#and it worked. and suddenly there’s a dog the size of a school bus standing over them snarling like crazy

[starry-bi-sky]

Danny: i can't believe-- *thinks about his alternate evil timeline self* actually no, wait, this makes a horrifying amount of sense. Why am I a powerhungry maniac in every alternate world I run into??

Danny: ...thats a morality crisis I can have laater

I love that people assume Danny is like, Damian's secret older brother. It makes sense but it doesn't stop being funny as fuck to me. Once those people catch wind of Danny, they start trying to like, actually track him down because they have to confirm whether or not Danny is actually his older brother OR if its another cloning situation and Damian got cloned, and this one just managed to escape (and also has blue eyes. Genetic malfunction, perhaps? Cloning ain't perfect y'know)

Meanwhile Danny's hitch-hiking across the country stealing from scrapyards, dumpsters, the occasional mega-conglomerate (hey if Luthor didn't want to be robbed blind, he shouldn't be a scumbag. Danny did his homework once he realized he was in another dimension), all trying to build his portal gun to get home. He's considered flying to Nanda Parbat to try and find that cave again, but at the same time he doesn't want to risk it not existing/some other reason. Thats Plan B.

Oh and eventually swatting off some of these pesky heroes. It's sweet that they want to help him, and in any other situation he'd be rather touched, but he's not a damsel, he's not in distress; he's got this. Have a nice day! Leave him alone!

"Don't you have a secret civilian identity to upkeep!?" He demands as he pushes his foot in some hero's face to try and keep them away from him. He's holding back from using his powers and his actual self-defense because it's not like he wants to fight them. He just wants them to get off his back!

Except one of these days he's just gonna up and pull a knife on them or something. Maybe that will get the message across. He saw this pretty sick ass sword at a thrift shop earlier, he'll be totally down to take that. Hopefully it's an effective deterrent.

Many of the pushier heroes are the younger ones, the older ones seem to know to not pressure him. Danny keeps looping back around to central city because he keeps running into the Flash and while the guy is trying to semi-fuss over him, he's not smothering him about it. It's acceptable behavior so Danny doesn't try and escape the fastest man alive whenever they cross paths.

He even tells the guy his name! Er-- well, middle name. It's habitual! It's Danny to strangers, acquaintances, and friends, and Ras to family and best friends. And speaking of-- he hasn't been called by his birth name in ages, and it's making him twitchy and homesick. He misses his mom and dad and Yasmeen and Talia/Ellie like a limb, and its steadily making him all the more eager to return to his home dimension.

(I think it'd be so funny if Dani still goes by 'Dani' as a nickname, its a joke between the both of them. Neither of their (first) names are Danny, and yet they both go by it AND she's his clone.)

("I'm Danny, this is Dani." "Your parents both named you Danny??" "well, no. My name is Ras." "And I'm Talia". Dani picked out the name Talia with Danny. They sat down and opened a baby name registry and went through the list of arabic names. Dani fell in love with the name Talia, so now her name is Talia Elham* Alghul-Fenton)

(*Elham because it can be shortened to "Ellie" which is also what Dani goes by)

I like the idea that Danny meets Tim while he's RR, but I love the idea that they meet in civvies even more. Stereotypical coffeeshop meet cute anyone? Danny's going over the math of his portal gun in a little notebook he filched out of a walmart a few weeks back, and is grumbling to himself in arabic over his math. "C'mon, Ras, it's not that hard. It's just physics." He mumbles to himself over the half-chewed end of his pen, saying his birth name to himself feels like an old blanket being draped over his shoulders -- comforting and grounding.

Which is kinda what he needs right now. He's got a terrible sleep-deprived induced headache, and he doesn't trust Gotham enough to sleep completely anywhere even in his ghost form. -- then, boom, in a random act of kindness, someone sets a to-go coffee cup next to his book.

For a quick, fleeting moment, Danny's tired, irritated mind has half the thought to tell the little interrupter to fuck off. But, for once in his life, his filter kicks into high gear and all he does is glare furiously up at his assailant before realizing what it was that was set in front of him.

He immediately reels back mentally, and forces the tension to bleed out of him as the other boy raises an eyebrow at him. "Not a coffee fan, i see?"

"No, no." Danny says, stumbling over himself, and he rubs his temples to soothe his migraine. "Sorry- I'm running on windows exp levels of sleep right now. I'm, uh- Danny, thanks for the coffee."

And it kinda just goes from there. Admittedly, Tim's motives are not all that pure -- maybe at this point he's heard about the potential Damian clone/brother situation, or he just noticed the resemblance on his own and went to investigate. He hadn't heard Danny calling himself Ras, but he caught the tail end of "its just physics" and got curious.

Except Danny blocked his notebook off -- its written in arabic, but he hides it anyway -- the moment he noticed someone next to him. And when Tim sits down across from him, he closes it, and changes the subject when Tim attempts to divert attention onto it. ("Ah, I needed the break anyways. Maybe some rest will help me solve it later.")

And it spirals from there. Tim has an ethical dilemma over the fact that he may or may not have a crush on Damian's potential older brother -- only to be temporarily relieved when its revealed that no, he's just a clone of Ras. Which then loops back around to 'aw fuck WAIT'. (and only gets worse from there.)

I like to imagine that later down the line, Tim says something about Danny being Danny's first name, only for Danny to laugh brightly and go: "Oh! Oh my god, I nearly forgot to tell you: Danyal's my middle name, Tim. Fenton is my mother's maiden name. My first name is Ras."

also yeah LMAO i love that Ras just knows instantly that Danny is a clone/alternate of him, and goes "ah yes. perfect, a successor :)" and Danny has to bat HIS freak ass off too. Like NO motherfUCKER, LET ME GO HOME.

Bonus! Dani and Danny doodle (if she'd somehow come with him or appeared later on)

Danny Is An Alternate Version Of Ra's Al Ghul And Flash Already Called Dibs On Adopting Him

Danny In All His Sleep Deprived Slightly Scuffed Up From A Fight Glory Is On His Way To Clockworks Tower To Hopefully Get A Nap And Maybe Some Homework Done When A Natural Portal Opens Up In Front Of Him And Proceeds To Unceremoniously Drop Him In The DC Verse Just Outside Of Central City Before Promptly Closing Leaving A Tired Danny Behind In A Run Down Abandoned Parking Lot.

It's Times Like This When Danny Regrets Putting Off Learning How To Make His Own Portals, Cause Now He Is Very Much Stuck For The Foreseeable Future And He Has No Idea Where Or When He Is. Luckily For Him However Central City Isn't Too Far Away, Unlucky For Him However Is That Once In The City He Realizes This Isn't His Dimension. He's Pretty Sure He'd Remember Something Called The Justice League.

So What Do You Do When Supernatural Bullshit Fails You? You Fall Back On Your Mad Scientist Roots And You Make A Portal Gun. So That's Exactly What Danny Plans To Do.

Unfortunately Staying Alive And Building Questionably Safe Portal Technology Requires Money And Supplies, So He Ends Up Wandering From City To City Doing Odd Jobs/Fixing Up Busted Tech For Cash Or Unwanted Electronics For His "Operation: Get Home" Needs. This Obviously Ends In A Few Superhero Encounter Shenanigans.

Though He Always Ends Up Back Near Central City, Both On The Off Chance The Natural Portal Will Open Up Again And Because Out Of All The Superheroes That Apparently Exist In This Universe The Speedsters Are His Favorite (Red Robin Is Solidly His Second Favorite Ever Since The Gotham Vigilante Gave Him A Large Coffee Filled With Enough Caffeine To Kill A Man).

Unbeknownst To Danny However Is That Every Hero/Vigilante He Has Encountered Has Come To At Least One Of The Following Conclusions; 1. Run Away Meta Who Is In Desperate Need Of A Good Meal/Adoption Bait. 2. Possibly Red Robin/Tim Drake Clone 3. A Good Kid But Could Possibly Be A Future Rouge If Left Unsupervised. 4. Did Bats Get A New Kid And Why Is He Here?

All Flash Knows Is That He Saw The Kid First And Therefore Has Dibs. Suck It Bruce.

Fast-forward A Few Months And Danny Gets Hurt During A Rogue Attack While Trying To Help Some Civilians Get To Safety (Old Hero Habits Die Hard (Ha Die Hard) And All That Jazz) And He Nopes Out Once Everyone Is Safe And When The Paramedics Are Busy With Other People Unaware He Left A Blood Sample Behind.

One DNA Test Brought To You By Paranoid Bat Concerns Of A Possible Red Robin Clone Later And They Find Out That Dannys DNA Matches One Ra's Al Ghul.

They Now Think Danny Is An Escaped Ra's Al Ghul Clone.

Memes For The Vibes:

[noladyme]

xo - Red (A Clark Kent/Superman oneshot)

Just a really funny; warm; kind; built like an Olympic athlete, with perfect lips friend? Tag-list: @wolf-lover-bookdragon @wonderlandfandomkingdom​

TW: Fluff. So much fluff. Explosions.

Fifth date. Things were supposed to happen, right? I mean, at least a kiss; other than a peck on the cheek. But he was a friggin’ gentleman; which I couldn’t help but be a little annoyed about; as it made it very difficult to get to the fun part of our relationship. Not that we didn’t have fun, mind you. Clark had an uncanny way of turning my frown upside down.

Ever since I’d run in to him – literally – at that coffeeshop a few months ago. I had left home early, so I wouldn’t be late for my first day at my new job, at the elementary school. I’d been so nervous about it; I hadn’t been able to fall asleep until 3 am; and was now battling exhaustion, nerves, and the fact that my new red shoes were really uncomfortable – all at the same time. I’d ordered a large black coffee; extra strong; and was on my way out the door – the sun in my eyes – when I tripped on the steps; my drink splashing out of the cup.

Suddenly; two strong hands were grabbing my shoulders; and pulling me up to stand. “Are you ok?”, a warm voice said. I looked up, and found two friendly blue eyes looking me over. “Yes, thank you”, I smiled; before noticing the large brown stain on the man’s white shirt. “Oh, crap. I am so sorry!”. He looked down himself; and smiled. “It’s fine. White isn’t my color anyway”. I laughed. “Still, I’m so sorry. Didn’t I burn you?”. The coffee had been scolding; I knew. He smirked. “I’m thick skinned”, he insisted.

He was still holding on to me; and I felt a warmth spreading in my stomach; making me short of breath. “Miss?”. His eyes suddenly looked worried. “Are you sure you’re ok?”. I smiled. “Yes, absolutely. It’s just been… a morning”. He chuckled. “Can I buy you a new cup of coffee?” I simultaneously nodded and shook my head. “Yes… no… I mean, I should buy you one; as an apology”.

He removed his hands from my shoulders; leaving me to stand on my own. “No need for an apology”, he smiled. “But I’ll take the coffee”.

We’d spent 10 minutes sipping at our hot drinks – for which he’d insisted to pay – and talking about what we did for work, and what our favorite movies were; having noticed an advertisement for some superhero movie on a passing bus. Apparently Clark wasn’t a fan of superheroes; but found it hilarious that I loved The Wizard of Oz – being from Kansas himself. Then; Clark had asked for my number, and I’d given it to him. He shook my hand, and we’d said goodbye.

The next afternoon; he’d called me, and we’d gone to see a movie – one about aliens instead of superheroes. He’d still been frowning all the way through it. “It was just really… unrealistic”, he said afterwards over a beer at a local bar near my apartment. He walked me home, declining my offer to come up for coffee; and had given me a short hug, before saying goodbye.

The next time has been a trip to an apple picking farm. “You can take the boy out of Kansas…”, I’d chuckled, as he’d carried a bushel of Granny Smith’s back to his car. “I just really like pie”, he’d smiled. He’d driven me home; and on the way there, told me about his moms pies; and how it was his favorite thing in the world – next to sweet potato fries. When he dropped me off; he leaned in, and kissed my cheek. “Goodnight”, he’d whispered; and I’d bit my lip – and hoped for more. More didn’t happen.

Then there was the quick cup of coffee on both our lunchbreaks; where I’d told him about how I’d sprained my ankle on roller-skates – 3 times in the same amount of years. He’d snorted a laugh. “Well you are kind of clumsy”, he’d said, and removed a strand of hair from my face; putting it behind my ear – before running off for a sudden work emergency.

And lastly; the roller-skating rink. Because I insisted. And he said he couldn’t say no to me. That night, he’d held my hand as we went about the floor; and grabbed my waist several times, as I was about to fall. “Careful, slick”, he’d said. “Oh, is that my nickname now?”, I’d chuckled. “No. I think I’ll call you Red. From those godawful shoes you were wearing when I met you”. It was another kiss on the cheek; and a hug that lingered, and made my knees weak. And then just… goodnight.

So yes. I was just about desperate to kiss the man. He was gorgeous; which at times had made me feel insufficient and a bit self-conscious – but then there was the way he looked at me. His eyes would light up as I talked; as if I was the most fascinating person he’d ever met. Even when our conversation was about cereal, or how one of the kids at my school had put bead up his nose. It was like his eyes drew me in; and then – as my breath would hitch, and I’d part my lips – he’d pull back as if nothing had happened.

I couldn’t help but ask myself; does he just want to be my friend? My really funny; warm; kind; built like an Olympic athlete, with perfect lips friend? I’d decided that I needed clarity on where we were going with our relationship – even if that thought did make me feel like I was living in a sad rom-com, where everyone was always talking about their feelings.

Tonight, it was dinner. Nothing fancy, just a steakhouse I’d suggested. If Clark turned out to just be in it for the apple picking and coffee; then at least I could drown my sorrows in a medium rare steak, with enough bearnaise-sauce to drown a small elephant.

—

Putting on my favorite jeans, black pumps, and a snug top; I waited for the call to let me know Clark was by the door on the street. He’d never been inside my apartment; and didn’t seem very interested in it either. This isn’t real, I told myself to guard my feelings against the inevitable rejection I’d have to face that evening. We’ll eat, laugh; and he’ll walk me home – and then tell me that he’s got a wife and three kids in Smallville, waiting for him to come home for game-night.

A text message made my phone light up. Hey Red. I’m late. So sorry. Be there as soon as possible. – C

Great. That gave me even more time to just hang out… and be anxious.

No worries, Kansas. See you. xo – R Send… Crap, why did I write xo? What am I; a teenager?

I sat down on my couch. Deciding I needed to pass the time doing something other than stare at the wall; I turned on the television. Landing on the news; I dropped the remote.

In Stockholm, Sweden, the building of a new sky-scraper in an old neighborhood; had made a nearby building begin to crack in the foundation. The old residential was quickly giving in; and families were being evacuated from their homes. There were firetrucks spraying water at the structure, to avoid flames from any electrical fires.

Though it was a terrible situation for those families; I was confused as to why one building falling apart half way around the world, was a breaking news story here. That was until I saw a figure at the bottom of the screen; seemingly supporting the weight of the building on his shoulders. Oh, right! That guy! The Superdude…, I chuckled to myself; and went to see if Clark had texted me back yet.

Nothing. It was probably the xo-thing. He didn’t know how to reply to that.

The news story ended when cameras filmed Superman handing a shaking and wet puppy to a little girl; who kissed his cheek in thanks. I always found it kind of neat, that the flying caped man managed to know where every camera was; so that anyone watching would find it difficult to make out his features. From what I could see; he was sort of cute. If Clark doesn’t work out; I could always throw myself of a building; and have that guy catch me. It must be lonely in that fortress of solitude; maybe he’d like some company.

A text. Outside in 5. Can’t wait to see you. xo – C

xo. He’d written xo. Right. Big girl pants on, and go talk to him.

—

Outside the door of my building stood Clark; a smile the size of the sun plastered across his face. My heart jumped. He opened his arms; and took me in for a hug.

“Hi, Red”, he breathed. “I’m so sorry I’m late. It was a work emergency”. “It’s fine”, I said and looked up at him; and opened my mouth to say something more – until I noticed something strange.

“Clark?”, I said. He was still holding on to me. “Yeah?”. “This is going to sound weird, but… why do you smell like wet dog?”.

He pulled back. “Yeah… I was doing a story at an animal shelter”, he said. I narrowed my eyes at him. “Let’s go!”, he said, and took my hand.

It was a beautiful night; so we decided to skip the cab, and walk the few miles to the restaurant. We walked down the street, hand in hand. It wasn’t the first time we’d held hands; but then it was because he was trying to keep me from falling. This was different. It wasn’t strange; but warm… familiar. I swallowed hard. “I want to talk to you about something, Kansas”, I said. He looked down. “You don’t want to do that at the restaurant?”, he said with a strained voice. “No, I think I need to do it now”, I answered. He nodded. “Ok. Do you want to sit down?”, he asked; and gestured at a bench on a playground we were passing.

Once seated; I let go of Clarks hand. “What’s up, Red?”, he asked earnestly. “You seem… tense”. He laughed nervously. I smiled. “I like you, Clark. A lot”, I said. “I like you too. A lot”, he smiled. I matched his nervous laughter. “It’s just… lately, I’ve been thinking. About us… and what we are”. He looked down. “Yeah, I figured we’d get to this at some point”. I nodded. “We have fun”, I said. “Like friends. But I don’t know if we both feel like this is more than that. Friendship, I mean”. He sighed. “Right. No, I get it”, he said. “You’re new in the city, and shouldn’t be settling down with anyone serious”.

I looked at him confusedly. “I’m not sure I follow”, I smiled. He took my hand. “You’re an amazing woman, Red”, he said “And I’ve enjoyed spending time with you. But maybe you’re right, and this is a good time to call it quits. If that’s what you want”. My heart fell into my stomach. “Is that what you want?”, I asked timidly. “I want you to be happy”, he said, smiling sadly. “With or without me in your life. I’d just hoped I’d have a few more dates before you came to your senses about me”.

I frowned. “Clark… you need to be clear with me here”, I said. “Are you breaking it off with me?”. He looked at me with a frown on his face. “I thought you were breaking up with me…”, he said. “You suggested that restaurant; and I thought you wanted to be in public when you did it”. I laughed. “No. I just… really like steak”, I smiled.

He exhaled with relief. “Good. Because I was lying. I really don’t want you to be happy without me…”, he said. “I mean… crap… I want you to be happy; I’d just really like to be a part of it. If you’ll have me”. I bit my lip and nodded. “I’d like that”, I said. “I thought you saw me as a friend because… you haven’t…”. I couldn’t finish the sentence. He took my hand, and tried to meet my gaze. “What? Tell me”, he said. I took a deep breath. “You haven’t kissed me”, I said; meeting his eyes for a second; before looking down in embarrassment.

He put his hand under my chin, and raised it to finally meet my eyes for real. “Red, I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment you spilled scorching hot coffee on my least favorite shirt”, he smiled. “I was just waiting for the right time, and…”. He exhaled and took my other hand; playing with my fingers.

“My life is… complicated. The work I do; sometimes it’s dangerous”, he said. I raised an eyebrow at him. “You write fluff pieces for The Daily Planet”, I chuckled. “That too…”, he muttered and looked down.

I smiled; wanting to ease the tension. “You know, I was watching a news story while I was waiting for you”, I said. He looked up at me with questioning eyes. “Yeah?”. I chuckled. “It was about that Superman guy. He was helping some people; in Sweden I think”, I said. “I was telling myself; that if you didn’t want to see me anymore; I could always just… throw myself of a building, and he’d rescue me. Then I could hook up with him”. He laughed nervously. “What? Like a rebound?”. “More like a… third choice. If you didn’t work out”. He narrowed his eyes at me. “Only third?”, he said. I scoffed. “Have you seen Aquaman? I mean, come on!”, I grinned.

His lips tightened, and he stifled a laughter. “So… if Superman is third… and… Aquaman…”, he raised an eyebrow at me, “… is second. What does that make me?”. I sighed. “The guy I’ve been waiting months to kiss”.

He looked deep into my eyes; and my breath hitched. He put his hand on my cheek; and he leaned in close to me, stroking my temple with his thumb I brushed my nose against his; and closed my eyes, letting my lips part.

Suddenly; he pulled back. “Clark?”, I asked. His eyes were scanning the area; before they met mine again – alarmed. “Red, go home.” “What’s wrong?”, I said. “Did I say something?”.

He stood up and began backing away; his eyes again searching his surroundings. “Listen, go straight home. Don’t stop for anything. I’ll… I’ll call you when I can”. He ran around a corner, and was gone. I heard a strange woosh, and a stray cat ran from the alley he’d gone in to.

I felt suddenly cold. This was the weirdest date I’d ever had; and it hadn’t even really started. Then there was the fact that the guy I was falling head over heels for, finally said he care about me too – and then just… left. That’s it, I laughed to myself. I’m finding a really high building to jump off.

I began walking home. Slowly. I didn’t want Clark to have the pleasure of getting me to do what he wanted me to. Jerk. Not a jerk. Crap; I really like him. More than like. This is real.

I heard a crash, and then a screech; like metal being torn apart. I felt a warm gust of wind, forceful enough to make me stumble. I looked up. Was that seriously a bus flying through the air?

Another crash; this one even closer. I fell to the ground; and was scrambling to get up, when I saw a minivan sliding on its roof towards me. I got on my feet, and bean running out of the way; when something red and blue slammed into the minivan; making it alter its course. Was that?…

I ran towards my block. Red, go home. I’m going; but where are you Clark? Are you ok?

I kept running; fishing my phone out of my pocket, and dialing Clarks number. It kept ringing, but went to voicemail. Hey. This is Clark Kent. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you… beep. Come on, Clark. I need to know you’re ok!

I redialed. Suddenly I heard a phone ringing near me. I looked into a bush; and saw… Clarks jacket? His phone was ringing in his pocket. 2 missed calls from Red – heart emoji. Damn it, Kansas. If I wasn’t so pissed at you; I might think this was really sweet. Where are you?

Screeching… a car landed on the ground 10 feet from me; the force of it throwing me to the ground again. I got up slowly; rattled from the shock.

I began running again; getting closer to my block.

Suddenly; a tank truck was blocking my path; crashing into a bus-shed. My heart was in my throat, and my chest hurt from having run so fast. I tried turning around, but a bus had crashed into an RV, blocking my path in both directions. I was trapped.

I looked up. The sky was covered in smoke from the many burning vehicles around me. The sound of a large crash made me look towards the truck. Something made the vehicle fall onto its side, and slide towards me with such speed that the shock of it made me fall.

I looked back – there was nowhere to run. In three seconds, I would be smashed between the truck and the bus.

Three… Oh God…

Two… Clark, where are you?

One.

A gush of wind; and I flew in to the air. No… I didn’t fly; I was lifted. My feet were dangling in the air; and one of my shoes fell of, landing on the ground hundreds of feet below me. Someone was holding on to me; his strong arms around my waist; and my chest pressed to his – which was adorned with a red S on a yellow background. What?

I let out a terrified whimper. “It’s ok. I’ve got you”, a warm voice said. I looked up into my saviors face. “Clark?”, I gasped. “Hi”, he said with a crooked smile. I opened my mouth to say something. “Don’t speak…”, he said. “The air is kind of thin up here”.

I looked down; and realizing how far up in the air we were, I panicked. I wrapped my arms around his neck and let out a weak squeal. “It’s ok, Red”, he chuckled. “I won’t let you fall”.

He set me down on the top of a building a few miles from the explosions. Once on stable ground, he held on to me for a second; making sure my legs would carry me. I stepped backwards, holding my hand up in front of me. “Y-you…”, I stuttered. He looked at me apologetically. “I know. I should have told you. It’s just… complicated”. He tried to smile.

I stumbled; and fell to my bottom. He took a tentative step forward. “I know. I get it. You’re scared”, he said. I shook my head. “No… it’s… you!”, I said.

He reached his hand out to me. “Please, let me help you up”. I gave him my hand; and he gently raised me to my feet. “Are you ok?”, he smiled. I simultaneously shook my head and nodded. “Yes?”. It was almost a question. He sniggered.

Suddenly I began laughing – the ridiculousness of the situation too comical. “I was supposed to fall off a building; not land on it”, I chuckled. He began laughing with me. “Yeah, I must have gotten those two mixed up”, he said. “It’s like I’ve said; I can’t say no to you”.

I sighed, and gently laid a hand on the S on his chest. “So… what now?”, I asked. He smiled. “I really want to continue what we started on that bench”. I chuckled and bit my lip. “Ok”.

He slid his arms around me – his tall and broad frame almost enveloping me – and I melted into his arms. His face came close to mine; and the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes; where his striking blue ones, boring deep into me.

He tensed up; and when I opened my eyes again, he was frowning, and turning his head, as if listening.

“I’m so sorry, Red; but I have to finish this”, he said. Another gush of wind; and he was gone. “Seriously?!”, I yelled after him.

—

I made my way down the skyscraper Clark had left me on; where I was met by the sirens of police cars, and people pointing at the sky. I was out of danger – I knew – but no less rattled. I was wearing a pump on one foot, and limping barefoot on the other; until I simply gave up; and took off the shoe – throwing it in a trashcan.

I walked all the way home; confused and dizzy. On my block, people were standing in the streets, murmuring to each other; and looking at the fires in the distance. It was as if there was line drawn through the city. On one side; havoc, and crashed cars – on the other, where I was… nothing. It was as if nothing had been touched.

One of my neighbors tried to stop me in the doorway; noticing the shell-shocked look on my face, and my bare feet. “Were you in that? Are you ok”, he asked. I shook my head. “I’m fine. It’s nothing”, I smiled.

I stumbled into my apartment; threw my jacket on the floor, and grabbed a beer from the fridge – plopping down on the couch.

Well… that was something…

Without anything else to do, I took a large swig of my beer; and turned on the television.

“… explosions in downtown Metropolis this evening; as terrorists connected to the incarcerated Lex Luthor, placed explosives on multiple vehicles, throughout the city…”

Footage of explosions, and scenes of police cars and firetrucks racing down the streets.

“… no casualties, due to the quick intervention of the group calling themselves The Justice League…”

A man who looked like Robocop, pointed at the camera, and the screen blurred. There was a flash of red; and just after it, footage of a group of men captured by a shiny lasso, held by a woman dressed like a Greek goddess. A burning building was drowned in water; and a smirking longhaired man – still hot… – was yelling booyah’s at it.

“… headed by the Batman; and Metropolis’ own Superman…”

I saw the Gotham Knight shaking hands with…

It was Clark. It was always him.

There was a knock at my door. When I opened it Clark stood outside. Not red and blue Superman – just my Clark; dressed in jeans; a plaid flannel; and wearing his glasses.

“Hi”, he said. “Hi”, I answered. “I brought you something”. He pulled out my black pump; the one I had dropped from the air. I chuckled. “Great, now I just need the other one”. He pulled out the other one as well. “It might smell a little. It was laying in a trashcan”. I took the shoes from his hands, and half smiled at him. “I have something of yours as well”, I said, and gave him back his phone, from my jacket on the floor. “Thanks”, he said. “The suit doesn’t really have pockets”.

He clenched his jaw. “Can I come in?”, he asked. I stepped aside, and he walked into my combined kitchen/living room. “You have a nice place”, he smiled. “Thanks”, I said quietly; as I closed the door behind him. His large frame seemed to fill the entire space. “Do you want a beer?”, I asked. He looked at me warmly. “Yeah, sure”. I handed him a cold one. “You can sit down”, I said. “Unless… you pulled a muscle flying me through the sky”.

He chuckled at me, and sat down on my couch. “No, I’m fine”, he smiled. I raised a brow; and sat down on the couch with him – leaving some space between us. “Right; you can lift buildings and stuff like that”, I muttered.

He exhaled, and took a swig of his beer. “Yeah… about that”, he began. “I was going to tell you”. “Why?”, I muttered. “It seems like something pretty big. I get why you’d want to keep it private. Have a… secret identity”.

He frowned. “I wanted to tell you, because I care about you. And I want you to be a part of my life… all of it”. I met his eyes. “Really”. I bit my lip. “You… care”, I said. He reached for my hand; and I let him take it. Our fingers linked into each other. “You’re funny; smart; passionate”, he said. “And you’re beautiful”.

I scrunched up my face in embarrassment. “Ok, now I’m uncomfortable”. “Why?, he said, and stroked my cheek; moving closer to me on the couch. I sighed. “Because you’re… you. The Superdude. You can see every flaw…”. “There isn’t a flaw on your body”, he smiled. I scoffed at him. “I’m serious! Every little thing… the wrinkle between your eyebrows when you’re concentrating… how your one hand is a little bit smaller than the other… that beauty-mark on your back…”. “How did you know about that?”, I interrupted. He smiled embarrassedly. “That loose fitting top you wore on our last date. The dark blue one”, he muttered. “I love all of it”. I half-smiled. “There’s actually two of them… the beauty-marks”, I said. “I didn’t want you to think I was creepy for looking”, he smirked.

“You love it?”, I mumbled. He swallowed. “Yeah, Red”, he said. “I mean… I’ve fallen hard for you”. I giggled nervously. “So, this is real…”, I muttered. “I want it to be”, he smiled. “Do you?”. I nodded, and looked at him through my lashes. “Yeah, I do”, I said.

He let out a relieved sigh, and chuckled “Good… Are you sure?”, he smirked. “I could introduce you to Arthur”. I frowned. “Arthur?”, I sneered. “In that case, never mind!”.

We laughed together; before Clarks face became apprehensive. “And…”, he couldn’t form the words. “Your other side?”, I said. He shook his head. “It’s not my other side. It’s me. It’s who I am”.

I squeezed his hand gently, and placed it on my knee. “I fell for you, without knowing everything you were”, I said. “What I know now… just makes you… better”. His eyes lit up. “Really?”, he half-whispered. “Yeah”, I smirked. “Besides; I kind of like how the suit makes your butt look”.

He raised his brows at me and laughed – putting his free hand to my cheek, and stroking my temple. “Oh!”, he said. “Well… yours isn’t half bad either”. I frowned. “Did you x-ray my pants?”, I asked; narrowing my eyes at him. He tightened his lips. “Not yet… do you want me to? I mean… I’m up for it”, he smiled, and moved his other hand up my thigh.

I chuckled; and put my hand on his cheek; pulling him closer. “Let’s do the kissing part first – we can get to what’s in my pants later”, I smirked. “Unless, of course, you have another superhero emergency you need to tend to".

He closed his eyes and listened; then opened them again. “Nah, we’re good”, he smiled; and his lips met mine.

He tasted like apple pie and sunshine.

—

[anauthore]

Escape From Halloweentown {Jack Skellington x Reader}

Summary: When a game of hide-and-seek goes wrong, you find yourself lost in the woods without a way home. Whether it be fate, or just dumb luck, you suddenly find yourself in a far bigger predicament than you ever thought you would be- and it's not just because you can't seem to find your little brother. 

**Pairing: **Reader / Jack Skellington. A very slow burn fic.

NOTE: This is a full-length fanfic! If you don’t want to read chapter by chapter on tumblr, please use the following links to read in a different format / on a different website!

Wattpad | Quotev | AO3

Fic Below the Cut | Next Chapter

~PROLOGUE~

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…

Except it wasn’t Christmas, or anywhere close. Instead, you recited the familiar rhyme to your little brother for what felt like the thousandth time. Despite it being extremely out-of-season, this is the only bedtime story he would fall asleep to, and if it wasn’t A Visit from St. Nicholas, then it was out of the question. You knew almost every word by heart, barely glancing at the pages and instead opting to check every so often to see if your little brother had fallen asleep yet. You could tell he was struggling to keep his eyes open, and even though he was on the verge of being whisked away to dreamland, he still held on to every last word.

“...happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”

You whispered the finishing line and just like that, his quiet snore filled the room. You gently closed the book and sat it in the nook on the shelf that it came from. You tiptoed away as silently as possible, leaving his dinosaur night-light on and shutting the door before you let out a breath you’d been holding to avoid making any unnecessary noise.

You walked down the carpeted hallway toward your kitchen, opening the fridge and searching the mostly-empty shelves for something- anything- to eat. You settled on a half-eaten container of hummus and some crackers that had been left out on the counter for God knows how long.

You were 17, almost 18, jobless and living in an apartment with your father and little brother. He worked long days, barely ever home to spend time with his kids in order to support them. Despite feeling lonely most of the time, you appreciated it immensely because, in the end, it was WAY more than your mother ever did. Your apartment was what real estate agents tend to call “cozy”; nestled in between the edge of a good-sized city and a large expanse of unkempt forest, you often prowled around outside to be completely alone with your thoughts.

The night was bitterly cold, the outside air seeping in from the walls and up from the floor, causing you to shiver and wrap your jacket closer around your body. The house had no heating; your family relied on warm clothes and fluffy blankets to keep comfortable during the winter, and fans and cold showers to stay cool during the summer. Sometimes, you did wish that you lived with your mom, although you always felt guilty for thinking that. To leave your brother, your father… all for what? Central air and heat? A full fridge? You knew the price you’d have to pay, along with the weight of your betrayal, would be more unbearable mental abuse.

You shook off the idea, throwing your scraps away and entering your bedroom. It was smaller than your brother’s room, and way less decorated, however it was yours. You slipped under the covers and curled up, pulling your knees to your chest and shivering for a while before your body heat became equally distributed and warmed you, lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

You hadn’t realized you were awake, but you suddenly were. Your eyes were well adjusted to the darkness of your room by now, so you could make out the dark shapes of the furniture and walls surrounding you. Outside your window, you could see the deep blue sky, a star or two bright enough to outshine the streetlights planted on the side of the road. You rolled over, stretching, and got comfortable once more before you slowly fell asleep again, only this time, your sleep wasn’t as dreamless.

You woke once more, the same dark sky you saw from your window now consuming everything around you. There was a myriad of stars above your head, brighter than you’ve ever seen them before. A canopy of leaves swayed back and forth in an invisible breeze, seeming to beckon you further, deeper, into this unknown forest. The ground beneath you lurched forward, your legs moving as if they had a mind of their own. You felt evanescent; every atom within you buzzed with energy but at the same time, you were almost completely numb to the world around you.

Further down the path swirled shiny, white flakes, the delicate crystalline designs somehow able to be seen by your human eye. They called to you, whipping your strands wildly about as the chill got worse, the hair standing on end across your arms and neck.

A voice… a small yip- or yowl- penetrated the sound of the air flying across your ears. A dog? Or maybe something more dangerous… a wolf maybe? No, you reasoned, it would have to be a coyote. You walked farther into the storm, squinting and shielding your eyes against the cold when all at once the sky lit up as if the sun had risen: An almost unbearable baby blue tainted everything in shadow, and then-

You opened your eyes, your vision slowly unclouding to reveal the plain walls of your room, your hands gripping the blankets you'd covered yourself with as you felt your body jerk upon impulse. Your heart beat fast and loud in your ears, sensing danger, yet, as always, there was none.

* * *

School was a drag. The hours kept getting longer and longer, the gloomy overcast sky not exactly helping with the problem. You kept zoning out while teachers were talking, your lids bobbing up and down until something startled you or a classmate noticed and shook you awake again. You hadn’t been getting the best night’s sleep, though you tried not to stay up late and follow the advice almost everyone’s parents gave to them:

Stay off your phone. Avoid bright lights. Go to bed early. Do something tiring before bed. 

Hell, you’d even tried drinking warm milk! Nothing seemed to be keeping those odd dreams at bay, and every night you’d wake up with your heart hammering in your chest as if you’d just ran a marathon.

Your friends didn’t seem to notice that anything was wrong, and if they did, they didn’t say anything, so you didn’t bother to mention your trouble sleeping. They talked to you and carried on as normal, commenting on the upcoming tests and unfairly long homework sheets given to everyone.

“C’mon, it’s our senior year, AND fall break is almost here! It’s ridiculous that teachers are just loading us up with homework”.

“Well,” chimed in your other friend, walking beside you as Rebecca led the both of you, “senior year is supposed to be difficult. We’re going to college next year, did you forget?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes and continued walking while Hailey laughed, shaking her head at the group’s antics. You smiled, but kept quiet, following the other two outside through the heavy metal doors into the school’s student-filled campus.

All around you people swarmed into untidy lines. They rushed to busses, ran to the parking lot, or sat idly by at the front of the school. You waved farewell before you parted from the now-duo and climbed aboard your bus, barely registering the ride home. From there you shivered in the mild breeze, waiting for your little brother to step off of a similar-yet-different yellow transport.

When he saw you, he grinned widely, trotting toward you as his bag swang side-to-side.

“(Y/n)!”

He barreled into you, wrapping his small arms around your waist before you pried him off and let him run up into your apartment.

“What was that all about? Did something happen today?”

Thomas shook his head, throwing his backpack down in your living room with the rest of the mess that lay there. “I just felt like hugging you.”

You mouthed an, ‘oh, okay’ before beginning to head down the hall to your room, but, not to your surprise, you found Thomas bouncing up and down behind you with each step as he repeatedly said your name.

“What?” you replied, used to his antics by now.

“Can we puh-leaasee play outside? Please please please!” He begged, throwing his body around the hallway in a dramatic, childlike fashion. You humoured him and sighed, the edges of your mouth threatening to turn upward into the hints of a smile.

“Fine. We can’t be outside for too long though, I have stuff to do.”

“Why not-?”

“Because I said so. We play a little bit now, or not at all.”

He huffed and mumbled an ‘okay’ before practically flying down the stairs and out the door, leaving you in the dust as you halfheartedly ran after him. Once you reached the edge of your building’s property, you glanced around, waiting for Thomas to suggest a game for you both to play for a while.

He asked if you would play hide-and-seek with him, but before you could agree, he asked something somewhat… dangerous… for an elementary school student.

“-but let’s play in the woods! C’mon, it’ll be fun, I promise!”

You mulled the idea over before complying to him- not because you were a good older sister, oh no, it was because he was incessantly tugging on the hem of your shirt and hanging off of your sleeves until your top threatened to come off.

“Okay, okay! But we can’t go far into the woods, it’s not safe.” You pointed to a mangled trunk in the distance. “You can’t go past that tree back there, alright? And no cheating.”

He nodded furiously and let go of you. You could tell he was just excited to be outside with someone other than the neighbouring kids. You couldn’t really blame him- the neighbours raised their children to be socially awkward and unable to chime in or have an imagination. In Thomas’ words, they were ‘boring’.

You turned around, facing away from the tree-line and started counting down from ten. You gave your brother some extra time to hide- after all, he was up against you, his eight-teen-year-old sister. You finished counting and yelled the famous “ready or not, here I come!” line before you began to search for his bright orange parka and shaggy (hair colour) hair.

You trekked into the forest, the leaves and twigs crunching underneath your feet as you looked back and forth for Thomas. Minutes passed, and you started to get concerned about the lack of his presence in the designated play area. He couldn’t have gone very far, being nine and of small physical stature. Still, you called out his name, warning him that he would be breaking the rules if he passed the barrier you’d set before the game started. There was no response, and you sighed, pressing on.

“Thomas! This isn’t funny, you cheater!”

You checked your phone- twenty minutes since the game had started and there was no sign of him. He couldn’t have gone far, but that didn’t stop you from worrying. You called out for him again, louder and more frantic this time.

“Seriously, we need to go back!” You paused for a moment before bribing him; “I’ll make you some cookies! Just come here!”

Thirty-five minutes. You had circled around, thinking maybe he didn’t go that deep into the woods, but he was definitely nowhere in the shallows of the tree-line. Your pulse sped up and you thought of your dad coming home to only you and the police- a search party crossed your mind, as well as the guilt you’d feel if you didn’t find him. Your mind ran a thousand miles an hour, trying to focus on the orange parka. Orange parka, orange parka, orange parka, orange… Orange!

There, in the distance, just past the twisted trunk of the tree you’d set as the barrier was a flash of orange and the tell-tale snap of twigs under someone’s quick, evading footfalls.

“Thomas, stop running! Get back here, now!”

You broke out into a sprint, dodging thick trunks and gnarled vines, following the orange parka that somehow kept getting farther away from you. You breathed hard, and despite wanting to stop and catch your breath, you pushed forward. 

“Thomas! Thomas, plea- Ugh!”

Your shoe caught a root hidden underneath the entangled blades of grass and you lurched forward, catching yourself on your hands and your knee. You scrambled back up, limping a few paces before you wiped the damp dirt onto your pants and sighed in frustration. Somewhere in the distance, you heard the distinct giggle of your little brother. You called out again, but to no avail.

You had half a mind to just go home, but when you looked behind you, all you could see was trees. You checked the time. It’s been an hour since the start of the game, which was supposed to be fun, yet the stress of it all coupled with your sleep deprivation exhausted you.

Your pace was slower than it had been before, the overcast sky darkening as time stretched on. You didn’t see Thomas anymore, nor could you find your way back to the apartment’s property. You had been running in a straight line, hadn’t you? You didn’t recognize anything when you turned around, nor did you when you walked back.

You tried different directions, but again, it was useless. You hated to think about it, but you were lost.

You checked the time again, unlocking your cell to send an emergency message to your neighbour detailing your time in the woods looking for your brother and asking if he knew the way back home. Your phone buzzed almost immediately, however not with a message you’d wanted to receive.

Message failed to send. Will try again when service becomes available.

  You cursed under your breath. No service, huh? That was great.

You couldn’t just stay here. If you picked a direction and just walked in it, you’d eventually find a way out, right? The theory was sound enough, and so, without hesitation, you began to walk.

Soon enough, the trees started to thin, exposing a well-traveled path bare of grass and debris. A wave of relief washed over you, and you quickened your step. The brown of the earth beneath you became exposed as you reached a small clearing surrounded by a circle of trees with what looked like doors plastered on the front of each one.

...Doors? You furrowed a brow, confused as all hell. You stood in the center of the clearing, and sure enough, seven trees stretched into the sky with seven differently-decorated doors facing you in the center, gleaming golden knobs and all.

Despite your utter confusion, you drew closer to the tree nearest to you, running your fingertips over the carvings and delicate handiwork of the unmistakable Christmas tree.  You reached for the knob, thinking maybe it would turn and reveal a secret hiding place or- or something, but the knob didn’t budge a single centimeter. You tried again, in a different direction, but the attempt yielded the same result as before.

You walked to the next tree over, and the next from that one, and the next from that one, trying each of the doors only for them to all stay stoic and unmoving. You still admired the craftsmanship and time put into the designs, regardless of whether or not they were completely functional, settling in front of the Halloween-themed tree and idly feeling the divots in the pumpkin’s eyes and mouth. 

The sun started to set, casting a very orange glow on you and the circle of trunks. The rays shone particularly bright on your back, and while the warmth was welcome, you stepped out of the way to gaze upon the carrot-coloured sky. After all, it looked like you were spending the night here.

The beams focused on the knob, the warm light reflecting all around you in an intense glow almost as strong as the sun itself. Golden flecks danced around your vision; there was something so beautiful about the refracted light that drew you closer, distracting you as your digits reached out and played with the shadows they made on the knob. Your fingers barely brushed against the golden sphere, the warmth filtering through your skin and pouring into the rest of your body without any semblance of notice, shocking your system. You pulled your hand away out of impulse, as if you’d been burned.

Your eyes didn’t leave the door, nor the knob, and although you hadn’t turned it- only touched it- it swung open, beckoning you, calling you.

And exactly who were you to refuse such a warm invitation?

[thelifeofprettycommitteealpha]

How to Act Like Massie Block

 Steps

   We'll start with attitude, by far the most important aspect of being like Massie Block. If you only take one thing from this, remember that you must always show, radiate, and have CONFIDENCE! This means not pointing out your flaws to others, (ex: "My hair is so frizzy today!" or "Is this top cute? 'Cause I'm not sure...") having good posture and always looking straight ahead, (never at the ground) and not ever letting people know when you feel unsure of yourself or your opinions. Never appear to be upset. Don't cry or make comments about how "your life sucks." You must always make it seem as if you have everything together, and that your life is perfect, or else people will never idolize you. Even if you're majorly embarrassed about something, you have to just laugh it off and forget it (don't make it a big deal). You can never show weakness!  

 Another crucial part of your Massie transformation is looking the part. Massie is gorgeous. She has straight, extremely shiny brunette hair, about shoulder length, sparkling amber eyes, and perfect skin. You don't have to look exactly like this, (always choose the look that works best on you) but you must always appear your best.  

 Without a fabulous wardrobe, Massie would be nothing. Be a true fashionista and wear expensive clothes from stores/designers like BCBG, Coach, Juicy Couture, Ralph Lauren, Seven For All Mankind, Guess, Lacoste, C&C California, Marc Jacobs, Joie, True Religion, etc. Always dress to impress! Never leave the house in sweats and a T-shirt (unless they're Juicy!). Even if you can't afford uber-expensive clothes, make sure to always look pulled together and stylish, with coordinated accessories and cute shoes. Don't tell anyone where you got your cheaper clothes unless you have a social death wish! A final note on inexpensive clothes: don't ever wear anything that looks cheap. This means don't go for the Wal-Mart or Target look when you can be buying low-priced (and way cuter) clothing from Forever 21 or Wet Seal. Oh, and no too tight/too big tacky clothing please. Wear stuff that fits you and looks good. Not sure? Get a second opinion. Make sure your underwear/bras are cute, too, from stores like Victoria's Secret or underglam.com. Trust me, people do notice in the locker room when you're changing. Never wear the same outfit more than once every two weeks or more: if you double up, people will think that you are thrifty and don't have very many clothes...and we wouldn't want them to think that, would we? No.  

 Massie is the queen bee. Popular. Worshipped. And how does she do this? By looking fabulous, having the right attitude, and establishing her dominance by using intimidation. Get together a clique of the prettiest and most fashionable girls in the school, 3-4 others. Make sure you are their leader. Your beta (second in command) should be the most loyal. The other girls should also be loyal and reliable; make sure you have at least one nice-ish girl to keep the peace in your clique. If you don't all get along, you will never rule. It's all about unity. This doesn't mean you can't boss them around though--it's what Massie would do! Test the waters by starting off really nice, then gradually getting a bit harsher. If they stick with you, you'll know you have 'em forever. Lighten up a bit if they start to stray. Make sure people are somewhat scared/intimidated by you, so that you know they'll do whatever you want. Be totally snobby to the losers at your school (a.k.a. basically everyone outside your group). Chances are, you'll be so fabulous by then, it will only make them idolize you more.  

 You must be thin to maintain your social status! This means very little or no fatty/sugary foods like chips, soda, candy, fried chicken, pizza, etc. It's a tough sacrifice to make, but well worth it in the long run! Work out regularly on a treadmill, doing crunches, squats, or playing the specified sports below. Chew sugarless gum. Never be too skinny or develop an eating disorder. Not only will many rumors be circulated about you, but you could even die from it!

   Get super shiny hair by using shine shampoo, (such as Citré Shine or Brilliant Brunette Shine-Release) shine serum or spray, (know your limit--don't use too much or your hair will look greasy) and rinsing out your conditioner with cool water (as cold as you can stand it!). Straighten your hair with a good-quality flat iron and consult hair magazines or a hair stylist to find the best cut for your face (but never shorter than shoulder length!).  

 If you desire brown eyes, (and you don't have 'em) experiment with color contacts.  

 Achieve your best skin by washing your face morning and night with a good cleanser (Clean & Clear works great) and exfoliating and moisturizing daily. If you have dry skin, wash your face once per day and use more moisturizer; if you have more oily skin, skip the moisturizer. When you're drying your face, remember to pat, not rub, (rubbing pulls the skin and causes wrinkles). If you have bad acne that cannot be fixed by this skincare regimen, see a dermatologist.  

 Now for make-up...it can do so much for your face, turning you from plain to perfect in a matter of minutes. But be careful not to wear too much--you want to be like Massie, not Nina! Wear an eyeshadow in a natural color like brown, gold, or beige, (or whatever subtle color compliments your eye color) thinly line your eyes with a black or brown eyeliner, add a coat or two of blackish-brown mascara, and conceal all of your blemishes with the right shade and amount of concealer. It's also very important to remember your lip gloss--Massie would never leave home without hers! Buy a variety of different good-smelling flavors and bring them everywhere you go.  

  Make sure your teeth are bright-white and perfect. If your teeth are crooked, use "Invisiline" rather than getting braces (a lot more attractive!). Whiten your teeth with laser procedures or Crest Whitestrips. Brush at least twice a day with whitening toothpaste, and remember to floss!

 Tips

   Get a super cute dog (the smaller the better) such as a Chihuahua or a Pug, in black, light brown, or honey color (they're the cutest). You can also get a kitty; they're ah-dorable, too. Tell your pet everything, (yes, you can talk to her about your insecurities!) and love her as your child. Dress her in the cutest fashions, (this works best if you have a dog) and take her on walks in the evening with your Louis Vuitton leash.  

 Use words like "ah-mazing," "ah-dorable," and "ah-nnoying". Say "ehmagawd!" when you're shocked, surprised, or excited about something. When something is well-known and "ah-bvious" to you, say, "Given!". When you have the same opinion as someone, say, "Ah-greed". When something someone says strikes you as reasonable, say, "Point!" and draw an imaginary "1" with your finger if you desire.  

 Have the best and biggest room. Go with Massie and have everything be white, no exceptions! Make sure you have a queen-size bed, (you are one, right?) an Apple computer, a giant walk-in closet to store all your ah-mazing clothes, and a leather chaise by your bay window to have long phone conversations and brush your pet before going to bed. Vanilla scented candles are a nice touch, too. Have everyone refer to your room as the "iPad".  

 Sports are luh-ame unless they are something classy and don't involve getting dirty like Tennis, Horse-back Riding, or Volleyball. And shopping, of course!

    Purple is the official color of royalty. Therefore it's your favorite color. Wear it, love it, decorate everything from books and pens to your cell phone with it (purple rhinestones, of course!).  

 Speaking of cell phones, you need one! It's the perfect way to stay updated on gossip and keep in contact with your friends. Make sure you have a texting plan so that you your clique can silently dish about stuff in class, detention, wherever! Cover it in Swarovski crystals and bring it everywhere you go.  

 Get together a carpool with your clique. Taking the bus is so ew!  

 Wear a charm bracelet with charms such as a shoe, Eiffel Tower, dog or cat, (whichever you have) star, and most importantly, a crystal-encrusted crown! Make sure the charm bracelet is gold, and never have any of the charms be silver (tacky much?). Buy it from Tiffany if you have the money.

   Always have your fingernails and toenails perfectly manicured! I highly suggest a french tip for fingernails, because it coordinates so well with everything. Have them done at a fancy salon with your clique afterschool or on a weekend for a fun activity.  

 Throw a fabulous party to increase your popularity. Invite everyone.  

 You must always be prepared with a witty comeback for if, on some rare occasion, a wannabe insults you. One of my favorite Massie-style ones is, "Did I invite you to my barbecue?...Then why are you all up in my GRILL?" Consult the Clique books for some other great ones, or make some up yourself. Never let anyone get the best of you or think that they have won. Remember that YOU are in charge. YOU make the rules.  

 It helps to have an AIM account, or MSN, you'll need it to keep in touch with you friends one-on-one!  

 The magazines Teen Vogue, ElleGirl, and Lucky are your bible. Read them religiously(but not in a creepy way...)

 Warnings

   Be prepared to receive some backlash from the people that wish they were you. In other words, the jealous people. They may spread some pretty nasty stuff about you, but respond with something positively catty (your beta will help) to show them who's really the boss.

   There may be occasions where controversy arises in your clique. Like a power-trip, where a girl in your clique suddenly wants the throne. Start by putting her in her place by telling her off in the hallway (preferably with many people around). If she still doesn't get the hint, kick her out the group and recruit someone new. Chances are, she'll come crawling back, begging for forgiveness. Let her back in after a little while, and ditch the temporary.

   Many people will probably think you're a mean person. But they'll still love you, and wish they were just like you (they'll love to hate you). This is inevitable if you want to be on top like Massie. You'll get used to it.

[fallinnflower]

chilli

wonwoo x reader (fluff, non-idol!au)

s.coups   wonwoo   mingyu   vernon

“it was a sweet past, this winter / frozen in my hands, a hot pack / yeah what makes your heart beat / i don’t know”

“Come on, do you want to be single for another Christmas?” Mingyu nags. Your only response is to throw a pillow at him, not even bothering to look up from your laptop screen.

“I have work to do.”

“Y/N,” he whines, shuffling across your floor on his knees. He rests his head in your lap, staring up at you with his best puppy dog eyes until you finally sigh and relent.

“Alright,” you say. “What’s your big idea?” He breaks into a wide grin, but as he goes to sit up he smacks his head on the underside of your desk. Somehow, this doesn’t deter him, as he simply presses his hand to his forehead and continues smiling at you.

“I have this friend — just trust me, Y/N, I’ll settle all the details, okay? I’ll text you!” With that, he practically runs out of your dorm room, leaving you to merely shake your head at his antics.

True to his word, Mingyu takes care of everything. You receive a text that night telling you that you’ll be meeting a tall, dark-haired boy with glasses at a cafe off-campus on Saturday. Although he refuses to send you any pictures of the guy or give you his full name, he does tell you that he’ll respond to ‘Woo’. 

And that’s how you find yourself getting ready for a blind date you know nothing about, and hoping that Mingyu’s friend isn’t quite as high energy as Mingyu himself.

You opt for comfort over style, because winter is brutal and no guy is worth getting frostbite over, no matter how cute he is — and considering you know nothing about this Woo guy, you’re definitely not going to risk it. Because it’s a Saturday, the cafe is decently packed, which makes you feel a little foolish as you stand by the door and crane your neck looking around. Screw Mingyu and his awful hints—

Just then, a boy at a corner table lifts his gaze from his book, eyebrows furrowed, and makes eye contact with you. He seems to relax a bit once he sees you, and so you decide to just bite the bullet and make your way to his table.

“Um, are you ‘Woo’?” You ask, and watch as the tips of his ears turn red.

“I told Mingyu never to call me that, but, yeah,” he says, motioning for you to sit. “I’m Wonwoo. You must be Y/N?” You nod, shrugging off your coat and settling across from him. The two of you size each other up, and you’re pleased to find that Wonwoo appears to have also gone for comfort today; weirdly enough, your sweaters are pretty similar. 

“You can’t tell Mingyu anything,” you laugh, then suddenly notice there’s already a drink on your side of the table. And not just any drink, either — your favorite drink.

“Did he—?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo scratches the back of his neck, his cheeks tinging pink. Normally, you’re not that into bashfulness, but Wonwoo’s shy smile is so cute your heart can’t help but flutter. 

“He seems really determined for this to go well,” he continues. You take a sip of your drink before speaking up,

“And what about you?” Wonwoo’s dark eyes flit to yours, and the pink on his cheeks grows redder.

“I— um—” As Wonwoo grows more flustered, you gently reach out and pat his arm where it rests on the table.

“I’m just teasing,” you explain. “You’re pretty cute when you’re flustered though, ‘Woo.” 

“That doesn’t seem fair,” he grumbles, though he can’t seem to keep the smile off his face as he looks at you. “I have no clue how to get a rise out of you. What makes your heart beat, hm?” At that, you simply take another sip of your drink and shoot him a wink, which is unnaturally bold for you.

“Mm, I don’t know. Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out.” It’s then that Wonwoo smiles, really smiles, and you think that maybe Mingyu had the right idea here.

That blind date may have been your first with Wonwoo, but it’s hardly your last. Neither of you are in any mood to rush into anything, but you find that you like each other’s company — and it’s fun to get a rise out of Mingyu every time you tell him the two of you are going out again. The two of you take turns showing each other your favorite places, traipsing all around the city to visit bookstores and cafes and arcades, bundled up against the winter chill. 

Wonwoo is a perfect gentleman, always opening doors for you and insisting on paying (you eventually work out a system; whoever’s ‘spot’ you're visiting is the one to pay), offering you his scarf. On one particular night, the two of you end up at a noraebong and far outstay your welcome, and the sky that greets you outside is no longer blue when you emerge. As a result, the temperature has further dropped, and you shove your hands deeper into your pockets, wishing you had thought to bring gloves with you. You do find a hot pack, but it’s old and only serves to make your hands colder; you fish it out and toss it into the trash can by the bus stop. When you come back to stand by Wonwoo, you find that one of his hands is extended towards you and you raise a questioning brow at him.

“You’re cold, right?” He asks, and then he gently takes one of your hands. He laces your fingers together and shoves both your hands in one of his pockets, and you turn your face away in an attempt to hide the fact that you're flustered. Wonwoo, however, is observant — he quickly stoops to get a better look at your face and lets out an amused laugh.

“Oh, so this is what it takes, huh?”

“Shut up,” you laugh, nudging him with your elbow. Wonwoo doesn’t pull away, though, keeping his face close to yours. The streetlights catch in his eyes and bathe him in a warm, golden glow, and you may be imagining it but you think you see him leaning in—

The sound of the bus pulling up to the curb snaps you out of whatever trance you’d been in, and neither you nor Wonwoo say a word as you board the bus; although he keeps your hand in his for the whole ride.

Wonwoo lives in the same dormitory as Mingyu, all the way across campus from yours. You always insist that you’ll be fine going in by yourself, but he always gets off at your stop anyways and makes sure you get in safely. 

“You really don’t have to,” you reassure him, yet again, but Wonwoo simply shrugs. Your hand and his are both back in his coat pocket, and you can’t help but think that you could get used to this. You actually find yourself feeling sad as the both of you approach your building, but when you sneak a glance at Wonwoo he seems as relaxed as ever, the wind gently ruffling his hair. 

You expect Wonwoo to let go of your hand when you get to the door, but when you go to pull away he gently tugs you back towards him. His chest nearly brushes against yours with every breath, and Wonwoo looks at you with an expression you can only think to describe as fond. It makes your breath catch in your throat, your heart skip a beat—

Wonwoo leans in, slowly, and you can feel his breath fan against your lips when he asks,

“Can I kiss you?” 

Rather than speak, you simply close the gap between you and press your lips to his, letting go of his hand to wrap your arms around his shoulders. He lingers in your space even when you break the kiss, noses bumping against each other’s as a blinding smile breaks across his face. 

“You know,” he muses. “I think Mingyu finally had a good idea for once.” You dissolve into laughter and bury your face in his neck to hide your blush, shaking your head.

“Don’t tell him that, it’ll go straight to his head,” you reply, voice muffled by Wonwoo’s coat. He rubs his hands up and down your back to try and keep you warm, and you feel his laughter vibrating in his chest, bringing a smile to your face. 

“So what you’re saying is I shouldn’t call you my girlfriend around him?” You pull back in shock to look up at him, only to find him beaming at you. A playful grin finds its way onto your face,

“That depends.” You move your hands down to the lapels of his jacket, pulling his face closer to yours again. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend, Wonwoo?” He chuckles as his lips brush against yours.

“Depends. Are you going to say yes?” 

“Yes,” you laugh, feeling like a little school girl with a crush. Wonwoo’s nose scrunches up adorably as he presses his forehead to yours.

“Then yes, Y/N, I’m asking you to be my girlfriend.” 

And as he pulls you in for another kiss, smiling against your lips, you can’t help but think that maybe you should listen to Mingyu more often.

[callboxkat]

Infinitesimal (part 40)

Author’s note: Holy moly. I did not think this would reach so many parts. Thank you to everyone who’s stuck around!

Warnings: injuries, illness, broken glass, fear, pain, blood

Word count: 3257

Look for the masterpost in the notes!

...

A tense silence fell over them in wake of the news. Roman seemed not to know what to do with himself, awkwardly standing in the middle of the living room. Virgil paced back and forth in agitation, feeling Patton’s worried eyes following him.

Several long minutes passed.

“Oh!” Roman suddenly said. Even though the exclamation was so soft that it could hardly be called as such, Virgil jumped and jerked his head in the human’s direction. “I—I have some things for you. Of your brother’s.”

Well, that certainly got Virgil’s attention.

“Can I just… um….” Roman motioned towards the shelf. Virgil gave him a wary look, but he stepped away from the edge. Roman correctly interpreted the reluctant invitation and approached. He moved the table—and the broken soapstone turtle beneath it—to one side so that he could stand directly before the shelf, reached into his pocket, and lifted whatever was inside up towards the littles.

As the human hand rose nearer, just high enough when the human stood on his tiptoes to reach their perch, Virgil’s instinct to run almost overpowered him. But while he was ready to leap away at the slightest sign of a trick, he managed to stay still.

The human delicately placed two items on the edge of the shelf, pushing them with his fingertips, then retreated back to the center of the room.

Virgil’s eyes locked onto the items, and his heart stuttered. Patton made a small noise and covered his mouth.

Virgil slowly moved forwards and knelt on the shelf. Emile’s bag and hook and rope were laid before him. But why was the rope so short? He took the end of it in one hand, staring at the frayed, sawed off fibers. Why would Emile have done that? The rope offered no answers, so he tore his gaze away and looked to the second item instead: Emile’s satchel, undamaged, but now covered in dust and with a dark stain on the strap that had definitely not been there before. Virgil felt suddenly lightheaded. The bag wasn’t empty, so he reached forwards and fumbled to open it, barely taking note of Patton dropping down beside him.

He reached in and pulled out what remained of a light bulb, narrowly avoiding slicing his hand open on the glass. Half of the bulb was gone, the shards scattered at the bottom of Emile’s bag, and what remained was webbed with cracks.

Virgil reached in again, pulling out another, less damaged bulb, and a coiled length of wire. Emile’s knife was missing.

Virgil took a second to process things, passively letting Patton take the items from his hands, putting them in the bag together.

Patton paused. “Virgil,” he whispered, and Virgil looked over. He was holding up the hook, which Virgil hadn’t focused on until now. It was bent sideways at a sharp angle, something that could have only been caused by a very strong force. Virgil felt himself blanch even further.

Finally, he looked down towards Roman, who was hovering below like a child expecting to be scolded. “What… the hell… happened?”

Roman winced, but he proceeded to explain what he knew, not looking at them. Even though he was clearly skirting around a lot of the details, the longer Roman talked, the further the horror sank into Virgil’s bones.

…

Emile heaved himself up onto the top of the cabinet with a grunt. He moved away from the edge, wiping the sweat from his brow with a sigh of relief. He took a moment to work free his hook from where it was wedged into the top of the cabinet. He’d never admit it to Virgil, but it had taken him a couple of tries to get a good hold on the top of the cabinet. There were some things you just didn’t admit to your little brother.

He opened up his bag and checked on its contents, relieved to see that nothing had been damaged in the climb. He’d hate to go through so much effort to bring home a broken light bulb.

Emile buttoned up his bag again, then reeled in the string attached to his hook, wrapping it snugly around his bicep. He wasn’t expecting to need his hook again on this trip, but he disliked putting it in his bag. It never hurt to have the tool ready, and he had more room for supplies that way. He usually kept an eraser over the end of the hook to avoid unwanted pokes; but before he put that back in place, he paused to quadruple check that the cat remained in its cage.

As expected, it was in its small prison in the corner of the kitchen. But unlike earlier, the monster was now staring right back up at him, its wide yellow eyes offset in scruffy gray-white fur, locked on where he stood. Emile drew back instinctively. There was hunger in its eyes, and not the kind of hunger that came with an actual need for food. This was something far more malevolent.

Perhaps it hadn’t quite forgiven him for that scar on its ugly nose.

Emile dragged himself away from that disturbing eye contact and hurried towards the hidden door. It was best to be out of here as soon as possible.

There was a sound. The hairs rose on the back of Emile’s neck, and he came to a halt. Without looking, he was suddenly very much aware that he and the cat were no longer alone in the room. The human must have come in while he was distracted! Emile stayed as still as he could, praying that the woman wouldn’t look over here. She had bad eyesight; his odds of remaining unseen were decent. He inched towards one of the angel statues, intending to hide at its base.

The cat hissed loudly, and Emile jumped.

Suddenly there was an ear-splitting shriek. Emile whirled around at the sudden noise, his heart rate shooting skyward, only to be confronted by something huge and dark flying towards him almost too fast to see. He threw up an arm in defense with a cry of his own. There was a loud crack!, a burst of stars before his eyes, the blind flinging of a hook as he began to fall, and then—

Nothing.

…

Logan held the box close to his chest, carrying his charge as gently as he could manage. He unconsciously reverted to the rolling steps he had been taught back in high school, when he’d played first clarinet in the marching band, to minimize any impact of his feet and keep from jostling the tiny person in his arms.

Thankfully, he made it down to the sixth floor without seeing anyone else, and he shut himself in the laundry room. This was the closest safe place that he could think of to stop and properly evaluate the “mouse-man”. So, with great care, Logan set the box down on the table within; and he locked the door.

After that was done, he pulled up a chair and got to work looking over his new patient. Emile was still more or less awake, staring up at Logan with an air of someone who wasn’t quite sure if this was really happening. Logan hesitated for the briefest of seconds, unsure where to start.

There were simply too many unknowns, Logan thought. An unfathomable number of gaps in their knowledge. They hardly knew anything at all. How could he be expected to know what to do? What differences there may be to account for in his anatomy? Even aside from those questions, normal medical equipment was made for people many, many times his patient’s size. What could Logan do if Emile needed something he couldn’t create from Roman’s crafts supplies?

But Logan knew that he was Emile’s best chance, and he would have to just do what he could. So he began.

As Logan worked, he tried to be reassuring—this was, unfortunately, not his strong suit—narrating everything he was doing as he did it and occasionally reiterating that he was trying to help, that Virgil had sent him, that Virgil was okay, and that Emile would be okay too. He moved very slowly, speaking in a tone one might use with a lost dog or a frightened child. The fear on Emile’s face, overpowered by dazedness and exhaustion though it was, was plain to see under the fluorescent lights of the laundry room. He seemed to calm down a little whenever Logan mentioned Virgil’s name, so he kept doing that, and after a while, switched to simply talking about his brave brother Virgil—Virgil, Virgil, Virgil; he kept repeating—how he’d come to find help for Emile, how he’d barged in and demanded their undivided attention, and how he clearly loved his brother and Patton very much.

He started with Emile’s head, taking away the poorly-applied, makeshift bandage that had been clumsily tied there. The wound itself had to be cleaned, of course, and even with Logan’s warning, Emile flinched at the sting of the antiseptic, crying out thinly. It was not a great way to start things off, to build trust (if Emile would even remember this later) but it was necessary.

Logan cleaned off as much of the blood from Emile’s face as he dared, mostly to get a better look at what he was working with, but also because he knew that the other two “mouse-men” would likely panic at seeing their friend and brother in his former state. The livid bruises underneath were not much of an improvement, but there was only so much he could do about that.

Logan jotted down the occasional note in his notebook. Injuries, estimated measurements, any changes in mental or physical status. Anything that he felt important. He guessed that Emile was somewhere around 25 years old, assuming that “mouse-men” or whatever their true name was (if they even had one) aged at the same rate as humans; but it was difficult to be sure. He wrote this estimate down, too, regardless.

There were obvious limits to what Logan could do, but finally, he was able to determine that in addition to the head wound, Emile had a dislocated shoulder, a fractured forearm, a rope burn on his bicep, and a broken vertebra causing a small kink near the tip of his tail. His left ankle was also a bit swollen, but Logan was pretty sure that it was just a minor sprain.

Of these injuries, he cleaned and bandaged what he felt comfortable taking care of; but there were a few things that he decided might be best to ask the other “mouse-men” to aid with, to ensure as much comfort for Emile as possible, and to avoid the potential of Logan accidentally harming him in the process. Namely, the broken arm and dislocated shoulder.

He checked out Emile’s back for any injuries, of course; but while he didn’t find any obvious problems, he decided to keep Emile in the collar and backboard for the time being, as he wasn’t sure that he hadn’t missed anything. It would be easier to determine if they were necessary when he was more alert, he decided, re-lacing the makeshift backboard.

…

“What’s taking so long?” a strained voice asked. “They should be here by now, shouldn’t they?”

Patton, sitting against the wall, lifted his head and looked towards where Virgil stood, still pacing. Emile’s bag, stained with blood and covered with dust, filled with broken glass, sat at Patton’s side.

“I don’t know,” said Roman. Patton couldn’t see him from where he sat, but he knew he stood below the shelf. “Logan wanted to fix him up somewhere safe before he brought him back.”

“Why can’t we do that here?”

Patton leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, listening to the conversation.

“They’re five floors up. Logan wanted to make sure he was okay before he brought him all the way back here.”

Virgil made a noise of frustration, and Patton’s heart twinged in sympathy.

“Well… it’s not like we can’t do anything before they get here. Logan’s going to put him on the table down here. Maybe you two could come down here? That way you’re ready when they arrive, if Logan needs help.”

Patton opened his eyes. Virgil had paused his pacing, apparently realizing that Roman had a point.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Come on, Patton.” He turned around, pausing when he saw Patton leaning against the wall beside the door. “…Pat?” he asked, frowning.

Patton rubbed at one eye. “Yeah, kiddo?”

“Are you doing okay?”

Patton hesitated. He didn’t like lying, and he was a bit too tired to do so just now. “I’ll be alright,” he said, compromising with himself. “Just tired from all the rushing about.”

“Can you get down to the table?”

Could he climb down right now? Probably. But he doubted that he’d be able to climb the rope up to the table itself. The silence stretched on.

“Is Patton okay?” Roman asked hesitantly from below.

“He’s fine,” Virgil snapped, though he sounded unsure. Guilt welled up in Patton’s chest.

“I… I don’t think I’m c-coming down,” Patton called out.

There was a pause. “Pat… if you’re not feeling well, I could, um… help you get down. But only if you want me to, obviously.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes and turned around. “Absolutely not!”

“I asked Patton,” Roman pointed out softly. “It’s up to him."

Virgil whirled back around, looking at Patton. “Patton, don’t,” he asked. “You know what he wants to do.”

“It’ll only be a few seconds, and I’ll be gentle, I promise you. It’s just a little lift.”

Patton curled up, wrapping his arms and his tail around his legs. All of this was making his head hurt again.

“We’re... we’re already having them carry Emile here,” Patton said slowly. “It’s not as if this is any worse....”

“That’s different,” Virgil said. “We don’t have a choice about that. You do. I’ll help you get down. We did it before, didn’t we?”

That was true….

“I’m not going to force you,” Roman said. “But this will be a lot faster and safer than you trying to do it yourself.”

That… was also true.

A solid minute went by while Patton deliberated, Virgil staring at him pointedly and Roman waiting down below. Finally, he nodded. Virgil let out an incredulous groan.

“It’s not… it’s not like I’ve never been held before,” Patton murmured, trying to reason with Virgil. “It w-won’t be t-t-too bad.”

There was the distinct sound of Roman moving one of the kitchen chairs to sit under the shelf. “I’m going to step up now; please don’t drop a snow globe on me.”

“That’s a good idea,” Virgil said.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Roman whined. “I’m just trying to help.”

Virgil huffed, but he stepped back and stood directly in the doorway into the walls, ready to bolt at any second.

Roman stepped up on the chair, and his head suddenly loomed over them. Patton balked slightly, wondering if this was really a good idea.

Roman laid his hand on the shelf, palm up and flat. “Ready?” he asked.

…

A hoarse voice croaked something from the table, catching Logan’s attention. “R-real?” it asked.

Logan looked over from where he had been sitting, putting supplies back in his bag. Emile was watching him, looking just a bit more alert than before, if not by much. Logan was relieved. The bandage on his head had stopped the bleeding, but he had already lost quite a bit of blood for someone of his stature. Not to mention his clear exhaustion—Logan could imagine it had been difficult to relax, pinned down where he was, injured and with a cat after him. He was hoping that Emile’s disorientation was more of a result of those two factors than of the wound on his head.

“I’m real,” Logan confirmed, hoping that the truth was the best way to go here.

Emile’s eyelid drifted partially shut. He seemed to not like the lights, so Logan reached over and turned off the ones directly above.

“Do you think you could take some orange juice?” Logan asked, already pulling a small carton and a napkin from his bag. If Emile was well enough to speak, it might be a good time for this. “It will rehydrate you; and it contains folate, which should help with the replacement of blood cells that you….” Logan trailed off. The science wasn’t important right now, and Emile wouldn’t care. “It’ll make you feel better,” he said instead.

Emile said nothing. Logan got to work tearing off the very corner of a napkin—having flashbacks to doing something very similar for Patton—and soaking it in a small amount of orange juice. He reached towards Emile with it, whose eye widened slightly in alarm.

“I have to hold it for you,” Logan said. “But please, try to drink some.” With marked hesitation, he brought the napkin to Emile's lips.

Emile moved his good arm, pushed weakly against the bindings, and dropped it again, confusion flashing on his face. He hadn’t noticed he was restrained, Logan realized. Hoping to keep the “mouse-man’s” attention from that fact for the moment, he squeezed the bit of napkin just a little, just enough to make some of the juice trickle into Emile’s mouth.

Emile swallowed it without too much difficulty, and Logan smiled in relief. “Good job,” he praised softly. “It would be best if you drank a little more, if you feel capable? Just a little more, and then we can go see Virgil and Patton.”

…

Virgil helped Patton to his feet, having insisted that if he was going to do this, then he was going to watch and make sure nothing went wrong. Patton was happy for the support, even if he wasn’t sure the hook that Virgil had a death-grip on and wielded like a weapon was strictly necessary.

“Just… don’t stab me with that thing. Or drop anything on me, alright?” Roman said, glancing at Virgil.

Virgil frowned at him. “Don’t drop him, alright?” he quipped back.

Patton’s breath shallowed as they neared Roman’s hand, but he climbed on regardless, sitting in the middle. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that Roman wouldn’t grip him too tightly. He was enjoying not having any bruises on his torso for once, even if he still got aches in one of his ribs on cold mornings.

But Roman didn’t grip him at all, only curling his hand slightly. Patton pressed his hands on either side of himself to keep his balance and tried to remember to breathe.

He shook like a leaf the entire time Roman slowly lowered him down, his eyes firmly shut. In fact, he didn’t even realize that they had stopped until Roman cleared his throat.

“Pat?” he said tenderly. “You can get off now.”

Patton’s eyes flew open, looking around. Roman’s hand rested on the table, patiently waiting for him to move. Patton unfroze and quickly scrambled off. He looked up and saw Virgil peering over the edge of the shelf, watching him. Patton swallowed, and reached up and waved. He could see Virgil’s shoulders relax, and he disappeared over the edge.

Roman didn’t need to be told this time to look away, studiously looking out the window until several minutes later, when Virgil had already climbed down through the wall and made it up onto the table. He turned back around and seemed about to say something when there was a soft click from the other room. Someone was opening the apartment door.

Logan had returned.

[turquoisephoenix]

Perfect Chemistry

A Skylanders one shot

Dr. Krankcase/Mags. All it takes is a slip of a tongue and before you know it you're accidentally admitting that you have romantic feelings for your best friend from Inventor's School.

The sun was already setting in the cloud-filled horizon of Skylands, distant clouds on the western horizon glowing like fresh coals in a burning furnace.

Just this morning, Skylanders Academy - beacon of hope, symbol of virtue and peace in a turbulent magical world littered with monsters and villains - held a giant celebration to welcome four new Skylanders into the fold. While it was common for someone courageous enough to be made a Skylander (Master Eon was never considered very picky about who he granted the title, provided the recipient had proven themselves worthy of the title) was what made this day special was that it heralded the end of an evil chapter. The end of a nightmarish era.

Four of The Doom Raiders have given up crime.

After several years performing community service and training under the watchful eye of Master Eon and his most loyal followers, Wolfgang, The Golden Queen, the Chompy Mage, and Dr. Krankcase were now all considered fit to rejoin society and were all awarded new jobs as both Skylanders and teachers at the Academy. The Doom Raiders as a villainous organization had now ceased to be.

Some of the members of the Academy wished that it was all of the awful criminals - Chef Pepper Jack, Dreamcatcher, and The Gulper were all considered to be at large and major threats to the peace that the Skylanders upheld - but this was still considered a major victory to celebrate. It proved that evil could change, even if it took several years of sorting through books at a library to do so.

And with their newly awarded freedom - and their declaration that they would never use their powers for evil ever again unless they want a life sentence in Cloudcracker Prison - the Academy threw a party in their honor.

And boy, what a party it was. Even as the sun was setting and the hours were winding on, the party showed no signs of slowing down and looked to be rising to a fever pitch, with everybody in the Academy taking advantage of the excuse to eat as much food as they could, dance until their feet felt ready to fall off, and talk to the new members of the Academy staff while under the influence of caffeine and various snack products. The enchilada sauce flowed freely, as did the music from several local bands. The kitchen fires burned around the clock just to supply enough refreshments to everyone who showed up.

One ex-Doom Raider, however, wanted a break from the celebrations. Dr. Krankcase, tray of party favors still in one hand, kept glancing out the window and at the setting sun as if searching for an exit. That isn't to say he had fun today, of course not, but while his former partners in crime were still taking the center stage, either through queenly proclamations that they declare their powers to be a rightful force that will make all the bad guys tremble or through unprompted guitar solos that shook the dust off of the Academy's foundations, Dr. Krankcase was now just hanging back near the back of the party with Mags and her friends. Mags was the only non-Doom Raider he knew at the party, after all.

Mags had noticed that Dr. Krankcase was giving subtle hints that he no longer wanted to be there anymore, even if he refused to say so out loud. She had known him for so long that she was able to pick up on the tiny cues that he gave when it was obvious that he was no longer having fun at a social gathering, especially one that was filled with questions from future coworkers. His jokes became just a little more forced, his body language became tight and more hesitant, his eyes kept searching for possible escape routes, and his smile had turned from something bright and cheerful to something that had the grimace of a caged animal.

He seemed too afraid to leave on his own, possibly in fear that someone would somehow find it suspicious and immediately take away his recent accolades and throw him back in Cloudcracker Prison (anxiety was funny like that) so when Mags suggested they head over to her workshop, he practically jumped at the opportunity.

That's what friends were for, right?

"Man, thanks for saving me back there, Mags. I'm not used to so much festivity and merriment thrown in my direction." Dr. Krankcase said as he entered Mags' workshop, breathing a sigh of relief as his legs clicked noisily across the floor.

When the ex-Doom Raider had last visited her workplace, there was so much stuff on the floor - wrenches, half-finished blueprints, cans of oil, that sort of thing - that he had such a hard time getting around and instead stood awkwardly in a corner. Now, there was a clear path cutting through the place, the organized chaos instead being pushed off to the sides where they couldn't get caught on his spider legs. He appreciated the gesture. With how well his cybernetic wooden legs worked, a lot of people forgot that they were still considered mobility aids and that he couldn't stand in places that people with two legs could.

"Aww, it's no big deal!" she said, hanging her silly stovepipe hat on a stand near the door. "Although personally I think ya were doing a great job with all them questions and-" Mags stopped herself the moment she saw her partner follow her lead and also remove his hat. "...Cranberry, are you wearing a toupee?"

The mad scientist looked up, radiating a similar aura of a dog caught with a stolen bagel in its mouth, and smiled sheepishly. There was an unfortunate blue hairpiece perched on her froggy companion, several shades darker than the actual hair sticking out on the sides of his head. His face began to turn pink as he looked away from her.

"Well...you know, I wanted to be prepared in case some accident knocked my hat off during the party! You know how it goes. I didn't want my new coworkers to see my massive bald spot, and...well..."

He trailed off, realized how lame he sounded, and ripped the hair piece from his head as he immediately gave up. His massive bald spot, normally hidden by one of his many tall hats of choice, now glistened in the workshop's lighting.

"So yes, yes, I'm wearing a very bad toupee," he held it away from him between two pinched fingers in disgust. "A very damp one at that!"

Mags put a hand against her mouth to stifle a giggle as he unceremoniously chucked the hell toupee in a wastebin. "Ya wanna relax while I get yer gift ready? It'll take a couple minutes to get it set up and ya look like death there, buddy."

Thankful for the invitation, Krankcase flopped on a dusty old couch that Mags kept in her workplace, his legs curled up like a dead spider as some of the legs pierced the worn out arm rest. His modified body shape was good for standing but not so much for more leisurely poses; couches were now the preferred method of relaxation over a chair. He stretched, his back and neck audibly cracking, as a lazy smile spread on his face. "Don't need to tell me twice, Mags."

He listened to her leave into the next room and allowed himself to gaze around the area. He loved that Mags' workshop was like an extension of herself. Most of the space in her workshop was dedicated to her profession, with wrenches and blowtorches and screwdrivers hanging on the walls, but on occasion he'd spot something like a kitten poster or a little ceramic puppy hanging out alongside cans of oil or belt sanders.

There were almost no hints that Mags had originated from the Underlands - a place where vampires, werewolves, and zombies lurked in dusty ol' crypts and mansions - except for one aging photograph that showed her standing next to her parents and five other siblings. Even in the photograph, her parents looked like they were glaring in disapproval at the legless amphibian laying on their daughter's sofa.

But then, as he was left to his thoughts and as he studied Mags' knickknacks and workshop decorations, the butterflies in his stomach returned anew, this time bringing forth the bubbling feelings he kept suppressed. His smile slowly morphed into an uneasy frown as he began to fiddle with one of his bottom tusks. Ah yes, that was a problem. He wasn't sure what caused it - what made his brain flip the switch and change his thoughts into something more potent - but lately he's been having feelings for his best friend. Somehow it almost felt criminal.

'No, don't make it awkward...' he told himself, dragging a hand across his face. He couldn't say it out loud, but he loved Mags. He loved everything about her, her bubbly, positive personality, her immense knowledge in everything science. He loved her accent, the way she would crack a silly joke even in the face of danger. He loved how excited and loud she would get when she was getting close to a breakthrough in an experiment. He loved the way she smiled, the way she still was friends with him even after all the awful, evil things he's done in the past. He even loved her stupid hat, even if he thought his taste in headwear was far superior.

And he was absolutely afraid of ruining all that by saying the wrong thing. What if his tongue betrayed him in the worst possible moment and he said what he was really thinking? Would she hate him? Would he lose his best friend over some stupid emotions?

"Here it is!" Mags cried suddenly, jolting him from his thoughts. Almost guiltily, Dr. Krankcase scrambled to his feet.

Nothing could prepare him for what he saw.

"Mags..."

Standing before him, next to a very excited Mags, was an exact double of the wooden legs that were holding him upright. He slowly walked over to it, his arm outstretched like a sleepwalker, until his fingers grazed the top of it. It was made from the same wood and everything, and all the bolts and joints were at the exact same size. She got the measurements down exactly, when he didn't even build a working blueprint for his wooden spider legs.

"You...you built a replica of my legs?" he asked, leaning forward to examine it even more closely. He lifted a leg up and started testing the joints, then he moved one of his own legs next to Mags' gift and eyeballed the two inventions together, admiring Mags' handicraft. There was absolutely no difference, beyond the fact that only one pair of legs had a Dr. Krankcase sitting in them. It was unbelievable.

"They're not functional, before ya ask. You're still the only one who can bring this type of wood to life. But this has been a little pet project o' mine that I've been fiddling with over the months. I'm slowly learning how yer legs work so that, if something...you know...were to happen while you're out on a mission doing heroic, dangerous things, I could help repair them. It just seems like something to ease your mind just in case something terrible happened."

Krankcase was speechless. After spending an entire day keeping up appearances and trying to play it cool, he lost his composure.

"Mags..." he paused to take a deep breath. Words were suddenly catching in his chest. He ran a hand down his face as tears caught in his eyes. "No one's ever offered to help me like this before."

Mags elbowed him playfully, grinning from ear to ear.

"Aww, it's such a small gesture for the man I love."

Time seemed to stop for both of them. It was the tiniest slip of the tongue - something that Dr. Krankcase thought he misheard - but, like the wrong ingredient thrown into an alchemist's pot, there was an immediate explosive response and suddenly everything in the recipe changed.

"I MEAN-" Mags began, her face instantly turning beet red. She began to gesture wildly with her hands, emotions suddenly flaring up. "Aw shoot, I meant that in a platonic way! I didn't mean it like as in LOVE love, that would be real awkward ta just spring that on ya just now, aw diddly-di-darn, I mean, some things just slip out, boy howdy, I've been working so late and I'm tired andand-"

"Mags! It's okay!" he shouted. Inwardly, as he watched her fidget nervously, he noticed that Mags' accent got even thicker when she was flustered. It was adorable to him, one of the many quirks that made her beautiful in his eyes, and something about it made the ex-Doom Raider feel bold.

He was a Skylander now, after all. Skylanders were supposed to be flexible and adapt to any situation.

"To be quite honest, I love you too."

It was a shot in the dark, one that made his mind scream out in anguish for letting such an important secret out, but it had the perfect effect. Mags didn't tell him that their friendship was now over, she didn't react in disgust at such a display of utter pigheadedness from some frog with a doctorate degree. Instead she froze in place and stared at him blankly like a newborn fawn.

"Wait, you...you do?"

He nodded.

"...Really?"

Her voice sounded so small, so fragile, so unlike the Mags he's known for so long. That's when it hit him. Gears spinning in his head, his eyes fell back on the replica of his own mechanical legs, the result of months of studying his own handiwork just so he would never have to worry about an injury making him unable to repair his legs himself. He wasn't the only one hiding secret affections for a best friend, too afraid to speak up in fear that it'd just alienate the other person and their long-term friendship would be ruined forever.

Dr. Krankcase and Mags were the two smartest scientists in all of Skylands, capable of bending the very fabric of reality with their inventions, and yet both of them were unable to see what was developing between them.

Without thinking, he wrapped her in his arms and pressed her close, burying his face in her bright purple hair. He felt her flinch, but then her hesitation vanished and she relaxed in his embrace and put her arms around his waist.

"Really." He replied back, trying to imitate the dashing hero in a romance novel. His attempt at being suave failed instantly however as his bottled-up emotions overwhelmed him. His voice ended up trembling and the tears he was holding back began to fall on her head. A weak sob escaped his lips and his body shook. He wasn't sure if this was real or not.

"I just didn't think..." he paused as words were getting harder to use. "-you'd want someone like me."

Mags didn't respond as she rested her head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat flutter anxiously. She didn't have to ask what he meant. She had frequently checked up on him while he was doing community service and on occasion he'd tell her that he was afraid that them continuing to be friends would tarnish her reputation. After all, she was a hero of Skylands while he was a disgraced criminal. She helped people, he hurt people. She saved the world from destruction, and he once built a doomsday device. Their friendship persisted, but lately, he was voicing his doubts more and more.

'Because he was falling in love with me,' she realized as she remained pressed up against him, breathing in the wood chip and hint of acid smell that lingered on his clothes. Dr. Krankcase's hug lingered; he was so touch-starved that he was almost afraid of letting go, in fear that this golden opportunity would slip through his fingers.

He was always like that, she mused to herself. Doubting himself and his ability to live up to her achievements despite looking outwardly prideful. Even when they were alumni at the most prestigious inventor's school, Krankcase was afraid that becoming friends with her would reflect badly on Magdalena Sibylla-Bronwen Soulstealer the II, daughter of one of the most famous vampires in the Underlands.

"Of course I want to be with you. I'd be fine living the rest of my life with you if I had to." she said softly, arms still around his waist.

She loved Dr. Krankcase, she could finally admit that to herself. She loved everything he was, every little piece of his maniacal personality, his talents and strengths as well as his flaws. She didn't mind at all that he had creepy spider legs. He was a cunning scientist just like her, a man of alchemy and engineering, and also a fearsome warrior. She almost felt a little guilty for admitting this, but she even loved his time as a villain, if only because it made his current achievements that much richer. He was once evil, but he also had the strength to realize what he did was wrong and pull himself out of his wicked mindset.

At those words, Krankcase's mind started to ponder the possibility of spending the rest of his life with her - would they get married? would they have kids? - and something about it activated his deep-seeded anxiety and his body went into fight-or-flight mode. He instantly pulled away from her, an action so swift that Mags nearly fell over, as he tried to slowly walk backwards out the front door. Everything was happening too fast.

"You know, Mags. I should...I should get going." he said, panic flooding his voice. "T-Thank you for the present, it was...I'll be real, it was the best thing I've ever received in my life-BUT I think I've stayed too long, I'm kinda making things awkward right now, I don't want anyone in the Academy to get any ideas and start talking-"

Mags approached him swiftly, her hands gently resting on his shoulders, stopping him from running away. They made eye contact and for a brief moment, neither of them spoke as they both gazed into each other eyes. Without realizing what he was doing, Krankcase leaned forward until both of them felt each other's breath on their face. Two of his spider legs adjusted themselves so that they were on opposite sides of her own, gently framing her with his own cybernetics.

Mags drew herself to her full height. Now it was her turn to be bold.

"Let them talk."

And with those words, she pulled his face towards her's, fingers caught in his fluffy blue hair, and gave him a kiss. It was clumsy, a sloppy first attempt from a scientist so inexperienced in romance that most of her experience - save for the time when she dated Cali for a brief couple of months - came from TV shows and crinkled paperbacks.

But like most of her science experiments, it had the desired result. He leaned into her kiss and they both melted into each other, savoring the moment. Dr. Krankcase put a hand behind her head, running his fingers in her purple hair. When they finally pulled away, both of them needed some time to catch their breath.

"Wow..." was his only reply. It snapped him back to his senses; the panic was gone and he was back to his charming self.

Then, his mouth curled into a wide grin, his bottom tusks framing his lovely set of fangs.

"Well? Did it work? Did I turn into a prince?"

It was a dumb joke, but it also broke all of the tension that was hanging in the room. Mags immediately started cackling like a hyena like it was the funniest joke she's heard in her life, leaning her head against Krankcase's chest as he too started laughing.

"Sorry! Sorry! It was the perfect moment-" he tried to explain, but he was cut off when Mags jokingly punched him in the arm.

"You're such a dork!" Mags shot back.

Krankcase quietly embraced her again, leaning his chin on her shoulder. Even without his face visible, Mags could feel the grin that was spreading across his face. She smiled back. To both scientists, everything outside of the workshop was now forgotten. The party was forgotten. All fears of gossip were forgotten. All that existed now was their beautiful romance blossoming between the two of them like the most wonderful result of an experiment.

"Yes but I'm your dork."

[sarakuper]

Visiting Sean’s Grandparents; Spirit Lake & Lake Park, Iowa

Stop #24, Sept 12-19

After a long [and scary] night we arrived at Spirit Lake where I could feel the nostalgia flowing from Sean. He pointed out everything in town that he had a connection with and shared stories from his childhood. We pulled in front of Sean’s grandparents house where Grandma Ghee and Grandpa Tim were waiting outside with big smiles. I was so relieved to finally be here and already felt a strong sense of comfort. I had met Ghee and Tim a few times before while going back to Omaha for an Elser Christmas and was looking forward to spending some more time with them. 

We got settled in, showered, and ate some breakfast. Ghee made scotcharoos, which to me is a Christmas cookie delicacy, but now there was a fresh batch for us to enjoy all week long! I couldn’t help myself; even though we had donuts for breakfast I needed a scotcharoo too! After a little while we drove into town for a delicious lunch at Taco House around Okoboji, then drove around the lake town that Sean speaks so highly of. Being after labor day many of the seasonal activities had already come to a close as well as some shops and restaurants. I would love to come back in the heart of summer to enjoy some of that Okoboji magic! 

The next morning Sean and I woke up to the most amazing smell for breakfast. Sean had mentioned how he loved Ghee’s monkey bread and POOF, it was there waiting for us for breakfast and still warm. Oh my goodness… that monkey bread was the best thing I’ve ever tasted!! Later in the day she made fresh oatmeal cookies too, and at that point I just accepted that I would put a on few [or more] pounds this week and shouldn’t bother getting back to normal eating until I leave Iowa. Because, of course, she packed up several leftovers for us to take when we leave the next day! At that point I happily accepted stretchy shorts and leggings for the next week.

Later in the day we stopped at Sean’s other grandparents home because my laptop was getting delivered that day, and in case it took longer I gave them the Iowa address we would be at latest. I got my laptop back so quickly, and its working perfectly! Wahoo! This time around the process was a lot smoother. 

Sean and I shopped around town for some Kayaks hoping that an end of year sale would get us a great deal. But, with all the extra money I spent on my laptop I decided I’d rather put down a few bucks to rent a kayak when the time comes, rather than buy one right now. 

The rest of our time with Ghee and Tim the five of us hung out and spent time catching up. Jaxon was so happy to be in a house with a rug where he could make any spot on the floor his own. We exchanged stories from our trip and life in general. Tim showed us his boat, which he was preparing for the trip they would leave for the next day, and shared some funny stories of Sean and his siblings going out on the boat when they were children. Ghee took out some old photos of Sean, which I especially enjoyed! He was a little Justin Bieber in his high school days! 

I really enjoyed Ghee and Tim’s company and loved getting to know them more. Meanwhile, Ghee made sure to fill our bellies with such delicious goodies that even Tim felt like he was on vacation! I forgot to mention we ended every night with ice cream… 

The night before Ghee and Tim left for their trip we ate Sean’s favorite for dinner, Godfathers Pizza, which I have come to somewhat enjoy. I’m still a pizza snob; its in my NY blood! But this pie really was delicious, and the four of us enjoyed our last meal together. The next day they left around 7:30am and Sean and I were so sad to say goodbye. I kept telling him how fun it was to hangout with them and that they are really good people whose company I really enjoyed. Ghee told us to stay as long as we’d like and just to lock up before we leave. 

After a long lazy morning of sleeping in and eating more sweets for breakfast we finally packed up and left, getting ourselves over to Sean’s other grandparent’s house only 15 minutes away in Lake Park. Coincidentally, they were already on a vacation and were getting back in a few days. So, Sean and I had a lot of down time before actually spending time with Grandma Maxine and Grandpa John.

We spent those few days between doing a variety of things. First, we took out the side by side, AKA the ripper, for a drive all around the farm. The birds were hovering over the corn,  the butterflies were fluttering, and the frogs were jumping, as was the mud running through the tires and shooting in the air. After the first ride I learned to keep my mouth closed; my face got hit with mud! The farm is beautiful and really fun to explore.

That night we logged right into netflix to binge watched The Office, our absolute favorite TV show that never gets old. We’ve watched the entire series too many times to count but never cease to find something new to laugh about in every episode. That first night we also raided the fridge and freezer and found some of Maxine’s home cooked meals that we defrosted for the night and the next. 

Another day to ourselves Sean spent hours working on the truck while I switched between cleaning the trailer and getting caught up with computer work. Sean could not have been happier working in his grandpa’s machine shed. He had every tool you could possibly need, and light and shelter which meant Sean could work after sunset. It also meant he could leave his tools out and just pause his work for the night not having to clean up like he needed to when he worked in the alley behind our house. 

On Sunday the 15th Sean took me to the Clay County Fair for its last day running. Maxine left us two tickets, and I was so exited to check it out! I’ve never been to fair that big, let alone in the middle of Iowa! Well, it sure was huge, and way different than the fairs they had in my home town growing up. Besides the capacity there was tons of livestock competing for who knows what, cheese curd stands, and huuuuuge tractors being sold! Sean and I ate our way through the fair starting off with a smoothie to keep it “light” but then continued to fried cheese curds, a jurassic sized corn dog, and a rib sandwich. Right after we walked through the live stock barn I was all upset about the treatment of the animals, and then we walked into The Chop Shop and had those rib sandwiches. Damn, that was the best I’ve ever had!!!!!  Talk about conflicting feelings…. Once we felt sick to our stomachs from the food the heat really started to kick in and we decided to leave.

Grandma Maxine and Grandpa John arrived late Monday night from their bus trip and hung out with us as we all exchanged stories from our trips. After a good nights sleep they took us out to breakfast at their favorite diner, then we spent the afternoon learning how to play the card game Hand and Foot, an Elser favorite! The night ended with a delicious meal and warm apple pie with vanilla ice cream. Both my belly and heart were full <3

The next morning we woke up to the smell of bacon, and while Sean and I were supposed to leave right after breakfast we decided at the very last minute, since we were so comfortable and in such good company, we would stay an extra day. Maxine and I went grocery shopping while Sean continued to work on the trailer, and after a few hours of errands and work we played some more cards. I also took a walk to see the butterflies on the evergreens; there were hundreds right next to their house! It was so beautiful and peaceful to see. 

Sean later took me on the swing where I felt like a child again. After a few minutes of getting air and spinning we were suddenly reminded we are not children; both of us got off feeling nauseous. Our bodies cannot tolerate being thrown into the air like they used to! Later that night had our final meal together, although Maxine sent us with lots of food to go.  

It was such a pleasure to spend some quality time in Iowa with both of Sean’s grandparents and on the farm.  I’ve been saying things along this line, but never in my life did I think I would ever go to Iowa let a lone a farm in Iowa! During 5th grade for my school’s annual “states” project I was assigned Iowa, and all I could remember from that project was that the Iowa State Coin had not come out yet… and CORN!  That the extent of my understanding until I met Sean and Josh. Well, it was a blast! Next time we will come during the heart of summer to explore more of Okoboji.

Thanks for reading, love you all! 

[arcaneapologist]

Partners in Crime- Ch. 4

So i finally thought of a title and it’s really dumb but I’m keeping it. Anyways, this is chapter four! It’s also a day late because yesterday was an absolute mess for me. So uh, enjoy as we learn more about Dan and Arin and their lives! Thanks in advance for the feedback! (and as usual here’s the link to it on a03!)

Chapter 4: Take the Key (and This Apology)

Danny looked up the girl’s address and saw she was only two blocks away, so he decided to walk. He could have sworn Ego looked slightly offended by him leaving, but then again, he did leave really suddenly. He didn’t care either way, to be honest. For as tough as Egoraptor acted, Danny could tell he was the clingy, needy type. And that was not how Danny operated, by any means. He was low commitment as it came. If it hadn’t been for the threat of death, he never would have agreed to even be work partners with Arin. Unfortunately, though, that threat was there, which is why he was going to fake the friendship until he was in the clear.

As he walked, he realized Arin lived in the same neighborhood as most of the girls he hung out with. Well this could be useful, he thought. I wouldn’t have to catch a cab or bus all the way back to the other side of town. I can just crash at Ego’s place. And that’s just what he did for about two weeks. He’d meet up with a girl around two, and be on Arin’s doorstep, usually drunk, at four. Each time, Arin seemed more irritated, but then Danny would stay for breakfast and talk and things were okay, sort of. If he knew had plans with a girl, he'd be sure to go over to Arin’s to have dinner and play games. He was great at giving the illusion of caring. Danny knew Arin was too kind to see through what he was doing and say something, despite, his growing anger.

It was kind of true, Arin was too nice to ask him to stop. So instead, he had a spare key made for the apartment and gave it to Danny. He was pissed off about being woken up, but Dan was his friend and work partner, so he dealt with it. This was part of becoming friends with someone, right? Figuring out the parts about then that frustrated you and learning how to handle them? Arin hoped the key would show Danny that he did actually care about him and trust him. Danny didn’t seem to think the same way.

“That’s fucking weird. We’ve known each other for like. Three weeks. And I know absolutely nothing about you. I don’t even know your name yet.” Dan was leaning against the kitchen counter while Arin cleaned up the breakfast dishes. He was tired, dark circles under his eyes, and already on edge because of Dan waking him up earlier that morning.

“I’m tired of being woken up every night. Now you can let yourself in and not bother me.” Arin became exponentially more upset. He was tired of Danny using him as a place to stay when he was too drunk to go home, and just tired period. “I just thought this would be easier. And, you know, if you asked my name again, I’d tell you. But you’ve been too busy getting high and fucking every girl in the goddamn neighborhood to care.”

“Dude, come on. All I’m saying is giving me a key just seems oddly serious. Partners or not.” Dan chose to ignore the comment about his sex life, it was kind of true after all.

“Shit, Danny. If a key is too serious for you, then stop staying here every night and go back to your own damn place.” As Arin spoke he scrubbed at a plate, not wanting to look at him. “I’m doing you a favor by keeping you alive. I will not let you use me as a place to crash in return.”

Danny hated fighting with people, but Arin’s last comment set him off. “You’re doing me a favor? How are you doing me a favor? You’re just being an okay human being by not letting someone kill me! Doing me a favor would have been leaving me out of all of this!”

Arin dropped the plate in the sink with a clatter, then stalked over to Danny. He decided that Arin’s size was less intimidating in the daylight, and the Hello Kitty pajama pants weren’t helping, but his yelling was terrifying.

“Listen, I did not have to do this. Because, newsflash, if something goes wrong we both end up dead and I’ve got people that depend on me!” Arin took a deep breath to compose himself before continuing. “You know what. Just forget it. Don’t take the key, but don’t expect to be let in tonight either. Go home. We have somewhere to be this evening and you need a fucking shower. I’ll be over at four to pick you up.”

Arin went back to the sink, and Danny slipped out the front door. Egor//aptor is terrifying when he’s that angry, Danny thought, then decided that he would never make him that angry again. And, he had to admit, maybe he could use one consistent, close friend in his life. Ego, seemed to be fiercely attached to him despite their brief time together. So maybe he could try. He would need to apologize, though. Ego seemed like the type of person who would melt and forgive you if you gave him an apology. He wasn't sure how to apologize, yet another thing he wasn't the best at. He knew someone who could help him, though.

Danny had found out the first time he’d met Commander and Mortemer that both of them, but especially Mortemer, were very protective of Arin. As soon as he’d left Danny alone with them, they attacked. Both women warned him against doing anything to hurt Arin. They claimed they wouldn’t do anything physical to him, but they had other ways to ruin his life. Danny believed Commander when she said this, but he got a sneaking feeling Mortemer would kill him.

He pulled out his work phone, Connect was alarmingly quick with getting it to him, and dialed Mortemer’s number. Danny knew she and Egoraptor had been friends for an incredibly long time and figured she could be the most help. She was furious with him when he told her what had happened and bitched him out for a solid five minutes before telling him how to apologize. Before hanging up, she made it very clear to Dan that she was only helping him because Arin liked him. She also made it incredibly clear that she would ruin him if he messed up again.

When Arin text Danny that he was waiting outside that afternoon, Danny was anxious about how he was going to act, worried the hostility from that morning would still be there. Dan didn’t like being angry, hated the way it made him feel. Even more, he didn’t like people being angry with him. Meanwhile, Arin was still hurt at the way Danny had treated him, but he knew he had no right to be. They hadn’t even known each other a month, and if Danny wanted to keep everything professional then they would. Arin knew he really shouldn’t have expected anything more.

As Danny shut the car door, Arin began to apologize, “Hey, listen. I’m sorry for how I-”

“No listen, Ego. I’m sorry. I’ve been treating you like dog shit for two weeks now. You’re a good person. Mostly. You deserve better. Truth is, I don’t like commitments… To anything. That's why I freaked out about the keys. But, for you, I’m willing to try to be serious. And actually try, not just pretend like I have been for the past few weeks. I could probably use one consistent thing in my life and you seem like a pretty solid choice.” Danny handed Arin a Sailor Moon keychain with a small A on it. “And, I swear I’m not trying to buy your forgiveness, I just wanted to get you something… Because I am sorry and you are kind of saving my life.”

Arin stared down at the keychain in his hand, expressionless. Danny kept talking, hoping to he’d he’d he’d respond at some point. “I don’t know what the ‘A’ stands for. I was going to get an E, but Mortemer told me to get that one instead. I… I’m assuming your name starts with an A?”

Arin gave him a small smile, “Arin. The A is for Arin. That’s my name… Thanks Danny.”

“No problem, man.” Danny. “And you probably already know this, but I go by Dan.”

Arin put the car in drive, laughing, “Yeah I know, Le/igh Da/niel ‘Dan-slash-Danny Sexb//ang’ Avid//an.”

“Oh come on.” Dan groaned. “You know all this stuff and all I get is “Arin” and what I can piece together from your apartment?”

“What do you want to know? Ask me things.”

Dan thought for a minute, “Let’s start from the beginning. What was your childhood like?”

A look passed over Arin’s face, but Dan couldn’t quite tell what it was, “Well. My dad died when I was young. My mom was an addict so we were constantly broke and moved around a lot. She’d hold a job for a while and keep herself semi-clean. Then she’d get fired and things would get bad again. In highschool, when things got really bad, I tried selling art commissions and cartoon animations, but didn’t make enough money to keep us afloat. So, I started pickpocketing. We lived above Brian’s restaurant at the time, and if I was on the run from someone, he helped me out. Then, our landlord found out how we were getting the money, evicted us, Brian helped us get a new apartment, and a year later I dropped out of high school.”

Arin held his breath after he finished speaking, nervous, while Dan stared at him. He knew Dan had done well in school and even graduated from college. He knew the judgement of being an high school dropout was coming. He parked the car outside a small diner, and opened his door, wanting to get out of the confined space as soon as possible. Dan followed, but surprised Arin, however, when he asked where his mom was now.

“She lives in a long-term care facility. I have no way to take care of her. She overdosed one day and by the time I found her, the brain damage was permanent. She’s the ‘people’ that depend on me.” Arin focused on the ground as he walked. “I was on the run from police when it happened. If I hadn’t been so careless and made it home earlier, she might not be.”

Dan felt terrible for asking, so he awkwardly pat Arin’s shoulder then opened the door to the diner for him. Both men were thankful for the break in conversation. They ordered and ate in silence, neither had eaten since breakfast and were starving. Arin had decided they were just going to walk around that night and see what they could get into, maybe steal some money along the way. Arin knew a lot of objective facts about Dan, but he knew very little about his opinions and interests. Connect only told him enough to have a few conversations and keep him alive. That needed to change. As they walked around they asked each other more personal questions.

“I thought you knew everything about me.” Dan said, jokingly, after Arin asked him about his love of singing. “I don’t know. I just really enjoyed music when I was younger. I was in a band and we called ourselves Vacuum because we sucked. I tried singing serious stuff and it never went anywhere, and then I got into comedy music. I created a fake name and persona for myself and everything.”

Arin waited for Dan to continue. He turned a deep red and sighed, “I was going to be a sexy, Jewish superhero who wore a blue spandex suit with a red Star of David on the front…”

Arin was barely holding it together at the thought of Dan singing and dancing around in spandex, “And what was the name?”

“Danny Sexb//ang,” Dan turned an even darker shade of red, “It was originally SweetNuts.”

Arin doubled over and howled with laughter. They had to stop walking so he could compose himself.  When he was finished Danny continued, suddenly bitter and angry, “It doesn’t matter though. That dream is dead, just like everything else I’ve ever tried to do. So now I’m just some ‘shitty thief’ who is ‘only good at being a distraction’ as you once said.”

Dan shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, and stared at the ground. Arin bumped his shoulder into his, “Aw come on dude. You’re not that bad. I was joking. And you’ll get better. Then one day you’ll have enough money to quit this and you’ll find someone to be in a band with you and you’ll become ultra famous. And then you can sleep with women all over the world and not just my neighborhood.”

Dan just shrugged and asked if they were done for the night, then asked if Arin could just take him back to his own apartment. As they drove, Arin tried to ask Dan about other hobbies and interests he had, but only got shrugs in return. The silence in the car was tense and awkward, and Arin felt like it was his fault. He tried to think of anything to lighten the mood, but he had nothing.

Arin stopped Dan as he got out of the car, “Hey, man. We all have our failed dreams, you know? But they’re never actually failed. Just incomplete dreams. You’ll do it eventually. I promise.”

Danny gave him a small smile and shut the car door. Arin watched as he unlocked his door and went in. The bedroom light cut on a few minutes later, but he didn’t leave just yet. Arin felt awful, hearing the way Dan talked about himself. He knew all too well how that felt. I’m going to make his dreams come true, Arin thought. He didn’t know how he would do it, but he was determined that Dan would become the musician he’d always wanted to be.

[queenhelene]

Ben Writes a Poem

AN: This was written by my boyfriend, but he’s too shy to post it himself~

In thoughts, in wishes

I call to you, to stay here

Near for evermore.

 A handful of claps escaped the small classroom and trickled into the hallway, mingling with the quiet voices of a school day afternoon. Rey smiled towards her group of friends, her eyes darting around the room, noting the applause from the other members. If someone was to walk by room 210, the poetry club at this time of the day, Mondays and Thursdays from 2:30 to 3:30, they would see small bundles of students clustered together, writing limericks and discussing poetic prose. The class bathed in warm sunlight, a seemingly enchanting and memorable time to be young and alive.

If, at this time, one was to pass by room 103: the gymnasium, they would be greeted by the immortal fire of scorching hatred, Ben, that was currently attempting to lodge a volleyball through an opponent and into the ground, which is naturally an entire different way to spend one’s afternoon.

Still though, there were days when Rey wished Ben would stop by on his way to practice occasionally, not that they’re dating or anything (though, she totally would, but he apparently prefers to spend his days screaming at a net, or a wall, or his opponent, or his parents, or his dog). Every once in a while though, as she had seen, he stopped his yelling, he put aside his anger and his frustration, and he seemed at peace with the world around him. She had once spotted him, in a moment of pure relaxation, pick up a fallen leaf in the heart of autumn and hold it up to the sun, studying the veins that were threaded into the fibers. She watched as he stood there, and she was genuinely impressed that he lasted a whole ten seconds before dropping the dead tree fingernail and crushing it under his size 12 shoe. How does she know his shoe size? Don’t fucking worry about that.

And before she knew it, her club had closed for the day and she had seemed to have become so lost in thought over the boy that she barely remembered gathering her belongings, waving goodbye to Finn, and walking to her locker. She barely even remembered starting a conversation with Ben. Oh, shit! She’s having a conversation with Ben!!

“I almost got into a fight today.”

“… With… who?” She asked cautiously.

“No one, it was the net.”

“The net?” She was understandably confused. “How-”

“The net got in my way when I was hitting the ball, and I hit it really hard- Sorry I interrupted you,” he stated curtly, before continuing, “and the net was in the way so the ball hit the net and so I got really frustrated because I don’t get in the net’s way when it’s trying to do things, and so I…“ Ben realized his fists were clenched, no, actually his whole body was clenched.

“W-well I’m sure the net didn’t mean to,” Rey replied sarcastically. Ben caught on to her joke, and showed that he caught onto her joke by laughing, somewhat too loudly, to show that he caught on to her joke and to prove that her joke was funny to him, because apparently that’s how he thinks human interactions should work. Rey chuckled at the awkward gesture, but this only caused Ben to laugh harder, since he wanted to show that he knows that she was laughing and that he was laughing with her because he gets social cues and he knows how to be a normal human being. Rey, not knowing how to handle the violently laughing sweaty guy next to her, turned to look at the notebook in her hand. Ben immediately stopped violently laughing. Rey racked her brain to think of a topic.

“So, I-”

“So-”

The pairs’ words collided into each other’s, followed by quick apologies.

“Go ahead,” Ben said quietly.

“No, you can go,” Rey replied.

“I was just going to say,” Ben’s voice regained its edge, “that some of the guys on the team gave me a new nickname.”

“What n-“ Rey began to prod, though she was interrupted again.

“Kylo Ren. –Sorry– What do you think about it? It’s cool, isn’t it?” He sounded genuinely excited. She liked that.

“I do-” She started, though she was interrupted again… again.

“What did -sorry- you want to say?” he blurted out.

“Well, I… I was going to ask if you would…” She had forgotten what she was going to say, and then she remembered “…If you would like to come to one of my club’s meetings?” She looked up at him and noted that he had relaxed somewhat.

“Poetry?” He asked, his voice unsure.

“Yeah, we’re having a meeting next Monday, so if you would like, maybe you could come join us… if you wanted, you could write something…” She trailed off.

“I’ll come. I love poetry.” It shot out of his mouth like a bullet, and before he knew it, he was sitting at home, freaking out over what he had just signed up for.

“I don’t know what to do, I HATE POETRY,” he screamed into the phone. Hux pulled the phone away from his ear.

“You don’t have to-” He attempted to calm Ben down, but was cut off by a loud, commanding voice on the other end.

“STOP YELLING UP THERE!” Ben heard his mom yell.

“SORRY, MOM,” he replied.

“IT’S FINE! DINNER WILL BE READY IN A BIT!” Leia yelled.

“THANKS, MOM!” Ben replied. He turned his attention back to the phone.

“You don’t have to go, you know,” Hux stated politely. Ben knew that already, he’s Kylo Ren, he knows EVERYTHING, but he didn’t want to disappoint Rey.

“I understand you don’t want to disappoint her, but if it’s going to make you uncomfortable, why go? Hux replied. The sun had gone down slightly, with golden rays splashing against his walls through the slits of his blinds. He sat, phone held up to his ear by his shoulder, shoveling forkfuls of spaghetti into his mouth, chewing sporadically.

“I knowsh da bu I jus wan her do lu ee” He forced out between the delicious pasta.

“What the fuck did you say? I can’t understand you,” Hux demanded. Ben chewed less sporadically.

“I said that I care about her, and…” He sighed. “And I just don’t know how to write poetry, and I’m scared I’ll sound stupid.” He punched a stuffed penguin sitting on his bed. He felt bad for the penguin, so he put it back, patting it on the head.

“Well, why don’t you get some help from that Finn guy?” Hux offered. “He knows Rey. He knows what she likes. Maybe he could help you.”

Friday classes came and went quickly, and as students padded out onto the sidewalks, Ben stalked the hallway, looking for that jerk he keeps seeing around Rey, though he’s not jealous, its just that he doesn’t like seeing her around- oh, there he is.

“I need your help,” Ben tossed out, attempting to sound casual. Except it wasn’t casual, he just blurted it out without Finn’s prior acknowledgment, causing him to drop his books and squeak in surprise, before whipping around to face the tall sack of rage that hovered a thousand feet above him. Finn tried to compose himself, but only managed a second nonhuman mumble, though there was some improvement as it was closer to a squawk than a squeak.

“Stop that,” Ben stated, though it seemed more like a demand.

“Sorry! Sorry… yeah,” Finn mumbled, regaining his voice slightly. “Sorry, uh… sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry,” Ben pleaded, though it seemed more like stab.

“Sorry, uh, sorry-” he stopped himself, attempting to appear calm by leaning himself on his locker, though he forgot it was open, so now he stood with his elbow buried about a foot into the opening. He figured it would be best to just leave it there. “Uh, what do you need?”

“I need to write a poem.”

Finn had to take a moment, or a couple moments, in fact it took him the remainder of the day and part of the next one to realize what he had just heard. He wasn’t even sure he heard those words come out Ben’s mouth. He had to clarify.

“So, you need to write a poem?” He poked, though his attention had turned towards the room he was sitting in, the posters of games on the walls and the models of spaceships hanging on fishing line floating a foot above their heads. Ben swiveled in his chair away from his desk to face the boy.

“Yes,” Ben replied. Finn sat there, hoping he would say more, but that was it, I guess.

“Okay, well, why?” He prodded.

“Because I want Rey to like me and my cool poetry.” He was very straightforward.

“Well, ok, sure…” Finn had no idea how to talk to this creature. “I know she likes haikus, so you could do one of those, and they’re simple, just five syllables, then seven, then five.” Ben looked at him, which concerned Finn, because Ben always had this thing where he looked like he was mad, but Finn wasn’t sure. Ben swung back around in his chair, followed by a flurry of typing.

It took the entire afternoon to pen out a poem of merit, at least by Ben’s low standard. Finn left for home, half his mind in thought over the situation.  The writing, though decent for his first poem but unfortunately, well, this was Ben Solo, a boy who prided himself on how many walls he punched in a day, so, you know, no Walt Whitman there. Finn didn’t know why, but he was worried about Ben, about how the club would react. He was sure it would be bad, but what was there to do? He quickened his pace.

A Monday morning approached rapidly, followed by a swath of classes, and before long the black-haired noodle man was standing down the hall from room 210 and he was genuinely frightened. He grasped his notebook tightly, and began the thirteen steps to the door that would seal his fate in the tomes of- oh, never mind it was only nine steps, must be his long legs. He swung into the door frame and froze, not because of the ten or so students scattered around the room, not because by swinging into the room he accidentally smacked right into Finn, knocking the books out of his nervous little hands, but because sitting next to the window, bathed in bright golden light, sat Rey, who turned to look at him, or Finn clambering for his books, or him, no, definitely him, and suddenly Ben felt a jolt of excitement and fear. He swung back out of the class, melting against the wall as he panicked, and in this panic, he realized his poem, of which he spent an afternoon of his life on, was absolute ass. He couldn’t recite that poem, he couldn’t imagine the reaction he’d get, he couldn’t face a group of students laughing at him, he couldn’t imagine Rey…

He raised the notebook, noting the black plastic front and silver lettering of metallic Sharpie spelling out ‘KYLO REN’ across the top, rad, before flipping it open to a blank page, and reaching into his pocket to retrieve his pen. All he wanted to do was impress Rey, to make her like him, to make her talk to him, and to spend time with him and to walk home with him, and to hang out after school, and to eat his mom’s spaghetti with him like those dogs in that movie, and to sit outside in autumn, and to crush leaves, and to ride bikes, and to have sleepovers, and to sit on his roof, and to spend holidays together, and to see her in the snow, and to see her every day, and to spend as much time as he could with her, and for her to WANT to spend time with him, and to have a friend that he could cherish, and to feel cherished, and then he realized that he was done… and he took a deep breath. He turned the corner into the room, and ran into Finn again, because apparently that bumbling, squirrely idiot likes to nest under fucking doorframes, and then he saw her, again, and he sighed.

The meeting began and students came up to recite poems of nature and water and schoolwork and stress and before long, there was no one left but him, and so he stood up, and he looked at Finn, who sheepishly smiled, and he looked at Rey, and she looked back at him, and his eyes flitted down to his notebook, and he paused, and then he started.

 My heart burns of cold embers for you,

Your tears cool me,

Your breath enflames me,

I grow and shrink according to you,

And I love it.

 For days and weeks, it seemed that time itself stopped in room 210. That seasons had passed, that years had passed in the time it took him to blink. The world had stopped, and it seemed that Ben lived every century in the look of shock on Rey’s face, that he experienced lifetimes on her cheek, that he blew through millennia staring at the tip of her nose, and only when they locked eyes, did the world seem to finally jolt into existence, and with it the chorus of cheers from the room, though Ben could only hear one, and it was the only one he ever wanted to hear, and whether the world ended there, or continued, it mattered not to him, because he could see everything he ever wanted in front of him.

And then he sat down next to her.

[tumblunni]

I had a weird cool dream!

It was like some kind of mmorpg, and the intro was kinda like that bus from the third harry potter movie? Everyone started on a long several days bus trip from their various back story tutorial areas to the main town, and the quirky cast of bus staff would give you more tutorials on the more optional features and guilds and stuff. I remember I got one free costume dye thing, and I thought that was a great idea! Everyone's newbie clothes would look more distinct and you'd feel more customized! And it'd be a good preview of an ability you wouldn't be able to use again for ages.

Anyway the main bus NPC was a Cool Gay Grandma who I think maybe was married to the tailor shop grandma so that's why you got the free clothes? Probably you could see more of the tailor grandma later and get attached to her as she talks about missing her adventurer wife who drives all over the world in her magic bus, and then maybe there could be a side quest or something to deliver a love letter between them and you'd have to disguise yourself as a poor newbie in need to catch the bus again...

Man I'm going offtopic lol! Anyway I remember that bus grandma had big red goggles like xerosic and she was super tiny and super nice but also A SPEED DEMON. Her bus was like the monster truck of buses, it was like a whole moving apartment block with giant exhausts/chimneys and then it would blaze across the continents so fast you could make any journey in 3 days. And similar to the bus from harry potter it was like invisible and imtangeable to anyone she didn't choose to allow on as a passenger. But like it felt less like an impossible natural magical occurance and more like one really crazy awesome lady who spent her life finding ways to defy physics just to help everyone everywhere with monster truck power~! Also apparently in this universe it was some sort of stereotype that gay grandmas have dogs cos she was like 'well I guess you guessed cos of the dog toys' and that was like.. The only incoherent part of the dream. She just pointed to some insane unknowable dream object that was apparently a dog toy. It looked like a skateboard made out of those rubber hotdogs?? Also I think she probably either had a tiny Cerberus puppy or a giant sized regular dog. Something monstery! I think it was what fueled the engine with its fire breath, but I didn't get to see it during the dream.

And then the race I picked in this game was demon, and I was like some sort of adorable lalafell-ish one? Like, you could actually select character age, not just one race of kid lookin charries. The vast majority of other demon players were all buff or sexualized or emo teens or whatever and I was just like 'hello, tiny shonen protagonist here!' (Cos it was more like a ten year old than like.. Whatever lalafells are. Five? That would be more messed up if it was an actual five year old being attacked by monsters rather than just a magic fairy who looks younger than they really are.)

Oh and there was like a preview of.. I think guildmasters? Some sort of characters that would be bigger important roles during your journey. But when you met em here it was just like 'hey some odd but nice random customers on the bus.' They'd appear at random every day and sometimes chat with you or join in to help your tutorials and stuff. (Apparently bus grandma is so badass she can boss around the government officials of the demon capital and they'll react like frightened school kids! "If you want a free ride, you'll do some work, Sonny Jim!" "Can't I just pay you?" "NO." *points to sign: free since 96*)

So yeah after your few days journey tutorialy you'd get off the bus and realise HOLY SHIT I WAS TALKING TO IMPORTANT GUYS. I don't remember much about what any of em looked like tho or what guilds they led. Like was it a political thing or were they like the job class masters? But I do remember that they were all demons and I think you'd get a whole different cast of them depending on which race you picked and which starting city was at the end of the line. And I just remember one of them was a cool lady with like the cliche samurai ponytail and then really eye-catching thin elaborately patterned horns that looked the colour of molten metal. She was possibly the swordmaster teacher? And she was all seriously and she had like a.. Friend or brother maybe? There was another character who was always hanging out with her and being all huggy and jokey and she had a general attitude of 'if this was anyone else I would have killed them for that'. Like total opposite chilled out Hau-esque personality and somehow bffs with serious lady. I think he had curly afro hair and blue ram horns that looked kinda like seashells? And might have worn a striped scarf. They were like opposites but I think possibly she also had a scarf and it was like some super serious tattered one that's seen a thousand battles and flows behind her like a sentai hero. And he's just like "LOOK WE MATCH!" *the cutest thing he could find* "sigh.. Yes brother..."

And I think possibly it was some funny dynamic like they were the heads of rival job classes and all their students hate each other and then its like 'hey sis mom packed you a lunch' *hugs* *then straight back to battling* But I got the sense that hugs bro wasn't really into the rivalry, he was just comically oblivious that his team all hate the sword team, and they kept tricking him into stuff like 'yeah let's compete against them in the worldwide tournement, that'd be a full friendship activity!' *stands there blankly as everyone tries to kill each other* 'boy my sister sure does love and respect me' *currently in a headlock by her*

Oh and I think you could choose different back stories for your character? Im not entirely sure what mine was but it involved someone recognising me from a royal ball or something? So maybe I was a runaway prince masquerading as a commoner? Or maybe I was a commoner who broke into that ball and almost got caught? Maybe I was even a phantom thief???

And then the weirdest part of the dream is that I DREAMED A GLITCH IN THE GAME?? On the last day of the bus tutorial it suddenly lagged out from too many players disembarking at once. I think it was something like the whole side quest was a solo instance until the last minute, but they kinda planned it badly and the bus couldn't handle the sheer volume of newbies all taking the quest at the same time. So I literally couldn't get through the door from so many people, and then the lag glitches me out and flew me forward several days in game time. (Cos of the sidequest's gimmick of having multiple days pass with different events) it was like a two week long session of redoing the same tutorials, and then cos the tailor shop preview was time limited all my equipment had vanished by the time I finally got out.

I think the developers said the intention was that you could 'get your first sight of multiplayer' and hopefully make friends with other newbies, but they planned it poorly. So in later patches everything on the bus was singleplayer and then they added sort of a lobby area for newbies only chat and stuff before you got into the main game. And limited it to only showing players in randomly selected blocks of fifty, but with a mailbox NPC that could teleport your friends to the same version of the room if you had a name to go on. (But then it had more glitches with people who'd summon 100 friends to a place with a capacity of 50, but it was generally considered 'well that's your own fault')

So weirdly developed! I think I was playing a real game from another dimension!

[robertmcangusgroup]

The Daily Thistle

The Daily Thistle – News From Scotland

Sunday 12th March 2017

"Madainn Mhath” …Fellow Scot, I hope the day brings joy to you…. Well it’s a perfect week end with people on the beaches with, restaurants and cafes full .. and the weather, just like the travel brochure says.. Perfect! A lot of the people came due to the Motor Sport event the “Estepona Hill Climb” and all sorts of exotica could be seen and touched as the front promenade had been set aside as the “Pits” for the cars, and then they would be taken through the town to the start of the climb.. Bella seemed to enjoy the spectacle as Sandra and I walked through the event….

UFOs LIGHT UP THE SCOTTISH SKY… John Macdonald was driving at night through rural Scotland when suddenly, he says, an amazing circular bright object appeared in the sky. Macdonald, 65, estimated the object — displaying several rows of brilliant lights — was less than 100 yards from him, hovered for a few minutes, and then vanished near his Perthshire home around 11 p.m. on Feb. 28. “I don’t know whether I frightened it or not with the flash of the camera, because in the beat of a heart, it was gone,” Macdonald told The Courier last week. He claimed the UFO was louder than his Jeep. “My Jeep is quite noisy, but this sounded like a thousand hoovers,” he said. “When I phoned my friend, who’s a shepherd, he said, ‘Don’t worry about it, we get this up here quite a lot.’” According to a local Civil Aviation Authority spokesman, it most likely wasn’t a drone that Macdonald encountered. “It’s possible to fly a drone in darkness,” the spokesman said in a statement, “but you have to keep it in your line of sight at all times. Even though it has lights, you won’t be able to see it sufficiently well to control it. At night, you can’t see obstacles because the obstacles aren’t lit.” Drone pilot Jonathan Hall doesn’t think the unusual object was a drone. “I have flown quite a lot at night and the size and shape of the lights look like no drone I have ever seen before,” the Daily Mail reports. Drone or no drone, Macdonald is convinced he saw something otherworldly. “There is no doubt in my mind. I know what I saw. It’s definitely a spacecraft of some sort.”

‘PSYCHIC’ BUS DRIVER FIRED FOR REFUSING TO PICK UP SCHOOL KIDS… Bet he never saw this coming: An allegedly psychic bus driver in Dundee, Scotland, has been fired after refusing to pick up some school kids. The unidentified driver told his bosses that he had a good reason for leaving the kids by the side of the road. Apparently, he is clairvoyant and sensed that something would go wrong if he didn’t keep driving, the Daily Record reported. Apparently, he had no such premonition about his job prospects. His employer, National Express, fired him after learning about the situation and the reasoning behind it, the Evening Telegraph reported. The driver plans to appeal the decision, but didn’t tell the paper if it would be successful. Predictably, school officials such as Stewart Hunter, the Dundee City Council’s education convener, are happy with the company’s decision to fire the driver. “It’s important for kids to be able to get to school on time. If the bus doesn’t stop then that’s something that would concern me,” he told the Express. “It’s good National Express has taken action and I’m sure they would be concerned too about kids not being picked up.” The driver’s decision to ignore one of the most basic tenets of his job — picking people up — is being ridiculed by many, but he is getting some support from fellow alleged clairvoyants, Ewan Irvine, a spiritual medium at the Arthur Conan Doyle Centre in Edinburgh. “Although I don’t know much about the case itself, it is entirely possible that the man had a psychic sense something bad was going to happen,” Irvine told Deadline News. “Speaking from personal experience, I know that when I get that weird, edgy feeling, I normally listen to it because it means something is going to happen, whether it be good or bad. “Rather be safe than sorry.”

FRANCIS KELLY CHARGED FOR FEEDING POLICE HORSES SAUSAGE ROLLS… When Francis Kelly fed Scottish police horses some delicious sausage rolls, the officers said, “NAAAAA-AAA-AY.” The 41-year-old Glasgow man was charged with breach of the peace on Sept. 26 for feeding cops’ horses despite their demands to cut it out, the BBC learned today. According to police documents, Kelly behaved in a “threatening or abusive manner” and got aggressive when officers denied his edible gifts. It’s yet unclear how he came in contact with the horses in the first place. Kelly denies the crime. He is scheduled to stand trial at Glasgow’s Justice of the Peace court in February. A source close to the case told STV that “His view is simply that he thought the horses looked hungry, daft as that sounds.”

WORLD’S OLDEST TWINS ARE 102-YEAR-OLD SCOTTISH SISTERS EDITH RITCHIE AND EVELYN MIDDLETON Edith Ritchie and Evelyn Middleton turned 102 on November 15, but they had to wait until this week for the real present. Guinness World Records has named the centenarian sisters, who hail from Aberdeenshire, Scotland,the world’s oldest twins. “Edith and Evelyn are a remarkable pair,” said Guinness World Records Editor-in-Chief Craig Glenday in a press release. “When they were born, the likes of Mark Twain and Florence Nightingale were still alive, and we had yet to conquer the South Pole. They’re not just the oldest in the UK, they hold the world title. They’ve clearly benefitted from good genes, and a solid life-long friendship that only twins can truly understand.” The sisters just edged out the previous record holders Ena Pugh and Lily Millward, who are still alive and kicking, just six weeks younger. Although there are claims of 107-year-old twins living in the Ukraine, the Scottish sisters’ claim remains the only record verified by Guinness officials, reported the Metro.co.uk. The twins are not identical, but their mother always dressed them exactly the same, with bows in their matching long brown plaits, according to the Daily Mail. After leaving school, the sisters worked on farms before leaving to start their own families. Evelyn married William Middleton and had four children, 12 grandchildren, 26 great-grandchildren and three great-great grandchildren. Edith, married Nathaniel Ritchie and had four children, nine grandchildren, 21 great grandchildren, and three great-great grandchildren. The sisters have remained close throughout their life and now live together at Bonnyton House, an assisted living facility in Ellon, Aberdeenshire, Scotland, and Edith credits their long life to three things: “Simple living, hard work and a good husband.”

AND FINALLY… SCOTLAND ELEMENTARY SCHOOL STUDENTS GIVE GOLDFISH VIKING FUNERAL… Students at an elementary school in Scotland honored their class goldfish by sending them off in a Viking funeral. The two class pets Bubbles and Freddy died as Primary 3 and 4 students at Papdale School in Kirkwall were learning about Vikings, their gods and Valhalla, and their teachers decided to bring their lessons to life by having them build special ships to send the pets off. "We worked in teams of two or three to create Viking Long Ships suitable to send to Valhalla," a post on the school's blog stated. "We knew that the Vikings would only have sent the most beautiful ships to be burned for important people in their communities." The students then shared memoirs they had written for the goldfish, that were given to the class as Christmas gifts, before sending the boats sailing down a stream. Each of the students placed their boats to float down the stream and set the ship containing Bubbles and Freddy aflame to send them to the afterlife. "While we will miss Freddy and Bubbles, we certainly enjoyed giving them a good send off to Valhalla," the blog post stated.

On that note I will say that I hope you have enjoyed the “Slightly Different” news from Scotland today,

Our look at Scotland today is by Graham Findlay, of Peterhead, who spotted two sheep in either end of the bale near Cruden Bay in Aberdeenshire, so drove home to get his camera. One still had its head inside when he returned. Mr Findlay, 57, told BBC Scotland: "You try to put your best pictures out there and then a quirky one like this goes 'whoosh'.".. Well I love it and it's in keeping with the news today "Different"....

A Sincere Thank You for your company and Thank You for your likes and comments I love them and always try to reply, so please keep them coming, it's always good fun, As is my custom, I will go and get myself another mug of "Colombian" Coffee and wish you a safe Sunday 12th March 2017 from my home on the southern coast of Spain, where the blue waters of the Alboran Sea washes the coast of Africa and Europe and the smell of the night blooming jasmine and Honeysuckle fills the air…and a crazy old guy and his dog Bella go out for a walk at 4:00 am…on the streets of Estepona…

All good stuff....But remember it’s a dangerous world we live in ….. Be safe out there…

Robert McAngus

[delicately-balancing]

My Abuser

Something was missing in my life. I had thought about it over and over. The years of abuse by the woman that was supposed to be a mother to me, the stepmother I never dared call my stepmother, were over. But yet I felt I deserved reprimand, deserved the beatings I had become so accustomed to, the mental and psychological abuse. Every time I did something wrong, made a mistake, got a bad grade, didn’t do something I knew I should I waited for the repercussions that never came. Consciously I didn’t realize he would fill that space that was missing. At least not right away, maybe not until I really tried to understand why I allowed it to happen, why I couldn’t leave him, why I made excuses over and over for the pain he caused me.  But eventually it became clear. As much as I hated the abuse, wished I could get away from it, I missed it. I craved it. It was routine and that routine had been broken and when he came along, I felt normal again. At least normal for a girl like me. 

I remember the night I met him. A group of us that took music lessons were forming a band together. He had been asked to play bass. I didn’t know him or recognize him. I had just moved to town and only knew a few people. He had this look about him. This darkness and softness at the same time. He was a mystery and I needed to know more. His talent was undeniable. I was told he was self taught. He had never had lessons. I had an immediate attraction to him, to the darkness, to the artistry. He was quiet, but we spoke briefly. I looked forward to practice when I could see him again. Eventually we started dating. He was so passionate about things, music, writing. He was philosophical. He was like no one I had ever met. He loved things that I loved, that most people never appreciated. I don’t remember the first time he hurt me. But the jealousy reared it’s head early. Little things would set him off. Someone would look at me the wrong way. He thought I was too flirtatious. He would ask me about past boyfriends and then get infuriated about it. I had wallet size pictures of friends, guys and girls. He couldn’t handle it. He took the pictures of the guys, ripped them to pieces and urinated on them. A part of me liked his jealousy. It made me feel like I was special. Like I was worth being jealous over. Even when I fought against it, a part of me wanted it. 

He was brooding and I could tell when the anger was coming. But he was pained, like a wounded animal at times. He had been hurt, damaged. Most of our fights would be about jealousy or about controlling me when I didn’t do what he wanted. He didn’t want me to wear makeup. He criticized my clothes. He wanted me covered up, nothing too tight. I couldn’t talk to anyone without him questioning my motives. In many ways, he was like my stepmother. Her abuse often centered around me and this idea she crammed into my head that I would grow up to be a whore like my mother. He took over where she left off in that area. His brothers would hear us fighting and do nothing. Everyone in the house knew. There was one time, he drug me down the stairs by my hair, pieces ripping out, my body thudding on the wooden stairs. His brother saw, but turned away silent. I always fought back, but it rarely did any good. His anger was white hot. He became another person. Like my stepmother, he hit me in places no one would see. Usually my abdomen, my stomach, my back. He would kick me, punch me, hit the upper parts of my legs. He would grab me by my hair and toss me like a rag doll. And afterwards, he would often cry and hold me, apologize for hurting me. And sometimes, he would force himself onto me. I didn’t want to accuse him of raping me, but that is what it was. It was not consensual and the tears would often stream down my face while he got off. I don’t know why he would do it, maybe to release some tension that hitting me could not, maybe to prove to me that I was his. His pain made me feel guilt for causing him to be angry. I blamed myself, I blamed his past. I wanted to fix him, to make him feel better. He confided in me that his stepmother had molested him. She was still married to his father and lived in the house and I was sick when I looked at her. When he would hurt me, I would think of her and detest her. I blamed her for him being this way, for hurting me to release the pain and anger he felt at her. For forcing himself on me to make up for her forcing herself onto him. 

I told myself that I loved him. I believed that I loved him. We both had this darkness and mine was much stronger then. I wanted to save him, to save us. I waited for him to leave for college. I stayed behind and worked for a year. He played football. He was a linebacker and I think most of the other players were scared of him. One night I made cookies for all the football players, him and his team, for their bus ride home. My generosity was a mistake. He didn’t like me doing anything for anyone else. He threw the cookies in my face and embarrassed me in front of everyone. Like his brothers, no one dared say anything. They were terrified of him. And I blamed myself. I should have known he would be jealous. I deserved it. I should have just made them for him only I thought. I would be better next time, think first before I did something to hurt him. We found a college to go to together. I was looking for a school that had a strong journalism and theater department. He was an award winning linebacker but at 5″8 it didn’t matter what his stats were, the major colleges weren’t interested. He had hoped to get a chance and prove his ability at a Junior College and TJC was a strong program that many athletes would go to if they couldn’t get into a 4 year school for sports immediately. But his attempt to get on the team proved futile and he took it out on me. College was a disaster for us. I lived on campus and he didn’t. We didn’t share classes together. He was constantly jealous, accusing me of cheating. He didn’t like to see me making friends. I had lost all my friends back in Uvalde. They couldn’t stand seeing me abused and I refused to admit it. But in college, I was finding my place and he felt he was losing me. The fighting grew worse. He would pick me up and as we drove we would start fighting. I tried to get out of the car while he was driving once and that was a mistake I paid for dearly. I tried to run away and call for help, but he caught me and dragged me kicking and screaming into his house and punched and kicked me. When I screamed, he grabbed a pillow and shoved it over my face, smothering me. This became a new tactic for him. There were times I thought he would kill me, I knew he would kill me. I imagined how he would respond when he realized I was dead and I always imagined him committing suicide. But at the last moment before I lost consciousness, he would release me and I would gasp for breath and feel the sharp needles of pain as I filled my lungs. And he would cry and hold me as I sobbed and then sometimes he would take my clothes off and force himself on me. 

I tried to break up with him. I told him I had had enough. I hid at a friend’s house. And when I thought it was safe to leave I left to go home, and suddenly I knew the headlights behind me were his. He was following me. I knew I couldn’t get away from him. He wouldn’t let me leave him. I parked my car at my dorm. He had my puppy, the one he had brought me before we left for college and had taken since I couldn’t have a pet. He told me he wouldn’t keep her anymore and that she was my responsibility. He knew that would work to get me to go with him and I fell into his trap. I agreed to leave with him to talk things through. But as usual we started fighting immediately. When he pulled up to his place, I got out and started walking away from him. He put the dog inside and I mistook that for him giving in, but he wasn’t having it. It was like a broken record the fights we would have. He ran back after me, grabbed me kicking and screaming and drug me across the ground into his place and locked the door. He hit me repeatedly, knocked the wind out of me. My collarbone felt broken. He left the room and I tried to sneak out the side door, but he caught me. He threw me and my face slammed into the corner of the small refrigerator. My head started spinning and the blood ran down my face. I made eye contact and he looked frightened. Like this time he knew he had hurt me and others would see the damage he had done. I was dizzy and could barely stand. He carried me to his room and laid me in the bed and I blacked out. The next morning I woke and he drove me home. I was bruised and swollen, my eyes black, a gash in my forehead, my chest throbbing in pain. I walked in and my roommate’s eyes filled with tears. She insisted I go to the hospital to get checked out. Reluctantly, I agreed. The police came and interrogated me. They insisted I press charges and I refused and they berated me, they were so awful to me. I thought they were as bad as him. How do you treat someone who has been hurt, physically and emotionally as if they are the problem? All I cared about was ensuring everything was ok. That nothing was broken. It wasn’t. I was fine, just bruised and battered. I went back to my dorm. He called over and over to check on me. He felt guilt for what he had done. The next day I piled on the makeup before class to hide the bruises. It was ironic but I had been cast as the lead in a play “Eye of God” about a woman that is abused and eventually murdered by her husband. I was at rehearsal and in one scene, I was holding the actor playing a little boy in my lap his head against my chest and the pain from my bruised collarbone was excruciating. The lights were down and when they came up everyone could see the tears on my face and I winced in pain. Then the questions started. The makeup I had carefully applied had run and the bruises were showing. I couldn’t hide what had happened. The next few days were a whirlwind. The Theater Director called my father, the campus police were called. I was interviewed. My father came and was so angry. He took me to the police station and made me press charges. There was a restraining order. I was moved to a new dorm. I kept trying to explain to everyone that he didn’t mean to hurt me like that. Really, he did mean to hurt me, but not where everyone could see the bruises. But I also knew that abusing me was to numb the pain he felt inside. 

With the restraining order and my new dorm that was more secure, I tried to move on and stay away from him. I tried to use this as my opportunity. He would stalk me but always stay just far enough away to meet the restraining order requirements. I started dating someone else. He was kind and smart. We looked good together. He knew about the abuse but wasn’t deterred. One day, we had a run in with my ex. I realized that I couldn’t put him in danger and broke up with him. And somehow I let my abuser back into my life. He was apologetic, broken. He had gotten in trouble back in Uvalde before we had left for college and it had come back to get him. He had defended his father, his father who knew his son’s temper and used that to his advantage to inflict revenge on someone. The man ended up with staples in his head and had pressed charges. When it finally went to court, it came out that he had beaten me and the judge had little mercy. He was put on probation and had a monitoring device. I felt guilty, like I was to blame. Me and his worthless father. So, I went back to him. But not much changed. The jealousy came back, the abuse began again. I had friends and he couldn’t handle it. I had started working and had found a level of self confidence. I tried to balance everything and keep him from anger. I managed well enough until the night I made the mistake of getting help from the boyfriend I had broken up with to keep safe. He saw my car at the house and burst in. Nothing was happening other than me getting tutoring help in preparation for finals. I threw myself between them. Apologized profusely and begged him to leave. He did. And after that, I broke it off for good. I threatened to call the police, and he knew what would happen. Eventually he left and I slowly moved on with my life. I found out he broke his probation and ended up in jail. He wrote me letters. I went to visit him once. There was safety behind the glass. I felt sadness for him, mixed with fear of what would happen when he got out. But that was what I needed, him in jail, to break the bond between us. I moved on and met someone else. I wanted to live. I wanted to be free. I wanted to break the cycle of abuse that had plagued me for my whole life. I knew he was out of jail the morning I found a half locket on the front window of my car. He tried to call me and I ignored the calls. He was waiting for me outside my car a couple of days later. I told him I had moved on and that I wished him well. Somehow he knew and he left. I never saw him again. I used to be scared to go back to Uvalde for fear of running into him, but a part of me wanted to see him. I wanted to know he was ok. That he wasn’t doing to someone else what he did to me. My parents rarely brought him up. My stepmother (the 2nd one), mentioned he had gotten married and I felt sick worrying about what abuse he was inflicting on her, but I pushed it out of my mind and tried to focus on my future and leave the past where it belonged. I promised myself to never be in a relationship like that again, never be abused. I would not allow someone to inflict that pain on me. I didn’t deserve it. I don’t deserve it. That the cycle of abuse must end. That I was ending it.

[sudsybear]

Allergies

Because I quit SubDeb, I suddenly had more free time. No Sunday afternoon meetings, no mandatory attendance at club events, instead I developed other friendships. A year ahead of me in school, Anna also refused to participate in Sub Deb. Our mothers were on the Life Squad together, and our fathers worked for the same company, carpooling on occasion. For a time, our parents were all involved in the local community theater group. Anna and I were thrown together so often growing up that by the time we were in high school, we were friends in our own right. So, while Julie and Valli and Erin were busy with Sub Deb Club, Anna drew me into her world and her friends. We did girl stuff together when other friends were busy.

 She pulled me into her own high school clique. Like any group of high school friends, “membership” in the group was fluid; we were spread over several classes, one to three years apart. Interests varied and conflicting family and social obligations changed the weekly gatherings. Even so, we were all close friends, running together, having fun, alternately antagonizing and protecting one another.

 Ross was friends with Anna and Heather. Victor and Heather dated and I was friends with Heather and Cynthia, Valli and Cynthia were friends, both were friends with Jenny, with whom David shared a unique friendship. Cynthia lived just a few houses up from Victor and Igor. It’s all muddled and very confusing, and however it came about, I got to know Victor and his younger brother Igor. Another chain of friendship links led from Victor to Igor to Christopher to David and hence to me. Trust me, we were all intertwined and interconnected, we were quite clannish. The gang of us spent a lot of time together; we all knew each other’s kitchens and phone numbers.

 Anna announced, “Let’s meet at my house,” word got around, and we knew the place to meet. Anna’s home was a then-contemporary mid-60’s two-story colonial on a cul-de-sac at the top of a long residential street. Older homes (20s, 30s, and 40s) flanked the street at the bottom of the hill, and as you gained altitude, lot sizes got smaller while houses got bigger and younger. We sat in the living room of her parents’ home, and laughed and talked, the television tuned to MTV or the radio playing. Her parents might be in the kitchen or family room, close by but not intrusive. Our discussions ran the usual teenage gamut, gossip, music, clothing, and what to do later that same evening.

 We worried about the typical Midwestern suburban teenage problems - who was going to the pizza parlor before the football game on Friday night, who would we sit with in the stands, where would we go after the game. Who was going to walk to Corral together. Who was dating whom? We knew each other’s class schedules, phone numbers, kitchens, and bedrooms. We gossiped and giggled with each other, teased and defended each other, and offered advice, solicited or not. Along with a dozen other friends in our group, we all spent time together and I allowed myself to be dragged into outings and events, and got to know the boys better – David, Ross, Greg, Victor and Igor. There were others.

 One night David and Christopher diagrammed the myriad relationships using circles and triangles and color-coded arrows on a sheet of paper. Who was dating who, who used to date and were no longer speaking, who graduated but was still around and involved with the rest of us however tangentially. And who were only peripherally connected, mostly busy with other activities and different friends. Word got out about the diagram, and people worried about where they were drawn, what arrows pointed to whom. The whole incident caused quite a ruckus and the diagram was secreted away - never seen again.

 Overall, we enjoyed spending time with each other in the dynamics of group dating. I liked some but not all the boys and wasn’t particularly exclusive. They were mostly fun to be with. And yet, at some point during the evening Ross and I left the house together. For Ross, allergies kicked in and he couldn’t tolerate being in the house anymore. Anna’s family dog was a large white Samoyed. (I know that’s redundant for those who know Samoyeds - what Samoyed isn’t large and white?) Ross was extremely allergic. I was either tired of the tears and teenage histrionics, or the loud music, or both, and needed a breath of quiet and fresh air. So, we left. Just walked away together.

 I tugged on his arm, “Come on, Ross, let’s get your head clear. You’re miserable.” And he followed along willingly.

 They were comfortable walks. We were companionable and supportive. Ross needed to clear his head, I could not tolerate the petty jealousies the girls had for each other over the boys and needed to remove myself from the situation. My patience with girls crying, “She stole my boyfriend,” was limited. I had even less patience for the, “She was mean to me,” comments. So Ross and I left. Just walked away.

 We ambled (perambulated perhaps?) along the sidewalk up and down the hill – long enough for his head to clear and for me to work off nervous energy. We talked about Greg and Valli (each of our best friends were dating each other), Anna, what he and Shari did together. We gossiped about other families we knew. We walked, ran, and laughed. We skipped along the sidewalk like elementary schoolers, enjoying the feeling – step-hop, step-hop, step-hop. Other times we danced in the starlight, spinning around and falling to the ground. He’d hock a loogie, spit, and I’d do the same, making him laugh. We laughed together – oh how we laughed! Sometimes, we found a comfortable spot to sit in a neighbor’s front lawn, or leaned against a known vehicle parked on the street, and talked for a while; places we dreamed of going, movies we enjoyed, whether or not the football team was winning or losing, which teachers we liked or didn’t. By the time we got back to Anna’s I could cope with the histrionics (which either escalated in our absence or calmed down and dissipated) and he could breathe again for a while.

 But Ross was two years older – already a junior while I was a young freshman. We weren’t interested in dating – never crossed my mind anyway. Sure, Ross was “cute” - tall, lanky, dirty blonde hair, smile lines accenting his lean face. His hazel eyes changed color with mood or what he was wearing. But I wasn’t ready for “older boys”. Instead he and Shari went steady, later he dated Sara, another friend of Anna’s. Instead, ours was an acquaintanceship – we never called each other on the phone, nor were ever in each other’s house, never passed notes in school. We saw each other within the context of “the group” and served on Corral Board together, but on different committees. He ran on the boys’ track team with Greg, Valli and I ran together with the girls. We shared seats on the bus and cheered each other on.

 The following school year, Ross’ senior year, my sophomore year, David and I played at romance. He and I became close friends within the clique. We were all so entangled I don’t remember who he knew or how he was connected to whomever. What I do know is that I spent my sophomore year solidifying friendships, especially with David. We were pals. We had fun together. We laughed, we danced, and we played. We thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company. Our academic worlds did not compete, our social world was cozy and comfortable, and our teenage hormones complemented each other extremely well. He and I spent so much time together that friends finally goaded us into publicly conceding that we were “going out”.

 David is 5’6” in his Nikes. Lean and compact, you can’t call him wiry, but certainly he’s all muscle. More like a badger than a weasel. And why not? He rode his bicycle all over Wyoming for his paper route, and rode his skateboard down all the hills before that. Puberty hit, and while he didn’t gain much in height, he grew a beard immediately. He shaved it as a favor for his mother for his senior photo, but grew it back within a week. He wore his soft dark brown hair short and spiky along with his straight brown beard he kept close to his face. He keeps secrets behind his brown eyes. He has an ageless face; at age sixteen he could have passed for twenty-five and at thirty-five, even with a receding hairline he could still pass for twenty-five. Like me, David is a “youngest.” His older sisters were in school with my older brothers and without ever discussing it, we knew each other’s only child/youngest child position and the effect on our personalities – young, but old at the same time.

 David and I were friends first and foremost and I went along with him and his buddies, Christopher, Victor and Igor, and others when they were out and about. One Saturday afternoon the boys dragged me to the arcade. Some teenagers in the 1980s played video games on separate consoles hooked up to the family room television – Atari, Commodore. But these guys blew their money playing games at the arcade – PacMan, Donkey Kong, Asteroids, Space Invaders…we could blow $15 in 15 minutes.

 (Personally, I prefer the romance of pinball; a real ball with flippers controlled by springs. My grandfather was a pinball fiend in his day, playing at the lunch counter near the courthouse where he practiced law. My affinity for the real game of skill was inborn. Unfortunately, pinball games have gone high tech. These days pinball machines have computer chips controlling the flippers, the bumpers, and tallying the score. They’re all electronic digital crap controlled by a programmer long since dead of a drug overdose.)

 If the group didn’t meet at Anna’s, we gathered at Victor and Igor’s, goofing off in the basement until everyone arrived and we could leave together for our destination. Victor and Igor and Alex are brothers. The product of a Russian mother and Central American father, Victor was 6’ tall, white blonde with blue eyes and had that teenager slenderness that you might call wiry. He had a wild energy and a streak of vengeance that got him in trouble more than once. His “little” brother Igor was 6’4”, with dark hair, brown eyes. He was lanky, and not yet comfortable with his height. Igor had heart surgery as a child and the scar ran from his sternum around to his back. You noticed a slight deformity only when we swam together at the public swimming pool, but he was just Igor, so who cared? And Alex did his best to keep up with his older siblings. Just enough younger than Victor and Igor, he got into more trouble than he should have, and after his freshman year, was sent to a military academy for his high school years.

 The Morenos lived a couple of blocks over from my house. Like ours, their house was built in the 1920s and had relatively few remodel jobs over the years. The basement was dry, but unfinished. Someone put in a row of fluorescent lights along the ceiling. The furnace room and laundry area were walled off separately and a curtain hung in front of the lone extra toilet next to the washtub. It had been furnished of sorts with a musty rug over the concrete floor and an old couch. An old 1960s coffee table held our drinks and current projects. Victor and Igor and pals played Dungeons and Dragons amidst the cobwebs and must. Igor was enthusiastic about his Society for Creative Anachronism and made chain mail in his spare time. Sure, the basement was grungy, but the grunge meant we didn’t have to worry about feet on the furniture or much of anything else either. We had fun down there, listening to music, planning our weekend escapades, gossiping, chastising and teasing each other.

 As a group we caravanned with Victor and Igor and other friends in the “Grenade” (an old Ford Grenada – two-door, olive green with black vinyl interior) to play Frisbee golf. Yet another night a bunch of us decided we needed to see the new mural, Cincinnatus. The artist Richard Haas, recently completed his trompe l'oeil masterpiece on the side of the downtown Kroger headquarters in celebration of the company centennial. We weren’t quite sure where it was, so we spent an inordinate amount of time cruising one-way streets until we finally found it.

 There was a growing interest in teenage suburban male pyrotechnics. Victor, Igor, David, Moj and Christopher had been enthusiastic about burning gasoline, lighter fluid, kerosene, and paraffin wax. David built model rockets, and played with the rocket engines. Together they built an “apparatus” involving paraffin wax, water and gasoline (?) and set it off in the Moreno’s back yard. We’re lucky no one was ever seriously injured. Sometimes I’d be around, but when the testosterone levels got to be too high, I got outta there and found my girlfriends.

 After our adventures, or to end them, we drove to Skyline, one of several local chili parlor chains. The menu consists of two items, Cincinnati chili and cheese coneys; anything else on the menu is just a variation of those two items. The restaurant we frequented was located at the corner of Clifton and Ludlow Avenues, on the far end of Fraternity Row near the University of Cincinnati campus. It stayed open until 3 or 4 a.m. on weekends, and after the movie, party, or Corral event we often drove down to the eatery to satisfy our hunger pangs. We drove too fast down the hill to get there, under the highway overpass, across the railroad tracks and then we drove too fast up the hill to get there. We parked in the small parking lot and walked around the building to go inside. David ordered a five-way and medium root beer. I ordered a 4-way/bean and a large Coke. Whomever was with us ordered their own, and we laughed and giggled and flirted until our food arrived. Once sated, and finally getting tired, we drove too fast to get home, coasting down the steep narrow curves on the one side and racing back up the wide roadway on the other side.

b�� B

[joshuazev]

On stimuli:

Writing a post every day is kind of like trying your best to form an authentic, organic relationship with someone.  You don’t want to run out of things to say because if you do you run the risk of being boring.  Maybe there was a time where you could get away with being boring, but now you can’t get away with it for one second.  It’s not only about being lame or redundant, but I always worry about repeating myself.  I know I should allow myself some leeway and slack to run over the same topics every once in a while, but didn’t I just get through talking about watching the same type of comedy or stand up act more than once?  It just isn’t the same.  While Tom Cruise, Will Smith, and Matthew McConaughey might be some exceptions, nobody wants to go to the movies to see the actor play the same type of role all the time.  I know I go to the movies to see some originality.  To see something different.  It would be a disservice of me to write a post too similar to another one that I’ve already written.  I don’t measure this blog post under any microscope of success, however, I do often wonder if this is the type of problem that successful and creative people deal with.  The pressure to always come up with something new that people will hopefully like.  

Well…I hope I’m keeping the interest of you, the reader.  

…

I was a couch potato for most of the day, today.  There wasn’t anything truly remarkable to speak of, although I did make it to the kitchen and the bathroom at one point.  As you can imagine there wasn’t a whole lot of energy from the room I was in and I wasn’t exactly returning the favor.  It’s funny, when you’re in a full room, whether it’s people or the things inside of it, you draw from the stimuli thats offering energy to you.  There’s the lamp that’s giving you light.  The couch that’s giving you comfort.  The open window that’s giving you the fresh air from outside.  And the table that’s giving you it’s support, so that you may place a bowl down to eat out of.  You take for granted the little helpers that are assisting you in a room.  Since my roommates and I are getting ready to move out, the stimuli in this apartment has begun to slowly disappear.  The furniture is suddenly missing.  The TV is unplugged.  The array of dishes to heat up leftover food from the fridge has been stowed away.  Make no mistake, it is still very much our home—if only for a few more days—but it just feels a little less homey than before.  

In the middle of the day, I’d say around three or four o clock, my drive had left me.  There was no desire that I found deep inside me to do much of anything, so I blamed my surroundings.  That lasted only a short period of time before the necessary introspection I needed was had and I told myself that I needed something else to feed off of.  How about the metropolis outside, for example?  I took a shower to get ready and found myself on the computer attempting to switch things over.  A quick 30 second switch turned into five minutes, which turned into twenty, which turned into an hour.  By the end of the hour I was on the couch in what to somebody else would have been a confusing a probably uncomfortable position, but to someone that is fully engulfed in the whirlpool of time wasting it seemed pretty normal to me.  

I got out of the house and was shook at the environment around me.  It had that late afternoon, early evening air about it.  Now instead of feeling like I didn’t have anything to grasp on, the sensations from being outside in the real world hit me all at once.  What the fuck had I been doing all day?  Nothing hit me harder than the surge of energy when I arrived at Port Authority (the A stop at 42nd) and the madness that came at me like a fast paced LA traffic jam going through the tunnel trying to get to the N train.  This is my attempt to explain what I saw…

…

Doors open.  People trying to get on before the exiting stampeded can get off.  Bumps.  Shoves.  Shoulders.  Bruises.  Head swiveling in both directions to try and find the appropriate exit.  Exit found.  Exit blocked by slow lane, medium lane, and fast lane.  People attempting to switch lanes on stares.  Impatient air suffocates the eager.  Find a crack, get through it, rush up stairs.  No clear HOV lane to be found.  Instead the United Nations is looking aggressive and has clogged all options.  Jesus man shouting out JESUS!  Handouts attempted and pamphlets thrown at us.  Pace picking up.  There’s a flow now.  Keep your head up or you might miss something.  Might miss the celebrity that’s in “regular” clothes.  Might miss the little asian baby with snot dribbling out of his mouth, looking wide-eyed, pupils blended in to his dark brown eyes.  People bobbing to the beat in their Beats.  Up and down.  Smirking and smiling.  Weaving and lunging.  Photos from iPhones plaster the walls.  HD photos they say.  Lots of pixels they say.  JESUS!  Lady from foreign country with foreign accent has JESUS in her hand and she shouting his words, his gospel, hoping to reach someone’s ears that need to call on someone.  Continents.  People looking down at their cellulars and fucking up the flow of this beautiful runway.  Takeoff.  Right turn.  Left turn.  There’s always one person trying to run through everybody because he or she needs to get wherever faster than the rest of us.  They usually have a loose shirt on or a button down.  And glasses.  And medium sized pants.  And they’re clutching on to a backpack like the middle schooler trying to catch the bus before it leaves him…or her.  I try to take a video of the current, but it doesn’t look like how I hoped it would, so instead I’m just the guy fucking up the flow trying to taking a video of the current.  The person who probably was behind me has undoubtedly rolled her or his eyes a couple times because I just assumed the role of current filmer when really I should have been cast as the flow-stopping millennial.  JESUS!  (I promise you I’m not just inserting interludes of captivated basketball fans watching the movie “He Got Game.”)  End of the tunnel approaching.  Trains choo-chooing to next destination.  7 train humming.  Lots and lots and lots of stairs in the distance.  Queens commuters in the home stretch of their tunnel marathon leave their gasps and exasperations on the floor and desperately use their last inches to try to put their arms in the door before it closes.  Meanwhile, I’m skipping-to-my-lou like Rafer Alston up these three levels of stairs before the last 15 stepper that leads to the “Downtown & Brooklyn” yellow line platform, which will take me to new destinations called Union Square and Washington Square and hopefully a scene more like a countryside of people gathered around a fountain than one soldier in an anthill.  Keep your head up.  Your phone is safe in your pocket for the time being.  Noble position.  Take a breath.  You have officially lived an hour of your life today.  Take it in.  Breathe it in.  Allow the heat on the eternally humid platform to antagonize your skin.  Feel the feels.  Regret wearing pants for a moment.  Daydream of being completely naked and pacing back and forth and instead of thinking about the possibly shocked faces you might encounter, laugh when you realize that everyone else is naked, too.  You didn’t know?  When you make that 8th to 7th avenue trek in the tunnel, this space becomes a Garden of Eden from the time you get there until your train comes.  There is no shame.  This isn’t a locker room.  There are genders, transgenders, cross genders, heteros, homos, bis, you name it.  Penises, vaginas, breasts, and male pectorals have lives too, you know?  The train arrives and you laugh off the shocked faces at everyone standing inside of the train with looney expressions at the vines, bushes, grass, trees, trunks, and meadows awaiting their exit.  The moment the door opens and you get in, you find yourself suddenly clothed and smile pleasantly at the newfound freedom of the exiting passengers.  Their hard work and subsequent treks will be rewarding.

…

When I got off at Union Square I kept my head up.  The lesson of the day for me was going to pay dividends.  My head has been down for years.  There were more observations, realizations, and points of view to be had than being a living and breathing papier-mâché crane.  It took me about a minute of looking up to see a guy biking towards me, who I immediately recognized as Malik from my high school basketball team.  He was just as shocked as I was.  “That’s crazy.  Dude, THAT’S CRAZY!”  It went like that for a while.  We had fond things to say about one another.  I still remember his dunk against Seattle Prep like it was yesterday.  He still remembers me being in the dog house like I was still in that same dog house.  It was good to see him.

I got what I needed to get done down there.  The trip was worth it and my sanity had been temporarily restored, if only for a moment.

Last came a sit down at Washington Square.  The fountain was booming.  The roller blade man was circling.  Another man was sitting cross legged offering up free poems.  Romantics romanced and skaters skated.  Even in a relative place of serenity the anthill bustled and the soldiers marched on.

[wr12molly-blog]

Class anthology submission

The rain has poured all day, and Claire has spent her time inside standing at the front window, staring longingly at the puddles forming in the cobblestone pathway leading up to the house. Every so often she will glance up at me with a hopeful look on her face, every fiber of her being begging me to let her outside. Mrs. Walls barely lets her play outdoors, much less in the rain, and so my answer each time is a slight shake of my head. ‘A dirty child is a bad child,’ as she always says. I’m sure she would just about have a heart attack if Claire’s ruffles and rabbit fur had their spotless white fixtures tarnished. Though soon I grow tired of seeing her large eyes look so grim, and I announce that she and I will be embarking on an outing to the downtown area. Once I have her outfitted in the paper-thin white sandals and fur-lined coat Mrs. Walls insists she is wearing when she leaves the house, we board a city bus that will transport us to Granville street. She swings her legs cheerfully as she stares out the windows at the passing city, and traces the raindrops running down the glass with her index finger. She soon discovers that if she leans too close, her breath creates a fog on the window, and she focuses very hard to draw a lopsided heart in the mist. When she has completed her illustration, she grins up at me, eyes shining with pride. Once we have disembarked, we walk along the busy sidewalk, Claire playing a game where she must avoid every puddle as we wander. This, unsurprisingly, does not go as planned, and by the time we have reached the end of the first block, her once-pristine sandals and socks are soaked through with dingy water. When she notices this, her face grows long, and I simply cannot scold her as she stares helplessly at her soiled shoes. Instead, I merely take her by the hand and march into a shoe shop close by. I let her choose the ones she likes, and in the end, she struts out into the rain once again; this time wearing fuchsia rain boots patterned with dogs of all breeds, each wearing their own set of boots. It has been but 10 minutes of walking when Claire complains of being hungry, and what first comes to mind is the French bistro Mrs. Walls takes her to when they venture downtown. As I suggest this, she pulls a face, wrinkling her nose. I remember Claire’s complaints of how it was all ‘grown-up food.’ As I begin to mull over other options she might prefer over escargot and foie gras, my eyes fall upon an alternative across the street: a diner, complete with neon signs and pictures of waitresses wearing rollerskates on the windows. I glance down at the small girl beside me, who has noticed where I am looking and now grins up at me with hopeful question in her eyes. A waitress with a southern accent and a gap between her front teeth seats us in a booth with cracked, teal-green leather seats and a framed photo of Marilyn Monroe hanging on the wall above us. She seems to find Claire absolutely charming, calling her ‘darlin’’ and ‘sweetheart’. Claire basks in the attention and seems captivated by her surroundings. She is disappointed that the waitresses do not actually wear rollerskates, she tells me, and wonders why they are allowed to have a radio playing music in the restaurant. The ‘radio’ she is referring to is a jukebox in the corner opposite of us, which is now playing ‘Blue Suede Shoes.’ I ask her if she would like to choose which music to play, and her eyes grow wide as she nods her head fiercely. I press a quarter into her palm and she jumps out of her seat to make her way across the establishment, jiving and shimmying as she walks. I chuckle at her dance moves. The same waitress helps her to use the machine, and a few moments later, ‘Hound Dog’ begins to play. When I ask her why she chose that song, she tells me ‘to match her boots.’ Claire’s eyes grow wide as saucers as the waitress, who has now introduced herself as Betty, sets down her plate of waffles in front of her. I doubt she has ever had waffles in her life, and my suspicions are confirmed as she begins to shovel food into her mouth at a speed I thought was not possible for her small size. I warn her to slow down, that she might feel sick afterwards if she is not careful, but she only smiles at me, her cheeks bulging and coated in cream. There is a skip in her step after we have left the diner, which could be the high amounts of sugar she is not accustomed to, but is most likely excitement for not doing as her mother says for once. I told her that it would be our secret and she willingly agreed, knowing Mrs. Walls would have a litter of kittens if she knew I fed her daughter such a high-calorie, high-sugar meal. It begins to rain, at first a light mist, and then suddenly a downpour, and we rush into a shopping mall entrance to escape the rainfall. I suggest we wander about the shopping center until the shower stops, and Claire nods decisively and takes my hand. We stroll until we come across a children’s play area; fluorescent structures shaped like school buses and animals of all kinds are scattered across a carpet patterned with colorful shapes. Children scramble and play as their guardians watch. Claire stops in her tracks and gazes up at me with a pleading look; Mrs. Walls is not fond of these play areas, saying that they are ‘filled with germs and nasty children I do not want my daughter associated with.’ With that thought in my mind I hesitate, and in response, Claire clasps her hands and sticks out her bottom lip. With a warning not to dirty her dress and to be nice to the other children, I sit in one of the provided chairs as she runs off into the playground. I watch as a girl about her age approaches her, and within moments they are giggling and climbing the structures together, holding hands as they run and sing nursery rhymes. It is not often that she has the opportunity to make new friends, and so as I observe them as they play, a deep joy for this young girl grows in my chest. From the moment I was brought into the Walls household as the nanny for their young daughter, it was clear that Claire was meant to be kept on a tight leash. At the age of two years old, she was not permitted to eat with her fingers or leave her toys lying about; if her dresses were dirtied or her hair pulled out of its neatly tied bow, she would be ‘disciplined’, as Mrs. Walls put it. Of course, Mrs. Walls claimed she would rather not do it herself, but Mr. Walls was always working and she could not simply let her get away with being naughty. I am grateful I was never asked to go through with ‘discipline’ myself. As evening draws near, although I know we must be heading home, I find myself avoiding interrupting Claire’s antics in the play area. For the first time in a long while, she seems to be truly enjoying herself, as opposed to pretending for the sake of her mother. When I do interject and remind her we must be on our way, her face grows so filled with sorrow that it is all I can do not to scoop her into my arms. I assure her that she can see her new friend again soon, and with that reassurance, we venture out onto the streets once again. She chatters animatedly about her new companion, who she says loves vanilla ice cream and birds. When we arrive back at the Walls estate, Mrs. Walls is pulling into the driveway. Her graying blonde hair is a duller, lifeless version of Claire’s bright curls, and is pulled into an updo on the back of her head. I am never quite sure where she goes, but she is always dressed smartly whenever she leaves the house. Claire is ecstatic when she sees her mother, crying out and running towards her as fast as her small legs can carry her. Mrs. Walls gives a wry smile as her daughter dashes near, shutting the car door with more force than I deem necessary. She does not bend down to say hello when Claire meets her, does not pick her up or bother to be level with her. She stands straight as Claire hugs her stockinged legs, stiffly patting the top of her head. It is not until we have entered the house that Mrs. Walls notices Claire’s new accessories. She smiles that tight smile of her’s and asks her daughter in a sickly sweet voice where her boots have come from, failing to hide her growing displeasure. Claire gazes at the floor and does not respond. Still looking for an answer, Mrs. Walls looks to me, letting her false contentment drop and staring daggers. I fail to answer fast enough and she dismisses me with a wave of her hand, clicking down the hall in her heeled shoes. A ‘get rid of them’ is tossed casually over her shoulder as she turns the corner. Later on, as I button my coat before I part with the Walls for the day, Claire totters down the hall towards me, her pink rabbit slippers slapping against the hardwood. When she reaches me, I bend down to embrace her as I do each time. She asks if she can see her boots one more time, her voice muffled into my coat, and I pull them out of my bag so she can stroke their smooth edges and trace each dog with her index finger. When she is ready to part with them, I tuck them back into my bag and pet her blonde curls one last time before stepping over the threshold and closing the mahogany door behind me.