#[the timepiece - it's tock] indeed..

[occulee]

(Think of these thoughts as hackneyed and trite...)

More pics + thoughts under the cut!

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Happy Halloween! This cosplay's more casual than what I usually do bc I've been so busy with Jashtober [which I'm still doing more of! Day 25's much bigger than the others, it's taking longer than I'd like but I'm hoping it'll be worth it!]

I wish I could've made wings, but given time restraints I think I can be satisfied with this for now

[catonablog-blog-blog]

Ah, my dear readers! Rufus T. Flywheel here, at your service with another intriguing tale to share. Today, I find myself embroiled in a peculiar case that has set the small town astir with whispers and gossip. Join me as we delve into the curious saga of The People v. The Clock: Timepiece Accused of Being Too Loud at Night. In the heart of our quaint little town, nestled between the cobblestone streets and the ancient oak trees, stands a magnificent clock tower. This timepiece has faithfully served the community for generations, its chimes ringing out melodiously to mark the passing hours. But lately, a cloud of discontent has descended upon our peaceful abode. It seems that some of our residents have taken issue with the clock's nightly serenade, claiming that its tolls are disrupting their slumber and disturbing the peace. Now, you may wonder, what could possibly be so offensive about the dulcet tones of a beloved timekeeper? Well, my friends, it appears that not everyone shares my appreciation for the symphony of ticking and tocking that accompanies each passing minute. Indeed, a vocal group of disgruntled citizens has banded together to lodge a formal complaint against the clock, accusing it of being too loud at night. As a self-proclaimed aficionado of all things whimsical and wondrous, I simply had to investigate this curious case for myself. Armed with my trusty magnifying glass and a quizzical expression, I set out to uncover the truth behind these allegations. What I discovered was a tapestry of conflicting opinions and hidden motives, woven together with threads of intrigue and mystery. First, I spoke with Mrs. Finch, a sweet elderly widow who resides in a charming cottage overlooking the town square. With a wistful smile and a touch of melancholy in her voice, she recounted how the clock's nightly chimes had been a comforting presence throughout her long and solitary nights. It's like having an old friend by your side, she mused, always there to keep you company when the world grows dark and quiet. On the opposite end of the spectrum, I encountered Mr. Pembrook, a stern-faced gentleman with a formidable mustache and a distaste for anything that disrupted his routine. He fumed about the clock's unwelcome intrusion into his precious beauty sleep, railing against its infernal racket with a fervor bordering on obsession. I demand justice! he declared, his voice rising to a crescendo of indignation. That clock must be silenced at once! But as I dug deeper into the heart of the matter, I began to uncover a tangled web of secrets and hidden agendas lurking beneath the surface. It seems that the true source of the town's unrest lies not with the clock itself, but with the simmering tensions and unspoken grievances that dwell within the hearts of its inhabitants. There are whispers of long-standing feuds and rivalries that date back decades, of lost loves and broken dreams that still haunt the alleys and byways of our picturesque town. It is said that the clock's chimes serve as a constant reminder of the passing of time, a relentless march towards an uncertain future that some would rather ignore or forget. And so, my dear readers, I find myself caught in the midst of a moral dilemma of epic proportions. Should the clock be silenced to appease the discontented few, or allowed to continue its timeless vigil over our sleeping town? Is it a mere instrument of timekeeping, or a symbol of something far greater and more profound? As the final hour draws near and the town awaits the verdict of the court, I am reminded of a wise old saying that has guided me through many a conundrum: Time waits for no one, but it is how we choose to spend it that truly defines who we are. Perhaps the answer lies not in the hands of the clock, but in the hearts of those who seek to control it. And so, my friends, I leave you with this thought to ponder as the night grows long and the stars twinkle overhead: In the timeless battle between the people and the clock, who will emerge victorious? Only time will tell. Until we meet again, keep your eyes open and your minds sharp. Rufus T. Flywheel, signing off.

[adornifyyourhome]

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[ur-urmom]

after having rewatched twilight and falling back in love with carlisle, i thought it would be nice if my first fanfiction on here was for him!

so that’s exactly what i shall do, write a one shot of him with a reader insert because what else do i have to do, literally nothing

and i’ll try to make all of my fics gender neutral so anyone can read them :)

—————-

Okay, That Hurt - Carlisle x Reader

(Part 2)

Genre - fluff

Warnings - idk maybe some cussing, injuries, age gap

Summary - Y/N has always been clumsy, but when they land themselves in the hospital they only have their clumsiness to thank for meeting a certain doctor that happens to make their heart flutter, and little do they know it might just be a similar situation for him as well

Tick, tock... tick, tock.

I looked at the hanging timepiece resting against the wall in the living room. I needed to leave for work any minute now, and I was seriously debating whether or not I should just call in sick or something because I really did not feel like going today. It’s not like my parents would find out, I get home before them anyway.

“Ugh, fine.” I gave in. After all, I was already up and dressed, and the idea of getting paid was always appealing to me. Grabbing my coat, I stepped outside with my keys in hand. When I locked the door behind me, I saw my neighbor coming out as well.

Bella Swan. I was only a few years older than her, so we happened to become good friends overtime. I waved hello when our eyes met, a gentle smile on my features. I began walking down the steps, but ended up tripping on air or something because the next thing I knew I was struggling to keep my balance. Heading towards the hard concrete, I flung my arms around in hopes to regain my composure, and quickly grabbed hold of the railing to stop myself from going any further. Thankfully, it worked.

Standing back straight, I laughed off my shakiness and embarrassment when I realized that Bella had witnessed literally all of that.

“Haha, phew! That was a close one!” I grinned, my palm making its way to my chest. The girl across the yard from me chuckled, awkwardly looking around before tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Yeah, glad you’re okay.” She responded, clearly amused by my near death experience.

“Indeed I am.” I replied, continuing to walk to my car, finally away from those demonic stairs. Though, it was as if the universe hated me today, because as soon as those words left my mouth I slipped on the wet pavement and went tumbling backwards, airborne and afraid. There was no way I was saving myself this time, my body landed harshly on the ground, my right hand basically bending underneath my arm when I finally met solid earth.

Okay, that hurt.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” I heard Bella run over to me, this time neither of us were laughing.

My eyes were shut tight to keep the tears from falling, and my lips were pursed closed so that way I wouldn’t fucking scream from the pain of my wrist which was most likely very broken right now. I breathed out a long and shaky breath, forcing my eyes open and letting my tears find their way down my cheeks.

“....I’m c-completely fine.” I cried, pushing myself up with my good hand, along with the help of Bella. “Is... is my hand... supposed t-to be dangling like this?” I asked, knowing damn well it was not.

“Let me drive you to the hospital, come on.” She put her arm around mine and pulled me up. I had a few scrapes besides the obviously snapped in half wrist.

“You have school.” The pain was still shooting but if I kept it still it wasn’t so bad. “Really, I’m fine, I’ll drive myself!” I smiled through my puffy eyes and wet face.

“My boyfriend, Edward, his dad is a doctor. I’m taking you to him, okay?” She guided me to her truck and aided in getting me all situated. At this point I wasn’t crying anymore, but you could still definitely tell I had been. “I can’t believe you tried to say you were fine.”

“Well, most of me is.” I sniffled, looking at the swollen part of my injury.

She glanced at me, shaking her head.

“And I thought I was clumsy.” She muttered. I audibly gasped, she knew I was just kidding...

Somewhat.

The rest of the car ride was silent apart from my sniffles and occasional stray tears here and there. My entire arm was throbbing, mostly my hand and wrist though.

Bella pulled into the hospital and found a parking spot, once again helping me out of the vehicle. It’s just a broken wrist, I’m sure I could do these things myself, but then again I was thankful for what she was doing too. Walking inside I had my arm up to my chest, making sure my unusable hand didn’t move even in the slightest otherwise I would be screaming.

After a few minutes of talking to the lady at the front desk, I was finally waiting on the doctor that was apparently my friends boyfriends dad. But like adoptive dad. Bella was sitting on the other hospital bed beside the one I was on, fiddling with her hands and swinging her feet back and forth. She was facing me, so her legs hit mine. I gently returned the kick, and then another, and another. We were giggling, fighting with our feet to pass the time. The door across the hall opened and closed, but we just assumed it was a nurse or a patient, both of our eyes were still locked on the actions at hand, or should I say foot.

Our laughter kept us from hearing the footsteps, so when another pair of shoes stepped into our eyesight we immediately came to a stop.

“Carlisle, hi.” Bella awkwardly greeted.

My eyes made their way to the man in front of us, and I felt my heartbeat quicken at how attractive he was. I gulped. His lips pulled upward in a smile, and I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was. Not just his looks but his aura as well.

“Bella, it seems like you two were having fun? It’s nice to see you can still do that in a hospital.” He turned towards me, and as soon as we made eye contact I swear my breath haltered. His eyes were so captivating and they were the most golden hue, i was afraid I wasn’t gonna be able to look away. “You must be Y/N! I’m Dr. Carlisle Cullen, my chart says you think you broke your wrist? Let me have a look, if you will?”

I nodded my head, holding my arm out for him to take. His skin touched mine and I almost gasped at how cold he was, not that I minded... it felt rather electrifying. He began to straighten my hand out, which definitely had me wincing.

“You are correct, you’ll need to be in a cast. You’ve also got some bad scrapes on your elbows, but nothing a little antibiotic cream and a bandaid can’t fix.”

Even his voice was smooth, it made everything in me twist and turn and flutter around.

“Y/N, I’m gonna go wait in the car... Edward’s here.” Bella stated, pulling me out of my trance. I looked at her, raising my eyebrows ever so slightly.

“Alrighty.” I replied. She gave me a small smile before making her way out.

Not gonna lie, I was a little salty. Bella will drop anything and leave anyone if her boyfriend is around. It gets annoying at times. I haven’t even met him yet, but now I’ve met his dad before him?

“So, your 22?” I was brought back out of my thoughts by that wonderful voice again. He had already sat down in one of those swiveling chairs and had everything he needed to cast my arm.

“Yeah, I’m getting old.”

He laughed a hearty laugh that came deep within his chest. I couldn’t help but smile myself, proud that I caused that reaction.

“Well, is it too old for a sucker?” He pulled out a couple of different flavors, and I saw my favorite in the bunch.

“Pfft! Hell no.” I took the strawberry one out of his hand with my good arm. “Thank you.”

“Of course. How did you even do this?” Dr. Cullen raised his head to look at me, one eyebrow raised and his stare boring into my own. I tried not to blush, but I felt the heat creeping up.

“Uuuuuuuugggggghhhh, it’s really embarrassing.” I started, wincing at my own clumsy stupidity. “I slipped on my wet pavement. It could have at least happened in a cooler way, but no.”

He chuckled, and I watched him continue his work with my arm.

“You need to be more careful or you’ll be seeing my face more often.” He joked, finishing up the cast.

Note to self: don’t be more careful only to see more of handsome doctor man.

Dr. Cullen chuckled under his breath. I don’t know why, it was silent after he said what he did.

“I will.” I replied with a grin, knowing I probably wouldn’t.

“Will you, actually?” He shot back, an eyebrow raised in a playful manner. It was as if he read my mind, but I just shook it off with a laugh and a nod of my head.

I noticed he was all done with my arm, my cast was my favorite color. How he knew that, I don’t know, maybe it was a lucky guess.

“Well, Y/N, you’re free to go. It was an absolute pleasure to meet you.”

I hopped up, not realizing how close we were when I did that, so I quickly backed up saying a quick sorry.

“Thank you so much, Dr. Cullen.”

“No, please, call me Carlisle.” He gave me the warmest smile I had ever seen, and I couldn’t help but mirror it. “After all, I have a feeling this won’t be the last time we see each other. It’s best to get acquainted now, sooner than later. You’ve got to get that cast off sometime, and I’ll be here to do it.”

Okay, maybe it was just me being a little too hopeful, but was this his way of flirting with me?

“Alright, thank you, Carlisle. I really appreciate it.” At this point I was sure my face was as red as an apple.

As sad as it was, it was time for me to leave. I gave another grin and a small wave before walking away. Though, right before I got to the doors, I decided to be bold. Turning around, I saw that he was already looking at me, which only made me more nervous.

“Oh, and Carlisle, don’t be surprised if I come in here next week with another injury.” I winked at him. This seemed to fluster him, because he shyly looked away with raised eyebrows, but quickly regained his composure as he winked back, this time catching me off guard.

I giggled, waving goodbye once more and making my way back to Bella.

Oh yeah, I’ll definitely be seeing him again.

[into-crazy]

More to the Madness Pt. 9

Ledger!Joker x Female Reader series

Summary: You see J's bare face for the first time before helping him carry out his attack on the Mayor.

Warnings- Cursing, mentions of violence & murder, incorporated elements from TDK, a dash of J being self-conscious about his scars

I'll admit, that last warning was a bit of a challenge. I might've ruined everything with this & got it all wrong, although I sure hope not. Also, I'd like to add(because I freaking CAN) that I personally adore his scars💜 I find them beautiful, attractive, and sexy as hell

You can find the other parts RIGHT HERE and through the “More to the Madness” tag lovelies💞💞

7:01 am

You read the time on the wall clock in the empty apartment that belonged to some man named Melvin White. The late commissioner Loeb's memorial service will start soon. Mayor Garcia is scheduled to speak in precisely 2 hours, on the street right outside this very building. Everything's falling into place. Joker and his henchmen had successfully kidnapped the Ceremonial police. Stripped the officers of their guns and uniforms in order to infiltrate the ceremony. This is really happening. Joker's going to assassinate the Mayor.

Your eyes shift to watch J, standing over by the officers- bound and gagged to a sturdy structure inside the residence. Terrified, the men are drenched in sweat, shaking in their restraints. Neither try to mumble or attempt to free the binds in fear of getting themselves killed. Little do they know that's not on the agenda. Still, their frightened state entertains J. That is obvious.

The only one's in full attire in the room are you and J. His men were previously instructed to ditch the clown masks. The area is on a high watch alert, no use in having some amateur blow the job if they're easily spotted. Even though it wasn't negotiable, you're the only exception. Given your stealth skills and the couple lookouts perched down the hall.

The henchmen gather together in their disguises while J is now peering through a telescope onto the street. Angling the scope in a spot to his liking as he mumbles quietly to himself. You slip close beside him, leaning on the frame, glancing down in search of what he's looking for. Which is difficult considering the blind is lowered halfway. Without interrupting his train of thought, you patiently wait. There's no denying that the way he works fascinates you. Given his nature, he can be very precise when it comes to certain things. Since this is a situation which requires precision, he delivers impressively well.

Finally, he gives a soft hum, "annnd.. right there." Still peeking through the lens, he removes his hand from the scope, waving it in a gimmie motion towards whoever's presence he felt next to him. "Timer." You grab the small timepiece put off to the side, placing it in his hand. "Thanks a bunch doll." He gave with a appreciative tug of his lip upwards.

You didn't respond. Instead you caught the gazes of the henchmen looking in your direction. Couple relatively new faces, observing how close in proximity you stood by the Joker. Clearly the sight was unusual to them, like they'd never seen anyone comfortable enough to be within a 6 foot reach by J. Let alone a woman, currently perched the mere inches you were beside him. Intrigued as you are. They didn't have to say what they were thinking, you knew from the judgment flickering of their eyes- what the hell is wrong with her?

That doesn't bother you. Why should it? Why would you care what they think of you? The cowards. You're also not going to let them belittle you. If you let that happen, they're going to think it's okay. That you're too weak to do anything about it. Too weak to stand up for yourself.

Raising your chin, you stare down back at them. Daring them to say what they're too scared to admit directly to your face. You don't need J to stand in and protect you. You can do that on your own, no problem.

Come on. Come over here and say it to my face you fucking cowards.

As expected, they don't. Your message was received. They get right on with the job without throwing another glance your way. Serves them right.

Bringing your focus back to J, you ask, "what were you looking for?"

He turns the knob on the tiny clock, setting a time. His blackened gaze flashes up to meet yours, "where the duck'll be sittin' at." J places his contraption before collecting an officer's uniform and a duffle bag. "Tick-tock doll," he motions for you to follow him, "we're on the clock."

Exiting the apartment, he leads the way to another apartment down the hall. Barging through the front door, it appears this residence is just as deserted as the previous one.

Handing you the large bag, J works on removing his plum trench. Slinging the heavy fabric atop a counter in the vacant living space, it crashes hard against the surface with metallic clinks of the various objects he hordes in that coat. You watch as he continues to strip himself of the remaining articles- blazer, gloves, tie, vest, and suspenders. All in that exact order. The many layers that help complete his look. That join together to make him Joker.

He begins undoing the buttons at the top of his dress shirt, catching the dumbfounded expression on your face while you observe him. "Enjoying the show, aren't we? Getting a ah- good look." A tilt in his head promoting his mocking tone.

"I- uh what- um," You blink a couple times trying to refocus, "sorry, I don't mean to stare." You admit, now remembering you're supposed to place his items in the bag. "You make it a little hard to concentrate sometimes." Cheeks glowing a shade of red, turning your attention towards the pile on the counter, hoping you didn't offend him in any way.

"Never ah, said I didn't like it," he claims, shedding the shirt from his broadly sculpted torso. Displaying a vast of scars adorning his body. J wasn't the largest man in the world with huge, bulging muscles. He's actually rather lean, fit. With the perfect amount of muscle to compliment his arms, chest, and back. Oh, but his legs- those strong, thick thighs of his. Now those are whole other impressive matter on their own.

To keep your mind from straying deeper into building up excitement, you get to work. Get ahold of yourself, keep your head in the game. Tossing the duffle on the floor, you grab his trench. Huffing at how heavy it is, you comment, "Damn J, this coat weighs about fifty pounds! What the hell have you got in here?" Attempting to fold the thick fabric before shoving it in the bag.

"Just the usual knives and grenades," he shrugs nonchalantly.

"Woah, woah, hold up-" startled, you back slightly away from the bag, "you mean to tell me that there are explosives in that coat!?"

"Yeah."

"So you've been walking around with a bunch of hand grenades in your pockets? This entire time!" You continue.

"Uh, most of the time. Yeah." He repeats as if it's something you should've already known. It bewilders you that this is something so casual- so common- for him to keep dangerous explosives, ready to use, on his person like it's nothing. Regular people carry their wallets and cell phones. Better prepared citizens also carry a concealed weapon for precaution, be it a pocket knife or small handgun. Meanwhile, Joker's norms are knives and grenades- and he's never shy when it comes to flaunting his custom modified, fully automatic Glock 17.

"Well, you must carry a lot for it to weigh this much then." You let out a breathy laugh, bagging the other articles.

J was on the verge of removing his pants, when he opted not to. Instead, he collected the police uniform, thumbing towards the door behind him. "Gonna ah, finish in the other room." He promptly tells you, "wouldn't want ya getting too distracted."

"Okay," you manage, a roll of your eyes which he didn't see but very well heard. He went into the room and shut the door.

You finished packing everything, minus his pinstriped slacks and shoes. So you left the bag open for those. J wasn't enclosed in there long, however it felt like he was. This is a little unusual, for him. The eerie silence only prolonging the suspense. What could possibly be taking him so long?

It gave you a brief moment to ponder. All he has left to do is get dressed and remove the greasepai- Ohh.. Right.

The greasepaint.

That must be what's holding him, then. You'd imagine it takes a lot of effort to scrub off the many layers he had previously applied. Especially since his disguise is going to require a bare face. Funny how that works.

As if on cue, the door to the room swings open and he emerges. Your head swings up to find him, walking out the room with his head held down, green dyed curls covering his face. His hair is draping his features, yet through the gaps could you see that he is indeed, without the makeup. Purposely avoiding your gaze, you catch on, he's doing it intentionally. He doesn't want you to see his face. The reason, being one or many, you are unsure of.

He reels past you to the bag, nearly bumping into you, he shoves the remainder articles inside. You go to help him zip the overloaded pack, but he pulls it from you, twisting farther away.

You frown, "J, would you let me? I could do that for you." No answer. You try again, "the pants are going to get wrinkled if you put them in there like that. Here-" you carefully go to reach for the strap, lightly brushing your fingertips over his gloveless digits, which are tightly clamped around the band. "Let me fold them for you." His whole demeanor is tense, you're hoping your gentle touch coaxes him to ease. It helps, least a little bit. He allows you to slide it towards you, but his face remains turned.

You're not fond of this behavior. It doesn't seem like him. Could it be a reason similar to yours from before? Hiding his facial features to protect his identity. No, that can't be it if he's willingly revealing them to his goons and the public. So with that being the case, why not simply show you?

For one, you sure hope it isn't because he's self conscious about his looks- about his scars. You can't have that, no. You will not have that. He has nothing to be ashamed for when it comes to you and what you think of him. You didn't find him repulsive at all before. Why would now be any different?

He stands, "where- where's the ah, cap. I need the cap." Frantically searching the room, barely able to see past his own hair.

You don't utter a word as you neatly place his pants and shoes into the bag, sealing it with a loud ZIP! You want him to look at you, but you don't want to push it. Wanting him to feel comfortable with showing you rather than pry at it harshly. Standing fully, you go to the counter where the police cap sat. There sparks an idea. "I got it," you pluck the hat, waving it in his view. He extends an arm for you to hand it to him. "No," you shake your head, "come over here so I can put it on you."

Irritated, he huffs, "just give it- give it to me. I've got no time for this." Beckoning his arm impatiently.

"Yes you do," you return, "will you please just come here?" Nothing. He rakes his hands through his locks, choosing to grumble to himself. Alright, now you're starting to grow frustrated.

"Joker," you almost demand, the full use of his name gets him to freeze. Still staring in the other direction. "Look at me, please." Your tone is firm, yet underlined with a sense of plead.

Ultimately, he decides to look at you. As he does, you have to be careful refraining an admirable gasp in fear that he'll take it the wrong way. Don't make a big deal about it. You mentally apprise yourself as you see his face- bare- for the first time. Easier said than done. If you thought he was breathtaking before, you'd go back in time just to slap that lady across the face, and tell her she hasn't seen his beauty in all its form yet. With those handsome features adorning his face. The same features you already noticed, ridden of the greasepaint. Out on proper display. There have been occasions where you thought about what he'd look like underneath. He's even more gorgeous than you could've imagined. The area around his eyes hold black shades, skin stained from the greasepaint.

J's stoical eyes stare at your face. Searching for a trace of resentment, horror, hate, disgust. He doesn't find either of those, yet he's not sure what he finds, he can't tell.

Your eyes meet his in a deep stare, and your breath hitches in your throat as you fight to hold back what you desperately want to tell him. Baby steps. Giving a soft smile, you inform him, "you still got a bit of white and black by your eye." Pointing to a spot under your own to show him where. He gives a breathy laugh in return. May it be of relief or genuine amusement, he wouldn't tell you, you're unsure at this point. But it's something.

You jump to sit atop the counter, putting you almost eye level with him. "Can I put it on you?" You retry with the hat. He thinks for a fleeting moment, then nods. You quickly remove your gloves as he goes to stand between your parted legs, placing his hands to rest on your hips, keeping a mindful distance. It's respective.

Carefully, do you bring both your hands to his head. Combing your fingers through his locks, pushing upwards, so that you could easily tuck the green strands under the article. Though he's allowing you, if he were to swat your hands away, it actually wouldn't be a surprise. You keep that in mind. He draws in a slow, steady inhale at your delicate touch. His eyes are on you the entire time, taking in the calmness in yours. And wait- is that.. is that adoration he sees? Nevertheless, he remains there, an emotionless look on his face.

"Don't do that." J speaks abruptly. Pulling you from your dream-like trance.

"Do what?" You ask innocently, "I can't sit for a moment and admire you?"

With an exaggerated sigh and a roll of his eyes does he react. "You can stop trying to convince me with the uh, false flattery, doll. I already know I'm not the most ah, prettiest sight to look at."

"It's not false," you frown. "I'm being serious." It hurts that he doesn't believe you. You speak with truth, why won't he at least try to accept the fact that you really do find him drop-dead gorgeous, incredibly handsome, utterly attractive?

"Ha ha," he mocks a laugh that lacks humor in favor of distaste, "Now that was a bad joke." Instead of going on, he chooses to remain quiet. Taking in the feeling of your nails lightly scratching through his scalp. You're being so gentle with him, like anything harsher could ever hurt him. He smiles at the amusing thought.

Once his hair's pushed up enough, you place the police cap atop his head. Completing the disguise. Tucking stray strands that fallen, under the hat. "There.." you draw back to take a final gander. He looks so different, almost unrecognizable. But his blackened eyes, his nose, his chiseled jawline, and the uneven scars protruding the flesh in his cheeks, distinctive features that remind you of how much he is still, him.

Still J.

And damn you. Damn you for allowing it to tug at your heartstrings seeing him this way. You're not supposed to start feeling like this. You're not supposed to start caring. What started out as physical and psychological attraction, is progressing into something more, in-depth. And fuck, are you diving in deep. You know this probably isn't a path to go down. It'd be risky. Although you haven't even scratched the surface of knowing him, you know yourself. Going down that path would result in you growing attached- catching feelings. Which could leave you wandering down a one way road, alone.

Much as you hate to admit, you crave a connection, a real one. And Joker isn't the man for that. He's far too busy carrying out his destructive schemes, he doesn't have the time nor mind for you. Perhaps you should pull out, before everything eventually comes crashing down onto you. Leaving you in a heaving pile of regret. Or in a pool of your own blood once he grows bored of you, realizes he doesn't want you around anymore.

However, once your eyes lock with his in a deep gaze, your rampant thoughts are put on hold. Then you are reminded of how far you've come, and you are not backing down. Let's just keep this going. We're getting too touchy feel-y. Too sentimental. Let's just focus on what's happening right now, and right now, he's gorgeous. You don't mind his scars. You actually think his scars are rather beautiful. Much like a precious work of Japanese kintsugi art. The once severely torn flesh healed together in a way that enhances the tear that used to be there. Visible repairs on his cheeks that give more meaning and strength. Whoops- your sentiment is still showing.

You know what? I don't fucking care anymore. Look at him!

"Well hello officer," you purr flirtatiously. Trailing your hands up the properly done jacket, stopping to rest on his shoulders. "I usually don't take kindly to police officers, but I'd let you frisk, cuff, and arrest me any day."

The suggestive joke brings a sly smirk to his face. Grabbing ahold of your wrists, he sets your hands down on your thighs. "Distractions, bunny." His jeering articulation of the word distractions let's you know that he's back. "Ya sure are good at 'em. Now, we can play officer later. You ah, remember your instructions?" He asks, checking over himself to make sure everything's in order.

"Yeah, I got them down," you return.

"Remember where to wait?" He presses.

"Yeah, yeah.."

" 'Yeah' me like that one more time, an I'll slice that pretty tongue right outta your mouth. Got it?" He warns with a bite of snarkiness.

You can't help but stifle a snicker at his false threat. Um actually, you'd hope that it's false. "Yes sir."

~~

Your part is relatively easy. All you had to do was rid yourself of your outfit- including the makeup- and take J's stuff to the getaway car. Being your car. Oh boy. He gave you a set location to park and wait with his belongings. He mentioned that if everything went in the direction he's striving for, then he'd make it to your car soon after the crowd breaks into a panicking frenzy. If not, then you'll just have to meet him back at the warehouse. Which if course means more improvisation on his part.

You sat in your car, not too far, and not too close in proximity to where Mayor Garcia currently spoke on behalf of Loeb. It wasn't long until you heard the first round of shots ringing through the buildings, then the next, recognizing it to be the 21-gun salute. You braced yourself for the third round of shots, since this would undoubtedly be Joker's point of attack. The moment he and his henchmen turn their guns and fire at be Mayor.

Soon as the third rounds are fired, they are followed by even more shots and loud shouts. That's your cue. Quickly starting the engine, you glance in the rearview mirror, you could see the chaotic riot of people behind you. Rushing and screaming in different directions to get away from the area, escape the immediate danger. Seconds later, there were many running past your car. Citizens and cops alike. Citizens desperately searching for cover and the cops trying to get control of the situation. Madness. It was pure madness. Far from anything you're used to.

The sound of harsh knocking on tbe driver's window startled you. Looking directly at the source of the noise, you instantly recognized it to be J. Clicking the button to unlock the back door, he swiftly moves to get into the car. Shutting the door and motioning for you to go. You didn't have to wait for him to tell you that, as you promptly slammed on the gas before he even shut the door.

Putting as much distance between you both and the scene as possible, while Joker's catching his breath in the backseat. Checking him through the mirror, you see that he's not looking back. Didn't even bother to take a final glance at his work as you drove away. You wondered why, but you didn't ask.

"We missed." J hissed behind you.

"What?"

"We missed the shot." He clarified. "Ole Gordon decided to play hero and jumped in the line of fire." Snickering as he recalls.

"Bummer," you pout while he searches for the bag, "your items are down there." You point to the floor behind the passenger's seat.

He instantly reached inside and pulled out three tins of face paint. Wasting no time in popping open all the containers, dipping his fingers in, and slathering the paint accordingly in his face. Doing it with such a pace as if he couldn't wait to have done it any sooner.

"Please try not to get paint on my seats," you turn your head slightly to smile at him. You expected him to throw a sarcastic remark back, so you weren't prepared when he suddenly reached around, and placed his hand- fingers wet with fresh paint- snug around your throat. Making a showing effort to rub the remains onto your silky skin.

He leans close to where you feel his warm breath on your ear and neck. You find delight in his touch. He relishes the smirk that pulls across your lips, leaning closer to whisper huskily in your ear. "No promises, bunny."

End of part 9. I hope this part wasn't too rushed😭 There's still more to come. So the part in here where I made the comparison of his scars to Japanese kintsugi art, it's something that came to me but I do recall seeing something similar(on the first account that I had before this one) but I don't remember where. I appreciated the reference. If anyone knows where, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know. I'd like to give credit!

[gusenitsaa]

 Killian and Alice team up to exasperate Uncle Liam!  

Set vaguely in the Captain William Jewell verse,  after the curse breaks!  Because this verse might be the only Lena safe thing I’ve ever written this one is for you @lenfaz​ and for all my other knightrook / navalrook people!

@queen-mabs-revenge​, @lillpon​ , @pirate-owl​, @thesschesthair​, @bleebug​

The day his conference call ran over, making him late for their lunch, she snuck into the station and replaced the name card on his office with a pocket watch.  The old watch hung from a bright blue thumbtack in the center of his door and Liam looked around, half expecting to see her giggling face peering around a corner.  Liam hadn’t a clue how she’d managed to get past the conference room without him catching sight of her.  He had been watching out of the corner of his eye after the hands of his own watch slid past 1pm.  

He pulled the thumbtack from his door with a groan of mild irritation at the damage but chuckled at the timepiece.  One of her thrift store treasures, likely enough… or so he hoped.  He flipped it open and discovered a picture of Alice taped inside the cover, she was pointing at her wrist with a stern look on her face, but her eyes crinkled joyfully and his own smile grew to match the one she was hiding. 

He pocketed the watch carefully and made his way to Killian’s desk.  

“How long ago did Alice leave?”

“Alice?”  Killian asked in a tone that Liam knew immidiately was too innocent.  “Oh, that’s right,  you were to have lunch today.”

“Not you too,” Liam groaned,  noting with a raised eyebrow the box of thumbtacks hastily covered with a file.  He pulled out his phone to text her and found a message waiting for him.  

Alice 1:03pm:  Tick Tock

“Are you pinching my things again?” Liam called up to Alice when he reached the troll statue.  She still liked it here, even after their memories had returned.  

“It was more of a trade-“ Alice called back, jumping down from high enough up that Liam’s heart clenched.

“Bloody hell, lass, I’ve asked you not to do that!”

“Papa said the rigging he used to climb was much higher then this.”  

“Aye,  and your papa scared the hell out of me then too  For the sake of my poor heart which is rather older then it was then,  stop jumping off roofs and statues and bloody cars.”  

“I’ll think about it.”

Liam rolled his eyes in exasperation and he tossed her a bag for her inspection. 

“Marmalade!?” She asked excitedly.  It was another quirk that had persisted beyond the return of her memories.  

“Nope,” Liam replied.  “We’re trying something different today.”

Alice peered into the bag, a feigned annoyance on her face which lasted only a moment.  “Indian food?”

“Not just any Indian food, darling.  This particular dish tastes exactly like one that I sampled in Agrabah.”

Her eyes brightened at the prospect of a story,  “You’ve been to Agrabah?”

“Tell me what you’ve done with the item I unwittingly ‘traded’ you and perhaps I’ll tell you.”  Liam countered and Alice let out a huff.  

“I do not know where it is at this present moment,” she said in her best diplomatic voice before looking up at him.  Oh no you don’t, lass.  “Uncle Liiiiiam,” she pleaded,  fixing him with that look that made his heart melt.  “Tell me anyway?”

He didn’t get his name plate back.  

She got her story.  

When he got back to his office after lunch he found his name card...  Slid into the holder that graced Killian’s desk.  

He wondered briefly where Killian’s had gone, but only until he reached his office. Killian’s name card had been neatly slid into the slot where his had been nearly two hours ago.  Killian grinned up at him from his chair behind the oversized desk and Liam rolled his eyes.  

“Having fun, Killian?” Liam asked,  handing him the bag of no longer hot but still edible food.  Killian opened it and smelled it’s contents, his eyebrows going up. 

“That smells just like-“

“Indeed.”  Liam sank down into the chair across from the one that was normally his as Killian dug into leftovers.

“How’s Alice?”

“So much like a boy I once knew it’s bloody terrifying.”  

Killian grinned, “she jump off the troll again?”

“She’s going to get herself hurt!” Liam retorted.  

“It’s nowhere near so tall as-”

“-as the rigging you used to scamper up as a child,”  Liam finished, shaking his head.  “I know."  He pulled the pocket watch from his pocket as Killian finished eating and looked it over, discovering to his amazement that when he wound it up it began to tick just like new. 

“She’s been carrying that around for weeks waiting for you to be late to something.” Killian commented, “I think she was getting desperate.  She asked me to set your watch back five minutes this morning.”  Liam looked down at his watch in alarm, hastily checking it against the clock on the wall, realizing too late that Killian had that same mischievous smile on his face that Alice had graced him with during their lunch.  

“All right, troublemaker,  out of my office.  Unless you want to finish my paperwork in addition to your own?”  

“Aye, captain,”  Killian got to his feet, dropping the remnants of the bag into Liam’s wastebasket.  “See you tonight,  Don’t be late.”

Liam chuckled and held up the pocket watch. “On the dot.” 

Killian closed the door and Liam looked over the pocket watch once more,  then on instinct he took off the watch on his wrist and dropped it into his desk drawer.  It was a modern thing that he’d acquired from the curse and really,  this one suited him better anyway.  

[findingfeathersseanchaidh]

Chapter 75: A Time to Work  

"What are you doing?" Sara's voice rang out across the office like a bell, making Rip jump and turn his back on the document he was looking over.

"Nothing that can't wait," he snapped, closing the file behind him with one hand and moving a nearby book on top of it. "Must you always sneak up on people?"

Sara's jaw tightened. "You called us to the bridge," she pointed out. "Even Mick's here already!"

Rip's eyes narrowed. He had ordered the crew to assemble. They had another mission. One Luke had called through with just over an hour ago. He had been looking over some of the details when Sara had interrupted him. Details he would not be sharing with the rest of the group. Not entirely. He bowed his head and gestured towards the door. "Well then."

The crew had indeed assembled in the time he had been lost in his thoughts up in the lofty heights of his office, all of three steps above the bridge. As predicted, the scientists of the group had already begun theorising about the blue, holographic form floating in the centre of the room. Martin was listening to Jesse with a deference that was already putting Ray in a black mood, and Matthew and Jax were discussing what appeared to be the power source of the construction. Meanwhile, Snart was sitting back totally at ease, as if he owned the ship, waiting patiently. Mick hovered impatiently behind him and Amaya was watching him like a leopard watches an intruder to its territory. Sara, arms folded and back to the lot of them, was watching Rip.

"Thank you all for gathering so swiftly," Rip began, pressing his palms together. "My apologies for the delay. The device some of you are already looking at is of Time Master origin. It is a time dilation device originally designed for the purpose of creating small bubbles of land that are, essentially, outside of time. It slows the progress of time there so much that a thousand years could pass outside it between the tick and the tock of a timepiece. Once the bubble is in place, only a timeship can enter or leave it. The device also throws up a holographic shielding, so that, from the outside, it merely looks like an untended farmhouse or forest. The shielding itself emits a frequency that discourages wildlife, and humans, from attempting to enter the bubble on foot. Anything not discouraged soon finds itself rebounding from the shields in any case. This is entirely for their benefit. The temporal stress on any living thing attempting to pass into or out of a time bubble without a timeship would stretch its molecules out across a millennium. Not a pleasant, or a fast, way to die. The same applies to any living thing attempting to leave the bubble without appropriate transport."

"Fascinating," opined Martin. "But why are we looking at this device?"

"Time dilation devices were used to create the old Time Master outposts, some of which you yourself have visited," explained Rip. "You may recall the outpost where we met the Pilgrim to retrieve Mister Jackson senior and your other loved ones. In fact my Mother's house is in another such bubble also."

"That doesn't answer the old man's question, Hunter" purred Snart.

"Yeah," growled Mick, shifting his arms tighter around himself.

Martin glanced over at Snart and Mick. "I'll have you know, chronologically, I'm younger than both of you!"

Mick chuckled. Snart merely smirked and turned his eyes back to Rip. "Well?"

"Well, I was getting to that, before I was interrupted," grumbled the Captain. "Captain Johnson sent me word that one of the outposts, an unused one, had been dismantled. The time dilation device that maintained it had been removed. Stolen, he believes, by our enemies."

"Yeah, what are we calling these guys?" Snart interjected once more. "Time Pirates? Time Masters? Sounds like you've got an equal mix of both. Pirate Masters? Master Pirates? I quite like the latter."

"So far, merely calling them the enemy, or the bad guys, has been sufficient," replied Rip through gritted teeth. "We are charged with tracking down the device and returning it to the Vanishing Point, where it cannot be used."

Sara cut in with the obvious question before Leonard could manage it. "And we do that how?"

Rip looked toward his growing panel of researchers. "If we want to find it before it is used, we need to find some way to track it. Gideon can answer any questions you may have regarding the schematics."

"And if it gets used?" Ray queried, one eyebrow raised.

"The new Oculus will alert Captain Johnson to the presence and co-ordinates of the new time bubble," Rip nodded. "Subsequently, he will pass on the information to us. I hope we can intercept the thieves before then, however."

"Why?" Jesse frowned, looking round from the hologram. "What happens once it's activated?"

"It's not so much when it's activated as when it's deactivated that's the problem," winced Rip. "If anyone is inside the field when it disintegrates, they, along with all other organic matter, will suffer the same fate as any attempting to enter or leave an extant bubble on foot."

Ray sighed. "Then knowing our luck, I guess we'd better come up with a way round that too!"

"On the bright side, Odie," shrugged Snart, lounging in his chair, "you only have to figure out what it was the 'bad guys' used. Think about it: it was active when they stole it and now it ain't. If they can do it, you and Nermal should have no problem."

[the1stpancake]

Time, Space & Interface (Part One)

To bend time – that would be my superpower of choice.  I would fast-forward the dull bits and pause those rare, fleeting moments of sheer bliss, savouring them until I was sick.  Oh, that I could stop Time in its tracks altogether, if only to make all necessary adjustments and generally right myself before getting back in the saddle on this here merry-go-round we call life.

But time waits for no man and, despite my repeated appeals of, “Man down!” the marvellous old bastard blithely marches on.  I’m rather under the impression that, to top all the baffling tricks he’s recently been playing, Father Time’s about to gather some serious pace and run out on me altogether.

Maybe it’s because I’m peri-menopausal.  It’s not so much the constant tick-tock of my biological clock, but the fact it could strike at any given moment that alarms me so.  Time is not on my side right now and neither, it would appear, is Mother Nature.  Perhaps I’m just feeling insecure, but I’m seriously concerned my mythical parents would rather have done with me.

In the absence of a significant other, self-reliance has proved a necessity.  I’ve had to dig deep to find ways in which to help my self.  I’ve sought wisdom in various books; many I’ve shelved halfway through reading because they tend to make me cry – a lot.  I would promise myself I’d resume once I was feeling more positive, when any such reflection feels favourable, but all too often I’d reach saturation point, soggy with self-reproach, and call a [temporary] halt.

And so I’d find myself focussing on those around me, wondering how, when everyone else seems to be getting it right, do I manage to get it so very wrong?  Erstwhile peers, now poles apart from me, seemed to steadily move on up as I’d slowly backslide.  It remains a mystery still.  (I find the platitudinous notion that we make our own luck one to be held by those with privilege.)  The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that my existence definitely wasn’t what I signed up for, but I couldn’t help thinking I might have asked for it in some way.  (Yes, The Secret was among said books.)  Had I subliminally signalled the universe and subsequently summoned the sum of all my fears? Was my nervous trembling mistaken for vibration?  Did I accidentally manifest this shit-cake simply by over-thinking?  Considering my life generally seems less governed by the Law of Attraction than by that of Sod, it’s a strong possibility.  However, I’d like to think the cosmos isn’t quite so cruel.  I figured that if I had indeed ordered this, I’d have to make a concerted effort to recall precisely when.

It’s amazing what comes back to you.

Whilst in my second year of university (Winter 2007– 2008), I had a visit from my old chum, Black Dog.  Having refused medication (I’d not long come off), I was prescribed a course of talking therapy. My daughters would be reaching the ripe old age of ten that year and, while optimistic about the future, I was still trying to reconcile my past.  I was distracted and found it hard to study, let alone complete assignments.  Somewhere between the demands of home life and the rigours of academia, I lost balance.  I was struggling to cope.  Teresa, my counsellor, was a tremendous support.  I can’t remember much about our sessions except for one in particular.

I recounted a vivid dream I’d had that week:

I was sat among around twenty others on the floor of a large, dim room.  Its proportions were similar to those of a dance studio, the atmosphere that of a yoga or meditation class.  Everyone was instructed to sit, palms open, and close their eyes.  Somebody entered through a door to my left and walked straight towards me.  Instinctively, I knew it was Babyfather.  In total silence, he placed something in my hand and left the room.  I opened my eyes to discover he’d given me a man’s wristwatch.

What made this dream remarkable was that it was the first in which he’d featured that I felt absolutely no fear.  I was completely at peace in his presence.  

Teresa smiled and paused briefly before asking me what I thought it might mean.  Hearing the story in my own voice, it was obvious.  The least he owed me was time, and I wanted it back.

In April 2016 (four days before my near miss on the motorway), I was a passenger in my own dear dad’s car.  En route to meeting family in north London, we passed several landmarks of my former life.  Dad was uneasy and apologetic for what he presumed was an unwelcome trip down memory lane.  I tried to assure him (and myself) I wasn’t bothered, that life was now very different and there was no more hurt; no lasting harm.  As we drove alongside the road I had once called home, he told me that he had kept something that once belonged to me: a long-forgotten Swiss-made watch, gifted to me by Babyfather.  Concerned by any imagined sentimental value or causing upset, he had harboured it, never fully able to bring himself to return it or get fully rid.

Shortly before my daughters turned eighteen, he restored it to me.

Despite its undeniable quality, it’s an underwhelming little piece, strap half intact – minus buckle.  It stopped long ago, at precisely eight o’clock and fifty-nine seconds, on the fourth of whenever.  I’d like to think that this time-stamp holds some significance.  I have long maintained that objects from the past tell us something, and I believe that there’s an unusual romance about timepieces.  But this little artefact, for its honest dial, spoke only of obsolescence.  It’s a forgettable souvenir, rendered meaningless.  I can look at it now and feel nothing.

Hand on heart, I’d say that in the wake of my babies’ coming of age, I experienced a profound and all-consuming grief (as melodramatic as that may sound!).  Somehow, the circle was complete, myself entirely on the outside.  I was now a satellite, remote and dependent, a million miles from the mother I had been for all those years. I was in the dark again – uncertain, afraid, missing in orbit.  I have no doubt that these feelings precipitated the latest visit from Black Dog.  

After many months and a couple of false starts, I’m seeing a counsellor again.  It’s early doors, the point at which I’m bound to talk too much and over-contextualise; but I can’t help feeling that, although I’m not completely in control, I’m finally finding my way again.  It has taken me a long time to truly believe that, although the idea that I’m on my own is arresting and often terrifying, it’s also incredibly liberating.  And I’m re-learning how to trust, not only others but my self. I will find that faith.  I had almost forgotten that, no matter how hard I may resist, leaning into the love is the best way for me.  It’s how I managed to raise my daughters.  

I’ve got this and who knows, in the coming weeks, I might well buy myself a watch.  It’s up to me.

“Love is space and time measured by the heart.” – Marcel Proust

https://youtu.be/qfNtPbHkp0U

[smalldickpantywearingsissy-blog]

Swiss Watches Are Getting More Affordable

To surf one of the many unauthorized watch "dealer" sites, better known as the “gray market,” is to find a horological bounty at bargain prices. Are you in the market for a Breguet “Classique Hora Mundi Automatic”? Jomashop.com is offering one for $54,995, 30% off the listed retail price of $78,900. Interested in a Rolex Cosmograph Daytona in platinum? Prestigetime.com is selling one for 15% off at $70,125.

“Yes, the gray market has exploded,” says one large east coast retailer who deals in both contemporary and pre-owned certified vintage timepieces. (Like most interviewed for this article, he didn’t want his name used.) “It’s crazy what’s out there.” Not only online. “Walk down 47th Street in New York,” he says, “you used to find just vintage watches for sale, and it was rare to find contemporary watches. Now you’re seeing brand new pieces, sealed and ready to go.”

These are turbulent times for luxury Swiss watches, those wonders of 15thcentury technology now prized as 21st century status symbols. After years of intense growth and record sales, several signs indicate that the industry’s tick has slackened to a slow tock. In January, the Federation of the Swiss Watch Industry reported exports fell 3.3% in 2015 to $21.2 billion (21.5 billion Francs) – the first such decline since 2009.

By most accounts, last month, the halls of the Salon International de la Haute Horlogerie, the posh Geneva watch fair showcasing such brands as Cartier and IWC was a decidedly somber affair, with watchmakers -- who regularly offer timepieces with price tags on par with a Hamptons summer rental – introducing (gasp!), a range of timepieces at lower price points. For instance, Piaget whose watches usually start at around 10,000 euros ($11,147), presented a new women’s line at around 7,000 euros ($7,800).

Now, as the world’s horological cognoscenti prepare to gather next month at Baselworld, the largest watch trade show in the universe, pessimism among the top brands’ executives has reached a four-year high -- this according to a new industry study published by Deloitte. While 2015 was difficult, Karine Szegedi, the report’s co-author in Geneva cautions, “This is looking to be a very challenging year.”

Big factors at play

The slowdown first began with China’s anti-corruption drive and its crackdown on luxury gift giving, coupled with the country’s economic slide. Indeed, exports to Hong Kong alone, a major hub for Swiss watches, dropped 22.9%, according to the Federation. The soaring Swiss franc, drop in oil prices, along with global political and economic volatility have all played a hand, hitting sales in the top watch-buying markets of Asia, Russia, and the Middle East.

At the same time, smart watches, once regarded by Switzerland as little more than a sideshow, have become a serious factor – particularly for those looking to spend under $1,500. According to the Deloitte study, a year ago, just 11% of watch executives viewed smart watches as a competitive threat, this year, 25% do.

The elephant in the room

Among the many issues rattling the industry, however there’s another, less openly talked about reason for the downturn: the tremendous glut of inventory. The robust sales of recent years created a hyped-up market, spurring manufacturers to increase production.

Now the flood of timepieces largely intended for Asia and Europe aren’t moving; rather they’re turning up on the “gray market,” where new models, unlike those sold at authorized retailers, can be had at steep (15% to 60%) discounts. “Watch brands saw big numbers everywhere, and they started overproducing,” says David Sadigh, the founder and chief executive of the market research firm, Digital Luxury Group in Geneva. "But sales have not been at their level of expectations.” The surplus stock ends up in these gray markets.

That is why elite brands and models, usually found in boutiques lining Rodeo Drive or the Bahnhofstrasse in Zurich, are now sold on eBay, Amazon, and a plethora of dedicated watch sites – and even at Costco (COST, -0.12%).

Loss of status

The flourishing of the gray market is taking away the patina of exclusivity and rarity. “The reality is you can now get anything you want anytime,” says Adam Victor, a vice president at fashion house Narciso Rodriguez and a longtime watch collector. “There were pieces you had to be on a waiting list for at retail, that’s not the case anymore.” Victor now says he’s only collecting vintage pieces.

Such thinking is helping to take the air out of the Swiss watch balloon – and draw more people, especially young people, to the gray market. To a large extent this problem stems from the brands’ own success – particularly among the major luxury conglomerates like Swatch, Richemont and LVMH, which have been aggressively pursuing growth strategies and relying on the Asian market to keep up demand. With that demand dropping, watches are ending up in gray market sites, at lower prices.

To be sure, there will always be a market for high-end Swiss watches. But given global economic uncertainties, few see this as a short-term downturn. Notes David Sadigh at Digital Luxury Group, “It will take a while to sell those watches.”