#anyways i drew three pages of shit from this stream

[boygirlctommy]

god i love tommys vod from oct 17th its so fucking good ive watched it at least 4 times

[lifeexperience]

We are vengeance.

It has been almost three month since Lila Rossi came back from her fabulous trip from Achu. And since she arrived again she enjoyed the glamour. Enjoyed how everybody - who was someone, of course, - danced as she moved her strings. Even that Capitano della Moralità, Adrien was doing what she was saying.  

Just lonely, little Marinette stood on the other side.

The Italian grinned confidently. If she had some plan like that day, she was going to ruin that little girl.

Anyway she had to take prioritization of her tasks. Firstly it’s time to make a Wikipedia page about herself for future reference. She couldn’t be sloppy from here because she could meet more forceful people than Dupain-Cheng.  

Okay, so she would list her accomplishments: modeling with Adrien Agreste      , best friend with Shaytan, knowing Jagged Stone… When she finally finished, the sun already went down and it was dark. Lila disinterestedly looked at her door, his mother again worked overtime.  

Nevermind, she would eat something then collect links of her publications. Yepp, after some pasta all'Ortolana the work would be so much easier.  

However when she went back to gather her online mentions she didn’t find anything. There was nothing about her on the Ladyblog, or on Adrien’s Instagram. Someone deleted them? Who? Maybe it’s just a bug? She would know more if she asks Alya first.

Yeah, don’t need any panic.

“Ciao Alya! I have a question.” she said immediately as that wannabe journalist answered. “Yeah, yeah, così accidentally you didn’t delete my interview from your blog, right?” She nervously patted her laptop as she waited for Alya to look at it. After two minutes there was the answer. She tried to disguise her anger, but she didn’t have the patient at the moment for that stupid girl apologizes.  

So somehow her interview was lost. And she didn’t have to call Capitano della Moralità about their model photo, she knew he didn’t have too much control on it.  

Lila unconsciously started to chew her nails. It was a bad habit of hers since her childhood.  

Who had enough knowledge to hack two different websites to mess with her? Marinette was too morally high for this. And Max, who had the skill, was already under her thumb.  

“Argh!”  

She had to calm down. She couldn’t become an akume because of this since she planned a bigger performance for the next week.

Breath! In! Out!

Okay.

Maybe tomorrow she could make a new interview with Alya and drop some seemingly accident infos about the new adult heroes. Then at the weekend photoshoots she could force Adrien again.

Yeah. Why was she nervous at all? She could use this to grow her territory.

*

It has been almost six days since Adrien reluctantly posted a new photo about the two of them. There were fewer likes and more comments then before, but she was happy because she could continue to build her Wikipedia page. It would be her first thing when she got home.  

And tomorrow she would start her small shame with poor Marinette again. The little girl already was alone most of the time in the school, but Lila knew it was a matter of time to find new friends outside of their class. And she wanted to prevent every attempt of it.

I am great at ruining others.    

She smiled sweetly as she pretended to listen to another rabbling from Rose. That pink fool rarely shut up about her disgusting viewpoint, and Lila sometimes thought she would be a perfect next target after Dupain-Cheng. And if this little pink wannabe would be destroyed, her loser girlfriend would fall with her.  

Yepp, she will be an excellent following after the shit show Marinette will go through.

“Lila, it’s not your phone?” Alix poked her. She turned to her in confusion and listened to the ringing.

“No.” she shook her head. “My ringtone is different. I don’t like metal music.”

The skater tilted her head. “You sure?” Lila nodded, starting to be annoyed. “Because it’s coming from your bag.”

“What?”

She hurriedly got her phone out, and indeed it was ringing with that strange growl music. And the number also was foreign, yet she picked up. “Hello?”

“It’s Lila Lucrezia Rossi?” Everybody in the classroom jumped at once.The voice from the other side was much louder than she thought and now every one of her classmates watched her with wide eyes. She fastly tried to turn down the volume as she answered in agreement. “So your appointment was moved to the next with Doctor Lacroix.”

“Wha...What appointment?” Lila asked. She didn’t remember any medical thing. Of course she told a lot of tails about her health problems, but she was completely healthy.

“So for the farting irritation.” The woman said with a monotone tone. And of course, because Lila couldn’t turn off the speaker everybody in the room heard it.

She blinked.

“I… I think you… you called the wrong number.” she muttered as now she tried to end the call. With no success.  

“But you're Lila Lucrezia Rossi, age fourteen, Italian, aren’t you?” Lila looked around embarrassingly. How did that woman know that about her? If… If she denies it her little puppets' trust would crack. But if she continues this conversation… She didn’t even want to know.

And as she stood there in panic and listened about her supposed condition she wanted to be killed. Every fucking eye was on her. She even saw that goodie-two-shoe tried to hide her giggle with Adrien grinning next to her. And of course she noticed how her circle slid away from her.

Fuck.    

*

She skipped two weeks of school again after that… THAT phone call. Of fucking course almost every one of her classmates called her almost daily to ask about her health. And she had to answer with a lot of information for Every Fucking QUESTION.

It was irritating.  

However she couldn’t stay at home for more days because her mother. It would be too suspicious if there would be some supposed akuma without any TV gossip about it.  

So she had to go to school.  

Fortunately most of the kids were understanding and didn’t bring up the topic. But there was  Kim. Of FUCKING course.

As many times as he saw her he faked a fart with a disgustingly loud moan. She tried to cry about it, though everybody said to bear with it. Kim was just Kim and if she didn’t react he would let it go.  

At first Lila didn’t want to believe it then Alya patted her shoulder sympathetically and left her to stand alone. And because of these really annoying events she couldn’t start her plan with Dupain-Cheng who - of fucking couse - got closer to Adrien. To her key to the famous-rich-carefree life.  

They were chatting cheerfully in the classroom without any glance at someone other than each. They were in their little world, and every girl in the class blissfully sighed at the sight.

And if that day was not enough of a bother to her somehow her school tablet started streaming porno when she tried to project out her presentation. She was mortified just like everybody in the classroom. And she didn’t even have luck with teachers. Because of - fucking - course that lesson was with Mendeleiev.

*

It was already December when she finally served her detention time because of that… THAT incident. She couldn’t go any photoshoot with Adrien due to her attendance problem.  

She didn’t even see Batman, yeah THAT Batman when he saved Shaytan and Chat Noir. She was at a detention with others. Although she could tell Alya a little story about her knowing the American hero and how he called him to help Paris.  

However she only had ten minutes to bask the light because her mamma called her home. Immediately. At first Lila found it strange, but she shook the confusion down. She said goodbye to the wannabe journalist and went home. She blissfully entered the elevator then with a big smile greeted her mother.  

“Lila!” her mother nodded sternly. The woman waited as she - not so happily anymore, dropped her things in her room. “Why did you use your emergency money?”

Lila furrowed her eyebrows. “But I didn’t.”

“No?” her mamma asked.

She shook her head. She didn’t use her emergency card because her mother could check it anytime. That’s why she asked her payment in cash from Gabriel.

“Then tell me mia figlia, why your debit card is in the minus?” Her mamma held a tablet with an account statement in front of Lila. She slowly read over the document. And indeed, her debit card which was only for emergencies was in minus. The description list showed a lot purchasing from different sites that she didn’t even know.  

“I didn’t do this.” she said franctincly.  

“No?” her mother glanced at the numbers. “You know how much money it was? We kept it for your university years.”

“We?” Lila whispered as she became aware of the gravity of the situation.

“Yes. Your father was the one who drew my attention to it.”  

At first Lila only just gaped then she felt how her blood started circulating. Of fucking course that bastard was the one who spying after her.  

“You are a grounded signorina!” she heard her mother voice through her anger. “After the school ends you have to come home then do your homework. I take your phone and electronics too.”

She didn’t even have time to protest as she saw a dark butterfly. She quietly waited as that insect landed on her phone. “How unfair to blame something on others when she is not at fault.” She heard the well-known tone. “Finanza I’m giving you the power to punish everyone who sinned against you. Your only task to bring to me their Miraculous.”

“Of fucking course.”

*

She was defeated again. But one day she would destroy the fame of Shaytan. That girl would taste the fall and humiliation.  

“LILA!” A loud yell cut her from her plans as she sat at the ground. “Lila!” Someone shook her. She looked up to meet Alya irritating face. “Are you okay?”

She blinked some to win some precious moment to calm down. Then she nodded with a fake whimpering. “What happened? You shouted about some money then forced everyone to admit their sins.”

“Oh… I… I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” she sobbed while she tried to hide her dry eyes.

“It’s okay.” Alya hugged her. “Can you stand up?”

She shakely raised on her foot. They silently walked along the pavement for some time when she finally looked around. They were not far away from the school. And of course it meant they were near to the Dupain-Cheng's bakery.

At first Lila didn’t even notice the bakery, then she heard a shocked gasp from next to her. Alya with wide eyes pointed forward. She also turned the direction and her jaw also dropped. There stood Marinette, little innocent Marinette, embracing a tall, muscular man. After some moments they let go of each other and with a big smile Marinette got in the car with the stranger.  

“What… Who was he?”

*

Next day Lila wasn’t able to forget that stranger with the baker girl. He was gorgeous, but most important, older than them and a little dark. Plus he was clearly an adult. Alya tried to claim he was surely a cousin of Marinette, however Lila wasn’t that certain about it. They didn’t look alike. And if she remembered correctly Alya never told about any relatives of Marinette except her great-uncle chef and grandparents. Nobody else.

“Hm.” If she could twist it somehow then she would be on advantage again. But how? Alya was adamant about the family thing, but what if… Perhaps some well aimed stab about gang members. Perhaps.

Although she needed to conceal her mirth as she eyed her classmates. They all stood at the bottom of the stairs and were themselves like stupid sheeps they are. Lila forced a shy smile on herself and carefully stepped between them to tell a new tale about her time in China. And of fucking course it was not a coincidence, she knew well if she use any rather distinct - nevertheless linked to Marinette, - facts then Dupain-Cheng was much easier to upset.

However that stupid girl didn’t bother to pay any attention to her. She just stood beside Adrien and chatted happily with him.

Lila frowned.  

“There is a problem?” someone poked her shoulder. It was Mylene.

“No… No.” her smile was strained. “I just… Why are Marinette and Adrien avoiding us?”

And everybody simultaneously turned their way. The two blissfully laughed at something as they ignored everything else.  

“How sweet!” she heard Rose’s murmurs. Yeah, like pineapple on pizza. Bhrr.

She started to open her mouth to say something though she wasn’t able to voice any sound. A darker than black and really long limousine parked in front of them. It was not Adrien’s one, neither Chloé’s.  

And the most surprising thing was Marinette jumping up and down for the sight.  

All of them including Lila watched as their class president pulled Adrien to the car and after some debate with the driver they got in the car.  

What did she just watch?

“Oh!” It was not a shocked ‘Oh!’, it was a ‘I realized what was happening’. And Lila also wanted to know what the fuck happened before her beautifull eyes.

“You know something, Nino?” She really tried to conceal her angry curiosity.  

The DJ nodded with a relaxing smile. “Marinette’s family visiting from America.”

“You mean she has relatives in America?” Alya asked, more interested than a few minutes ago when she listened to Lila’s gossip.

“Oh, hell!” Kim shouted. “The brothers, right? I almost forgot about them.”

Alya tilted her head as he turned to the swimmer. “Brothers?”

“Yeah.” Nino talked again. “Dick and Jay, and Timtam… and… Who was the one who pissed Chloé off?”

“Some Da… De… Demon!”

“No. His name was…”

Lila tuned out the conversation. So Marinette had a family in the States. And they most certainly rich drawing that conclusion from the limo. Why didn’t she do better research before she transferred?

*

In the middle of the week was the career day and Lila was really lucky to talk her mamman down about coming to it. Of course she didn’t want her here. It would be a disaster.

She had a quite good feeling about the day. If she heard correctly only a few parents agreed to participate and after the school for the day would end. And naturally she kinda forgot this particular information when she told her mother about this ‘really awful’ day.

Yep, I am a genius.

She confidently walked through the hallways and winked at some cute boy because not only Adrien was appreciable in this school. Maybe if Monsieur Agreste would appear she could negotiate for a new line just for herself. After all she always paid attention to his handsome boy.

Humming the newest XY’s song Lila happily stepped in the classroom. However her mood dropped exactly that moment when her foot touched the room’s floor. Since there, in the middle of the room stood with her fake innocent Marinette and that gorgeous foreign man. And from closer he was more handsome than she first thought. Even Madam Bustier blushed and she had a husband.

Why has this girl this kind of luck?    

Lila forced a charming smile on her face and with a friendly wave she sat down. She would not risk her status in front of that man when Marinette is nearby. She had to calculate carefully so for the time she just waited for the start.

When everybody arrived the teacher began her really boring speech about the importance of work knowledge and connections. Lot of the guests nodded in agreement. There was Rose’s mother who was a florist, Nino’s father was a doctor and Alix’s historian father. And of course Marinette’s mysterious man.

She was really curious about him. He wore a perfectly fitted suit and was fucking handsome, nevertheless he looked young. Maybe twentish. It’s maximum six year age difference between them. It’s not too bad.

She patiently waited as every one of the guardians did their presentation when finally the man stepped forward.  

“Before I introduce myself I would like to clear something up.” His voice was a pleasant baritone. Even Adrien didn’t have that kind of sexy voice. Lila already enjoyed the show.

“I would like to ask everyone present to turn off the phones, tablets and any other smart device.”

Lila indifferently watched as everyone reluctantly got their device and turned them off. She didn’t get back hers since her mother grounded her. How lucky, she grimaced.

“In the next step please read through the confidentiality agreement that Marinette hands out. If you don’t want to partake in it or don’t agree to the terms I have to ask you to leave the room.” he continued as the baker girl gave everyone a copy.  

As Lila looked around some of her classmates without thinking signed it up. And surprisingly it was Chloé and Adrien who handed back among the first. She also saw how after that some other looked at their paper with more bravery and signed it. She didn’t even bother to read it, just scan the logo at the top and the stamp at the bottom. She didn’t know this company so she also wrote her name on and handed it back.

Nobody left the room.

“Thank you, and I am apologizing for that little inconvenience, but this is necessary in today’s competitive sphere.” he said as he and Marinette counted and rechecked every one of the papers.  

After a few minutes they finished. “Since today we also published an article it’s not that big of a harm if I introduce myself.” he smiled a little at Marinette and pulled her next to him. “My name is Damian Wayne and I am one of Marinette’s siblings.”

Lila straightened. She heard it right?

“I work at the Wayne Enterprise as a co-CEO beside my brother Timothy Drake-Wayne.”

It can’t be!    

“After our Father decided he would like to spend more time with his family, I took over his position. Some of my...”

How the fucking hell?    

Lila kind of lost herself and didn’t hear anything other than the slowly repeating ‘Wayne’ echo. That rascal was a Wayne heir?

And Lila targeted her?

Oh fuck.    

*

It was Friday when Lila finally understood Marinette’s real power. It was never her connection or her skills. Not even her so-called friends.  

No.  

It was her family.

She of course knew about the Waynes. Who not? They were celebrities, start managers, philanthropists, fucking Gods. And of fucking course every one of the students also knew about them. So for the next couple of days went by like a couple of seconds. One moment she was the center of the attention then suddenly everybody wanted to be friends with Marinette.

Everybody.  

Even the fucking street-sweeper.

And of course there was the media attention. The police had to be called because of the sensation. Lila even saw how two journalists quarreled about which one hid in one the bushes in front of the school.  

Naturally she wanted to take advantage of the situation, however as the article with her name was published her mother’s phone started ringing. And the caller was Lila's worst nightmare.  

On Friday she and her mamman head to the Wayne Enterprise’s Parisian branch. It was a modern building with clear glass windows and a big dark gold W letter. They were hurriedly ushering in an empty meeting room where there were too many chairs for Lila’s liking.  

Her mother - of course, - was enraged. She almost learnt everything about Lila’s school life. Just almost. Unfortunately it was enough to lose her trust in her daughter. Lila was grounded kind of permanently. She wouldn’t get back her phone kind of ever. She only could use her mother’s computer and just for homework. She was not expelled from Francois-Dupont, however she had detention for a year and had to repeat this school year.  

And now she would learn what the Waynes cooked up for her.

She grimaced.  

“Good morning Madam Rossi and Mademoiselle Rossi.” greeted them Damian Wayne himself as he steeped in the room. He was followed by Marinette, her parents - or they were even her parents? Lila wasn’t able to read any article about the family ties. -, a petite Asian woman, then some other more business-like men and women. Surely the lawyers.

“I think you know why you are here.” Damian stated as he sat at the head of the table. Marinette went to his left side with her parents (?) and the petite woman sat down at his right side with the lawyers.  

“Yes.” Her mother nodded.  

“We would like to sue your daughter, Mademoiselle Lila Lucrezia Rossi, for breaking our confidentiality agreement. Furthermore ask a restraining order to prohibit her from approaching my little sister, Marinette Athanasia Al Ghul Wayne.” This man spoke with a really unconcerned voice that Lila almost thought he was not even interested in his sibling’s life.

“Yes.” Her mamman agreed without any protest.  

“However” his voice steeled, “because my sister is a really kind soul she will not sue for the physical violence, a mental and physical harassment and the defaming.” he stared down at her with dark eyes. “Nevertheless we, as from her guardians who are presented” he pointed to the stranger Asian woman and himself, “decided to put on the blacklist Mademoiselle Lila Lucrezia Rossi in every business in which we owned the majority.”

The air got stuck in Lila’s body. Every business? Every? The Waynes owned half of the planet.  

“But” spoke the petite woman, “we would ignore this blacklisting if the Mademoiselle successfully participates in various therapies.” She passes toward a paper. “It’s a list of some advised areas to search for good specialists. We don’t want to break a young child's career so we are ready to compromise.”  

Lila almost believed her then she glanced at the man. At first she thought this Damian Wayne was gorgeous. And indeed his look was perfect, however she didn’t meet more horrifying people than him. His eyes screamed for murder.

She turned back to her mother who kind of looked relieved. “We… I thank you.” she breathed.

After that were just formalities. Signing up that or this. Lila wanted to run home and curl up. And cry.  

She worked for her fame. She worked hard to destroy those lives in her way. She didn’t think she would meet someone who could destroy her with just a flick.

However the paper said otherwise.

Her fucking status said otherwise.

She didn’t remember a lot from the meeting after that. She barely registered when they arrived home. She almost didn’t hear her father's disappointed voice on the phone.

And Lila almost missed the little note on her desk. With a photo about herself as she moves to get an akuma.

We are the night. We are vengeance. We are a family.

[poliel]

Snaxsquatch

This is directly inspired by my in game experience in catching sight of the Snaxsquatch and then approaching it, thinking it was one of the villagers and then it melting into the ground before I could get a good look at it. I spent a while trying to get it to reappear and even now during my second play through, every time I'm in that area I look down into the alcove with my camera, hoping it's there. It sadly never is though. I decided to turn the fic into a Filbo/Buddy thing because why not?

~

Stepping out of the cave, Buddy looked up. … But alas, the sky was still crystal-clear blue. There were a couple wispy clouds but nothing that had much of a chance of yielding rain any time soon. Waiting around for it wasn’t the best use of their time but… it was the last snac they needed to document in Flavor Falls. Supposedly anyway, there could be more, the entire island was still largely unexplored after all. So there could easily be…

“Sandopede, sandopede, sandopede…”

Coming to a stop, their eyes naturally followed the sandopede as it crossed right in front of them in its seemingly never-ending loop. It was weird how so many snax resorted to running or flying around in a loop, almost like they wanted to be caught. Perhaps later Buddy should ask Floofty about…

Someone stood at the end of the little alcove they’d fallen in when first arriving upon the island. At this distance and with their back to Buddy it was hard to tell who it might be. But if they were out here it had to be for a reason.

Abandoning their prior path, Buddy jumped down to the lower level. They then crossed the stream and ascended the hill to the alcove, taking a breath great whoever it was. They didn’t get a single word out though because that was not a grumpus!

Its large googly eyes locked onto Buddy, sending a chill down their spine. Despite that they were already scrambling to lift their camera. They were too slow though, the thing disappeared, seemingly melting into the ground, before they could even get it in the view finder. … Dammit!

Their fur bristling with fear and anticipation, they glanced around, both hoping and fearing that it might’ve reappeared elsewhere. … But no, whatever that thing had been was gone now. Shaking it off, they held their camera at the ready, just in case, as they approached the spot it had been standing.

No trace of it remained, not even a single footprint. It was rock and grass so that made sense but was disappointing nonetheless. They hadn’t gotten a good look at it but it had definitely been grumpus shaped and perhaps made of bugsnax? It was hard to say for sure with how brief their glimpse had been.

There was a good chance it whatever it had been was the thing Beffica had seen that night a couple weeks ago. Buddy had already been intrigued by that mystery but now that they’d seen it themself, it was a whole other story. They had to document it, simply had to. And since bugsnax seemed to like to hang out in one place – and that was probably what it was given how no other native creatures had been spotted on the island – it was probably still around here somewhere, perhaps watching them. That thought made their fur prickle with fear again but… no matter. They wouldn’t rest until they’d found, scanned, and officially documented whatever it was.

A week or so later and back at Snaxburg

“Hey Gramble,” Filbo said as he poked his head into the barn. Gramble looked up from whatever bugsnax he was tending to, giving him a slightly suspicious look. It hurt a little but… it was understandable so Filbo continued. “Have you seen Buddy around lately?”

“Nope. They ain’t been by when I wasn’t around to drop off any new little ones for a while now neither.” Which meant they hadn’t been back to Snaxburg at all because they always had something to donate to Gramble’s barn every time they returned to town.

“They’ve never been gone this long before.” They hadn’t really been gone for a super long time but previously the longest they’d been away from town without returning for even a short while was like two or three days. And given how Liz and Eggabell were still missing after disappearing… “I’m starting to get a little worried.”

Gramble suddenly looked nervous too. “Well what do you want me to do about it?”

“I don’t know. Help me go find them maybe?” Filbo didn’t exactly trust himself to find them on his own otherwise he’d have gone off to do so already.

“I would but… I can’t be away from my little ones that long. Someone would break in and eat them for sure.” That was unfortunately probably a fair point.

“Right, yeah, uh… I guess I’ll go ask the others for help then.” Buddy was friends with everyone here so surely getting a search party going wouldn’t be too hard.

-

It turned to Snorpy had placed a tracking device on them, making determining their location in Flavor Falls a breeze. But… “They didn’t respond when I tried to contact them earlier today for I too was starting to get worried. I was thinking of sending Chandlo out to go find them if they didn’t return by nightfall tonight.”

“No need for that. I can handle it,” Filbo said even though he was not at all confident that he could handle even that. But Flavor Falls was the least dangerous place on the island other than Snaxburg so he’d probably be fine. It’d be chance to possibly prove himself a little.

“Very well then,” Snorpy replied with nod. “I suppose I shall see both you later then. Be careful though, you never know what might be out there.” That sounded a bit forbidding but… Snorpy was just like that so Filbo wasn’t going to worry about it.

-

It wasn’t until he was halfway there that the realization that things might not be so safe hit him. Surely there had to be a reason Buddy had been gone for so long. It was possible something had attacked them and they were hurt or perhaps worse. What would he do if he when he found Buddy they were…

The distinct sound of a snaxscope snapping a picture made him jump a little and drew his gaze upward. Buddy stood atop a steep hill, looking down at him, their camera still raised. Oh thank grump, they were okay.

“Hey, Buddy.” He smiled, lifting a paw in a small wave to hide his relief.

“Hello, Filbo.” Buddy lowered their camera and jumped down off the hill with seemingly no concern for their own safety. “What are you doing out here?” As they approached it became hard to miss the heavy bags under bloodshot eyes. Clearly they hadn’t slept in a while.

“Looking for you. You’re been gone for a while and I was starting to get a bit worried.” And apparently, given their appearance, he’d had a right to be. “So… you okay?”

That gave Buddy pause as they opened their mouth as if to speak but said nothing for a solid few seconds before finally speaking, looking Filbo right in the eye as they did so. “You’re amazing and I would kill someone for you if you asked me to.”

Now it was Filbo’s turn to be taken aback. Who said that kind of thing in general but especially to someone like him? He wasn’t all that great or amazing and nobody should be killing anyone at his request. Also that was something he very much did not want. But before he could gather himself enough to say that or anything really…

“But anyway,” their tone now matter-of-fact as if they hadn’t just said something super weird, Buddy broke eye contact as they shifted their backpack around to start digging through it, “the reason I’ve been out here so long is I’m hunting what I’ve decided to call a Snaxsquatch. It’s shaped like a grumpus but made of smaller bugsnax… I think. I only saw it for a split second before it melted into the ground. Which is why I couldn’t get a picture of it. I’ve been trying to get to reappear or root out its hiding spot ever since. I may have gotten a bit wrapped up in. But I did capture what I think might be a footprint it left.” They pulled out their notebook, flipping it open and holding it out so Filbo could see.

On one page was some writing, repeating most of what Buddy had just said. Beneath it was a sketch of a shadowy grumpus shape with googly eyes much like the bugsnax’s but bigger. On the other page was a photo of a grassy patch that did indeed look kind of like something large had stepped there.

With a shiver, Filbo glanced all around them. Thankfully whatever it was didn’t seem to be around right now. “Surely if something like that was on the island, especially this part of it, we would’ve seen it by now, right?”

Buddy closed their journal and slipped it into their pack and shifted it around onto their back again. “We have seen it. Or at least Beffica and Gramble saw it. But I think this one’s smarter than most bugsnax. Which is why we haven’t seen it much. It’s hiding somewhere, probably watching us.” Their face and tone seemed to indicate that idea excited them somehow. “I’m going to find it though.” If anyone could, it was probably them, right? But…

“Maybe you should rest first though. You look pretty uh… tired.”

“I can rest after I find it.” They started to turn away, probably to return to their hunt it. Filbo couldn’t let them do that though, both for their sake as well as his own because returning to town alone knowing something could be out there watching him was not something he had any desire to do.

“It seems to be taking a long time though. And… and… what about Lizbert and Eggabell? You still haven’t found them yet. And what about the rest of the town too? We’re kind of uh, depending on you.” Probably more than was fair.

They froze before snapping back around to face Filbo again. “Shit, you’re right. After I got that quick glimpse of it I just go so excited to find another cryptid I guess I forgot about everything else. … Whoops, sorry. I’ll hunt it down afterfinding Lizbert.” They turned and started fast walking back towards town. ��I’ll get back on that right now. Thanks for coming out here to find me.”

Filbo scrambled to catch up, almost having to run to keep up with their walking pace. “You’ll get some rest first though, right?” Because they looked like they needed it and because in general they didn’t seem to rest as much as they should. And if Filbo was already out here checking up on them he might as well also take the opportunity to encourage them to take care of themself too.

They turned their head to look at him. “If you insist, I suppose I could use a nap.”

“Awesome.” And for once in his life Filbo had actually succeeded at something. He’d found Buddy and was bringing him back to town and had convinced them to take another much needed rest. Not a grand achievement or anything but he’d take it.

[the-siren-and-the-sailor]

@kissthe-gogoat it's all done my dude, hell yeah

Stars glimmered outside the spacecraft's window, and the glow of Saturn's rings provided the room (and by extension, the woman in it), with just enough light.

Daphne stood in front of the extensive mirror, turning from side to side. The celestial glow glittered across her outfit; a tangerine dress with festoons that exaggerated her statuesque high heels.

Behind her, she could see that a figure in the Fleet Admiral's uniform had slipped inside the walk-in closet.

"What an outfit, mouse. How much did this one cost?" her husband chastised her, but Daphne smiled up at him (yes, up, even in those heels) innocently.

"Um... does it really matter, kitten?" she said sweetly. He didn't look impressed. "Alright fine. It was about, I think, three hundred Woolongs?"

Cain sighed and tapped his foot. "And where were you planning to wear this... extravagant outfit, during work?"

Defenses up. If Cain was going to be like this, so was she. "I was only going to go visit a friend! Super quick, you won't even notice I'm gone. Really!"

Cain stepped closer to her, trying to find some sign or clue of her true intent. Oh, Cain. He could be so damn stingy about responsibility and organization. In his eyes, this was justified; when it's 2178 and you've started a city on a spaceship that you must maintain, being somewhat steely can be a necessary evil.

In Daphne's eyes, Cain was, well...

"Oh, you can be such a jackass sometimes! Fine, I was going to see Teresa, and probably Abel, too. We were going to go giggle at paintings of you two in The Library and tell stories of all the stupid shit you two have done. Happy?"

The words streamed out of her and she was left with only the option to close her mouth and look at her toes. Cain huffed and lifted her chin to kiss her. She melted into it for just a moment before he pulled away.

"Just promise me you'll be safe. Abel and I are... trying. But-"

"Of course, doll," she held his cheek in reassurance. The mischief returned to her eyes once more, however. "So, is this you telling me I can go?"

Cain pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled through his nose. "I suppose, but-"

"Yes! Oh, thank you, darling, thank you! Bye!" She quickly scurried out the door, but tripped on her shoes after only a few steps.

"Darling, perhaps you should change. The docents will not appreciate the loud clicking heels much, anyway."

Daphne sighed, glowered at Cain, and defeatedly began to change. He chuckled, "That's what I thought."

"Oh go away, you!" she said in half-mock irritation, pushed him out the door, and shut it.

"Just tell Enoch I say hello..." Cain called through the door.

“Go away!”

~*~

Teresa’s ears twitched at the sound of a knock on the door. "I've got it," Abel grumbled from the living room as he got up.

He was already not pleased to have been moved from his comfortable spot on the couch, but the sight when he opened the door did little to lighten his mood.

Daphne had been smiling, but it faltered slightly at the sight of the man towering over her. Her expression and demeanor changed to that of someone who was both exasperated and a little nervous, all while trying to remain positive.

Abel, however, simply wanted to go back inside. "Oh, it's you," was all he said.

"Obviously. I'm here to see Teresa, are they here?" Daphne was impatiently looking past him and into the house.

He stepped, almost defensively, to block her view. "What would you want with them?"

"We were only going to go out on a little day trip. Leave the poor girl alone."

"Why don't you leave me alone, wench."

"Abel, what's wrong?" the voice sounded from behind him, this one much softer and kinder. Abel turned and there stood Teresa, watching the display curiously. Realization clicked onto their face when they saw Daphne, however.

"Oh, Daphne! Hi, sorry! I'll go get my stuff really quick!" they said before dashing off to another room.

This left Daphne and Abel in a very tense silence. They eyed each other, not saying a word.

Should she…? No, oh, it would be so rude. Hmm… but she couldn’t resist.

"Well at least your English has gotten better," Daphne muttered. Abel looked as though he could've killed her, and Daphne squeaked as she put her hands up defensively. Thankfully, Teresa came around the corner once more, now wearing shoes and carrying a purse.

Daphne sighed, relieved to be out of this awkward situation. "Alright! All ready?"

Teresa nodded. "Yep! See you later, Abel," they said, standing on the tips of her hooves to kiss his cheek. With this, Abel and Daphne shot each other one last look, and the two headed out the door.

~*~

"So how does this work, again?" Teresa was referring to how to get to the Library.

"Well, we use these things called 'Ways.' They're like, hmm. They can be almost anything, usually involving a door. If you do some specific steps, it'll let you in. It's sort of like apparating, I guess," Daphne fumbled her way through the explanation. Teresa still looked rather confused.

"Okay... So what steps do we follow?"

"Well, there's a door in the lower levels of the ship, and you use a certain key while dripping moon water on it. Uh, I think."

"Huh, okay. And, how do you make moon water? Um, out here, I mean?"

"Oh, I have no fucking clue. I just left a water bottle with a friend on Enceladus for a while."

"Oh, okay. Will that work?"

"Guess we'll find out!"

~*~

Somehow, someway, the Way opened for them. Why? Who knows, who cares.

Daphne and Teresa now stood is the grand halls of the Library. Teresa had quickly taken to looking around, asking questions about anything and everything.

"Girl, slow down! I don't know everything!" Daphne yelped, smiling.

"Sorry, sorry, I- Oh! Wow, how old do you think this book is?"

"Oh gosh, I dunno. Few hundred years? At least?"

Teresa's eyes widened as they began to open the book. Daphne laughed and gently pulled it away. "Weren't you the one who wanted to come here to learn more about Abel?"

"Weren't you just going to tell me about stupid stuff they used... to..." Teresa trailed off, their attention now on a painting behind Daphne.

"What'cha looking at now?" Daphne said, turning around. She quickly understood.

There, painted between two shelves, was a mural. It showed a grand city, sprawled across valleys and mountains. The city was surrounded by smaller icons, of sorts. Several the Teresa recognized, others not so much.

In the top corners were two women, one with light skin and black hair, the other with the opposite. Between them was a glowing man wearing an iron crown inlaid with what looked to be a star.

Their attention had mostly been drawn to the two figures below the black-haired woman. The first, a man with piercing blue eyes and a clockwork coronet in his hair. Another was a man with a strong face and winding rose thorns resting just above his ears.

"Cain and Abel. Right?" Teresa chirped. "Oh, look! Here at the bottom, it's them as kids! Wow, can you believe Abel was shorter than Cain at one point?"

Getting used to the sight, Daphne responded, "Oh yeah. I'm pretty sure he's something like, what, five years younger than Cain? And I think Seth is three years behind Abel."

"Wait, how do you know that? Or did Cain tell you?"

Daphne nodded, and Teresa's face lit up. "Wow, that's so cool! Can I..." she hesitated. "Oh, I mean, I don't want to pry."

"They’re our husbands aren’t they? Ask whatever you want," Daphne gave Teresa a daring smile.

And it was off to the races! Teresa asked about anything and everything they could think of. All the while, they searched out more paintings of the pair. Teresa’s favorite seemed to be the one that depicted the two with matching ear piercings. They were more than a bit tickled to find that they had gotten them behind their mother’s back.

Several others were more serious. Depictions of Cain’s banishment, Abel’s confinement, and Seth’s disappearance. Others showed them in more victorious circumstances; Cain and Daphne, as royalty, with their boys; Abel standing atop a golden throne having just defeated the people that kept him captive for so long.

And then they found one that have she pause. Teresa looked closer at it. It was a beautiful forest scenery, and depicted a tall man dancing with a smaller, goat-like person.

“Daphne, this painting of Abel… who’s that with him?”

Daphne smiled. “Who do you think it is?”

“Well, uh… maybe, uh, one of my siblings?” they said slowly.

“Do you really believe that?”

“…I guess I don’t. Huh…” they continued to gaze at it for a time.

After a few moments of this, Daphne quietly smiled to herself again. “Welcome to the hall of fame, kiddo.”

“Yeah…” Teresa had now moved to lightly touch the painting.

“Hmm. Hang on a sec, Goat. You stay here, I’ll be right back.”

~*~

Abel still looked ready to bite Daphne’s head off when she returned Teresa to him. However, she made her getaway as Abel was distracted by Teresa’s dreamy expression.

“What’s this?”

He followed her to their bedroom, where they had set a large and heavy book down on the table.

“It’s a story book. Look,” they flipped to a few hundred pages in.

It was a tale entitled ‘The Bard and the Barbarian.’ Teresa pulled it into their lap and patted the spot on the bed next to them. Abel took the hint and laid down next the them.

With this Teresa smoothed the page, drew in a breath, and began to read.

~*~

A/N: Yes that is a Cowboy Bebop reference in the very beginning :D And yes I am going to continue to call their city's currency Woolongs :D

Not sure if this is really my best work, but it was fun to write!

[regrettablewritings]

How They Spend the Quarantine (Tadashi Hamada, Lucifer Morningstar, Dewey Finn, Wade Wilson, Harley Quinn, & Benoit Blanc)

Just a fun (?? is that even responsible to say?) little thing I’ve been thinking about while slogging through this neverending hellscape of an extended lockdown.

Tadashi Hamada

When San Fransokyo was ordered to go into a lockdown, there were mixed feelings.

At first, Tadashi had a hint of optimism that this would mean more time to work on his prospective projects . . . But then he quickly realized that his projects mostly required tools and space offered by the campus. He could technically make do at home, but it wouldn’t quite be the same considering the garage was considered Hiro’s space.

Somberly had to clean out his lab and take whatever he could home.

Cue the rest of the group (sans Fred and Hiro) griping that at least his style of science could travel well enough to be somewhat continued off of university grounds.

Helps do delivery for The Lucky Cat. It helps him get out the house, and it’s simply helpful altogether.

Uses Baymax frequently to make sure everyone down to Mochi is sanitized, and nobody’s running a fever.

Nearly as frequent a sanitizer as Aunt Cass.

He starts most days prepared to be productive, only to stop and poke fun at Hiro, who’s almost always got his eyes trained on a video game.

Tadashi realizes three hours later that he, too, has been playing the game as Player 2.

Learned how to make facial masks with Aunt Cass. He already knew how to sew a little but frankly, making the masks made him realize he could have a new hobby on his hands. He’s currently trying to figure out how to make Mochi a little vest . . .

Lucifer Morningstar

B o r e d. A s. F u c k.

At first, he thinks everyone being forced to go home would work in his favor -- surely some rule-breakers would sneak out and try to bunk up with the Devil, right?

Well . . . Kinda? Once Chloe found out and scolded him about it, the idea died real fast. Plus, he realized he wasn’t quite fond of the possibility of being around someone who could pop up with a disgusting human sickness at any point during their time with him. Smearing their snot all over, coughing into his Egyptian cotton sheets . . . Nope, never mind, he is perfectly content having the penthouse to himself, thank you very much!

Except he’s not.

The poor bastard is going crazy by himself -- he’s just not used to being without some kind of company!

“At least in Hell, you could tell there were people around you based on the screaming!” he’d whine at his phone during his hourly video chat with Chloe.

Oh yes: The video chats. He tries to make them hourly with anyone he can get a hold of (namely, his long-suffering detective) but this clearly never plays out as he would like for it to: If he had it his way, everyone would respond in an instant and let him bounce mainly one-sided conversations off of them -- basically, what he did before all this went down.

What usually winds up happening is he gets hung up on or nobody answers him at all out of sheer annoyance over his clinginess.

Ironically, he’s not exactly crazy about when Amenadiel initiates those “family calls”. He insists it’s healthy and normal for them to do this and even calls Luci out on the hypocrisy, but let’s face it: Lucifer finds it obnoxiously gushy and weird.

He works his way into Linda’s video appointment books to help him cope with his boredom and admitted need for interactions. She doesn’t mind offering him counsel, but once Lucifer starts attempting to butt in during others’ appointment calls, it becomes an issue.

Has, at some point, gotten buzzed down in Lux and streamed himself attempting to pole dance. It drew quite a bit of attention.

He’s managed to gain a bit of a following and some companionship by streaming himself playing piano and singing. It’s not the same thing as having an actual audience, in his opinion, but it will have to do for now.

He’s never been one to binge with regards to TV shows or movies, but after the first week, he decided to binge watch every work action star Wesley Cabot was ever in.

Makes sure his staff still gets paid well. After all, he’s pretty well-off; there’s no need to make an innocent bartender’s life a living hell just because some other rich bastard fucked up, yeah?

Going off this, should he need to order to-go or anything, we already know he tends to tip as handsomely as he looks.

Dewey Finn

Kids were being sent to Horace Green on tuitions worth more than what some people saw in half a year -- of course the school was going to continue classes online!

While technically an afterschool instructor, the program is popular enough for parents to expect it to continue, and for Dewey to be kept on payroll.

Initially, he was pretty smug: He’s one if, if not, the youngest teacher-figure at Horace Green, so surely that means he’s more tech savvy than his older, stiffer coworkers, right? For once, he’s ahead of the curve!

Wrong: Figuring out Zoom was a headache, and then there was the realization of just how dependent his classes were on actual physical presence.

Plus, let’s be real: Dewey’s Internet connection was decent on its own, but craptastic when compared to those of his wealthier students. The lag is strong with this one.

Has definitely accidentally messed up the background on his screen. Somehow wound up with the Beetlejuice background and got so frustrated, he wound up keeping it there for two whole sessions.

In spite of the slight issues regarding lag, they pull through and try to resume lessons as best they can.

Tries to keep optimism by pointing out how this is a new form of entertainment they could be pioneers in.

Some days, it’s just going so wack or everyone’s so bleh that Dewey just assigns for them to watch a music documentary or something.

“Okay, kids, Mr. Finn’s hungover and clearly Summer is the only one who went to bed before 3am. So what I’m gonna have you do is watch . . . Prrrbbbb . . . Amadeus.” “How is Amadeus rock-related?” “It had a rock single, shut up. Anyway, we meet back next class and talk about what we saw, m’kay? M’kay. Over and out.”

Next class, he’s filled with dread as Summer produces an in-depth analysis of the relationship or lack thereof between character and the presence of talent as evidenced by Mozart’s abilities juxtaposed with his immature presentation and -- Dewey just can’t keep up. Sure, Summer, why not?

When he’s not busy teaching, however, he’s using the lockdown to work on some new material. Or just screwing around.

Otherwise, let’s be real, Big Boy’s living the high life in a place of his own: Playing video games (Animal Crossing, recently got back into Team Fortress 2, is trying to finally finish Ocarina of Time); eating a not very great diet; staying up late, napping at weird times; all in the name of quarantine.

If he orders delivery or to-go, he tips the best he can.

Wade Wilson

On one hand, murking never goes on lockdown. But on the other . . . He’s already technically not well, why risk that even with his mutation?

Oh, fuck I just remembered he lives at the X Mansion, never mind turn back turn back oh god give us free --

The situation is tense to say the least. There’s Wade, who’s sensible enough to know why the quarantine is in place . . . and then there’s everyone else, who knows Wade’s full of shit.

And by everyone, I “coincidentally” mean Colossus, Nega Sonic, Yukio, Domino, Cable, and Russ because the already small world of the sequel just got smaller by the fact that everyone is bound to a large but nonetheless single estate whose size has probably decreased from that of the First Class timeline.

You know those videos of the usual Quarantine Characters? Wade is somehow yet still unsurprisingly all of them, save for the frequent sanitizer. He raids the pantry frequently, sleeps at all hours, considers scooting a swivel chair down the halls exercise for the thighs, blasts video games, and so on.

Going back to the sanitizer thing, it’s not that he’s just not exactly known for being tidy. Colossus occasionally does drag him out of bed at a decidedly decent time (read: any time before 11am) to try and get him excited about cleaning up around the mansion, but it rarely ends well. At this point, the safest option is to just remind Wade to wash his hands for 20 seconds as necessary.

Has acquired a Switch and visits everyone’s island, often to bonk them on the head with a net or gift them with weird crap they don’t necessarily want. For the “friends” from Sister Margaret’s, he has somehow acquired their Dodo Codes. Nobody knows how he did this. 

Facetimes Dopinder frequently.

“Precious, you’re the beacon of light in this cold, cruel world.” “I miss you, too, DP --” “Sshshsh! I’m having a moment . . .” *weeps*

On the many occasions he orders delivery, he tips by giving the delivery person something expensive from the mansion that they can sell. Prof. X is loaded, after all. Plus, he more or less isn’t even present in this universe, it’s not like he’s gonna miss anything he can’t see/probably doesn’t even know exists in his house. The problem is, Colossus does exist and does notice and does care when things go missing. Leading to many a delivery person getting caught up in shenanigans at that weird school in the boonies that they either don’t get paid enough to deal with or couldn’t pay to make up.

“Oh, pawn shops are closed?” asks the man who looks like a skinned avocado if avocados had human skin. “Don’t worry, lemme hook you up -- I know some guys --” “DEADPOOOOOLLL!!” roars a Russian accent from inside the house. “WHERE IS THE BRONZE BUST OF THE PROFESSOR!?” The poor delivery person’s eyes widen as they realize that the odd cargo they’ve been presented with apparently holds some value of some kind. But before they can flee, the avocado man blurts, “Shit! Leave the pizza in the bushes, look me up on my Youtube page, byyyeeee!!”

In his defense, Wade does hold up his end of the deal. Much like the Dodo Codes, nobody knows what strings he pulled. They just accept it and move on.

Harley Quinn

Surprisingly compliant.

She’s crazy, not stupid: Staying at home may suck, but what sucks more is making things harder on people who may not fair so well. Besides, she’s spent time in a maximum security prison -- she can handle staying cooped up in her own home. At least home has TV, books, and snacks.

When she hears people are still going out without masks or plotting to have a protest, she strongly considers firing up the old Fun Gun and popping the next sign-carrying Karen she sees with a tit full of cadmium yellow powder.

Seriously, stay the fuck home and fuck up your own hair; this is the perfect time to make mistakes with your looks, it ain’t like you got anywhere to be or anyone to impress.

“STAY THE FUCK HOME, BITCH!” P O W!!! “JUST GO GREY ALREADY, WE ALL KNOW YOUR HAIR AIN’T THAT COLOR ANYMORE, YOU’RE THREE YEARS FROM BEING IN THE GODDAMN AGE-BRACKET!!!” P O W!!!!

Only leaves her new apartment to grab groceries and to take Bruce on a walk. She actually refuses to steal or cause a scene during this shitshow because she may be a bad guy, but she sure ain’t evil.

So far, there haven’t been complaints about the fact that she’s walking a hyena down a public street. Maybe it’s because there’s hardly anyone out? Maybe it’s because Gothamites just can’t be bothered to be fazed by it . . . Or maybe it’s because she made him a little mask for his snout.

“In this house, we wash our hands for at least 20 seconds, kid.”

Lets the forest reclaim the earth, so to speak. She was never really shaving anything for anyone but herself before, but now it just seems especially pointless.

Spends almost every day in a kigurumi. To give her a semblance of routine, she has a pink bear one she calls her “Sunday Suit.” She doesn’t know it’s not Sunday because the days just blur but Cass just doesn’t have the heart to tell her; she seemed so proud of herself . . .

Like everyone else, she’s gotten Animal Crossing. She’s trying to create an all-preppy island with a few exceptions (Astrid = Aesthetic, m’kay?)

Tips nicely when ordering delivery.

Benoit Blanc

As young and spry in nature as the gentleman sleuth would like to think of himself, he would really rather not test the dangers of the situation and go about all foolhardy -- he’s staying home!

In theory, it’s only logical and therefore perfectly fine. But in practice . . . God, he wishes he’d invested more in things to occupy himself with when home.

It wasn’t that Benoit was never home, he just never felt too much of a need to invest in a fancy entertainment center -- the fanciest he ever got was an iHome.

The beginning of the quarantine served as the perfect time for him to read over case files, catch up on paperwork, even catch up on some reading he’d been putting on hold since God knows when due to cases popping up left and right. But that dried up quicker than he’d assumed, and that’s when he was faced with what a man of his mind dreads the most: Boredom.

Finally caved and decided to hook up Amazon Fire.

Expected to use the one-month free trial on Netflix and be just fine but once the lockdown in his area got extended and he realized he wasn’t going to be able to catch up with Crazy Ex-Girlfriend at this rate, he caves even further and buys a subscription.

Fully delights at the influx of platforms uploading Broadway recordings; when The Show Must Go On put on Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat, followed by The Phantom of The Opera, it was a treat, I tell you!

Sanitizes often, despite hardly ever leaving his house besides to have a smoke or to go grab groceries. Honestly, it’s less about cleaning at this point so much as it is finding something to occupy his focus when he feels there’s nothing else to so.

Takes zinc after every meal to help lessen the intensity of any ailment that might hit him.

Definitely owns a facemask. There’s a good chance it’s from Marta or one of his relatives, and there’s another good chance the pattern is as flamboyant as his clothing. He’s delighted.

Benoit tries not to rely too much on delivery,  as he’d much rather just cook. On the rare occasion where tipping comes up, however, he gives as generously as he can.

Bonus: There’s a slight chance he might have acquired a companion to foster early on in the quarantine. Benoit hadn’t had a pet since childhood, a crime of which he was admittedly melancholic of his own involvement. However, his surprisingly busy lifestyle just wouldn’t suit a four-legged friend, now could it?

Well, now there’s time to. Besides, it would certainly ease the potential feeling of loneliness to have someone or something with whom he could interact with.

Admittedly, when shelters began encouraging people to invest time in taking home a companion, he’d been looking more for a comrade on the canine side of the spectrum -- but darn, if Duke wasn’t a handsome cat.

A lovely grey-and-white cat with eyes that matched his own, Duke has become the one Benoit monologues to (because in all honesty, the man is a performer at heart, in need of an audience to speak his mind to and portray a thought before). Plus, he doesn’t appear to mind it when Benoit finds himself belting out in tone-deaf notes to showtunes while washing the dishes: The mark of a true companion.

At this rate, he’s probably not going to keep fostering Duke when things calm down -- he’s probably going to just straight up adopt him.

Stay safe & healthy!

[drakefeathers]

anyway this is the beginning of my twewy fic that’s been consuming me for the past month. it’s like. almost 11k now. i'm so close but the last 5% goes the slowest always. neo spoilers obvs.

--

The route is a little different each time, but it follows the same rhythm. He hits up the usual spots—the scramble, Hachiko, 104. The mural in Udagawa. Then over to Cat Street, and always ending at the river, looking down into the dark entrance of that tunnel.

He’ll mix it up in between, depending on how the mood strikes. Take a loop through Dogenzaka, linger around Center Street or roll through the park. Headphones on, music playing, he keeps it loose and lets his board lead the way, hoping it’ll take him to what he’s looking for.

Scramble’s as crowded as ever today. Beat steps off his board and crosses on foot to avoid crashing into anybody. As he moves along with the stream of pedestrians he keeps an eye out for a pair of headphones, Jupiter brand clothing, a bright head of hair on a scrawny frame—the kind of familiar things that could use a second look.

In the middle of the crossing, he stops. Someone bumps into him, but he stands firm, and the crowd flows around him. He closes his eyes and focuses on screaming one thought as loud as he can in his mind, loud enough to drown out all the noise in this city. 

Loud enough that if someone was out there, listening, they couldn’t help but hear him.

A moment goes by. Beat opens his eyes again and keeps walking, stepping onto the curb just as the walk signal blinks over to red.

—

The three of them used to search Shibuya together, at the beginning. But that was a long time ago. Now each of them does their own thing. Beat likes it better this way—alone, he can cover more ground faster on his board. And he can roll with each hit of disappointment as it comes, easier than shielding someone else from it.

Most days he’ll find Shiki by Hachiko. She brings homework or a sketchpad and sits on the railing nearest to the statue, working, but mostly waiting. They don’t always talk—sometimes there isn’t much to say, and he’ll just give a nod as he glides by.

It hurts to see her sitting there. Makes it tough to ignore that hollow feeling in his chest when the same yearning is written clear on her face. Every few minutes she’ll look up and scan the crowds around her with a kind of quiet hope, then lower her gaze again in resignation. The same motion over and over, day after day.

They’ve never brought it up, but Beat knows she can feel it just as much as him, that Neku isn’t erased. That connection from their pact never disappeared, not completely. When they fought the Noise together in the UG it blazed like an inferno, since returning to the RG it’s dwindled down to a spark. But it’s not gone, and neither is Neku. He isn’t even that far away. 

He feels so near that Beat can’t shake the sense that the next time he looks over his shoulder he might see Neku there, looking back at him.

Shiki isn’t waiting outside today, but Beat spots her in the nearby cafe, sitting at the counter against the window, facing the square. Her stuffed animal is placed on the tabletop where it can be easily seen. Shiki smiles brightly at Beat and waves at him through the glass, and he waves back and heads inside.

“I heard it was going to rain soon, so I snagged a seat in here,” Shiki says as he sits down on the stool next to her. She pushes over a plate with an untouched half of a sandwich. “Here, you can finish this if you want.”

Beat’s not going to say no to that. Shiki sketches a bit frantically on her tablet while he eats. At one point she lets out a stressed little sigh and scrubs at the screen to erase half her work. 

“Whatchu got there?” Beat asks. 

“I’m finishing some new concepts for our winter collection. We got funding to double the size of the launch, if you can believe it. I’m hoping we can fit a few more items in.”

“Winter? But it ain’t even summer yet.”

“I know, I’m super behind, actually.” She taps on the screen and pulls up a picture of a plaid coat, smiling at it fondly. “I think Neku would like this one, don’t you? Maybe he’ll be able to wear it in the UG.”

The figure she drew doesn’t even have a face, but it’s Neku. Something about the tilt of the head, the line of its outstretched arm… Beat can’t pinpoint it exactly. He has no idea how Shiki does that, or if she’s even aware.

“Ever since we got the shop in 104, I sometimes think… what if he just walked in one day?” Shiki confesses. She adjusts her glasses as she looks up and gazes out the window hopefully. “I mean… I guess it could happen.”

Beat takes a quick glance over his shoulder. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

“Anyway, how’s Rhyme? I’ve been so busy, I haven’t talked to her in a while.”

“Good. Busy, too, burnin’ through all those computer courses she’s taking. She’s always holed up in her room, and I don’t understand half of what she’s talking ‘bout these days.”

“She’s still trying to find a way to hack into the UG, right?” Shiki taps a finger against her chin thoughtfully. “That would be amazing. Is it even possible?”

“If anyone can do it, it’s her,” says Beat, his pride clouded with worry, because, honestly, he wishes she wouldn’t. He hates the idea of Rhyme getting mixed up with the Reapers again, even from behind a computer.

“What about you, what have you been up to?” Shiki asks.

“Nothin’ new,” he says with a shrug. “Hittin’ the streets, like usual. Been a long time since I seen anyone from the UG, though.”  

“Besides that.” There’s a concerned crinkle between her eyebrows. “How’s school? Or— are things at home any better?”

Beat smiles. “It is what it is, like my sis’d say.” He stands and slings his bag over his shoulder. “I gotta bounce, yo. Later, Shiki.”

“Bye, Beat. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

—

Some event is going on at 104 this afternoon, the entrance is blocked by a crowd of excited teenagers. Beat gives them a wide berth as he takes his usual quick pass by the building, watching the bustling shoppers and the big video screen for signs of anything suspicious that might hint at the Reapers being up to some shit again. He doesn’t spend a lot of time around here, it’s always too busy, and Shiki’s got this one covered.

There’s a lot of people carrying shopping bags from her store today. He’s happy she’s making her dream come true. She was so torn up with guilt over it for so long, even though they all know it’s what Neku would’ve wanted. It sucks that he isn’t around to see it.

Beat tries not to dwell on these kind of thoughts—there’s no point to it, and it’s not his style, better to keep moving—but as he heads up Center Street he passes a group of friends standing outside a photo booth, laughing loudly over the pictures they’d just taken, enjoying their day together, and he’s freshly gut-punched with how fucking unfair it is. 

They won that game. They’d made it out. They were *good*. For those few short weeks, it had really felt like things were going to work out.

Coming back to life had been like a second chance. He and Rhyme were closer than ever, and he had some new friends, forged in fire. His parents were actually a bit better when he got home from the “hospital”, distraught after nearly losing both their kids, and they were cutting him some breaks for once. He even tried pretty hard with school again, and did alright on a few tests.

Not that it was all great. He’s still haunted by that lost look on Rhyme’s face as she sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor their first day back home, her old diary open on her lap, flipping through half-blank pages. “There’s nothing here,” she’d said quietly, with a heartbreaking kind of acceptance.

Beat stood in the doorway, his shaking hands clenched uselessly into fists. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. His vision blurred with tears, and he fought them back, knowing he didn’t have the right. He shouldn’t be crying, he wasn’t the one to lose something precious.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Rhyme stood and gave him a comforting hug that he knew he didn’t deserve. He was probably holding her too tightly, still trying to convince himself that it was real, that she was really there, but she didn’t complain. “All that matters is that we’re together.” After he finally managed to let her go, she went and picked up the diary from the floor, shutting it with a clap. “It’s a closed door. I just have to find my window.”

Rhyme smiled then, small but determined, and Beat knew she would be all right. She always finds a way to face forward. And, for the first time, he felt like maybe he was, too.

It was nice, for a while. But it sure as hell didn’t last. 

Now he moves through this city on an endless loop. His grades are trash, his parents barely speak to him except to complain about what a disappointment he is, and he spends too many nights awake trying to outrun nightmares on his skateboard, which just makes the rest of it worse.

But none of that really matters. Not school, definitely not what his parents think of him. The only worthwhile things he’d ever done had been with Neku. They saved Rhyme together, and this whole city. Beat owes him everything. He’ll be damned if he lets his best bud just slip through the cracks of reality. He’s gonna keep looking, no matter how long it takes.

[morrowzoranov]

I wasn’t expecting my shitpost to get any traction but I guess there’s an audience for everything, even if it’s just like five people on tumblr.

anyways more BTD x HS shit it is! I drew the three best boys in godhoods the other day and I will now give my explanations for their classpects because I put genuine thought into this and I have no one to talk to about it because no one I know is as deep into both fandoms as me.

Anyways, first off we have everyone’s favorite greasy german as a Knight of Rage. Rage, as an aspect, is associated with themes of anarchy, performance, chaos, and the destruction of lies. With Mister Strudel being not only a literal full-blown anarchist but also quite a fan of putting on a show, it was a pretty easy fit. Rage is also the most violent aspect, often associated with cruelty and emotional outbursts. Knights are an active class (at least in my interpretation, as we have very little solid canon surrounding the classes) that serves their aspect or serve through it for their own gain. They’re very skilled with their aspect but also quite blind to the flaws that come with it. It’s not unusual for them to get way too worked up, obsessive, even. They can get carried away very easily. Who does that remind you of? I also thought that his snuff streams fit into this quite well, since he’s literally killing and raping people so others would give him money. He’s serving people chaos for his own gain. The “Strade stabbed you back“ ending is a great example of when a Knight of Rage goes a bit off the shits, not just because he gets mad and pulls your eye out but also because who else but a Rage player would leave drawers full of knives unlocked? That’s a very easy way to get murdered.

My fave out of all the BTD boyfriends, Lawrence, took me quite a while to pin down. I kept switching between a couple different titles before settling on Maid of Doom. Doom is, as the name suggests, death. But also decay, suffering, and the concept of inevitability. Our corpse-fucker embodies the more negative sides of the Doom aspect with his tendency to be quite “bitter, resentful, and fatalistic”, to quote the extended zodiac entry. Maids are known for two things: The punny way they encompass their aspect (being made of it in some way), and the fact that, just like Sylphs, they refuse to fucking die. Law is made of death since he’s constantly rotting and he repeatedly comes back from the dead. Even though I would’ve liked to give him a more passive class, Maid was too perfect in my eyes. And, though an active class in my view, Maids are quite low-key and take a while to learn how to properly deal with their aspect. “Lawrence stopped holding back“ is what you get when any Maid is done with everybody’s bullshit. And, as a Maid, he’d create and repair doom or through doom. He creates Doom by, ya know, killing people from time to time. And he creates through Doom with his artwork. The “repair“ part is more so with the metaphorical parts of Doom, helping MC in the “You both know the truth“ ending. He will presumably be there for them to talk about what they’ve both experienced, highlighting the sympathy common in Doom players, one of the few positive traits of the aspect our blonde baby represents. I was considering making him a Bard of Doom, due to him allowing the destruction of Doom by refusing to die, but he doesn’t have as many traits associated with Bards as he does with Maids. Though it would be hilarious to see him in the Bard godhood, codpiece and all. Also, he shares a class with Aradia. The two Maids can go out into the wilderness and watch something decompose in complete silence. Absolutely vibing.

Ren also almost became a different classpect, a Page of Rage (passive counterpart to Knight of Rage, mirroring his connection to Strade, it seemed perfect), but I decided to go with Witch of Heart. The Heart aspect is represented by the concept of soul, identity, and masks. Heart players are often very imaginative. They like costumes and roleplaying and the like. Combined with their overbearing and inflexible nature, we got a pretty close match to our favorite furry fuckass. The aspect is also often associated with passion and romance for obvious reasons, which I think goes well with Ren’s anime levels of thirst and excitement. Witches are, first and foremost, manipulators. Not necessarily always in a bad way... Just this time. They’re often considered to break the rules of their aspect, bending it to their own will. They’re also very high energy and cheerful, as well as confident. A Witch will often think they know what they’re doing, that they’re using their abilities in a smart way, and they will often be wrong. Ren is great at lying and drawing people into a false sense of security, he also has the amazing ability to switch between attitudes depending on his situation. He drops his desire to be kind very quickly if the MC isn’t kind back, becoming cruel and vicious. He manipulates his identity, often in an attempt to be more like Strade, which is what originally drew me towards the Page of Rage interpretation for him. Also, a few more things. These aren’t really reasons as to why I made him a Witch of Heart, they’re more so just interesting coincidences. Nepeta is a Rogue of Heart and Jade is a Witch of Space. Both are fucking furries and if Ren knew what homestuck was they’d probably be two of his favorite characters. Also also, though the Heart aspect color scheme is mostly shades of pink and magenta, its accent color is green. Even in a different fandom, Strudel Man leaves his imprint on our foxy boy. Speaking of the two of them, a Rage player taking advantage of a Heart player who they’ve also been in a romantic/sexual relationship with and the Heart player is heavily associated with an animal... Kurloz and Meulin, that’s all I’m gonna say.

I hope the god awful art didn’t ruin this uninvited rant for y’all. Lawrence, Strade, and Ren belong to @gatobob Homestuck belongs to Andrew Hussie

[drethanramslay]

90 with MC and Rafael. Thank you!!

Thanks for the ask, anon 😉

You can find the prompt list here.

#90-“Can…can you come over?”

Warning: it's fluff, angst and long 😅 also it's kind of based on my raf x mc fic

Author's note: The MC's name is Addison Jones. I usually use different names of the MCs for different pairings :)

Taglist: @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @openheart12 @sekizincimektup @junggoku @ethandaddyramsey @edith-eggs1 @ethanramseysgirl (let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list 😊)

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"Have a great day babe." Sora said as she kissed him on the lip.

Raf just grinned and kissed her back. "You too Sora. Kick some surgical ass out there, okay?"

"You know it babe." She winked and walked away. Raf watched her walk into the hospital, small smile on his lips.

He was about to leave but his eyes fell on the familiar blonde, sitting on the bench in the ambulance bay, eating a bagel.

"Hey Addy!" He said as he settled in beside her.

"Raf, if you even thing I'm going to give you my Nutella bagel, try again." She said as she continued to scroll through her phone.

"You wound me Addy. You can't even say a normal 'good morning' to me." Raf pouted. She just rolled her eyes and took a big bite of her bagel.

"You are big boy, I think you can deal with a little heartbreak." Raf winced but luckily Addison didn't notice.

It had been three months since she confessed her love for him. He wanted to run to her and say those words back but it was hard. He was afraid of what he had with Addison. The feelings he felt for her, were so intense that it left him dazed and confused.

Sora was his safety net, the one who will always love him irrespective of what happens.

You love Sora not Addy. Rafael chanted it like a mantra, hoping that it would nail into his brain. But, how do you fight off that feeling when the love for a certain person is ingrained into your DNA?

"Hello Raf?!! Anybody there?" She knocked his forehead. "Yup nobody. As empty as a coconut." She ruffled his hair, like she used to when they would lie naked in bed. She just wishes to turn back when he was hers, but that won't ever happen.

Addy, he made his choice. He chose Sora, you can do nothing but, respect that..

"Shut up. I have more IQ in my fingers that you have in your brains." He shoved her and Addy laughed. "Keep lying to yourself, superman."

She looked down on her watch and got up. "Ight imma head out. Don't get yourself killed big man."

"Don't stress yourself out too much Addy." He called out, with a huge grin in his face.

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It had been three days since their last interaction and Rafael hadn't seen the blonde. He initially brushed it off but when he spoke to Lahela the other day, he got to know she hadn't been coming.

"Hey Sora, have you seen Addy at work?" He asked nonchalantly as he drove her to work after having a late lunch together.

"Huh? No, haven't seen her... Anyways who cares?!" Sora laughed but Raf felt a pinch in his heart, hearing Sora say that to his- Addy.

He just shook his head and stayed quiet. He knew if he brought it up, they would fight.

As she got down from the car she turned towards him. "Don't forget, today's taco Tuesday."

He gave her a tight smile but his mind was wandering off to Addison. He was getting worried about her. He took out his phone and typed a message-

He put his phone on the seat next to him and pulled out of the curb to his work.

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It had been three hours since and she had still not responded. It was quite unlike her. That girl was obsessed with her phone and wouldn't be found dead without it. He had sent a couple of more texts but the lack of response just made him antsy.

So when his phone pinged and he saw her name he immediately unlocked the phone.

"Addy?" He spoke into the phone.

He heard her clear her throat. "Um hi."

"What's wrong?"

She chuckled dryly. "Nothing... Everything? I don't know..." Her voice cracked at the end.

"You know you can talk to me...right?"

"I- I can't on the phone... Can..can you come over?" She was breathing heavily, as if she was on the verge of crying.

"I'm on my way."

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When he entered the penthouse, Sienna looked worried. "Thank God you are here man." Elijah said as he opened the door. "What's wrong? How is she?" Raf asked frantically.

"She hadn't any food today and has been holed up in her room since yesterday."

"What's the date today?"Raf asked.

"18th. Why?"

Holy shit, how could I forget.

He knocked and entered her room, finding Addy on the floor looking at the photo album. She was wearing a 'guns n roses' shirt, which looked way to old and some shorts.

"Hey." She looked up and gave a small smile.

He went and sat down next to her. "Look at this picture." She pointed to a picture in which her twin brother and her were standing in the backyard, making a snowman.

"We were only five, but we had the best snowman on the block. Andrew was always the creative one. Hell, you should have see the cakes he baked and the art on them would be so beautiful that you wouldn't even want to cut it."

Flipping the page, she showed him another photo. He was holding a can whipped cream and Addy was lying asleep. But, the focus of the picture was the gigantic moustache on her face. "Even when he had leukemia, Drew always pulled such pranks on me. God, I was so pissed that day. We had a full blown out food fight in the dorm, which ended in him smelling like stale whipped cream and me having rotten egg smell, coming from my hair. But we always made up. He was my twin. We would always be joined at the hip. He was my ride and die."

She closed the album and tears streamed down her face. Clutching the shirt, which belonged to Andrew she spoke. "I miss him so damn much... It hurts. I thought I would go meet him, but God I couldn't enter go past the gate of the cemetery. It's been 5 years, but I STILL can't see his headstone."

Raf wrapped his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. "I'm not gonna say something like 'it's okay' or 'everything will be fine'. It's not okay and nothing will ever be the same. Just because time had passed, it doesn't mean that it will not hurt. Yes, the pain will gradually decrease but... It's okay to feel. Just reminds us that we are human."

He tucked her blonde hair behind her ear. "It's okay you couldn't go to meet him. Nobody is gonna judge you. People deal with grief differently. You dealt with it by becoming the best doctor in the hospital. And it's the small gestures that matter. You are honouring him with happy memories and I'm pretty sure that he is happy wherever he is."

He got up and walked to the adjacent bathroom and got a damp washcloth with a bowl filled with water. He lifted Addison in his arms and placed her gently on the bed. He kept the photo album on her bedside table.

He gently wiped her tear stained face. The cool cloth, helped her cool down the vortex of emotions in her chest. "Addy, you are the strongest person I've known. And Drew would be proud to see what his sister is doing."

He wiped her neck and her collarbones, where sweat had accumulated. This was nothing sexual. It was just Raf taking care of her.

He dipped the washcloth in the cold water and wrung it. He wiped her arms, his hands brushing the tattoo on the inside of her wrist. It was a simple one. Just the name 'Andrew' inscribed in an infinity sign.

Addison sighed, as her fingers traced the tattoo. Raf got up and walked out of the room to keep the bowl and washcloth. He returned in some time with a plate full of steaming pasta.

"Is that for me?" Addison asked as her stomach grumbled.

"Nope. If you think I'm gonna share my dinner with you, try again." He teased her.

She smacked his bicep and he just laughed out loud. "Yes sweetheart, its for you. Now open your mouth-"

"That's what he said." Addy snickered.

"Get out."

They laughed together as they ate the pasta. After cleaning up, he was just trucking her in, when Addison asked, "Will you stay?" giving him her puppy eyes.

His phone buzzed and he knew it was Sora, complaining about how he didn't make it. He didn't want to go home and have another fight.

"I'm not going anywhere Addy. I'm always here for you." He says as he snuggled into her blankets, feeling her warm petite body, lying on his chest.

Just the way it's always been.

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Today is the last day I am taking requests so don't hesitate to drop in an ask 😊

[drlissahawthorne]

marked me like a bloodstain

Who: Clarissa Hawthorne & Charlie Hawthorne-Mills ft. Andrea Hawthorne-Mills

When:  Saturday, December 5, 2020

Where: Hawthorne-Mills home

What: Clarissa calls on the aid of her sibling-in-law to help her make sense of her jumbled thoughts from the night before.

Warnings: talk of past abuse

Word Count: 1650

Notes:  Part 3 of 3. Part 1. Part 2.

The first thing Clarissa did when she got to Andrea and Charlie’s place was take a nap. She’d spoken briefly with them about what had happened, figuring it was best not to worry them more than she was already liable to. Then, after she’d slept for nearly five hours, she’d set herself up in the basement recording studio, deciding she wanted to work through as much of what she’d tried to create the night before as she possibly could.

After about an hour of trying and failing to make sense of even a little of it, she called on Charlie. Charlie was a music producer and the kind of person who could understand the gibberish she’d come up with in her haste to dump out every part of her brain into words. Which is how the pair of them ended up sitting at the piano, staring at a cluttered mess of mismatched phrases across the multiple notes on Clarissa’s laptop.

“So, what exactly were you doing last night that this happened?” They asked with a soft laugh.

“Uh, I think they call it coping with trauma?” Clarissa groaned. “He was my last boyfriend, the guy that made me choose between him and my work.”

“Oh, and you ran into him last night?”

“Yeah,” She sighed. “It was a nice night and then I got home and it was like everything I’d tried to ignore and bury and move on from, came out. Like, I just couldn’t focus on anything else, and even then, I wasn’t entirely focused.”

“You’ve certainly come up with a lot in a short amount of time, it seems. Can’t say all of it will be worth something right now, but we can definitely feel it out, see what we come up with, y’know? I’m honored that you’re even letting me near this. I know you’re not looking to make music, but…” Charlie drug out the word and Clarissa bumped them with her shoulder.

“Don’t even go there. This is just me working through shit. If it turns into something worthwhile, then it does, but we’re not going there.” 

Charlie held up their hands. “I know, I know.”

For a while they just worked on picking apart different notes and rearranging them, creating new documents with better structure so that things really did resemble poems or songs, versus the madness that had spilled from Clarissa’s thoughts. Eventually, however, they managed to get it down to one document that they really wanted to dive into. It was still messy, but it had the first line that had really come to Clarissa in it.

“‘You drew stars around my scars, but now I’m bleeding.’ Good line, raw as hell too. So, tell me about this guy. Tell me how this came to be, what caused this?” Charlie urged with a soft smile. Clarissa’s face scrunched up, looking at the other words in the document, glasses perched on the end of her nose.

“So, we met in Pittsburgh, he’s a few years older than me, I wasn’t looking for anyone, y’know? I’d been kind of cast aside by every other lover I'd had. People not wanting to deal with the fact I was losing my eyesight. And he came along and he was sweet and caring and he made me feel wanted. Like I was someone’s favourite. Like I was his favourite. And We did all this stuff together and it was amazing. But, I was already hurt and I didn’t want to see that with every positive thing that came of our relationship, there was a knife marking me in such a worse way.” Clarissa shrugged a little. “He was horrible to me, but every time I doubted, every time I felt those insecurities pop up and I felt unwanted or unworthy, he made me feel amazing and wanted again. So I kept falling for it, for him. After every fight. Every unresolved argument. No one else really saw it, except for Jill and I refused to believe her. He was a typical abuser, if there is such a thing.”

Charlie just nodded as Clarissa spoke, copying and pasting and adding pieces to the document they were working on. They obviously had ideas and Clarissa found it absolutely enthralling to see them work. To see them in their element like this. Sure, they’d helped her work on the arrangement she used for the Riptide cover, but this was different. This was what they were really good at. Taking the bare bones of a song and fleshing it out. Making it grow and expand and become something real and tangible.

When they were done typing, they showed the screen to Clarissa. “This is what we’ve got, it’s a starting point. Let’s give it a melody and see where it takes us, yeah?” 

Clarissa looked it over, whispering the lyrics to herself, trying to get a flow for them. It was definitely something that needed to be slow, easy going. Melancholy in a melody. The idea of reminiscing, even longing, for something now gone and past. The pain of loss still lingering despite the years that had passed.

Before she could even really think about what she was doing, she was finding her bearings on the piano and then started playing one of the melodies she’d thought of the night before. It wasn’t the one that had been strongest, but it was the one that felt right. Like it was meant to along with whatever this song was. Something rather simple but complex in its emotions.

“To kiss in cars and downtown bars was all we needed, you drew stars, around my scars, but now I’m bleeding cos I knew you, stepping on the last train marked like bloodstain,” Clarissa started to sing. It wasn’t a beginning. It didn’t feel like one, but it was definitely something. Something that she could work with.

“Let me see that,” she motioned for the laptop and Charlie handed it over, watching her type away. “So, when we met, it was this big event and I’d gotten sort of dressed up, nice shirt, heels, lipstick, and I don’t know if you’ve ever been to Pittsburgh, but there is an unnatural amount of cobblestone. And y’know, there’s this weird visual I have of that day, the sound of high heels on cobblestone, vintage tee, I’d literally sent someone the message ‘new phone, who’s this?’ I’m pretty sure. Like it was just this really vivid day in my memory, and not just because I’d met him, but that definitely plays a part.” Clarissa explained before hanging the laptop back, her additions at the top of the page.

“That’s really cool as a visual, actually, can you start playing again?” They asked as they looked over what she’d written. She obliged and as they moved along to the melody they started rearranging what she’d written, once again turning her stream of consciousness into something resembling song lyrics. They then started to add more. “I like this visual of clothing and memories. Is there anything about him you can tell me that could work with that?”

Clarissa thought for a while, scrunching up her face a bit, fingers still idly playing the notes of what was definitely turning into a song. “Drunk, late at night, dancing. Probably fall, so he was wearing jeans, and being silly, he’d joke about kisses being the fastest way to heal a broken heart, some days I think he was right about that.” She laughed a bit, watching as Charlie continued typing.

By the time Andrea called the pair of them up from the basement for dinner, they were bubbling with excitement. They had something that actually resembled a song on their hands. It wasn’t anywhere near finished, but it was far more than they’d had when they started and it made Clarissa feel a lot better, both about herself and everything that had happened since the day before.

“Well, you two have certainly been hard at work, haven’t you?” Andrea teased as they set the boxes of takeaway down on the kitchen table. “I figured I’d be nice and order takeaway, so we could do something together while we ate and before I lost you both to the basement again.” 

“Sorry, I know I came over to hang out and have barely seen you.” Clarissa apologised and Andrea just shook their head.

“Please, I haven’t seen you this excited about something since… Lissa, it’s been years. You weren’t even this excited when you got the job in Brooklyn. I’m just happy this is turning into something good for you. There will be plenty of time to hang out and do things when this is done. I mean, you’ll be back in here in two weeks anyway, and then you’ll be here for a week and we can catch up and do stuff then.”

“But, we really should be nice and play a game with them while we eat, what do you say?” Charlie smiled and Clarissa nodded.

“I think we can do that, might be a good thing to give our brains a break, right?”

“I certainly think so, but you’re the one with the doctorate.” They all laughed as they dished food onto plates and got settled to play a game.

Two hours later, all three would find themselves in the recording studio as Clarissa performed, for the first time in full, a song Andrea had helped dub ‘cardigan’ and for good reason. It was a start to something, what that something was, Clarissa didn’t know, but what she did know, was that Jill, and anyone else privileged enough to hear it, would definitely like it. Maybe not as much as she did, but they would. It sounded a lot like healing to Clarissa, and that was something anyone who knew her would be able to get behind, or so she hoped.

[feverwritingandtextposts]

Summary:

All the cool monsters make it to the front page of City S Newspaper. And Garou's going to join them, even if he has to kidnap a reporter to do it.

Look man I saw this funny AU post and i HAD to write this i was possessed. 

As usual you can follow the link to read it or read it under the cut below. 

"And so that's why i skipped the math class in my 7th grade- hey. Hey. Are you listening?"

Badd turned his head up to the voice, groggy and tired. He gave a non-committal grunt in response. The man clucked his tongue in annoyance.

"Hm. You're not writing anything down so-"

Badd raised an eyebrow at that, glaring down the man in front of him. Tall, imposing, with the most hideous hairstyle Badd's ever seen, the man loomed overhead, paused in his pacing to stare down at him.

"How the fuck am i supposed to write anything when my FUCKING HANDS ARE TIED?" Badd bellowed, fully sick and tired of this nonsense.

Personally, Badd had no clue why this bastard chose to kidnap him out of all the reporters out there. He's just self aware enough to know that he's not exactly the easiest person to get along with in general. If this dude really wanted the world to 'understand his monster aesthetic and goals through the newspaper' he'd probably get better cooperation from some mousy bumbling reporter that he can, actually, successfully intimidate.

Maybe Badd looked like an easy target because he'd been passed out after drinking with a interviewee. In his defense, the office promised to pay, and Badd was never one to turn down some day drinking.

Damn, what even happened to that guy... Did this fucker kill him when Badd got kidnapped?

The man, Garou or Gatou or Geko something like that, narrowed his eyes at him. It looked like he'd wanted to seem contemptuous and intimidating, but Badd thought it made him just look pouty, like an ill tempered child.

That dude's probably fine.

"You could've just said so then," the man snapped, reaching over.

Badd jerked back from him, the movement teethering him dangerously on the flimsy chair he was tied against.

"Ey ey, hands off bastard. This coat's Gucci and i dunno where your damn hands have been," Badd hissed.

Clearly offended, the man drew back, lips pulling back to show a sharp array of teeth. "I wash my hands you little shit."

"That's what all the crooks say."

The man looked stunned for a moment, face still stuck in that half angry half incredulous grimace, as if shocked that Badd was just being so deliberately uncooperative, when he'd gone to all this trouble of holding him hostage. Held aloft in front of him, the man's hands balled up into fists.

Briefly, Badd wondered if he was finally going to get punched.

Badd was kinda looking forward to it. Its been a while since he got punched anyway.

But instead, the man seemed to reign himself in, folding his arms and drawing up to his fullest height, lips drawn in a sneer.

"Your coat's ugly anyway. Gucci? You wasted your money on that crap."

Wow really? He's really gonna get his fashion sense roasted by a man in ratty joggers and old people slippers.

"Fuck you," Badd snarled venomously.

Gatou (no Gakou.. Garou?) raised an eyebrow, seemingly unconcerned.

"Are you mad? Over that?"

Badd struggled against his bindings, the chair screeching against the concrete as he moved.

"Seriously?"asked the man. "You weren't even that mad when you woke up tied to the chair."

Badd paused in his attempts to rip off the thick ropes to shoot the man a scathing look.

"Like hell I'm gonna listen to you insult MY coat when you're in those disgusting pants."

Now looking absolutely confused, the taller man looked down at his faded grey joggers.

"What's wrong with my pants? They're great for movement and kicking." As if to demonstrate that point, or intimidate Badd, he started kicking the air, each kick higher than before, the shock-wave blowing wind and dust into Badd's face.

Man, Badd hated guys like him. Just because they're hot they think they can care fuck all about fashion and still look good.

In this guy's case he'd be right but Badd's never gonna admit that.

Badd was about to tell him exactly where he could stick his ugly pants before the man slammed his foot down, loud and annoying.

"Wait, forget that, I still need you to continue writing that article. Where did I stop?"

Damnit, Badd was hoping he'd have forgotten that by now.

The man propped his chin against his fist, deep in thought.

Maybe if Badd was lucky he'd realise he'd told Badd every fucking insignificant detail about his (admittedly kinda sad) life story and let him go.

The man slammed his fist into his open palm in realisation. "I can't remember, so lets just take it from the start again!"

This man was going to give him a fucking aneurysm.

"What the HELL man! C'mon dude lay off it," Badd whined, writhing on the chair in annoyance.

"Maybe I'll be done faster if your sorry ass doesn't keep INTERRUPTING me," Garou snarled back, resuming his pacing as he prepared to re-recount his shitty life story.

The afternoon light that streamed through the high broken windows was starting to dim, casting long shadows across the abandoned warehouse they were in. The day was beginning to end. Zenko's going to be out of cram school soon, and she'd be waiting for him to pick her up.

It was starting to get colder too, Badd could see the puffs of air coming from his breath. Did Zenko bring her scarf?

"Hey man aren't you done yet? I gotta go soon, I need to pick my lil sis up," Badd called out to the slouching man, who had skulked a way off ahead, ranting about why elementary school kids have the propensity for cruelty.

Pausing in his tirade, he stalked back over.

"Fuck are you talking about? You're literally tied to a chair."

"Yeah I KNOW. That's why I'm asking if you're done, I need to go pick my sis up."

Shaggy white hair bouncing, Garou shook his head firmly. "What, no you can't just leave. I KIDNAPPED you."

"Yeah, I noticed. And how long are you gonna keep me here then? The fucking sun's already going down."

"Its only been three and a half hours," protested Garou, his thin face settling into its permanent scowl. "How are you going to write a good article about me if you don't know my entire backstory?"

Badd groaned loudly, head tilting back in exasperation. In front of him, the man didn't move, sharp golden eyes boring into Badd.

"If you be a good boy and listen, this will go by a lot faster, and you can be out to write that article and pick up your sister or whatever. Or, I could keep you here with me for much MUCH longer."

"Ugh..." Badd rolled his eyes at the obvious warning to behave. Really, did he LOOK like the type to just buckle down and keep quiet? After realising that Garou was still standing there, eyes alert and anticipating a response, he gave a resigned sigh.

"ALRIGHT, fucking hell, FINE," snapped Badd, a little too loudly, but the bastard smiled at that, lips pulling into a smarmy smirk that would have been ridiculously hot if Badd wasn't so ready punch him.

He really hoped Zenko brought her scarf. This was gonna take a while.

Luckily for the both of them, Badd was an expert in the sacred art of pretending to pay attention. Eyes glassy, he watched the man pace up and down, ever so often making a grunt or hum of agreement to whatever was being said.

Those pants Garou was wearing really DO look great for movement. They clung perfectly to that tight ass. Speaking of, now that Badd really got a look at him, this guy was toned to hell. He mentioned being 'the world's best martial artist' or something, but damn. That turtleneck he was wearing looked like it was on its last breath of life clinging to those muscles. Dude's lucky he's nice to look at because Badd'll be bored to death otherwise.

Night had fully fallen by the time the white haired man decided to pause for breath.

Badd hasn't been in the reporting biz long enough to be considered an expert, but he doubts that he really needed THAT much info from the guy to write an article on him. Usually, articles about villains are pretty short anyway.

Stuff like "Wanted: this bastard! Contact the Association if you have information" or "See this man? Better mind your own business and find somewhere to hide!". Short, sweet, to the point. Just what criminal warning articles are supposed to be. Where the hell was his supposed to insert the entire part about this loser getting beat up in elementary school? Badd's not a damn literary expert. He only got the job because of how hardy he was, and how dangerous journalist jobs can end up.

Maybe he can ask one of the interns to help him write it...

"Do you have all of that?" asked Garou (Badd's sure now, the fucker talked about himself as 'Garou the Human Monster' at least 11 times).

Badd nodded quickly, hoping to god that he was done talking about himself. Garou, perhaps having believed Badd's performance, perhaps simply needing a space to talk about... all that... seemed absurdly happy.

"Okay! You better write a good article!" Garou ordered, exuberant smile lighting up his usually swarthy face, making it look kinder and sweeter. Like how he might have been if he hadn't been weighed down by all that spite.

Huh, Badd thought, he was actually kinda cute.

"Right, don't move."

Never mind, scratch that.

Badd last remembers a throbbing pain on the back of his neck, as if someone had smacked him, and wakes up alone at a bus stop.

"Human Monster Gatou on the loose," read out Taero, swinging his legs on the park bench. Beside him, the white haired man peeled an eye open from where he sat slouched back on the bench, head propped up on the back.

"Whazzat? Kid, you're old enough to read properly right? Pronounce people's names right."

"Huh, but Uncle, that's what it says." Reaching over, Taero pushes the newspaper right into Garou's face for him to read it himself.

Golden eyes scanning the headline, Taero barely had time to sit back down before Garou shot up from the bench, snatching the newspaper out of his hand in the process. Wordlessly Garou stood there, newspaper crumpled in his grip, eyes boring into the page.

Taero knew that this Uncle was pretty prone to sudden and confusing mood shifts, but even for him this was kinda weird.

"It's pretty scary isn't Uncle? We should be careful," Taero says tentatively, peering at him from the safety of the bench.

"That's right. Real scary," muttered Garou, face absolutely murderous.

He can't believe that fucking reporter spelled his name wrong.

He's gonna kill him.

[lissahawthorne]

marked me like a bloodstain

Who: Clarissa Hawthorne & Charlie Hawthorne-Mills ft. Andrea Hawthorne-Mills

When:  Saturday, December 5, 2020

Where: Hawthorne-Mills home

What: Clarissa calls on the aid of her sibling-in-law to help her make sense of her jumbled thoughts from the night before.

Warnings: talk of past abuse

Word Count: 1650

Notes:  Part 3 of 3. Part 1. Part 2.

The first thing Clarissa did when she got to Andrea and Charlie’s place was take a nap. She’d spoken briefly with them about what had happened, figuring it was best not to worry them more than she was already liable to. Then, after she’d slept for nearly five hours, she’d set herself up in the basement recording studio, deciding she wanted to work through as much of what she’d tried to create the night before as she possibly could.

After about an hour of trying and failing to make sense of even a little of it, she called on Charlie. Charlie was a music producer and the kind of person who could understand the gibberish she’d come up with in her haste to dump out every part of her brain into words. Which is how the pair of them ended up sitting at the piano, staring at a cluttered mess of mismatched phrases across the multiple notes on Clarissa’s laptop.

“So, what exactly were you doing last night that this happened?” They asked with a soft laugh.

“Uh, I think they call it coping with trauma?” Clarissa groaned. “He was my last boyfriend, the guy that made me choose between him and my work.”

“Oh, and you ran into him last night?”

“Yeah,” She sighed. “It was a nice night and then I got home and it was like everything I’d tried to ignore and bury and move on from, came out. Like, I just couldn’t focus on anything else, and even then, I wasn’t entirely focused.”

“You’ve certainly come up with a lot in a short amount of time, it seems. Can’t say all of it will be worth something right now, but we can definitely feel it out, see what we come up with, y’know? I’m honored that you’re even letting me near this. I know you’re not looking to make music, but…” Charlie drug out the word and Clarissa bumped them with her shoulder.

“Don’t even go there. This is just me working through shit. If it turns into something worthwhile, then it does, but we’re not going there.”

Charlie held up their hands. “I know, I know.”

For a while they just worked on picking apart different notes and rearranging them, creating new documents with better structure so that things really did resemble poems or songs, versus the madness that had spilled from Clarissa’s thoughts. Eventually, however, they managed to get it down to one document that they really wanted to dive into. It was still messy, but it had the first line that had really come to Clarissa in it.

“‘You drew stars around my scars, but now I’m bleeding.’ Good line, raw as hell too. So, tell me about this guy. Tell me how this came to be, what caused this?” Charlie urged with a soft smile. Clarissa’s face scrunched up, looking at the other words in the document, glasses perched on the end of her nose.

“So, we met in Pittsburgh, he’s a few years older than me, I wasn’t looking for anyone, y’know? I’d been kind of cast aside by every other lover I’d had. People not wanting to deal with the fact I was losing my eyesight. And he came along and he was sweet and caring and he made me feel wanted. Like I was someone’s favourite. Like I was his favourite. And We did all this stuff together and it was amazing. But, I was already hurt and I didn’t want to see that with every positive thing that came of our relationship, there was a knife marking me in such a worse way.” Clarissa shrugged a little. “He was horrible to me, but every time I doubted, every time I felt those insecurities pop up and I felt unwanted or unworthy, he made me feel amazing and wanted again. So I kept falling for it, for him. After every fight. Every unresolved argument. No one else really saw it, except for Jill and I refused to believe her. He was a typical abuser, if there is such a thing.”

Charlie just nodded as Clarissa spoke, copying and pasting and adding pieces to the document they were working on. They obviously had ideas and Clarissa found it absolutely enthralling to see them work. To see them in their element like this. Sure, they’d helped her work on the arrangement she used for the Riptide cover, but this was different. This was what they were really good at. Taking the bare bones of a song and fleshing it out. Making it grow and expand and become something real and tangible.

When they were done typing, they showed the screen to Clarissa. “This is what we’ve got, it’s a starting point. Let’s give it a melody and see where it takes us, yeah?”

Clarissa looked it over, whispering the lyrics to herself, trying to get a flow for them. It was definitely something that needed to be slow, easy going. Melancholy in a melody. The idea of reminiscing, even longing, for something now gone and past. The pain of loss still lingering despite the years that had passed.

Before she could even really think about what she was doing, she was finding her bearings on the piano and then started playing one of the melodies she’d thought of the night before. It wasn’t the one that had been strongest, but it was the one that felt right. Like it was meant to along with whatever this song was. Something rather simple but complex in its emotions.

“To kiss in cars and downtown bars was all we needed, you drew stars, around my scars, but now I’m bleeding cos I knew you, stepping on the last train marked like bloodstain,” Clarissa started to sing. It wasn’t a beginning. It didn’t feel like one, but it was definitely something. Something that she could work with.

“Let me see that,” she motioned for the laptop and Charlie handed it over, watching her type away. “So, when we met, it was this big event and I’d gotten sort of dressed up, nice shirt, heels, lipstick, and I don’t know if you’ve ever been to Pittsburgh, but there is an unnatural amount of cobblestone. And y’know, there’s this weird visual I have of that day, the sound of high heels on cobblestone, vintage tee, I’d literally sent someone the message ‘new phone, who’s this?’ I’m pretty sure. Like it was just this really vivid day in my memory, and not just because I’d met him, but that definitely plays a part.” Clarissa explained before hanging the laptop back, her additions at the top of the page.

“That’s really cool as a visual, actually, can you start playing again?” They asked as they looked over what she’d written. She obliged and as they moved along to the melody they started rearranging what she’d written, once again turning her stream of consciousness into something resembling song lyrics. They then started to add more. “I like this visual of clothing and memories. Is there anything about him you can tell me that could work with that?”

Clarissa thought for a while, scrunching up her face a bit, fingers still idly playing the notes of what was definitely turning into a song. “Drunk, late at night, dancing. Probably fall, so he was wearing jeans, and being silly, he’d joke about kisses being the fastest way to heal a broken heart, some days I think he was right about that.” She laughed a bit, watching as Charlie continued typing.

By the time Andrea called the pair of them up from the basement for dinner, they were bubbling with excitement. They had something that actually resembled a song on their hands. It wasn’t anywhere near finished, but it was far more than they’d had when they started and it made Clarissa feel a lot better, both about herself and everything that had happened since the day before.

“Well, you two have certainly been hard at work, haven’t you?” Andrea teased as they set the boxes of takeaway down on the kitchen table. “I figured I’d be nice and order takeaway, so we could do something together while we ate and before I lost you both to the basement again.”

“Sorry, I know I came over to hang out and have barely seen you.” Clarissa apologised and Andrea just shook their head.

“Please, I haven’t seen you this excited about something since… Lissa, it’s been years. You weren’t even this excited when you got the job in Brooklyn. I’m just happy this is turning into something good for you. There will be plenty of time to hang out and do things when this is done. I mean, you’ll be back in here in two weeks anyway, and then you’ll be here for a week and we can catch up and do stuff then.”

“But, we really should be nice and play a game with them while we eat, what do you say?” Charlie smiled and Clarissa nodded.

“I think we can do that, might be a good thing to give our brains a break, right?”

“I certainly think so, but you’re the one with the doctorate.” They all laughed as they dished food onto plates and got settled to play a game.

Two hours later, all three would find themselves in the recording studio as Clarissa performed, for the first time in full, a song Andrea had helped dub ‘cardigan’ and for good reason. It was a start to something, what that something was, Clarissa didn’t know, but what she did know, was that Jill, and anyone else privileged enough to hear it, would definitely like it. Maybe not as much as she did, but they would. It sounded a lot like healing to Clarissa, and that was something anyone who knew her would be able to get behind, or so she hoped.

[poemsinthirdperson]

Honey Cream

I. Honey Cream

There was the girl she had felt the most love for in all her life. Hair lilting in the whir of artificial air. Waves crashing against a sheer wall, falling back as murmurating rain. She was tired. Were it not for the combination of treetop cradled fingernails and an indignantly bowed shoulder, her bag would be laid flat on cracking concrete. Still, here it rains. Here grass can grow through, but, of course, not absolve. She would likely never see her again. There was an unfortunate centrality to that charm.

Diana massaged the hair on her forearm. She’d never gotten used to her bare arms; more so the embodiment of them than anything else. A taciturn honey-cream shirt pushed out of her father’s sleeveless cricket jumper, all tucked neatly in a shaded-rose burgundy skirt. She had used that jumper for its intended purpose a number of times. This morning she flinched when she had looked in the mirror. Like, genuinely recoiled. But mirrors were best viewed at 45˚ angle anyway. Truthfully, Diana had a fairly healthy sense of self-loathing, certainly never manifesting in dialogue. In fact, one could easily make the case that it didn’t even exist. That could be reassuring.

Dancing Queen into Hit ‘Em Up. Sometimes she did appreciate the majesty of her own mind. She had cried, alone in the sound, a few weeks ago. The eye of the universe, A crown of heavy light, angels at the gate, horns in hand. But she’d be fucked if she could recall the reason why now. Say what you want about the rapture (there is no inflection point) at least it produced some good, inert poll-tested liberal reformation.

That was the angle she saw the city, back from the harsh glass of the encroaching settlements. Malignant wailing shards occupied more by creative code interpretations and tax breaks than people. Clawing for the sun, they pull back fire. Reflection, refraction, recursion, somewhere in the sum of those words (a proper one with exponents and substitutions) was the right one. The result was a new eternal flame, burning the heart of the city, spitting ash into the pall. Begging Prometheus to take it away.

Diana stood before the doors of the church. Well, stood, really she walked past three or four times, hoping nobody would notice her, stopping, for what were seconds but felt like minutes, skin flaring red, and contemplating stepping in. Of course she didn’t know exactly know what she was looking for, that comes with the territory, but it was three thirty-four on a Tuesday afternoon, quiet contemplation was the immediate option. Still, there was always the chance she wouldn’t even make it across the threshold. She felt pathetic, like an anxious child. Last week she did the same thing. Reading Margot’s address over and over again, waiting for the perfect imperfect figure that would dispel any notion of paralysis at all. The whole time, she wouldn’t accept a glass of water. All you can truly love is the grass.

II. Anointed in Ice

To flats of concrete. Margot’s shoulders were hoisted up to her salt sea blue earrings as she leant back on the windowsill. Her hands hooked the alcove as she lifted her left foot off the ground and brushed the bridge of the other. She was propped between some cool apricot althaea and a stack of half-read books. Amongst them a was botanist’s handbook, ostensibly created for late 80’s housewives, sheathed in a lush illustration of a flowering garden, rendered in a confident gouache. Its measured intricacy meant it shared more blood with Morris than the untamed wilderness which birthed the gods of old. Margot had never known her mother to have a particularly green thumb as long as she’d been alive.

‘Here, I’ll pose for you.’

Diana cocked her camera with an automatic if mistakenly arrogant precision. ‘I shouldn’t have put it away.’

Margot jumped a little at the sight of the flash. ‘I’ll have to get used to that again.’ She saw Diana peering through the viewfinder like a submariner at the periscope. ‘Why did you?’

‘I don’t know, it just got frustrating. I could never tell if I hated the pictures or just myself.’

‘It could be both.’

Diana didn’t let her finish the sentence, a giggle punctuating her own. ‘It’s probably both.’

A glittering tsunami poured out of the radio, laboured wind barking through the tracks. Margot popped up and sprouted a smile that nearly covered her eyes. She clasped Diana’s wrists, drew her down and pulled her up around her.

She threaded her hand across her back and through the crook of her arm, fingers blossoming before her nose.

She submerged, the blades of her shoulders fastened to the roof of her thigh, her curled fingers capitulating to the first, braced delicately on her ankle.

They fell somnolently, one to the floor, one to the clouds, passing cheek to cheek, their arms locked and immaterial in a spectral prsim.

Blushing buds sprouting through aged soil.

Her hair curled around her arms, spiralling in flowing pools, and crawling down her back.

Then Diana remembered she was.

Warm blood blistering into veins of molten rock. She collapsed to the sofa. But Margot was there, three fingers bathed in ice, dragged from forehead, just above the left eyebrow, to cheek, just below the right jaw.

‘Listen,’ Margot said, ‘My sister’s finally doing it.’

‘No shit, really?’

‘Yeah, well she says it’ll just be easier for forms and stuff, but they’re getting married in Portugal, right near his mum and dad.’

‘Wow.’

‘They’re going to make sure it won’t be anything big, so we’ll get a good few days with nothing to do. I just was wandering if you wanted to come.’

‘Yeah?’ Diana scratched at the back corner of her camera.

‘Yeah, It’ll be fun.’ Margot nearly lost her eyes again.

‘I really don’t know if I’ll have time.’

‘I haven’t told you when it is yet.’

‘But it’ll be soonish? Like this year?’

‘Yeah, it’ll be this year.’

‘I just… I really have to do something. I’m so sorry, Margot, it’s really got nothing to with you. But if I don’t do something now, I’m going to be stuck, and I don’t even know if that’s really that bad but—’

‘It’s okay, I’m not cross.’ And she wasn’t angry, she really wasn’t angry, but the words still meant more than their definition. ‘I know who you are.’

III. No Deer

Diana shifted into first gear, released to handbrake, and lifted of the clutch. ‘So you know the way, Khâleh Agatha?’

‘Do you have a A to Z?’ Agatha replied.

‘Uh, I don’t really… Yeah it should be in the glovebox.’

Diana couldn’t work out how her mother had become friends with this lady, probably some innate charm from the motherland, though her father was always good at this sort of thing, and it certainly had passed down to her, but anyway, here she was, going to pick up a used desk.

Agatha took the book and ruffled through the pages like a fan. ‘It’s hot out isn’t it.’

‘Yeah, it’s nice. You can open the window if you want.’ She leant over and turned the winder a little. ‘Like that.’

Agatha was dressed head to toe like she had just stepped out of the 1970s, a rice paper thin shawl and bulbous black sunglasses completed the look. It wasn’t in some vain grab for the halcyon days of her youth, in truth the period would had been outside a liberal parameters for the definition of ‘youth’ let alone ‘halcyon,’ but she had truly adored the clothes and you really stop growing after a while.

‘So you work down at the council?’ said Agatha.

‘Yeah, I work at the civic centre. Assistant in the department of City Enviroment.’

‘Do you enjoy it?’

Diana closed the car door. They were in a little parking area off the road. The tarmac, with no reinforcements in sight, was fighting a losing battle against the allied armies of moss and weed. Whether subterfuge or treachery, the green had made crippling inroads into the highest seats of power. A panting greyhound jumped down from the only other car boot in the vicinity, the owner latching a leash to its collar.

‘It’s alright,’ replied Diana, ‘quite boring really.’

‘Right.’

‘There’s nothing more important to people than when the bins are collected. Which I can’t really decide whether that’s good or bad.’

The sun streamed through the trees. Wooden posts lined the left side of the dirt path they were walking along. One post was on the floor. Some delicate twigs. had just about managed to tangle themselves in it before the fall. The sun caught them before they fell, twirling back up into their own support.

‘Do you know where we’re going?’ Diana tried so hard to avoid hostility and condescension she really didn’t know where she ended up.

‘Yes.’ Agatha moved on before Diana could get a read on that reaction. ‘There’s deer around here you know.’

‘Really? Do you think we’ll see any?’

‘No, I suspect not.’

A crystal clear stream bisected their path. Diana slipped out her shoes and socks and planted herself firmly in the water. It was perfectly cool. She raised her hands and Agatha held on to her forearms as she stepped over.

‘Thank you.’

They were out in the open, in a meadow of sorts. There were flowers all around them, parting at their waists. (Agatha more than Diana) By themselves the miniature jewels of faded colour courted no grace, they were roses by no names, but together, spread out before them like that, there was something beautiful.

‘Khâleh Agatha, when…’

‘Ah, here we are.’

They came to a small house, though it did have its own verandah, with a woman outside the open front door, staring up, with her hands cupped over her eyes.

‘You must be here for the vanity,’ said the woman.

‘Yes,’ replied Agatha.

‘Give us a second, bloody thing’s stuck.’ The woman went inside and came out carrying a broom. ‘Wouldn’t fit through the door you see.’

‘Oh, that’s alright.’

‘You ready?’ A muffled yeah eked past the curtains swaying in the second floor double window. The woman took the end of the broom and prodded up at the vanity, suspended in the branches of a tree. She knocked it loose, a few errant leaves with it, and the rope that shot out the window started moving, lowering it to the ground.

Agatha looked it over for any unexpected blemishes or scratches (it was immaculate) and handed over the money to the woman.

‘Have a nice day.’

‘How are we going to carry this all the way back?’ Asked Diana.

‘The cars right there.’ Agatha gestured to the car park a few metres behind the house.

‘Oh.’

The greyhound was sleeping on the roof of its car, the owner was sat cross legged next to them.

‘That was nice,’ said Agatha

‘Yeah, it’s nice to get out,’ replied Diana.

‘Still, you know what they say,’ (she didn’t) ‘They’ve got coca-cola everywhere.’

[lnicol1990]

BatIM - New World, New Rules

4th story written for @squigglydigglydoo. An epilogue one this time.

Also, sorry if this is kinda spamming you Squiggly. I know you’ve read these before, but I want to make sure people go to your page to look at your AU proper. (As if anyone would come to my page and not be from yours. ^_^)

It was a Saturday afternoon when Bendy stormed into Henry’s house, not giving the old man as much as a hello before disappearing upstairs, a tirade of comical squeaks and honks covering up the toon’s foul language.

Well, he was a child friendly cartoon and people simply didn’t swear back in the 30s.

Henry remained seated in his favourite armchair as the little devil raced upstairs and then went silent. He took a moment to fold his newspaper and take a quick look out of the nearby window, only to see an empty street. Sighing quietly to himself, he got up from his chair, leaving the paper on it, and slowly made his way to follow the irate toon.

As he slowly climbed the stairs, he thought about the last five months.

Shit, it had been five months since he’d rescued himself and the toons from his old workplace, Joey Drew Studios. Not wanting to abandon them again, he’d appointed himself the custodian of the three living, breathing cartoon characters, which had brought up some rather unique challenges with his neighbours.

While the local children had taken great delight in living beside real life cartoons, their parents and other adults… had been a lot more negative. Thankfully, most of the complaints and concerns had died down after a couple of weeks, but the local churchgoers and their priest would pay him a visit every other Sunday, either looking to rescue the ‘sweet angel, lost in squalor’, or to banish the ‘unholy wretch’ back to hell where he belonged. As funny as it had been for the first couple of months, Henry now took to answering his door with a loaded Winchester.

He’d received a lot less cold callers, too, thinking about.

As Henry reached the landing, he looked about for where the toon had gone. He was unsurprised to see the airing cupboard door slightly ajar; it was where Bendy always went when he’d wanted to be away from the outside world and it’s harsh, unfair rules.

He stopped at the door and listened. Hearing nothing, he decided to test the waters and quietly knocked on the cupboard door.

“You comfortable in there?” he asked, keeping his voice light as he waited for Bendy’s answer.

“Go away, old man.”

It was a short, curt answer, but still with the affectionate insult. Henry breathed a sigh of relief as he realised this was merely a temper tantrum and not an existential crisis, the latter was never any fun, for anyone involved. Knowing that the matter wasn’t exceptionally serious, he relaxed and settled himself by the doorframe. He kept himself in clear sight of the door’s gap so Bendy would know that he hadn’t left, not that he ever did, and waited.

It was always a waiting game whenever the little devil was in a mood, and one Henry had gotten very good at playing. Arguably, Alice and Boris were better at playing it than him, but they didn’t have old joints that would protest after half an hour of uncomfortable sitting. And with them entertaining the local children at a nearby park, he was currently the only player in the house, otherwise they would have drawn straws.

As time went on, Henry decided to speed the little game along, by doing what would have been considered suicidal in the old workshop.

“Are you just gonna sit in there and mope all afternoon, ya little punk?” Henry needled, adding his own affectionate insult to take the edge off of his words.

Sure enough, the door slowly opened and Bendy peeked out. His eyes were narrowed but the pout on the toon’s face took all ferocity out of the expression. He glared ineffectually at the animator for a few seconds before realising that the old man wasn’t taking back his words.

“I ain’t moping,” Bendy stated in a flat, but petulant tone. When Henry gave him a levelled, unimpressed look, the toon relented and leaned back into the cupboard, curling up and wrapping his arms around his legs. He rested his chin on his knees, huffed, and spoke with a quieter voice. “I’m not…much.”

“You want to tell me what happened?” the animator asked gently, softening his expression as the games and bravado fell away from the little devil. He didn’t move any closer, though, knowing that the demon appreciated his personal space.

“It don’t matter, really,” the toon admitted, shaking his slightly. He sighed forlornly and drummed his fingers against his leg. “It just… made me think of other things.”

“Like what?”

“Like… how much I miss being a toon –a real toon– and doing wacky toon stuff,” he explained, shrugging his shoulders as if it wasn’t as big a deal as it clearly was.

While Henry, for his limited use of toon physics in the studio, didn’t miss such antics at all, he could understand his friend’s dilemma. Alice and Boris, while downhearted at the loss, had adjusted fairly well to losing the majority of their abilities; but, most of their gags on the show rarely contained such shenanigans anyway.

Bendy, however… most of his comedy lived on the abuse of toon logic. And, while the demon always assured Henry that the outside world, with its colours, sounds, new technology and, most importantly, people, was worth the loss of his toon abilities… that didn’t mean he didn’t miss them.

“Some older kids were teasing little Delilah about her pigtails. You know her, right Henry? She’s the kid a couple of streets away with the little brother who’s always got that… thing in his mouth,” Bendy looked to Henry, who nodded in response. “Well, in my show I’d hit them big kids with cymbals or maybe pop their bike tyres so they’d go whipping out of shot, and then give lil’ Deli and Chris a couple of lollipops out of Hammerspace. But… I can’t do that now.”

“Is Delilah alright?” Henry asked, feeling certain it was a redundant question. He knew Bendy wouldn’t leave the little girl alone if she was upset, but he might not have wanted her to see him if he was as well.

“She’s fine,” the toon assured, a ghost of a smile on his face. “A quick hug and telling her they were just jealous made her smile. She took Chris home for dinner.”

“That’s good. That was a good way of making her feel better,” the animator smiled at the little devil, who gave him a genuine smile back, blushing slightly from the praise. Henry cocked his head slightly and watched Bendy for a moment, his smile turning slightly in sympathy. “So, you’re just missing Hammerspace again.”

“What’s not to miss?” Bendy asked incredulously. His eyes brightened as they always did when talking about toon logic. “I mean, seriously old man, don’t you miss it? I know you only had it for a little while but… wasn’t it just so… so… great? That thing had everything in it! Giant mallets, lollipops, even lunch!”

The last item on little devil’s list was unexpected, and his change of tone to comically melodramatic elicited a surprised snort of amusement from Henry, which he quickly suppressed so as not offend the toon. However, the way Bendy’s head snapped to his told him he’d been too late for the demon not to notice. He watched the toon’s eyes widen in delight and a gleeful, eager smile plastered itself on his face.

Oh dear…

“Do you have any idea how many tasty lunches are now stuck in Hammerspace because I can’t reach them?” Bendy asked, his voice pitching slightly higher and his words just a little faster than before.  His eyes seemed to shine for a moment when the animator shuddered as he tried, in vain, not to laugh at the toon, which only seemed to egg the devil on. “And who knows what’s in those lunches! They might have sandwiches in ‘em! Sandwiches! Who knew something like that could have so much stuff in ‘em. They could be anything, like that ‘BLT’ we had at that place downtown. Boy, those were good! Or, maybe one with cheese and pickle.”

Henry, at this point, could feel himself trembling as he tried to suppress his giggles. If he was being honest, lunch and sandwiches weren’t all that funny, but the absurdity, the sheer ridiculousness, of Bendy’s sudden topic change had made him laugh, and now the little devil was milking it for all it was worth.

He turned to the demon, his eyes misted with unshed tears of laughter, who had suddenly fallen silent. The toon’s brain seemed to have caught up with what he was saying, and he was looking away into nothing, his smile faltering.

“Actually, forget that last one,” Bendy stated, his voice deadpan. “I mean cheese is okay, but pickles?”

The toon gave a full body shudder at the thought, and that was it. That was enough for Henry, the end, the pièce de résistance, the final straw that broke his composure, and he laughed. He doubled over, forehead on his knees for support, as he struggled to breathe, and his whole body shaking. Tears began to run down his cheeks, finally free of his vain attempt to hold a straight face.

As his giggling subsided, he leaned back against the wall and gasped, taking big gulps of air that his lungs were screaming for, his ribs aching from laughing. He raised a hand to his face and wiped away the tears streams from down his cheeks. He tittered for a few seconds longer before he finally felt himself calm down and his body relax. With a final deep, calming breath, he turned to the little devil that had caused such mirth.

The demon’s eyes were as large as dinner plates, and seemed to sparkle. His smile, while small, was slowly growing as shock was replaced by something else. The toon’s entire expression seemed to be a mixture of awe and indescribable joy. A couple of happy tears ran down his face as he stared at the old man.

“That… that was… I think…” Bendy stumbled over his words, before giggling gleefully. He blinked rapidly for a few seconds and his face returned to a more normal, but still happy, expression. “I think that’s the first time I’ve made you laugh, old man.”

“No, it’s just the first time you’ve caught me,” Henry assured. He leaned over and tousled the demon’s head, not that he had hair to tangle. Leaning back as the toon tried to smooth the hair he didn’t have, he gave Bendy a gentle, but level look. “And you dodged my question.”

Bendy winced at the reminder, but relaxed at Henry’s mild expression, clearly glad that it wasn’t a reproach. He sighed and lowered his chin back to his knees. Rather than a petulant expression, the animator found his toon sporting a thoughtful one. He made silly faces as he thought, like he used to in his show, moving his mouth around to silly positions on his face. After a couple of minutes of thought, he stilled his movements.

“It’s not really Hammerspace that I’m missing. I mean, yeah, it was useful and all, but that’s not the real problem,” Bendy admitted quietly. He raised his head to look at Henry, rather than the other side of the cupboard, who was listening to him quietly. “It’s what I could pull out of Hammerspace that I miss. My gags and stuff. When those kids were picking on Delilah, I couldn’t do anything but stand there. I couldn’t play any practical jokes or anything like that. They just hurt her feelings and laughed, and–“

“Okay, okay, I get it. I get it,” Henry assured him. He reached out and brushed his thumb against Bendy’s widow peak outline, clearing away the ink that was beginning to melt down the toon’s face. He was glad to see the contact even managed to calm his friend down slightly, the dribbling ink returning to its rightful place. He leaned back slightly as a thought occurred to him. “Maybe, instead of trying to solve this with toon gags and pranks, you use real world one instead?”

“There are real world gags?” Bendy asked, curiosity instantly piqued. His expression morphed into genuine interest and excitement when Henry nodded at him. “Like what? Like what?”

“I’ll have to take you into the joke shop next time we’re in town,” Henry chuckled. “There’re lots of things in there that I think you’ll like. We could get you a squeaky hammer.”

“Not quite what I had in mind, old man,” Bendy explained, his shoulders drooping slightly. “But… maybe there’s something else in there that’ll help me give some payback to those bullies. Nice and clean stuff, of course!”

“Ah, I see. You’re after some harmless retribution, huh?” Henry noted as the metaphorical penny dropped. He smirked as Bendy shrugged in response, once again showing how much it really meant to him. “Well… in that case, you could always spitball the punks.”

“What’s spitball?” the toon frowned, cocking his head to a side at the unfamiliar term.

Henry sucked his breath in through his teeth. For a moment, he struggled to keep a smile off his face at Bendy’s surprised expression, determined to put on the melodrama for the little devil. After a quick thought of how to proceed, he began his grandiose tale.

“What is spitball?” the animator echoed in an incredulous voice. He began to gesture as he continued. “Why, spitballing is a timeless real-world prank that has lasted through the ages! Its ancient art form has been passed down from generation to generation, taught only to those who are worthy of its… its…”

Henry took a deep breath in and tried to calm himself. Clearly his earlier giggles were threatening to come back with a vengeance, and he was struggling to keep up the momentum of his epic tale. He had always been a fantastic animator, but story telling was another matter entirely.

Hesitantly, he peeked back at Bendy, wondering what the toon thought of his antics. He was surprised to find that the little devil had crawled out of the airing cupboard and was all but hanging off his arm. He was enraptured with the old man’s words, by the’ myth’ of spitballing, and Henry had to hold back another threat of giggles at the sight of the captivated demon. He hadn’t even noticed that the animator was struggling to keep a straight face, or maybe he didn’t care.

The toons were all equally as mesmerised by the ridiculous, over-the-top soap operas that they would find on the TV.

“It is taught only to those who are worthy of its mischief,” Henry whispered, leaning in towards Bendy as he quickly finished up his act. “Do you think you’re worthy, punk?”

“You bet, old man!”

Bendy’s eyes were alight with eager enthusiasm and his smile bright at the challenge to be worthy of a gag or prank. The good-natured passion in the toon’s face was reminiscent of the few times in the studio when Henry had done something unexpected and ‘fun’ as far as the little devil was concerned, when then toon had looked… like the truest form of himself.

It was a very welcome sight.

It was then, of course, that the ramifications of Henry’s actions dawned on him. Teaching the demon how to spitball his ‘enemies’ was undoubtedly a recipe for even more numerous complaints against the little punk, which may even extend to police complaints.

And yet…

“God forgive me,” the old man muttered up to the ceiling. His quick prayer of apology sent, he turned back to the demon. “Alright, you little punk, I’ll teach you tomorrow. The good pastor and his flock should be visiting after lunch. We’ll have plenty of targets to practice on.”

Bendy smiled wickedly at the thought.

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 2: Allyson

Striding to one of the large staircases, Michael headed to the second floor, where the trio of residents lived. The ceilings here were vaulted, taller than they needed to be, and still a third floor laid above this: mostly used for bedrooms, where his was. The second floor contained the most used kitchen and living room, and the former is where he headed. It was nearing lunch time, and cooking was something that usually helped him think and relax. Recalling breakfast, he decided not to repeat the staple foods of it like he had done many times in the past. The one caveat would be bacon, since that seemed to be a favorite of the household. A trio of BLT sandwiches with cheese would be their lunch, and the lack of dishes in the sink told him that nobody else had cooked.

Michael drew the plates and ingredients needed, preparing the sandwiches to receive the bacon that he began to cook. He began to fry the strips of bacon on the range, and waited. Footsteps behind him caused him to to turn briefly to see who approached, and then back to his cooking.

“Whatcha cooking?” Benjamin Hawkins asked, entering the kitchen behind Michael and leaning on the countertop of the center island. Ben was a hybrid, a rare creature who had both lycan and vampiric traits. How he got them was something he refused to talk about, to Michael at least. He had become something like Allyson’s protege, the angel training him to control his abilities and training him for the rough and violent world they lived in. He still looked like a boy, despite being over six feet tall and powerfully built, his hard experiences in life something his cheery face would never betray.

“Sandwiches for everyone,” Michael replied to Ben, “how are you doing, Ben?”

“Fair, Ally and I finished sparring a little while ago,” he stated, “I still need to work on my footwork.”

“That’s important for shooting, too,” the soldier replied, having a hand in Ben’s training, teaching his skills to the younger man.

“I’ve been working on that too, and I think I’m ready to move on,” Ben claimed confidently, “I know, I have to pass your test and impress you, but I’m ready.”

“We’ll see, Ben,” Michael nodded, wishing that they had a kill course in the Institute. Maybe something to talk to Ally about, building one in the lower classrooms. The walls could be shored up, and the floors would only be penetrated by very high caliber weapons that were impractical to use in a close quarters shootout anyway.

“Great!” he bubbled with excitement. Despite the grim nature of what he was being taught, the hybrid remained happy and cheerful. Michael thought it was a cover to mask his emotions, but he let it go: Everyone dealt with stress and experiences in a different way, some became desensitized to it, some broke and fell into addiction.

“Where is Ally, anyway?” Michael asked, turning from the stove to face Ben, leaning on the counter as the bacon began to sizzle.

“The library, I think,” Ben said, “surprised she didn’t come out to see you,” he admitted. “Where did you go this morning?” the hybrid wondered, cocking his head a bit.

“I had to go think,” he said simply.

Ben did not seem convinced, but nodded anyway, “well, Ally wondered where you went,” he said, before his eyes traveled to a point behind Michael. “Uh, what is that?”

Over the sound of sizzling bacon, a high pitched squeak was heard. Michael turned suddenly and looked down upon a small black creature, the size of a small rabbit, with small pointed ears and a fluffy tail. It held a strip of bacon in its mouth, and big eyes looked up to Michael. Another high pitched squeak came from it, before it darted out of the kitchen in a blur.

“What the hell was that?” Ben asked, pushing off the counter and moving to where the small creature had disappeared to.

“Ally said that there was something living here,” Michael explained. “It’s shy, but not hostile. She’s tried to capture it, but every time it eats the bait. She thinks whatever it is, it’s been there since she found this place.” Michael turned the stove off, and started to lay bacon on the sandwiches. “She’s found things rearranged, snacks stolen, pillows stolen,” he shrugged.

“We should track it and find it, then,” Ben stated, “I can do it.”

“Ben, Ally’s tried, and she’s had a lot more time then you,” he told the hybrid. “Just relax, it doesn’t mean us harm.” As he fixed the sandwiches, giving Ben and Ally more bacon than his, he mused: “I think I also caught it up in the observatory tending to the plants after it was destroyed.”

“That’s the glass dome on the top floor, right?” Ben asked, hearing about a part of the building he had never heard of before.

“Yeah, we got attacked here a few months ago, and the observatory took a rocket barrage. It shattered all the glass, killed most of the plants, cut me up real bad too,” Michael remembered.

“How do I even get up there?” Ben questioned next.

Smirking, then offering the brunette hybrid a plate, Michael told him that there was a secret door somewhere that led up to it. Where that door was he didn’t say, but there were quite a few scattered around their home. Michael did not even know about all of them, and where they led.

“Thanks for lunch,” Ben said, starting to eat.

“Anytime, anything else you want is on you,” Michael told him, before gathering his sandwich and Ally’s and heading off to the massive library. The Institute library was truly a marvel, almost a structure within the building itself: three stories tall, thousands of books detailing a history few knew. The massive repository was lit by light streaming in from the windows, and a massive chandelier hanging in the center lit the inside. However, the massive shelves of books cast shadows, some areas were shrouded in darkness. On the outside the wall, a massive stone hearth sat, an opening on every floor, and it was the third floor that held Allyson’s favorite spots in her home: A few overstuffed chairs near the fireplace near a pair of great windows, under the right conditions, darkness would claim the area around it, and a fire would keep the chairs and table lit. She had spent countless hours there, and it was where he found her now.

“Brought me lunch?” the sweet-voiced blonde mused, a book in her hands as he listened to Michael approach.

“Least I could do after skipping cooking breakfast,” he said apologetically as he put the plate on the small table before her, and sitting in a red wingback chair he frequented when he joined her here.

The blonde finished reading the page of her old leather bound book, before putting a bookmark in and setting the tome down. “Well, apology accepted,” she looked up at him with a small smile. Her looks had always stunned him, deep brown eyes betraying a soul beyond her years, long flowing golden blonde hair framing her face, a lithe frame stronger and faster than any human and most supernatural beings. She was a warrior in the body of a princess, who could fight in the dirt tooth and nail, and stun in a dress in the next moment. He didn’t know how old she was, it was impolite to ask a lady that, he reasoned.

The two of them were an odd pair, but they worked together well when they fought together. Something Michael had never put his finger on, they just seemed to click together: Knowing each other’s moves, moving in sync, like the two were made to fight alongside one another. She had known some things about him when they had first met, out of instinct, guessing, or something else he did not know. Michael privately harbored the thought that she knew something about him that he did not know about himself, but that thought stayed in the same corner of his mind that conspiracy theories lived.

“I got out, I needed to think,” Michael told her, explaining her actions early. “Had to do it early.”

“Where did you go?” she asked curiously, looking up from her sandwich.

“My old hometown,” he admitted, eyes focused on his own BLT. “I visited my parent’s graves.”

Ally looked away, “hell of a place to go and clear your mind.”

“You’ve heard about the fallen angel that Rani took in?” Michael changed the subject, looking over at her.

“Yeah, what about them?”

“They had a message. A message meant for me,” he admitted, picking a hanging strip of lettuce off his sandwich and setting it on the plate. “A war is coming Ally, and we can’t escape it.”

“What do you mean, Michael?” she asked, leaning forward to look at him, her full attention now on the man.

“The archangels are tired of trying to convert you,” he said monotone, eyes locked on the discarded lettuce fragment. “They’re mustering a force to either take you to Heaven, or silence you forever.”

“Why do I feel like there’s more to it than that?” she questioned softly.

“Because there is, my name has come up: Apparently my raid to steal your wings and all the things I’ve done aren’t enough. The fallen said that I was chosen to take up an archangel’s mantle,” Michael said quietly.

Ally’s eyes went wide, “I understand why they would want you,” she mused, shock still in her voice. “You know what it would mean,” she said darkly, looking away.

“I do,” he said quietly, “and that’s why I’m refusing it.”

The blonde snapped her head to look at him: “Michael, you can’t just refuse the mantle of an archangel.”

“Watch me do it, Ally,” he told her softly.

“It’s one of the greatest honors Heaven can bestow upon someone, and you’re going to walk away? Why?” she wondered.

“Because if I take the offer, I will be slated against you,” he shot back, “I’m not going to fight you, Ally. I swore I would stand by you, and I’m not taking my word back.”

The blonde smiled, a small, fatalistic smile as she shook her head. “I guess we’re both on Heaven’s shit list now,” she stated as she watched the man. “We’re both going to die, then.”

“Not if I can help it,” he told her.

“You do know what you’re proposing?” she asked, narrowing her eyes in surprise, to make sure he was not joking. She knew he was not, but she needed to hear the words: “you intend to fight the armies of Heaven?”

“Until my weapons are empty and there’s not a beat in my chest.”

Allyson chuckled and shook her head, “you’re crazy, Michael. Unfortunately, I happen to like crazy,” she said affectionately. “I guess we’re doing this, then. Just like we talked about, bringing back your old unit.”

“We’ll need troops,” he stated. “And I can’t just ask for troops for one battle, not with everything going on in the world.” Michael looked to her, eyes tracing over her face, “I have a few people I can go to ask for troops.”

“So do I,” Ally confirmed. “Do we have a timetable for this attack?”

“No, I don’t,” he admitted, looking over at her, his sandwich forgotten.

“I still have people up there,” she told him. “I can try and get them to find out there,” Ally stood, leaving the empty plate on the table. “Do you want to split up?” she asked.

“Sure,” he also stood, looking at the blonde, “you get yours and I’ll get mine.”

She took a step towards him, and almost instinctively his arms drifted around her waist. She leaned on him, mirroring the embrace and enjoying a moment of quiet before they went to work.

“I’m sorry things haven’t been great,” he whispered softly, apologizing for the cold distance between them lately. Both of them had been busy, and there hadn’t been much time for them to kindle their relationship.

“We’re both at fault for it,” she admitted, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, his controlled breathing. “After this is over, let’s take time to ourselves,” she offered. “Get away, just the two of us.”

“I like the sound of that,” Michael agreed.

Ally pulled back, looking up to him, and brushing her lips against his, closing her eyes and savoring the last moment. “We have to get through this first,” she whispered, opening her eyes to meet his. “Do you need a portal somewhere? She asked.

“Moscow,” he said easily, a good place as any to start. “I’ve got somewhere there I can call in a few favors from.” Words: 2149

Total: 4243

[shattered-glass-shattered-mind]

8] I have been squicked/triggered (somewhere in between) a grand total of three (3) times today Jesus fucking God

Rape tw under the cut

The first time was the very nasty surprise of finding out Professor Achilles Milo is NOT, in fact, one of Mama’s OCs (meaning I wouldn’t see or read him unless I chose to) but is instead a canon character to the DC franchise. As soon as she said in the stream that he’d be appearing in the episode I just got this sick sense of dread and oh my God he looks even creepier than I thought he would Jesus fucking Christ. I had to wrap myself in my blanket like halfway through the episode because I felt chilly and gross and I could barely look at the screen whenever he appeared.

Then she sent links in the Skype chat to his wiki page and something else I don’t remember (with these even creepier thumbnail images oh Lord) so that I could learn more about him and I was just like AAAAAHAHAHAHA NO PLEASE and she was like SERIOUSLY I DIDN’T MAKE HIM UP and then I was like YEAH NO I UNDERSTAND THAT GET IT AWAY FROM ME

She removed the links after realising I was uncomfortable and she’s gonna warn me in future streams before he shows up and that’s very nice of her but I am still quite the confusion because this isn’t the first time it’s happened

The first time was when she, upon my request, sent an excerpt from her fanfic of her OC Reaper confiding in another character that Milo had raped her and gotten her pregnant. I knew about that, even without reading it, from what I’d seen of Reaper’s kid and read in her profile and what Mama had said in previous conversations. Logically I should’ve been prepared for that excerpt--Hell, logically, I should’ve been fine with it (after all, I suffered no lasting damage from The Great Fuck Shit™ of ‘05, right? Right?), not just prepared. But after reading it I felt sick and I started sweating and meanwhile I’m goin’ like what the FUCK IS THIS @ my body y u do dis

So that festered for like a week and a half (was it really that long??? it felt like so much shorter, I’m just going by what the timestamps tell me) before I asked Mama to tell me which chapters of her fanfics touch down on what Milo did to Reaper (she agreed of course because she is Mama and looks after her symbolic children) but apparently that didn’t help (or at least not enough) because the very next day I woke up to Muse telling me she’s decided Locah is going to get raped by their ex-boyfriend Prince and miscarry GiGi and Cam’s first kid. I tried to argue against it like ‘No, you’re copying Reaper, people know you know each other, they’re gonna notice the similarity and call you out on it, Prince is kinda weirded out by the fact Locah is intersex anyways, it’s not our place to do this because we barely even remember what happened and aren’t “““““scarred”““““ by it and that’s what we’ve already transferred to Artemis anyways, if you’re taking this from Barron’s creepitude then you’re blowing it way out of proportion, this didn’t happen to us so we shouldn’t be writing it’.

She yelled at me. Muse hardly ever gets angry at me so that’s saying something. She was like ‘REALLY??? THIS EXACT THING??? Do you know how many authors write about shit like this when nothing even remotely similar happened to them or even somebody they knew personally?! At least you have that ahead of them!

‘Artemis??? NEW RULE APPARENTLY: Writers limited to one (1) rape victim and/or miscarriage per family, sorry everyone!

‘And as for that “blowing it out of proportion” bullshit--that’s what I DO!!! I take your feelings and experiences and I amplify them, I take them apart, I combine them with other elements, I reuse them! I’ve been doing this since we were five years old, is this suddenly a new fucking concept to you?!

‘He’s weirded out by--motherfucker. Rape isn’t about sex, it’s about power, control, and FEAR. Now I don’t know about you but to me that sounds right up the alley of the controlling, abusive, stalker-y YELLOW LANTERN. He doesn’t do it because he’s horny, he does it because he wants to destroy them. He wants to punish Locah for defying him. He wants to make them hurt, fuck them up, scar them permanently in every possible way--and oh boy am I going to have a lot of fun making up the physical ones.

‘And lastly, we aren’t copying Reaper. She isn’t the only character to be written in that situation and she won’t be the last either. Besides, the motivation behind Milo’s attack on Reaper and the history between them is different than that of Prince and Locah anyways. There are similarities, yes, and we will acknowledge them when the time comes, but this is different.

‘Do you really think I’m just doing this for story spice and shock value?!! Do you really think I would ever do that, especially considering how angry you get at others for it??? This WILL present character development for Locah. You need to let me do this, I’m GOING to do this, and I’d love to see anybody try and stop me!’

Only louder. When I told her ‘Okay, but they’re not getting pregnant from it too,’ I got a derisive snort and an aggressive ‘Yeah. We’ll see,’ in response. And really, I suppose I knew this was going to happen eventually; the thought of Prince attacking Locah in that way fleetingly occurred to me multiple times but I kept shoving it away. I guess Muse finally got tired of it. 

I think she’s right; after I drew a vent piece of the aftermaths of Locah’s rape I felt better. I’d put it here if I could but then you would know who I am and where to find me since my watermark has my dA handle plus anybody following this blog (or that may follow it in the future) who knows me from elsewhere would recognise Locah immediately. But then again anybody following this blog who knows me wouldn’t need to think too hard to decode the aliases I’ve used throughout this blog for myself, my friends, and our characters and figure out who I am that way.

Okay I forgot where this was going and I didn’t mean for it to go in this direction but apparently it did

Oh yeah the other two times were me coming across a md/lb blog (like ew) and a dd post (also ew)

Anyways that was my day, I hope all yours were better

[mysteryshelf]

BLOG TOUR - Strong to the Bone

  Welcome to

THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF!

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF by Partners in Crime Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

Strong to the Bone

by Jon Land

on Tour December 4, 2017 – January 31, 2018

Synopsis:

1944: Texas Ranger Jim Strong investigates a triple murder inside a Nazi POW camp in Texas.

The Present: His daughter, fifth generation Texas Ranger Caitlin Strong, finds herself pursuing the killer her father never caught in the most personal case of her career a conspiracy stretching from that Nazi POW camp to a modern-day neo-Nazi gang.

A sinister movement has emerged from the shadows of history, determined to undermine the American way of life. Its leader, Armand Fisker, has an army at his disposal, a deadly bio-weapon, and a reputation for being unbeatable. But he s never taken on the likes of Caitlin Strong and her outlaw lover, Cort Wesley Masters.

To prevent an unspeakable cataclysm, Caitlin and Cort Wesley must win a war the world thought was over.

“Strong to the Bone is another fine effort by Jon Land, who manages to mix character development with gripping, page-turning plots. This is his best novel yet.” — StrandMagazine

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller Published by: Forge Books Publication Date: December 5, 2017 Number of Pages: 368 ISBN: 0765384647 (ISBN13: 9780765384645) Series: Caitlin Strong Novels (Volume 9) Purchase Links: Amazon 🔗 | Barnes & Noble 🔗 | Goodreads 🔗| Macmillan 🔗

Read an excerpt:

CHAPTER 1

Austin, Texas

“What the hell?”

Caitlin Strong and Cort Wesley Masters had just emerged from Esther’s Follie’s on East 6th Steet, when they saw the stream of people hurrying down the road, gazes universally cocked back behind them. Sirens blared off in the distance and a steady chorus of honking horns seemed to be coming from an adjoining block just past the street affectionately known as “Dirty Sixth,” Austin’s version of Bourbon Street in New Orleans.

“Couldn’t tell you,” Cort Wesley said, even as he sized up the scene. “But I got a feeling we’re gonna know before much longer.”

* * *

Caitlin was in town to speak at a national law enforcement conference focusing on homegrown terrorism, and both her sessions at the Convention Center had been jam-packed. She felt kind of guilty her presentations had lacked the audio-visual touches many of the others had featured. But the audiences hadn’t seem to mind, filling a sectioned-off ballroom to the gills to hear of her direct experiences, in contrast to theoretical dissertations by experts. Audiences comprised of cops a lot like her, looking to bring something back home they could actually use. She’d focused to a great extent on her most recent battle with ISIS right here in Texas, and an al-Qaeda cell a few years before that, stressing how much things had changed in the interim and how much more they were likely to.

Cort Wesley had driven up from San Antonio to meet her for a rare night out that had begun with dinner at Ancho’s inside the Omni Hotel and then a stop at Antone’s nightclub to see the Rats, a band headed by a Texas Ranger tech expert known as Young Roger. From there, they’d walked to Esther’s Follies to take in the famed Texas-centric improve show there, a first for both of them that was every bit as funny and entertaining as advertised, even with a gun-toting woman both Caitlin and Cort Wesley realized was based on her.

Fortunately, no one else in the audience made that connection and they managed to slip out ahead of the rest of the crowd. Once outside, though, they were greeted by a flood of pedestrians pouring up the street from an area of congestion a few blocks down, just past 8th Street.

“What you figure, Ranger?”

“That maybe we better go have ourselves a look.”

CHAPTER 2

Austin, Texas

Caitlin practically collided with a young man holding a wad of napkins against his bleeding nose at the intersection with East 7th Street.

“What’s going on?” she asked him, pulling back her blazer to show her Texas Ranger badge.

The young man looked from it back to her, swallowing some blood and hacking it up onto the street. “University of Texas graduation party took over all of Stubb’s Barbecue,” he said, pointing in the restaurant’s direction. “Guess you could say it got out of hand. Bunch of fraternities going at it.” He looked at the badge pinned to her chest again. “Are you really a Texas Ranger?”

“You need to get to an emergency room,” Caitlin told him, and pressed on with Cort Wesley by her side.

“Kid was no older than Dylan,” he noted, mentioning his oldest son who was still on a yearlong leave from Brown University.

“How many fraternities does the University of Texas at Austin have anyway, Cort Wesley?”

“A whole bunch.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, continuing on toward the swell of bodies and flashing lights, “it sure looks that way.”

Stubb’s was well known for its barbecue offerings and, just as much, its status as a concert venue. The interior was modest in size, as Caitlin recalled, two floors with the bottom level normally reserved for private parties and the upstairs generally packed with patrons both old and new. The rear of the main building, and several adjoining ones, featured a flattened dirt lot fronted by several performance stages where upwards of two thousand people could enjoy live music in the company of three sprawling outdoor bars.

That meant this graduation party gone bad may have featured at least a comparable number of students and probably even more, many of whom remained in the street, milling about as altercations continued to flare, while first responders struggled futilely to disperse the crowd. Young men and women still swigging bottles of beer, while pushing and shoving each other. The sound of glass breaking rose over the loudening din of the approaching sirens, the whole scene glowing amid the colors splashed from the revolving lights of the Austin police cars already on the scene.

A fire engine leading a rescue wagon screeched to a halt just ahead of Cort Wesley and Caitlin, at the intersection with 7th Street, beyond which had become impassable.

“Dylan could even be here, for all I know,” Cort Wesley said, picking up his earlier train of thought.

“He doesn’t go to UT.”

“But there’s girls and trouble, two things he excels at the most.”

This as fights continued breaking out one after another, splinters of violence on the verge of erupting into an all-out brawl going on under the spill of the LED streetlights rising over Stubb’s.

Caitlin pictured swirling lines of already drunk patrons being refused admittance due to capacity issues. Standing in line full of alcohol on a steamy night, expectations of a celebratory evening dashed, was a recipe for just what she was viewing now. In her mind, she saw fights breaking out between rival UT fraternities mostly in the outdoor performance area, before spilling out into the street, fueled by simmering tempers now on high heat.

“You see any good we can be here?” Cort Wesley asked her.

Caitlin was about to say no, when she spotted an anxious Austin patrol cop doing his best to break up fights that had spread as far as 7th Street. She and Cort Wesley sifted through the crowd and made their way toward him, Caitlin advancing alone when they drew close.

“Anything I can do to help,” she said, reading the Austin policeman’s nametag, “Officer Hilton?”

Hilton leaned up against an ornate light pole that looked like gnarled wrought iron for support. He was breathing hard, his face scraped and bruised. He noted the Texas Ranger badge and seemed to match her face to whatever media reports he’d remembered her from.

“Not unless you got enough Moses in you to part the Red Sea out there, Ranger.”

“What brought you boys out here? Detail work?” Caitlin asked, trying to account for his presence on scene so quickly, ahead of the sirens screaming through the night.

Hilton shook his head. “An anonymous nine-one-one call about a sexual assault taking place inside the club, the downstairs lounge.”

“And you didn’t go inside?”

Hilton turned his gaze on the street, his breathing picking up again. “Through that? My partner tried and ended up getting his skull cracked open by a bottle. I damn near got killed fighting to reach him. Managed to get him in the back of our squad car and called for a rescue,” he said, casting his gaze toward the fire engine and ambulance that were going nowhere. “Think maybe I better carry him to the hospital myself.”

“What about the girl?”

“What girl?”

“Sexual assault victim inside the club.”

Hilton frowned. “Most of them turn out to be false alarms anyway.”

“Do they now?”

Caitlin’s tone left him sneering at her. “Look, Ranger, you want to shoot up the street to get inside that shithole, be my guest. I’m not leaving my partner.”

“Thanks for giving me permission,” she said, and steered back for Cort Wesley.

“That looked like it went well,” he noted, pushing a frat boy who’d ventured too close out of the way, after stripping the empty beer bottle he was holding by the neck from his grasp.

“Sexual assault victim might still be inside, Cort Wesley.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Got any ideas, Ranger?”

Caitlin eyed the fire engine stranded where East 7th Street met Red River Avenue. “Just one.”

CHAPTER 3

Austin, Texas

Four firemen were gathered behind the truck in a tight cluster, speaking with the two paramedics from the rescue wagon.

“I’m a Texas Ranger,” Caitlin announced, approaching them with jacket peeled back to reveal her badge, “and I’m commandeering your truck.”

“You’re what?” one of the fireman managed. “No, absolutely not!”

The siren began blaring and lights started flashing, courtesy of Cort Wesley who’d climbed up behind the wheel.

“Sorry,” Caitlin said, raising her voice above the din, “can’t hear you!”

* * *

The crowd that filled the street in front of Stubb’s Barbecue saw and heard the fire truck coming and began pelting it with bottles, as it edged forward through the congested street that smelled of sweat and beer. What looked like steam hung in the stagnant air overhead, either an illusion or the actual product of so many superheated bodies congealed in such tight quarters. The sound of glass braking crackled through Caitlin’s ears, as bottle after bottle smashed against the truck’s frame.

The crowd clustered tighter around the fire engine, cutting off Cort Wesley’s way backward or on toward Stubb’s. The students, their fervor and aggression bred by alcohol, never noticed Caitlin’s presence atop the truck until she finally figured out the workings of the truck’s deck gun and squeezed the nozzle.

The force of the water bursting out of the barrel nearly knocked her backward off the truck. But she managed to right and then repositioned herself, as she doused the tight cluster of students between the truck and the restaurant entrance with the gun’s powerful stream.

A wave of people tried to fight the flow and ended up getting blown off their feet, thrown into other students who then scrambled to avoid the fire engine’s surge forward ahead of its deafening horn. Caitlin continued to clear a path for Cort Wesley, sweeping the deck gun in light motions from side to side, the five hundred gallon tank still plenty full when the club entrance drew within clear view.

She felt the fire engine’s front wheels mount the sidewalk and twist heavily to the right. The front fender grazed the building and took out a plate glass window the rioting had somehow spared. Caitlin saw a gap in the crowd open all the way to the entrance and leaped down from the truck to take advantage of it, before it closed up again.

She purposely didn’t draw her gun and entered Stubb’s to the sight of bloodied bouncers and staff herding the last of the patrons out of the restaurant. Outside, the steady blare of sirens told her the Austin police had arrived in force. Little they could do to disperse a crowd this large and unruly in rapid fashion, though, much less reach the entrance to lend their efforts to Caitlin’s in locating the sexual assault victim.

She threaded her way through the ground floor of Stubb’s to the stairs leading down to the private lounge area. The air felt like it was being blasted out of a steam oven, roiled with coagulated body heat untouched by the restaurant’s air conditioning that left Caitlin with the sense she was descending to hell.

Reaching the windowless sub-level floor, she swept her eyes about and thought she heard a whimpering come from a nest of couches, where a male figure hovered over the frame of a woman, lying half on and half off a sectional couch.

“Sir, put your hands in the air and turn around slowly!” Caitlin ordered, drawing her SIG-Sauer nine-millimeter pistol. “Don’t make me tell you twice!”

He started to turn, without raising his hands, and Caitlin fired when she glimpsed something shiny in his grasp. Impact to the shoulder twisted the man around and spilled him over the sectional couch, Caitlin holding her SIG at the ready as she approached his victim.

She heard the whimpering again, making her think more of the sound a dog makes, and followed it toward a tight cluster of connected couch sections, their cushions all stained wet and smelling thickly of beer. Drawing closer while still keeping a sharp eye on the man she’d shot, Caitlin spotted a big smart phone lying just out of his grasp, recognizing it as the object she’d wrongly taken for a gun. Then Caitlin spied a young woman of college age pinned between a pair of couch sections, covering her exposed breasts with her arms, her torn blouse hanging off her and jeans unbuttoned and unzipped just short of her hips.

Drawing closer, Caitlin saw the young woman’s assailant, the man she’d just shot in all likelihood, must’ve yanked them down so violently that he’d split the zipper and torn off the snap or button.

“Ma’am?” she called softly.

The young woman tightened herself into a ball and retreated deeper into the darkness between the couch sections, not seeming to hear her.

“Ma’am,” Caitlin said louder, hovering over the coed while continuing to check on the man she’d shot, his eyes drifting in and out of consciousness, his shirt wet with blood in the shoulder area from the gunshot wound.

Caitlin only wished it was her own attacker lying there, from all those years before when she’d been a coed herself at the Lone Star College campus in West Houston. Some memories suppressed easily, others were like a toothache that came and went. That one was more like a cavity that had been filled, forgotten until the filling broke off and raw nerve pain flared.

Caitlin pushed the couch sections aside and knelt by the young woman, pistol tucked low by her hip so as not to frighten her further.

“I’m a Texas Ranger, ma’am,” she said, in as soothing a voice as she could manage. “I need to get you out of here, and I need you to help me. I need to know if you can walk.”

The young woman finally looked at her, nodded. Her left cheek was swollen badly and one of her arms hung limply from its socket. Caitlin looked back at the downed form of the man she’d already shot once, half hoping he gave her a reason to shoot him again.

“What’s your name? Mine’s Caitlin.”

“Kelly Ann,” the young woman said, her voice dry and cracking.

Caitlin helped her to her feet. “Well, Kelly Ann, I know things feel real bad right now, but trust me when I tell you this is bad as they’re going to get.”

Kelly Ann’s features perked up slightly, her eyes flashing back to life. She tried to take a deep breath, but stopped halfway though.

Caitlin held her around the shoulders in one arm, SIG clutched in her free hand while her eyes stayed peeled on the downed man’s stirring form. “I’m going to stay with you the whole way until we get you some help,” she promised.

The building suddenly felt like a Fun House Hall of Mirrors. Everything distorted, perspective and sense of place lost. Even the stairs climbing back to the ground floor felt different, only the musty smell of sweat mixed with stale perfume and body spray telling her they were the same.

Caitlin wanted to tell Kelly Ann it would be all right, that it would get better, that it would all go away in time. But that would be a lie, so she said nothing at all. Almost to the door, she gazed toward a loose assemblages of frat boys wearing hoodies displaying their letters as they chugged from liquor bottles stripped from the shelves behind the main bar on the first floor. How different were they from the one who’d hurt her, hurt Kelly Ann?

Caitlin wanted to shoot the bottles out of their hands, but kept leading Kelly Ann on instead, out into the night and the vapor spray from the deck gun now being wielded by Cort Wesley to keep their route clear.

“’Bout time!” he shouted down, scampering across the truck’s top to retake his place behind the wheel.

Caitlin was already inside the cab, Kelly Ann clinging tight to her.

“Where to, Ranger?”

“Seton Medical Center, Cort Wesley.”

Before he got going, Caitlin noticed Officer Hilton and several other Austin cops pushing their way through the crowd toward the entrance to Stubb’s.

“Don��t worry, Officer, I got the victim out safe and sound,” she yelled down to him, only half-sarcastically. “But I left a man with a bullet in his shoulder down there for you to take care of.”

“Come again?”

“I’d hurry, if I were you. He’s losing blood.”

***

Excerpt from Strong to the Bone by Jon Land. Copyright © 2017 by Jon Land. Reproduced with permission from Jon Land. All rights reserved.

Author Bio:

Jon Land is the USA Today bestselling author of 43 books, including eight titles in the critically acclaimed Caitlin Strong series: Strong Enough to Die, Strong Justice, Strong at the Break, Strong Vengeance, Strong Rain Falling (winner of the 2014 International Book Award and 2013 USA Best Book Award for Mystery-Suspense), Strong Darkness (winner of the 2014 USA Books Best Book Award and the 2015 International Book Award for Thriller, and Strong Light of Day which won the 2016 International Book Award for Best Thriller-Adventure, the 2015 Books and Author Award for Best Mystery Thriller, and the 2016 Beverly Hills Book Award for Best Mystery. Strong Cold Dead became the fourth title in the series in a row to win the International Book Award in 2017 and about which Booklist said, “Thrillers don’t get any better than this,” in a starred review. Land has also teamed with multiple New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham on a new sci-fi series, the first of which, The Rising, was published by Forge in January of 2017. He is a 1979 graduate of Brown University and lives in Providence, Rhode Island.

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BLOG TOUR – Strong to the Bone was originally published on the Wordpress version of The Pulp and Mystery Shelf with Shannon Muir