#zack patterson

[briefpeachdinosaur]

My blog will turn into a zack paterson fanpage.

Content will follow soon cuz theres barly anything made of him.

@viiper1 @wolliak

[universe-nero]

LOW QUALITY MTP

part 37

[our-detective-so-supreme]

Uh oh-

[rifulofthewest]

I know they are each other's gossip besties. Trust me.

[pbjelly90art]

A bit of a small delay, but I got around to doing flat colors for Patterson and Von Herder. 💙

Here's the next four Yuumori sketches in my fanart series!

They'll have their own pages when I color these, but please enjoy: Lestrade, Helena, Paterson (I keep forgetting that's officially spelled with just one T) and Von Herder.

Paterson and Helena's hair both gave me some challenges but I'm pleased with these first drawings for them. I see Paterson as having more East Asian features so went a bit more in that direction for him. (Also I forgot to sketch the smoke from his cigarette, so uh enjoy my hasty computer mouse doodles for that in this draft.)

Von Herder I feel like resembles Liam a lot? x3 Liam if he lost both eyes? 😭 and had a German accent lol.

Meanwhile I'm a simp for Yuumori's version of Lestrade and that strong jaw. ❤️

[ananiel]

Tw : slight Gore, dark content, read at your own risk

Now thinking about my last post. Let's talk a little about this version of You. (for context and better understanding the fic i suggest reading the first part, of course, it's optional, feel Free to do as You wish as i put some Main explinations on this fic as well)

Now, clearly someone that lost all of their close one (and not on accident but because of the need to protect them) would be rather skitish. You hold the biggest secret of humanity, the secret that hey, You are the mastermind behind it all and You took powers from everyone (made them unable to use them by making them forget they exist), You just lost your best friend because of the need to protect them. You would clearly be stand offish, maybe even skitish like a cat . I mean, who wouldn't knowing that there isn't a way for them to lower their powers and if they did lower them, everyone would get the powers that were killing them back. So Yes, i amagine this version of You to be more quiet, or maybe not quiet, but to prefer to be alone, to mourn in silence the lost of their kind, knowing they are at fault for it

So that's when the yandere's come, and there are 3 posibilities of how it would go

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

IT starts as a curiosity, a need to see if You are a worthy or not. They watch over You like a hawk and they can't help but feel something in their chest as they look at You. At how You continue to live your life as if nothing happened and how everyone seems to ignore the way your eyes gloss from time to time or how your lower lip quivers when You see something reminding You of your old friend or about what You did to them

Maybe they felt pity for You, maybe they were trying to understand You more, maybe they were happy that a being like You was alone. Alone and easy to captureze. They can't remember when this curiosity turned into obssesion

IT became a habit, to talk You, to know about your daily life as if it was theirs. It was entertaining for them. It was refreshing for them to watch over You, over your grief of a lost life, and they were content living like this, at least for now.

Sooner or later things of yours Will start to dissapear or be moved around your house and You would find flowers and love letters written in blood. Letters explaining their adoration and how jealous they are of the friend that pleagues your mind and heart, saying that it isn't fair for them to sicken your state when they were supposed to do it, to be the reason You can't sleep at night

This letters Will grow crazier and crazier, until one day You see them in your living room, your friend's mangled body next to them as they dedicate this piece of art in your name

The stalker : gin akutagawa, NIKOLAI, Tanizaki, kenji, John Watson, Fred porlock, Irene adler, zack patterson, ARTHUR RIMBAUD, Billy the kid, von harder, tachihara, Odasaku, ranpo, atsushi, Kunikida

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

You were interesting in their eyes. A rare jewel only for them to see. Only for them to play with. Imagine the Power they would hold if You were their partner. Oh, they could change the world. That's what they wanted at first, to use your talent, to use You as a whole. Of course, for that they needed to get close to You, and that's what they did. First they entered in your life as an acquintance. You tought meeting them was random, something only fate could've pulled the strings to happen.

You were so cute in their eyes. So hurt and vulnerable after realising You had no one left. They of course noticed the way your voice would quiver or how You would refuse contact with anyone. You were simply adorable. And they needed to know more about You. EVERYTHING about You and your way of thinking bacause You showed them You weren't dumb, You showed them that You didn't fall easily into their open net as they expected. They loved it. They forgot about their plan to use You very fast and instead just wanted your love, wanted You to sorrow over them like You did after your friend

They become intoxicated with the tought of having You lean on them after they found out every small detail that You couldn't hide about your existente, yet they wanted more, needed more.

They Will manipulate You with their sweet words, get You to tell your story and they Will listen with such interest as if they Will engrave every word You just uttered into their skin. They needed to know everything, as if it hurt them not to. They would replay everything You told them, over and over, until it was impragnated in their very own soul

Of course, You are somehow human, You need conections with the outside so they use that fact to trap You. To pull you in their obsessive hold where You won't ever escape

The manipulators : jouno, Dazai osamu, shibusawa, Fyodor, Mori Ougai, Ango, William james moriarty, Albert james moriarty, Charles Augustus milverton, James bond, fukuzawa (?), Bram

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

One word : devotion

That's what You can read when You look into their eyes.

They related to You, to how lonely You felt, they hated seeing You mourn for someone else. They hated the fact that they didn't know much about You and how skitish You were. You were an entity, a God, in their eyes. The reason they were put on this earth was to be in your presence.

They are like animals. Wild and dangerous ones that will claw out the eyes of everyone that comes to closer to You, they are ready to bite and break, to hurt and destroy anything to get their goal. To get to You.

No one is safe. They are the worst ones to have in your giving time. Not only would they torture your friend and any other being that You ever took the powers out of, but they Will do it and proundly procleim that now you're only theirs, that your heart only belongs to them . It's most likely that while they kill and dispose the bodies of "normal ones" the ones that are like You will be trophies, your friend the most precious one.

They'll lick at every wound You ever had that is healed or freshly made, they Will drink your blood as if it gives them Power to live. In your name, they do anything.

The devoted : LOUIS JAMES MORIARTY , Billy the kid, sherlock holmes, PAUL VERLAINE, Edgar allen poe (?), Nikolai, Ryonosuke akutagawa, Sebastian Moran, CHUUYA

[the-fallen-collective]

Hey guys, going to barnes and noble after ice skating this weekend, give us book recommendations

(to give insight into books we like: hell followed with us by andrew white, girls of paper and fire by natasha ngan and james patterson, the house on the cerulean sea by tj klune, heaven officials blessing hy mo xiang tong xiu, the book thief by markus zusak, when my name was keoko linda park, the witch and the vampire by francesca flores, city of ghosts by victoria schwab, the adventures guild by zack clark and nick eliopulos, no longer human by osamu dazai, milk and honey by rupi kaur)

[sethnorth]

Muscleboy Zack Patterson v. Mike Bailey

[blahblahblees]

ヽ｀、☁ヽ｀─── CINDY LOU WHO aka MY WORKS ON WATTPAD

this includes all of my fanfic on wattpad! the majority of my fanfics are female led original characters unless stated otherwise. these fics are either ongoing, fully completed, completed until that season returns, or are in a undecided phase!

𓂃 ONGOING ON OXANGEJUICE

bed chem — blaustoise (streamer)

enchanted — miguel diaz (cobra kai)

saturn — marcus baker (ginny and georgia)

teenage dream — maya hart (girl meets world)

𓂃 COMPLETED UNTIL SEASON…ON OXANGEJUICE

bad for business — zed necrodopolis (z-o-m-b-i-e-s)

delicate — robby keene (cobra kai)

misery business — jordan li (gen v)

glimpse of us — conrad & jeremiah fisher (the summer i turned pretty)

this side of paradise — wally clark (school spirits)

already over — cole walter (my life with the walter boys)

𓂃 COMPLETED ON OXANGEJUICE

looking at me — jack brewer (kickin’ it)

womanizer — zack martin (suite life on deck)

just wanna be with you — luke patterson (julie and the phantoms)

name game — kendall knight (big time rush)

the love club — ricky bowen (high school musical: the musical: the series)

feel something — joshua bassett (irl)

long story short — freddie benson book 1 (icarly)

back to you — freddie benson book 2 (icarly)

lollie — lucas friar (girl meets world)

nasa — austin moon (austin & ally)

my song for you — ricky bowen book 1 (hsmtmts)

lover — ricky bowen book 2 (hsmtmts)

golden — carlos de vil (descendants)

boyfriend — ben gross (never have i ever)

call out my name — harry bingham (the society)

are you bored yet — rodrick heffley (diary of a wimpy kid)

alright — jay kelso & nate runck (that 90s show)

𓂃 UNDECIDED ON OXANGEJUICE

you belong with me — lucas friar (girl meets world)

[ur-fav-is-agere]

Inspector Zack Patterson from Moriarty The Patriot

Is a babysitter caregiver!

[tamesg]

Five Days

It's been three days since the last attack, and the silence sits heavy in my chest.

Trini turns her algebra test face-down, but I already saw the red C+ bleeding through the paper. Her fingers stay flat against the desktop for a moment longer than necessary, and when she lifts her hand, there's a pale print left behind in the morning condensation.

I know that pressure. The way stress builds in fingertips when you're trying to hold everything together. Trini handles pressure better than any of us in battle - has to, with the precision her Zord demands. But she's also harder on herself than she needs to be. A C+ in algebra shouldn't matter when you're saving the world, but doubt doesn't follow logic. It finds its way in through any opening.

To my left, Billy adjusts his glasses again. The metal frames catch fluorescent light, throwing brief flashes across his desk. His fingertips linger on the bridge, pressing.

Behind me, Zack's pen clicks in stuttering bursts - not the steady four-four time that usually runs through everything he does, but something broken, scattered.

Kimberly raises her hand to answer a question about factoring. Her voice comes out clear, confident - the same tone she uses when calling out Zord commands. But I've been watching her rewrite notes in the margin, erasing and starting over. The paper's worn thin in spots where she's pressed too hard with the eraser. I know that need for perfection. On the balance beam, it serves her well. In battle, it can save lives. But sometimes perfectionism becomes paralysis, and I've seen what happens when she second-guesses a split-second decision.

Mrs. Patterson turns back to the board, chalk dust settling like fine snow across everything. It coats my textbook, my hands, gets under my fingernails. Three days of normal high school problems, normal high school dust, and it feels wrong. Too quiet. Too simple. Angel Grove doesn't stay simple for long.

The bell rings - sharp, sudden. Everyone moves at once, books slamming shut, chairs scraping against linoleum. Normal sounds, but my body tenses anyway. Any sudden sound could be the beginning. Any moment of chaos could be the cover Rita needs.

I watch my team file out with the crowd. Trini folds her test paper into precise thirds before tucking it away. Billy checks his watch one more time. Zack's rhythm comes back as he talks to someone about weekend plans, but I heard that broken beat. I know what it means when the music stops.

We have three more days until the weekend. In Angel Grove, that's a lifetime.

—

The hallway stretches ahead of us, fluorescent lights humming in that frequency that makes your teeth ache. I count the newer tiles automatically - twelve in a row where the floor split open last spring. They're a shade lighter than the originals, just enough to notice if you know what to look for.

Kimberly stops at her locker, spinning the combination with practiced ease. "So, anyone else think that algebra test was brutal?" Her voice is light, casual, but her shoulders are set too straight.

"Could've been worse," Zack says, but his fingers tap against his locker door - that same broken rhythm from class.

To my right, Billy nods, adjusting his glasses again. "The quadratic equations were... challenging." What he doesn't say: challenging like calculating trajectory angles mid-battle. What none of us say: everything feels challenging when you're waiting for the world to end.

Down the hall, Bulk crashes into Skull near the water fountain. Normal chaos. Normal disaster. I watch them untangle themselves, and something in my chest loosens just slightly. Some patterns you can count on.

Trini joins us, sliding her algebra test into her backpack like she's filing evidence. "Anyone want to study together this weekend?" The question hangs in the air. We all know what weekends mean in Angel Grove - more time for attacks, fewer witnesses, empty streets that make good battlefields.

"Sure," Tommy says, appearing beside Billy's locker. His voice carries that casual confidence he's had since joining us - like weekend plans are just weekend plans, like Angel Grove operates on a normal teenage schedule. He leans against the metal door, relaxed in a way that makes my shoulders tense. When he shifts his weight, it's not toward the exit but deeper into the conversation, settling in like he has all the time in the world.

Billy closes his locker with more force than necessary. The metallic bang echoes down the hallway, sharp enough to make several students glance over. "Sorry," he murmurs, but his hand lingers on the handle. Testing the mechanism, maybe. Making sure it'll open quickly if he needs to grab something fast.

Down the hall, Bulk and Skull are arguing about lunch plans. Their voices carry - something about pizza versus burgers, the kind of meaningless debate that fills normal high school days. The sound should be comforting. Instead, it just reminds me how long it's been since any of us worried about something that simple.

"Three days," Kimberly says quietly, then catches herself. "I mean... three days until the weekend. Feels like forever."

We all know what she really means.

The warning bell rings, and we scatter like we've been practicing. Tommy's green jacket disappears into the stream of bodies, swallowed by the crowd before I can track where he's going. He does that - appears beside Billy's locker like he materialized from nowhere, shows up at Ernie's when you least expect him, then vanishes just as suddenly. I never know where he'll be when the communicators buzz, never know if he'll answer on the first call or the third. More firepower when he shows up, but firepower you can't depend on feels worse than none at all. Another variable spinning in my head, another place where our formation could crack open.

My locker sticks on the second try. The metal groans under pressure - warped from when those vines punched through the walls last month, leaving the doors slightly twisted in their frames. I work the handle with the specific angle I've learned, feeling the catch give way under my thumb.

Inside, my textbooks lean against each other in perfect rows. Spanish, Chemistry, History - corners bent from being stuffed into backpacks, margins filled with half-erased notes about conjugations and chemical bonds. Normal damage from normal use. But there, wedged behind my calculator where the morning light can barely reach it, my communicator sits forgotten. Silver metal that should be pressed against my wrist, warm with body heat and ready to pulse with Rita's next attack. The weight of forgetting it sits heavier in my stomach than the device ever does on my arm.

I reach for the communicator, the metal cool against my fingertips, warming as I lift it. The band slides over my hand with the slight resistance of metal against skin, catching briefly on the fine hairs of my wrist before settling into the groove it's worn there. The weight distributes around the bone, familiar pressure that makes my pulse beat against silver. The digital display shows 8:47 as I adjust the clasp - forty-three hours since the last attack. In Angel Grove, that's not just time passing. It's a countdown.

—

By Thursday, the silence has teeth.

During lunch, I watch the daily dance happen without anyone acknowledging it. Trini enters the cafeteria, scans the room, then chooses the table closest to the emergency exit. She doesn't rush, doesn't look obvious about it - just naturally gravitates toward the spot with the clearest escape route. Billy follows a minute later, settles where he can see both entrances, his back to the wall but angled so he won't miss anyone coming through the main doors.

Kim slides into the seat that lets her survey the whole room, the one where a thrown lunch tray can't catch her off-guard. When Zack joins us, he takes the chair that keeps his hands free, doesn't trap him between table and wall. We've never discussed these choices, never consciously mapped out our positions like battle strategy. But we all know. Doesn't matter how many putties you've crushed or how many times you've brought down a monster the size of an office building - all it takes is one moment to end it all. Power doesn't make you invincible. It just makes you a bigger target when you finally make a mistake.

But Tommy sits wherever there's an empty chair, sprawls like he owns the place. During third period Physics, while Billy's hands shake retrieving his dropped pencil for the second time this week, Tommy's doodling band logos in his notebook margin. While Kim rewrites equations with increasingly desperate precision, her eraser wearing holes in the paper, Tommy's humming under his breath - some song from the radio, normal and carefree and completely wrong for the weight pressing down on the rest of us.

He doesn't feel it yet.

And maybe that's the problem - not that he's relaxed, but that I can't tell if his calm comes from confidence or ignorance. Is he centered enough to stay steady when chaos hits, or is he going to freeze the first time a real threat breaks through our defenses? His powers are stronger than any of ours, but strength without awareness gets people killed. Gets teammates killed.

Or maybe I'm the one losing perspective. Maybe I'm cataloguing his every casual gesture like evidence, building a case against him from nothing but pencil marks and hummed melodies. Maybe watching him lean back in his chair without checking the exits makes me feel like I'm failing at something I can't even name.

But no. This is what leadership means - reading the room, reading your team, trusting what you see even when it's uncomfortable. Four days of quiet has everyone else wound tight as piano wire, and Tommy's acting like it's summer vacation. That disconnect matters. When the attack comes, it will matter.

He doesn't feel it yet. The way Angel Grove holds its breath before it screams.

—

By Friday afternoon, every sound is a threat.

The PA system crackles to life during second period, the speaker above the whiteboard spitting static that raises the hair on my arms. My hand moves toward my communicator before I can stop it, fingers already curved to match the device's shape. Principal Caplan's voice fills the classroom: "Attention students, please disregard the—"

Static. Dead air that presses against my eardrums. Then nothing.

Across the room, Billy's head snaps up from his chemistry notes. For three seconds, we all wait. Mrs. Patterson taps her pen against the whiteboard, annoyed at the interruption. Students shift in their seats, already losing interest. But Billy's eyes find mine, and I see my own tension reflected back.

The PA crackles again. "—maintenance issue in the east wing. Carry on with your classes."

Just maintenance. Just a glitch in forty-year-old speakers. But my heart is still hammering when the announcement ends, and I catch Kim's subtle exhale two rows over. She heard it too. Felt that split second when Angel Grove almost became something else.

During lunch, Zack drops his sandwich tray. The crash of plastic hitting linoleum echoes through the cafeteria like a gunshot, and this time I'm not the only one who flinches. The sound travels up through the floor, into the metal legs of our table, vibrating against my forearms where they rest on the surface. Trini's hand freezes halfway to her mouth, fork suspended in mid-air. Billy's glasses slip down his nose as his head jerks toward the sound. Even Kim pauses in her careful arrangement of carrot sticks.

For one heartbeat, we're all perfectly still. All listening. All waiting.

Then Zack laughs it off, bends to clean up the mess, and the moment dissolves. But when he straightens, when his eyes sweep across our table, there's something there. Recognition. Understanding.

Tommy keeps eating his apple.

By final period, the weight of not talking about it has become its own presence in the room. We're in History, supposedly learning about the Civil War, but I'm watching Trini trace the same circle on her notebook margin over and over. Her pen clicks each time she completes the loop - a nervous tic I've never seen before. Next to her, Kim's eraser has worn a hole clean through her paper.

Mr. Vargas drones on about battle strategies while Billy adjusts his glasses with increasing frequency. Every thirty seconds now, like he's trying to keep the world in focus through sheer repetition. Behind me, Zack's breathing has gotten shallow, controlled. The kind of breathing you do when you're trying not to hyperventilate.

"The key to winning any conflict," Mr. Vargas says, "is knowing when to strike."

The words hang in the air like a challenge. Like a prediction.

I catch Kim's eye. She's looking at me with an expression that says everything we can't: Do you feel it too? This waiting? This certainty that something's coming? I give the smallest nod, and relief flickers across her face. Not relief that something's coming, but relief that she's not losing her mind alone.

Trini stops tracing circles. Billy's hand hovers over his glasses without adjusting them. For one moment, we're all perfectly synchronized in our shared dread.

Then the janitor wheels his cart past the window - metal buckets clanging against each other, mop handles rattling - and every muscle in my body coils for action. My hand jerks toward my communicator, fingertips already searching for the familiar texture of the band. My legs bunch under the desk, thighs pressed against the plastic chair edge, ready to launch.

It's just the janitor. Just the afternoon cleaning routine. Just normal sounds that shouldn't make me feel like the world is about to split open.

Tommy glances over at my sudden movement, eyebrows raised in mild confusion. Then he turns back to his notes, already dismissing whatever he saw as irrelevant.

I force my hand away from my wrist, but the damage is done. The room feels smaller now, the air thinner. Like we're all holding our breath underwater, and the surface is getting further away.

—

The fire alarm splits the air like a scream.

Every nerve in my body explodes into action before my brain catches up. My hand slams against my communicator, checking for the pulse that means Zordon's calling. Nothing. Just the steady digital heartbeat of normal time passing.

Around me, chairs scrape against linoleum as students stand, grumbling about another drill. Mr. Vargas sighs and gestures toward the door with practiced resignation. "You know the routine, people. Single file, no talking."

But this isn't routine. Can't be routine. Five days of waiting, five days of Angel Grove holding its breath, and now this piercing wail that sounds exactly like every other fire drill but feels like the end of everything.

I catch Billy's eye as we file toward the door. His face is pale, focused, scanning the hallway like he's calculating attack vectors instead of evacuation routes. Behind him, Kim moves with too much precision, each step deliberate, controlled. Battle-ready.

Trini falls into step beside me, close enough that I can feel the tension radiating from her shoulders. "Just a drill," she murmurs, but her voice carries the same uncertainty that's eating me alive.

"Just a drill," I agree, but my eyes are already tracking exit routes, cataloguing potential choke points, counting heads to make sure we don't lose anyone in the chaos.

The hallway fills with students - hundreds of bodies moving in the same direction, creating exactly the kind of confusion Rita loves to exploit. Perfect cover for putties. Perfect distraction for whatever nightmare she's been planning while Angel Grove held its breath.

Tommy appears beside us, hands shoved casually in his pockets. "Man, they always pick the worst times for these things," he says, like we're just inconvenienced teenagers instead of warriors waiting for war.

The alarm keeps shrieking. My communicator stays silent.

Outside, we cluster on the basketball courts with the rest of the school. Principal Caplan stands by the building with his clipboard, checking off teachers as they report their classes safe. Mrs. Patterson. Mr. Vargas. Coach Schmidt. All accounted for. All normal.

I scan the crowd, looking for the wrong face, the figure that doesn't belong. But it's just students and teachers, everyone exactly where they should be. Bulk and Skull stand near the gym doors, looking bored and slightly annoyed. Normal. Everything's normal.

"Probably just a pulled alarm," Zack says, but his eyes keep moving, searching. "Some freshman prank."

Five minutes pass. Then ten. My muscles ache from staying coiled, ready to spring into action that isn't coming. The concrete beneath my feet radiates heat through my sneakers, and sweat gathers at the base of my neck despite the afternoon breeze. Around us, conversations start up again - complaints about missing tests, jokes about the timing. The normalcy scratches against my eardrums like static.

Billy checks his watch. "Fifteen minutes. Usually they're shorter."

"Maybe there really was something this time," Kim says, but she doesn't sound convinced. None of us do.

Twenty minutes. The alarm finally stops, leaving behind a silence that feels heavier than the noise. Principal Caplan raises his megaphone.

"All clear, everyone. Please return to your classrooms in an orderly fashion."

That's it. All clear. Just a drill. Just another normal Angel Grove Friday afternoon where nothing happened and nothing changed and nothing tried to destroy the city.

The crowd starts moving back toward the building. Students laugh and complain and pick up conversations where they left off. Tommy stretches his arms over his head like he's been sitting too long in a movie theater.

"Well, that was exciting," he says with a grin that makes me want to shake him.

I follow the crowd back inside, my communicator heavy on my wrist, my shoulders finally starting to unknot. Just a drill. Maybe I really have been losing it. Maybe five days of waiting for disaster has made me see threats where there aren't any. Maybe—

The building shakes.

Not an earthquake. Not construction. Something deliberate that travels up through the floor, through my legs, settling in my chest like a struck tuning fork. Something wrong. The lights flicker once, twice, then steady, but the fluorescent hum has changed pitch.

My communicator explodes into life, red light bleeding through my skin, the sharp beeping cutting through the hallway noise like a blade. The metal grows warm with each pulse of light, each burst of sound - a rhythm I know by heart, alive against my wrist like a second heartbeat finally synchronized with my own.

Around me, five other communicators light up in perfect unison. For one impossible second, our secret hangs naked in the fluorescent air.

Then training kicks in. Billy dives behind a bank of lockers, already reaching for his communicator. Kim sprints toward the nearest exit, her hair finally flying loose behind her. Trini's moving before the beeping ends, heading for cover with the fluid precision I've been waiting to see all week.

Zack grabs Tommy's arm, pulling him toward the emergency exit. For just a moment, Tommy's eyes go wide — not with confusion this time, but with something sharper. Fear. Recognition. Then his jaw sets. When he moves, it's with the same precision as the rest of us. "Come on, man. Now."

And me? I'm running too, but for the first time in five days, I'm not running away from something.

I'm running toward it.

[legstoronto2023]

ARTISTS (in performing order with times)

Pam Patterson - 1:00 pm 

claude wittmann - 1:07

Holly Timpener (ONLINE) - 1:14

Sadie Berlin - 1:21

Leena Raudvee - 1:28

Claudia Edwards- 1:35

Amber Helene Müller St. Thomas - 1:42

lwrds duniam - 1:49

Clayton Lee - 1:56

Paul Couillard- 2:03

Brandy Leary - 2:10

Jos Tremblay - 2:17

Katie Kehoe - 2:24

Lisa Smolkin - 2:31

Johannes Zits - 2:38

Julie Lassonde - 2:45

Shelby Wright  - 2:52

Fan Wu - 2:59

James Knott - 3:06

Benjamin de Boer - 3:13

Tina Fushell - 3:20

Jill Connell - 3:27

Irene Loughlin - 3:34

Evan Webber - 3:41

Shannon Cochrane - 3:48

Francesco Gagliardi - 3:55

Tristan Castro- 4:02

Tess Martens - 4:09

Ami Xherro - 4:16

Nicholas Hauck - 4:23

Andrea Spaziani - 4:30

Tatiana Koroleva - 4:37

Sara Seif - 4:44

Hima Batavia - 4:51

Raquel Mendes - 4:58

Niloofar Sanandajizadeh - 5:05

Grey Muldoon - 5:12

Leila Clemente (Gajusingh) - 5:19

Ed Johnson - 5:26

Sara Porter - 5:33

Christopher Petersen - 5:40

Isaak Fong - 5:47

Emilia White - 5:54

Esther Splett - 6:01

Julie-Isabelle Laurin - 6:08

Jake Santos - 6:15

Jacqueline Van de Geer (ONLINE: Montreal) -6:22

Lizzsea Ship - 6:29

Shima Raeesi - 6:36

Sara Sattari - 6:43

Justin Cabrillos - (ONLINE: New York) - 6:50

Caelum Aheam (ONLINE: Brooklyn, NYC) - 6:57

Drinkmilk (Gracie Elbel and Luc Cimino) - 7:04

Coman Poon (ONLINE: Georgetown, Malaysia) - 7:11

Peter Morin (ONLINE: Smithers BC) - 7:18

Rita Camacho Lomeli - 7:25

Marty Smith and Zack Fish - 7:32

Adriana Disman - 7:39 

lo bil - 7:46

Simla Civelek - 7:53

[legs-toronto-2023]

ARTISTS (in performing order)

ARTISTS updated as of December 16

In performing order with EXACT TIME of arrival

No one will cue you - enter into the flow of energy with your action.

For anyone not on the list who wishes to contribute an action or gesture, you can write your name to the end of the list. Organizers will go last.

Pam Patterson - 1:00 pm 

claude wittmann - 1:07

Holly Timpener (ONLINE) - 1:14

Sadie Berlin - 1:21

Leena Raudvee - 1:28

Claudia Edwards- 1:35

Amber Helene Müller St. Thomas - 1:42

lwrds duniam - 1:49

Clayton Lee - 1:56

Paul Couillard- 2:03

Brandy Leary - 2:10

Jos Tremblay - 2:17

Katie Kehoe - 2:24

Lisa Smolkin - 2:31

Johannes Zits - 2:38

Julie Lassonde - 2:45

Shelby Wright  - 2:52

Fan Wu - 2:59

James Knott - 3:06

Benjamin de Boer - 3:13

Tina Fushell - 3:20

Jill Connell - 3:27

Irene Loughlin - 3:34

Evan Webber - 3:41

Shannon Cochrane - 3:48

Francesco Gagliardi - 3:55

Tristan Castro- 4:02

Tess Martens - 4:09

Ami Xherro - 4:16

Nicholas Hauck - 4:23

Andrea Spaziani - 4:30

Soufïa Bensaïd (ONLINE: Tunisia) - 4:37 

Sara Seif - 4:44

Hima Batavia - 4:51

Raquel Mendes - 4:58

Niloofar Sanandajizadeh - 5:05

Grey Muldoon - 5:12

Leila Clemente (Gajusingh) - 5:19

Ed Johnson - 5:26

Sara Porter - 5:33

Christopher Petersen - 5:40

Isaak Fong - 5:47

Emilia White - 5:54

Esther Splett - 6:01

Julie-Isabelle Laurin - 6:08

OPEN - 6:15 ***  

Jacqueline Van de Geer (ONLINE: Montreal) -6:22

Lizzsea Ship - 6:29

Shima Raeesi - 6:36

OPEN - 6:43 ***

Justin Cabrillos - 6:50

Caelum Aheam (ONLINE: Brooklyn, NYC) - 6:57

Drinkmilk (Gracie Elbel and Luc Cimino) - 7:04

Coman Poon (ONLINE: Georgetown, Malaysia) - 7:11

Peter Morin (ONLINE: Smithers BC) - 7:18

Rita Camacho Lomeli - 7:25

Marty Smith and Zack Fish - 7:32

Jake Santos - 7:39 

lo bil - 7:46

Simla Civelek - 7:53

open for new additions. organizers will go last.

[moranshand]

Can we please talk about this photo...

Here we can see:

• Will and Sherlock flirting

• Miss Hudson and James Bonde one of the same

• Albert also flirting with Mycroft but they both keep and eye on their brothers

• John's trying to stop Louis from committing a murder but he is still doing it hot

• Our playboy Moran is not flirting for the first time in his life but he is just drinking from the bottle

• Von Herder is giving poisonous drinks

• Jack the Ripper is just starting at him

• And Lestrade is getting poisoned with Zack just watching his!!

The only normal person here is Fred!!

[102naota]

These 20 seconds hit right in kokoro

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