#cause it’s just pendulum-swing so much the other way way past what it was meant to do

[somedreamlove]

The reason the rhetoric around ‘victim blaming’ is so insidious—and the reason people are still attacking George as an ‘abuser’ despite the situation having been cleared up as a non-issue—is because that phrase, the way it’s currently used, is quite literally intended to be a thought-stopper.

It’s intended to eliminate the possibility for nuanced thought and conversation because it’s a convenient catch-all intended to silence anyone who doesn’t conform to the scary demands of total denunciation.

It functions as a radicalised demand that either demands total loyalty—‘she’s a perfect victim stripped of all agency’—or else cancels you for seeing nuance—‘you’re a victim blamer’.

You need to be very, very careful of any phrase that is intended to cut off any possibility for nuance or further discussion because these are classic tools of increasing radicalism.

Once that scary word is brought out—no matter how inappropriately—can have no more thoughts, no discussion or middle ground; everything must be black and white.

That just widens the mental divide between ‘good person who can do no wrong’ (even when they do) and ‘bad person to blame for everything ever’ (even when there’s ever-present human nuance).

[merbear25]

hey hi!! I would like to request for the Halloween event! I would like France x fem reader NSFW, 4 hospital in a zombie au. Thanks ^v^

Hey, hey! Thank you for sending in a request for the event! I'd like to think he'd still find a way to leave room for love 🤭 I hope you like it. 🧡💜

In the midst of the outbreak there was no guarantee of safety. When even falling asleep became too risky, you and your neighbor thought it was necessary to have each other’s back. With so much time spent together and the weight of the world pushing your relationship past previously set boundaries, would it be worth the risk?

CW: NSFW, MDNI, fem!reader, mentions of death, zombies, survival situations, but no combat/fighting, vaginal penetration

If only for a moment (France)

The sirens that once blared throughout the sky eventually fell deaf. The echoes of each dying horn rolled down the streets, which now only carried the groans and moans of the former inhabitants. Cries and begs for someone, anyone who was willing, caused the wallpaper in the apartment to curl, but soon those too fell silent. 

Your front door had seen better days: splintered wood, deep claw marks, and blood stains from both the living and undead. You were sitting on the sofa. The sounds of crows cawing swirled in your head. Rest, much needed rest—it lured you into slouching against the backrest. The poorly padded furniture was the most comfortable thing at that moment, offering you a fraction of what you’d been wanting while you waited for your former neighbor to finish getting ready.

“Hey! Don’t doze off.” His hushed voice strained with urgency. With the end of the season coming to a close, this precious time for gathering and stocking up on necessities was under threat.

“Waiting for you feels like an eternity,” you shot back. Even with keeping your voices low, the sting in your tone wasn’t lost.

“Well, I’m ready now, so let’s go.” He twirled slowly as if showing off a high-end outfit.

Arming yourselves with weapons light enough to swing but heavy enough to crack the skulls of those stalking the streets, the both of you kept your wits about you. Maneuvering over the floorboards that were known to creak, avoiding the crunch of the leaves that floated down from the changing trees, being weary of every corner you passed: you counted your blessings every night for the crumbs of fortune you’d had in such an unfortunate world. Being far enough from any major city worked in your favor, but that never secured the possibility of avoiding hordes.

Stumbling, shuffling, knocking into each other without a single thought: even a small horde would cause the hair of the bravest warrior to raise, for just one careless mistake meant your life. You kept close and stayed low. The local hospital could be seen just beyond the tops of the trees. As the wind picked up and rustled through the branches, you took the opportunity that presented itself. With muffled footsteps carrying you across the cobblestone, your hearts thumped against yours chests rapidly.

Swiftly, the beaten path leading to the back entrance proved to be the most promising. You’d scoped out the area a few times, gauging where the least likely force of entry would occur, but no matter how much planning was done, it all came down to the luck of the cards.

The pendulum swung when he pried open the door. Letting the sound of escaping air settle, you both strained your ears for any hint of loitering zombies. He glanced at you with a smirk. “Suppose this is an occasion when ‘ladies first’ isn’t exactly polite.”

“I’d drag you in with me if I got taken,” you poked back teasingly.

“And take me out of this fun world? How selfish of you.” His wink was met with your smile. Even with all his constant illy timed flirting, you couldn’t deny that he brought life to this otherwise lifeless world.

He offered you his hand as you cautiously stepped over the threshold. Some of the lights were busted, leaving voids of darkness for long stretches. No noise other than your heats joining in unison could be heard. The panic-stricken pulses had grown on you over time, so much so that sometimes you couldn’t sleep without resting your head on top of his chest.

That warmth he never withheld from you made your body grow hot. From merely imagining the tender cuddles you shared the other night, your cheeks prickled with the heat rising within you. Your palm became a little sweaty in his hand, but despite the embarrassment, you didn’t want to let go.

The gentle reassuring squeeze he gave sent your heart racing that much more. Your mind was now side-tracked by your imposing imagination. A gentle bite on your lower lip did little to halt your needs. As you momentarily watched him shove whatever he could into the duffle bag, you couldn’t help yourself. Your body operated on its own accord, allowing your eyes to wash over the hints of muscle shown through his clothes. His ashy blonde locks managed to remain silky, and the hair on his face seemed to always be at a length to your liking.

“Francis?” The timid question grabbed his full attention. “I need you.” The drop in your voice alluded to far more than just basic protection.

His face softened and his blink slowed as the image of the woman standing in front of him was opening herself up to more than just a mutual dependency. “I need you too,” he responded with just as much desire.

Closing the door, the loud tumbling of the lock sent shivers down your spines. With no hungry growls rushing down the hall, your feet carried you to him. His arms opened to welcome your newfound fervor, holding you closely as your first kiss was laced with fear. The fear that kept you awake at night, the dread of what tomorrow held, and yet none of that would stop you from enjoying being wrapped in each other’s embrace. 

With reckless abandon of the world that waited beyond those four walls, he placed you on the desk. Tugging your pants down to your thighs, he slung your legs over his arm and gripped your hips tightly. Impatience coursed through him as if in fear that you’d disappear at any moment. 

He brushed his fingers over your wet folds and nearly fell apart. “God, you’re already so wet.” With a swift thrust, he claimed as much of you as he could.

The sudden stretching your body did to accommodate his size made you gasp and claw at his jacket. “Shhh, darling,” he cooed at you, slowing down his pacing. He held you closely, allowing you to moan and pant into the warmth of his chest. Your lustful sounds wetted his shirt, each one feeling hotter than the last.

His hand tangled in your hair and he kissed the top of your head. Your walls tightened around him, unwilling to let go. He did his best to swallow his own lewd gasps and groans, but it was no use. You were lost in each other’s bodies, completely surrendering yourselves to your most primal urges.

Both so desperate for any connection outside of survival, in so much more need for companionship than a lifeline: you craved more than the relationship this world had forced upon you, and even if it was just for a moment, you weren’t going to let it pass through your fingers. Each push further inside your hot core was teasing release. While euphoric whimpers filled the air, your eyes remained locked. The rush of danger lurking beyond that door tangling with each wet slap forced choked cries of ecstasy.

Muffling your pants against each other, you clung onto the love that was blossoming right in front of you. Both of you feared that the darkness that swallowed this world would snatch the other right out of your arms, so your grips tightened as the blissful high settled. It was a sense of security that no one else could offer.

“I won’t let anything ever happen to you.” He kissed your forehead, which etched the promise into your very soul. You were each other’s everything in a world that had nothing, and you’d do whatever you could to protect that.

The sounds of thuds down the hall was like a dagger to the heart. No room for joy in this bleak world, at least not in long stretches. However, there was no one else’s hands you’d rather trust your life with and that was a pleasure within itself.

[weebsinstash]

Wishing you the best. You’re one of my favorite blogs and I think you’re amazingly talented and creative and your writing, the way you bring characters to life is always a delight to read.

I hope you hang in there, even when times are hard (and I’m sorry they are), cause it’s gonna get better. And yeah, it’s cliché, but I wish you all the love and happiness and that you’ll find IRL people who will cherish you like you deserve. I hope you have lovely dreams.

I'm starting to wonder if the answer to the problem that I've been looking for all this time is maybe trying to move in somewhere with my sister. But I don't know if that would help either because my sister also has some troubles and we haven't always gotten along but, if im miserable living with my mom, and my sister is far away and misses us and she's been through domestic violence and assaults and she doesn't always have a stable environment, im wondering if we should try and find something for us both to move into. Idk.

Im just very lost on how I could move further or fix things. I feel very powerless and small. I think im actually making a really good wage right now though so, maybe I should just, start putting most of my money into savings or something, in case of an emergency or something. I guess something i try to always remind myself is sometimes fixing a problem is a process, not an event, which is just CBT speak for "dont beat yourself up for not seeing immediate results"

But on the writing stuff, thank you 🥺❤ I've been feeling hella talentless and I guess I've kind of noticed a shift in the things I want to write. Like don't get me wrong I still have smut ideas but I also have been getting lots of ideas about, idk. fics meant to fulfill you more emotionally rather than like encouraging you to rub one out? Sometimes writing smut feels like... potato chips. It can be so easy and generic you know? Id much rather write stories where you and whomever build some sort of rapport or there's reasons and feelings established rather than "you bumped into this random stranger and he wants to fuck"

Like I was actually just thinking of a jujutsu kaisen idea I had posted in the past where Reader is a young adult sorcerer and Nanami, as someone else with the same sort of "risking death fighting demons is better than working in an office" mentality, recognizes that you're kind of actively suicidal and even though harnessing your anger and will to die into a Black Flash or two is certainly useful on the battlefield, he's concerned about your mental health. But then he gets you kicked out of the idk sorcerer guild or whatever and that makes it EVEN WORSE because now you "don't have a purpose" and "youre living for nothing" and he basically has to kidnap/save you from totally offing yourself and there's this overarching theme in finding kinship through hopelessness or something idk

And then on the other hand I had an idea for what would essentially be plug n play smut with Adam Smasher where he basically forces you into a braindance where he really smashes your shit if you know what I mean 😳 so the pendulum swings lmao! But I still find writing really fun and enjoyable even if im. Having motivation issues actually getting stuff down ����👈 so thanks for the support and it means a lot to hear im one of your favorites when there are so many blogs out there 🥰

[cyberwolfwrites-fanfiction]

a family's bond - chapter one

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/29878746/chapters/73527165)

words: 6630

summary:

"I hate it here," Peter whispered.

"I know," said Harley tiredly. They were curled up on the top bunk of their bunk bed together. They craved genuine physical affection after too many months of being touch-starved or physically hurt—there was no in-between—and being on the top bunk meant that they were harder to reach.

Dan was in his bedroom down the hall snoring off the alcohol. He'd gotten rejected for the promotion he'd been working towards for the past year and he'd drowned his sorrows in a bar somewhere before coming home to take out his frustration on them. He'd been too drunk and uncoordinated to cause any lasting harm—or harm that should have obviously still been there a day later—but the encounter had shaken them, Peter especially.

He'd come from a loving home, but in the matter of minutes both of his remaining family members had bled out in front of him and he'd been tossed in the system. He wasn't used to the harsh cruelties of the world—though he'd gotten a taste of it when he was four and eight, respectively—and it had left him reeling.

"I wish we could just... leave," Peter mumbled.

"Me, too."

Peter's fingers drummed against his desk in boredom as he looked out the window. The skies were clear, as they usually were during late winter in New York, and he boredly watched as a bird jumped across a small tree branch before taking to the skies. His eyes left the bird to linger on the distant skyscrapers of Manhattan. He could just about spot Stark Tower in the distance, and even half-way blocked by other smaller buildings, it still managed to appear tall and imposing.

The Tower had gotten yet another remodel, this time as a result of the Avengers's "civil war" as the media dubbed it half a year ago (though Peter had a feeling it had to do with the incident during Homecoming and Harley agreed with him), and it was once again sporting the Stark name on it instead of the stylized Avengers "A." It now stood as Stark Industries's headquarters, and despite the events that happened the last time he'd visited a major science and tech company, Peter hoped that Mr Harrington somehow scored a field trip there for the Academic Decathlon team.

After all, Mr Harrington had somehow managed to get a field trip to Oscorp, which was only a tier or two below SI.

(If you had asked him two years ago, Peter probably would've said that Oscorp's biochemical engineering and progress on limb regeneration made them equal with Stark Industries’s green energy and neurological prosthesis engineering (though Harley would've disagreed since he was the more techy type of the two), but he kind of changed his mind after the whole got-bit-by-a-spider-and-nearly-died episode. And even though he and Harley became Spider-Man out of it, he was a little bitter. That and the whole Green Goblin fiasco a month or so ago. He and Harley both got pretty hurt in that one…)

The back of Peter's neck buzzed slightly and he caught a glimpse of Harley tossing a small crumbled ball at him. Peter looked up at his foster brother, who nodded subtly in Mrs Warren's direction. As teachers often did, she was looking around to make sure that everyone was doing their classwork. Just as Mrs Warren turned in his and Harley's direction, Peter picked up his pencil and filled in a question on his worksheet. There was a slight prickling on the back of his neck, telling him that Mrs Warren was looking at him, but it faded swiftly after she looked away.

The worksheet was on something that Peter had more than enough knowledge on—pendulums—due to his "job" as Spider-Man. He was out there six times a week (three days a week as well as three nights) and he often did pendulum swings for fun. The worksheet was boring, but Peter continued to fill it in because he knew that Mrs Warren would comment on it otherwise. He, along with Harley, had skipped more than a few classes when they first started out as Spider-Man, and not to mention simply not paying attention in class, and that had led to some trust issues and disappointment amongst their teachers.

After a few more minutes—and a completed worksheet which led to Peter staring at the skyline again—Harley nudged Peter's foot again. When he looked over, Harley tapped on his old watch and Peter glanced up at the clock, letting out a sigh of relief. There were only a few more minutes left of class.

Harley, easily spotting his relief, quirked his lips up in a slight smirk. Peter rolled his eyes. He was bored and wanted to get out of school already, so what? It wasn't as if Harley wasn't itching to get out, as well. He knew as well as anyone that his foster brother would rather be outside (even in the cold) than sitting in a classroom. It was too bad that they weren't even halfway through the school day. Peter had Spanish next class—which wouldn't be too difficult as Aunt May had taught him Italian and Spanish wasn't too far off from it—and then lunch, but there were four more classes after that before school got out for the day.

A minute before class was due to end, Mrs Warren gathered everyone's attention. "Bell's going to ring everyone so whatever you didn't finish is due on Monday," she informed them all. Peter huffed a breath of amusement as more than a few people let out relieved sighs. He knew that this was AP Physics and all, but this stuff was easy.

Though they knew it was coming, both Peter and Harley cringed when the bell rang loudly with a nasally buzzing sound. Where the bell had been an annoyance before his spider bite, it was now almost painful. Their senses were dialled up to eleven and they often got sensory overloads, which they had to work through since they couldn't miss any school, and the bell was one of the highest annoyances there were.

As he started to put away his stuff to leave, Mrs Warren called out, "Peter, Harley, can you two hang back for a few moments?"

Peter hunched in slightly on himself as Flash sniggered on his way out the door. He couldn't help the way his hands trembled slightly. Were he and Harley in trouble? The last time they skipped had been a few weeks ago, they were careful about that now, so she couldn't be worried about their attendances, could she? And they've been on top of their homework ever since they got their patrols levelled out. Where Peter patrolled during the day, Harley patrolled during the night, giving them both ample time to do their homework.

"Yeah, sure," Harley answered Mrs Warren for them both, his southern accent completely gone. Harley had been in the city since he was twelve, he was sixteen now, and he'd had enough time to completely smother any bit of southern drawl he'd had. He'd been bullied for it, Harley had told Peter when he first caught Harley slipping, and so he did his best to hide it.

Doing his best to calm his nerves, Peter shoved his Physics binder into his beaten backpack. He'd lost his older one during patrol and Ned had been kind enough to lend him an old one of his. Peter had gotten into trouble after that since all of his homework, including an English essay, had been in it. There was no reason to be nervous, Peter tried to tell himself. It was just Mrs Warren! She was a good teacher, a fun one, and she was kind enough to not call on him often, not forcing him to speak.

Peter rarely ever spoke freely much these days since his aunt and uncle's murder and the trauma he experienced in foster care, the only people he truly spoke to being Harley or Ned, and sometimes a word here or there for MJ (they were mostly apologies for stupid things). He tended to stay quiet unless he was talking to Harley alone or if he was on patrol; the rest of the time he didn't talk.

It was a common coping mechanism for him, and it wasn't new.

When his parents had died when he was four, Peter had stopped talking. It had taken some (read: a lot) coaxing from May, Ben, and his therapist, and some dance classes, to get him to start speaking again. It had happened again when he was around eight when Skip had—when he'd had Skip as a babysitter and he—well, when Skip was his babysitter. Ned, who'd he'd befriended at the time because he didn't bully him and didn't force him to talk, had been the one to get him to talk that time.

He'd slipped back into the habit when May and Ben died two years ago. His foster homes hadn't cared—in fact, they loved not having a mouthy kid—but some of his teachers hadn't been that accepting. They'd given him some leeway due to his twice-over-orphan-ness, but he'd still needed to do presentations and answer questions. He'd tried but most of the time he just couldn't force the words out. The words got stuck in his throat. It wasn't until he'd met Harley the summer before freshman year did he manage to work up the courage to speak. He still didn't talk that much in public, and he didn't speak much at home, but Harley had managed to break down his walls to the point where he could speak to teachers if needed.

(There was also Spider-Man, but when he was Spider-Man he wasn't Peter, the nerdy orphan, he was a bad-ass crime-fighting hero, and a chatterbox. Spider-Man talked where Peter didn't. That's how it worked and he was comfortable with that.)

Taking a breath to calm himself, and reminding himself that Harley wouldn't leave him, Peter stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Everyone was out of the classroom at this point beside him, Harley, and Mrs Warren, and Peter knew that it was Mrs Warren's break so no one should be coming in for anything. It both relieved him—because if he and Harley had done something wrong and were getting in trouble, then no one would be there to see the epic scolding they were about to get, Peter knew that personally—and worried him—because if they weren't in trouble, then what did Mrs Warren need to talk to them about, and in private, too?

"Are we in trouble?" Harley asked in his usual quiet voice. Mrs Warren looked up with a kind smile that had Peter relaxing marginally.

"No boys, you're not in trouble this time," she said. "I actually wanted to ask for your opinion on something." Peter's brow furrowed and he exchanged a puzzled look with Harley. Mrs Warren pulled open a drawer in her desk and she pulled out a packet of some kind, handing it to Peter who was the closest of the two. He glanced down at it with Harley peering over his shoulder—the jerk had the gall to be taller than him—and blinked stupidly at the logo on the top left of the page.

"Stark Industries?" Harley blurted as Peter stared at the packet in surprise.

Mrs Warren was beaming at them. "Yes," she said. "Stark Industries is holding a competition at their company as a sort of entrance exam for high school interns. Every STEM school in the area received five forms each to pick for a student and I was wondering if you two were interested? You're both very intelligent, and despite the troubles you've had recently," Peter was chagrined at the mention of their recent dip in attendance and their grades, especially paired with Mrs Warren's stern look, "I believe you two have the chance to win the competition together."

"Wait, two?" Harley said, "as in both of us, and together? Is that even allowed? And ma'am, there's only one packet here and you said only five students per school were chosen."

Mrs Warren's answer was to pull out another packet from her desk. "Yes, both of you, Mr Keener. Two people are allowed to team up, and despite the poor attendance and the missing assignments both of you had a few months ago, you both made up the work and you're grades and GPA are some of the highest of your year. And I know for a fact that you two are capable of the work Stark Industries is looking for. I've spoken with your STEM teachers and you two are bored in class. And Mr Hapgood went as far as to show me the projects you two are working on in shop class. Your projects are very intuitive and creative, even your potato gun, Harley."

Peter felt a blush creep up his ears at the praise, it'd been a while since anyone had genuinely complimented him, and Harley grinned sheepishly.

"Thanks, Mrs Warren," Harley said. Peter nodded to show that he felt the same and he ducked his head at Mrs Warren's amused grin.

Peter flipped through his own packet, eyes skimming the information on the contest, before he looked at the last page with the permission form on it. His lips turned down slightly at the edges. They needed a parent's or guardian's permission to enter the competition and Peter wasn't sure if their faster father, Dan, would allow them to participate. They already had to beg him to continue Academic Decathlon a few months ago, and he'd forced them to quit their other extracurriculars (band and robotics club for Peter and the soccer team and robotics for Harley) because of their absences and the steep drop in grades got him in trouble with their social workers. And even if Dan allowed them to participate, there was no way that they would be able to afford materials to even create something of their own.

Harley must've been thinking the same thing because he asked, "Do we have to buy the materials ourselves?"

Mrs Warren, who knew their home situations and that they couldn't afford brand new, expensive materials like the rest of their classmates, nodded sympathetically. "I'm afraid that the school won't be able to provide either of you with materials because then the school would have to be able to provide every student participating with materials, and the school doesn't have enough funds to cover everyone's projects and provide the materials used in our tech classes. However, students will be allowed to use the workshop's tools and anything bought in bulk—like wiring or screws, for example—and the computer labs for coding."

That was better than nothing, Peter thought. Harley's lips thinned, Peter was sure he was thinking on the glass half empty side rather than the glass half full, and he nodded.

"Now, you two don't have to say yes right away," said Mrs Warren. "Take some time, talk amongst yourselves, talk with your foster parents, figure things out. The competition is in a little more than a month—not long, I know, but a part of SI's competition is making a fully working project in a limited space of time—but knowing you two, you should have enough time to whip something up. I do need an answer by the end of next week, though, okay?" They both nodded. "Good, now let me get you two some passes so you can get to class."

Mrs Warren swiftly filled out some hall passes for them and they were on their way.

Peter and Harley walked slowly down the hall, both preoccupied with their own thoughts. Peter flipped back to the front of the packed he'd been given and he read the information a little slower. Just like Mrs Warren said, the competition was for high school students at STEM schools, and that specialists and other people at SI would more or less be grading their project—their idea, presentation, and how well executed the idea was—for a chance to become an intern at the company. There was also a bit about how SI would sponsor and-or donate to the schools where the interns were chosen from, which was intimidating to think about because that meant that Mrs Warren thought they were worth representing the whole of Midtown to Stark Industries for future interns to be chosen from. He swiftly shelved that thought and read the rest of the paper. Oh! The internship was paid, too. That was nice and would help a lot. Still, he came back to the same thought earlier.

"Do you think Dan will let us compete?" he murmured. He didn't bother speaking at a normal level; Harley had the same enhanced senses he had, which meant that he'd be able to hear him whisper from all the way across the school.

Harley frowned at his own packet. "I honestly don't know," he said. "Dan hasn't been stressed lately and we've been careful to keep our grades up so he hasn't gotten any more worrying calls from the social workers. I'm more worried about the fact that we won't be able to buy anything brand new. I know we've got some money saved up from helping around the neighbourhood and our part-time jobs, but we're saving that for stuff we need like extra food and first aid supplies."

"Dumpster diving, then?" Peter suggested quietly. "Not like we haven't done it before."

Harley snorted. Almost everything they owned (or created) was thrifted or pulled from dumpsters. Their laptops, their phones, an old tablet that they'd neglected because they've been so busy making up work and doing homework and patrolling, and even some clothes. Even their webshooters were made from stuff out of dumpsters, their wires coming from broken DVD players and various other parts coming from lighters and other trash that they'd found.

"Look at the schools competing," Harley pointed out, gesturing to a section on the form. "These are all schools, most of them being private schools, where a lot of rich kids go to. Hell, this is a school for rich kids and the only reason we got in was because of that entrance exam we took and they made a special case because we both got the highest grades and we're orphans. Everyone competing will have the money for expensive parts and we'll be entering with literal trash."

"Doesn't matter anyway," Peter muttered, shoulders slumping. "Not like Dan'll let us compete."

Harley whirled around in front of him, stopping him in place by clasping both hands on his shoulders. Instead of flinching away from the movement, Peter leaned into the steady hands of his foster brother. He and Harley had been together for a year and a half, they'd been in similar shitty situations, and they felt like they were brothers in all but name and blood.

"Chin up, Parker," Harley said reassuringly, tipping Peter's head up with a slight nudge to his chin. "We've been good little boys and Dan doesn't have to know that materials won't be provided. Quindi smettila di preoccuparti, capisci?"

Peter smiled slightly at the casual use of Italian. He'd grown up speaking it with Aunt May and it was a way to remind him of her. Harley had overheard him speaking to himself in it while doing homework not long after they met and he had all but demanded that Peter teach him it. Peter, after a little prodding, had agreed to do so. He surprisingly loved teaching Harley how to speak his aunt's native tongue; there wasn't much to do in a small apartment and pointing out the names of everyday things to Harley got his mind off of things. Harley had slowly but surely picked up the language, probably out of boredom and daily use, and he often spoke to Peter in it. He wasn't completely fluent in it yet, especially since Peter's lessons faded when their workload picked up, but he'd no doubt realized that Peter calmed when he heard the language.

"Si, I understand," Peter murmured. Harley clapped him on the shoulder before steering Peter in the direction of his next class and Peter said, "Ci vediamo a pranzo con Ned e MJ."

It only took a second or two for Harley to translate and he smiled. "Yeah, see you at lunch," he confirmed. He saluted Peter before spinning on his heel and heading back down the hall to his class.

Just as Harley rounded the corner, someone from behind him said, "Señor Parker, as much as I admire your ability to speak Italian, this is Spanish and you're late." Peter jumped slightly and spun to face his Spanish teacher.

"Lo siento, Señor," Peter apologised quietly, easily switching from Italian and English to Spanish. "I got held up in Physics."

Señor Mendez merely raised a brow, took his hall pass, and waved him to his seat. With his enhanced hearing, Peter could hear Harley snickering to himself at Señor Mendez's comment.

***

"You're so mean," Peter huffed as he plopped down next to Harley, his lunch tray clattering against the table. Harley merely smirked at him, easily knowing what he was talking about.

"What'd he do?" Ned asked.

"He got caught speaking Italian with me in the halls when he was supposed to be in Spanish," Harley told him.

"You two didn't try to skip again, did you?" MJ said from a few seats away from them, looking up from her book, which was on the Black Dahlia murder. Harley scoffed in offence.

"No," he huffed. "We got held back in Physics. Mrs Warren wanted to talk to us about something."

"What for? You guys didn't get in trouble, did you?" Ned said in worry. He didn't know that they were Spider-Man but he was aware that they got in trouble a few months ago for skipping school a lot and not turning in any assigned homework. He hadn't been able to wiggle any information out of Peter, who he'd known longer than Harley, and Harley was better at keeping secrets or lying, not that Peter wasn't getting up there in skill.

Harley fished through his backpack for the permission form, slapping it on the lunch table for Ned and MJ to read. Ned gasped. "You're getting an internship at Stark Industries!?" he squealed, causing a few heads to turn their way.

Peter shushed Ned loudly. "No! It's a competition for an internship," he said, tapping the title of the document, which read Stark Industries Internship Competition.

"Oh…"

MJ just rolled her eyes at them, refocusing on her book.

"Basically," Harley began to explain, putting his form back in his bag, "a bunch of these STEM schools were given five forms each to give to five students to compete. We each have to make a project to present to the 'esteemed heads' and specialists at Stark Industries. They'll be grading how it works and stuff and they'll decide who gets an internship."

"That's so cool! What about Peter?" Ned asked, turning to glance at Peter. "Did he get a form, too?"

"Mine's in my bag," Peter said after swallowing a bite of his food. Ned grinned widely at them.

"Out of five of the forms, both of you got one? OMG, guys, that's so cool!" Ned was loud again but Peter didn't bother shushing him this time, despite the attention on them. He was grinning at Ned, who'd been one of his best friends for years, because his friend was so excited for them. In fact, Ned was all genuine. He didn't even look remotely jealous or upset that they'd been chosen over him.

"You're not upset?" Peter asked suddenly, voice quiet. "That you didn't get one?"

"Well, I'm jealous, yeah. I mean, both of you guys are going to be interns at Stark Industries!" He ignored Harley's correction that they were going to get the chance to be interns at Stark Industries, that they weren't already interns. "Like you get to work with some of the best minds and you might even get to see Tony Stark! Iron Man! How could I not be jealous?"

"But you're not… mad?" Peter was nervous. He didn't want Ned to be mad at him for getting picked over for a chance at winning an internship at Stark Industries. Ned was super smart and he'd idolized Tony Stark just as much as he did, though Peter had to admit that Ned idolized the Avengers, the superheroes, more than Tony Stark and his company itself.

"No! You've always been better at that stuff than me, you know that. All I do is code and make robots. Stark Industries makes, like, medical equipment and stuff. And dudes, when you start your internship, tell me all about it! I want to live vicariously through you."

Harley chuckled. "Ned, we don't even have an idea yet."

"Well, what about a drone?" Ned suggested. "Even though Stark Industries doesn't sell the military weapons anymore, they still provide them and the police with other types of tech. You could make a small drone for search and rescue missions?"

"It would have to have some extra stuff on it," Harley mused. "SI is already working on drones. What about something with a thermal camera or some type of scanner? The military could use drones to search for landmines, couldn't they?"

"If I was you guys, I'd be tempted to make R2D2," said Ned.

Peter smiled slightly at the idea of making something from Star Wars. His mind whirled with different types of things they could build for the competition before an old idea flickered through his mind. He rifled through his backpack and pulled out two notebooks, a new one he'd gotten recently and one that was for ideas like his webshooters or robots rather than schoolwork. He hadn't been able to come up with any ideas during Spanish, he'd been too worried about the fact that Dan might not even let them complete, but Ned and Harley had sparked an old idea he'd had. He flipped through the pages, looking for the idea that he'd come up with a few months ago when he and Harley first became Spider-Man and one of them got really injured without the other knowing.

Ned and Harley had stopped talking when he'd pulled out his notebook and began flipping through it. Without bothering to tell his friend and foster brother what he was doing, Peter began to scribble in his notebook, occasionally glancing over his old notes to make sure he was writing down the correct information.

Harley leaned over to read the scribbles as Peter began to jot down ideas and a few chemical compounds. It didn't take Harley long to make sense of his notes.

“A pressure sensor?” he asked.

Peter nodded, and after glancing at Ned—who was watching him idly, used to his idea frenzies—and MJ who was ignoring them—said, “I came up with the idea a while ago. It's a sensor to detect injuries based on different pressure ratios. It could be used in clothes or something. Could also probably send the information remotely with a program, maybe."

Harley blinked in surprise, easily realizing that he was thinking of a Spider-Man suit that could detect what injuries they had, as well as tell the other what injuries they gained. Peter knew it was something that Harley would like, because while Harley didn't hide injuries from Peter, Peter didn’t want to worry Harley and so he hid when he was hurt. It usually backfired on him, though, since Harley could see through him easily, but Peter still tried to hide his injuries. But with a suit that could detect injuries and also transmit them remotely? Harley wouldn't even have to try and get Peter to tell him he was hurt, he would know immediately.

“I like this idea,” Harley declared, making Peter snort. Harley pulled Peter's notes over to him and read them over. “Would something like this work, though?”

"The sensors are easy to make," Peter murmured, "and we have that old tablet and free run of the computer labs. We're both pretty good at coding, so that would work."

“We can’t just show up at a competition with a multimeter if sensors are this easy to make,” said Harley with a frown. His eyes flicked over Peter's notes before lingering on a chemical compound he wrote down. "What's this?"

Peter tapped a section of notes, specifically the word Cloth??? that was circled, and made a hand motion—it was the one they used for shooting webs, though to anyone else it would look like he was signing "I love you" with his hand down. Harley's lips formed an O.

"You're going to try and make cloth out of them?" Harley asked, making Peter nod. "Make sure they don't dissolve then." Peter winced at the thought of their project dissolving mid-presentation and made a note to add a stabilizer to the mixture. He would have to end up testing various amounts of stabilizer, along with different amounts of chemicals, to make sure that the cloth would hold up.

The rest of the school day was spent with Peter and Harley swapping notes on what they wanted to do for the project in their shared classes or when they passed in the halls. Harley was already working on the coding for the app and ideas on how to fix the tablet they had. They would probably have to go dumpster diving or go to pawn shops for parts, though. Peter was scribbling down various chemical compounds as they came to mind, all of them based around his web formula. He would have to find a way to get the chemicals; half of them weren't cheap or available on their own and he didn't feel comfortable stealing that much from the school. He had a make-shift chemistry lab in an abandoned building where he and Harley had originally practised Spider-Manning (and still did, sparring was fun), but he would have to still buy various cleaners to separate some of the chemicals needed.

As it was Friday, Dan got home from work early, so Peter and Harley didn't have any time to set up their makeshift lab. They'd stashed a lot of their Spider-Man stuff there, along with a lot of the electronics and tools they had gotten from thrift stores or dumpster diving. There was no room in Dan's apartment to store anything—and the man didn't want any of their junk lying around—and they had no access to the roof unless they wanted to use their spider-powers, which they both agreed was a dumb idea to use in broad daylight. Due to Dan getting off work early, Peter and Harley also couldn't patrol during the day, so they ended up doing their homework, discussing their ideas a little, and doing chores.

Out of all of their chores, Peter disliked cooking the most. Cooking reminded him too much of May and Ben; Ben had been the chef of the house, and he'd taught Peter how to cook, and May had been a terrible cook. She'd often burn the noodles she tried to boil for her mother's Carbonara. But it had been endearing and something he loved about her. However, as Harley didn't know how to cook anything past PB&J (Peter was slowly teaching him when they had free time before Dan got home), he had to make the dinner tonight.

He didn't bemoan this chore, it beat cleaning the bathroom, and he instead made the best damn spaghetti he'd made in a while to butter Dan up. While Peter was nervous about telling Dan about the competition, Harley had argued that it was best to tell Dan about it tonight. The man should be in a decent mood—because he was never in a good mood—since he had work off tomorrow.

They were just finishing cleaning up and setting the table when they heard Dan walking down the hall. He wasn't a very quiet walker, instead his steps were loud and echoed in the apartment, and the sound of them instinctively had Peter's heart speeding up. Dan was an average man—he was five-ten, probably weighed around a hundred and sixty pounds, and he had dirty-blonde hair and boring brown eyes—and there was theoretically nothing intimidating or threatening about him.

But, there was this thing about Dan—he wasn't nice.

Oh, he could play nice for the neighbours or for their social workers, but he certainly wasn't nice to them. They'd live with Dan long enough (a year and a half), that they'd experienced almost every single emotion that the man could express. And most of that was hate or anger. And violence. Violence towards them.

Peter could remember numerous times where a beating had started with loud, thumping footsteps.

"Calmati," murmured Harley under his breath, taking the wet pot that Peter was rinsing off before he'd frozen. Peter let out a slightly shaky breath before taking in some slow calming ones. The doorknob rattled before twisting open, revealing Dan. Peter's eyes followed Dan as he moved throughout the apartment, kicking off his shoes and loosening his tie, hanging up his coat on the coat rack.

Peter took his eyes off Dan and put away the pots and pans he'd used, keeping tabs on the man with his ears. Dan came out of his room after a few minutes and stood near the table.

"What's for dinner?" he said gruffly, sitting in his usual seat.

"Spaghetti and garlic bread, sir," Harley answered politely, his voice quiet. Dan liked the quiet and so dinner was the only time to talk to him. He tended to work a lot of overtime, probably in hopes of getting a promotion at work, and so he was often tired when he got home. Peter and Harley had to be quiet when moving around for school and after dinner, since that was the only time Dan got to relax; it was that or aggravate Dan, which led to getting punished. They'd only made that mistake a few times.

"Smells good," said Dan grudgingly, plating himself some.

"Thank you," Peter thanked him. Usually, he wouldn't talk at all during dinner, but he figured being polite should give him some points. Dan just grunted. When plating their own food, Peter and Harley made sure not to give themselves too much. Their metabolisms ran much higher than they'd done before, meaning that they had to eat more to stay healthy, but if they started to eat more than expected, then Dan would get suspicious and-or grouchy that they were "eating him out of his house." Both of them had lived with foster parents who didn't want to waste money feeding them much and so they took what they could get without complaining. They used their spare money to buy protein bars and those kept them full-enough.

Dinner was quiet for the most part. The only sounds were the sounds of them eating, their forks scraping across their plates, and the downstairs neighbours fighting like they usually did. They were a few floors down so Dan couldn't hear them, but Peter and Harley could. Peter couldn't tell if the relationship was abused, though, since they went from screaming at each other to acting lovey-dovey within hours.

When Dan was sharing signs of finishing his dinner, Peter and Harley shared a swift glance.

"Sir?" Harley said, setting down his fork. Peter did the same and brought his hands to his lap, fiddling with his hoodie sleeves nervously. He watched from beneath his lashes as Dan looked at Harley and grunted, which Harley took that as permission to speak. "Our Physics teacher held us back in class today and—"

"You didn't skip or anything did you?" Dan said harshly with narrowed eyes. "You remember what I said would happen if you got in trouble again, right?"

"Yes, I remember, but we didn't do anything wrong!" Harley rushed to say. "In fact, our teacher actually held us back to tell us that our grades are so good that we've got an internship opportunity."

"An internship," Dan deadpanned, setting down his fork and giving them his attention. Peter wasn't sure if having Dan's full attention on them was good or not. He hoped "good."

"Yes, sir," Harley said, bobbing his head. "The top STEM schools in New York were given permission slips for a competition at Stark Industries. The competition takes place next month and depending on what you make and what the specialists at the company say, you could end up with an internship. Sir."

"It's a competition?" Dan said with a frown. "Not an actual internship? And you two want to compete?" Peter kept his expression neutral when Dan sent a glance his way, but his fingers tightened around his sleeves.

"S-Sir," Peter jumped in to help Harley. "E-Each school was only given five forms. Since Stark Industries will sponsor the schools who they choose the interns from, the schools will pick only the, um, best students?" Peter winced slightly at his wording but continued speaking despite the slight shaking of his voice. "S-Sir, Harley and I both got forms. W-We're some of the best students in our grade, w-we wouldn't have been chosen to represent Midtown if we, uh, weren't capable?"

Dan's lips thinned as he thought. "What… is this competition, exactly?"

"Each student is supposed to create and make a prototype of working tech, sir," said Harley, taking Dan's attention of Peter. "It's the same type of thing we're doing in shop class so it wouldn't be too difficult. The school is allowing us to use their computer labs and materials after school—" There was no need to tell him what those materials were, exactly. "—and we'd still be able to do our chores and homework. We'd just have to stay at school for an extra hour or two to work on our project in order to get it done for the competition."

"When is the competition?"

"In a month, sir. Transportation to Stark Industries is provided." That was a lie but there was no reason to tell Dan that they had the extra money to pay for a sub across the city. Or the fact that their project would be small enough that they could just swing to the Tower if they needed to.

"Both of you are competing?"

"Yes, but we're allowed to work on the same project and enter it together," Harley clarified.

"And this internship, how many hours after school would you be gone? I can't have your grades dropping and making me look bad."

"Only a few hours a week, I think," Harley said. "We could probably ask, but I don't think the workload would be too much since we're only high school students and they know we go to demanding STEM schools."

Dan was silent for a few moments. Peter resisted the urge to fidget, instead choosing to dig his nails into his arm to distract him. Below him, Mr and Mrs Fights-A-Lot were getting into another row that Peter was sure would either end up in one of them storming out to the bar or in hot, passionate, cringe-inducing sex. He'd rather it be the former rather than the latter since there was only so much sex sounds that he could listen to without it making him want to curl up in a ball, vomit, or both. He just hoped that he was asleep before it happened, if it happened.

Dan let out a gusty sigh, making Peter jump. "Well?" he demanded. "Are there permission forms or something?"

"Oh, uh, I-I'll go get them, sir," Peter stammered out, stumbling to his feet. He ran into the edge of the table in his haste to get out of the room and tensed in preparation for a reprimand that never happened. Peter and Harley had put their forms on their shared desk just in case Dan allowed them to compete, so he was back in the kitchen not twenty seconds after he'd left. He also provided a pen and Dan signed off on both forms with a glance to make sure what he was signing was actually a form for an internship and not something else.

Not long after, Peter and Harley cleaned the dirty dishes before being dismissed to their room for the night.

Peter laid up in the top bunk of the bunk bed, staring up at the watermarked ceiling, his through whirling loudly through his mind. He couldn't believe that Dan was actually allowing them to compete. Now all they had to do was actually make their project and they only had a month to do it! What if it wasn't good enough? What if it wasn't original? What if someone made a better working one? What if it didn't work?

And, what if they won?

[formula365]

Making the pendulum swing - Turkish GP review

There are a lot of reasons motorsports fans love a race in a wet track. For one, rain is a great leveller, reducing the advantages of superior machinery and enhancing driver ability. Another reason is that it is fun to see some of the greatest drivers in the world have to wrestle with the steering wheel; reduced grip, at least to this level, is not a desirable outcome for every single race, but to have it on occasion makes for some great entertainment. And some spins are always a bit of fun to watch.

But the main reason why racing in the wet is so exciting is the unpredictability. These are special races, in which the logic of faster driver in a faster car will win does not (always) apply. Everybody loves an underdog, and these races are the biggest opportunities for unexpected winners in modern F1. Wet races can also provide plenty of changes in momentum, with the pendulum swinging in favour of one driver or another; if someone looks like being in control by lap 10, they might be out of it by lap 20 and back in it by lap 40.

This is exactly what we had in Istanbul this Sunday. Particularly in the first half, several drivers seemed to have the upper hand but, for one reason or another, they ended up falling down the order or, at the very least, could not compete with the eventual winner. In different periods of the race, Stroll, Perez, Verstappen and Albon all seemed like having the perfect set of circumstances to win the race. But Stroll couldn’t keep his tyres from graining, Verstappen and Albon spun out of contention and Perez decided to roll the dice and take the old tyres to the end, sacrificing pace for track position.

Perez’s strategy almost worked. Yes, he was significantly slower than several drivers behind him, and almost lost a place in the podium on the last lap, but he did manage his tyres superbly, as he usually does, to finish in a fine second place. It was, however, not enough to deal with the one man that continues to rise and astonish with how he makes the pendulum swing towards him.

Lewis Hamilton knew after qualifying that he didn’t need to do much in the race to clinch the world title. Bottas had struggled even more than he had, and was three places behind. Stay out of trouble, avoid crashing early and ensure Bottas finishes behind. The Finn made his job even easier by spinning on the opening lap and falling towards the back, from where he never recovered. A scoreless Bottas meant the title was in the bag. Hamilton didn’t need to push.

But he still went for it. He was stuck behind Vettel for a considerable period of time, which meant the Racing Points were too far down the road. As the pendulum swung between different drivers ahead of him, the champion-elect never really seemed with a shot of winning. But Hamilton bid his time and once he had clear air, he saw there was still an opportunity. And he is not one to waste opportunities. He clearly wanted to win the championship in style, not simply have it fall on his lap. In the past, he hasn’t often had the change to secure the title with a win. He wasn’t going to let that go this time around.

In the end, while all the other drivers who were there, or nearly there, made mistakes and lost their cool, Hamilton disappeared down the road, finishing a whopping 30-seconds-30 ahead of the pack. It was another demonstration, as if we needed more, that he does stand head and shoulders above everyone else on the grid. The young pretenders will have to wait a bit longer to dethrone him, because he shows no sign of losing his ability with age.

I try to not focus too much on the winners of a race, and not to write too often about Hamilton, but he makes it really difficult not to. He is a unique talent in the history of the sport and we should very much enjoy watching him while we can. Although there is plenty of talent in the coming generation, we might not see another driver like him for a long while.

Talking points * On Saturday it seemed impossible that we could see a Hamilton win. The Mercedes were completely out of pace, and it was Racing Point and Red Bull who had the fastest cars. It was an intense qualifying, that finished with a first pole for Lance Stroll. The Canadian gets a lot of stick because of his father’s money, but he does have bags of talent and he showed it on Saturday. The race might not have gone his way (Racing Point reporting there was damage to his front wing which caused the excessive tyre graining) but he should take comfort that, after a tough couple of months, he showed what he is capable of. He should use Saturday as a motivator to finish the season strongly. * Saturday also provided another concerning moment in terms of safety. At the start of Q2, drivers were sent out on track while marshalls were still in a run-off area, with a crane, recovering Latifi’s car. If your heart went racing back to Suzuka 2014, you were not alone. Race direction justified it by saying they had been informed the crane would be gone by the time drivers reached that point of the track, but there is no justification to even take that risk. A delay of 2 minutes would have been fine. After the issue with the marshalls on track at Imola, this is the second race in a row with less-than-optimal decisions from race direction. We should hope it’s not a trend, but Michael Masi appeared defensive afterwards and said he didn’t think anything should have been done differently. More than the decision itself, his reaction after the fact is not a good sign. * Wasn’t it great to see Vettel up on the podium again? He has had a torrid year, but had a quietly good race and was there to take advantage of his teammate’s error on the final chicane. It was probably his last podium in red, to leave a slightly sweeter taste to the end of his years with the Scuderia. * It was also great that he was there congratulating his great rival on another title. The respect Seb and Lewis have for each other is exemplary, both of them clearly aware of the hardships they had to go through to reach the very top. It’s a shame we didn’t get to see them go toe to toe more often in their careers. It should have been the great rivalry of this generation. * Sergio Perez’s form since it was announced he wouldn’t stay at Racing Point: P5, P4, P4, P7, P6, P2. And those P7 and P6 would have been P5 and P3 without strategy stumbles from the team. It’s ridiculous if he’s not on the grid next year. * McLaren continue to do what teams that reach the top do well: maximise their results and score valuable points even when their car is not the fastest. Both their cars started behind both Racing Points and Renaults, and yet, of those four drivers, only Perez finished ahead of them. Sainz had a bullet start and kept a cool head to finish P5, just behind the group fighting for the podium. His teammate had a horrible start and was last off the line, but recovered brilliantly to P8, and had a blistering pace towards the end, setting a fastest lap that was a second faster than the next best one. The car’s development might not have gone the way they hoped, but in every other aspect, this is a team firing on all cylinders. * Bottas had a nightmare race, seemingly incapable of keeping his car on the road. The team revealed he had suffered damage in a first lap contact with Esteban Ocon which could help explain his miserable day. Regardless of the causes, P14 is not a results anyone expects at Mercedes. At least now he is free to race the last 3 GPs without the title in his mind. I wonder if a pressure-less Bottas might put up some more of a fight in the coming weekends. * The two Red Bull drivers missed out on huge opportunities this weekend. After the first round of pit stops, the race was arguably Verstappen’s to lose, and, well, lose it he did. He was too greedy when trying to overtake Perez and destroyed his tyres in a spin, which forced to a second stop that effectively ended his race. If he was miserable after missing out on pole, I can’t imagine how he must have felt after the race. As for Albon, he is very much running out of time to impress the Red Bull hierarchy. After Verstappen spun, he was in great position to at least claim a podium, but like the Dutchman, he couldn’t keep his car on the road, and opened the door to Hamilton. To make matters worse, the driver who is apparently being considered to replace him finished second. Red Bull have said he will have until the end of the year to grab that seat, but one has to wonder how much can he genuinely do in the last 3 races after missing out on so many opportunities before? * What a tremendous qualifying from Alfa Romeo. Their pace disappeared on Sunday, but on Saturday Kimi and Gio were two of the stars, putting their cars in Q3. That this happened on Sauber’s 500th Grand Prix entry was only fitting; they couldn’t score points, but there was something for the team to celebrate about the weekend nonetheless.

* Renault’s topsy-turvy season continues. After 2 podiums in 3 races, they leave Turkey with just one point and their hopes of reaching third in the constructors’ championship dashed. They should do well in the final races of the season, as the power hungry Sakhir and the long straights of Yas Marina will favour their car, but if they want to be in the mix up front, they need to better understand the car and what makes it work (and what doesn’t). They have shown they can put together a competitive car, but they can’t win titles if they don’t show up every weekend.

[themurphyzone]

Nova Ch 4

AN: Just in time for the A!countdown! Looking forward to those sneak peeks next month! 

Ch 4: Extraterrestrial 

New Selenian Date 3015.4.21

 Though our voyage through space was more volatile than I expected, we’ve successfully approached Terra’s exosphere. Under other circumstances, it would be cause for celebration, but…

 Well, Snowball has only spoken to me for essentials during the past few days. Usually so he can update me while he raids the pantry for maza or to catch up on sleep.

Our argument has only served as a reminder that we’re not…as united in our mutual goal as much I want to believe.

It must the length of the journey. Access to only four rooms in a one week period can give anyone a serious case of cabin fever. He’ll get better once we land on Terra’s surface, I’m sure.

Signing off for now, the Brain.

o-o-o-o-o

Was it really April 21? Pinky hurried to the Mickey Mouse calendar pinned to the wall next to his cage. He really loved that picture of Mickey giving flowers to a blushing Minnie. They really were the perfect couple!

Pinky imitated Mickey’s pose, dropping down on one knee as if he was offering a bouquet of pretty daffodils…wait, no those were lilies. He rubbed his head, confused by the yellow flowers in the picture. Maybe it was the type with the really long name.

What was it again? Ah, yes! A lovely bouquet of Chris-and-his-moms for Minnie!

Egad, the picture was so pretty that he’d forgotten about the reminder he’d penciled in the box for April 21!

“Granny Smith at 9 pm?” Pinky tilted his head, trying to make sense of what he’d written. He didn’t know any grannies that well, nor did he know any Smiths. Besides, Pharfignewton was leaving the ranch tonight at 9 pm, and he was going to see her off before she was off to the races. “Poit! Oh yeah, the apple! An apple a day keeps the vets away!”

Pharfignewton needed the energy for the journey too. Kentucky was a long way from California. About nine inches according to his placemat of the United States.

Before he left, he needed to leave a response for his space pen pal. But they weren’t exactly using pens. Maybe space radio pals was better.  

Pinky went back to the Walkman. It made a bunch of crackling noises, like the Brain hadn’t turned his equipment off yet.

“Hi, the Brain!” Pinky grinned. The was such a funny first name. “Glad you could make it to Earth! Or Terra! Whatever you wanna call it! Wherever you land, I hope you and Snowball enjoy yourselves. Definitely try strawberry cheesecake sometime. It’s delicious!”

The static continued.

“Anyway, Pharfignewton’s leaving for the Kentucky Derby tonight, so I can’t chat for long. Maybe tomorrow? I’ll spend twice as much time talking to you tomorrow! Fig’s been practicing super extra hard. She’s gonna win the Derby and get that Triple Crown! That’s her dream, you know! Dreams are a wish your heart makes, zort! Cinderella said so!”

Pinky put his hand over the Walkman’s speaker. “Your dream is taking over Terra, and mine is being surrounded by cheese from around the world! Or maybe that’s just my stomach. I can never tell for sure.”

The clock chimed eight, its little pendulum swinging to and fro in a dizzying pattern.

He had to say goodbye now.

And say goodbye again later.

“Alright…well, I’ll let you go. I bet you have some important Conquesowhatsit things to do. Bye, the Brain. Glad you could make it to Terra. You and Snowball are gonna love it. Ooh, there I go again. Bye for real this time.” Pinky slowly turned the dial down, past tinny classical and pop music stations, until the Walkman was off.

Dreams were always nice, even if Pharfignewton and the Brain had to travel far away to make them come true. Pinky’s parents were probably making their own dream of eating gourmet food pellets real as well. Sis didn’t have one yet. She was still torn between professional hairdressing and getting a cooking show on Food Network, but she was young and had plenty of time to grow up.

Now that he thought about it, maybe Sis was right. He didn’t have to decide on a dream for himself yet. Well, surrounding himself with provolone, cheddar, mozzarella, camembert, and all the other yummy cheeses was still a wonderful dream for now.

“A world of cheeses, deliciously made for you and me…” Pinky sang, the air conditioner providing a nice background instrumental as he went to the breakroom to fetch Pharfignewton’s apple.

o-o-o-o-o

Carting the Granny Smith apple to the ranch took more time than Pinky imagined. Running on his wheel along with those upper body strength VHS tapes helped him for most of the trek, but there’d still been one scary moment where he’d leaned back too far to see the pretty full moon. Luckily, the apple wasn’t too bruised from tumbling downhill.

By the time Pinky arrived, Pharfignewton was already in her horse trailer. Her owner sat on a nearby bench, his brow furrowed as his thumbs tapped rapidly on his cell phone. A white pick-up truck sat in front of the trailer, though the latch to connect the vehicles hadn’t been hooked yet.

The door to Pharfignewton’s trailer was wide open, the ramp still on the ground. Delays were good. It meant he could hold off on saying goodbye a little longer.

“Fig, I got you an apple! A sweet and healthy Granny Smith!” Pinky exclaimed as he ran up the ramp. Before he could get to the top, Pharfignewton bent down and grasped the apple in her teeth, nearly chomping down on Pinky’s hands as she lifted her head. Pinky’s feet left the ground, and he gripped the apple with both hands, almost sliding off the smooth surface.

He couldn’t resist a tiny nibble. Pharfignewton wouldn’t mind.

Pinky climbed onto her muzzle just as the apple was crunched into mush. Pharfignewton whinnied in delight, her eyes shut from sheer happiness. He stroked the fur between her eyes and hummed Camptown Races because it was her favorite song. She always got excited to race when she heard it.

Pharfignewton’s hooves clopped against the floor rhythmically, her head bobbing up and down.

“-gonna run all night! Gonna run all day!” Pinky sang, grabbing her soft mane and hauling himself up. He clung to her ears for balance. “I’ll bet my money here on Fig, cause she’s gonna win this May!”  

Pharfignewton neighed, her tail raised proudly.

Her owner looked up from his phone. His bushy beard quivered as he chuckled and waved at her. A van pulled up to the curb, the window sliding down to reveal a man in a funny white cowboy hat. The owner shouted and pointed to the newcomer’s hat.

“What a fashion icon, Fig! Rodeo style hats at the Kentucky Derby. Why didn’t I think of that?” Pinky asked. “Egad, I need to make my own hat for the Derby! A derby hat! With fancy ribbons and dandelions and those little beads on sombreros!”

Cowboy Man clapped the owner on the shoulder as he climbed out of his van, the owner playfully shoving him in return. The back doors of the van were opened, and they started loading the pile of heavy feed bags and horse care equipment into the hollowed out space, trading good-natured jabs while they worked.

Pinky glanced at the starry night sky, scratching the back of Pharfignewton’s ear. “I almost forgot. The Brain made it to Terra. He said so in his message tonight. Told him he should try strawberry cheesecake. I don’t know if they have that in space.”

Pharfignewton snorted.

“Oh, you and your homemade apple strudel,” Pinky grinned. “Tell you what. Win the Triple Crown and I’ll bake the most scrumptious, most mouthwateringest apple strudel you’ve had in your life! Oh wait, no, how ‘bout I just bake it when you come back? Whenever that will be. Maybe soon?”

However long she’d be gone, Pinky hoped she’d call or write or keep in touch some other way. Well, sending a postcard might be a little tricky with hooves. How was she ever gonna apply the stamps?

Pharfignewton neighed, her front hooves knocking against the floor in worry.

“I’ll be okay, Fig. I can wait ‘til August. There’s lots of fun things to do in the summer. Like playing water polo, air hockey, capture the flag...”

Except those games all needed two players.

And while Monopoly game pieces and dominoes made for great substitutes when he couldn’t round up the checkers and marbles, it just wouldn’t be the same without Pharfignewton.

Pinky’s tail started to cramp.

He hadn’t realized he’d wrung it between his hands so hard. It wasn’t the fun sort of pain either.

Outside, the men finished loading their supplies. The van doors were shut, and Pharfignewton’s trailer was hitched to the truck.

Their boots loudly thumped against the ground with every step.

Pinky slid down Pharfignewton’s long muzzle, his feet resting against the back of her nostrils. He gripped her face and looked at those gorgeous blue eyes. They were the same shade as his turquoise crayon. He wanted to remember that.

Pinky rested his jaw on Pharfignewton’s fur, trying to keep the tiny quaver out of his voice. “Well…guess this is it, huh?” he murmured. “You have a good trip now. You’re the best racehorse I’ve ever met. Course I don’t know any other racehorses, but you’re gonna win the Derby, Fig. I know you will. Just keep in touch, ‘kay?”

She knickered softly, her breath stirring Pinky’s fur as she lowered him to the ground outside her trailer. Her breath smelled just like applesauce. She carefully rubbed the underside of her jaw against Pinky’s head, nuzzling away tears that made his vision a little blurry, then slowly raised herself to her majestic height.

“Poit. Really, Fig.” Pinky tilted his head back so the tears just pooled in his eyes instead of trailing down his cheeks. “You’ve got a dream ahead of you.”

Pharfignewton stomped her hoof.

But Pinky shook his head. True, he could go with her, but who was gonna keep his cage clean and his wheel oiled if he wasn’t around? Besides, Pharfignewton would have so many new horse friends. She was gonna be a celebrity by association.

Pinky wiped a tear away with his tail. “I don’t wanna distract you or anything. Meet someone new! Who knows? You might even be fast friends!”

Then Cowboy Man and the owner walked past, too engrossed in their conversation to notice Pinky. Pharfignewton craned her neck, trying to see above Cowboy Man while he folded the ramp. Before she could reply, her owner gently shooed her further into the trailer while Cowboy Man finished up.

Once the trailer door was shut and locked, the owner and Cowboy Man took some time to stroke Pharfignewton’s face. The window bars were wide enough to allow almost her entire muzzle through.

They promised good things for her, win or lose. She’d be eating her fill of apples and carrots for sure.

She’d be happy out there, running like the wind to her heart’s content.  

Ten minutes later, Cowboy Man drove away in his supply van. Pharfignewton’s owner started up the truck.

Pinky quickly climbed up a fencepost and waved to Pharfignewton, wishing he’d brought along a handkerchief to blow his nose into or flutter in the air like a proper movie goodbye.

Pharfignewton stretched her neck as far as she could.

“Bye! Adios! Sayonara!” Pinky called, cupping his hands as the truck slowly inched onto the side road’s pavement. The trailer turned slightly with the movement, and Pinky quickly hopped to a fencepost within Pharfignewton’s line of sight.

She looked happy enough to get the show on the road, but her whinnies were still worried.

He had to cheer her up! She couldn’t travel to Kentucky with that frowny face!

“Camptown ladies! Sing this song! Narf!” Pinky panted, taking only a moment to catch his breath, the song choppy as he ran the length of the fence. But even with the truck’s slow crawl, he couldn’t keep up, and the truck disappeared over the hill, pulling the trailer and Pharfignewton along with it.

He didn’t slow down in time. Pinky stumbled over the last fencepost and fell into the springy grass below. The thud knocked his breath away for just a moment, but he shook it off quickly.

It was nothing really.

“Camptown racetrack’s fi-five thousand miles away…”

Pharfignewton shouldn’t worry.

He had the small, boxy TV that the lab couldn’t afford to upgrade to a flat screen. The NBC channel always showed the Derby.

And it was enough for him.

o-o-o-o-o

Had the stars always been that far away? They seemed much lonelier than usual.

Pinky tilted his head as far as he could, taking in the navy sky above. There was no moon and no way to spot the Brain’s old home tonight. He was probably somewhere on Earth by now.

Paris was nice at this time of year. Maybe the Brain would get all the cheese and baguettes he could eat. The city of light and love was absolutely splendid and heavenly. Pinky had never been there, but the landscape seemed so pretty at night in Ratatouille. Parisian rodents must be excellent chefs. Pinky would have to find one someday.

If only he could walk into a giant cabinet that would magically transport him to a riverboat cruise on the Seine. He’d only gotten a mouthful of cobweb the last time he’d tried that.

Oh dear.

Pinky twirled in place, taking in the enormous apartment complex to his left and the grassy hillside across the street, both of which he didn’t recognize.

“Narf! Silly me.” Pinky bonked his fist against his noggin, leaving a slight ache behind.  “One of these days, I’ll definitely remember that ol’ left turn on Albuquerque Street!”

Well, the only thing he had to do was retrace his steps.

But he didn’t have sidewalk chalk or a pencil.

Pinky scratched his head. This was a lot harder than he thought. He was outside, so he couldn’t exactly follow the left wall of the maze until he got un-lost.

His stomach growled, and he had a sudden craving for between-twilight-and-midnight food pellets.

“Hush now, tummy. You’ll get your food pellets as soon as I find the lab again,” Pinky said, patting his growling belly.

A bowl of smoked food pellets seasoned with paprika and rosemary sounded good right about now. With a side of smoked cheddar too!

Pinky laughed. “You’ve really got a craving for smoked food, tummy! Can’t blame you there. Those smoked chicken wings on Food Network were absolutely mouthwatering yesterday. I’m so hungry I can smell those food pellets!”

And the food pellets smelled delicious indeed.

Pinky took a deep whiff, standing on his tippy-toes to drink it all in.

Until the scent changed and it smelled more oily than the yummy sort of smoke.

Pinky’s nose wrinkled. A faint plume of smoke rose from behind the grassy hill, but it was still a little early in the year for anyone to hold a campfire sing-along with s’mores.

There didn’t seem to be a fire. Or slightly burnt marshmallows for that matter.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Pinky crossed the street at the crosswalk because he was a good pedestrian and not a jaywalker. That was just silly. He was a mouse, not a blue jay.

He ran to the top of the hill and perched on a tree root, heels rocking back and forth for a moment until he found his balance. Then his jaw dropped at the sight of a gray and silver futuristic-y UFO just beyond the hill’s base. It had to be the size of two cages combined, maybe a little more.

He wasn’t really good at judging size, but the UFO thingy was ginormous.

Dirt piled high around its battered surface, like it plowed right into the ground at Pharfignewton-like speeds. Smoke trailed from two long cylinders that arched above its back, though there were no flames.

At least Smokey the Bear wouldn’t have to worry about any wildfires.

Pinky approached the wreckage, circling it twice out of sheer fascination. He didn’t see any string though. No wonder the UFO crashed. It didn’t have any string to hold it up.

“Hello, Mr. Alien!” Pinky shouted, hoping his voice carried through the metal to whoever was inside. He leaned against the UFO with both hands, placing all his body weight on his tiptoes. It felt great. He hadn’t stretched his shoulders like this in a while. All his focus had been going to strengthening his thighs recently. “I just wanted to let you know that your UFO string is missing! But it’s okay! I have an extra long ball of yarn back at the lab! Will that do?”

There was no response, though Pinky heard a plip-plop of dripping water when he pressed his ear against the UFO.

Suddenly, the metal hissed and shifted under his palms.

“Narf!” Pinky yelped as he pitched forward into the opening. His jaw thwacked against the floor, and he giggled at the tingly sensations that shot to the top of his head.

Propping himself onto his elbows, Pinky found himself in a room that was just as big on the inside as it seemed on the outside. Except everything seemed a little smashed up. Broken computers tilted against one wall, the screens cracked and displaying a random string of numbers and letters.

Orange soda dripped from an open panel to his left, forming a bubbly puddle on the floor. Pinky almost drank it, but figured it was a terrible idea because of the little metal bits mixed in. Orange soda went with pizza, not metal.

Pinky stood up and dusted himself off, then walked over to what seemed to be a smashed-up bedframe. There was an upturned mattress and a crumpled white blanket next to it. When he tried to turn them over and arrange them into a less messy position, he found they were rather scratchy and definitely uncomfortable for sleeping in. Whoever used this bed must’ve woken up every morning with a backache the size of Alaska.

As he tucked the last corner of the blanket into the mattress, several tiny blue things slipped out from the folds and bounced off his foot. When Pinky glanced down, he found there were a lot of tiny blue things scattered throughout the room.

He picked one up out of curiosity.

No, it wasn’t a thing. More like a tiny blue star. He touched it with his tongue, a sweet flavor taking over his taste buds entirely. It really packed a wallop. His tongue hadn’t felt this tingly since the time he’d eaten two entire packs of lemonheads! He popped several more tiny stars into his mouth, hugging himself from sheer bliss.

For a moment, it seemed like there was another voice agreeing with him on how fantastically delicious these tiny stars were.

Then it cut into a low groan, which didn’t sound like someone enjoying a snack at all. Pinky quickly swallowed the tiny stars and listened for the source of the noise.

“Narf! Hello?” Pinky called. “Are you an alien ghost? Or a ghost alien, Mr. Alien?”

Another groan. Maybe Mr. Alien didn’t know how to play Twenty Questions.

One of the computers shifted and crashed onto its side, a blue screen flickering in and out of existence. Parts of the splintered bedframe laid among the mess. A small, black-gloved hand poked out from among the tangled wires before falling limp again.

Pinky poked the hand.

It twitched.

“Awful hard to sleep under all those wires, don’t you think?” Pinky asked. “I mean, it would be so electric-y under there! Unless you’re an android ghost alien! Electric sheep only works for androids, I think. The rest of us count woolly, fluffy sheep.”

The mass of wires trembled, the hand closing around Pinky’s wrist. Though it was probably meant to be a tight grasp, it wasn’t a very good hold. A single movement could shake off the alien’s hand.

But Pinky stayed still. Something didn’t seem quite right.

The alien lifted his head, a pair of antennae with bouncy red orbs perking slightly.  

Antennae was a good name now that he thought about it.

“N-no’all?” Antennae murmured, the wires slipping off his large, chubby head. His bleary pink eyes stared through Pinky with desperate hope. Soot stained his messy fur with varying shades of gray, his pointed ears drooping and floppy.

“Poit. Do you not speak English?” Pinky asked. Antennae continued to stare, not seeming to understand. “I could get my language book from the lab. It’s got Spanish, French, Sea Lion, and Legalese! I’m learning a lot! Maybe it’s got your language too?”

Then Pinky snapped his fingers. Why hadn’t he thought of this sooner? “Wait, no! Maybe kissing would be much faster? That way my English flows into your mouth and voicebox! Is that how it works? I’m pretty sure that’s how it works…”

Antennae’s grip tightened, his lower half writhing in the wires until he shook himself free. From the neck down, he wore a sleek black bodysuit with red highlights that really made the color of his antennae and tail orbs pop.

Egad, he was tiny. Even Antennae’s antennae barely rose above Pinky’s chin.

Something green and golden glinted in the hand that wasn’t holding onto Pinky. Antennae stumbled as he got to his feet, wincing as he tried to put his weight on his heels. His eyes widened in panic, and he quickly let go Pinky, breathing rapidly as he wrapped both hands around the weapon’s handle.

Balancing on his toes, he shakily pointed the weapon at Pinky. He was trying to shove the red bulb into Pinky’s nose, which was a little rude to be honest, but couldn’t do much more than a light tap.  

“Are you okay?” Pinky asked, lifting his head so the bulb wasn’t smushing his nose. “Soot’s not really good for your complexion. Gives you all sorts of pimples and zits. That’s what Dr. Oz says, anyway.”

There were several clicks as Antennae repeatedly pulled a switch on the handle, but nothing happened. It clearly wasn’t working the way he expected. He growled in frustration, lowering his weapon and opening a compartment along the top. Then his eyes flicked to the puddle of orange soda on the floor and back to Pinky.

For the first time, Antennae noticed all the tiny blue stars that littered the ground. He whipped around in surprise, staring since he still didn’t understand, but the sudden movement made him lose his balance. Pinky caught him by the arm before he fell flat on his face.

The weapon slipped out of his grip, clattering to the floor. He cried out and swung his crooked tail into Pinky’s side.

“Zort!” Pinky yelped, more from the literal shock he’d received, than actual pain. His fur stood on end, like he’d just rubbed a balloon against it. When he pressed it down again, several tingling tickles lingered on his hand, making him giggle.

When he looked up, Antennae had limped over to the damaged remains of a shelf. But even walking across the room was too much, and he collapsed again.

The bodysuit had rips along the heels, exposing several painful looking cuts. Pinky couldn’t blame him for trying to stay on his tiptoes, even if it was a very awkward way to walk.

Antennae needed help. Pinky would have to carry him to the lab.

Pinky followed. He knelt and picked up Antennae, who weighed only slightly more than the small batteries Pinky liked to use as weights, since dumbbells were unfortunately too large for him. Antennae loosely held a baggie of the tiny stars close to his chest. There were several ripped baggies surrounding them. This seemed to be the only one that remained whole.

Cradling his head and back, Pinky set the baggie on top of Antennae’s chest, making sure the baggie was sandwiched between them before he set off.

Antennae’s head lolled against Pinky’s neck. The antennae orbs lit up with tiny sparks for just a moment, though Pinky didn’t get another burst of static. They faded back to a normal red within a few seconds.

He seemed…almost relaxed. At least his face wasn’t scrunched anymore.

As Pinky exited the UFO with his bundle, something bonked into the back of his head.

“Ouch!” Pinky nearly dropped Antennae and baggie in surprise. A tiny camera with a spinning propellor zipped into the night sky, recovering from its collision course quickly.

Some sort of alien tech too otherworldly for a regular genetically altered Earth mouse to understand? Pinky longed to ask, but he didn’t want to disturb Antennae.

Besides, he looked adorably pudgy while he slept.

Antennae made a small noise in the back of his throat, but he didn’t seem to be waking up anytime soon.

The camera didn’t matter as much. Not when he just discovered that aliens snored.  

Pinky set off for the lab, determined to get the directions right this time.  

o-o-o-o-o

Good thing the dark, narrow alley filled with dirty cardboard boxes had been there! Pinky never would’ve known it was a shortcut to the lab if it hadn’t been for that stray cat. It was a miracle that Antennae hadn’t woken up once, or that the baggie survived the chase without any rips or spilling tiny stars.

The cat had given up the chase, deciding that whatever was in the dumpster would be more of a yummy meal.

Really, Pinky didn’t imagine he’d taste too good. He tried to lick his elbow a few times and all he got was a mouthful of fur.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to try to climb up to the mail slot. The door was slightly ajar, just enough for him to squeeze past, even with Antennae’s chubby head.  

Pinky shifted his hold to one arm, then grabbed the handle of the nearest drawer to pull them up to the counter. He had to set the baggie down, but Pinky could easily grab it once Antennae was settled comfortably in the cage.

It took a few unsuccessful tries of hauling himself up while holding onto Antennae before he realized it wasn’t going to work.

“Psst, Antennae,” Pinky hummed, gently shaking the alien’s shoulder. It would be a lot easier if Antennae clung to his back. “Wakey-wakey…”

Antennae’s face scrunched again, then he yawned and nuzzled into Pinky’s chest instead.

He looked so peaceful. It would go against Pinky’s little shoulder angel to wake him up now. What had he been thinking?

After a few minutes of searching through bottom drawers, Pinky found a soft kitchen sponge that hadn’t been removed from its packaging yet. It would make a perfect bed. Pinky pulled it out of the package, carefully maneuvering it out of the drawer while trying not to jostle Antennae too much.  

Another drawer had several white, fluffy hand towels. They seemed clean enough, so Pinky slung two towels over his free shoulder and climbed out.

He laid one of the towels on the floor, then pushed the sponge on top. Cold feet weren’t fun in the morning nor in show business. Then he laid Antennae on the sponge and covered him with the second towel.

Antennae’s hand clung to Pinky’s fur, so Pinky loosened the grip and tucked the wayward hand under the towel.

“You’ll be alright,” Pinky whispered, stretching out his sore arms. Maybe he’d carried Antennae for a bit too long. But Pinky’s arms would be ready for more wheel-running tomorrow.

Now that both of his hands were free, Pinky grabbed a bandage roll which had been lying near a Bunsen burner. He’d have to thank Mr. Bunsen for letting him borrow these bandages later.

Pinky carefully removed the socks – maybe they were more shoes? Oh, well. He removed the shoe-socks from Antennae’s feet and laid them on the towel-rug. Since Antennae hadn’t been on his feet since the UFO, the cuts seemed to be healing just fine.

Pinky carefully bandaged the heels and folded the towel-blanket over Antennae’s feet once he was finished. Then he brought the baggie of tiny stars over and placed them next to the shoe-socks.

He climbed up to the counter briefly to wash his hands, humming Happy Birthday as he lathered with the honey-scented soap.

“Thank you, Silver’s Anatomy,” Pinky said to the TV remote, which teetered over the edge of the VCR. He turned to Mr. Button, still lying on his straw bed in the cage. “Sorry, Mr. Button. I’m sleeping elsewhere tonight. Here, you can have Nicholas so you won’t be lonely. Try not to keep him up too late, okay?”

He rolled Nicholas the Nickel into the cage and settled him near Mr. Button. They seemed happy. Mr. Button would no doubt be gossiping about the ballpoint pens again.  

Pinky yawned and went back to the floor. It had been an eventful day, and he was very tired.

The towel-rug seemed very inviting…

Pinky buried his face into the towel fluff. Antennae had been twitching throughout Pinky’s counter business, but he stilled again once Pinky curled up.

Pinky fell asleep, dreaming of cheese and Pharfignewton and a deep, faraway voice. It was a lovely dream, except the voice couldn’t join Pinky and Pharfignewton in their little cheese and apple picnic. It seemed unwilling. Pinky made sure to save a few slices of cheddar and provolone for him. Maybe he’d take it afterward.

o-o-o-o-o

When the sunlight hit his eyes, Pinky leapt with joy. Early wheel runs were the best! So were mid-morning runs, and noon runs, and evening runs!

Except he couldn’t move. He could still wiggle his fingers and toes, but his hands were tied behind his back, purple yarn binding his ankles as well. His entire tail was still free though. He swished his tail just to be sure.

He shimmied over to the drawer and pressed his back against it, managing to sit up. Though he wanted to run on his wheel, being tied up was a fun game too.

Antennae wasn’t on the sponge bed though. Where was he? He was missing out!

Pinky wondered if he should just untie himself and find Antennae. The knots didn’t seem that hard. Though it was hard to tell for sure if it was a slipknot or an overhand knot. He really should’ve paid attention in knot-tying class.

Five minutes later, Antennae stomped over in his ripped shoe-socks, though little strips of bandage poked out.

Pinky smiled. If Antennae was stomping, his feet must be healing fast. And then he’d be okay again.  

However, Antennae didn’t seem to think so.

“Wipe that ridiculous expression from your face, Terran,” Antennae scowled, his foot tapping impatiently. “Hand over all the information you know. I want answers, and I want them now.”  

AN note: I’d like to give credit to @pluto-art for her wonderful drawing of Brain as a cute little alien.  With the way she posed him, I knew I wanted to incorporate that somewhere and this chapter seemed like a good place to do it! I meant to credit her last chapter for the blaster idea but I forgot so I’m rectifying that now.  

Fig’s off to the races! Literally.

After the wringer I stuck him through last chapter, Brain seriously needed some cuddles. He’s a little touch-starved. Also, he’s a bad guest. Don’t tie your friend up, Brain. That’s just rude.

[if-found-return-to-gusu]

No More Running

Okay okay. 

I have to get better at timely updates.

I mean. I don’t have to do anything. It’s my blog. I can do whatever I want.

But still. Gotta get better at timely updates.

So I re-read my old post and… I think I was in an even worse place than I really realized. 

Ugh my thoughts are still so scattered. Where to go, where to go. 

Probably with that following Saturday.

So I told you guys that I wanted to leave and find somewhere else. Basically I was looking to become a hermit. Find some distant mountains and just seclude myself where I wasn’t a bother to anyone.

I was supposed to go to Lan Zhan’s on Saturday. I said I would. He said he wanted me to. But I couldn’t. 

I’d stayed up all night looking for places to go, calculating how much it would cost and how far I could get before I’d have to stop. 

I was determined to at least do this better than last time. Last time I didn’t have any warning. This time it was all my choice.  I was gonna do it right. 

I was still afraid of a shut down. (still am) but like… distantly. Like once I was off on my own what would it matter if kept going or not? First I just had to get out. And then nothing would matter.  Just like me. 

I remember hearing my phone buzzing. Some texts. Some calls. Lan Zhan was probably worried because I didn’t show up. But I just kept looking. Kept researching. Kept calculating. 

I was startled when there was a pounding at my door.

I should have expected it. After the way I’d been acting. With the promises I was breaking. But somehow it still scared me. 

I opened the door and found Lan Zhan panting in front of me. I guess I should have expected it. I mean, I’d said I’d meet him. And I knew how good Lan Zhan was. Is. Lan Zhan is so good. 

I was struck a bit by the thought that this must have been what it was like for Lan Zhan before. When I ran to him. When I showed up at his door panting for breath. 

Well no mine was worse. He’d tried to get a hold of me. He’d tried to call. I was ignoring him. I was ignoring everyone. 

When my brain whirred back to life I decided to ask the intelligent question “What are you doing here?” Like the answer wasn’t obvious. 

“You didn’t come…”

He looked so distraught  when he answered. He was still trying to catch his breath. His expression was… he was so OPEN. 

So open it tore me to pieces. 

I stepped back to let him in but he just stepped closer to me and pulled me into such a tight hug. It was so tight it almost hurt. In the best way. It was a little like Gamby when she held me before.  Like when Jiang Cheng hugged me after he finally found me after I’d disappeared all those years ago. Is that… is that what it’s like to hug family? Real family?

It must be. 

Family.

I should try to hug some of the Wens like that. Do you think they’d understand? Wen Qing would probably stab me, but Wen Ning would let me. And little A-Yuan. I want to hug him up and never let go. I can’t believe I was about to leave him behind. 

I can’t believe I was going to leave all this. Everyone. Lan Zhan. 

My family. 

My family. 

Lan Zhan said something against my neck. Said he’d been worried about me. I tried to laugh it off and tell him that he didn’t need to worry. I’d hoped he’d take it as there was nothing to worry about even though I meant /I/ was nothing to worry about.  He squeezed me a bit harder and shook his head as he let go. 

And then his eyes seemed to look past me. To the table. 

Where my computer was sitting. Unlocked. On a web page. Looking for apartments. In Qishan. 

The look in his eyes. The hurt. Oh Lan Zhan I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I never want to hurt you. I’m so sorry. 

He asked me about it and I just panicked and snapped the laptop shut. So hard I was afraid I’d cracked the screen (I hadn’t thank god.) 

I didn’t say anything. What could I say? 

Sorry Lan Zhan. I’ve decided I was gonna ghost everyone I know and love with no warning or explanation and hadn’t planned on you ever seeing me again. Sorry for the inconvenience. 

Though maybe if I’d had I would have realized how STUPID I’ve been lately. 

But I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t even LOOK at him. Couldn’t bear to see that look on his face again. 

Fuck. 

I hope he never has to make that face ever ever again. 

My Lan Zhan. 

My sweet Lan Zhan. 

I need to do better by him. 

He was silent for a moment. Waiting for me to say something? To answer? To explain myself?

I suppose I could have lied. Said I was helping a friend look. But I can’t lie to him. Not like that. And I doubt he would have believed me anyway. 

Finally he broke that tense silence, shattering the quiet like ice under a boot. I could almost hear the shards of it hit the floor as he asked me not to leave. 

My world shattered with that silence. Struck by the smooth baritone of his voice. 

He asked me to stay. 

He told me I’m the closest friend he has.

And it broke me. 

That couldn’t be true. It wasn’t true. The way he said it. The way he said it was like there was no one else but me. 

I didn’t understand. What about SangSang? MianMian? QIn Su? What about them? People he’d known much longer than me. 

He shook his head. “Not the same.” he said. 

Not the same?   But… if our relationship wasn’t the same as those then what was it? What were we? What are we? 

I’m still not sure. Through all this…. We’re not friends…. We’re something else.  I don’t mean that like we’re not… friends, but we’re not! We’re… I don’t know… more than that? Not quite friends not quite lovers. Something…. Something delicate hanging somewhere in the middle. 

He’s not my friend, but he’s still… he’s still my best friend. And so much more.

My soul mate maybe? 

…..

Yeah… I like that

My soul mate.

That pendulum. Right now it’s hanging still in that space between the two. A stone attached to a delicate string. All I need to do is rock it a little. Let it start to swing and hope that string doesn’t snap.

And whichever way that pendulum swings, to friendship or towards love. Either way he is my soulmate. 

My soulmate. 

I think… I think I’m almost ready to let it swing. 

Not yet. I have some more things going on. I’ve got a trial on Tuesday too. Gotta remember to get a new suit since my old one was ruined. (Not my trial. My neighbor. I helped her out of some trouble before which is why she likes me but she needs me as a witness against her old boyfriend. Some Wen guy. Not gonna go into it until after that’s all settled though. You know, just in case. )

Anyway. I’m getting away from myself again. But you guys are used to that by now, aren’t you? And you’re still here. Just like Lan Zhan you are all still here. 

Thank you. 

*sigh* 

Anyway.

I stared at him a while as these questions all raced through my subconscious. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I couldn’t ask him what we were. I was afraid to know. 

So instead I just asked him why. 

 Why.

Why what? 

Just why.

Why me? Why was I any different? Why would he even bother to give me the time of day? Why was he here? Why didn’t he want me to leave? Why did he look so hurt? Why did he care at all? 

Why.

Why.

Why. 

He seemed confused, but slowly collected his thoughts and gave me an answer. 

He told me about his other relationships, or lack thereof. He told me about the complications with Nie Huaisang. 

SangSang… I won’t go into this. I think you should talk to him though. He’s a quiet person and he internalizes things like me… but I think you two have a misunderstanding that needs to be addressed. 

Because I don’t think he knows how important he is to you. I know I know calling the kettle black. But still. I’m working on fixing myself. I am. But I think you two need to talk too. I hope you do.

And I hope you’re nice to him when you do talk to him. If you do talk to him. 

If you’re mean I’ll kick your ass. 

I led him further inside so he could take a seat. After all the trouble I’d caused him the least I could do was listen now. 

He didn’t even seem to notice as he kept talking and talking. I didn’t know he had this many words in him. How long had he been holding them back? Storing up all these words that this many came flooding out all at once?  How deep is that well? How many words is he storing up even now?

He’s a quiet man. So much more quiet than me. But I let my words go in a constant stream. How many words does he have dammed up inside him? What happens when the floodgates break? 

He talked to me about his relationship with SangSang. And he spoke about the girls. He said how he liked them but they must only see him as a boss. Or a coworker. How they never asked him to go out with them after work. 

Has he ever asked them? I don’t think I thought to ask. 

That’s something we’re going to fix. They like him too. I know they do. Maybe they don’t know he’s interested? I know he can be a bit hard to read? Or maybe they asked him before but he didn’t realize? I think he’d need to be told explicitly. So if it was implied… maybe he just didn’t notice. 

Hmm…

I’m gonna look into this. We all need to go out together. 

I let him talk. I let him let out all those words until the flow stopped.  

I stood in front of him. I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? Lan Zhan is always good at rendering me speechless but not like this. 

I opened my mouth, but swallowed my words down again. 

I tried again, but still couldn’t find the right thing to say. 

Comfort him? How could I offer comfort? What could I say?

His name. It was all I could say. More than once. 

Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan.

I tried again. And made it all about me again. 

Because of course I did. 

I think… I think I was trying to relate to him but it ended up being pure selfishness. 

I told him how I felt. All these things that have swirled inside me my whole life. Not just now. Not just after what happened with Madam Yu. Always. A lifetime of resentful energy building up in my soul. All of it directed at myself. 

I’m a burden to everyone I meet. I’m just trouble. Everyone acts like they need to watch me in case I do something stupid. Hurt myself or get myself hurt. I’m like an errant toddler that needs to be under constant supervision so I don’t brain myself on a table corner because I wasn’t paying attention. Because I wasn’t looking where I was going. 

That’s fair I guess. I am always looking behind me instead of ahead. Guess that’s why I keep running into everything. 

Still, it’s exhausting. Being everyone’s charity project. Being the pity friend. The one you keep around to make yourself feel better because at least you’re not that bad. And look at that! You’re so good helping this poor pitiful creature. Like a bird that flew into a window. You nurse it back to health and watch as it flies right into the wall. 

But you tried right?

I don’t want to be anyone’s pity friend. I don’t want to be the person everyone always feels sorry for. That they need to take care of because he can’t even take care of himself. 

Always pitied. Always less. Substandard. Exhausting. 

The one you only keep around so you don’t feel guilty if something DOES happen. Because at least you tried right?

You can probably tell but these feelings aren’t gone. I’m better, but these feelings aren’t gone. I still feel this way. I’m working on it.  It’s not as intense. And it’s not constant anymore. For now. 

I’m working on it. 

“Wei Ying, you are not a charity project. You are not a pity friend.”

Of course that’s what he’d say. Who could say anything else? I didn’t believe him and I didn’t hide that I didn’t believe him. I scoffed. What good were words like that? Empty reassurances. Just because Lan Zhan tried harder to save the bird that kept flying into walls doesn’t mean he didn’t pity the bird. 

I think I snapped again then. I was angry. So angry. At him. At me. At the world. 

Just angry!

“You keep giving me so much! Time, money. Everything. I owe you too much already! Bad things happen when I owe too much to people.”

Those… I don’t think I ever planned on saying those words out loud. It was like an unspoken rule about the nature of the debt. You don’t talk about what you owe. You just pay it. 

First rule of fight club and all that. 

He tried to tell me that I didn’t owe him anything. Of course I do. Nothing is free. Everything needs to be repaid. With most friendships you have that healthy give and take. They give a little you give a little. So it balances out. In most friendships and relationships you don’t have to worry about the debt because you’ve kept it all balanced.

There was no balance here. Just a scale with all the weight pushed to one side as it teetered over the edge of a table. Once that side gets too heavy it’s bound to tip. It’ll crash to the floor and destroy everything. 

It’s happened before. It’ll happen again. 

I told him about the Jiangs. The scale that had long since shattered on the tiles. About the Wens whose scale was tipped so far over that edge that there was no chance of me ever bringing it back into balance. All I could do was keep trying to do what I can to place enough counterweights that it didn’t join the Jiangs on the ground. 

I told him about his own scale. Tipping. Tipping so quickly with so much weight. He keeps giving and giving and there’s nothing I can add to the counterbalance. There’s nothing I can give back.  I can’t keep up with him. I can just watch as it trembles over that edge. 

I think I might have yelled at some point. I don’t remember. But I know I was quiet when I said that last bit to him. That I couldn’t keep up. 

He looked like he wanted to speak but I stopped him. 

“You’re going to get tired of being the only one giving when I have nothing to give back.”

He told me again I owed him nothing. He seemed…. Desperate? But determined too.  

But I didn’t want to hear it. I couldn’t stand it. 

I know I started yelling then. 

I yelled about all the things he gave me. How much I owed. My job. My life.  And even his brother. Giving me a cellphone. I can’t repay Lan Zhan, how the fuck am I supposed to square with his brother too?

Take take take. All I know is take take take. 

But then he yelled at me. He’s never yelled at me like that. It… I think I’d rather be stabbed by the Jin Asshole’s goons again. 

He yelled at me, saying once again that I owed him nothing. 

And it hurt. I can’t explain why or how it hurt. It was… it was like a splinter in my heart. One I’d been poking at for years. A splinter surrounded by a bruise. I press it to remind myself it’s there but never let myself draw it out. Because pulling hurts more than pushing. I push the splinter in further further further. Into my heart. Into my soul. Pushing pushing pushing.

And Lan Zhan slapped my hand aside so he could take that splinter.

And he pulled. 

Agony. Just…. This shouldn't have hurt that bad. But…

But I think it was a good hurt. Because as long as that splinter is in there I can’t heal. I can manage the pain. But I can’t heal. 

And so he pulled. So I can try to heal.

“You owe me nothing, because you’ve already given me so much more than I can ever repay.”

Pulling pulling pulling. 

I think… I think that’s why I was running. He’s been gently pulling out that splinter this whole time. Piece by piece. So gentle and soft that I almost couldn’t notice. 

But I keep pushing it back in. Further. Harder. Rougher. And so he had no choice but to yank it. And that yanking hurts. It hurts so bad. 

But I need to let him pull. 

He started talking again. He told me how he never fit in in high school. How he never really had friends except for Huaisang. But Huaisang had his own friends. 

And then he changed schools anyway. And he spent so much time alone.

Oh Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan you were so lonely. All this time. And I tried to leave you too. 

Oh Lan Zhan I’m so so sorry. 

He told me how people found him too quiet. Or thought he didn’t smile enough. And that in college it was just so much worse. They talked behind his back. Like just because he didn’t talk that doesn’t mean he couldn’t hear you assholes. 

Fuck I want to go find all of them. I want to beat some sense into them. How could anyone look at Lan Zhan and not see just how amazing he is? How wonderful? Yeah he’s quiet but that’s just with words. His eyes. His actions. His heart. They say so much. You just have to listen properly. To look!

And in the work-force it didn’t get any better. People avoided and excluded him. 

I insert myself everywhere. I’m impossible to avoid. I inserted myself into Lan Zhan’s life just the same. 

Lan Zhan, you’re not cold. You’re not boring. You’re not bland or uninteresting. 

You’re kind and warm and smart and funny and just… Lan Zhan you’re everything. You’re my everything. My soulmate. 

What he said next. It’s seared into my mind. Every single word. 

He told me… He said….

He said. 

“I’m not friends with you because I take pity on you. I’m friends with you because you’re the first person who’s ever seen me and cared to look beyond. I’m friends with you because I’ve never felt closer to anyone else before. I’m friends with you because there’s nothing more precious to me than spending time with you and getting to keep all the memories we built together. You owe me nothing, because this is what you have consistently given me ever since we met. And no amount of money will ever cover that.”

He was talking so long and so fast that he was out of breath. His throat must have been so raw after that. 

And all I could do was stare at him. The whole time. In dumbstruck silence. I… I moved towards him but then doubted myself and pulled back again. I cried I think. For him. For me. Just to cry. 

I wanted to hold him so bad. To be held. But I didn’t know what to do.  But then he started to hold himself and I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed his arms to unwind them from himself so I could slither in instead. I held onto him. I think I might have died if I tried to let go just then. 

I tried to talk again. To say something. Anything.

My panic instincts kicked in again and tried to make me turn it into a joke. Even though nothing about this was okay to laugh at. 

“You don’t have to pay me to be your friend you know” I said. LIke a dick. 

WHO FUCKING JOKES AFTER ALL THAT? Me apparently. 

And joking was so off the mark for that moment that of course he thought I was serious. And tried to tell me that he wasn’t paying me. And… it wasn’t funny but… Lan Zhan is so cute. And so earnest. 

I laughed. I actually laughed. Fuck I hope he didn’t think it was at him. It was… all that tension. I felt like it was finally starting to release. So I laughed. It’s the one thing I always know how to do. Laugh. 

I told him I know. I know he’s not paying me to be his friend. I know. 

“I”m not paying you. I”m just. I…” I don’t know what he was trying to say, but it seemed he really wanted to make sure I knew. And I did. I do. 

I let him finish, but when it didn’t seem like he knew how, I decided to try to help. 

He’d told me so many of his hidden truths. I needed to share some of mine. Not to pay him back. Not out of owing him. Just… I needed to.

I told him that I don’t know how to accept things for nothing. How everything in my life has always come with a price tag and how paying those debts has almost killed me. Price tags with much less written on them than what he’s given me. They almost killed me. 

My shoulder burned then. The scar… I couldn’t quite reach it  where it was on my shoulder. I brushed my fingers against the edge of it and it almost felt hot to the touch. 

Obviously in my mind. It’s just a memory now. A memory and a mark. The muscle still hurts. The joint. But not the skin. The skin doesn’t feel anything really. Nothing but the memory of the pain. 

Maybe it’s the splinter.

He held me then. He held me so tight again. His hand moved to where mine hadn’t been able to reach. I’d forgotten he’d seen that scar, even for a second. I wonder if Wen Qing or SangSang ever told him more about it. I think I was pretty vague about it. I didn’t want him to worry. I didn’t want him to pity me. Especially for something that was already long since done and over with. 

His palm was large and warm. And somehow that warmth eased the burn. It soothed it away back into the strange numbness that it should have been. But even though that bit of skin doesn’t really feel that well anymore..I could still feel his touch. 

You know… I don’t think anyone’s touched that spot other than me or Wen Qing since it happened. Not since she did my final check up to make sure it healed as well as it was gonna. 

To be honest, the long-term damage should have been much much worse. Wen Qing is the best doctor in the world. And I really mean that. 

I slid my arms around his neck, hoping to keep his hand there longer. To keep that comfort. 

“You are not nothing, Wei Ying,” he said. And just like his touch, his voice washed over me with that same soothing warmth.  “I don’t give you money in exchange for your time. I.. I just…”

I knew that. I know that. Though, admittedly before I knew that in the context of who would actually PAY to be around me? But that’s… that’s not the right way to think of it either. 

He was quiet for just a brief moment, and then, bless him, he started to talk again. 

He told me about his mom. A distant, old memory. He’d asked her why we received presents on birthdays and holidays and stuff. 

I can just picture him. Looking like he did in the photos in my album. So cute and curious with his large golden eyes open wide as he stared as his mother with so much adoration. 

I want to go back in time and pinch his chubby little cheeks. 

She told him. She said. We give gifts because we care a lot about the person we’re giving them to. And so he asked her if that meant she cared about him. 

His voice was so soft when he said she’d told him she loved him to the moon and back and that she’d spoil him with gifts until he was as big as his dad and beyond.

I wish I could have seen him when he said that. Was his face as soft as his voice? But that would mean letting go of him and that was just not possible. 

So instead of looking, I laughed again. Not at him. Never at him. I think he knows that. I hope so. 

“So you spoil me because you care about me?” I asked, feeling bold. 

He nodded. “A lot.”

I laughed again. It was all I could do. 

And then we were silent again. But it was a kind silence this time. A soft one. Just me and him and our arms around each other. Each of us anchoring the other to this ever revolving earth. Keeping each other firmly grounded. 

Eventually I had a thought and of course had to share it. 

“So if I want to repay you properly I just gotta spend as much time with you as I can?” 

He rubbed his head against mine and I nuzzled closer. 

“Only if you want to,” he said. Then he took a deep breath and spoke again. 

He told me he wanted me to stay. That he wanted to build more memories with me. But it was more important that I was happy. 

That finally got me to pull away. I had to look at him. I could tell he was going to speak again and I needed to see him when he did. Even though the sun was already starting to dim as it does so early now. Even though the apartment was left shadowed in the semi-darkness. I needed to see him. 

“I don’t want you to. But if you want to leave.”

And I smiled. Not a forced one. A real smile. He made me really smile. I don’t know that anyone other than him could have done that.

Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan.

Oh my Lan Zhan. 

I smiled at him and reminded him that I’d promised not to distance myself anymore. 

I’d already broken that promise… or tried to anyway, but that’s neither here nor there. 

He looked hesitant. 

“You did.” he said. “But are you happy?”

That was hard. But I didn’t want to lie. I didn’t want to hide. He was pulling on the splinter again. And I had to let it hurt.

I smiled again, I think. It wasn’t… a happy smile. But it wasn’t a sad one either. I don’t know. I can’t explain how I felt. He was digging out that splinter but for once I was glad of the pain. 

“No. Not yet. But it’s better when I’m with you.”

I meant it. I mean it. It’s better when I’m with him. 

And now… I’m happy sometimes. Not as often as I’d like but I’m getting there. And it’s always when I’m with him. 

And I’m learning that it’s okay. It’s okay that he makes me happy. And it’s okay that I’m not always happy. I’m allowed to be unhappy about what happened. What’s happening. I’m allowed to have negative emotions. I’m allowed to pull out that splinter. 

I still push it in again sometimes. It hasn’t been that long yet and old habits are hard to break. But I”m trying to remember. Pull. Don’t push. Let Lan Zhan help. Let everyone help. 

He pulled me back into his arms again and kissed my forehead. 

He asked me to stay and I agreed. I would stay. I will stay. 

I will. I won’t run from this anymore. 

We stayed like that again, the silence stretching on between us. Eventually he started to hum. He’d played the song he was humming before I think. On his guqin.

It was a comforting song. So nice. So gentle. Just… I don’t know…. It felt like a part of me. Of us. It’s important, that song.  I don’t know. Maybe that sounds silly. But it’s true. 

I asked him about it. What it was called.  He shrugged (which felt funny with my head on his shoulder. Almost laughed again. Didn’t. ) He told me he didn’t know. 

I hummed my understanding. Not everything needs to be named. And maybe he’d find one eventually. No rush. No rush. 

I nudged him back then. My butt was falling asleep from being on his lap for so long and I wanted to lay down. I was exhausted even though all I’d done was yell at him. 

I flopped down onto the bed and pulled him with me. He let me.  I told him it was more comfortable that way and he let me rearrange our limbs so that we could fit together just so. We were even closer like this which was, as always, much better. 

He kissed my head again. 

Oh I love him. 

I decided that since today was a day of sharing that we should share some other things too. Things that were a bit less…. Dire. 

“I don’t like anchovies.” is what my brilliant genius goblin brain came up with. 

He looked at me, obviously confused by my admittedly random admission. 

“I don’t like anchovies,” I said again. “And  people who stand in the middle of aisles at the grocery store should be punished by law.”

Okay don’t @ me. I know I feel too passionately about that last one but goddamn! Pick a fucking side!!!

Right or left!!!

No? Just gonna park it right in the middle while you stare at the canned peas for 20 minutes so NO ONE can get past you? 

Fuck off. Go to jail. Do not pass go. Just uuuuuuughhhh. I hate it. 

Lan Zhan just nodded and accepted this new information. But he wasn’t playing the game!

So I poked him. 

ANd he squirmed and made this.. This NOISE. Omg. Oh he’s so cute. I forgot, with all that happened, how TICKLISH he is!! Haha. 

I rubbed the spot to apologize. I hadn’t meant to tickle him this time. I don’t think he bought it. 

But he also still wasn’t playing the game! So I asked him to tell me something else about himself. 

He told me that he hates Easter which surprised me! Because he loves sweets so much and Easter is a great holiday for sugary candy. 

He said though that it was because of the poor bunnies. How a lot of them get stuck in shelters because parents buy them as a prop then get rid of them. 

Oh I hadn’t even realized that was a thing! How horrible!! How could you do that to a poor little fluffy bunny??????? 

Terrible as it was, though I couldn’t help but smile. Lan Zhan was too cute. So sweet and kind and gentle. I think he thought I was laughing at him again (Never, Lan Zhan. Never at you.) because he was pouting.  I traced his lower lip with my thumb. I wanted to taste that pout. I wanted to so badly. 

I leaned forward. So close. But… But that would mean swinging that pendulum. And I wasn’t ready for that yet. Not quite yet. So I turned at the last second to kiss his cheek instead. I smiled at him feeling quite warm again. 

I told him how happy I was that he was there.  He’d talked me down from the proverbial edge. 

He pushed the hair away from my face and told me he was happy I was there too. 

I buried my face in his chest and scolded him for being so sweet without warning me or some such nonsense while I waited for my face to cool. This was impeded by him kissing my forehead again. 

Lan Zhaaaaaaaaan.

Fine. Red face stays. I demanded he tell me more. I wanted to know more about him. I’d told him two things after all. It was only fair he told me another. 

And so he did.

He told me that Pixie sticks are the disgrace of candy. 

OH I almost DIED laughing at that one. 

Pixie sticks. Of all things! Pixie Sticks???? They’re just sugar!! Just colored sugar!! Pixie sticks??????????

Oh god. I don’t even know how long I laughed but my sides were aching by the time I calmed down enough to scold him for candy discriminiation. 

He just shrugged, his expression saying quite plainly that he was not at all sorry and it set me off again. 

I calmed down eventually and realized that it was my turn then. So I told him I’ve never ever, not even once, EVER won a game of rock paper scissors. 

So he held up his hands in challenge. 

He won. 

Every time

I accused him of cheating but of course he wasn’t. I’m just cursed. Cursed by the paper rock scissors gods. Cursed to fail forever more and never ever once know what it is to taste that sweet sweet victory. 

Oh well. At least I’m still boss at slap jack. 

I accused him of cheating anyway and he just kissed my cheek in response. So naturally I accused him of sabotage by way of distractions!

We kept trading secrets. He likes musicals. He’s never dyed his hair. He wishes he could have even more bunnies (Lan Zhan that’s not a secret.). He told me he’s bad at throwing stuff. To which I declared fraud. I squeezed his biceps to prove my point… or just as an excuse to feel dem muscles, and called him a liar. 

He said that he could throw things far but had NO accuracy. And then went on to prove it by throwing some paper at my garbage and missing DISMALLY. 

Oh fuck you are too cute, Lan Zhan. 

I had him try again and he was even further off target. I laughed again. Oh. I was happy for that bit. 

I told him how I wanted to kidnap that donkey from the corn maze but just don’t have the space. Shame. 

I told him that emperor’s smile was the best alcohol in the world. But how it tastes even better when I drink it with him. 

I told him many things. 

But not that I love him. Not yet. Maybe I should have. But I didn’t. 

We stayed up and talked and talked and talked until eventually we just fell asleep like that. Our words pittering out into a drowsy silence. 

Lan Zhan was there when I needed him. So I’m still here. I’m still letting people in. I’m letting people take care of me because I’m starting to understand, really truly understand that it’s not pity. It’s love. 

And so I’m okay. I’ll be okay. Thanks to him. Thanks to them. 

There’s still more to catch up on though. But that’s the big story. The rest… I’ll type it up too. Lan Zhan getting drunk and thanksgiving and everything. 

But for the moment I want to just let this sit here. 

Save the rest to be typed up tomorrow. I’ll be nervous about the trial on Tuesday anyway so it’ll be good to keep my mind focused on something else regardless. 

So this is what you get tonight. 

Thank you all for your kindness and support. It meant the world to me. Means the world. 

Thank you thank you thank you.

[aetherschreiber]

The Cycle of Fandom

I am an early Millennial.  As a 1982 baby, I literally came of age in the year 2000.  A lot of hay has been made about how my generation does things differently from our parents.  And by now, plenty of it has been made about why, as well.  I won’t rehash the talking points, but it comes down to how much things changed in our formative years.  Our parents went from vinyl to 8-tracks.  We went from cassette tapes to CDs to MP3 players to streaming over our phones.  That’s a lot to have to adapt to and as a result adapting is just what we do.

But when it comes to fandom, the human condition really hasn’t changed that much.  People like things and when they like things they obsess, collect, analyze, and sadly they eventually eventually gate-keep.

Now, let me preface all of this by saying that I don’t really have any citations for any of this.  But, as someone who was thoroughly raised in fandom, I also have a tendency to get hooked on things a lot of my generation would scoff at for being old.  I love the original Lost in Space and Man from UNCLE, the very first Mobile Suit Gundam is my favorite, I’m fascinated by the puppetry in Thunderbirds, and I’m a complete sucker for just about anything with Cary Grant.  I will binge-watch classic Doctor Who as much as I will the new stuff and love every moment of each for what it is.

For most Millennials, this isn’t the case, for whatever reason.  It’s neither a good thing nor a bad thing.  It just is.  Most folks in my generation have heavy nostalgia for the 80s at the oldest and just don’t really concern themselves with very much from before that.  It’s not that they don’t have an appreciation, but they don’t have the resulting fangirl crush I have on David McCallum that I will commiserate with my mother about (Illya Kuryakin is an adorable badass and I will die on that hill).

I like to think that this has given me a bit of a unique view on fandom, in general.  I participate in some older fandoms, where things move a bit more slowly and where the average age is usually at least one generation removed from me and therefore a bit wiser in a lot of ways.  They’ve just sort of... already covered this ground, so to speak.

The difference is the pace at which they did it.  But the cycle is the same.

It’s never anything that starts maliciously.  No fan I know of has ever set out to point-blank keep someone else from liking the thing.  Rather it starts with a sense of seniority.  “You like this thing, now, too?  Great!  I was there for the beginning and let me tell you, back then...”  It’s always like a fandom big sibling who wants to show their younger counterpart the ropes; get them proper caught-up and versed in the lore so that they can better participate.

I love fandom when it’s at this stage and it’s the type of fan I strive to be at all times.  I don’t like setting conditions for fandom.  I think it’s partly because I am such a late-comer to so many.  The idea of being a fan of something that was made 30 years or more before you were born is a hell of a thing, but I’ve never let that stop me.  And for the most part, these fandoms that are much older than I am have reached the point where they are welcoming and just sort of stuck in the big sibling stage.  Sure, you have the occasional troll, the guy that scoffs that I can’t understand because I wasn’t there at the very beginning.  But they’re usually slapped to the ground pretty quickly by everyone else.

There is the occasional exception, of course.  But one of the things those such fandoms have in common is that there is still new content being made for it.  Doctor Who is a prime example, as is Star Trek, Star Wars, and Lord of the Rings (yes, I do count the upcoming Amazon series and other non-book content as new content, deal with it).  There’s something about new content being made for a fandom that causes an odd anxiety that thing that the fandom loves is going to be somehow ruined.

I’m going to use Doctor Who as an example for a lot of this.  The show turned 56 years old this last November.  56 years!  And the fact that it had a couple of decade-long breaks in there, which were themselves only separated by a single two-hour movie, only serve to highlight the changes it went through.

My second-oldest memory is of Doctor Who.  I remember the regeneration from Tom Baker to Peter Davison.  Now, Whovian historians, before you freak out because that change-over happened in 1981, before I was even born, remember that back then the US got episodes around two and three years later than the BBC, in syndication on public television channels.  So for me, that change happened when I was two.  I remember there being some Big Thing (tm) that my dad was anticipating.  I remember the burgundy and red outfit that Tom Baker was wearing while laying stricken on the ground, surrounded by his companions.  And I remember him suddenly turning into a blond and sitting up, wide-eyed and mystified.  I didn’t understand any of it at the time, of course.  And so I also remember turning to my dad, who was watching with excitement, while the credits were rolling and asking why the man turned into another man.  Oddly, that’s where the memory ends.  I don’t remember the response.  In fact, it’s only having since seen that episode as an adult that I have been able to identify it for what it was.

After that, I don’t have much in the way of Doctor Who related memories until the Paul McGann movie in 1996.  I was 14 and not well-steeped in Whovian lore at the time and I thought it was great.  My dad was more luke-warm to it because it just wasn’t the same as what he grew up with.  It was a sentiment shared by many, unfortunately, which meant that Paul McGann’s wonderful take on the Doctor was relegated purely to audio adventures until the 50th anniversary in 2013.  Sadly, in the early days of the internet, those of us who liked it weren’t quite able to find each other yet.  In the days of Usenet and mailing lists, it was still only the most hardcore fans of a thing who got together to geek out.  Meaning that most of the conversation was “oh, that’s all wrong.”  Lurking in those conversations, I saw pretty much every tremulous young person who dared to say that they liked it get slapped to the ground and told they weren’t a fan of “the real thing.”

Gate-keeping.  It’s nothing new.  And in 1996 Doctor Who fandom ran smack into its pad-locked closed barrier.  Around that same time other old but still active fandoms were starting to manifest the same thing on the internet.  It was when Trekkies suddenly separated into Trekkies (who had seen the original as it aired) and Trekkers (who came long later), for reasons I have never understood.

No, that’s not true.  I understand it.  Us humans tend to get possessive about our stories.  We have a sort of emotional ownership to them, even if not a legal one.  And when you feel an ownership of something, there is an instinct to protect it, keep it pure.  And to do that, it’s natural to try to set oneself up as an authority on the subject.

It took another decade for Doctor Who to come off the shelf again, in 2005.  I was 24 by then, the age that marketers tend to target.  A friend got his hands on a digi-copy of Christopher Eccleston’s first episode, “Rose,” that had been leaked to the internet in its entirety about a week before it actually aired.  We watched it before our D&D group met and I was instantly hooked.  And the friend that was responsible for the new addiction was only too happy to have new fandom friends.

The pendulum had swung.  Gate-keeping was out and welcoming people to the fandom was the MO.  Of course, there were and still are to this day old school Whovians who deny that anything past Sylvester McCoy exists, calling the 1996 movie and the current series a different show entirely.  There will always be those people.  But for the most part, Whovians welcomed new fans with open arms throughout all of Eccleston’s and David Tennant’s runs.

Now, that one cycle, from welcoming to gate-keeping, and back to welcoming, took 42 years.  Most things don’t last anywhere close to that long.  A show might be on for five years or a movie and its sequels be around for ten and after that, for the most part, it’s done.  And in the pre-internet age of fandom, the pendulum swung slowly enough never to hit a repeat in the cycle.

The internet has sped up everything about fandom.  The airing of just about any show in any country might as well be a world-wide premiere these days because it all just travels that quickly.  It has to if it wants to maintain any sort of surprise in its story lines, otherwise internet chatter will spoil it.  These days, things move so fast that even the few hours between an episode of Doctor Who airing in the UK and in the US is enough that one can be subjected to spoilers.  And the swing of the fandom pendulum has sped up accordingly.

For Doctor Who, it started swinging back again when David Tennant left the show and Matt Smith took over.  Tennant’s Doctor had a lot of fans who desperately didn’t want “their Doctor” to leave, many of whom took to the internet, swearing off the show.  They said it would never be as good because David Tennant was just the best Doctor ever.  By then, there were a number of us Millennial Whovians who had dug into the lore and were comfortable with the concept of regeneration as a part of it.  After all, it had already happened nine times.  And there was a bit of a tendency to call those people who swore off Matt Smith’s episodes as being fans not of Doctor Who but of David Tennant.  Meanwhile, of course, old school Whovians were patting us all on the head going “aren’t you cute.  Now you understand why Tom Baker leaving was such a thing.”

And so, the pendulum started to swing back.  You started having people call other people “not really fans of Doctor Who.”  That only got worse when Peter Capaldi took over and there was a significant portion of the fandom upset that the Doctor was now an older guy instead of the 30-something Doctors we had grown accustomed to.

Gate-keeping reared its ugly head for most of Capaldi’s run and, sadly, I think that kept a lot of people from the fandom and from really appreciating the 12th Doctor.  That cycle has started to swing back with Jodie Whittaker’s Doctor, but the gate-keeping is in a stage where it is desperate to hold on to what Doctor Who was when they became fans and therefore is very toxic right now.  It’s not pretty.  But those asshats are starting to be slapped to the ground on social media thanks to a new influx of fans who are now once again more comfortable with the idea of regeneration and its possibilities.

Similar swings are happening with many other fandoms.  The Star Wars fandom is a really ugly place right now, quite frankly.  Star Trek seems to be on the welcoming end.  There are always the exceptions to every generalization, of course.  There will always be “that guy” in fandom.

This swing has always existed.  Millennials are just the first generation for whom it has swung multiple times in the life of the show.  The internet is probably the biggest contributing factor to that.  What that means is that we’re the first generation to really have the chance to see the pattern for what it is.  A few of us have even been able to extrapolate back and understand that, no, this is how it always has been, just slower.

The hopeful part of that is this; by virtue of being the first to recognize the pattern, we are the first ones with the opportunity to learn from that history.  And now we’re starting to see fandoms that actively abhor gate-keeping and just want more people to come in and play.  But those tend to be very young fandoms.

The one that comes to mind for me is Critical Role.  This is a fandom that was wholly born on the internet, as the series is streamed live on Twitch.  It’s really unlike anything that has ever had a fandom this size before.  It’s only been around for four years or so.  But the cast is on its second D&D campaign which means it’s already had the opportunity to have the elitism gate that could be closed.  But something different seems to have happened.  The very moment that people started saying “I’m a real fan because I watched the Vox Machina campaign, not just the Mighty Nein,” they were told to shut the hell up and let people like things.  A foot was stuck into the gate and wrenched it back open before it could close.  And you know what?  The fandom has absolutely exploded in the last two years.  And I have yet to run into a single instance of someone gate-keeping for it that didn’t get an overwhelming and harsh rebuttal from the folks who welcome people to the fandom.

Sadly, the Critical Role fandom is distinct from the Dungeons & Dragons fandom on this point.  But therein lies the difference.  D&D is over 45 years old, ten times and more the age of Critical Role.  And the “satanic panic” over it in the 80s made a lot of D&D players very protective of the hobby, only amplifying that.  The age of your average Critter is only mid-to-late 20s or so.  At 37, I’m a little bit of an outlier, I have found.  The Critter fandom is big on TikTok which I... don’t grock, frankly, because I’m turning into an old fart.  But I’ve never, ever, been made to feel unwelcome because of that difference.  It’s been a refreshing experience, frankly.

In contrast, I really feel like I’m only now starting to be considered a “true Whovian” by the old school Whovians.  It took me 15 years and required me getting hooked on the classic stuff (which I was all too happy to do).  People who have never seen any of the classic stuff and don’t care to are often still looked down upon.  That needs to change.

The Critical Role fandom is still young and all of this may prove to be overly-optimistic in the end.  But I think it has the opportunity to be the first big fandom not to go through the gate-keeping cycle.  I sincerely hope we can hold on to that.  The cast and crew are a big part of that, with how they always hammer on the idea of inclusivity and engage so directly with the fandom.  “Don’t forget to love each other” is Matt Mercer’s sign-off at the end of every episode and serves as a constant reminder.  And if more casts and crews of more fandoms do that sort of engaging in the future, it will help break the cycle of fandom gate-keeping all the more thoroughly.  This is a fact that production companies are starting to awaken to as Millennials, comfortable with social media, age into positions of authority.

So, welcome people in, gate-keep, almost cause the whole thing to collapse, repeat.  That’s the cycle that fandom has engaged in for three generations and more.  But I think we’re on the cusp of breaking that cycle, for the most part.  The idea that you can be a fan of something without knowing absolutely everything about it has been gaining very visible traction in the last five years or so and it is wonderful to see.

Now, please, people.  Don’t prove me wrong.

[peachymess]

On Eren

If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Snk, you keep me up at night. It’s 7am and I can’t sleep. It just hurts too much. All the fears hitting me at once. I need the next chapter, just to further the in-verse present time. Yet at the same time, I can barely read another word or I might perish.

Listen, Eren might have had a very black-and white sort of tunnel vision all his life. He may always have been rash and headstrong and quick to decide what he deems as right and wrong. And he might come down on what he deems “injustice” very hard. But that’s not all there’s been to him. He’s also always cared about strangers in need, his friends, the freedom we’re all born with and deserve to have. He cries for people’s fates, he smiles at others’ joy.

He felt hate, yes, but he also felt love. I’m just gonna go ahead and pick a side. I refuse to accept that we’re meant to land on the far-evil side of his spectrum. If his plan is exactly what he says it is, I actually accept it as IC, because given Eren’s circumstances, we can understand what lead him to become this consumed with hate and misguided action. However, even so, I don’t think that’s where he’ll be by the end of this story. He’s swinging, and he’s gonna land somewhere closer to the middle. I’m not talking redeemed, I’m just talking understood and hopefully reawakened from his hate-consumed state - unless we’re just gonna have a straight up “this had to be done for best ending” twisteroo.

The thing is. If his plan is what he says it is, it’s nuts. But it’s *so* nuts that it’s... almost cartoony. Because not only do we get the plan like he says, it also means that the bleak as hell narrative Mikasa gave this chapter, is meant to be correct. Paraphrasing to a dangerous degree, we can sum it up like this: “Eren is a monster and I’m starting to realize he didn’t become one; he’s always been one”. This, canonized, would erase the weight of any smile, care and love Eren’s shown to give from earlier years. It would mean that beneath care for his friends and laughter at the dinner table, his thoughts and goals were so ugly and selfish that it even at that point outweighed the “shallow” good he projected into the world. Not only does that set the bar extremely low for what people we are meant to consider “evil”, but it also flips the script of the entire story to be one of hatred and fake beauty from start to finish. If we’re told Eren’s meant to be evil masked as good from the get-go, 1. If we accept it, every happy interaction looks empty and pointless as hell and strips the story of its stakes to some degree, or 2. We realize it honestly doesn’t fit because his “good” feelings being genuine is why entire plot points work and the story developed in the way it did.

What I’m trying to say is this: Mikasa’s temporary conclusion that Eren might have been a monster* all along, isn’t correct (and it’s meant to be seen as a wrong read imo). But if his plan is what he says it is, he IS one, thus her conclusion would be correct. Which it isn’t.

Side note: while I believe Eren’s plan and Mikasa’s conclusion need to coincide (plan true = M conclusion true VS plan fake = M conclusion fake), there is an argument to be had that Mikasa could be wrong about Eren always having been a monster while Eren still truly having become one by this point in time. But I don’t believe so. For instance: if Eren wasn’t a monster before but has become one now, Mikasa’s closing conclusion (him being one NOW) is still correct - but the reasoning/buildup used to arrive at that conclusion, is wrong. It would be like solving a mathematical problem incorrectly but arriving at the right answer by luck. She’s asking herself if, looking back, she can actually see the seeds of his true form, where she previously saw him through rose tainted goggles. But if he truly was a good boy before, it would be unfair (and a waste of time) to put on the table, a plot point that’s synthetically explained/constructed, when there is a true calculation/formula to the conclusion since (if) it’s correct. And the other way around, if her conclusion is right, but the plan is fake, the “monstrosity” she’s caused to reflect on, is fake to begin with, so how can she still be right he’s a monster?

So, back on track, I don’t feel like Eren is meant to end on this 100% villain note. His plan of genocide, his on-the-nose villain final titan face, PLUS Mikasa’s “sike, he’s ALWAYS been a monster”... it’s just too much evil. Especially for a story like SNK. It feels to me, like this is the “the night is darkest before the dawn” part of the story, where we go from “he’s a pure boy”** to “my god... no... he’s actually a demon boy, god help us”. Mikasa’s narrative says this, and Armin is having that exact themed melt-down when his desire to see Eren as good, physically stops being compatible with what he sees around him. They’re both so scared of acknowledging Eren’s flawed, that having to accept it, initially feels like a much bigger deal, a much longer fall from grace. So we swing with them, from one outer point to the other. Panic mode... but it won’t end there. It’s too cartoony, too black/white still. Looking back, the good times they shared, they were real. And the pain he’s later caused, is also real. But he’s not setting out to do damage for the sake of damage. He’s not evil to the core. I refuse to believe that’s what we’re meant to be left with at the end; redeemable or not, his goal isn’t pain. A lie is best wrapped in truths, and Isayama is fueling our own fear of Eren’s monstrous side by making us do callbacks to things in the past that could be seen as seeds of evil. And to a degree he’s right. Eren is violent. To be honest, it never say well with me how he killed those men at age nine. I understood the “the end justifies the means” aspect of it, and I think that’s why I was able to let it slide despite the discomfort. Yet it never quite... fell to rest. A nine year old being able to stab other humans to death with no remorse and such violent words... should a nine year old child be able to do that, even if it’s for the greater good? I’m sure I’m not alone. And Isayama intended it this way, to be able to do this callback. It spreads uncertainty. You start to buy into it... Becayse it’s true to some degree: it’s messed up. Your regular kid couldn’t do something like that... But it’s not proof that Eren is evil through and through. It’s just presented in such a way that it makes for a compelling argument. And in the heat of the moment, it provides the “holy shit fuck” the story needs to make the stakes as severe as possible. Taking a step back, I refuse to believe it’s a true revelation, but an intensional gaslighting of his person, presented so we’ll swallow the bait. Eren having always been a monster incubating, is too cartoony to be the final note.

So the question becomes: is the plan true or false? Depending on the answer, we’ll have three different proceedings. In neither scenario, he’s means to be the evil monster he’s seen as right now, though. If the plan is true, he’s become this way through being misguided and lost in perpetual hate and pain caused by all the knowledge and visions. With this backdrop, EMA/SC will have to either take him out despite realizing/finding out the pain that corrupted him - so not hating him but having to end him all the same. Or, they manage to win through to him by countering the hate with love (he could still die though, we might be past the point of no return, ngl).

On the other hand, if Eren’s been playing the long game and about to throw them for a loop, the cast members will all learn this in time and come to accept the bittersweet outcome that after all will be the best ending they can ask for in a world with so much hate. Eren can still die, I’m not delusional (but here’s hoping he won’t).

*when I use the term “monster” - and “evil”/“villain” - I’m pinning that to a personality that intends harm with the end goal of harm. Just because he’s not a monster (if this turns out to be the case), that doesn’t mean he isn’t still in the wrong, antagonistic, irredeemable for actions done in the name of good, etc. This ramble meta is about Eren being a conscious agent of pain versus a bringer of pain yet an agent of “good” (not considering his performance as an agent of such).

**He was already tainted from the attack in Liberio, so while I say “pure boy”, I mean in terms of us/the characters still seeing him as originally good (possibly - but “I refuse to believe it” - bad).

Edit: while I say at the start that if the plan is true, he’s a monster, and later say it could be true and he’s still not a monster for it, what I mean is this: if the plan is true in the sense that he knows how evil and selective it is, and will fight for it till the end, then yes, he turned out to be the monster that Mikasa correctly realized him to be. If, on the other hand, erens goal isn’t the pain but the greater good, he’s a misguided “good boy” who caused more bad than good out of mistake. If this is the case, I also believe he will realize it before the end, to swing that morality pendulum back towards the middle. Hope that clears it up. It’s about intent.

Thus concludes my late night/early morning rambles. I’ve said it before, I’m fine with anyone calling me a naive idiot for still holding out hope, but I’m just not accepting that Eren going full Satan and us accepting that “surprise, he always was Satan” is what Isayama wants to leave us with.

Isayama say sike right now.

[aena-blue]

Tough Love Tuesday

Hello all you beautiful souls!

Me and Mirax have channelled some ‘tough love’ messages for all of the Zodiac signs today. These messages are meant to be fun but also offer some constructive advice so we do hope they help and resonate!

Fire signs:

Leo: This is your time to shine, why the hell are you saying no? There are so many fish in the sea, so if one thing doesn’t work out, there’s still plenty left for you. So go out and get it - NOW!

Sagittarius: Don’t get comfy. Sure you got a lot and you accomplished a lot, but that don’t mean you can just sit on your ass. The WHOLE world is yours for the taking, so GO, claim it! There is nothing that you cannot do or accomplish, don’t rest on your laurels! Don’t forget to give back to the world as well, (recycle and shit, share your wisdom!)

Aries: You know what you want. No you do, you really do, yet you’re content looking at if from afar? Screw that! Ride into battle if you must, that thing you want is yours for the taking, so go forth, conquer, take heed of all your allies and support at this time, friends, guides, crystals and you shall be victorious.

Water signs:

Cancer: Don’t be scared of new beginnings or doing things differently or in a new way, try something new, in fact, what you desire sits outside of your comfort zone, take that leap of faith into the unknown, Spirit will reward you! You are a force to be reckoned with!

Pisces: What the hell are you holding back for? You got this! Imagine what it will feel like celebrating with your friends when you have achieved what it is that you’re so damn afraid of to pursue, hold on to that feeling and know that it can be yours!

Scorpio: You got them coins stacked yet you don’t feel confident, guess what? Money can’t buy you everything. Those feelings of self worth and believing in yourself is not the cash you see in your bank account, it comes from within! No one in this life is perfect, true wealth is not only having money but having the time and people to spend it with.

Air signs: 

Libra: What’s a king without his queen, or a queen without her king? Still awesome of course! But why not be awesome in yourself and happy with the other? STOP BLOCKING YOUR DAMN HAPPINESS CAUSE YOU’RE AFRAID TO COMMIT TO IT, whatever it may be, a person, a business, a friend. Just invest in your damn happiness already Libra! 

Gemini: Girl (guy/person), you’re like a damn pendulum swinging back and forth. I feel good about myself, wait no I don’t, I can be happy, wait no I can’t. MAKE UP YOUR DAMN MIND and choose only the GOOD. Yes you are amazing, yes you can have it all, yes yes YES. No more no’s and maybe’s, just SAY YES. 

Aquarius: I don’t want it, I can’t have it, I don’t need it. Well, it’s on your mind for a reason, so why not decide that you can have it? Learn what you must, grow as you need to in order to achieve it.

Earth signs: 

Virgo: Don’t get stuck in old patterns. You may think the past predicts the future but is sure as hell don’t if you change your mindset. The past TEACHES you what you want and DON’T WANT for the future. In fact, the past becomes a map that shows you what to avoid and do differently to get a different outcome. Don’t be stubborn about it, the past is not your destiny, the past is your growth for a DIFFERENT future, shaped the way that YOU want it.

Taurus: Wait, wait, wait. Let’s think this through. Let’s not! Let’s just f*cking go for what it is that we want! That happily ever after isn’t getting any closer while you wait and think about it. It is yours for the taking, so just go grab it! Don’t get stuck in the past, it does not need to repeat itself, the future is now! Mirax channelled this song for you: https://youtu.be/sfCLt0kTd5E

Capricorn: The past is great and all that, such sweet beautiful memories that linger there. But what about your future? If you don’t plant any damn seeds ain’t no flowers ever gonna grow! Other people’s gardens can serve as inspiration, but make sure that you tend to your own. So get down and dirty and do some gardening. Your future can only blossom into what you want it to be if you plant the right seeds and you have to start planting them now otherwise come harvest season, you’ll still only be thinking about the past!

We hope this helps and resonates.

If you’d like to donate to my blog I gratefully receive energy donations via Paypal, every little helps! 🧡

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If you’d like to purchase a tarot reading from me you can do so on my etsy shop and if you want a reading from Mirax visit her shop here and if you want to follow Mirax on tumblr you can find her blog here.

Much love and light to you 💛💜

~ Lady Blue & Mirax💙🧡

[nightglider124]

Dickkory Week: Day 1

So, this is based just after Teen Titans: The Judas Contract, set in the DCAMU.

Happy dickkory week, y’all. I hope you like it!

___________________________________________

Flying

The clacking sound of the keyboard echoed and bounced off of the four walls of the room, the thin light of the computer monitors illuminating the tired eyes and haggard face of the former leader of the team.

 Dick deeply inhaled, pressing his fingertips to the keys in rapid succession; searching for answers and explanations surrounding their most recent battle.

Terra’s death had shaken them all up for a long while, some still in a deeper state of mourning than others despite her apparent betrayal of the entire team. In the end, she had caused her own demise and downfall, including bringing down a whole building on herself.

Shaking his head, Dick looked ahead at the buzzing screen before him, his brows knitted in bewilderment. 

After all had passed and the rubble and debris had been cleared from the area, he and Damian had returned to the site; a need to confirm something, burning deep inside the both of them. 

Slade’s body hadn’t been found. 

Terra had thrown all she had at him, supposedly crushing him beneath a ton of rocks and earth and yet; when they searched around, there was no sight of the assassin that was out for the blood of at least one of the two batboys. They turned over every rock, brushed away every molecule of dust and there was nothing; no sign and no evidence that he had even been there with the Blood worshippers to begin with. 

It didn’t sit right.

That niggling feeling in the back of his mind was what had him and Damian at the computers until ghastly hours as of late. Only tonight, when Damian had physically not been able to keep his eyes open any longer did Dick send him to his room to sleep. 

Dick was used to the lack of sleep; he’d been at Bruce’s side longer and it was more hardwired into him than that of the 12 year old kid that now served as the new Robin. Damian was stubborn but eventually, he went but not without making his reluctance obvious.

He sighed again and leaned back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

Whilst Dick was used to forgoing his natural instincts, such as sleep, it was still a difficult thing to push aside. He had reread the same piece of research about 3 times now and he knew that his concentration was starting to crumble.

He leaned his head back against the cushion of the chair and eyed the white ceiling above him.

“I will try not to take it personally that you refuse to join me in bed…” 

Dick jerked forward, swiveling the chair around to face the door and the owner of the velvet voice he’d just heard.

A tired smile spread across his face; her quiet presence and undeniable beauty quite the sight for his sore eyes.

Kory smiled back as she leaned against the archway, her fingers resting on the wall beside it. She tapped them, biting her lower lip as she stared at him; looking as fatigued as he did.

“Sorry… I’m just… trying to…” Dick stammered, trying to find the words to explain why he was still in the research room at 3am.

His Princess moved closer, the natural sway of her hips drawing him in like a swinging pendulum during hypnosis. He licked his dry lips and tilted his chin upwards, trying to focus on her face and any words that might fall from her mouth.

She took a deep breath before she perched herself on his lap; a light weight considering the impressive height that she owned. His hands moved on their own accord; one going to hold the small of her back and the other sliding across her thigh until it was wedged between her legs, simply caressing her supple skin.

Dick briefly eyed the silk cami pyjama set she wore, the white frill of her shorts barely brushing against his hand.

“I know… you’re working hard, as usual. You’re trying to find any leads on Slade Wilson… to see if he truly is still alive.” Kory nodded, turned towards him with her palms pressed to his shoulders,

“I just… it doesn’t make sense, babe. I saw Terra crush him with earth and yet… nothing was there…” He murmured, idly playing with the ends of her ruby hair, cascading down her back.

“Agreed… but, you know… you are allowed to sleep.” 

He smiled, “I know… I…”

She studied him; he was exhausted and he was continuing to work to the point he was doing little else beside research and patrols. Kory wanted her boyfriend to relax; even if it was just for a short while.

Leaning forward, she captured his lips with hers, catching him momentarily off guard. He was quick to grasp it however, whenever she kissed him when he wasn’t expecting one. The hand on her back slipped up to cup the back of her head, his fingers getting lost in her hair as he pushed harder, wanting the kiss to last longer.

Kory was the one to break it, resting her forehead against his. Her solid, green eyes were fixed on his hazy blue ones and when she spoke, her sweet breath wafted against his chin,

“Come… I wish to do something with you.” She whispered, rubbing his cheek once before she pulled back completely and hopped off of his lap,

Dick glanced at the monitors and hesitated, “But… Kory, I-”

It only took a single look from Kory which consisted of a raised brow and her lips set in a thin line for the protest to die in his throat. He had been with Kory long enough to know when he was fighting a losing battle.

There were times when her determination rivalled his own and as a former Princess, she usually got her own way when she really wanted it.

Kory held out a hand and smiled when he inevitably took it, allowing her to haul him to his feet. Dick paused to set the PC monitors on standby, ready for when he came back to them in the morning before he hit the light switch as the couple made their way out into the hallway.

“All the kids asleep?” He asked, yawning as they stepped into the elevator at the end of the corridor. 

“Mhm… as they are normal people who go to sleep at regular times…” She cheeked, smiling at the way he absentmindedly stroked the skin of her hand with his thumb.

Kory pressed a button and watched as the doors slid closed before they began ascending higher in the tower. 

Dick blinked in confusion when they soared past the floor he assumed they would be getting out at, “Uh, babe?”

“Mm?”

“We just went passed the floor that your old room is on.”

“I know.”

“Huh?”

She turned her head in his direction, a smirk toying at her lips and a playful sparkle in her eyes, “We are not going to bed just yet.”

“We’re not?” Dick asked, his eyebrows raised in surprise, “Then where are we going?”

Kory merely smiled and strode forwards as the elevator came to a stop, the doors sliding apart to allow exit. 

He stared after her, confused before he jogged to catch up. He recognised the floor; it was the top floor with no rooms besides the stairs that led up onto the roof which his cryptic girlfriend was currently climbing up.

“Kory?”

She didn’t answer him as she crawled through the hatch door, leading to the rooftop. Dick tilted his head but followed her lead, clambering up the stairs after her.

He stumbled slightly as he got outside, a stray breeze whistling and lifting the material of his t-shirt a little. Dick looked around, wondering where she went.

The whip of her red hair was what caught his eye as she stood at the far edge of the tower. He crossed the distance between them, coming to stand at her side.

“Babe, what are we doing up here?” 

“I believe you need a break from your work; something fun before you go to sleep.”

He raised a brow, “What’d you have in mind?”

“Something we have not done for some time...” She paused and lifted off of the ground, offering her hands to him, “We are… going for a ride, Dick.”

He stared at her hands, only taking a breath to understand what she meant before his expression brightened and he laced his fingers with hers, literally placing himself in her care, trusting her to keep them both safe. 

“Tell me if you wish for me to slow down…”

Dick snorted; both of them knowing how much of a speed demon he was with any vehicle or ride or flight. Kory smiled and lifted higher, Dick’s feet coming away from the surface of the roof as well. 

She took a pause, filling her lungs with air before she zipped forwards, out over the bay of the Tower. She flew alongside the town, looking down at Dick every now and then to see him smiling at the lights of the city passing them by in a cosmic blur of color. 

Kory continued over a suspension bridge about a mile out from the Tower, a few cars still driving over it even at this hour of the early morning. 

Deciding to up the excitement a little, Kory soared through the clouds above them that were illuminated by the faint glow of the full moon, sat comfortably in the dark skies, an assortment of stars smeared across the night like chalk on a blackboard. 

Some were brighter than others and some were more special and eye catching than their brothers and sisters but they were all a night time spectacle of beauty nonetheless. 

Dick chuckled as Kory burst through another mess of clouds, the cool and damp sensation of the natural fluff, tickling the skin of his exposed arms. 

She giggled as she sped up, zipping through the sky so fast that she left her signature trail of green fire in her wake. 

Dick smiled up at her, loving how beautiful she was when she just let go and reveled in the absolute freedom she had here on Earth; something that she’d been denied for years after being sold to another alien race.

She dipped below and above the line of clouds several times, almost like she was making a game of it until she popped up through them one last time, soaring higher and higher; the bitterness that grew in the temperature was a giveaway to just how high she was reaching.

Once she was floating directly opposite the moon, she smirked and gently shifted her grip on her boyfriend, holding him around the waist.

He laughed at her childlike behavior, the joyful emotions contagious when spending time with Kory.

“What?” He asked, noting her suspicious silence,

“Tell me, do you still enjoy the adrenaline rush?”

He snorted, “Kory… you know I do.”

“And you trust me wholeheartedly?”

“Without question.”

There was a wicked gleam in her eye, “Good.”

With that, she pulled her arms away from him, letting him slip from her grasp and allowing gravity to do its job for the time being.

The air was knocked from his lungs at first but soon, Dick was falling and laughing uncontrollably. 

He flipped and turned and somersaulted through the air as he rushed back down towards the Earth; his heart racing a mile a minute.

The wind was deafening, like someone was holding their hands over his ears but not quite tightly enough to muffle the sound.

Dick took a deep breath and spread his arms wide as he continued to plummet towards the ground, practically every emotion swirling within him except one.

Fear.

He never felt fear when Kory dropped him. He knew it was her way of trying to share the ability that she owned which he could never experience on his own.

Dick closed his eyes, enjoying the way the night time cold cocooned him like a blanket of ice. It was refreshing and invigorating.

He spied the hard ground of the island that the tower was situated upon and smirked, wondering how late she would leave it.

It was becoming clearer and clearer; he could see the grass and the waves that were lapping at the edge before receding back into the ocean.

He hummed a tune to himself as he got even closer to the island, visuals becoming so much closer and so much clearer. 

Dick turned his head left and right, trying to spot her. There wasn’t a single doubt in his heart or his mind. 

She always caught him. Always.

Dick completed two more flips through the air as he came hurtling towards the ground.

In only a few seconds, he would reach it and the impact would be shattering.

He was so close, he could smell the salt from the sea and caught a whiff of the freshly cut grass.

Just one more second and-

A grin burst onto his face as he found himself scooped up under the arms, just in the nick of time and hoisted straight back into the air, his head rattling around on his shoulders slightly like he was on a rollercoaster ride.

It was slower now as she twirled in circles, almost like she was dancing amidst the stars with him. His cheek was suddenly warm as she pressed her own to his, nuzzling and dropping small kisses against his neck. Her breasts were against his back as she cuddled him close.

Dick smiled and leaned back against her, “You dropped me.”

“You love it.”

“I could have died.” He smirked,

Kory scoffed, “As if I would ever let that happen. Did you spot me this time?”

He tapped her hands that were wrapped around his torso, “I didn’t, actually. You were sneaky this time.”

She giggled, the sound so very melodic to his ears, “I hope you did not doubt me.”

Dick turned his head and brushed his lips against her cheekbone, “Never.”

Making a small humming sound of delight, Kory took a gentler approach now, dipping lower until they hovered just above the ocean, the waves calmly swaying back and forth; the tranquility utterly tangible. 

Dick peered down at the water, their faint reflection appearing in return. The slow ebb and flow of the sea was music to his ears; it was so soothing and so quiet at this time of night. 

Kory looked over Dick’s shoulder, smiling at the clear blanket of water that covered so much of the Earth. She sighed in content and gave Dick a loving squeeze, to which he reached a hand back to stroke her long waterfall of auburn hair.

She flew just above the ocean’s surface, Dick’s toes just barely missing getting drenched in the icy waves. Kory kissed the shell of his ear and sped up, just enough so that the water parted for her, caught in the momentum of her flight. The light spray of salt water was refreshing and cooling in the heat of their flight.

“Ready to go back?” Kory whispered, completing a few laps back and forth, over the ocean,

Dick suppressed a sigh and nodded, “Sure.”

Kory diverted, lifting away from the water and heading straight back to the roof of the tower. As they reached the edge, she carefully set her lover on his feet before landing just beside him.

“Kory that was… amazing. I love it when you bring me on night time flights like that.” Dick breathed, dragging a hand through his disheveled ebony locks, his boyish grin causing her to weaken at the knees as it always did. 

She turned to him, beaming, “I am glad you enjoyed it, Dick. We have not been out on a flight together in so long… I did not know if it would be welcomed tonight.”

His brows shot to his hairline and he grabbed her hands, playing with her slender fingers, “Are you kidding? Why would it not be welcomed? You give me a heart attack with it but… in the best way.”

She smirked, “I did not know there were good ways of experiencing a heart attack.”

Dick pulled a playful face at her, “You know what I mean.” 

She giggled and used her free hand to push some loose tendrils of hair behind her ear. Dick took the opportunity to step closer, releasing her fingers to hold her at the waist instead, “What prompted the flight, then?”

Kory smiled sadly, “You have been so busy with looking for Slade as of late… I wished to help you do something fun and which would take your mind off of the case momentarily. I… feel like I have not seen much of you recently.”

He frowned and brushed his nose against hers, focusing on her emerald orbs, glowing so ethereally in the shadows of the night, “I’m sorry for that… I know I’ve been leaving you at the apartment night after night… I don’t mean to.”

She laughed, “Dick, I have been dating you long enough to know that you never mean to and I never hold it against you either. Your research and chasing up on leads is important to what we do and I admire that about you… I just… would like to see your fun side once in a while when you are on a case as well.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” He whispered before placing a tender kiss on her lips,

“I hope you do.” Kory murmured as she pulled away, “Now, come. I wish to go to bed but… I wish to sleep in our own bed tonight. At home.”

Dick smirked and nodded, “I got it. Let’s get you changed into some other clothes for the ride back to the apartment. It gets cold on the bike.”

“Should I not just fly?”

He laughed and steered her towards the hatch to exit, “Uh-uh, babe… you gave me an adrenaline rush through flight. It’s my turn to give you one through a motorbike ride.”

Kory grinned.

[motherlyra]

Venom-o-us Chapter 2: Incubation Period

Venom is really fun to write.

Ao3 | Ko-fi | Patreon

Venom-o-us Chapters

“We really are beautiful.”

You turned this way and that, looking at your new body through the mirror. The tendrils surrounding you seemed to defy gravity and float around even more aggressively at your words. You could feel in the dark corners of your brain hints of excitement different to your own. It made you smile, and you quickly turned to the door to your apartment.

No door. Window.

That made you pause. “The… Window?”

We don’t need door. Just jump! We will be safe.

You sucked air through your teeth, feeling your concern rising as you turned towards the window. Memories that belonged to your other flashed in your mind, leaping between buildings, traveling like Spiderman, falling but never seeming to get hurt. It was comforting, and you slowly opened your window and stuck your head out. “I don’t know about this. Shouldn’t we learn to walk before trying to run?” Your apartment wasn't incredibly high compared to the others surrounding it, just three stories, but you knew most humans probably wouldn’t survive a jump from it.

Already walked. Time to jump. Trust in us.

Taking a breath to steady yourself against the window sill, you calmed your nerves and thoughts. Trust. You did trust them, even though you just met. You could feel how closely they embraced you, how you knew they would never let anything bad happen to you. But were you really ready to just sign off your life to an extraterrestrial being, no questions asked? You nodded, figuring yes, you really don’t have much else to do anyway, and carefully angled your -now much larger- shoulders through the frame. You grabbed on the brick ledge outside the window, allowing yourself to just go with what felt natural.

You pulled yourself up and out, turning your back to the alleyway and stepping onto the window sill with your feet, before turning and facing the surrounding buildings. The air blew up at you, the sounds of late night traffic coming with it. You looked up to the cloudy sky, seeing the light pollution bounce back to be not as dark as your old home. “... Alright. Let’s do this.” You looked back down to the alleyway, heart beating harder, and you jumped.

The window sill under your feet cracked as you felt yourself launched into the night air, higher and further than anything as big as you had any right to. The breath in your lungs got caught in your throat as you seemed to fly, before you started to fall. You let out a slight yell as the rooftops rushed at you, but your arms on their own command reached out, and a dark web shot out of the back of your wrist and stuck to a nearby building. Your other hand instinctively grabbed it, and like an oversized pendulum, you swung.

Your yells turned into laughs of delight as you wooshed past the buildings, letting your body work on autopilot as it rode the webbing through the city. It was like the most accelerating roller coaster you’ve ever been on.

See? We are doing better than running.

“Yeah we are!” You cheered, laughing as your arms pulled extra hard on one swing, launching you even higher. “This is amazing! Is this what Spiderman feels all the time?” You asked probably louder than you needed to, but the sound of air rushing by made you feel like you had to speak up. Memories flashed in your mind of being with Spiderman, swinging with him, feeling the casual enjoyment of the rush- the tolling of the bells.

The last memory was violent, jutting into the others and startling you out of the memories and causing you to flinch. Your hand missed the next webbing. You shrieked as you fell a couple feet before your arms quickly reached out and created another web to grab, this time you caught it. You rode the web to its peak before jumping onto the corner of a building, digging your nails into the bricks and catching your breath. “Sorry.” You whispered, trying to calm your heart from the panic of falling. “I didn’t mean-”

We slipped.

You hung to the edge of the building a moment, concerned for your other. “Are… Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?” There was a long silent pause, and you wondered if you asked loud enough.

No time for talk. Time for being heroes.

Before you could ask anything more, you felt your grip loosen on the edge of the building. You fell back a moment before your wrist whipped out, and you swung closer to the ground. You realized you weren’t so much on autopilot, rather your other just was taking control of your limbs themselves.

Is that alright?

The question shocked you, realizing that your other could indeed hear your thoughts. You quickly nodded, taking care to watch the actions your limbs were making. “Oh, yeah completely. You are the one used to doing this, I have no idea what all we can do.” More memories started to flash in your mind, but you shook your head to clear them. “No, no… That’s enough memories for tonight. You can take the lead for now, I’ll watch and learn. Maybe later you can show me more-” Excitement bubbled in the back of your brain, and you felt your movements change course.

There! Baddies!

You looked down the alleyway you were just about to pass, and saw two men pinning another against the brick wall. Alright, you’ll deal with this and then talk with your other about… whatever that episode was. You were down to help it through anything, but you needed to know you weren’t about to fall to your death because of some bad ptsd.

Your hand let go of the web and you fell for a moment, jumping off of the edge of the building, and landing loudly a few yards away from the men. They jumped back, one keeping a gun to the stranger’s face, and the other pulled out a gun towards you as you slowly stood up. You clinched your fists and suddenly realized how conscious of your actions you were. You thought your other was going to be showing you the basics before setting you loose. You still didn’t have the hang of… all this.  

“Is that fucking Venom?” One of them hissed under his breath.

You glanced over your shoulder, looking for who he was talking about. “Venom? Oh, us. Right.” You quickly corrected yourself and face them, pulling your shoulders back and trying to look intimidating. It seemed to be easy enough, as the one holding the gun your way was clearly shaking and shuffling his feet back.

The other one didn’t seem as convinced. “That ain’t Venom. Haven’t you seen the newspapers? He’s supposed to be way more buff than that.” He scoffed and waved the gun in your direction. “Piss off, poser. We’re busy.”

“Preying on the innocent....” Your voice spoke without permission, and you stepped forward. A gunshot went off and you reached out to the stranger, thinking you were too slow, only to realize that it was the gun in your direction that went off. You felt confusion for a moment, before the blackness in your chest built and spit out the bullet at the thugs feet. He fucking shot at you! And… and you didn’t feel a thing. You smiled, feeling the burning of your anger ready to act.

“Holy shit- it is fucking Ven-hmn!” The guy facing you started to shout, but your fist swung at him releasing a huge glob of the blackness onto his face. He fell back and grabbed at the ooze as his shouts muffled, and the other man yelled and started firing his gun at you, allowing the guy they had pinned against the wall to escape.

You casually watched the stranger run out of the alley way as the thug fired all of his bullets at you, and you slowly turned your gaze back to the now empty gun. “Innocent saved.” The sound of bits of metal dropping to the concrete let you know Venom spit the bullets back out, and you stepped forward. The man yelled and turned to flee, but you wouldn’t be having that. You reached forward, thick tendrils of blackness extending from your fingertips and coiling around the man before he could make it more than a couple feet. You yanked back and he fell hard on his face before being slowly pulled in your direction.

“Nononono! Come on man! Don’t eat my brains! I’ll never do this shit again I swear!” He cried as he thrashed in your grip. You pulled him up face to face to get a good look at the trash so ready to unload a clip into some innocent- then what he said finally registered in your mind.

“We… don’t eat brains.” You quickly said, but there was a hint of doubt in your voice. “Right?” You added aside, quieter and higher pitched than you meant.

No brains. Not anymore.

“Yeah no, we don’t do that anymore.” You said, shaking your head. The man didn’t seem convinced, but you tossed the guy onto your shoulder. “Now let’s get you and your buddy to-” You looked over to the other thug and noticed he was sitting against the wall completely still with the blob still covering his face. “Wait, oh no.” You dropped the guy on your shoulder to the ground as you ran up to the other one, effortlessly tearing the blackness from his face.

His glossy eyes were still open, and he wasn’t breathing.

“We killed him.” You felt your eyes widen, realizing your mistake. “Venom, we killed him.”

He was not innocent.

“We didn’t know how guilty he was though! We didn’t need to- Oh no this isn’t good.” You brought a hand to your mouth, feeling a bit sick.

We did good. We saved the innocent.

“Okay, okay we are going to need to do a serious talk- hurp!” You covered your mouth as you felt your gag, and you quickly stepped away from the body before promptly emptying your stomach against the wall. You didn’t feel the usual burn in your throat when you did, but you did feel something in the back of your mind you couldn’t identify.

He is trying to escape.

You looked back, seeing the thug still wrapped up in the dark tendrils struggling until he noticed you watching him. You honestly didn’t know what to do, you just assisted in killing a man. Weren’t you supposed to be a hero now? You don’t remember reading any news articles about heroes actually killing anyone, at most they get blamed for failing to save people. This seemed wrong.

The man seemed to sweat more the longer you stared at him lost in your thoughts, anxious about being the next victim. You noticed his expression getting increasingly more worried, and you quickly stood up straight. He flinched as you walked over and picked him up, bringing him eye level once more.

“We are going to drop you off at the police station now. You will tell them you are a bad person and you need to be locked up, and if I see you on the streets again, you are going to wish you were your friend right now.” You snarled at the man, and he nodded as he whimpered, agreeing to everything you were saying. You rolled your eyes, not sure if he could see it or not, and threw him onto your shoulder again. Venom was quiet.

Okay, so you killed a guy. Sure, he was a thug, but if you kill a killer, doesn’t the amount of killers in the world stay the same? Maybe if you killed a lot of killers, the numbers would be better. ...No, wait, you are thinking too much on this. Focus on the bad guy you have right now, and you will figure everything else out later.

You walked to the streets, watching a few cars drive by even though it was so late. Well… You assumed it was late. You realized you haven’t seen the time since you woke up. You’ve never seen New York so quiet before, so one could assume. You started heading deeper in the city, almost enjoying the quiet. There was a few people walking together on the sidewalk in your direction, but once they saw you coming they immediately jaywalked to get to the other side and continued minding their own business. Smart.

After walking a block in silence other than the man grunting every time you adjusted him on your shoulder, you realized you had no idea where the police station would be in this part of New York. You stopped walking and you could feel the man tense up in your grip. “Hmmm…” You hummed, looking down the streets, looking for any hint of a direction. “Hey thug. You know where the cops are?” You felt him shake his head. He could easily be lying, but you didn’t feel like trying to interrogate him for just a location.

While looking for signs for the police station, you noticed some payphones built into one of the sides of a building, and that would be good enough. You walked up to them and threw the man down next to them, who let out a ooph at the impact. You quickly tapped the receiver on the phone to see if there was any extra change still in it, but no such luck.

“You have a quarter?” You nudged the man with your foot, rolling him to his back. You saw him staring up at you with the most bewildered face.

“...What kind of fuckin monster are you?” He asked, and you suppose yeah that was fair.

“The new kind, not from here.” You bent close to him and started digging through his pockets as he started to struggle against the tendrils again, but they seemed to be much stronger than they looked. Your massive hands were too big for his pockets, only managing to reach in with just your finger and thumb. Lets see… a bag of weed, wallet, extra clip, loose bullets. No change. “What, you never heard of a cell phone?” You grumbled, making sure his pockets were empty.

“Haven’t you?” He snapped back, not enjoying the pat down. You huffed and opened the wallet, seeing an id along with two hundred dollar bills and a few twenties. You felt your eyes widen looking at the cash, unbelieving that someone would be holding more than half of your weekly paycheck just on their person. You pulled it out and instinctively brought it close to your chest, meeting a dark tendril to pull it into the darkness of your body.

That is handy, and also gave you an idea. You tossed the empty wallet onto the thug’s face and got close to the payphone, jabbing a finger in the pay slot. You could feel Venom’s tendrils gush through the opening and search out change. When you pulled your finger back, a quarter followed. Very handy. You put the quarter in the payphone and called the number you knew for the police.

It rang twice before someone answered. “New York City Police, 6th Precinct. How may I assist?”

You cleared your throat and hunched into the phone. “Yeah hey. I uh, caught a bad guy. I’m new to town so I’m just going to leave him by these payphones. Cool?” You heard the person on the other side of the phone react.

“Sorry, what was that?” They asked, voice slightly louder.

“There was a guy trying to shoot someone else, so I stopped him. You are welcome.” You looked down at the thug, and he was back to struggling against the bindings. “I’m getting tired though, so like, I don’t want to keep looking around to find the station, so I’ll just be leaving him at these payphones. Don't worry, I’ll knock out the guy for you.” The thug looked up at you at that. “Lets see… I’m at… Wait where am I?” You looked back at the corners of the streets, seeing the signs down the road a bit. You surprised yourself at the fact you were able to make out the details. “Right so that's ah.... Gones- Ganesvroot. Gansevoort? Whatever- street. And W 13. Oh, west 13, yeah. Those streets.” There was a moment of silence before they spoke up again.

“Someone is on their way. Please stay-”

“Nah.” You hung up. “Alright thug, gonna knock you out now. Be good with the police and all that.” You grabbed the man by his collar again and held him up, and he started thrashing again. “Come on, don’t be like that. You were bad and now you are getting your just desserts.” You tried comforting him, but he spat at you instead. You sighed. Hey, at least you tried.

Your fist cracked against his cheekbone, and he stopped struggling. You held him a moment and looked closer, worried for a second that you might have killed him. Holding a hand in front of his nose you barely felt his breath, which was better than nothing. “Nice.” You propped him up against the payphones, struggling to keep him from just ragdolling onto the ground every time you let go. “Not nice. Come on, work with me here.” You continued trying to place him properly for a few minutes until the flash of red and blue appeared behind you, and you saw a police car silently driving in your direction. You expected sirens, so you weren’t looking out for them.

Letting the body fall to its own accord, you quickly leapt up and webbed away from the scene as you heard a shout call out from behind you.

The speed and excitement from swinging between the buildings still made you smile, though this time you weren’t cheering out loud. You had a lot on your mind, and you had trouble organizing your thoughts at the moment. You also had no idea where you were going.

Home.

Venom’s voice offered, and you were thankful that they knew where the two of you were going. You never seen New York at this perspective, and you were still new enough here that you relied on your phone’s gps for nearly everything at this point. Though eventually buildings started to look familiar, and your apartment complex came into view.

You leapt into the air, turning gracefully and jumping onto the brick wall. You dug your nails in and quickly climbed up to your window, noticing the crack on the sill, and slipped in. You took a deep breath as you stood in your apartment, looking around before bringing a hand to run through your hair.

You blinked, noticing that you actually felt your hair now.

Looking at your hands, you saw the blackness pull away from your limbs and slowly form into your pajamas once more, immediately making you feel warm and comfortable once more. You took a step and felt a slight crinkle in your pocket, and when you reached in the money from earlier was in it.

We did good tonight.

“Yeah, okay, about that.” You turned around in your room with a raised finger, as if trying to talk to someone else. You needed a face to talk to, unfortunately there wasn’t exactly any posters hanging in your room anymore. You notice your reflection on the glass of your turned off tv. Good enough. “We need to talk about killing that guy. Not cool.”

He was not an innocent.

“I get that, but really we don’t know for sure how grey he was, you know? He wasn’t evil, that's for damn sure. He was just… mugging that guy? I guess? Holy shit we didn’t even ask what they were doing.” You realized, bringing a hand to your head. Heroes in tv shows made everything seem so much easier than real life.

He was ready to kill. Punishment fit the crime.

“He had a gun, doesn’t necessarily mean he was going to use it.” You pointed a finger at your reflection. “It might have just been there for intimidation for all we know.”

He shot us.

Ah, you forgot about that. You dropped the finger and stared at the reflection. “Okay… Yeah I get that. …Huh. You kinda got a point there.” You vaguely motioned with your hands and walked around the room, deep in thought. “He was super antsy and had that itchy trigger finger. If anyone else tried interrupting that scene they would have probably been shot and possibly killed as well.” You reasoned aloud. “Therefore… punishment fit the crime. Huh. Okay Venom, I’ll give that to you. Point one for you.”

Part of your mind felt like it was screaming, still trying to comprehend you killing someone tonight- and the fact that you were rationalizing it. The other part, and honestly the larger of the two however, agreed with Venom. In the end, it probably was the right thing to do. You might have not been a tv show’s definition of “heroic” tonight, but you saved possible innocent lives of getting mixed up in that situation, and that was something.

You stopped walking around. “What was that about eating brains earlier?” You asked, feeling your eyebrows lower slightly.

Didn’t know better. Needed the Phenethylamine.

The long word had no meaning to you. It did shock you that Venom said it, seeing as they seemed to have been keeping their language pretty simple so far. “But… You did eat brains at some point?”

We ate a few, tried not to. Eddie got angry. Don’t like making Eddie angry.

Eddie? You walked over to your laptop and quickly opened it, searching up news relating to Venom. It’s been a while since you’ve looked at actual news, as it used to make you feel too insignificant too often. The only reason you’ve learned about so many heroes and villains around New York was because of small talk in the reception room.

So when Venom popped up as a cannibalistic villain, it hit you like a brick to the head.

That was old us.

Your eyes raced against the words on the screen, reading about Eddie Brock, once a disgraced newspaper writer, turning into a monstrous villain that plagued the city, leaving corpses in his wake.

We got better.

You read about his arrest from years ago, and the list of charges released to the press.

Please.

You scrolled further, seeing more hideous photos of forms of Venom you weren’t shown in the memories.

That isn’t us.

You closed your laptop breathing hard, trying to fully comprehend exactly what you got yourself into. You were really regretting not paying more attention to the news.

They don’t know about the good we did. The innocents we saved.

Maybe not, but how much good did one have to do to clean up that much blood? You brought your face to your hands, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down. There was fear of the alien that was attached to you now, sure, but there was a much worse fear turning in your gut.

You just tasted power for the first time in your life, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to give it up.

Villain or otherwise.

[storywars-r]

1/20 - Amphitrite

(Jiamin Zhu)

Chapter 1 by R

They call her Amphitrite, but it is not her name. They dress her up in pretty clothes, a crown of false coral, finely wrought shells, the best of their craftsmanship. It is the prettiest wedding dress any in the whole village will wear. It is the prettiest dress any one in the whole area will ever wear, even.

For the bride to be, however, it is the most hideous thing in the world. Fitting, perhaps, because it is not a sign of love, or of life, but the seal of her dress.

They call her Amphitrite, like all of the other brides. It isn't her name, but it helps the village people to distance her. She isn't their sister, their daughter, their friend. She's the ocean's bride, now.

Her wedding day should have been a time for celebration, to sit in chapels and eat sweets and kiss a man she loves. Instead, she will walk in to the sea, a sacrifice dressed in the most beautiful death trap anyone has ever seen.

Chapter 2 by vkr95

Everyone in the world it seemed has decided to sacrifice her except two people. One was herself and the other was her best friend, Tess. She knew that Tess was doing everything she could do to save her. She knew that she would escape. So for now she waited patiently and silently watching all the rituals taking place around her with perfect indifference. This happens to a chosen women every year in different areas. This year she had been chosen.

While this was happening in the town hall at the centre of the village at night, a young girl was seen quietly walking in the streets of the village. She was going towards the forest at the east end of the forest. She moved with purpose. Once inside the forest, she took a jar covered out of her backpack. She kept it open on the ground and placed a soft red glowing rock into it. Within a few seconds, thousands of little insects that glowed like small stars moved towards the stone. When sufficient amount of insects had entered the jar, she closed it and picked it up as a torchlight. She had a magical compass in her another hand. Now then she looked at it and corrected her direction. After nearly an hour of walking, she reached a small heap of rocks. Going close to one of the rocks, she whispered something. The rock moved to reveal an underground passage. In she went and the rock moved back to close the passage. After climbing down a flight of stairs, she had to walk through a zigzag path. In the end she came to a dead end. At the dead end, she drew a circle with a green stone and whispered few words. The wall gave way and inside she found an lady bent over a book. When she stepped in, the lady looked up. Her face looked young but also old. She regarded Tess for a moment and said with the most hypnotising voice "So, You have decided to come."

Chapter 3 by SaintSayaka

"Grandma," Tess said coolly. Like Amphitrite, this is not the woman's name, and Tess bears no genetic linkage to the woman before her - none that is flesh, anyway. Perhaps in the veins of magic...

"It's hard, infusing the rocks around this barren land," the mysterious woman says, pointing to Tess' jar. "The ocean has made them brittle, and weak. The balance of your magic must be impeccable."

She is sizing you up. She is buttering you up. She wants your britches to be so inflated, you'll never get out of here.

"Thank you," Tess says plainly. "It's for you."

The woman leaves the book, swinging her hips gently as she moves in Tess' direction. She acts as if she's a human pendulum, threatening Tess with some sort of physical spell...

She takes the jar in a swift move, breaking the slow momentum she had been so carefully crafting, opens it, and chugs its contents, bugs, rock, and all. Tess makes sure not to blink. The woman turns to look at her. She looks older now. Far too old.

"I know what you want, girlie," the woman says far too quickly. Tess' mind can barely catch the words.

"Then it can make it all the quicker for us to make a deal. And I suppose you already know what I'm willing to give up."

She blinks. "All of this for a girl who won't even give you a second look."

"This isn't for me. It's for her."

"There are so many others like her out there."

"None of them are her."

Grandma waves her hand, dismissing the girl. "Bah. You're all the same, you know. No charge for you, in this case."

Tess blinked. This had to be another trick.

The woman shuffled back to her book, slower, slower...she was a younger woman again. If she was working on a solution, she was definitely taking her time.

"You heard me correctly, child," the woman said in response to Tess' silence. "It wouldn't be right for me to take a sacrifice from someone so clearly in over their head. But this is the only time. Have I made that clear?"

Chapter 4 by mallorn_hugger

The dress hangs, threatening and spectral in the corner, and Omorfiá stares at it. She cannot look away. She hopes that if she stares with enough malice, it will fly apart at the seams, the stays bursting, shells cracking, pearls skittering across the floor. She closes her eyes for a moment to try to imagine the sound of it- a sentence reprieved.

She knows, though, the magic that has gone into this dress has allowed it to withstand far more than her hatred and her fear, powerful though they seem to her. She knows once she is in it, and the final rituals are completed, it will be sealed; no tool of man will free her from it. She knows, too, that this year, like every year before, it will return on the waves, empty and perfect. No shell out of place, no spot of blood or tear, no indication at all, in fact, that it held real human flesh- her, Omorfiá. It will make her Amphritite, whether she wills it or no.

Whatever magic Tess is concocting, whatever dark help she's solicited, Omorfiá doubts it will be powerful enough to overcome the magic of the gown, although she knows this is Tess's secret hope. But perhaps it will be for something else. To make Omorfiá disappear, or stop time, or breathe underwater. She doesn't know, but she has faith in her friend.

Tess.

The girl she hardly noticed for most of their lives. Omorfiá had been the pretty one, but not clever, as she could now admit to herself. In many ways, being chosen as Amphitrite made the seventeen years of Omorfiá's life make sense.

Earlier that evening, she had caught her mother's eye as they sat in front of the mirror in the bridal cottage, being dressed for the rehearsal of the Giving Away Ceremony. The sudden sharpness of the revelation that struck her, as she studied her mother's resigned expression, caused her gasp out loud.

"You knew, Mama!"

Her mother lowered her eyes, and would not meet her gaze. "No, I, only feared. You know the choice is secret and is for the priests and priestesses alone," her mother swallowed and forced herself to meet Omorfiá's gaze, "But it is a great honor to have one's daughter chosen," she finished with a sad smile, and reached over to take Omorfiá's hand.

Omorfia sat like a stone, while the revelation unfolded itself in her mind. The way the villagers had looked at her, especially since her 12th birthday. The slight distance she had always felt in her family- so difficult to define. That they loved her, she had no doubt, but there was a warmth and intimacy that Omorfiá had always felt just outside of. She realized how her vanity had been encouraged, and all practical learning and skills been given just minimum attention. It now made sense, how in her family especially, it seemed, Amphritite was held sacred and glorious. How all questions Omorfiá had had in her little child's heart about the girl who yearly became The Bride had been discouraged, so that only this one truth was taught. It's a glory. It's an honor. It is right.

But Tess had known, too. It was Tess, who all this past year, had quietly come alongside Omorfiá and gained her affection. It was Tess, who tried to warn her in many subtle ways, but Omorfiá was too stupid and vain to listen. And it was Tess- brilliant, awkward, Tess-with all her layers and strange interests and entirely different way of seeing the world- who had been quietly laying the groundwork behind the scenes for Omorfiá's rescue.

Now Omorfia sits facing the dress that symbolizes all her friend has chosen to war against. Omorfiá can't follow all the twists and turns of Tess's thinking, but she knows that, although there is true friendship now between them, Tess is not just fighting for her, but is also fighting for all the girls like her. Girls like Tess's own beautiful, older sister-- the Amphritite of their 11th year.

At last, she moves away, and lies down on the bed provided in the heavily guarded bridal cottage. The guards outside the door are ostensibly there to keep curious villagers away. It's an unspoken rule, but a rule nonetheless: it is forbidden to even contemplate that the girl inside would try to escape such an honor.

She knows she will likely get no sleep, and turns her thoughts to Tess. Where is she now? Did she go, after all, and see the Grandmother? Did she sacrifice too much, a thing Omorfiá had begged her not do? Would she come in time, or should Omorfiá, even now, be doing what these days of preparation were meant to do? Erase Omorfiá; become Amphritite. Prepare to enter the waves peaceful and regal, a creature reborn and readied for sacrifice. "Oh, Tess," Omorfiá breathes her friend's name out loud, "Where are you?"

Chapter 5 by 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓛𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓖𝓸𝓭𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓼

Omorfia tries to remember everything she has been told about this tradition. She had grown up listening to the village stories of how the Sea demanded a new wife, a new Amphritite, every year. It was said that the Sea demanded a new Amphritite because the people who lived in this small village many years ago had taken away the original Amphritite away from him. So now the prettiest young woman in the village is given to the Sea. What happened to the sacrificed maiden from the year before, no one knew.

Omorfia remembers how Tess had wept when her older and only sister had been chosen. A week later, Tess had become stony and silent. She was angry. Omorfia watched in the mirror as tears fell down her face. She couldn't even begin to imagine how Tess felt.

Omorfia realized something as the first of her many tears hit the sand. Tess had lost another piece of her heart when Omorfia walked into the sea.

[curlicuecal]

Let’s Be Outcasts (Kankri/AR, Latula/Mituna) ch 12/?

Part 2 of cyber!bunny Apocalypse ‘verse (tumblr)

ch: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

read on AO3

Summary: Divergent AU where AR and Li'l Seb get kicked into a new universe with some snazzy new cyborg bodies. They’re still working out the bugs.

In which AR discovers that kidnapping rarely solves more problems than it creates, Mituna breaks out of a lab (with some help), and Seb continues to take good care of his Bro.

Chapter Excerpt:  

Latula hesitates. It’s just the tiniest hitch in the conversation, but considering how effortlessly she seems to follow even your most scrambled utterances, the pause is noticeable.  “It’s an outworld artifact,” she says, breezy and open.

“Wow, no grab-hulmping ass nugs,” you return before your mind can really analyze if sarcasm is the wisest choice for this situation.  

—–

Ch 12.

Latula, you reflect, has the best secrets.  Or possibly acquires the most excellent ones from other people.  Behind the steel door at the back of the ransacked bunker had been a short, damaged shaft, like something for an out-of-service hivestem lift.  Venturing down the rungs in the shaft wall (a feat, in your case, composed of equal parts climbing and falling), you and Latula had emerged into a second, more confined bunker.  The sprawlingly empty labs in the level above had looked aged and deteriorated, fragile.  A hollowed-out husk prone to falling to pieces at any moment—in retrospect you’re probably lucky your lightshow didn’t damage anything structural.  This room has an equal sense of age, but it is shelled from floor to ceiling in metal plates and girders as if were meant to survive a war.

It’s a bit like being in a tin can, if it turned out that tins cans turned down the exterior noise from your metal mind almost as effectively as that underground dropshaft you hid in for a day, and were therefore very quiet.  The perpetual static of Latula’s sigil chip buzzes and echoes in your metal mind, but you get only brief bursts of the distant voices of the imperial drones circling the city.

The tin can is also full of dazzlingly unfamiliar technology.

You want to look at everything.

You shuffle around the tiny room, pressing your face against screens and poking your fingers into circuit arrays like you could absorb the fascinating new patterns unfolding in your brain through your fingertips.  You’ve managed to move a good chunk of this busy-ness from the inside of your head to the outside, your programmed subtasks paying off in scratchy lines of blue and red text that now scroll across your helmet visor, superimposed appealingly over all the other nonsense your metal mind seems determined to dump into your brain at all times.

You clamber over a counter and pause to contemplate a screen that has flickered on at a nearby hub, watching the numbers count down.  That is new.  With one fraction of your attention, you start mapping out the attached equipment, backwards extrapolating toward what kind of function they might serve.  Your lips twitch up a bit as the countdown flicks past 44:44.

The whole lab could be overwhelming, but instead it’s engrossing.  For once you have no shortage of tasks to divide your attention across, occupations to channel the restless tangle of your mind.  The muffled data inflow from your metal mind fades into the background.

It is, it occurs to you, hard to be all one thing, to marshal all the disparate parts of your mind and your body and match up the edges and push them into lockstep with the world.  With your attention scattered you don’t have to try so hard to keep your balance.  Your blue mind purrs acquisitive conquest while your red mind whispers wary caution that it will all be taken away, that you will be filed into place with the rest of this puzzlingly obsolete equipment.  But you’re steady.

Latula makes a grumbling noise from the back of the room, where she has been poking at the largest device, decoupling connections.  “Hey, ’tunz.”

You turn this inscrutable string of syllables around in your head several times.  Oh.  Is that you?

“You happen to know how to hack an object duality function onto sylladex cards?”

You spend another moment of low-key bewilderment trying to decide if this is something you know how to do.  Object duality: carapacian storage system. Programming structure and relationship to sylladex development: …no data?  Did you never know or did you forget?  “No-oh?” you try, anxiously.  And then, with a bit more confidence as you rifle through files and your brain continues to be completely blank on the subject of non-imperial technology: “Oh-no.”  Still, the idea is interesting.  You engage a few of the sorting programs you’ve coded with your helmet, scanning through the ridiculous backlog of data from your metal mind.  You don’t know if any of this clusterfuck could possibly be relevant to working out a technical puzzle, but you don’t know that it couldn’t.  It gives another portion of your attention something to do.

“Right.  You happen to have a sylladex slot that’s oh, say, this big?”  Latula’s hands dryly sketch out the wall-spanning machine in front of her.

“Dong ilven halve a sillydickth.”

“Huh; we gotta hook you up with something.  You know, assuming we ever get out of here, a thing which would be way the heck easier if I had any way of ganking the massive freaking technorelict I came specifically to hunt down.  Damn it, Porz was supposed to be here.”  She frowns at the machine in question, one hand on her hip.  “Maybe we could just… leave it here?  Come back with company and snag it before the ‘net gets back online and that lab full of dead scienterrorists get noticed.  Assuming…”  Her frown tips down farther.  Her eyes glance toward the dropshaft, then back to her machine.

You turn to squint at the device yourself.  Aside from being big, it doesn’t seem particularly more interesting than any of the other artifacts in the room.  Some blackened screens, something you think might be sensors, a row of large glass cylinders that look a little like the carapacian growth chambers from the level above.

Maybe it’s presumptuous of you, but you’re pretty sure she should just take something smaller.   “Walk innit?” you ask.  No.  Although some of those tubes are certainly big enough. “Waltz is’t.”

Latula hesitates. It’s just the tiniest hitch in the conversation, but considering how effortlessly she seems to follow even your most scrambled utterances, the pause is noticeable.  “It’s an outworld artifact,” she says, breezy and open.

“Wow, no grab-hulmping ass nugs,” you return before your mind can really analyze if sarcasm is the wisest choice for this situation.  Who the fuck are you kidding, your mind has approximately nil control over the shit that plops out of your mouth.  You’re just happy when the contents remotely resemble what went into the digestion.

Latula snickers.  “Yeah, okay, it and everything else in this room.  But this is a big one.  There’s only ever been three found like it before and they all stopped working sweeps and sweeps ago.  ‘Least as far as anyone knows.  Outworld technology is property of the government that finds it after all.  The highblood council or whoevs says it up and broke—who’s there to say diff?”

“You?”  No, wait, you think that was a rhetorical question.  Conversation is hard.  And now Latula is giving you an extremely sharp look, oh, oh.  Torn between the desire to apologize and the desire to make her look at you more, you instead wander closer and examine her pet artifact more closely.  Like you, it seems to be at the interface of technology and biology.  Something artificial, but designed to work with living systems.  Not the type of assemblage that could be used to modify a hatchling into a cyberorganic construct, no, you can’t make that fit the structure of the thing, but.

Not the right pattern of parts for the carapacian’s genetic modification projects either.  You thought before it reminded you of the sort of equipment they might use to grow their generations of workers and soldiers, all the various castes of their population.  Something for biological creation, yes, maybe…

“I’d really rather you didn’t overthink this,” Latula says, into your thoughts.  “Or, like.  Try not to pull out any more of your mad insights?  ‘Cause I’m working on being responsible over here and I hella can’t promise that info’d work out safe for you.”

You spend a few complicated moments trying to determine how not to think about something and a few more wondering why this would possibly matter.  In your experience, your thoughts and intentions have very little correlation to any of the things that happen to you.  You wind up just staring at Latula.

“Unless you’d rather I told you?”  Latula asks, not at all like she thinks your decisions don’t matter.  “Because, I mean.  I figure you’ve got as much right to know what’s going down as anyone.  More than.  It’s just...  right now if things go completely ingestible-tree-ovoid shaped you could maybe slide outta it on not knowing and being, like.  Technically stolen lab equipment?  But if I tell, you’re kinda stuck with me ‘til game over.”  She gives you a little fatalistic grin and shoulder shrug.  “Win or lose.  However the hell it all goes down.”

That sounds… really nice actually.  In a flippantly ominous kind of way.  You’ve sort of been figuring your whole life will implode any hour now—a seesaw swing of the pendulum for all the unexpected fortune you’ve been granted in defiance of probability.  You’d spend every second of that time with Latula if the choice was in your fronds to make.

Latula looks at you like she thinks maybe it is.

“But, hey.  Maybe we’ll go down in the fun way ‘stead of the dying horribly way.”  She wiggles her eyebrows and grins and then tucks her hair behind her ear and looks half away from you.  “You want in on this?” It echoes between the twice-two halves of your mind, flesh and metal, red and blue.

(“You wanna get outta here?”)

You dig your teeth in your lip and remember to breathe.  You’ve caught her hand in your own without noticing and that’s starting to be a habit.  She lets you keep it.  So, is she dumb for not realizing by now just how far you would follow her, or are you dumb for never guessing that first invitation might have been for keeps?

There’s a completely nonsensical smile twitching across your face.  For what’s visible beneath the helmet you must look completely deranged, but Latula’s got a smile growing to match.

Your answer tangles with a thrum in your throat and comes out sounding more like a dirty suggestion than a word.

“…Yeah?” Latula says, eyes bright as lit fuses, and reels you in.

Or maybe you’re both really, really fucking smart.

You do eventually  have to pull up for air, only for Latula to spend a giggly few moments testing the bony angle of your jaw with her teeth, following it back to where flesh meets the metal of your left interface.  You even took off your helmet for her, despite how dizzingly like freefall the sensation of losing the control it provides is.  It’s worth it when she tugs you by the hair, tweaks your horn.  When she snickers at the huffy noise you make when you give up on shaking your overgrown bangs from your ganderbulbs.  Latula feels like the very best kind of freefall.

You nuzzle at her face, hair, hands, anywhere you can reach, and her fingers trace fractal patterns back along your jaw and cheekbone, down from the raised headphone-like interfaces you have where ears might be and down along the vulnerable skin of your neck.

“Wow, babez, you are all over circuits.”  One finger plucks testingly at the high collar of your flightsuit and you make a happy, contented noise for her.  “How far down do these go, anyways?”

Hm.  “I four-get?”

“Oh!”  Latula pops back up from your neck to grin into your face, eyes lit up like you just handed her a present.  “…wanna find out?”

The words lick through you like an electric current.  Straight to your nook.  But in a fun way.

You blink again—one, two, three, four—and then tangle a hand in her hair, because yes, okay, good, perfect.  Words not functioning, but no part of you has any confusion on the answer to that question.  Latula folds into you, laughing—and then abruptly keeps folding, her laughter blowing out in a hiss as she turns her forward momentum into a shoulder roll across the equipment-cluttered counter behind you.  Your own breath abandons you with an oomph as your ass cushions hit the floor.  Falling is like your special talent.

Metal and wires clatter to the floor.  Something shatters.  A pale shape skitters by, flitting through the air, dodging debris, and Latula sweeps up her staff—wow, when did she put that down, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen her let her weapon out of arm’s reach before—and scrambles in pursuit.  The point of her staff stabs out once, twice—and then she’s pinned it, just before it could dart into a crevice behind a wall unit.

“Aw, fuck it all,” Latula mutters, frowning at the fist-sized genemod still twitching and oozing blue goo onto the point of her staff.  “I just can’t catch a break tonight.”

Your adrenaline-sped pusher suggests otherwise.  You are (red) panicky and (blue) panicky, but you also just did the psiistorm thing twenty minutes ago and one floor up, so you are mostly just balancing on the panicky in a fun, internal way.  It’s almost comforting in how familiar it is.  And nobody’s dying; that’s nice.  Winning all around.

You scramble for your helmet and take only two tries to get it on.

Better.

Making your way around the counter, you peer past the flashing text on your helmet view screen to squint over Latula’s shoulder at the fluttery, leggity hoofbeast-faced thing.  It has about a half a dozen more eyes than you feel are really called for and looks like something some carapacian geneticuller spliced half the contents of his DNA library into on a whim.   You can’t see anything in particular to make it worth looking at—other than the ungodly suspiciousness of a feral genemod turning up two levels down in a sealed underground bunker lab in time to interrupt your make outs.

It’s a scientifically engineered nookblock, is what it is.

Latula’s eyes dart around the confines of the lab again, narrow and seeking.  You don’t need higher level processing programs to recognize a pattern.  You just wish someone would explain why it matters.

“Think we just got put on a timer,” she mutters.   Your head twitches uncertainly toward the console across the lab, the one with the countdown running on the screen, but Latula’s turning back toward the wall-spanning outworld device in front of you.  She faces it down with more determination than conviction.  “Right.  Get the goods and get gone.  Hm."

You blow out a frustrated breath through your nose.  “’tu-la, what.”

Her eyes shoot to you almost guiltily.  “Um.  So.  Speaking of deetz I haven’t been sharing with the schoolfeed cohort.”  She fiddles the little mutant corpse free of her staff, holding it up by one of the many insectoid legs before flipping it out of sight, into her sylladex.  “It’s possible somebody’s using these to track us.  I wasn’t sure for a while, but the co-inky-dinks are kinda piling up now, and…” her patter trails off, face going inwards-turned.  Her free hand toys with the red scarf concealing her hanging scar. “…I sorta feel like this is all familiar in the bad way.”

Shitty titfucking nose-bulge, you have no idea what any of that means.

Latula’s eyebrows go up and, yep, you are surprise audio-tracking a static-y version of your internal dialogue.  You bite your tongue on the middle of the string of curses exiting your maw, gulping off the runaway flow through straight bodily force.  At least you’ve also cut short the post-make out ‘murder and contemplation of dead things’ portion of the evening.  Small victories.

“Sorry,” Latula says, which has the novelty of coopting your next avenue of verbal stress dump.  “I’m not trying to be cryptic; it’s just like a disease.  I think my life is half lies these days.” She twists her hand in the scarf.  “Or half-truths.  Maybe whap me upside the head or something when it happens.”

Alarming.  No.

Although, with your coordination and her cooperation maybe you could just skip to whapping random body parts together.  Eheheh.

“So, right.  Cards on the recreation platform.  Think you’ve sneaked a peek at like half the deck already.  This obnoxiously complicated dealio here,” she gestures at her giant out-world artifact, “is for making wigglers the un-fun way.  And like I said, this is the super rare, holographic edition kinda item; a lot of people would like to get their claws on it.  So, okay, there’s me and Porz and some other peepz—I dunno if Kurloz counts he’s kind of nuts—and the deal is—“  —but you don’t get to find out if she’s winding up to tell you about her kinky breeding program plans or what.  You don’t actually hear the soft shuff of a misplaced footfall, you just see Latula’s eyes flick toward the dropshaft and your auditory sponges catch up later.  “—the deal is,” Latula continues, voice even as ever, eyes suddenly bright and fixed on you, “I’m going to need to put a save point in this explanation for later.  All these things popping up that need taking care of, you know how it goes.”

As she speaks, she steps back slightly and to the side, like she’s going back to the device, tucks her staff with apparent casual disinterest under her arm.  Caught in her eyes, you turn with her.  It’s only belatedly that your instincts catch up to the way this places your back to the empty dropshaft and whatever made that noise.  Your pumpbiscuit trips and speeds in your chest, red fear and blue fury and you don’t fall to either because you’re watching her sort sylladex cards and thinking about the way your back to the shaft means her hands out of view.

She comes up with a set of finger-sized knives like mawbeast fangs, and something small and metallic, held so the chain won’t clink.  They disappear up her sleeves.  “Sorry to keep expo-bailing on you,” she says, and her voice makes a joke of it.  “…Trust me?”

“Yes.”  Your reply, for once, comes out crystal clear, as sure as your certainty, a perfect line between thought and action.

Latula’s own next line stops halfway out of her mouth, like you’ve startled her.  You watch her pupils flare wide and dark, the teal in her irises brightening in contrast.  Her tongue touches her lip, her breath caught there.  You get a glimpse of her dichotomies again—all vulnerable/dangerous and careful/reckless and hungry/satisfied—and she’s not more honest like this, just different honest, like seeing the flipside of a coin in the air.  

“...oh,” she says, in this naked, bruise-roughened voice that flips your pusher and sends a clench of pity dizzily through your veins.

Just a glimpse, and then the coin revolves and her game face is back in place, determined and calculating and exhilarated.  She leans in toward you, close enough to kiss, close enough to be indistinguishable to an observer.  Close enough you can feel her grin a breath away from your lips.  “Hold that thought, babe.”

A moment later she's sliding past you and into ambush so fast you almost can’t see it.  There’s a flurry of noise from the bunker’s exit, a rustle of cloth and the scrambling metallic sounds of someone ascending a ladder at speed.  Latula disappears up the shaft after her unseen quarry and you’re left blinking after her, hands clutching the item she pressed into them.

You flick your eyes down.

It’s… her sylladex.  On the top three cards are all the components to the device she’s secured so far—everything she could break down small enough to captchalogue.  You stare at the device for two beats more, at all her belongings placed in your hands, and then you reboot a half dozen internal processes and start towards the dropshaft exit.  You struggle the sylladex into assemblage with your helmet’s fetch modus slot as you go.

A flicker of psionic sparks licks the back of your brain, high on adrenaline, half nervy, half pumped.  You check your emotional balance, tweak your programs—and start up the ladder after her.  Above you, the sounds of a fight grow quieter, and you think the confrontation might be done before you get there.  Oh, good.

You’re pretty sure you can keep her stuff safe, but you can’t make any guarantees about this building.

---

next>>

[alongwalktoforever]

Goodbye, Until Tomorrow

Missing moments from the time that Jackson served April with divorce papers to the divorce. 

Chapter 1: The Decision

Jackson

The phone buzzed loudly on Jackson’s bedside table. It was late, but he had an early surgery in the morning and feared complications. Half awake; he answers the phone quickly assuming it was the hospital.

 “Yeah?” He waits for a response, but only hears muffled breathing on the other end, “Hello?” he asks again, then catches a look at the Caller ID: April Kepner.

He sits up- “April...What is it? Are you okay?”

 They hadn’t talked in over a week. In fact, he hadn’t even seen her at all in a few days. He suspected that she was avoiding him. She was furious at him for ambushing her with the divorce papers. Jackson winced as he remembered the fight in the hospital hallway. You just serve me papers, just like that. Do you have any idea what a slap in the face this is?

 He hadn’t meant for it to go down like that, serving her the papers without even telling her. It all spiraled so quickly. It had started after a particularly infuriating therapy session. After talking in circles once again, he couldn’t stand to look at her. He decided to go for a beer with Ben, but one beer turned into eight. Soon, he was leaving a voicemail with his lawyer to deliver the papers. Slurring into the phone, he was done, for real this time. He had all but forgotten about the call until the next day when his lawyer rung him, informing him the papers were drawn up and would be delivered to April by next week. He tried to get up the courage to tell her for days, but he kept putting it off. He told himself that he was waiting for the right moment. Well, the moment came and went with an awful fight outside Meredith’s hospital room.

 There was no excuse, he was an ass. Jackson just couldn’t keep up the charade anymore when he knew they were both unhappy.

 Every conversation, every disagreement lead right back to the same damn fight they had a million times. They had stopped listening to each other a long time ago. She wasn’t budging and he couldn’t give anymore. This wasn’t the marriage that Jackson signed up for. They had both changed so much in the past year and they just couldn’t find their way back.

 Jackson thought April could feel the end coming too. He stopped sleeping at the apartment, pulling every excuse in the book from long surgeries to crashing at Ben’s after drinking to pulling the nightshift. But, her face in that hospital hallway told a different story. He spent so much of his life trying to protect April, putting her first, and punishing her when she didn’t do the same. He was done. He had to be done. Yet, here she was on the phone and he felt that familiar pull, he missed her.

 “April?” He asked again, quietly.

 “I’ll sign them,” Her voice came out as a pained whisper as if each word took effort to say.

 “What?” Still groggy, he wasn’t sure he heard her right.

 “The divorce papers. I’ll sign them,” Her voice was louder this time. The air vanished from the room. This was the moment he had asked for, begged even. Just make it easy, April. Let’s stop causing each other pain. But here they were and he was sure the pain was here to stay.

 “I… um… Okay,” Before he had a chance to say anything else, the phone went dead and Jackson was alone.

 April

Earlier that night

 “Time of death: 23:32,” the nurse stated routinely. She then shut off the beeping heart monitor and the room became eerily quiet. There was a pause, a brief moment of silence, before the surgeons went about their usual business of stripping off their gloves, masks, and gowns.

 April, Nathan, and Arizona left the mess of the OR room to be cleaned by the proper people. It had been an exhausting surgery. A woman had slid on black ice and skidded across into oncoming traffic. April and Nathan didn’t find out until they had cut that she was almost seven months pregnant. They paged Arizona, who attempted a crash delivery, but it was too late for the baby. Five grueling hours later, it was too late for the mother as well. The three surgeons wanted nothing more than to get off their feet.

 “The fiancée still not here yet?” Nathan asked the scrub nurse.

“No, he was in Sacramento on business” She answered, checking the patient information.

“Damn. I was supposed to be off three hours ago. But hell, what is a few more. I can wait for him,” Nathan turned to the others.

“Don’t be stupid. I’ll wait.” April grabbed the chart before Nathan had a chance.

“What? Keps, you have been here longer than I have.”

“She came into my ER; she is my patient. I’ll wait.”

“April…” Arizona and Nathan look incredulous.

“Go. Go sleep or go to lesbian trivia or whatever,” April waved them off. “Seriously. I want to stay.”  

 They mumbled their tired thanks and went their separate ways. April made her back to the ER and pushed open the doors, slowly walking into the quiet room. All the beds were empty, except one that held a bruised teenager with a skateboard on his lap, talking to an intern. She walked around the tall desk and sank into one of the chairs. She knew why Nathan and Arizona hadn’t put up much of fight when she said she’d stay. They knew that she had no reason to leave.

Jackson and April made the mistake of making their reunion and then swift fall back into dissolution very obvious to everyone in the hospital, whether it occupying certain supply closet for their extracurricular activities or later screaming about divorce in hallways. She was sure everyone knew the ins and outs of their present situation. It was clear that Jackson and her weren’t living together… or even speaking.

 When did you decide, you were done? She posed that question over a week ago. He hadn’t answered, not really. He mentioned something about it was meant to stop causing each other pain. “Just make it easy, April,” he had told her, like she was an annoying roadblock and not fighting for their marriage.  

 The words kept her up at night. She would swing back and forth between anger and self-pity, like a pathetic pendulum. HOW COULD HE JUST GIVE UP LIKE THAT? How stupid was she for thinking they were on the road to healing together?

 Her thoughts were interrupted when a disheveled desperate-looking man rushed through the emergency room doors. She didn’t even have to ask to know that he was her patient’s fiancée. She took a breath and stood up from her seat.

“Mr. Radin?”

“Yes. Yes,” he rushed to the desk. “My fiancée. She was in car crash... she...Hannah Michaelson. Her name is Michaelson. She’s pregnant. She was in a car crash. Can you? Where is…”

“Mr. Radin…”

“Can I see her? Is the baby okay? Can I see her?” He was searching her face for answers, but was too desperate or scared to comprehend what her eyes were saying.

“Mr. Radin. Hannah came in with severe injuries, she was rushed straight to surgery. She was alone, we had no idea she was pregnant.”

“She lost the baby?” He started to pace.

“Let’s go sit down.”

“No. If she lost baby, she is going to need me. I need to see her”

“Sir…”

“We just picked out a crib last week, it took hours. Those places… they act like you are buying a car or house. They tried to sell me a $10,000 crib. Can you believe that? Oh man, I should have bought the damn crib,”

He finally stopped pacing and faced her again.

“Listen, listen. I have to see Hannah. She is going to be heartbroken. I have to be there for her. Don’t you understand? We were getting it together for this baby. It took a while, we aren’t the perfect match, you know? She is the messiest person you will ever meet. I mean it. Dishes everywhere, crumbs in the bed. And don’t even think of watching any movies with her, she pees every five minutes. I am no better. I’ve had only one set of everything: towels, sheets, dishes. I liked being alone until her. But we are better now, we are better together. We really were getting it together for him. I took a corporate job. Sold out, so we can afford the apartment with two bedrooms and the expensive crib. I took the damn corporate job that has damn business trips to...”

“Mr. Radin, Hannah died 28 minutes ago,” April interrupted, she wasn’t sure she could take anymore. “There was too much damage. We did everything we could.”

There was a terrible moment of silence. She watched as the reality sank in.  

“No. No. No. No no no no no no no no,” He slumped down against the desk to the floor, putting his head between his knees.

“I am so so sorry,” Tears burned her eyes, but she held back.

He let out a heartbreaking sob. April searched for something to say.

“Mr. Radin… Joshua, the world feels like it is ending. I know that.”

“It is.”

“No. No, it’s not. That is the blessing and the curse, you see. This unimaginable life-altering thing has happened to you. And you will never be the same, but you will get through this. You keep going, you keep living...You know why? Because that is what Hannah would want for you.”

“I can’t,” He cried.

“Yes, you can. You do it for them, Joshua. You wake up every morning and do it for them. Otherwise, what was it all for?”

He lifted his head and his words come out barely above a whisper, “It was gonna be a boy. Thomas, after Hannah’s dad. Tommy for short.”

“That is a really beautiful name,” She stands up to hide her tears, there was a special pain of naming a child that never gets to grow up. All the hopes and dreams and love that never sees the light of day.

 Joshua sits silently on the floor for another 20 minutes until his sister shows up to take him home. He was in no condition to drive. When he finally left, all the life was drained from his eyes, he looked like a ghost. April knew what it was like to can enter hospital as one person and leave it someone completely different.

 April wasn’t certain her words got through to him. He would never know that she told herself that same speech to get out of bed some mornings. Live... for Samuel. Some days were easier than others. And some days she preferred the other option.

 The exhaustion finally catches up with her and April decides to head home… or whatever it is now without Jackson.

 When she arrives, April pours herself a glass of wine, but decides she needs something stronger and takes out the whiskey. She takes a large sip and studies the empty apartment. Jackson hadn’t taken much when he moved out, only his clothes and the sports memorabilia. He hadn’t even taken any photos, not even their wedding photos. The photos weren’t exceptionally special; they didn’t have time to hire a professional photographer during their 20-hour engagement. But there was one photo, which Jackson had deemed his favorite. It was picture of them laughing underneath a willow tree, eagerly awaiting their nuptials. It was like no one else existed or have ever existed besides Jackson and her. She was sad when she found the picture missing from their bed side, but relieved that he had taken at least one memento. However, a week ago, in a fit of angry cleaning after being served divorce papers, she had found the picture in the back of the closet. He had hidden it away; too angry or too sad to even look at her face and that hurt more than she could have imagined. She didn’t get out of bed for a day. It’s been a rough week.

 April suddenly noticed that the door to the nursery was cracked open. The cleaning crew (an extravagance left over from Jackson) must have done it, she hadn’t been in there in months. It was easier in Jordan; she was too busy to think or feel. But being back, not talking to Jackson, everything was harder and she was having trouble finding a reason to get up in the morning, especially when she had to walk past that damn room, every day.

 So did he. The thought jumped out at her. She pictured Jackson walking past that room every day for the year she was gone. This thought propelled to finally open the door that she hadn’t touched in months. The room was so...empty. Everything was packed away, with the boxes stacked against the wall.

 There was so many things she wishes she could redo, sometimes she wished she could start over completely. But April knew she could never go through the pain of losing Samuel again even if it meant getting Jackson back. They were here in this moment in time and there was nothing they could do to change it. Tears filled her eyes and she slid to the floor.  

 She pulled one of the boxes over to her, surprised at how light it was. It only held one thing: Samuel’s ultrasound. The frame was broken and it looked like Jackson had tried to unsuccessfully glue it back together. They didn’t have any family photos to save, no records of first steps or birthdays. The blurry ultrasound was the only photo they had to remember him by. She opened the other boxes, untouched onesies and blankets so carefully folded and placed in the most delicate matter.

 She had been so angry when she had first seen the boxes and room bare. How could Jackson pack Samuel away, just like that. But now, even with how angry she was at him, she realized just how painful that must have been. She pictured him having to pack the life that never was, alone.

 After Samuel’s death, she remembers feeling so envious of Jackson and how his pain seemed so much more manageable than hers. He went to work, he watched sports, he cooked on the days she wasn’t sure she could breathe. I wasn’t coping, I was covering. For you. His past words filled her with such poignant pain, she let out an uncontrollable sob. She was so immersed in her own pain; she never saw his.

 After a few minutes, when her tears stopped flowing, April was met with a clarity she hadn’t felt in a very long time. She hadn’t understood at first. To survive, she had to go and now it was his turn. He had to go and she had to let him.

 She pulled out her phone and dialed his number. She wasn’t even sure that he was awake, but she was scared that she would lose her nerve in the morning. It rang twice and then he answered.

 “Yeah… Hello?” He had just woken up. He was annoyed, she could tell. He did not like having his sleep disrupted. Years of her as an early-riser and him as a sleep-until-it’s-afternoon had proven that fact. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. Just make it easy, April.

 “April? What’s up? Are you okay?” His voice softened, he sounded worried even. Through all the pain and resentment, Jackson would still be there for her if she needed him. He was the friend that punched Karev for being a dick to her, he had carried her home when she got too drunk, he stood up to people who made fun of her, and he always had her back. He was the husband that cooked dinner and did her laundry when she was too tired, promised to go to church with her and their kids even though he watches football on Sunday, took her on long midnight drives when she was pregnant an couldn’t sleep, and allowed her to grieve in her own way until it almost killed him. He was a good man. And he deserved to have what he needed.

 “I’ll sign them,” It came out as a whisper.

“What?” He sounded genuinely confused.

“The divorce papers. I’ll sign them” She held the ultrasound for strength. You will get through this. You have to keep going, you have to live.

“I…” He was struggling to say something, but April knew she was on the verge of crying.  She wasn’t sure if she could handle a full conversation right now. “Okay”

And with that, she hung up.

[watchilove]

Minute Repeater Resonance by Armin Strom, the world’s first and only resonance chiming wristwatch, offers two-in-one for double the pleasure. Two complications, resonance and minute repeater; two vertically-stacked independent movements; two forms of resonance (oscillators and sound propagation); two independent mainsprings in one barrel; and two top development teams in Armin Strom (resonance) and Le Cercle des Horlogers (repeaters).

Armin Strom Minute Repeater Resonance

The Minute Repeater Resonance is not simply a masterpiece, it’s Masterpiece 2!

Inspired by the Bern’s centuries old chiming tower clock, the Minute Repeater Resonance is limited to just 10 pieces in celebration of the 10th anniversary of the Armin Strom manufacture. Masterpiece 2 highlights both the phenomenon of resonance and the sonorous chiming of the time by placing all of the action up front and center dial side.

Activated by a slider on the left side of the case band, two hand-polished hammers at 11 o’clock and 1 o’clock respectively chime the hours and minutes on two three-dimensionally curved gongs encircling the hour/minute subdial. The hammers are visually and technically balanced by the two independent regulators – one for each of the two movements – at 5 o’clock and 7 o’clock.

The case is in Grade 5 titanium for optimal sound transmission (and comfort), and its 47.7 mm diameter allows for a generous volume for the sound to propagate from. The sonorous chimes are also enhanced by attaching the gongs directly to the case.

A specially developed security system maximizes ease-of-use by protecting the minute repeater from accidental damage by blocking operation during time-setting and winding.

Fully visible between the two oscillating balances is Armin Strom’s patented Resonance Clutch Spring – the key to Armin Strom’s mastery of resonance – and the result of three years of intensive research and development.

While it has been long known that resonating coupled oscillators in watch and clock movements improves accuracy, less known is that resonance also conserves energy. Armin Strom’s laboratory testing has revealed gains in precision of 15-20%.

Under a virtually invisible sapphire crystal dial, the dual balances oscillating in synchronization and the two hammers striking the time, the Minute Repeater Resonance stages an unparalleled horological spectacle for both the eyes and the ears.

The Armin Strom Minute Repeater Resonance is a limited edition of 10 pieces in Grade 5 titanium in honor of the 10th anniversary of the manufacture. There will be no more editions.

Minute Repeater Resonance: Inspiration

For the 10th anniversary of its fully integrated manufacture, Armin Strom decided to develop a world-first masterpiece fully highlighting the brand’s savoir-faire. As the industry leaders in resonance, including the brand’s laboratory-certified resonance technology was an easy choice. But Armin Strom’s chief watchmaker Claude Greisler wanted something more: a grand complication.

Inspiration for a minute repeater came from an unusual source: a sixteenth-century tower clock. Armin Strom is based in Bienne in Switzerland’s canton of Bern, and Greisler wanted to pay homage to the region. While the French-speaking region of Switzerland is known for a multitude of famous historical timepieces, Bern has far fewer. But it does have one landmark clock that everyone in the region knows: the thirteenth-century Zytglogge. The clock in this tower has not only served as the city’s main clock for more than 500 years, the tower also served as the reference point for travel times indicated on stone markers along the main cantonal roads.

This clock tower supposedly helped Albert Einstein hone his special theory of relativity while working as a patent clerk in Bern.

The impressive tower clock is animated with automatons: four minutes before the change of the hour, a cock crows, a bear (the symbol of Bern) makes his rounds, and a jester takes the liberty of announcing the hour in advance. And at the top of the hour (and on the quarters), the clock chimes the time for all to hear.

Minute Repeater Resonance: Development

Armin Strom as masters of resonance movements wanted to work in partnership with masters of chiming watches, and Greisler knew the perfect person and team: his old friend Alain Schiesser, founder of Cercle des Horlogers, with whom he had worked with in the past at Christophe Claret. Working behind the scenes, Le Cercle des Horlogers has developed around half of the minute repeaters launched by prestigious Swiss brands over the last few years.

Originally the minute repeater mechanism had been envisaged to be in the traditional position at the back of watch, but the team decided that it deserved equal billing with the resonant regulators dial side where it could be appreciated by all. This brought many technical challenges of its own. Armin Strom not only wanted the resonant regulators and minute repeater hammers and gongs to be fully visible on top of the movement dial side; Greisler and his team did not want appreciation of the animated mechanisms to be potentially diluted by the associated gearing necessary to drive the repeater and going train for the time display. So the movements are inverted with the pinions driving the repeater hammers and hour and minutes transversing the two vertically stacked calibers.

They say necessity is the mother of invention and that’s certainly the case here. Space constraints meant that there was insufficient room for separate large mainspring barrels for each of the two movements, so Armin Strom developed an innovative single barrel with two independent mainsprings inside, each driving its own movement.

The high visibility of the complications dial side also dictates that the watchmakers have to pay very special attention when assembling and regulating the watch as the slightest scratch or mark on the beautifully hand-finished surfaces would be visible to all. Skeletonized bridges and plates (an Armin Strom specialty) allow visual access through the sapphire crystal dial deep into the movement.

While the vast majority of the components were produced in-house at the Armin Strom manufacture, the gongs were made by Le Cercle des Horlogers in a process involving more than 30 different stages including multiple thermic treatments. While the exact process is a closely guarded secret, it is said to be very similar to Patek Philippe’s process for making gongs.

All components are finished to the very highest level, but of special note is the tremblage hand-engraving on the large golden balance cocks supporting the two oscillating balances. While titanium is the perfect metal for both transmitting the resonating sound from the gongs to the ear and ensuring that the watch is relatively light and comfortable to wear, it is a ‘cold’ metal; this coolness is balanced by the warm gold.

Resonance

In the pursuit of horological accuracy, precision, and rate stability, resonance has usually involved using two independent movements connected to allow fine tuning of the distance between them. Until Armin Strom, precise adjustment of the distance between the two regulators has been necessary to incite resonance. However, the Armin Strom Resonance Clutch Spring eliminates the necessity for fine tuning the distance, ensuring a much more reliable and efficient resonant system only taking up to 10 minutes to synchronize. The idea of resonance has endured for three centuries for a reason, but that doesn’t mean you can’t improve upon it.

Armin Strom’s patented Resonance Clutch Spring is an innovative way of upgrading an old concept, one that is horology’s very reason for being: precision and accuracy.

Note that the CSEM (Centre Suisse d’Electronique et de Microtechnique) has officially certified Armin Strom’s resonance system based on the clutch spring as being a true system in resonance.

https://vimeo.com/314486650

What is resonance?

A body in motion causes vibrations in its surroundings. When another body with a similar natural resonant frequency to the first receives these vibrations, it absorbs energy from it and starts vibrating at the same frequency in a sympathetic manner. For example, a trained singer can hold a note causing a tuning fork tuned to the same frequency to vibrate.

For the oscillators of a watch movement to be able to synchronize with each other, they have to be closely tuned. Imagine a small child trying to synchronize steps with an adult; the child is unlikely to synchronize for more than a few steps as the systems are too dissimilar to resonate.

Or imagine yourself pushing a child on a swing: the child and the swing make a natural pendulum, which will have an inherent natural frequency (speed of swing back and forth). If you push at the wrong frequency (too fast or too slow) then you are likely to block the motion and slow the swing down; however, if you push at or near the natural frequency of the swing then you will increase the amplitude (distance the swing moves) of the child/swing system.

In horology, the phenomenon of synchronized motion has fascinated watchmakers since the time of Christiaan Huygens (1629-1695). Huygens, inventor of the pendulum clock, was the first to discover the resonance of two separate pendulum clocks, which he logically surmised should keep slightly different time. When hung from a common beam, however, the pendulums of the adjacent clocks synchronized; subsequent researchers confirmed that the common wooden beam coupled the vibrations and created resonance. The two pendulums functioned as one in a synchronous manner. In the eighteenth century, Abraham-Louis Breguet demonstrated his mastery of the physics with his double pendulum resonance clock.

An outside shock slowing down one of them increases the speed of the other one by the same amount; but both will strive to get back in resonance, averaging and minimizing the effects of the outside influence as they find their rhythm. What was true for Huygens’ and Breguet’s clocks is just as true for Armin Strom’s wristwatch.

The advantages of resonance are threefold:

stabilizing effect on timekeeping, meaning better accuracy;

conservation of energy (think of a professional cyclist riding in the shadow of another cyclist in a racing situation); and

reduction of negative effects on timekeeping accuracy due to outside perturbation such as shock to the balance staff, which in turn keeps the rate more stable (better accuracy).

While the advantages of resonance have been known for centuries, only a handful of clockmakers and watchmakers have created timepieces deliberately and successfully exploiting the phenomenon of resonance, including Antide Janvier (1751-1855) and Abraham-Louis Breguet (1747-1823).

And, now, Armin Strom.

Technical specifications: Armin Strom Minute Repeater Resonance

Indications: off-centre hours, minutes, minute repeater

Movement: Armin Strom manufacture calibre ARR18, collaboration with Le Cercle des Horlogers, limited edition of ten pieces, manual winding, patented Resonance Clutch Spring

Regulating system: two independent regulation systems connected by patented and certified Resonance Clutch Spring

Power reserve: 96 hours

Dimensions: 39.40 mm x 11.35 mm

Frequency: 3.5 Hz (25,200 vph)

Finishing: base plate and bridges are decorated to the highest quality level

Jewels: 51

Number of components: 408

Case: Grade 5 titanium Sapphire crystal and case back with antireflective treatment Diameter: 47.7 mm Height: 16.10 mm Water resistance: 30m

Dial: transparent with fumée

Hands: polished stainless steel

Strap: delivered with a dark grey alligator strap and stainless-steel steel double-folding clasp.

Edition: Limited to 10 pieces

Price: CHF 380,000.-

  Armin Strom today: Serge Michel and Claude Greisler in partnership

Children born in the same year growing up in a town like Burgdorf (population 15,000) are likely to know each other, either through school, family, or mutual friends. Such is the case with Serge Michel and Claude Greisler, who grew up in the town where Armin Strom, famous for his watch skeletonisation skills, had his watch shop and workshop. When the plastic Swatch watch was launched, having been developed and produced in the nearby city of Bienne, Serge was hooked and started collecting Swatches, following in the footsteps of his father, who is also a watch collector. It was a passion that would continue throughout his life. But while Serge went on to study marketing, Claude decided to become a watchmaker, first attending the watchmaking school in Solothurn before specializing in the restoration of vintage and complicated movements at the CIFOM technical school in Le Locle, concluding his studies there with a specialization in movement development.

Both Serge and Claude had known about watchmaker Armin Strom from a very young age. Serge not only remembers peering through the window of his store to look at the watches, but also the fact that Armin Strom was a local celebrity known for travelling far and wide to deliver his watches to customers. Claude had also known about Armin Strom from an early age, since his parents owned an optician’s shop right next to Armin Strom’s store in the historic centre of Burgdorf. In Serge’s case, Armin Strom became a family friend and at convivial dinners the talk would often turn to watches and watchmaking. It was hardly surprising, therefore, that the family friendship evolved into a business relationship in 2006 as Armin Strom was considering how to ensure the future of his name and reputation.

“I was convinced that this is a fantastic opportunity to maintain this tradition of skeletonizing watches and develop it for the future, and my family agreed,” says Serge. “That was back in 2006, but at the time we didn’t really have the knowledge about watchmaking. We had the passion, but we needed someone who was an expert on the watchmaking side of things, which is where Claude comes in. He joined me in 2007, and we started to set up the brand Armin Strom and change the direction from purely handmade skeletonised watches to a fully equipped manufacture, which we are today.”

For Claude Greisler, it was like a dream come true. “When Serge first called me and talked about taking the brand to the next level with a factory and taking the brand over from someone from the same town as us, it was the perfect mix. Armin Strom had always been interested in the mechanics of the movement, so to be able to take this philosophy forward was a fantastic opportunity.”

The core element in the vision of the duo was always to consider the movement as the very heart of the watch, which meant that the company would need to be a manufacture to produce its own movements. “This was not just a question of designing our own movements,” explains Claude, “but being able to take exactly the kind of brass that we wanted and the type of steel that we wanted to make the best possible plates, bridges, screws and pinions that we could and to do the electroplating and finishing, as well as the assembly, all in-house.”

Armin Strom: A fully integrated manufacture

While Armin Strom is a vertically integrated complete horological manufacture, no new watch movement would ever have seen the light of day were it not for Claude Greisler, who puts ideas such as the one for the revolutionary Mirrored Force Resonance movement down on paper before they are transferred to computer-aided design programmes to start modelling the movement. Like so many things at Armin Strom, all of this is done in-house, with the dimensions calculated down to a precision of one micron to provide the inputs for the machines that will eventually produce the smallest of components.

At Armin Strom, the majority of components in the movement, with the exception of the escapement and balance spring, are produced in-house. Small round components like screws, pinions and gear wheels are produced by profile-turning machines, which gradually whittle away long steel or brass rods from the side to cut teeth or axles. Larger components such as base plates and bridges are produced from brass on CNC machines, which are capable of machining along multiple axes consecutively using different tools for different operations, moving the component using robotic arms

Particularly small and delicate components, such as smaller bridges, levers and springs, are produced using wire erosion. This involves threading a wire that is not much smaller than a human hair through a tiny hole in the metal. An electrical current running through the wire reacts with a solution in which the entire working plate is dipped, thus “eroding” minuscule amounts of the metal. This allows particularly delicate operations to be carried out while maintaining the structural integrity of the metal. In fact, Armin Strom does not produce any of its components by stamping because of the stresses that this places on the metal.

Once the raw components are manufactured, they are engraved, bevelled, polished and decorated with circular graining or Geneva stripes by hand before moving to the in-house electro-plating department. Here, all steel and brass components are first given a gold plating before a layer of nickel is added to prevent corrosion and harden the surface. After cleaning, the parts are then dipped in other electroplating baths to give them their final colour such as rhodium, ruthenium or rose gold. It is only thanks to its mastery of electroplating techniques inside its own workshops that Armin Strom can allow customers to choose preferred colours for the coating on different components.

Only then can the individual components of the movement be passed on to the watchmaker for assembly. After setting the jewels into the base plate and bridges, the watchmaker adds the gear train and mainspring. After the escapement and balance wheel are positioned, the movement finally comes to life…only to be completely disassembled, cleaned and dried before being re-assembled and lubricated. After several days of testing the precision, the watch is finally ready.

Armin Strom Minute Repeater Resonance

Armin Strom Minute Repeater Resonance Minute Repeater Resonance by Armin Strom, the world’s first and only resonance chiming wristwatch, offers two-in-one for double the pleasure.