangers, singing in impromptu harmony.  It’s so magical. Singalongs are like my religion.  That metaphysical energy of communion through song?  It’s transcendent to me.  Early on I realized that I was in a perfect moment, and I thought of this kid I was about to meet, and he deserved a video of this. So I juggled my puppets a bit and took some poor quality video with my phone, it pans up and fades out, and it doesn’t matter. It’s the perfect moment, and we can rewatch it anytime.  (It’s on @hellotinywonder’s instagram… https://www.instagram.com/p/Bgt7jO8Ar25/ and BBC-A put it in an article about Doctor Who’s Day recently) Other things happen that day.  I get a moment with Michelle, she takes a photo with PuppetCapaldi, but I’ve never seen it since.  I am still looking for it.  It’s a great exchange, though. Showing someone your art because they are excited about it.  I’m pretty proud of that. I play ukulele in a room of other ukulele people… it’s ukubiquitous!

I sit in a dark corner and just breath a bit. I end up talking about puppets with the custodial staff, and it’s one of the most delightful conversations of the weekend. Throughout, I am adrift.

PUPPET PANEL!  It went WELL!  Kathy O’Shea David helped out and brought her army of puppets as well, I would go on, but really, it was mostly just me talking about puppets, how to build, what to use, asking questions, answering questions, and corralling  a puppet petting zoo.  Unexpected hit of the posse was Kyle the Fish! Everyone loves Kyle, I demonstrated my feelings on ventriloquism with him (when using a puppet, in my opinion, moving your mouth doesn’t matter, if your focus on the puppet is correct, and your manipulation is believable and you hit your lipsync, people will just accept it.) As I started to put puppets away, when my panel was over I looked up and saw Kyle, some kid was manipulating his mouth, and it was so moving.  I make reference puppets like I do fanart, to expose people to the other stuff I do. Do you like PuppetCapaldi?  He’s a portrait puppet, a skill I possess, and can do for anyone! Do you like this Rick from Rick and Morty? He has moving eyes, a mech I designed, and also use over here… People fell in love with Kyle, who is my very own intellectual property, and that meant the world to me.

At some point, I and my puppet rolly-bag float away to bed.

DAY I FORGET, IT’S THE LAST ONE, Sunday

I drive myself in this time, so I can scoot off when I’m done. Puppets stay in the car, with the exception of PuppetCapaldi, my date, and Armando, who I debate quietly… I mean, he’s janky, he’s not quite right, he’s not a portrait puppet, he’s just *based* on Armando Iannucci… do I want to show a piece to Peter that I don’t fully stand behind?  I’ll decide later.  I stuff him into my travel tote which I realize then is my tote from the Scottish National Portrait Gallery.  I sigh. I am the biggest nerd ever, even when I don’t mean to be.

I have Coffee with the Creators.  This is delightful.  I get to pick some people’s brains, and let others just tell me about what they do.  I am thrilled to get to speak more with Simon Fraser, a comic book artist for Doctor Who, I swear, I do collect them as friends, it seems. I also get to meet Steve Gostelow whose table I’d been eyeing throughout, but we missed eachother.  He was a monster maker, and sculptor, and having a materials and process geekout was fantastic.

There’s a moment when Rachel is about to come to our table, and she has to get up and leave, we make this brief sort of eye contact and I realize as she’s headed out, that it’s fine.  We’ll catch up later, that is such a strange and wonderful feeling.  She tells me later she had to run up and get her photo taken with the three Doctors.  Adorable.  Flipping Adorable.  I will see her again in a little over a month, and that is spectacular.

I am walking around the con, taking it all in and Peter and his small group walk by, I’m talking with my new fellow blue-haired early 30’s lady friend Gale at Nightengale Needles, and I look up and see him.  I have nothing to say to him so I resort to my clown communication skills and make a friendly, but decidedly silly face.

It is returned.

This is a professional milestone, in my book.

Later I am in the vendor area, and I meet up with Simon Fraser and his family.  We talk a bit more, he likes PuppetCapaldi (really, that puppet handled nearly all my introductions, it’s great).  I am looking through his portfolio of work for sale, mostly because what he is selling is traditional blue pencil and ink, and I like just looking at people’s work, understanding how they develop a peice.  Then I see the page.  It’s 4 vertical panels of Osgood throwing her scarf to a falling Twelfth Doctor.  She saves him.  He is appreciative and grumpy.  She looks like me. I’ve seen this page, I’m told it’s from a Free Comic Book Day issue, from Titan, I assume.  I was eyeing a wallet made out of it on Etsy, I love it.  I love the composition, the dynamics, the SHELOOKSLIKEMEness of it all.  And here it is.  Waiting for me.

I rarely buy things at conventions, but this page has been in my mind for almost a year? And I love it, and now it’s mine. And in some strange cosmic organization, it was always mine.

On my way out I touched base again with Steve Gostelow.  I show him my “Celastic: Do It Old School!” button.  While he didn’t use Celastic, he still appreciates it. We talk a bit more maker shop and it’s wonderful.

Okay, the last line for meet and greet and autographs.  As I said in my comic, these are the people PuppetCapaldi was made for.  We had time, and I struck up conversations with all the lovely people around me, especially this woman, Michelle, who gave me a clif bar.  Smart folks.  I showed her the comic, which gave her a bit of context into what was about to happen.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with getting an 8x10 glossy photo signed, but that is not where I am at.  When people set down what they would like to have signed, I pulled out my do-not-lose-me-orange A4 #Spacejunk notebook and open to a random page.  That is what I want signed.

When I’m about to meet Peter, again, I take off PuppetCapaldi, that’s not what this is about. The woman in front of me is having her Missing DoSAC Files book (one of my favourite books ever) signed “by Malcolm”.  Peter pens a short, furious, and F-laden diatribe for her. She thanks him and wishes him a happy birthday. “Ah yes!” He says. “Thank you.” He goes on to sign a photo she had in her collection of signables. “You know, I’ll be 60,” he starts, “and when you’re 60 the government gives you a little pass.  And I can take all the buses and trains for free.” The public transit junkie in me is thrilled. It’s always nice to have common geekery with the people you look up to.

Oh, then it’s my turn. Okay, then. I try to briefly and calmly (everything is madness around me) explain that I am here to ask him for some advice, or encouragement, that I, and many like-minded friends of mine are all at these weird professional empasses, and I look up to him, and have for some time, even this puppet has gotten me work out in the big crazy world of TV and Film.  He smiles and grabs a blue sharpie (which I realize I had secretly hoped he’d use blue, despite the several black, silver, and gold sharpies on the table).

“Shall I make it out to you?” “Sure.”  I say, (I mean, fair is fair, I’ll share the advice, but this is my letter, sorry kids.) “...I’m Valerie.” I continue. “I know.” He says and continues to write.

I’m again caught off guard at this display of object permanence. This hero of mine knows me.  Knows my work…

He is writing, but stops. “Have you got your Armando with you?”

Ulp.  More object permanence.

“Well, I mean, yes, but it’s not quite-” “I want to see it!” He puts the pen down. He’s written something about stars aligning.

I dig Armando out, explaining that he’s only *based* on him, for a show I’m building… I slip my hand through the secret hole in the sleeve, and lift the puppet’s head.

Peter makes what I have described earlier as “the face”.

He gasps, giggles, then buries his face in his hands. Armando looks around a little frantic, and a little jangly, scratches his head.  Peter lifts his head, locks eyes with me, locks eyes with the puppet, and devolves into laughing.  “It’s *so* like him!”  he says.  “I need to show this to him.” His handler takes our photo together.  Peter explains “this one is special, this is for a friend of mine.”  A woman who I guess knows Iannucci’s likeness also gets it and now she’s laughing.

“I’m going to send this to him!” Peter tells me while his friend takes the photo, “He’ll love it!”

Peter sits back down, again telling me how much Puppet Armando is like Proper Armando and recomences writing. He just keeps going, we’ve stopped talking, and it’s rather quiet, surrounded by the din of the convention. Sharpie on paper, scratching.

Someone behind me taps me on the shoulder and checks to see if I am doing okay. I tell them I am fine, and I am. I am perfect.

He’s stopped mid-sentence, and is just writing “work” over and over in the margins.

He finishes.  Having filled the page, which is adorable. “There. Is that alright?”  He asks.  I tell him it is. And I thank him. “Good luck.”  he says, handing it up to me.  “And have fun.” (I will.)

“You are very talented.”

All of this means so incredibly much to me, I don’t think I can properly explain. I thank him again and look up. The rest of the world races back into my consciousness.  Michelle, my new friend from the line, is only a little bit crying.  “Are you crying?”  I ask.  “Maybe!”  She says. And I realize she is, because she gets it.  Because she read a silly little comic about this weirdo art girl who is just collecting advice, inspiration, and encouragement from the people she looks up to, and somehow today it’s coming together perfectly. 

Empathy Abounds.

Peter and I say good-bye, and I’m off to put Armando away more properly.

(Oh, I also scurry back to the table to pick up Armando’s eyebrow which fell off.  Peter looks up and I hold the eyebrow up to my own and it all registers.  Such a puppeteer move, you guys.)

After that it’s just a farewell fanfare finale.  I say goodbye to everyone and then I am off.  Completely rejuvenated artistically, emotionally, professionally… I can’t describe it all, and I’ve been doing nothing but describing it all for seven pages of a google doc!

I drive through the evening and end up in Staunton, VA, just as the sunset turns to night, to stay with my friend before heading home the next day.  We order Chinese, as she’s also just come back from performing and we are prolevel ladies that deserve a night in.  We’re talking about art, and Fringe festivals, my weekend, and hers, it’s great to continue this creative thread outside of my Baltimore adventure. I open my fortune cookie, which says: “Watch for a stranger to soon become a friend.” That’s sort of how I’ve been living my life, as of late. We make more tea.

Pan Up.

Fade Out.