#between different shades of brown hair?? so that not all slightly lighter shades is shuffled into 'blonde' by default????

[journeythroughtherain]

Unpopular opinion about Evan Buck Buckley

That man is not blond.

[nialledfromfics]

Chapter One: The Wanderer 

(a/n: click the link in the chapter title for the song- instant throwback!)

He had thought the air would’ve felt denser, stickier as it pelted against his face or that the beating sun would’ve been more intense on the slick of his leather jacket, but it didn’t. The air, instead, felt lighter, more freeing and the lingering sun as it had started to set across the tops of the trees in the distance, just felt softer like a renaissance oil painting come to life. The charging wind blew through his dark brown hair, wispy ends waving as he sped down the nearly deserted highway. His knuckles crinkled–tightening around the handlebars of his cherry red 1955 Harley Davidson Panhead–as he revved the engine to pick up speed and his eyes squinted slightly underneath the black of his shades from the blinding orange glare of the horizon. He was headed south, away from the only place he knew; the bustling, cramped New York City block he grew up in. Not running from anything and not towards anyone, just looking for something different, a change. He didn’t have a plan as to where he was going, or where he would end up, but he knew he would figure it out eventually.

And he wasn’t going to stop until he did.

It was late spring of 1958; Eisenhower was still president, the government had launched its first satellite into outer space and Elvis Presley had been inducted into the Army. The world seemed to be moving faster than anyone could have imagined, but still not quite fast enough. Hatred and injustice remained, the world as cruel and bigoted as it ever had been. But underneath it all, there was still that need for more, that longing for a better life for everyone; the American Dream. His American dream.

He wasn’t so sure what it was that drew him to stop in the picturesque town of Bluemont, Georgia that following day; could’ve been the welcome sign right at the edge of town: “Heaven Awaits You Here”, or the fact that his motorcycle had begun to make a rattling sound that was a tad alarming. Nevertheless, he rode straight into that quaint town, fearless but unsure, and pulled right into the parking lot of the small neighborhood diner.

Slipping off his sunglasses, the young man–dressed in cuffed jeans, black Chuck Taylors and a slightly dirty white t-shirt under his worn-in leather jacket–peered up at the partially lit neon sign; Betty’s Diner. It was simple enough, a tiny place with bright aluminum siding and big glass windows all around and it seemed to have a decent amount of patrons inside. Food can’t be that bad, he thought to himself with a slight chuckle. He clicked off the engine and hopped off his bike, ruffling his fingers through his dark wind-blown hair as he made his way up to the door.

With his stare glued down at the white toed-tips of his high top sneakers, he swung open the squeaky door and crashed right into the front of someone that was just walking out. “Sorry, pardon me–”

“Hey! Watch where you’re fuckin’ going, man!”

The voice was heavy, boorish in tone and it made the young man look up from the floor. It was in that moment that her breathtaking green eyes caught his, her small shapely frame stepping out from behind the boy with the stoutish voice. Her soft coral lips parted as she stared at him, the intense blue of his eyes something she had never witnessed before in her life. She would have been lying if she said her heart hadn’t skipped a beat.

He cleared his throat, bowing his head gently as he was in no way looking for a fight. “I apologize,” he mumbled, attempting to end the scuffle and walk past. It was a deliberate hand to his chest that stopped his feet from taking another step.

“And what do we got here?” the brutish fella spoke up, his voice riddled with a country twang. His buddies all started to gather round, causing the young man to swallow hard the closer they stepped up to him. “A fuckin’ Mick, eh? Ya’ll we got a fuckin’ Mick in these parts!”

Loud unisonous laughs bellowed from the small rowdy group and the Irishman flicked his eyes around before reaching up and pushing the unwanted hand away from the front of his chest. “I don’t want no trouble,” he asserted, peering over at the one giving him the most bother.

“Why’re you even here?” he questioned, the outsider watching as the lad’s jaw clenched with aggravation. “We don’t want the likes of you in our town.”

“I said I’m not lookin’ for trouble,” he sneered back between gritted teeth.

Feeling the tension start to escalate, the young woman quickly grabbed around her companions upper arm, giving him a squeeze. “Cliff, c’mon, let’s just go, okay?” Her voice was so tender, innocent and her southern accent soft and it seized the strangers’ attention, her amorous gaze meeting his once more as a kind appreciativeness spread over his face. “Please…”

Cliff rolled his eyes at her suggestion. “Yeah, whatever,” he scoffed, pushing the glass door open with a heavy thud of his palm before trudging out.

The lone Irishman stayed put as Cliff’s buddies, and their tag-along girls, diligently followed, roughly brushing past him as the young woman quietly waited until everyone else had stepped out. She didn’t know who the stranger was, or why he had chosen to stop in her town when he did, but her gentle stare lingered over his for longer than a moment before she gave him the sweetest little smile and walked out to join her friends. His chest eased as she stepped away, his eyes following her over his shoulder as she turned to peek back at him.

He had never seen a girl as stunningly beautiful as her. Her skin was like a pristine alabaster, her green eyes like a waving field of fresh dewy grass, her painted lips full and supple like they had never once been tainted by the kiss of another. Her hair was a soft light ash brown, pulled up in a ponytail with a blue scarf wrapped around. She had on a fitted light blue knit sweater that had black buttons down the front and was smartly tucked into her striped skirt that fell just below her knees. He watched with curiosity as she slid into the passenger side of a black and white Ford Fairlane, Cliff sitting behind the wheel with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a scowl over his face. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, even as they pulled out from the lot of the diner and sped away, the squealing tires being heard in the distance.

The young man tried to disarm his mind of the girl, shaking the thoughts from his head as he took in a deep breath and found himself a seat in an empty booth right by the door.

“What can I get ya?”

He peeked up at the waitress that had shuffled up to the end of the booth, her gum smacking between her lips as her hand rested on the jut of her hip. He smiled. “Burger and a soda,” he spoke up, noticing how quickly she jotted down his order before walking away without another word.

Sighing out, the young man crossed his arms over the edge of the table and turned to peer out at the town through the large window. His blue eyes scanned along what he could only assume was Main Street, a few townspeople walking in and out of the shops and some children playing with a dog just across the way. It seemed like a nice place, a wholesome little town. Maybe the sign was right, maybe this was where heaven awaited you.  

“Not from around here, are ya?” the waitress spoke up, setting his glass bottle of Coca-Cola down in front of him.  

He shook his head. “No.”

She hooked her arms over her chest, a few ringlets of red hair slightly falling from her updo as she tilted her head. “Stayin’ long?”

“Not sure,” he truthfully replied with a light shrug of his shoulder, before wrinkling his brows at her. “Actually, do ya know where I can find a mechanic shop around here?”

*******

Maybe it was the pretty girl from the diner that had compelled him to stay. The incessant sound of her sweet voice ringing in his ears and the sparkle in her green eyes that wouldn’t stop plaguing his dreams. Maybe it was the fact that his motorcycle needed a few repairs and he desperately needed some cash in his pocket. Maybe it was a little bit of everything.

He took a job at the local mechanic shop, the owner, Phil, graciously letting him stay in the vacant one room apartment above the garage. It wasn’t much, a bed and a small table and chair, but he didn’t really need more than that. Just a place to crash for awhile and the right tools to fix his bike on his free time. Betty’s was only a couple blocks down and there was a corner grocery and deli just across the street. There wasn’t much more he needed, other than to find out who that pretty girl from the diner was.

*******

If the smoke curling up from under the hood of her car was any indication that something was amiss, she knew that she would have no choice but to pull over. It was her daily drive home from school, her route taking her a bit more out of the way than most of her schoolmates, and with her car being only a year old, she surely didn’t expect to be stopped on the side of the road with the hood propped up and grey smoke billowing out. She had no idea what to do and she pushed out a disgruntled ‘humfph’, resting her bottom on the front fender of her two-toned white and turquoise Chevy Bel Air, waiting for someone–anyone–to drive by who could help her.

Thirty minutes went by with not a single soul driving past and the young woman was starting to get desperate, it was way too far to walk back towards town and she was still at least five miles from her home. The grumbling sound of an engine quickly knocked her from her thoughts and she leaned forward a bit, carefully edging the white frames of her sunglasses off of the bridge of her nose so she could peer down the length of road. The heat of the late day was wavering off the black pavement and she could see the faint outline of what looked to be a motorcycle coming towards her in the distance. Stepping away from her car with her hand perched on her hip, she began to signal the rider down, hoping they would be generous enough to stop.

The motorcycle started to slow as it neared and immediately the girl recognized the dark brown hair and ocean blue eyes. Pulling to a stop, the young man shut off the engine, almost stunned that the damsel in distress on the side of the road was none other than the girl that hadn’t escaped his dreams in over a week. She was dressed rather cute; canary yellow cropped pants and white sleeveless top that showed just the tiniest bit of flesh right at her midsection. Her hair was down, flowing across her bare shoulders in soft waves but held back in the front with a bandana that was tied as a headband. Her white cat eye framed glasses topped off the look. She was a sight for his sore eyes, that was for sure. They hadn’t seen each other since that first encounter at the diner and she watched as he hopped off his bike and walked over to her, carding his fingers through his dark hair to tame it. “You havin’ a bit of trouble, miss?” he asked, glancing behind her at the open hood of her car that was still reeling in smoke.

She giggled in amusement at him addressing her so formally, and pulled off her sunglasses, her large eyes locking on his as she held out her hand to him. “Vivian Prescott”, she introduced herself. He was taken aback by her slight forwardness to shake his hand and he peeked down, aware of the dirt and oil that was smudged all over the inside of his palm.

“Uh…” He could barely protest as she, too, looked down and noticed the grit on his skin but thrust her hand further anyway, still encouraging him to shake it. Eagerly he slid his fingers around hers, delicately gripping as he let her move their clasped hands up and down. A warmth pulsed from his palm to hers, and he gave her a smirk as their eyes settled on each other. “Niall Horan,” he finally greeted.

“Nice to meet you, Niall.”

“Pleasures mine, Miss Vivian.” She faintly giggled again, their fingers brushing as they both reluctantly pulled back from the handshake. “Let’s take a look and see what’s goin’ on, yeah?”

Vivian spun around on her heels as Niall shuffled past her, placing his hands on the front edge of the car as he bent over to get a better look. He didn’t say a word as he reached in and began to tinker with a few pieces of the hot engine, Vivian just watching on with a tilted head and curious stare. Niall glanced up at her as she leaned forward, interested in getting a better look for herself at what he was doing. “So, guess you’re not afraid of me?” he mentioned with a half smile.

The young woman straightened her back, wrinkling her brows at his strange and forthright question. “Why on God’s earth would I be afraid of you?”

He shrugged. “Dunno,” he started, keeping his eyes down at his task, “outsider in town and all, most people are, I guess. Walk on the other side of the street if they see me comin’.”

Cocking her head to the side, Vivian took a nice long gander at the man that was perched over the hood of her car. He was in a pair of dark jeans, cuffed over the top of his dirty boots that were double tied to his feet and a mechanics work shirt, that had definitely seen better days, left open and covering a grease-smudged white ribbed tank top. He had dirt and oil wiped across his neck and the side of his face and up the length of his tanned forearms. He was dripping in sweat, his hair looking as if it hadn’t been washed in days and he smelt of gasoline and cigarettes. But he was the most gorgeous boy she had ever seen in her life, and he looked as if he couldn’t have harmed a mouse even if he was paid to. Biting at her bottom lip, Vivian shot her green eyes back to Niall’s roughened hands as he began to unscrew a tiny cap. “Well, you don’t look very scary to me,” she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest with a faint lift of her shoulder, “unless I’m missin’ somethin’...”

Niall shot his stare up to her face, the corner of his lip tugging up as her eyes caught his. He had never met anyone like her before, she definitely wasn’t like the other girls back home and even then, he really couldn’t get a good read of her. She was intriguing and seemed quite blithe, though a bit haughty as well, if he was being honest, but she was as sweet as apple pie and had the voice of an angel. “I, um...I wanted to apologize for my friends behavior at the diner last week,” she spoke up, Niall’s attention having gone back to his task at hand.

“Those people are your friends?”

Vivian let out a huff and hooked her hands on her hips in jest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’,” Niall replied with a raise of his brows, “just…don’t seem like them, that’s all.”

Her shoulders softened with his words and she licked across her lips. “Well, in any case, I am sorry for how they acted and what they said to you. It wasn’t right.”

Niall chuckled. “That’s kind of ya, miss, but ya don’t need to apologize for that. It wasn’t your fault.”

She gently nodded her head, green eyes steady on his every movement as she stayed quiet before he leaned himself up and dusted off his hands. “Alright, so I think it’s your alternator. Just needs new wires,” he informed her, wiping across his sticky brow with the back of his hand, “think I got what ya need back at the shop. I’ll go get it and bring it back.”

Niall stepped past Vivian and walked towards his bike, swinging his leg over to settle on the seat. She remained quiet, her gaze staying pressed to him. Flicking back the kickstand with his foot, Niall straightened up the bike and glanced over at her. “Wanna go with me?”

Her breath caught in her throat, her pink stained lips falling open as she dotted her eyes along the big piece of machinery that was nestled between his legs. “On...on that?” she choked out, pointing at the motorcycle with a crinkle in her brow.

“The motorcycle? Yeah…”

“Is it safe?”

Niall chuckled, dipping his head down. “Well, I rebuilt it meself with me own two hands, so, yeah, I can promise it’s safe. Just finished fixin’ it up yesterday,” he explained to her, “besides, I’d rather not leave ya alone here on the side of the road.”

Vivian’s lips pressed into a flattered smile. “Oh, I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe so,” he said, “but I won’t known I left ya. So c’mon, hop on.” Niall gave her a nod towards the back of the seat, motioning her to climb on behind him.

Breathing out a soft smile, Vivian slid her sunglass back on her face and bit at her bottom lip, walking over towards him before carefully–but clumsily–settling herself behind him on the seat. She was somewhat trepidatious as to what she was supposed to do, what she was allowed to do and Niall pushed out a snort, peering at her over his shoulder. “Gotta hold onto me,” he told her, barely feeling the very skim of her small hands as they lightly touched around his sides. Vivian swallowed hard, her heart pounding out of her chest as Niall reached down and grabbed at her wrists, yanking her closer and fully wrapping her arms around the front of his torso. “Like this, love.”

Her eyes fluttered closed from the intoxicating heat that was radiating from his body. Her front pressed firm to his rounded back, his muscles flexing against her chest with every tiny movement he made. Niall was well aware of her racing heart and her heavy breathing as he started up the loud and rumbling engine, and Vivian nestled her chin down on the swell of his shoulder as she tightened her arms around him. A smile slipped over Niall’s lips, matching that of the one on Vivian’s face before he pulled off, heading back into town.

*********

They returned to Vivian’s car within the hour, Niall getting straight to work repairing the burnt wires. The young woman stayed lingering by his side, nosily looking on as he twisted and pulled, Niall scrunching up his face and every so often wiping the dripping sweat from his brow. She couldn’t help but stare at him, watch him, he was fascinating and it was more than her mind could take knowing that she had been wrapped around his strong warm body not ten minutes before.

Vivian blew out a stuttering breath, quickly averting her longing gaze as Niall flicked his eyes up and caught her in her moment of weakness. He smiled to himself as he kept his hands fiddling. “So,” Niall began, trying to ease the bout of silence that had crept up between them, “this Cliff guy…”

It was an odd statement, Vivian thought, as she didn’t even know he knew Cliff’s name and she gave him a slightly puzzled look. “What about him?”

Niall cleared his throat. “You’re his girl?”

Her green eyes slowly shifted away from the side of his face, fighting the grin that was pressing at the corner of her mouth. “No,” she told him, “were not goin’ steady. We used to, but...that’s over.”

Faintly humming in response, Niall grabbed at a tool that was resting next to him on the edge of the car. “Ya don’t have a boyfriend then?”

“No,” Vivian replied with a shake of her head.

“Can I ask why ya still hang with him, if ya don’t have to and all…”

Vivian shrugged. “I dunno really, I mean, we have the same friends, we go to school together–”

“You’re in school?” he asked, glancing over at her.

She scraped her teeth along her bottom lip. “Yeah, I’m a senior at Roosevelt High, over on the other side of town.”

Niall gave her a nod and went back to tightening a few loose ends of the wires. “Are you not in school?” Vivian questioned, wondering why she hadn’t seen him in the hallways between classes.

“I was,” he chuckled, “but I’m twenty two now, so no need.”

“Oh,” Vivian breathed out, raising her fingers to her lips to stifle her giggle. She hadn’t realized he was that much older than her. “Well...I’m almost eighteen. My birthday is in a few weeks.”

Niall turned his head and smiled big at her, his entire grease-smudged facing lighting up. “Happy early birthday, Vivian.”

Her eyes gently drifted over his rugged features, and settled on the dark scruff that had grown in along his jawline. “Thank you.” Finishing up, Niall checked the newly installed parts, making sure everything was in place. “So, how do ya know how to do all this stuff,” Vivian then asked him, “work on cars and all?”

He pulled in a long breath, carding his fingers up through is wild hair. “My da,” he explained, “it was his trade back home, and then when we moved to America. He taught me everythin’. I just use what I know to get by.”

Vivian kept quiet, brushing away at a piece of hair that had blown across her mouth and Niall leaned up, clasping his hands on the edge of the car as he peered over at her. “Okay, that should hold ya for now,” he said, “but why don’t ya come by the shop tomorrow and I will give the whole car a once over, ya know, make sure everythin’ else is good.”

She nodded. “I will. Thank you for your help, really.”

Niall rolled his lips into his mouth and nodded before grabbing his tools and shutting the hood of the car. “Of course.”

With her fingers fiddling with the sunglasses that she held in her hand, she turned and watched as he put his tools away in the little side pocket of his bike and climbed on. Niall glanced over at her, and gave her one last smile. “See ya later, miss.”

Vivian ducked her head down in a soft smile as he started his engine, revving it slightly. Looking back up at him, she gave him a tiny wave. “Bye, Niall.”

Throwing her a wink, the handsome outsider took off, his back tire squealing against the hot pavement as Vivian leaned her bottom up against the side of her car in absolute awe, her eyes never leaving him until he was clear out of sight.

********

(note – If you ever have any questions at all about the story, from what a character might be feeling/thinking or saying to anything within the plot that might be confusing, please just ask! I will answer whatever you need to know. Thank you!) 

[aivaehdaevis]

The More Things Change: Ch 1

The More Things Change

by Aivaeh

Disclaimer: Familiar characters, plot elements, and settings belong to L.J. Smith, Julie Plec, and the CW. The author of this work of fanfiction has made no money from it. Summary: I have no idea how it happened, but one morning I woke up in the world of The Vampire Diaries. Which, aside from the insanity of waking up inside a television show made real, might not be so bad—if I weren't stuck in the body of vampire magnet and doppelgänger herself, Elena Gilbert. Pairing(s): OFC x Damon, OFC x Stefan, OFC x Elijah, OFC x Klaus Rating: M Word Count: 5,549 Warning(s): Graphic descriptions of violence on par with the show itself. References to sex and drug use. Mind control and all the issues of consent that go along with it. Character death. Author's Note: I know there are a ton of these fics out there. Still I recently got into the show, and I can't get enough of these types of stories. The urge to write my own wouldn't leave me alone so here it is. Hopefully someone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. Master List Next Chapter External Links: AO3 | FF.Net | Wattpad

Chapter One

The color of my arm as I slapped the top of the alarm clock was the first clue something was wrong. Confused by the sudden shift in skin tone, I stilled. Stared down my shoulder to the tips of my fingers. Sitting up, I stretched out my other arm. A quick flip revealed that they were the same shade. Perfect mirrors of each other.

It wasn't until my sights drifted from my mysterious overnight tanning that I realized I wasn't in my room, either. From the steep slanted ceiling to the built-in bookshelf, nothing was familiar except the white walls. The bed wasn't my bed. The cream bedspread and wooden headboard were a different style from my purple comforter and modern piping headboard. Now that I was paying attention, I realized the mattress felt firmer, too.

Where was I? How did I get here? My memory came up blank.

I shuddered and closed my eyes. But no matter how many times I squeezed them shut and reopened them, the room was the same. Wondering if I were trapped in a freakishly realistic dream, I tried to pinch my arm. The sharp pain pulled in an equally sharp a breath, but it didn't jolt me back into my own bed. Not that I'd had much hope it would. I wasn't a lucid dreamer, but I knew when I was awake. And I was awake.

I rubbed my arm, encouraging the pale patch of skin to fade back into the darker golden olive I was now sporting. Waiting for the bruising pulse to fade, a few strands of hair fell across my face. I pinched the lock and brought it up to eye level. It was straight, not the crinkled mess I usually woke with. The shade was a darker brown, too. Nearly black out of the sunlight.

I caught sight of a full-length mirror. If my arms and hair were different… But the angle made it impossible to see myself from the bed. Swallowing, I swung my legs out from beneath the blanket and was both surprised and not to find the same golden coloring so different from my typical pale. My thighs were softer, lacking the sharp definition of muscle. Another twist from my stomach warned me I was starting to freak out again, but I couldn't help it. I took in the hips that flared, and then a chest more generous than mine.

I rose up onto quivering legs, dread deepening with every careful step towards the mirror. When I stepped in front of it, lips parted but with nothing to say. A hand flew over the mouth that wasn't mine. Wide open eyes a deeper shade of brown stared back at me in horror. The head shook side to side, denial in the steep pinch of sculpted brows.

Nina Dobrev's horrified reflection stared back at me.

The face finally lost a shade, and if it went any lighter, it might end up closer to my own. Her hands curled into the straight strands of shining hair, ran across the crown of the skull, tightening into a grip that pulled. I sucked down each breath, watching as the actress in the mirror mimicked every move. The reflection blurred, colors smearing. I shut my eyes before the burn in my eyes manifested into tears.

This was insane. It couldn't be real. I had to be dreaming.

Eyes open again, I looked around. Like a shift in perspective had shown me the full picture, this new understanding painted my surroundings in a very different light. I'd seen this room before. On a television show. Elena's room. The bed where Damon would lounge and wave at Elena with her teddy bear—that was on the floor next to her bed. The window seat Elijah would lean against as he bargained for Elena's friends and family's lives at the price of her own life.

Wrapping my arms around my stomach, as if I could physically hold back the wave of nausea threatening to spill over, I gazed around and shivered. I tentatively moved back to the mirror and pressed the tip of a finger against it. Cold. Smooth and solid. Real. I pressed against the wooden frame. Slightly less cold, but still chilled. Slightly less hard but still solid, small imperfections beneath my skin from the grain, even smoothed with varnish. Real.

I moved faster, as if trying to outrace the truth to the other side of the room, to a desk pressed against the wall. There were candles that gave under my fingertips when pressed hard enough. Real. Notebooks that my fingers slid across until my nails caught the metal spiral. Real. My toes curled into the cold hardwood floor smoothed with a coat or two of lacquer. Real. I picked up a framed picture of Elena smooshed between two adults I'd never seen before. My finger squeaked across the glass as I slid my thumb over their smiles. Real. Brought it up to stare at a younger Elena. This wasn't some prop for a television show, with carefully set lighting and a professional eye. It was the naturally lit and awkwardly shot photograph of an amateur. The faint smell of vanilla lingered in the air. Real.

The picture clattered back onto the desktop. My free hand curled back into a fist that pressed into my stomach. I turned and stared at the frightened girl in the mirror.

Shuffling back to the bed, I settled onto a bottom corner. I stared at the alarm clock. Six thirty in the morning. Early? Or was Elena Gilbert a pre-dawn riser? An insomniac?

Like a song set to repeat, my mind circled back around to the unbelievable situation I was in. Wondering, over and over, how this was possible. What had happened after I'd gone to bed? How did I wake up as a character in a television show? Was this some kind of nervous break? Had I gone mad? Was I dead? In a coma? How real was real? Really real? What'd happen to me if something happened to her?

Rubbing a hand down my face, I struggled with all the questions I couldn't answer. What I did know was that I liked the show well enough to watch it, but I'd never want to live it. Let alone as Elena. Not that I had an issue with her, she served the purpose she was written for. She just wasn't my favorite. Not like Caroline, who'd shown amazing growth. She didn't have any powers like Bonnie. Unless you counted attracting danger.

Since I wasn't craving blood—at least, I didn't think I was—I guessed she was still human. Realizing vampirism was a possibility I had to seriously consider, a snort of laughter bubbled up and escaped before I could stop it. As if a dam broke, I let loose more laughter, this time sounding frantic and half-crazed. What absurd turn into insanity had my life taken?

A door opened somewhere beyond the closed one separating Elena's room from the rest of the house. The sound choked my laughter abruptly short as my heart shot up and got stuck in my throat. The floor creaked outside. Footsteps grew closer. Came all the way up to the room's door. The rap of knuckles set my heart pounding. "Elena?" I knew that voice. Jenna, Elena's aunt. "Better get in the shower if you don't want to be late."

I swallowed back a scream. "Okay." Oh god. I even sounded like Nina Dobrev. Elena. Whoever.

I took a steadying breath before adding a tentative, "Thanks."

"Sure." The footsteps moved back and away as she walked down what I was guessing was a hallway.

Well. Still somewhat dazed, but a little steadier after my bout of mad laughter, I found clothes laid out on a dresser after a moment of unfocused gazing while my brain rebooted. Getting up and going over, I picked them up and turned towards the built-in bookshelf, beside which was another door. One Jenna hadn't knocked on. I had vague memories of a bathroom—one the ghost of Bonnie's ancestor trapped her inside.

Sidling up to it, I hesitated for a second before pushing it open. A connecting bathroom, and not just to Elena's bedroom. The opposite door must've led to Jeremy's. It wasn't large, but it had enough room for two sinks, a toilet, and a shower tucked behind the inward swinging door.

Discomfort had my hands gripping the clothes tighter at thought of washing somebody else. Did she have a bathing suit? No, I'd still have to undress. But that was better than scrubbing.

I chewed on my inner cheek before sighing. This whole situation was a can of worms. What were the ethics of a fictional character's bodily autonomy, if they weren't so fictional anymore? At first it seemed cut and dry—treat it with the respect you'd give any other body—except for the fact I was the one currently occupying it. Which made me wonder what had happened to the real Elena. Or was she real? Had someone's consciousness been in this body before? Was she still in here, somewhere? What about Jenna? Was she real? She'd sounded real. Would she parrot lines from the show, like some sort of scripted character? Was I? Had I already been doing that all my life? Was I doing it now?

Already overwhelmed, I wasn't up to parsing through all the metaphysical questions that went along with finding myself in a fictional universe populated by fictional characters. Nevermind all the implications and ramifications. Knowing jack shit about what had happened to me, I couldn't even venture towards any sort of guess, educated or otherwise.

I turned to the more concrete and immediate issue instead. Could I get away with not washing? I raised my arm and sniffed. Nothing funky but—ugh. Going a day without showering had my nose wrinkling as if I'd caught a whiff of body odor. Besides, at some point, I was going to have to use the toilet.

I compromised with myself by making it quick and not looking at anything.

I kept hurrying as I wrapped myself up in towel before daring to go in front of the mirror. Elena, hair plastered against her head and neck, looked freaked out. I frowned. So did she. Eager to banish the surreal sight away, my gaze dropped like a stone to the sinks. A separate toothbrush holder for both, one tube of toothpaste between them. I took hold of the purple toothbrush, hoping I'd picked the right one. I concentrated on finishing up the morning's ablutions.

Back in the bedroom, I shut the door behind me. I was about to unwind the towel and dry off before wrapping up Elena's longer hair when a sound broke the morning quiet and sent a chill through my blood.

"Caw!"

My arms and neck prickled from all the hairs now standing straight. My head turned, slow and reluctant. A light cotton curtain shifted in a breeze from an open window. A window I knew had been shut earlier when I'd examined the bedroom. On the thick boughs of an old tree standing beyond perched a great black crow, watching.

Head tilting, its small black eye remained fixed. On me. After a minute where we stared at one another and it—he?—stayed still, I took a few careful steps to the window. Its head straightened and a wing shook. I paused, but it didn't hop away or take off, so I finished crossing the final bit of space between me and the window. I ignored the curtain as its edge brushed along my bare arm. I stared into that black gaze, searching for something more than animal in its eye. Something intelligent. The very idea was crazy, but at this point, it was a drop in an ocean of madness.

"Caw!"

Sucking down a breath, I gripped the windowpane and pushed it shut. The crow stretched its neck and dipped its head. Standing back up, it launched itself into the sky with a powerful flapping of its shining black wings.

The air rushed out of me, taking the worst of my anxiety with it. "Perv." Forehead falling to the glass, I shut my eyes to shut out this fake world and let my skin soak up the cold. The sun's light glowed red behind my eyelids. I stared into it for as long as I could stand before opening them back up and shutting the curtains. Not that they'd do much good, white and thin as they were.

Hurrying to dress, my sights darted around to all the windows. On the plus side, I was so preoccupied with avoiding any peeping crows I didn't have time to worry out about dressing a body that wasn't mine. Since I hadn't wrapped my hair, the back of Elena's red shirt dampened. Swearing, I snatched the towel I'd discarded from the bed. I tried massaging the worst of the wetness out of it before wrapping it up.

With Jenna still alive, Elena was a seventeen-year-old Junior. She had to have a hair dryer somewhere.

Not hearing anyone or anything stirring out of the bathroom, I went back in. I found one in cupboards beneath the sink, along with a set of curling irons and various other beauty paraphernalia. A power strip laid nearby for the plug. Rummaging through the rest of the drawers, I found Elena's makeup.

With an unfamiliar face, it took me longer than normal to apply it.

As soon as I was ready, I ventured beyond the bedroom door and into the hallway. It looked fairly normal. A generic pastoral painting hung on the wall above a low side table. More doors, one that must have led to the bathroom. Jeremy's had to be beyond it. I supposed that meant Elena's parents had the room across. Jenna must be sleeping there now.

The stairs were at the end of the hall. I paused at the top, listening for any sounds of life down below. Sure enough there was a slight clatter and the running of a faucet. Kitchen?

Only one way to find out.

The stairs were well made. They didn't creak as I descended. Pictures were arranged on the wall. Family portraits. The two adults from the framed photograph in my room featured in these, too. Elena's parents, maybe. I don't remember the series ever featuring either of them.

The faucet was shut off before I reached the landing. Drawers were rolling open and closed, though, punctuated by the creak of a cabinet door. The controlled orchestra of domesticity led me to the right and down a narrow hall that led into a wide-open archway. The smell of freshly brewed coffee grew stronger with each step. Beyond the arch sat a full-size dining table. Scooting around, I approach an island counter separating the kitchen proper from the dining area.

Jenna was moving back and forth between the cabinets and island, various breakfast paraphernalia spread out on the other counter lining the wall. Boxes of cereal and pop tarts, bowels of fruit, a loaf of bread beside a plate of butter. She was muttering, but it was too low to make out.

I stopped at the outside of the island, next to the stools, and leaned on its marble top. "Jenna?"

If she noticed my hesitation she didn't seem to think it was a big deal. "Elena! Morning." Her smile was almost manic, stretched way too wide and revealing way too many teeth. "I made breakfast!" She paused before adding, "Well, I pulled it out of the fridge and cabinets. But. Breakfast!"

I swept my sights along the strange horde of food.

Jenna followed my lead, twisting at the waist to take in her work. "Too much?"

"Little bit." I squeezed my hands together. Somewhere up above, a toilet flushed. Surprised, I looked up. That's something I never heard on the show.

"Oh, good. Jeremy's up." Jenna shook her head. "Was not looking forward to dragging him out of bed."

It was a guess, but, "First day of school."

Jenna looked over and must have seen the trepidation in my face and interpreted it as nerves. "You'll do great, Elena. No one expected you to keep up your grades last year after—" she trailed off into an awkward silence before shrugging. "Anyway. It'll be better. You'll do better." Before I could think of a reply, that slightly panicked glaze came back over her eyes. She held up her hands, "Not to place undue expectations on you. Fine is good. You'll do fine."

Wow. The woman was a bigger wreck than I was. And I was an unwitting body snatcher plopped into the start of the Vampire Diaries' pilot episode. I managed a careful smile. "Right."

Jenna brightened. "Right!" She turned and thrust a hand towards a box of frozen Eggos. "Waffles?"

The thought of food threatened to churn my still sour stomach. "Oh. I'm… not really hungry this morning."

Jenna looked as if I'd shot a dog. "Nerves. Should've thought of that," she fretted. Before I could assure her it was a nice gesture, she burst into motion. Sweeping the food back into her arms before carrying it back towards the fridge. "How about coffee?" she asked over the tower of boxes and plastic containers. "Just brewed a pot."

I wasn't really feeling up to that, either, but didn't want to make things any worse. I wasn't entirely certain she wouldn't disassemble the keurig. "Sure." The shiny coffeemaker sat beside a sterling silver sink. I pushed myself off the counter and carefully sidestepped Jenna to the percolating pot.

Then I realized I had no idea where the mugs were.

Casting an eye to Jenna, who kept shoving the food back into the fridge, I wondered if she'd notice me searching the cabinets when a loud stomping moving swiftly down the stairs signaled Jeremy's impending arrival. The boy himself appeared a moment later, bangs swept across his drooping eyes. He slouched past the table and the island, coming to a stand beside me. The smell of teenage boy was very strong—the hoodie must have come off the floor, and I hadn't heard the shower—when he reached over my head to the end cabinet.

"Breakfast?" Jenna asked, voice hopeful as she half-straightened from the fridge.

"Coffee," Jeremy grunted, plucking a mug from the cabinet.

Jenna sighed and went back to putting away the food.

Jeremy took a glance at the remaining debris from Jenna's impromptu buffet and arched a brow before dismissing it with a shrug. Apparently, the coffee pot was more interesting.

I took a moment to soak in the presence of two fictional characters. From Jenna's frenetic movements to the languid shuffling of Jeremy Gilbert as he moved back towards the island and one of the stools.

Surreal didn't begin to cover it.

I reached up into the same cabinet I'd seen Jeremy take a mug from to get my own. The coffee smelled good as it flowed into the cup, releasing an especially strong aroma. I took a moment to just let the scent wash over me, ground me. How could this be a dream? How could it be real?

Noticing my hands were beginning to shake again, I forced the questions back and wondered which one of the ceramic chicken-shaped jars standing alongside the backsplash were filled with sugar. Tentatively I checked the rooster. The contents were white and powdery but looked too fine. Probably flour. I checked the next, a brown hen. Bingo.

Shit. Where were the spoons?

"You both have rides?" Jenna asked as I surreptitiously tried to pull open a drawer to peek for silverware.

"Yep." Slurping resumed from Jeremy's place at the counter.

"Bonnie's picking me up?" I didn't mean to make it sound like a question, but it's not like I knew what Elena's plans had been prior to possessing her body. I had no idea how close to the show things were. If I was even in the 'show' or some alternative universe. Or if I was going insane. Maybe I was trapped in a hallucination. Maybe it was about to go bad, and killer clowns were going to jump out of the next drawer.

I opened it very carefully. Turned out it was where the big utensils like the bar-b-que fork went.

Where the hell did these people put their spoons?

"Okay. What else? Lunch money?"

I had given up the search for the spoon and decided to drink the coffee black when Jeremy's free hand lifted.

Jenna grabbed a purse off the end of the counter and fished inside until she emerged with a few bills. Jeremy plucked them from her hand and had them shoved into his pocket before Jenna had the chance to hand them over. Swiveling around in the chair, he got up and wandered back out of the kitchen, mug traveling with him.

Did he actually have a ride?

Trying to remember, I started to take a sip. Soon as the edge of the mug touched my lip, it became clear it was too hot to drink. How'd Jeremy manage? Hoping to cool it some, I blew out a breath.

"Elena?"

I froze, eyes wide as I looked over.

Jenna had another ten in her hand.

"Oh, I'm… I'm good." I had no idea if that was true, but I wasn't about to emulate Jeremy's grabby hands. That was just rude.

"Okay." Jenna folded the cash back into her wallet before plopping it back into her handbag. The purse-o-phile in me admired the supple white leather in a quilted pattern. "That's it? Don't need anything else?" She ran her eyes over me. "Backpack?"

"Upstairs?" Probably.

"Don't forget it." Jenna squinted. "What am I missing?"

I stared back, face blank, heart racing.

Her eyes widened. "Crap! My thesis adviser." She snatched the handbag off the counter and hurried out another door that must've led outside. "Good luck!"

As soon as she was gone, I collapsed on top of the counter. The mug clattered against the marble top, and a splash of coffee hit my hand. I hissed, snatching it away and lifting it to my face for inspection. Well, no third-degree burns. Just stung like a bitch. I blew on it, stomach again dropping like a stone as I realized there was no way I'd sleep through a burn, even a minor one.

With the rest of the house's occupants elsewhere, I conducted a proper search of the kitchen. Having no idea how long I'd be stuck in this… situation… I tried to remember where everything was. Or, at least, the important stuff.

Turned out the spoons were in a drawer on the other side of the island.

The coffee had cooled by the time I got sugar into it. A digital clock on the fridge read the time as twenty minutes after seven. If Bonnie was picking Elena up, it probably wouldn't be much longer before she was here. I was pretty sure most schools started at eight. Give the girls fifteen to twenty to get there and find their home rooms—Bonnie was probably on her way right now.

High school. Again.

I grimaced into the mug before taking a longer drink. Did I have to go? I could claim I'd gotten sick. Then I remembered Jenna's frantic need to be helpful, to get her two charges sent off fed and ready for the day. Even if she wasn't real, she'd seemed real enough. I didn't like disappointing people in general. I really hated the idea of disappointing someone working so hard to make sure things went well for—well, Elena, technically. Which was me. For now.

Besides, this might not last. Elena would have an easier time adjusting if her attendance didn't take a nosedive.

Or maybe this was a lucid hallucination and I was wasting my time.

I set the mug down and rubbed a hand down my face. Well, what else would I do? Watch television? Play games? Might as well play along. I didn't know what was happening. Seemed safest to go along with what I knew. Disrupt as little as possible.

But man. High school.

With as much excitement as a sewage treatment tech headed off to work, I trumped up the stairs and back towards Elena's room. I remembered which one it was. Granted, mostly because I'd left the door open and rock music was emanating from the other closed door. Yeah. That was definitely Jeremy's room.

Back in Elena's domain, I hunted around for a backpack. If the girl had her outfit laid out, I was willing to bet she'd had her school supplies ready to go to.

Sure enough, I found it leaning against the chair tucked under the desk. It was one of those bags that looked like a giant purse or laptop case, but in leather. Really nice. I swung it onto my shoulder and squeezed the straps. They gave a comforting little creak.

I paused to look around for anything else I might need. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I paused to stare. God. This was Elena Gilbert. I mean, I was Elena Gilbert. Headed off to her first day of Junior year.

She'd meet Stefan Salvatore today.

I didn't know how to feel about that. On one hand, I thought Stefan—or Paul Wesley—was ridiculously handsome. On the other, he was a vampire. He was a vampire that tore off people's heads when he got in a feeding frenzy.

It was a great relationship to stream from the comfort of my couch. But living it? Um, no. I didn't like the idea of being the doppelgänger with the magical blood that every male vampire seemed to want for one reason or another.

I was still staring at Elena in the mirror when a chime went off downstairs. Doorbell. Probably Bonnie.

I squeezed the handles of Elena's bag again and just stuffed all the questions and worries back down. I mean, vampires? Doppelgängers? Witches? Werewolves? Curses? I couldn't function if I thought about all this craziness. Who could? What I needed to do was take my dad's most often given advice: Go with the flow.

I retraced my steps back downstairs, but this time didn't turn back towards the kitchen but hurried for the door. A glance through the peephole showed Bonnie freaking Bennett waiting patiently on the other side of the door. A weird sensation of being slightly out of it came over me as I pulled the door open and was greeted with a bright smile.

"Hey!"

"Hi." I tried to return her blinding smile with one of my own.

It must not have gone very well. Bonnie's immediately slipped into a slight frown and furrowed brows of concern. "Nervous?"

I laughed. To my credit, I sounded only a little crazy. "You have no idea." Bonnie Bennett. I was talking to Bonnie Freaking Bennett!

Bonnie fixed another smile on her face, this one far more empathetic. "Ready or not, we'd better get going."

"Okay." My stomach was still flipping. Good thing I hadn't taken Jenna up on her offer of food. I wondered if I should let Jeremy know I was leaving, then figured he wouldn't hear over the music. He probably wouldn't care even if he could.

Stepping out, I shut the door behind me. Jeremy would lock up, wouldn't he? When Bonnie didn't say anything about walking away without locking up myself, I felt my shoulders loosen slightly. I followed dutifully behind her.

The Gilbert's maintained a nice front lawn, and I didn't doubt that the back was as meticulously well kept. The bushes were all evenly trimmed, and the grass had been cut recently. I wondered if it was all Jeremy, or if I shared in the outdoor chores.

We followed the sidewalk to the driveway where Bonnie had parked her blue Prius. We settled in, buckled our belts, and were off with a turn of the engine. Imogen Heap's electronically altered voice filled the car with the chorus of Watcha Say.

Bonnie leaned over and turned down the stereo before straightening back up and shifting the car into drive. I turned my sights to the front windshield, watching as she turned left and headed down the street. I tried to make note of every sign we passed and subsequent turn she made. But I started losing track before we hit what I guessed was Mystic Fall's main street.

The two-story homes turned into brick buildings sporting various signs proclaiming one type of business after another. The street itself was lined with old fashioned black streetlamps rather than the newer curved sort that had dotted the neighborhood. I didn't doubt they were electric, but it was a nice touch. Hanging from the occasional stop light were banners announcing an upcoming festival.

"Night of the Comet," I muttered as we passed beneath another gently rippling advertisement.

"This Thursday. Can you believe it's already here?" Bonnie kept her eyes on the road.

"Nope," I answered in complete honesty. "I cannot."

"Grams says it's a bad omen." Bonnie huffed a scoffing laugh. "She says a lot of things nowadays."

Giving up on following the route to the high school, I turned to look at Bonnie instead. A distinct sensation of déjà vu washed over me. I swallowed before trying for a casual, "Like what?"

I must have succeeded, because Bonnie launched into the topic with gusto. Clearly she'd been waiting to get this off her chest. "All sorts of crazy stuff. Like, apparently, I can see into the future." Her mocking tone left no doubt as to what she thought of that. "Woman's finally lost it, Elena."

"Can you?"

"What?"

I tugged at the seat belt. "See into the future?"

Bonnie glanced at me, brow raised. "If I could, don't you think I'd have a winning lottery ticket in my hand right now?"

"Maybe it doesn't work that way."

"Right." Skepticism dripped off the word. "Not very useful then, is it?"

"I don't know about that."

Bonnie shrugged. "Well, I did predict Heath Ledger. And Obama."

Oh, god. I remembered that line from the show. My mouth went dry and I wiped my hands down my jeans. I cast about for something to say. "How about Trump?"

"Huh?" Bonnie asked, glancing my way before the traffic light turned green.

"Never mind," I muttered before sinking further into the seat. Something about this… why did I remember this so well?

"O-kay." Bonnie shrugged the comment off. "Anyway, Grams says were descended from the Salem witches."

"There weren't any witches in Salem," I muttered.

"Right? That's what I told her. She just gave me this look and says, 'Not that they caught.'" Bonnie huffed. "Convenient, huh?"

"I guess." I glanced at her. "If there were really witches there, though, they probably would've used magic to escape."

"I guess." Bonnie frowned. "Don't tell me you believe Grams' cra—"

A black shape flew straight at the glass, thumping into the windshield. Bonnie and I let out startled shrieks as the thing suddenly disappeared over the roof of the car. Bonnie gave the wheel a sharp turn and slammed on the breaks. We hit our belts as the car came to an abrupt stop.

I didn't realize I was breathing so hard and fast until Bonnie's hand on my shoulder startled the ringing from my ears. "Elena? Oh my god. Are you alright?"

I took a slower, deeper breath. Ignoring the sudden sweat that had broken out over my forehead, I turned with a forced grin. "Yeah," I breathed. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Yeah." My voice was stronger that time. "Just startled."

Bonnie collapsed into her seat. "I know!" She leaned forward and looked up at the windshield where a slight smear was the only evidence something had hit the glass. "I swear, it was a huge bird or something." She turned to me, eyes big and pleading. "I didn't see it."

I managed another shaky smile, rubbing a hand across my clavicle, where the belt had caught me. "It's fine. We're fine."

Bonnie frowned. "I know. I just—I figured—" She waved a hand, as if to encompass the whole of the car.

Right. The accident that killed Elena's parents. What had she said? "I, uh. I can't be afraid of cars forever."

I must have gotten it right, because Bonnie's answering grin was far more relaxed. She grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly. "I predict that this year is going to kick ass. And I predict that all the sad and dark times are over and you are going to be beyond happy."

I remembered that line. It was—so wrong it wasn't even funny. I summoned a smile for her anyway. It was a nice gesture, after all. "I hope so."

But a shiver traveled down my spine. It was real. Somehow, impossibly, it was real.

All of it.

I turned my head towards the passenger window and looked up to one of the signs lining the street.

A black crow looked back and cawed.

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Cold Winter Mornings (Jasper Hale x Reader)

Summary: Reunion between Y/N and Jasper in the 1950s.

Word Count: 2554

Pairings:  Jasper Hale x Reader

Warnings: None

A/N: Woooow, this was highly requested which is GREAT!!!

PART ONE

MASTERLIST

You watched them laugh as they pushed each other on the way out the door, Edward dodging Emmett’s calloused hands.

“We won’t be long,” Carlisle murmured, his hand curling around Esme’s waist as he planted a soft kiss on her forehead, “Apparently, the bears up there aren’t that aggressive,”

“Emmett will be disappointed,” You say without looking up from the daily newspaper, your brain fizzing lightly at the crossword.

“Emmett will have to deal with it,” Rosaline’s clear and crisp voice called out from where she perched on the stairs, flipping the pages of ‘The Lion the Witch & the Wardrobe’ faster than any normal human could see. You heard a soft laugh from Carlisle before the click of the door, and then, silence.

The silence was common in this household, the household that was hidden between the tall mountains and the thick fog of Alaska. When you don’t sleep and live forever, you quickly learn to spend more of your time in silence than talking. Especially, when your brother is Edward, in which case your conversations don’t need to be spoken out loud anyways.

You had awoken 85 years ago in 1865 and strangely Edward’s face had been the first thing you’d seen. You ended up being closer to him than anyone in the family, it was hard not to be when he was the end and beginning of your two lives. When you woke up the first thing you felt was the burning thirst for blood, every muscle, every bone, every inch of you screamed for it and thankfully your new family were there with a pouch of animal blood to calm you. Without them, you hate to think of what you would have done, who you might have gone after.

After your new family had introduced themselves to you they let you be, understanding better than anyone that you needed to be alone. It was then that you looked in the mirror and gazed upon your new appearance.

Your hair had thickened slightly and now was always gently curled, coiling perfectly around your sharp cheekbones. Your eyes at the time burned blood red but nowadays they settle at a slightly lighter shade of topaz than the others, almost pale gold with flecks of rich sparkling yellow. Both your lashes and brows had thickened, and your lips had plumped and were always a soft shade of red. Not only that but your entire body had transformed, you hadn’t lost or gained any weight, but you came across with as much agility as a cheetah. Your skin had not paled as much as you’d have thought and yet the colour seemed to be brighter and bolder than before.

You were undeniably gorgeous, and yet you could never truly be happy with this version of yourself.

“Y/N are you okay?” The motherly call of Esme cut through your frantic thoughts causing you to snap your eyes to her.

“Of course I am,” You murmur, a soft smile on your lips. Esme was to you the mother you had never had. The two of you knew each other extremely well as you had both gone through the process of becoming a vampire together. Esme gave you a knowing look before she gracefully collapsed on the sofa, her baby blue dress spilling around her. If it weren’t for your friends, for your family, there would be no chance you’d still be alive today. I mean, it was the 1950s for Christ sake, you’d never dream that you’d live to even see the 1920s.

After reading the newspaper thrice you brought yourself to your feet, swiftly moving over to a small mirror.

“I’m going into the garden,” You call out, swiftly pulling on a pair of white lacy gloves to match your dress and shoes and plucking up your book. You didn’t get a response and in honesty, you didn’t really need to tell them as they were well beyond smart enough to guess.

But soon you were gliding into the garden that was hidden by the tallest of mountains. It was strange how being outside, in the forbidden sun, was your favourite place to be. Even though on winter mornings like this, the only sun you get to see was grey and smothered with clouds. Your favourite days were the days were the sun was too bright for you and your family to go to school, you could spend all day in the tall grass, reading, writing even painting – a skill you had picked up in the last 20 years or so. It was on those days that the differences between you and your siblings were more obvious. You guess it was easy for them to hate the sun when it reminded them of what they were.

It was sooner than you thought when you heard the distant patter of footsteps of Carlisle, Edward and Emmett as they walked towards the house. You were now deep within your copy of Beyond Good And Evil by Friedrich Nietzsche when you realised that they were walking not running. You chose not to think more of it as you were always being chastised for being paranoid in this house. However, you couldn’t ignore your suspicion when a voice called you inside.

“Everyone to the living room, there’s something we need to discuss!” Came Carlisle’s commanding call. You softly closed your book before placing it back on the garden bench, your brows furrowing with curiosity.

Instead of speeding into the living room as your sister might have you used your heightened senses to silently dance through the corridors to peek around the nearest door. Standing in front of you were your family and two strangers. But you quickly realised that to say that they were both strangers was wishful thinking.

He was standing with his back towards you, his 6’3 stature looming over the petite girl next to him. Even through his cotton shirt, you could see the outlines of his muscles, running like ribbons over his shoulders, down his back and along his arms. It wasn’t long, but you would always be grateful that you had those few seconds to see him before he saw you.

“Ah there you are,” Esme smiled her motherly smile at you, her hand coiled around Carlisle’s waist. The small girl twirled around to look at you, the figure hiding behind the door. She beamed at you with a little more than mortal knowledge behind her eyes.

“Hi Y/N!” She said in an angelic hum. She was grinning even wider now, her entire chest swelling slightly. But you weren’t looking at her, you were looking at the man next to her. You were looking at Jasper.

His entire body seemed to stand on end, every muscle in his body straining against the plains of his pearly skin. Then he was turning, slowly and with hesitancy. But there was no denying that the two of you had met before. His eyes met yours and you felt air being knocked out of you, almost as if someone had sucker punched you right where it hurt.

His beautiful browning skin was ice cold, his eyes dark gold and his hair dirty blonde. He didn’t look even close to the man you used to know, if you’re being honest, he looked like his evil twin. Then, something was pulling at your hands.

“Y/N, I’m Alice, I’ve seen you so much,” She smiled, her petite hands now grasping onto yours. You dragged your eyes away from Jasper, trying to fight all the questions ready to bounce off your tongue.

“What?” Your voice was unnaturally quiet, and you couldn’t help but feel the eyes of your family.

“I can see the future,” Alice happily exclaimed, “You’ve been one of my most predominant visions for quite a while.”

“Uh huh,” You merely whispered in response, now not able to look at the one person in the room who you had refused to think about for the better part of 80 years. The room settled into silence, and oddly, it was uncomfortable.

“I think we best leave,” Alice said suddenly, her face turning serious. “We should let Y/N and Jasper talk,” Your eyes flickered to your family and you could already hear the questions they had for you, but they held off, following Alice out of the room whilst gently glancing at you and the stranger.

It wasn’t until you heard the click of the door that you felt as though you could look at him again. He was dressed in a fitted grey suit with a blood red tie, the colour almost blended in with his skin.

“Well, this is…” You finally found your voice, almost afraid to break the silence.

“I know,” It was the first thing you had heard his voice say in over 80 years, and still it was enough to open a floodgate of butterflies in your gut. Your eyes flitted to his and you found a soft wrinkle around his eyes, almost as though he was grimacing.

"Now this may sound quite self-centred and I-" You could feel yourself begin to splutter. Of course, you would be the only spluttering vampire.

"Y/N..." An echo of a smile curled at Jasper's lips, he looked like he was going to say something else but he stopped, his mouth half open, reading your expression. "What is it?" You looked into his topaz orbs and felt your gut squeeze. You missed his baby blues.

"It's just that...well, you don't seem too pleased to see me," Jasper pulled back, an understanding washing over his features. And then nothing. He was once more in deep thought. "Hey," You murmured, shuffling closer to him, "Tell me what you're thinking.” I’m not Edward you wanted to say, but that was your other life, the life that he wasn’t a part of.

"It's that..." His eyes flickered back up to yours, "Of all people, you, deserved this life the least." It was hard to respond for a moment, but Jasper made it so that you didn’t have to. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings or anything and, now that I’m saying it out loud, I cannot help but hear how selfish it sounds.” A shaky breath danced between his lips. “But, you were…I mean…” He was searching in your eyes now, his eyes flitting back and forth, “You were always so human,”

“I still am,” You almost growled, a touch of defiance in your voice.

“Oh, I know, I don’t doubt that for a second,” He held up his hands as though he was surrendering, “You of all people would find a way to be the most human vampire there ever was.” His grin stretched handsomely across his lips, his shining white teeth lighting up his entire face, but soon, his smile began slipping. “But there will always be a limit to just how human you can be.” You felt the air leave your lungs, it almost felt like he was rejecting you.

“But, Jasper!” You splutter, pulling away from him, “Me becoming a vampire was completely out of mine or…your, control! It happened 2 years after you left, I was over you-” Lie. “You were not a part of my life, so you have no right to decide whether me becoming…me becoming a vampire…was a good choice!”

“So, you chose this life?” He squinted at you.

“Stop it,” You really did growl this time. Pointing your finger so hard into his chest that he took a step back. You were breathing heavily now, air being sucker-punched in and out of your lungs. Closing your eyes, you attempted to calm yourself down, it appeared to work as a fresh wave of calm smothered you. “How many times do I have to say that ‘you weren’t there’ till you accept my story?” You sighed, not opening your eyes. “Till you accept me? I mean is this...really happening? I don’t see you for decades and now you're rejecting me because I’m a vampire. How about you look in the mirror, do you think I’m any happier that you’re…” different. You expected to feel a new spark of rage ignite but it never came, the sea of calm still sitting on your chest.

You looked at Jasper now, standing in front of you with skin as smooth as marble and eyes as gold as the sun. You realised with a jolt that he was an adaptation of the boy you knew, the boy that you had fallen in love with. Who was to say that he would be the same? That his feelings wouldn't have changed? The unasked question remained prominent in your mind, but you chose for the time being to ignore it.

“Y/N,” Jasper murmured, reaching out to you and then letting his hand fall limp by his side. “Y/N, all I meant was…” He took a step towards you, “All I was trying to say,” His voice dropped to a whisper, but you could still hear the fuzzy southern drawl, you always would.

“Yes?” You were listening, you always would be listening.

“Y/N, can you possibly fathom how hard it is for me to know that you, passionate, bright, human you…has turned into a murderer by nature.” You went to protest once more but he got there before you. “Y/N - you were so ready to live your life, to see the world, to…I mean, you just seemed to have this lust for life,” You had never heard Jasper stumble on his words before.  It was the most human thing he had done so far. "I hate to think that now your lusting after something else.”

“Jasper,” You almost gasped, feeling the few inches between you like miles.

“I know,” He grinned again as he inched towards you, “It’s not fair for me to be saying all this, not with everything you’ve been through – everything I’ve put you through.”

“Oh, for once in your life just shut up,” You whispered before grabbing his shirt in fistfuls and pulling him towards you. His arms coiled around you almost too quickly, one arm around the lower of your back, the other around the back of your ribs. Standing on tiptoes you buried your head into his shoulder whilst he went for your hair. You stood there together for what could be a few minutes but felt like seconds. Entangled with one another, trying to make sense of the millions upon millions of thoughts and feelings that drowned each of you. You were the one who pulled back.

“Jasper,” You mumble, a ghost of a smile dancing on your lips, “Trust you to find the negative in our reunion,” He smiled again, cheekbones cutting through stone.

“I have a reputation to uphold,” You hummed in agreement, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. You had missed this.

“You’ve got a lot to explain,”

“So do you,”

Your eyes then move to the stretched window that ran across the back of the house. Feathery spots of white fluttered towards to pale ground and it took a moment before you realised that it was snowing. You then turned to the being in front of you, whose skin held a similar appearance. And yet, to you, there would always be a warmth about him.

“Well, I think we’ve got time.”

requests are open<3

[makeshiftgoliath]

Layers // Jordaal’a Dhavha

LAYER ONE : THE OUTSIDE

Name: “Jordaal’a,” the Keeper says slowly, twisting his torso as he looks out into the endless white. “Dhavha. Yes, I remember: say the whole thing. Didn’t we already do this?”

Eye Color: “Blue, like my mother’s. Really, why are we...?”

Hair Style/Color: “You’ve seen it!” he says, frustration clear in his voice - the only voice that echoes into the white.  ”Brown.” He sighs defeatedly. “Dark brown, darker in some places. It’s long and straight and it curls at the edges, but I brush it a lot. And no, I’m not cutting it. It’s soft. Like my ears.” Height: “Five fulms and ten ilms. A little taller than my father, and a good deal above my mother. I think she could take us both, though.”

Clothing Style: “I like to dress nicely,” he said bashfully, turning a rosy-cheeked smile to his feet. “I know you think it’s silly. But it doesn’t have to be overly extravagant. A well-stitched shirt. Maybe one with expensive fabric. Not too expensive, mind. And I do like my doublet...”

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Your Fears: “My what?” the Keeper asks, looking up. Water stretched out in front of him, the soft sound of it running reaching his ears. Shuffling his feet, he found his ankles to be wet - which they had certainly not been when his eyes were on them a moment ago.  ”Fears. Right,” the words left him with a sigh. “I’m afraid. Afraid of being sick. Of not being good enough. It’s nothing so dramatic, I assure you.” A few seconds pass without another question, and so he scowls and continues. “I don’t want to let someone in and have them not like what they find. I don’t want someone I’m helping to know that I’m afraid. I want to be paladin, and I want to be better than I am.” With a huff, he adds, “you know that.”

Your Guilty Pleasure: “Really,” he says flatly. He doesn’t wait for a new question this time. “I like romance novels. My favorites are about knights, particularly tales of them going about the countryside and wooing maidens fair. But they don’t have to be about knights.” He’s flustered now, a deep red reaching up to his ears. “And it doesn’t always have to be multiple maidens.I just like romance, and... No, it has nothing to do with who I am or what I do. We’re not talking about this again.”

Your Biggest Pet Peeve: “People that carry prejudice like it’s a spotlight to flash others with. We’ve all had run-ins with bad people, perhaps of the same race or from the same place, or... It makes sense to be shaped by this, but you shouldn’t let yourself. Or I shouldn’t let myself. I won’t let myself.” He stood up a little straighter. “Also, people that think Chocobos smell bad. They don’t.”

Your Ambition for the Future: “It isn’t any different from the last time you asked. I want to be paladin. I want to touch as many lives as I can, and to leave them all better for it. I won’t always be able to, and I don’t know how long I’ll -”  The water at his feet began to rush, threatening to pull him away. ”R-right.” He cleared his throat, and the water slowed. “I want to be the best that I can be. And I want to serve for as long as I can.”

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

Your First Thoughts Waking Up: “Curious what I’ll be doing after this?” the Keeper mutters, letting his eyes close. He exists in the darkness for a breath, and when the light is allowed to reach him again, he finds mountains in the distance. White-topped peaks blend into the endless above, with grey bodies that don’t quite meet the water.  ”I think about whatever I dreamed of the night before,” he said with a smirk. “If I don’t dream, I think about how I’m feeling. Which is usually groggy, and wanting more sleep.” He chuckled. “If I’m with someone, I think of them. And if I’m not, I still do.” He nodded slightly, as though to punctuate that thought. 

What You Think About the Most: “The people I’m with, and the people I’m not. I wonder if those at my side really know me, or if they even care to. Or if those that are only with me in thought ever think of me. If they need me, or -” A terrible rumbling drowns out his words and draws his attention to the mountains. They shudder, their peaks splitting. The landslide that rushes towards him flies sideways, over the water, approaching at a growing speed.  ”You asked,” he said, almost pleadingly, a deep frown taking his lips. “I-I... I think about the people that care about me. That tell me they love me, or that they enjoy my presence. I believe them because.. I just do. I want to. Even if I always don’t, I still do.” As the landslide overtakes him, he closes his eyes. When he opens them, the mountains have mended.

What You Think About Before Bed: “Usually I think about the book I had just begrudgingly put down.” He manages to laugh. It feels refreshing. “Sometimes that has me picking the book back up. Other times I’ll just lay there, thinking about whatever wants to drift in. Good things, often, but sometimes...” He pauses on his own, staring at the mountains sideways. “The bad comes, as it always will. But I close my eyes, and I sleep. And in the morning I open my eyes, and I get out of bed.”

Your Best Quality Is: “I think I’m easy to talk to. People open up to me. Even if I have to dig into them a little bit first. I like seeing people talk about things that make them uncomfortable. Doesn’t that sound awful?” He laughs again. “But it means they trust me.”

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates: “A group date as in with another couple, or with a group of women?” the Keeper asks, fighting a laugh. As the happy sound breaks through, trees begin to sprout in the distance and dot their way up to his sides. At the end of his laugh, grass grows like a moss to connect the mountains and trees to the water.  “What?” he asks the still-white sky. “It’s funny. Ah, but if I had to choose, I think I would want single dates. Group dates could be fun, but only if everyone was interested in being there for each other, and not just me.”

To be Loved or Respected: He pulls a deep breath through his nose. “Loved.” As the white begins to grey, he shrugs. “My heart has chosen. Move on.” 

Beauty or Brains: “Which one loves me?” he asked teasingly. “Mm. Must it be split? If it must, I suppose I would pick brains. Suppose if we could only speak through letters or some such, and I couldn’t see what she looked like. But even then, if I cared for her, I would find the beauty in the scribbles on the parchment, wouldn’t I?”

Dogs or Cats: “Chocobos.”

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie: “You know I do,” the Keeper says, amusement guiding his words. As though to reward his truth, the sky bled into a rich blue, testing every shade between it and white and leaving the lighter at the mountains. Still, a patch of white exists, growing from the water and towering up into the sky.

Believe in Yourself: “When I need to. It’s easier to believe in what I want to be, rather than myself. I put my faith in my sword.” His amusement swelled at this thought. “And I guide it with my heart. My mind helps sometimes too, I suppose, when it isn’t getting in the way.”

Believe in Love: “More than anything else in the world. At least we’re laughing together now, right?”

Want Someone: “I have lovers I want in my arms, and I have friends I want at my side. I want to play with my Chocobos and with the little fur tubes I’ve recently adopted. There are many people I want; I’m not sure I could pick just one.”

LAYER SIX: EVER?

Been on Stage: “In a way,” the Keeper said, offering a sideways look to the tower of white. It had found shadows, grown edges, and arches, it’s top carved like a crown. “If you count a race track as a stage, then I certainly have. Or the podium I ofttimes stand on at the end of them. And if neither of those satisfy, my sweater has certainly been on a grand stage.”

Done Drugs:  “I drink on occasion if that counts. I’ve thought about learning how to smoke from a pipe, as the smells remind me of certain people I enjoy thinking of. Still, the smoke does terrible things to my eye.”

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: “I am paladin; I am always who I need to be, whenever I need to be it.”

LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES

Favorite Color: “Yellow,” the Keeper declares, and as he does, the landscape begins to glow as though illuminated by a star. The waters glisten, mountains gain depth, trees cast shadows - and yet the tower changes none at all.

Favorite Animal: “Chocobos,” he says the word at the beginning of a smile. “I’ve several I’m particularly fond of: Ser Spazworth the Ornery, Spaz Jr., and Hope Hope. There’s others too, like the birds of my friends. One is named Daring, and he is not as fast as Hope Hope.” His smile spread for that. “But I can find joy with any bird, whether it gives it to me or I give it to them. I like when both happen.”

Favorite Food: “Apples. Any color, but I’m more fond of green.” His lips pull as though he had more to say, but instead, he bites his tongue and shrugs.

Favorite Game: “Triple Triad is a favorite. I usually play a few rounds before a race. Some light gambling helps keep me distracted, but I could never bet much.”

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

Day Your Next Birthday Will Be: “The Sixteenth Sun of the Second Astral Moon,” the Keeper says, his eyes caught by some motion under his feet. He looks down and is greeted with the uneasy feeling of floating. What exists beneath him is a collection of stars, some more near than others, sparkling across a blackened canvas. Many were near the end of their lifecycles, and others had already faded into lightless orbs that could only be seen in the reflection of those that still burned. “This sun, in fact Happy nameday to me.” His voice was light with distractedness.”That... that is a very odd way to ask when I was born, isn’t it? Do you not care about the turns?”

How Old Will You Be: “Oh, right.” He pulls his gaze up into the sky, for he fears he may never if he doesn’t do it now. ” Ah, this will be my twenty and fifth turn.”

Age You Lost Your Virginity: “Nnneh.” It is a cautious, uncomfortable sound that he makes.”It was twelve turns until I bled someone for the first time and the same age when I bled. It was a fight with a boar and not at all sexual, but I think I would count that.”

Does Age Matter: “For many things. You aren’t meant to enjoy certain things until you’re older, and you trade them in for things you’re no longer allowed to enjoy. I caught so many strange looks when I tried to start a game of tag with my peers.” He blushes at that memory. “I never got to play when I was younger.”

LAYER NINE: IN A BOY OR GIRL

Best Personality: “I couldn’t pick one,” the Keeper said, starting his treck through the water and towards the tower. On occasion, he would look down, though his eyes were always drawn back up, to the warm landscape, and to the tower itself. “I think I could enjoy just about anyone. So long as they weren’t an awful, awful person.” He paused his step. “Awful to others, anyroad.”

Best Eye Color: “Why do you keep saying ‘best’?” he asked, frowning as he resumed his journey. “I don’t think there is a best. But a favorite is yellow colors. Browns and golds.” He nodded lightly. “Whatever color looks at me tenderly; That is best.”

Best Hair Color: “I like darker colors. Any color, really, so long as it’s dark. Pairing pale skin with it is... is good.” He wet his lips. “Whatever color I get to run my fingers through; That is best.”

Best thing to do with a Partner: “Bathing can be relaxing. Stimulating, of course, but also relaxing. A conversation makes it even better, but I could be happy just being with them. Really, that’s all there is to it. Being with a partner; That is what’s best.”

LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE

The Keeper reaches the base of the tower. Looking up, he sees how the light bends around it. The tower glowed, but it did so on its own. His own voice came booming down at him. I love: “Love.

I feel: “Free.”

I hide: “You.”

I miss:  “Them.”

I wish: “To climb the Tower.”

Tagged by: @bhelni

Tagging: @singforalamhigo @sun-bears @me-and-yuuqi @caqi-cove @renofmanyalts @lin-guistics-xiv (went weird with it. didn’t proof read or anything because i wanted to get it out on the birthday. will look over it later maybe :B and add a picture.)

[elkboy]

Pedantic Peter

Inspector Kermit was on his last leg. The case that he had been working on for over a year was finally coming to an end, but there was one thing that bothered him. For the first time in a career spanning two decades, he was not so sure about the man he was going to prosecute. Kermit was a perfectionist and knowing everything was crucial to his success.

His mental check-list had him asking questions: is the suspect clean, thoughtful and scientifically inclined or was he/she a general fuck up? what did the suspect eat every morning? did they like to establish a routine in order to focus on a craft or did their lives involve waddling around, eating and taking the occasional shit?

On a normal day, the answers were laid bare, but this time something was 'off' and he couldn't quite place his finger on what was wrong. The suspect, Roosemar Pheloosh is a renowned screenwriter and abstractionist. His work is so great that it often falls outside the realm of criticism. Everything he produced until now was so edgy, visceral and brilliant that Kermit had to think twice before locking him down.

He was currently at one of Mr. Roosemar's many ‘safe-houses', looking for any bits of evidence that could cement his deductions. He achieved this by sitting on a chair and meditating while his assistant, Detective Gomez looked for hidden secrets.

Kermit was a simple, but sharp man. He wore a bold dark suit with a red shirt inside. A slick black tie hung perfectly from his neck. His attire matched a brown leather watch that he wore on his left hand. The watch had an imprint of an 'elk' under the clock-face. He was sitting on a wooden chair in the middle of the room for over an hour— eyes closed and hands placed inwards on his lap. Subtle breathing was given away, only by the minute displacements of his tie. He was in a state of deep awareness. By focusing on the breath, the concoction of images and thoughts that pulverized him at first were slowly disappearing like clouds in thin air.

Kermit could always count on the 'morning sitting' to clear out his thoughts. The meditations helped him be more stable. However, this time it was not a matter of simple relaxation. He was trying to speak to the man that was hiding in his subconscious. This 'elusive' man, was a concept that Kermit could swear by. He could always radio-in whenever he needed help. The elusive man usually showed him what he needed to see at that very moment. It was up to Kermit to take his advice— or warnings —about the state of things to come.

Trying to contact the elusive man by focusing on the breath was a similar experience to tuning a stringed instrument. One had to focus on the movements of the abdomen by catching the breath in its natural rhythm. While resting on the breath, a comfortable middle ground had to be found between being too relaxed and too wound up; a balance between being lethargic and rigid. If a string on a guitar is too loose, it has a lazy...blubbery sound; too tight and it produces an over-enthusiastic tink, tink. For a chord to have the desired effect, the tension of the strings must be balanced. In just the same way, one had to attain an unwavering and delicate focus on the breath.

Kermit was now perfectly in tune. With his back straight and feet flat on the ground he resembled an antenna that was ready to receive and send signals. An image of the man slowly started to appear— like a television in his mind. The man's figure was like any other person but his face kept switching features like it was unable to decide. This 'twitching' mostly affected the jaw line and forehead. Caucasian for a few seconds then hispanic for half. Only his eyes remained consistent throughout. An imprint of the man was on a blank canvas but soon enough, a 32X32 grid based system was imposed and pixels of varying colors started to bleed in from all sides.

A purple sun filled-in two and a half bigger grid-squares while the surrounding area was dabbed with ominous streaks of colors that were two to three shades lighter than the sun. The ground was made of sharp white sand that supported a strange circular room. Kermit could slowly feel himself. He entered the room. The elusive man was standing atop a table. His jawline, still unreadable but Kermit could tell that he was proud of his latest work. The man was after all responsible for constructing dreamscapes when Kermit was asleep at night. An engineer of the dream.

A subtle bell-like sound came from the man's core as if to request Kermit's attention. The engineer looked at the watch on his hand and froze in place. Perfectly still, he resembled the living embodiment of an instructional manual. Kermit registered this and looked at his watch. The imprint of the elk under the clock-face was gone. The hour markings were replaced with head to heel caricatures of Roosemar Pheloosh, the suspect. Roosemar's figure was down sized and drawn inside of a watch. Each hour-marking was slightly different. It took Kermit a while to notice, that all the caricatures collectively formed the frames of an animated loop. The suspect's face was mimicked perfectly and each frame had an impeccable amount of detail. Every hour, progressively showed Roosemar's figure losing visibility and eventually disappearing. Kermit thought hard to make something of it. He then looked up from his watch and waited for the elusive man.

The man suddenly shifted position with military confidence. His hands were pointing to the other tables beside him. A grid system was slowly phasing-in around the suggested area. They were accurately being filled-in with what seemed to be heads belonging to Roosemar, but this time it was to scale. Both the heads were identical but Kermit was starting to see minute differences. Two to be precise: a thicker brow on one and a small mark under the eye of the other.

The man then switched-off and fell lifeless onto the floor— like a ragdoll. Legs tucked underneath the spine with head and heel facing each other. Hands in obtuse angles to the center of the body. Kermit was left alone to analyze. He thought for a while but came up empty. It didn't seem like there was an epiphany hitting him anytime soon. What was the elusive man trying to tell him? Throughout his career as a deductionist, he always knew what things meant. This time everything was void. An absolute zero. Kermit was slowly shuffling into a bad mood. He could feel his metaphysical self tensing up. A mucky soup of irritatingly convoluted thoughts were forcing his transcendent state, out the window. Anger was taking control and the ground under him was starting to feel a bit loose, creaking with every step Kermit took to balance himself. The circular room was closing in, its circumference getting smaller. Kermit could feel sweat dripping down his brow, the pain of uncertainty creeping in. He let out a well-timed scream, as the dreamscape began to collapse.

"Gomez, I'm not so sure about the case!“, Kermit said, erupting from his meditation chair like a hot geyser.

“But sir, all of the evidence we have so far makes sense.”, Gomez said, trying not to laugh. He felt a pinch of happiness seeing the ever-tranquil Kermit in such a mess.

"Yes, I’m aware of that. There’s something else going on here, though. This whole ‘Roosemar’ situation is surrounded by a deep mystery. We have all the facts and they’re all solid but I just feel like there’s more to this. It was all too simple.”, Kermit said as he paced around the room feverishly while Gomez watched him.

Something doesn't add up, Kermit thought. Why would he leave his keys by the bedstand when he drinks this much caffeine? Why was the victim left unscathed? Most importantly, why was he shown two copies of Roosemar’s head? Kermit was still pacing about, talking to himself in a hushed tone. The nerves on his forehead looked like they were about to pop. The room went quiet for a minute until something caught Kermit’s eye. A white sheet of paper sat peacefully on a dull wooden table. Kermit felt a calm breeze enter through the window and soothe his forehead. He walked up to the table and read the contents of the paper. It was a script for a film of some kind.                                                     

Pedantic Peter                      

A script by Roosemar Pheloosh and Tambourine Smith                                             

The scene opens in a strange basement laboratory located in the mucky,deeply-industrialised Penwick city. The city has nothing but pipes and engines for vast stretches. A slice of which is visible through a grill high up on a wall in the lab. Two scientists Peter and Garcia can be seen working on an experiment. Various filters,computers,charts of algorithms,dead garden-cats,snails and bottles of wax can be seen strewn about long tables. Peter is an alarmingly tall man with hair like the spikes of a cactus. His assistant Garcia is short and sleepy-eyed. He reeks of a visible green trail of 'laziness'.

Peter: I don't know about you, but something's amiss.

Garcia: Padrone, you are looking for something?

Peter: Well, Subject A has a mark on the posterior segment but Subject B is smooth as far as the eye can see.

Garcia: Longworms will be longworms, Padrone.

Peter: Open your eyes. They are both the same, yet so different!

Garcia: Peter, my eyes are open. But, not for long. I can feel a blanket of sleep coming over me.

Peter: Garcia, you fuck! We are so close. Flawless cloning is just a few embellishments away. You can’t give up on me now!

Garcia: They will be pleased with everything we have at this very moment! We don't need to make sure that every graft of skin is the same! You worry too much Peter. It is time to relax.

Garcia walks up to a small refrigerator. A dead meer-cat blocks the door. Garcia flings the carcass across the room. He opens the refrigerator, grabs two bottles of liquid beer, walks up to Peter and offers it to him.Peter refuses.

Peter: I haven't shown you this but... I think that now is a perfect time.

Peter pulls out a wallet from under his lab coat. A dead snail falls onto the floor, the sound of its shell cracking is barely audible.He takes a thin piece of folded paper from a secret compartment in his wallet. The paper contains an image of the Menger Sponge Fractal. He holds it up dangerously close to Garcia's face.

Peter: You see this? Everything is paced perfectly with arithmetic precision. There's a rhythm, a continuation all up to the Apex. A fractal that speaks volumes of self-similarity. I have to say, Garcia, after I first set eyes on this, everything around me has morphed into a parable for symmetry. All we have to do is replace the Sierpinski Carpet fractal with this and I guarantee, the result will be a perfect clone.

Garcia: A job's a job, Peter. You've gotta learn to space it out. Besides, when a thing is finished in some way or form, learn to let it go.

Garcia takes off his lab coat and leaves the basement. Peter has lost faith in the people around him as nobody shares his eye for detail. He looks at the fractal one last time, while he walks to a terminal that is attached to a transparent enclosure. He makes an alteration to the algorithm, looks a Longworm in the eye and pushes a button. The machine shakes violently. Smoke seeps out of it like a waterfall covering the entire room with a thick white haze. From the opening, a purple gland breaks through the smoke like a houdini, its succulent body moving by centimeters. Peter's eyes are fixed on what could be a success. Was the effort worthy of praise? The gland reveals more of itself. Several orifices can be seen on the side of its body. They have an outline that glows. The color of the light is deep blue. The orifices open its sphincters to reveal horribly sharp teeth. Peter has seen enough. It turned out to be worse than he had imagined. He picks up a stool and smashes the mutated clone to bits. The machine shakes in response as if to mourn for its creation. Peter falls to the floor with his head in his hands. A bolt from the machine ricochets and hits a small storage hanger on the ceiling. Peter wails loudly, his voice reverberating through the lab, as medium-sized animal carcasses fall onto him from above.  

SCENE ENDS

Kermit puts the script down. "We've solved the case" he said as he placed the wooden chair in its original position next to the table. A deceptive knot was finally untangled. Kermit was sure that it was Roosemar and asked Gomez to call it in. All of the evidence made sense so it was rather unquestionable. This was not the situation a few minutes ago however, as Kermit struggled with the few remaining pieces. All he had to do was loosen the pressure that Uncertainty had instilled on him. Its dark depths sucking away every morsel of his ability to make a decision.There comes a point when a ‘concept' becomes too intertwined like an impenetrable jungle. If its meaning can be abstracted in a single sentence then that is enough.  

Gomez was relieved to find out that he could go home. He did not grasp what had happened and gave up entirely on trying to figure out the causes and conditions of Kermit's confusion. Maybe this was a good thing as his mind was sitting perfectly still with no ripples on the surface. He yawned, as he walked up to his car as if to acknowledge the end.

Kermit, on the other hand, was thankful for the experience of imbibing something new. After all, learning is the only profound remnant of the strange world we live in. Before returning home that night, he picked up an artist's rendition of the Menger Sponge Fractal. He nailed it onto the wall behind his bed and went into a deep sleep.