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jonathankatwhatever · 11 months

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It’s 30 Oct 2023, and I had so many visions, so much clear thinking that I’m having trouble getting the words to come out. Maybe they’re not ready, because I’m very tired from the play.

I’m shocked by how much energy it takes to write out Joana’s thoughts. I can see why: this is IA//A, inarticulate to articulate, imagery to words, and that act of condensation and expansion occurs over the 1-0Segment, over the connecting End, because we see what’s in front of us, not how what’s in front of us is generated by pairings so what you are, how you look in outfits and makeup, male or female, what you project, what you allow in or appear to allow in, etc. are all these pairings to the Bip constructed End which is you at any moment and thus over your existences in this life.

This is not what I expected to type. I’m very congested. Maybe my inhaler would help.

The sort has to be negative. I’m giving up trying to control what comes out. The sort being negative means a diagonalization which identifies Not by flipping each count to its inverse, meaning 1 is 0 and 0 is 1. That guarantees a Not fit to any identifiable thread and any existence along the progress of that thread, which means Is generated out of fCM, which makes that tipping possible because it provides both the O-line and the 50:50, which is also 2:1, which connects to the D-structure of this appearing as D1-2//2-1 as it scales. So the 50:50 in fCM matches the I//I, which thus clearly invokes the Brick conception plus Halving/Doubling.

How to reach 50:50 when so much is by 2 in fCM? This is similar to the question why count to 4 so we reach 12 so we bundle Triangular into a grid square, which thus invokes Triangular over grid squares, which becomes the creation mechanism and I don’t remember ever seeing that before though I’ve made lists of CM notation meanings. Creation Mechanism is perfect. Especially as part of the HC. Generative in a Genesis form. Let there be established a count and, lo, that count provides a basis, a frame which maps the inversions of that count, large and small. In the beginning, there was the potential for a count, potential created out of Triangular as it rises to meet the higher dimensions descending so our Dimensional Enclosures contain the threads of our existences as we swim forward within that sea of potential which becomes the literal sea. Or as the ancients might say, the wine-dark sea, with all the meaning of alcohol, from ritual to the giving up of self, from inspiration to desperation. Ave imperator, morituri te salutant.

Okay, so that’s yet another really obvious thing I’ve missed. BTW, does this mean I started this whole thing you’re doing now? That would be rich, and very much in keeping.

I knew you were traveling. I can always feel it. But it disappoints me nonetheless. Like maybe I don’t get something really obvious that’s to my detriment, that’s counter, that’s like the diagonalization of everything I believe and you’re the Not to the HC, that which is not Holy, not good, and somehow I’ve been deluded or maybe there’s some other reason why I’ve been lied to, misled, tortured, and so on. It’s annoying because I can’t actually believe that and actually believe what I actually believe. They’re incompatible.

That’s not the same as Irreducible, is it? It is but it’s the same issue as we see everywhere else, including the basics of infinite counting, that it’s a universe conception, that it’s the constructibility of grid squares at the concept of basis and movement, no the threading within which puts that form of Not outside the alliance or other joinder as it has generated. In other words, the generation of a positive, even an epsilon, has roots that can’t be recovered in that basis. That’s obscure. It means the roots are obscured by layers which can’t be unraveled because grid squares construct and thus destruction is a form of construction. You can tear something apart but that doesn’t erase the thing’s existence or the acts, just the visible signs.

The logic of that is sketchy, but it becomes dimensional fast, meaning there are going to be connections which carry aspects of that existence forward. This can be immediate, like it’s a big deal, or it can be cumulative, like this event or existence is typical of, a harbinger of, etc.

I can’t quite reach an important image. It’s that in gs construction using the fT as a side, this means pairing across, meaning the gs forms out of the Bip and to the Bip, which is the relationship of the that form of constructed End to the other basic form of grid Ends. You can then of course switch those around so the grid Ends are now those Bips, and that reveals a basic operation I have never been able to see before, that this process of grid Ends becoming Bips and Bips becoming grid Ends is not only the obvious gs(m) and gs(n), which are necessary for Injection, but now we literally see the mechanism by which this works because we have the constructed Bip End relating to the various grid Ends, with that then being held in tension, which is the 1Space conception in a word. Wow.

I thought that was going to go in a different direction. I saw a Triangular, wondered how it could fit in the grid squares projected sheet, and it moved to the orthogonal, which handled the issue. That immediately constructed each polygon form, in fact each geometry I could quickly run through, because the construction in gs, in those fT bundles as sides, which obviously need notation, is orthogonal.

So imagine a pentagon and there are 5 sides of fT’s rotating away invisibly in the orthogonal. That again focus on counting itself. As in, why 4 is why 5 is why any n? Is these are all versions of that same basis or universe conception which lies at the heart of understanding grid squares, that D4 frames D3 over relations like D4-3//3-4 and D3-4//4-3. The intersection of those, the union of those, forms the set of constructed Bip Ends which act as grid Ends externally. In other words, you are a set of constructed Bip Ends which acts externally among other Bip Ends through the grid Ends. That was very hard to say and I’m not sure I got it right. The idea is that you are a construction and you move in relation to other constructions through grid Ends, where through grid Ends means the potential, the threading related to those grid Ends calculates and thus lays out through the grid Ends. This makes the shadow puppetry of a relationship, of whatever reality between the puppeteer and the puppets extend, including to common control. I’m referring to the cave and the implicit one who makes the fire, who sits between and sees both images. So when that becomes physical on one side, there’s a Platonic abstraction, which I’d bet connects to a solid or other shape, on the other side of I//I.

Let me see: 4 6 8 12 20. Other than halving, the only thing I’ve ever noticed is that a tetrahedron is a 4 count, so we do get to 4 triangles counted like in an fT, and then 6 to a Hexagon, 8 is an octagon, which is the I//I of a grid square and the 2fD fully developed, and 12 is 2Hexes and more, and then 20 is harder to picture. I try winding it and that identifies the far bT in a Hexagon, but I feel there’s something in the 2*10 and the 4*5 concepts of 20. The 4*5 hits me as 4 hands in context, which I can now define as operations that use groups, that use the output or value of groups (which could be that it fluctuates), and that the occurrence of this is within contexts. We identified some of the basic forms, notably Minimum, Immediate, and Larger, along with CM64, which we kept as notation because that bridges the counting side of fCM with the conceptual side of small, medium and large.

The meaning is not fixed: there could be a single dominant hand or a pair of hands, etc. It’s the structure. In detail, it becomes MC is a pairing to pairing conception in which 2 of the quadrants are 1 and the pairing is 0. In IC, that articulates to a Thing, which is later defined, existing versus a non-specified other Thing, which means the other quadrants describe the Pathways running to and from non-specified other Things. This can simplify to the space between objects, like a packing space.

See? I couldn’t produce until the traveling connection shifts. Then it’s like the dam bursts, with all that energy which has been circulating in short threads now organizing - this gets into Ramsey Theory - so they come out in longer sustained descriptions and insights.

The 2*10 concept seems fairly easy but I usually think of all these in terms of gs, not bT. Can I switch? That’s confusing. I can draw a line of bT. I can wrap them or not. I can make a cool shape: it’s 3 Hexagons with 2 bT teeth sticking up and 3 bT teeth sticking down (or vice versa), so these attach. That makes the same pattern if you attach at the bottom or top. Can also do a sideways version. If I draw out a basic figure that takes a bT and expands that, I get 3fT tied together with a single bT attached. I count the 3fT together as 9gs using the fD to gs 1:1 counting. That means this becomes SBE3+ the 1 formed by Attaching that 10th bT. Part of the beauty of that is that image is a Triangular around a Hexagon with that 10th bT attached. I stick it opposite another bT, so this inverts over. It thus acts as a sort of shorthand for a larger construction of 18 plus the connecting gs, which idealize to 3 more for 21 total.

Now I’m seeing the fT relations and thus the 2 views, meaning flips over the space. That leads a cool image, which is an fD built out on each side alternately, making 2 examples of 10 map to an fD. I think that’s a winner.

The reason I equate fD to gs 1:1 is that the 1-0Segment divider pulls apart and has pulled apart to be a 1-0Segment, and that means it splits in 2, meaning it then can flow in either direction, and the intervening pair is thus reduced to that which fits the flow connecting the pairing. That’s a bit more sophisticated than the old work version.

I have to go to the laundromat. In the rain. My life is fun. At least the fireplace turned on, so there’s heat for the next 2 months. I’ve decided to start by packing the art and taking apart the girls’ room furniture, if I think that makes it easier to move and maybe store.

In other me news, I am dramatically better at balls of the feet movement and balance doing all sorts of ordinary and cool stuff. That’s also dramatically improved movement in my knees while making hops and jumps painless.

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allcalculator · 2 years

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Tire Size Calculator: Explain Intended Use and Internal Construction of the Tire Code

AllCalculator.net Tire Size Calculator can determine the correct size concerning the tire codes mentioned on the tire.

Intended Use.

The codes of the tire are mentioned in the alphanumeric method. It is important to be able to read the tire codes, especially when you are trying to get new tires or change.

The first part of the code comprises two digits or letters. (P, LT, T, ST)

It describes the type of tire the vehicle is intended to use. Usually, there are four categories of vehicles.

P-It is for Passenger Cars. So tires with P specifications are intended to use in cars. Examples: SUVs, crossovers, and minivans.

LT-It is for Light Trucks. So Tires with LT specifications determine they are to carry a heavy load capacity of towering.

ST-It is for special trailers. These tires are used for utility, travel, and boat trailers.

T-It specifies temporary. So these tires are spare tires. These are recommended for something other than everyday use.

Internal Construction

It is the next step in a Tire code. It comes with a single letter B, D or R. It indicates the construction of a particular tire. The internal part of a tire is made of various piles of cord. It is stated as the carcass. The internal construction determines the durability and strength of a tire. It is an optional letter in the code. If it is not mentioned, the tire is considered a cross-ply tire.

Here,

R- It determines the radial. Every passenger uses tires with radial internal construction. In a radial construction, the cords are around the circle's circumference. Hence it is perpendicular to the direction of the travelling route.

D-It indicates diagonal. In this tire, the construction is in such a way that the circumference runs along 30-40° from the bead. The layers cross over each other.

B-It indicates the biased belted tire. It is similar to the construction of a diagonal tire, except that. It has an additional bias-belted tire. The additional layer concludes with stabilizer belts made of steel. It supports additional support and makes the tire more stuff.

Conclusion

AllCalculator.net Tire can suggest the right size of tire for your vehicle concerning the different tire codes in a few seconds.

#tirecalculator #calculate tire size

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americanomni · 2 years

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chaoticgoodcrow · 2 years

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random sketch and brush experiment

there are 2 IDs, the first for a quick overview and the second under the read-more for a more detailed description of the paintings. I'm trying out a new way of doing IDs, constructive feedback is very welcome!

[summarised ID: two sketchy digital illustrations in grey and blue tones. in the first illustration, there is a figure standing on the left, back facing the viewer. they have roughly shoulder blade-length hair that a gust of wind is sweeping to the right. in front of them, in the distance, there is what can be interpreted as falling stars. in the second illustration, the same figure is horizontally flipped and is now on the right side of the piece, while the star-like streaks have become more like a huge wave, swirling around the figure chaotically. end short ID]

[more detailed ID: for the first illustration, the things that appear to be falling stars are made of thick diagonal streaks of messy brush strokes grouped together in a pointillism style. each dot is oval-shaped with ragged edges, and a slightly different color than the rest, though they form one cohesive greyish overall color. the background is a flat fill of dark gray, the figure's hair is grayish blue, their cloak is a faded blue, and the star-like streaks are purplish grey, accented by cyan glimmers in some parts. all the streaks start from the top and head down, at an angle from left to right. there is a large streak in the foreground, nearer the viewer than the figure, heading towards the right corner. in front of the figure and in the background, there is a middle sized streak heading downwards at a similar angle, and a small, faded and thin streak further back.

for the second illustration, the waves start at the right of the image, flow down and then curve upwards and fill the entire left portion, and crest over the top of the image. it gives an immersive feeling, like the viewer is standing inside the crashing waves. there are a few waves that decrease in saturation as they head to the background, giving a tunnel effect. the nearest wave is bright cyan, then the other waves are light green, blue, faded blue, and then varying shades of greyish blue that eventually blend into the background. the figure is more sketchy and unfinished than in the previous illustration, and there is a watermark in the shape of a bird wearing a top hat on their left. the figure is also placed higher in the illustration, so the top part of their head is cropped off. end ID]

OK I'm never doing this again, it's way too tiring. sorry

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shattersstar · 4 years

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evergreen

and if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent (part four)

pairing: adrian tepes x reader

excerpt: You were grinning, running through all the most beautiful, fullest, dreamiest of adjectives to capture the face of your love. You tilted your head to the left, and he followed, the two of you grinning at each other with soft, soundless laughs. You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling and blinking at him with a new found clarity, the words flowing effortlessly.

warning(s): brief injury mention, fluff, this is so,,hopelessly romantic, heart shape lockets making a reappearance

a/n: sorry ive only been writing for adrian my brain has been in alucard lockdown and it wont end (although this might be my favourite thing ive ever written so i’m..less sorry)

—

It was quiet, the distant din of the forest brushed over the two of you. It was a reminder of the life surrounding the desolate place you called home. Your eyes were closed as you focused on the sound, the breathing of trees and humming of streams. You supposed Adrian heard it all so clearly, the animals and plants alike all alive in the surrounding forest. You strained to hear the crunch of fallen leaves by foxes or snap of fallen branches by deers.

It was autumn and the world was alive with harvest. Animals prepared for winter, plants returned to the soil and tree lines morphed into flame. It was one of the last warm days, the sun high in the cloudy sky, shining onto the picnic you two had set up. You were laying down, letting the sun soak over your while Adrian sat cross legged behind you. Your head was in his lap, the book you were reading was resting on his thigh above your head, opened onto the page you were on. Adrian had brought a book as well, but discarded it after a few minutes of reading. It was out of date, he explained, the science was false and he decided to draw over the useless words instead.

You assumed there was some value in its history, but didn’t question it as he silently sketched. Adrian was always such an artist, often drawing you, or other’s he cared for. He could sketch Sypha and Trevor from memory, yet often butchered some detail of the latter for his own amusement you supposed. He drew his parents often too, but was quick to erase such images, as if even seeing their face was still too painful.

He had begun painting more recently. You liked sitting and working on something while he painted, catching occasionally glimpses at his work. Adrian was never shy about what he created, often showing you without prompting, and never dismissing your request to see his art. He had agreed he was good at it, the technical precision was there, but the heart was not. You were quick to disagree with such sentiment, and yes you could see it within the landscapes and dull memories he created on paper or canvas, but the love was there in the faces of those he cared for.

Each line he added to you, each bit of shading and highlight showcased you in a way that held more adoration than any words could supply. You liked seeing yourself from Adrian’s eyes, seeing your beauty as he perceived it. It was more flattering than anything anyone before him had said to you, not like Adrian would want to hear such things.

You weren’t sure how you knew he was watching, sketching you as you laid in his lap, but you knew he did. You even remained still, forgoing reading to be his muse for the last moments of fall. You didn’t mind getting to lay in the lap of the one you loved, a soft blanket underneath while the sun started to arch towards the west. You could’ve fallen asleep there, nature washing over you and Adrian watching over you. It was a place of peace, a moment you’d engrain into your mind and have a memento—a piece of art to show for it.

You only opened your eyes when Adrian let out an uncharacteristically loud sigh, he didn’t need to breathe, he only did so on his own volition. You peered up at him, sun dancing in his dark lashes. “What is plaguing you so beloved?” You hummed, tilting your head back more as you spoke.

"My chest, it aches.” He admitted with a soft voice. You sat up as his words registered in your ears, worry lacing your features as you moved to sit on your knees, beckoning him closer.

“Still? Why?” He turned his head to the side as your hand smoothed down his slender neck, brushing his collar aside and revealing the tip of the scar that cut diagonal through his torso. You kept your fingers off the injury, but untied the front of his shirt to reveal more of it.

“I am unsure, it just does some days.”

“This has happened before?”

“A few times, yes.” He sighed again, you felt it under your palm that rested next to the pink, raised skin.

“I wished you told me.”

“I did not wish to worry you.”

“And yet I am worried.” Adrian turned towards your other hand, resting on his shoulder and dipped his head down to kiss your wrist. It was a gesture of apology and you accepted it was you let your hand cup his face, lips pressing a kiss to your palm. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t think so.” You frowned, shifting your knees against the blanket. “And somehow I’m not surprised you aren’t pleased with that answer.”

“How can I be pleased when you, my dear, are living in pain?”

“Don’t be pleased then, be appeased.” Adrian shrugged, still speaking into your palm. You let your fingertips graze the edge of his scar before dropping both hands from him.

“If I must.” He chuckled at that, low and warm as your hands found his knees. You gave them a squeeze, almost to check if he still existed before turning, and placing yourself into his lap. You were careful not to lean into his chest, but Adrian eased you against it, his forearm wrapping around your stomach while his other hand brushed your book from his leg. “Now show me what you were drawing.”

“Of course beloved.” He hummed from behind you, picking up his green covered book and letting you flip through the drawings now masking the words. And you were right, many—most were of you.

A few trees, a tired outline of the castle, faces you didn’t know, but still somehow, every few pages was you, lounging in his lap, or from some other memory he stored away. They made you smile, less worried as warmth overtook you.

“Do you ever draw yourself?” You asked once you reached the last sketch, lingering on it.

“No, the image of myself in my mind changes far too often.”

“Oh?” You were surprised by Adrian’s answer, you expected something darker you supposed.

“I see myself one way, and then...I do not. I cannot draw what constantly changes.”

“Why does it change?”

“You.”

One syllable was more breathtaking than a single drawing he had ever done of you.

“Oh.” You found yourself on repeat, closing the book and letting out a slow breath.

“And I supposed other’s I’ve met, but mostly you.” It’s always you, he does not say despite how well it sits in his mouth.

You knew you had impacted Adrian, only a fool would say they didn’t, but to know that the way he constructed himself in his brain, how he felt when he thought of it, how he saw himself in his dreams, how he saw himself with you were all changed by you and how you loved him felt like a deeper proclamation than i love you.

“I still wish you would though, what am I supposed to put in this locket?” Your voice held an air of teasing, but a current of seriousness laced it as well.

“I could try, if you could like.”

You were silent for a moment, you didn’t want him to settle on a version of himself to etch into existence. Not when he was ever changing in his mind's eyes. “What if—“ You twisted carefully to look at him, noses brushing as you did. “What if you drew yourself from how I saw you?” You asked, wanting his art to convey his beauty as it did yours.

Adrian pondered it for a moment, before tilting his head and surprising your lips with his. “Yes.” He whispered against your mouth before finding his book yet again.

You slipped from his lap to give him space and studied him for a long moment. He didn’t shift under your gaze, or look away, but instead studied your back. You were grinning, running through all the most beautiful, fullest, dreamiest of adjectives to capture the face of your love. You tilted your head to the left, and he followed, the two of you grinning at each other with soft, soundless laughs. You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling and blinking at him with a new found clarity, the words flowing effortlessly.

Serious mouth, something that hides smiles and fangs. Lips that slope into something heartbreaking—a smile like no other.

He grinned at that, eyes dropping to the page as he began drawing.

Soft eyes, set deep, but still shining. Sharp like daggers and holding handfuls of sunrays in them. Not cold with sadness, but heavy with it.

“Heavy with love too.” He hummed, earning a kiss on his forehead before you settled back to describing him.

Nose…

You paused your words, letting Adrian catch up to your lovely description, while you pondered on it too. You knew this was much for him, so much love filling his ears, outward and heedy. Yet it didn’t feel like enough, like it captured how much his appearances enraptured you, but as his heart did too. You wanted him to see your love through your eyes.

It was a daunting task, and yet you carried on. You reached out, brushing over his nose with your index finger, as if the words lived in your fingertips and could only be released by touch. You furrowed your brows, lips parting before you took Adrian’s hand, the one holding the book. He kept his gaze on you as you brought his slender fingers to his nose, tracing it as you did. You loved all Adrian’s features, but his nose especially, and no words could describe the beautiful feature that pulled his whole face together.

My favourite thing.

He let his attention fall back to the drawing, a bloodless blush could’ve warmed his face with the kind descriptions you imparted onto him. He knew you loved him, you proclaimed it enough, but the sweet words that overtook this dimming autumn day were even more dizzying than he expected. And you weren’t done yet, unrelenting in your words and adoration for him.

Sharp contours—jaw, cheekbones—with an underlying kindness, youthful softness to the angular curves.

Beautiful forehead, my favourite place to kiss. And press myself to.

Brows low, very precise—too serious most of the time.

Hairline like the ocean, framing the sand and sometimes sweeping over it.

You twirled the forever loose curl that hung forward, always draping against his smooth skin. He wanted to lean into your touch, but his attention was on the page.

Hair long, softer than any silk. Golden—not like honey, but wheat fields blowing in the breeze. And thick, with lazy waves throughout it.

You stayed quiet after that, hoping it was enough. You were all warm throughout now, despite how the evening had fallen over you two. You wanted to climb back into Adrian’s lap, but instead you moved to sit cross legged, toying with a loose thread on his pants, twisting the string from the seam by his knee around your finger until his shoulders dropped and the pen stopped moving.

You let your hands rest in your lap, and you watched him study it for a long moment. You wanted to ask if it was okay—some version of him he could agree with, yet he brought the pen back, scrawling something in his tight, professional handwriting and tearing the page from the book with precision.

The drawing took up one corner, the words printed in the background barely noticeable to the bust drawn over them. He folded the piece of paper, once, then twice. A tiny square sitting in his palm, before Adrian finally met your gaze. He reached out, cool fingertips grazing over your neck as he brought your heart shaped locket to sit in his other palm. He used his thumb to open it, placing the piece of paper inside and closing it again.

He kissed the smooth metal before letting it fall back against your sternum, smiling with a haziness that made you feel drunk of love as well. You took his hand in yours, Adrian quick to intertwine fingers before you could settle your palm to his. He urged you closer, uncrossing his legs and letting you take up space between them. “Do you feel better?” You hummed, the pain that had overcome him before not leaving your mind.

It wasn’t like you to forget so easily.

“Hm, better? Yes.” He nodded, pressing a kiss to the side of your nose.

“Are you just saying that?”

“No, of course not.”

“I find that hard to believe, you often dwell in pain my dear. Especially alone.”

“I know,” He sighed yet again, bringing his free hand to your chin and drawing your attention to him. “If you’d like, I believe I have found a way that you can help, make me feel better.”

“Yes, what is it?”

He smiled—heartbreakingly. “Marry me?”

For a quiet beat, you paused, the words reaching your ears, settling in your short term memory before they processed into something that rang forever in your head. You and Adrian had talked about marriage, he had settled on the notion it was a frivolous display and he had everything he needed with you. And you agreed. He was everything you needed.

And now, he needed to be your husband.

You tucked some of his hair behind his ear, leaning in with a low voice, “My love, don’t you know?” You asked, blinking up with a slanted grin, “I’ve been married to you from the moment we met.” He breathed out a chuckle, reedy and low.

“Then,” His palms cupped your cheeks, forehead pressing into yours. “Let me marry you.”

“Yes,” You breathed into him, “Yes you can marry me.”

It was the first day of winter when you finally opened your locket. You unfolded his drawing carefully, the likeness you wanted to convey hung in every inked line. Your fiancé existed in both your hearts now.

Your fingers brushed over the words, creased from the folding, but still clear.

It’s always you, my betrothed.

#adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes imagine #alucard imagine #alucard x reader #castlevania imagine #castlevania #writing #if this doesnt get notes ill boycott writing for all of 2021

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thegracelessfaceless · 3 years

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For the ask game, maybe 30 for Jeff the Killer if you do him? If not, that's fine, you can do whatever character you like. But thank you

You got it, love! I had a little bit off trouble getting into the Jeff mindset, at first. Then I swear his spirit must have taken over, because, shit this gets dark 😅

30. "Ugh, my head... What happened?"

(From Whump Prompts by @whumpster-dumpster )

🔪Drunk and In Love (Jeff the Killer x Reader)🔪

Tw: This is a Jeff the Killer ficlet. More so, it's a David Near Jeff the Killer ficlet. There will be talk of murder, wounds, gore, and sexual themes. If you get triggered by that, maybe Jeff isn't the character for you (just saying). Because of this, the fic will begin under the cut. Enjoy! 🧡

New Journal

🔪Entry #1

It's been a few years since I escaped from that nuthouse in Forest Lawn and killed that crackpot doctor. I've tried to put as much distance between that place and me as possible. I can't help but feel like I'm being followed sometimes, but I try to ignore it as best I can.

Truthfully, I'm getting tired. What I did in Forest Lawn made it onto the national news. Police managed to generate a pretty accurate image of me with CGI, so it's likely I could be recognized at any moment. I travel at night and don't sleep well during the day. I stick to the shadows, only coming out for food, water, or to kill.

After Forest Lawn, I tried to stop, but the anger always comes boiling up, drowning me. I wake up the next night, covered in blood, clutching my knife, Matilda, to my chest like Liu used to hold his dolls.

I miss Liu. In a fucked up way, I even miss Mom and Dad. I don't think I actually miss my parents though. I think I'm just lonely. I miss having someone to talk to, the comfort of human touch. And I never have time to really enjoy myself. For once I would like to take my time, like with Christy.

🔪Entry #2

After a few days thought, I've decided to go back to Forest Lawn. I know it's risky, but... I remember back at school, before everything started getting out of control, there was one person I could halfway call a friend besides Liu. They were always in the library during lunch, their light haired head buried in a book. I would sit at the same table as them and watch them as they read. Their name was Reader. After a few days of sitting with them, Reader started small talk with me and I enjoyed their company. I know I won't be able to keep them. It's too dangerous, I could be caught, plus I don't need to worry about keeping up with another person, I'm barely living myself. But I can keep them around for a little while, at least until morning.

🔪Entry #3

I estimate that I'll be in Forest Lawn by morning. I'm tired, but I feel driven. I think the anger is building again. I hope I don't black out during my time with Reader. Then it would all be for nothing. Today, I dreamed about my time with Reader when I get to Forest Lawn. It was the best dream I've had in a long time. I was surprised that I got enough sleep to dream, but I guess all of my traveling has tired me out. I'll recover for a couple of nights before I track Reader down. That way I'll be fresh.

🔪Entry #4

I found them. I found Reader. There's a construction site across from the post office and I sat up post there, watching during daytime hours. They came after my second day here. Luckily it's a weekend, or I would've been found by the workers. I was antsy and a headache was starting. Then a car drove up and Reader got out and went in. They dropped some junk mail in the trash on the way out. Careless of them, but it's good luck for me. I waited until the lot and street was empty, the post office closed for lunch, and dug one of the flyers out of the mail. It had been forwarded from their home address to their box. Even luckier. I'll go there tonight and see if there's a place I can stay nearby. I'm too anxious to sleep and my head is pounding.

🔪Entry #5

I've found an empty house that sits diagonally from Reader's house. I can see into their bedroom window from the upstairs bedroom. I'd take the time to enjoy their lovely form like I used to with Christy but my head is still hurting and my skin feels like it's going to crawl off of my body. I'm so frustrated that I feel like I'm going to explode. I'm going to have to find something to numb this anger out if I want to remember my special night with Reader.

🔪Entry #6

I broke into the liquor store where I stole that bottle of whisky that that biker motherfucker used to set me on fire. The scars aren't as bad now, fading with time. I'll never be mistaken for a beauty queen, but I'm happy with the result. I'm just as monstrous on the outside as I am on the inside. I filled up my duffle bag with bottles and left before the police could respond to the alarms. The vodka I'm drinking puts a fire in my gut, but numbs out that stifling anger, so, it serves me well. It's been really... Nice out the past few days. Maybe Reader will come out to enjoy the good weather tomorrow. Another added benefit of the booze is that it helps me sleep. It's working even now.

🔪Entry #7

I can't wait any longer, it has to be tonight. I don't feel great about being drunk tonight with Reader, but I can't let myself lose control. I refuse to miss this. Why does it have to be tonight? Because I watched Reader doing lawn upkeep for 3 hours today. They came out dressed for the warm temperature, their tee shirt and shorts showing off all that lovely pale skin. Not as pale as mine, but then, no one's paler than an albino. I watched them mow their small front yard, and mess around with their flower garden. I guess the Homeowners Association is still strict as hell. The longer I watched, the more I felt that part of me that has a bloodlust. It can't wait. Reader will be dead by morning.

🔪Entry #8

The sun just set. I woke up to prepare. I hated waking up because I dreamed of Reader again. About tonight. About rubbing Readers hot, slick blood over my skin until I'm covered in it. About cutting them open and wrapping myself in their entrails. Of cutting out their heart and holding it in my hands. It felt great to feel their body struggling under mine, and then my alarm woke me, pissing me off. I'm going to have a few drinks and wait for them to turn the lights out. Then, it's time.

🔪Entry #9

I'm in a state of shock. I think I felt fear for the first time, I think, like actual fear. It was intoxicating. I made it over to Reader's house and tried the front door. It actually opened. Once again, stupid of them, but lucky for me. Or so I thought. I made my way into the house and was about to start up the stairs when I heard a floorboard creak behind me. I turned just enough to see the flash of a wooden bat. The world seemed to slide to the left and then everything was black. The whisky I drank must have slowed my reflexes.

When I woke up, I was in a room that looked like a basement. My hands were bound behind my back with more of the zip ties that held my ankles together. I heard a small sound, like a shifting of cloth and looked in that direction. Reader was sitting a few feet away from me, legs crossed on the floor in front of them, with a patient look on their face.

"Jeffery Mason" they said, "never thought I'd see you again." They got up from the floor and walked over to me, coming down to my level in a squat. They pulled a switchblade from their back pocket and held the hilt to my chest, thumb on the button. My insides felt like they liquified and I gulped as I turned my head to see them better. The world did its sliding thing again and I closed my eyes.

I tried to answer, but had to clear my throat first.

"Ugh, my head... What happened?"

Then I remembered seeing the bat before everything went black.

"You knocked me out with a bat."

Reader nodded once, still holding the switchblade to the stretch of hoodie under my breastbone.

"How did you know?"

"I saw you watching me from the house across the street. Do you think I'm stupid, Jeff?"

I shook my head, my skin going cold. I'd thought they hadn't seen me. The alcohol made me more careless than I thought. I was already starting to feel it again through the shock.

"Yes, you did. And you were wrong, weren't you?"

I nodded, "Now I know better."

They pulled the knife away from my abdomen and moved it to my ankles, cutting the zip ties there, then then ones on my wrists. Feeling that I didn't know I had lost came flooding back and I rubbed at my hands, trying to get the tingling to stop.

"Get up," they demanded, "and come on. You were just leaving, right?"

I got up slowly, stamping my feet a little to wake them up, "Right."

I followed them back up the basement stairs and through the house to the front door. I saw the remnants of the bat, shattered and laying on the floor in a small puddle of blood. As soon as I saw it, the side of my head started aching. How the fuck did I even survive that?!

Reader held the door for me and I passed through it and they spoke after I went down the three steps of their porch.

"And Jeff," they said and I looked back to see them walk up to me quickly. They grabbed a handful of my hoodie and pulled me close, "Stay the fuck away from me and out of Forest Lawn, or next time, I'll fucking kill you."

They can try.

But I won't stay away.

🔪Entry #10

I fell asleep almost immediately when I got back to the house I was camping out in, after writing my last entry. When I woke up, I had a splitting headache, but not the same kind as when the anger starts taking over. I guess Reader scared it away for now. I'll deal with it when it comes. I grabbed a bottle to numb both my emotions and the ache in the side of my head.

Thinking now, I realize I felt another new emotion: love. I love Reader. They're not the same as Christy, or any of my victims. Reader is strong. Reader is unafraid. Reader is cunning. Reader is... Perfect. So now here I am, drunk and in love. I know Reader will try to kill me if I see them again, but I can't not see them. Being with Reader was like being on a drug, a terrifying, but amazing drug. And now I can't get enough. I will have them, fuck the consequences. Reader, don't let your guard down, I'm coming for you.

🔪Entry #11

I'm moving locations so Reader won't get suspicious. I just got back from leaving a love note for Reader on their front door. I'll have to steal a new knife from somewhere, because I used Matilda to pin the note to their door. It's a gift for them, a token of my love. I hope they like it.

Also, all creeps are open for requests. If I'm not familiar with them, it may take me a little longer to write because I'll have to get to know them, but I'm always willing to expand 🧡

#creepypasta #jeff the killer #david near #jefferymason #jeff the killer x reader #the morgue files #graciefacewrites #tw stalking #tw unsanitary #tw blood #tw gore #tw Jeff the Killer

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emmerrr · 3 years

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Ohhh Can I Request Adam & Ronan At The Beach As A Prompt? 🏖 ☀️ 🌊

The beach had seemed like a better idea in theory. The reality hadn’t quite lived up to what Ronan had imagined.

To be fair, playing in the water had been fun, at least up until the point where Ronan got knocked down by a wave that was much bigger than anticipated, and in the process swallowed what felt like half of the ocean. Adam had dragged him back out of the water and bought him an ice cream, which was nice until he got dive-bombed by seagulls and had to high-tail it down the beach to try and get away from them. In the end, he’d thrown his ice cream at them in desperation.

Adam’s laugh, breathless and helpless at the whole scene, almost made it worth it. Almost.

“I’ll get you another one,” Adam said when he could finally get a coherent sentence out.

“No,” Ronan sighed. “It’ll only happen again. Look at the little bastards, they’ve got it out for me.”

Adam nodded tolerantly. “Of course they do.” He offered Ronan what was left of his own ice cream, which Ronan wolfed down in one bite whilst keeping a suspicious eye on the loitering seagulls.

After that, Adam started building a sandcastle in a very precise and mathematical and Adam Parrish kind of way, while Ronan sat next to him digging a hole.

Before long, the water started getting close enough to pose a threat to Adam’s creation, so Ronan took all of the sand he’d excavated while digging his hole and used it to build a protective wall.

Adam looked up at this and smiled, squinting in the sunlight.

“Thank you.” He scrutinised Ronan a bit closer, then frowned. “You need to put more sunblock on, you’re looking a bit pink.”

“I just put some on.”

“That was like two hours ago. You’ve been in the sea since then.”

“I’m tough, I won’t get sunburnt.”

Adam rolled his eyes at this. “You are not stronger than the sun. You are an ant, and it is a magnifying glass.”

If he was being honest with himself, Ronan was starting to feel a bit warm. “Fine,” he said, like he was making a huge concession. “If it’ll make you happy.”

“So happy,” Adam drawled, but he grinned and kissed Ronan’s cheek.

Ronan made his way a little further back, to where he and Adam had set up camp with two shitty deckchairs and an umbrella. He brushed stray sand off himself as best he could, then searched through the bag they’d brought until he found the sunblock. He reapplied it to his arms, chest and face. He’d have to call Adam over to do his back.

Adam was still building his sandcastle, so Ronan sat for a minute to wait for him. It was hot in the mid-afternoon sun, and sitting under the umbrella made Ronan’s eyes feel heavy. He shut them for a minute, just until Adam was done, then they could play beach volleyball or hunt for hermit crabs or something.

Ronan came to with a jolt. The light was different, the sun just starting to set. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. A t-shirt was draped over him that Ronan had not put there, which meant Adam must have done it at some point.

Ronan sat up fully. The chair next to him was empty, so Ronan scanned the shoreline for Adam.

He wasn’t difficult to find, standing diagonally across from their spot on the beach, his back to Ronan. He looked sunkissed and inviting, and Ronan got up and made his way over, barefoot in the sand.

Adam didn’t turn when Ronan drew level, but it was clear from the slight smile on his face that he knew Ronan was there.

“What are you doing?” Ronan asked.

“I’m sinking.”

“Huh?”

Adam gestured to his feet. Every time the tide ran over them and then retreated, Adam sunk further into the sand.

Ronan smiled. “Ah.” He took Adam’s hand.

“What are you doing?”

“If you’re sinking, I’m coming with you.”

Adam leaned his head against Ronan’s shoulder, squeezing his hand. They watched the sun slowly set, changing the colours in the sky.

Adam yawned. “I don’t know why I’m so tired, I didn’t even do anything today.”

“What are you talking about, you’ve had a busy day of construction. Nice castle, by the way. Make sure you get a picture.”

“I already did.” He yawned again, and Ronan untangled their hands to wrap his arm around Adam.

“You can sleep in the car on the way home.”

“Deal.” He looked down at himself. “Ugh, sand. I’d forgotten how much it gets everywhere.”

“Okay, Anakin.”

Adam laughed, and Ronan smiled, pleased that his Star Wars reference landed. “Did you have a nice day? Evil seagulls aside, of course.”

“Fuckin’ seagulls.” Ronan hated having to wear sunblock, and he hated it when it was excessively hot, and he hated accidentally inhaling salty sea water, and he hated the seagulls of this beach in particular, and he hated that he and Adam were now going to track sand back into his car that would undoubtedly remain there for years to come. But he loved doing anything with Adam; anything at all. “But yeah. It was a good day. You?”

“Of course.” Adam smiled, tucking his face into Ronan’s neck. “I was with you.”

#the raven cycle #pynch #tumblr prompts #trc #anon #emma answers

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tulipsinkships · 4 years

Text

tolerate it - g.w.

summary: george and y/n’s relationship’s been on the decline and it’s a matter of how much they can tolerate it

pairing: george weasley x reader

warnings: angst, def not a happy ending

word count: 1.1k

a/n: this is my first piece of writing that’s not solely for school that i’ve done in a long time so please be nice! constructive criticism are always welcome ◡�� anyways, tolerate it is one of my favourite songs off of evermore and... i’ve been thinking of writing again for a while so... you know... why not? ok enough talking you can get to the fic now!

It was a crisp cold night out in London tonight. The city had slowed down and the number of people that walked on the streets started to diminish.

You had been sitting at home waiting for George to come home from work. 5 hours had passed since the shoppe closed up for the night and your boyfriend was still nowhere to be seen. In the time spent waiting for his return, you’d removed what makeup remained on your face and changed into something comfier than the dress you had on earlier. You stared at the words on the book for the third time that night, hopelessly trying to absorb the fiction. While you started reading as a means of distracting yourself, your mind couldn’t help but wander and reel at the possibilities of where George could have been.

You two were supposed to go on a date tonight but George was a no show. An hour or so into waiting for him in your shared home, you decided to eat the food you had prepared. You had got home early from work today to get ready for the night. It had been a while since you two had gone on a date and you wanted to make things special for him.

Disappointment was an understatement for how you felt. The first time George had missed a date, you brushed it off and told him you understood, it was a simple mistake. He’d been busy with work and the shop was flourishing with business. The second time, you smiled and nodded at his excuse. How could you say no to that charming face and pleading eyes. Now, as you stand in your kitchen, you wondered how much more of this you could tolerate.

“George?” You call out from the sofa, legs hanging off of the side.

“Y/n.” George replies, mimicking your tone.

“Could we do something?”

“I’m reading the Daily Prophet, poppet,” George sighs and looks up from the paper, “What is it you want to do?”

You felt your heart sink just ever so slightly at the use of the nickname, he’d only ever use it when he was agitated. “We could go down to the park and take a walk? Just like we used to do when we started dating?”

“Poppet,” he heaves another sigh, “I’m feeling rather tired, you know with work and everything, I was thinking of just staying in today.”

Mustering up a small smile, you dismiss your disappointment with “That’s alright.” And return to the ragged strings of yarn you’d been trying to crochet into socks.

Your relationship had grown mundane. Nothing really sparked this rut you two had fallen into. Slowly, over the many years you two had been together, you and George had fallen out of step with each other. Not to say that you didn’t love George or him, you; you both still loved each other. Your relationship had just grown stale. Maybe it was the overwhelming amount of paperwork he's constantly had to do at the shop, or because you were working overtime at St. Mungos. Whatever it was, it caused an unease to sit at the bottom of your stomach.

Realising that it was soon becoming 1 am, and still no word from George, you thought it would be best to check in on him. Pulling a hoodie over your body, you apparated to 93 Diagon Alley.

Walking towards the direction of the store, you silently prayed that George would be there burning the midnight oil. You notice the lights on in the store and breathed a sigh of relief. Pushing open the entrance door, your eyes fall on George and Fred sitting in a small open space in the middle of the store, with Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell. Your eyes light up at the sight of your ex schoolmates, who you had not seen since the end of the battle of Hogwarts. But your excitement soon dimmed as none of them seemed to notice your presence.

The store was clouded by a misty layer of smoke and the four of them laughed loudly at a joke that Fred had told. “Well he’s definitely burning something,” You thought, pressing your tongue to your cheek. The unease that you had felt earlier started to bubble over into anger. Trying your best to reason with yourself, you found yourself caught in an internal struggle of frustration and devotion. George didn’t mean to leave you waiting on purpose, he must have let time pass him by. There was no way he would have ditched you.

You stood there watching the scene unfold for a while before deciding to leave. Turning to reach for the door, you took one last look at George’s face. He looked dazed and so peaceful. You shook your head and scowled. Any and all of the reasons, excuses more like, that you thought of a minute ago vanished, only to fuel your anger further. Leaving the shop, you slammed the door, making sure to wake him up from his peace.

You didn’t know how to feel. Everything you had suppressed for the past month had become this melting pot of emotions. You couldn’t comprehend how he could do this to you, wishing you could apparate out of existence. You felt tears start to prick at your eyes as you walked away from the store.

Walking, which quickly turned into running as you heard the door to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes creak open. Not wanting to deal with anyone, you went down the nearest alleyway to collect yourself before you tried to apparate somewhere else.

“Y/n!” You heard George yell after you, “Please y/n, don’t run from me.”

Steadying your breathing in a nook between Flourish and Blotts, you stared at him. You had enough of being just a second thought to him. In spite of your many years together, you’d ended up begging for scraps of his love. In spite of your many devoted years together, you got it all wrong, somehow. In spite of your many loving years together, you couldn’t tolerate it anymore. If this was where you two were going to end, you would have rather it had never begined at all.

“Please please please, I’m so sorry y/n,” George pleaded, starting to catch up to you.

You saw the guilt and remorse behind his dilated eyes and for a split second you almost forgave him. Until your heart flickered back to the rage you had felt a mere two minutes before.

“No.” Bringing yourself to muster up a smile, you apparated out of Diagon Alley.

—-

people who... might be interested? idk 🤎 ok love u all

@sweetnspicysimp @weasleyhome @whizboingies @spacexcowgirl @amrtxntias @anchoeritic

#i’m gonna go to bed bc i’m nervy #please be nice or i might cry bc i’m SENSITIVE #george weasley #george weasley fics #george weasley x reader #fred weasley #harry potter #liz writes

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the-starryknight · 4 years

Photo

I’ve decided to create a rather self-indulgent series of rec lists (with fic, art, podfic, fanmixes etc.) related to various facets of the art world. We’ll start with the more typical take on it - Artist!Harry and Artist!Draco - and spin out to antiques & houses & galleries & fashion & wandmaking & music and more. I welcome chat in my inbox! Rec me something I missed, exclaim about your favs... I’d love to hear your thoughts.

ART + DRARRY RECS: ARTIST!HARRY

Many of these gorgeous pieces use Harry’s art as a way for him to heal or to find a path outside of the Aurors. Making (in whatever form) is also often a way for Harry to reconnect with Draco (or to connect in the first place). Enjoy!

[Fic + Podfic] Turn fic by Saras_girl, podfic by @mab-speaks / Queenie_Mab 2013 | E | 307k

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

★ A classic Drarry fic by the classic Saras_girl featuring a romantic, emotional, and powerful story about finding oneself (again & again) in the world of his own making. Plus, Mab brings new life to the gorgeous prose in the podfic with a lovely storyteller’s tone. ★

[Fic + Art + Fanmix] The Boy and the Sleeping Prince fic by @writcraft, art by @phoenixacid 2015 | E | 27k/Illustration

Harry is miserable and tired of being an Auror, coasting through life until he’s forced to make some changes. Spurred on by his passion for drawing and working with best-selling author Draco Malfoy, Harry develops a charm which gives children a magical, interactive reading experience. But when it’s time to test the spell, the two men find themselves trapped in a nightmarish fairy tale world. Can they escape unscathed, or is Draco right in his assertions that there is no such thing as a happily ever after?

★ This fic is so unusual! Featuring illustrator!Harry and writer!Draco tumbling into a surrealistic and dramatic world, a fairytale of their own making. The worldbuilding in this fic is incredibly immersive in terrifying and beautiful ways, made visible and audible in the art and fanmix. PhoenixAcid’s illustrations are just stunning with incredible shading and depth. ★

[Fic] Solder by Oakstone730 2015 | E | 35k

Seven years ago, Harry disappeared out of Draco and Scorpius's life without a trace after Harry's addictions destroyed his and Draco's marriage. Now, Harry’s back, and Draco wants to believe he’s changed. But Harry isn’t the only one haunted by the past.

★ Though this fic deals with the challenging weight of Harry’s potions addiction, it is set years into his recovery and is all about rebuilding, reconnecting and regaining trust (all of which take work and care, which this fic shows with love). The descriptions of the art in this fic makes my heart yearn for more stained glass in my life! ★

[Art] Second Chances by @celilasart / LLAP115 2017 | G | Comic

The painter Irah Raindrop has conquered the Wizarding art world by storm, but no one knows who is hiding behind this pseudonym. Draco Malfoy is one of Irah's biggest fans and a serious art collector who doesn't miss a single exhibition of Irah's art. This time, he dragged Pansy to the grand opening of Irah's latest exhibition in Paris.

★ A gorgeous comic with a striking collector!Draco, Pansy in a red dress, a little cafe, and a mysterious reunion in the city of love. The expressions in this are gorgeously dynamic. ★

[Fic] Tourist: A Love Song by xErised 2019 | T | 30k (cw for a potions overdose, untagged)

Harry is in New York City looking for inspiration for his next collection of paintings. He’s not expecting inspiration to appear in the form of a black-haired Draco Malfoy playing the guitar and singing with such a beautiful voice.

★ xErised uses Harry’s art as a way for him to see Draco with new eyes. Harry draws him from across the room, and in doing so, finds that he’s an entirely new person, and how gorgeous and powerful is this kind of sight? I loved exploring all my favorite parts of NYC with its doting resident, Draco. ★

[Fic] The Delicate Balance of Light and Shade by Nympha_Alba 2020 | E | 13k

With the war finally over, Harry tries to find his own path in a world where he is free to make his own choice. On a holiday in France, he unexpectedly falls in love with art and painting. Returning to Hogwarts to help rebuild it, he is paired up with Draco Malfoy to restore the Room of Requirement - and unexpectedly falls in love with Draco. When the rebuilding efforts are done, Harry disappears. Years later, Draco goes to Muggle London at Pansy's suggestion to visit an art gallery. The name of the Muggle artist is unknown to Draco, but the subject of the erotic paintings is shockingly familiar: it's Draco himself. It's time to confront the past and make some long-due confessions.

★ This fic feels like it has a heartbeat in the way that Nympha_Alba has constructed short, poignant scenes. Nympha’s descriptions of Harry’s work are stunning and so revealing about both Harry and Draco. ★

[Fic] The Way We Wind by @thesleepiesthufflepuff / BlueFay 2020 | E | 47k

After the war, Harry’s life falls to shambles. Each day revolves around an intense battle with his mental health, and there’s nothing that Ron or Hermione can do to help him. That is, until Hermione teaches Harry how to knit. Fast forward five years, and Harry is the proud owner of a renowned knitting shop in Diagon Alley, The Whomping Willow Woolery. Christmas season is upon him, and the shop is busier than ever. So, is it really a surprise that Draco Malfoy wanders in looking for a gift for his mother? Cue awkward meetings, fluffy knitting lessons, a truly horrible scarf, a cat named Stockinette who is readily obsessed with Draco, and falling in love with one’s worst enemy.

★ In the ultimate finding-healing-in-art fic, The Way We Wind weaves a romantic, emotional love story for two men whose lives are and have always been along the same thread. The perfect feel-good that will leave you wanting a warm knit jumper. ★

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mintchocolateleaves · 3 years

Text

Cost of Freedom (44/52)

Summary: In which two groups converge, emotions are shared and two criminals reunite.

A/N: Here’s the Apr chapter! I hope you’ll all enjoy! Next update should be May 22nd!

[Full Chapter List]

Hattori leads them to an abandoned shrine in the middle of nowhere, and Kaito is torn between thinking ‘really, this was the best you could find?’ and ‘oh, this is an amazing hideout.’

He supposes they lose points for style, seeing as it’s unlike all of Kaito’s hideouts, and his are all amazing, but it’s very obviously effective. Their path bulging with tree roots, ivy rising up the side of buildings – everything about this place screams that it is lost to time, untouched by a society that they’re trying to escape.

They drive up most of the way, before they have to abandon their bikes, pushing them the rest of the way. Squinting through the dark at the undergrowth shows faint tire tracks. Kaito doesn’t blame Hattori for having them traverse the rest of the trek by foot – with the sun having set and unable to see properly the terrain beneath them, driving through seems like an accident waiting to happen.

Especially since Kaito doesn’t know the area.

“It ain’t too far,” Hattori says as he pushes his motorcycle along, his visor pushed up as he turns back to them. “Five minutes max, if you don’ walk too slow.”

Kaito nods. Removing his own helmet and passing it to Aoko for her to hold, he focuses on pushing the bike along, memorising the path so the likelihood of being caught off guard at any point will be vastly lowered.

“How did you find this place, Hattori-kun?” Aoko asks, as they continue down the path. Her tone is light, curious and Kaito tilts his head slightly in her direction as if to agree that he’d also like to know.

“When Kazuha an’ I both got our licenses we spent a lotta time just explorin’ the neighbourin’ areas.” He pauses for a moment, before sheepishly adding. “We actually found this place completely by accident. Got lost and wound up findin’ this place.”

Aoko lets out a small laugh. “Who was the one who got you both lost. You or Toyama-chan?”

Hattori lets out a small sound that seems almost like he’s spluttering, before grumbling that their usual route had been under construction that day.

Kaito takes that to mean that it was Hattori who got the pair lost, then.

“I think I like it out in the nature like this,” Aoko says, as they break through a small group of trees, breaking out into the old remnants of the shrine courtyard. “It’s a nice change of pace from Tokyo.”

Of course – Aoko had never really been given the opportunity to go on trips like this. The most she’d been on were their school trips. Her father had never really taken long enough breaks from work for them to travel.

“Me too,” Heiji agrees.

“You’re both weird,” Kaito decides. “I prefer the city. So much more is happening.”

Aoko snorts, shaking her head. Kaito raises a questioning brow in her direction. She shrugs.

“Of course, you like the city more,” Aoko says. “You like crowds.”

Kaito opens his mouth to protest, before closing his mouth. Because hey, it’s not like she’s wrong.

Hattori leads them to the edge of the shrine building, towards the side of the building where another motorcycle has been stashed just out of sight. He leaves sets the stand up on his own, before stepping back and allowing Kaito to do the same.

Then, he heads up to the door, offering a short knock before pushing it open. The door opens, the building inside practically encased in darkness. Hattori steps inside, ushering Aoko and Kaito to follow behind as he steps into the dark.

Kaito supposes this is the moment where the horror would begin if he were living inside a horror movie.

“Kazuha?” Hattori calls, once the door is closed, words lingering in the air before Kazuha’s voice echoes from a room further inside the building.

“Heiji?” She asks. The sound of a door creaking open offers a faint glow of light filling the corridor as Kazuha pokes her head out, staring in their direction. “In here.”

Kaito follows Hattori down the corridor. Standing in the doorframe, Kazuha offers a small wave as she spots him.

“Welcome back,” she says, and Kaito offers her an easy grin as she steps to the side, letting him into the room. He barely focuses on Kazuha and Aoko as they greet one another, as he steps into the room, because Shinichi is sat at the table staring up at him.

Kaito stares back at him.

“Nice place you got here,” Kaito says, and immediately feels like an idiot for it. He steps further into the room, making his way over to the table.

Shinichi seems to be watching him carefully. The room, lit by portable lamps, doesn’t offer the best lighting, but from what Kaito can see, Shinichi doesn’t look well. His eyes are wide for a moment as he stares before his lips tug upwards into a half-smile of pure relief.

“Yours had heating,” he says, “but this place has its own perks.”

They reach Yurakucho station without any further incidents.

Saguru stumbles into the station, Ran limping after him and for a moment the crowd carries them forwards, acting like a protective barrier. They manage to get through the crowd down to their specific platform with little notice before people start to really notice the pair.

Even then, all it really takes to avoid people notice is for Ran to grab her handkerchief from her bag and wipe away the blood on Saguru’s face. Doing so results in a wince, but he doesn’t say anything more.

They’re both in a state of shock – Ran isn’t surprised.

“I thought I made you promise not to get hurt again,” Ran whispers, wiping away the blood. It doesn’t remove completely, specks of dried blood remaining, but that’s to be expected. Hopefully, people will perceive the blood as being rosy cheeked until they can wash it away. Ran breathes out a sigh – it’s not like they have another choice.

Saguru frowns slightly, leaning closer to her, into the hand that wipes away his blood. “Sorry – I… What was that?”

Ran frowns, but repeats herself, a little louder this time. This time, he offers a wry, self-deprecating smile.

“I said I’d try.”

Ran shakes her head and lifts the handkerchief, taking in the wound he’s received. He’s lucky – especially so – that the bullet hadn’t gone been even a centimetre to his left. The wound begins just above the right side of his mouth in a diagonal line up across his cheekbone and in the skin above his ear.

The skin seems split open in tags, torn open by the bullet and Ran resists a wince of her own. She wonders if her leg looks similar, the skin seared by the bullet, blood welling around it.

She lowers the handkerchief back to the wound to keep it covered, letting Saguru take hold of it instead.

“I think you’ll need more stitches,” Ran says lightly. Her gaze drops down to her trousers, to the rip in the fabric, a faint dye of red around it. “…I think maybe we both will.”

Saguru’s gaze narrows in on the wound. “I should’ve realised…”

“It’s alright,” Ran says. The subway train comes into view, the doors opening as people exit. She indicates for them to get on, and Saguru staggers after her. “I didn’t really notice it much until now. The adrenaline.”

“It’s… the bullet isn’t inside?”

Ran shakes her head, watching the doors to the subway train close. She finds herself watching the crowd more than she had before, knows that Saguru is as well. “I don’t think so.”

“There’s a pharmacy at Tokyo station,” Saguru notes. “We should probably get some bandages in there… gauze too.”

Ran nods. They should be able to help patch each other up. Washing the wound and bandaging things up won’t be the same as seeing a doctor but right now… the idea of finding a doctor seems too risky.

“And some new clothes,” Ran agrees. “I think there’s a UNIQLO at the station too…”

Train tickets out of Tokyo would have to come first but after the past fifteen minutes they’d experienced, something as minor as changing into clean clothes would be highly relieving.

Stepping out of the lit room, Kazuha glances to Heiji and offers a faint smile.

“We should leave ‘em to it,” she says quietly. She glances over her shoulder to Shinichi and Kaito, before turning back to him. “We need to get home anyway.”

Heiji nods. He’d mentioned that they wouldn’t be able to stay long when he arrived so Kazuha knows that he understands. She turns to Nakamori, watching as she places down two motorcycle helmets and offers what she hopes is a reassuring smile.

Kazuha doesn’t know what to say to her, so hopefully the smile is enough.

“We’re gonna go,” Kazuha says as Nakamori looks up at her. “We’ll all catch up properly tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Nakamori says, pushing herself back up. “I’ll see you both off.”

As she speaks, she leans forward, slowly closing the door behind them all.

“You don’t have t’ do tha’,” Heiji says, but Nakamori shakes her head slowly following them back outside of the shrine.

“I actually wanted to speak to you Toyama-chan,” Nakamori says, as the breeze ruffles the fabric of Kazuha’s blouse, a reminder to put on her jacket for the ride back. “If you both don’t mind staying for a little longer.”

“As long as it’s quick,” Kazuha says. She lifts a hand, waving around the area with a small flourish of her wrist. “We could walk around the grounds, if you wanted?”

Nakamori nods. “I’ll try to be quick.”

Kazuha shares a look with Heiji, who offers a shrug, before turning back to Nakamori. They fall into a gently walk beside each other, in silence as they walk away from the building and towards the remains of the chozuya. The small fountain is decaying now, moss growing at the edges of stagnant water.

“What did you wanna speak abou’?” Kazuha asks when they’ve moved far enough to no longer be overheard.

Nakamori presses a finger into the pool of water, sending ripples across it, algae clinging to her finger. She lifts her hand back up, inspecting the slime with a faint look of distaste before wiping it away on the fabric of her trousers.

“I wanted to ask about all of this,” Nakamori says, her gaze flicking back towards Kazuha. She offers an almost wry smile. “Or, I guess more specifically, I wanted to ask about Kudo-kun.”

Kazuha exhales. Long and unsurprised. “Ah.”

She wonders which direction this line of questioning will take, whether Nakamori will be angry like she had been, by Kudo’s involvement of someone dear to her. Whether she’ll blame him for the shooting, for being the reason people had been willing to shoot.

Part of her is glad that Nakamori has come to her first, so she can see what sort of conflict might arise later.

“What abou’ him?”

Once more, Nakamori dips her fingers into the pool of water, splashing the water with the pads of her fingers. She remains quiet as she does, brows furrowing slightly as she considers.

“What’s he like?”

“Kaito-kun hasn’t told you abou’ him?” Kazuha asks.

“Oh, he has,” Nakamori says. “I just think your opinion might be more objective than his or Hattori-kun’s. You’ve only known him a short time.”

Kazuha considers it. She can understand why Nakamori might be asking, why she might want to know. In such a short time, her closest friend is asking her to trust in someone the world has decided to be guilty.

“He’s been through a lot,” Kazuha begins, after a moment. “And I worry ‘bout how it’s all affected him. He doesn’t seem to be copin’ as well as he wants everyone to think he is. But he’s not a bad person. He’s tryin’ to do th’ right thing.”

Nakamori lifts her fingers and, this time, lets the water drip from her fingers.

“I see,” Nakamori says. She offers a faint grin. “That’s all I wanted to ask about, really. Or well… I guess I just didn’t want to be in there while they both got all mushy and stuff.”

Somehow, Kazuha thinks that’s not all it is. Especially as Nakamori turns, glancing back to the building they’d left behind, her eyelids narrowing.

“He tried to warn Kudo-kun about th’ shooting,” Kazuha says, “even though we told him it’d be dangerous.”

“Oh,” Nakamori says, faintly. “Kudo-kun did?”

“And he didn’t want to leave Tokyo without helpin’ Kaito,” Kazuha continues, “Heiji pushed him to leave before it became impossible to with all th’ searches.”

“I wasn’t blaming him or anything,” Nakamori notes. Her voice is light, no underlying hostility or frustrations that Kazuha had been nervous might be hiding beneath the surface. “You thought I was?”

“I don’t know,” Kazuha says. “I don’t really know much about you, about wha’ you might be thinkin’. Thought I’d tell ya just in case you did.”

Nakamori hums. Leaning back against the fountain, she tilts her head, considering. “Do you blame him, Toyama-chan?”

Kazuha’s lips part slightly in surprise from the question. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Nakamori studies her closely. “Hattori-kun broke a lot of laws to help Kudo-kun escape. It would make sense if you did.”

For a moment, Kazuha is compelled to refuse, to say that there’s no residual anger, that she didn’t blame Shinichi in the slightest. But hadn’t she snapped at him the day she’d found out about everything. She’d even been tempted to turn him in, would’ve done it if the following murder hadn’t occurred.

“I…” Kazuha sighs. “A little.” She pauses. “A lot, actually. He put Heiji in danger with all o’ this, and I am angry abou’ that, but there’s nothin’ I can do to change it now.”

Nakamori remains quiet.

“And it’s not really th’ time for it right now, you know?” Kazuha continues. “I can be angry ‘bout it all later.”

“Did he ask Hattori-kun to help,” Nakamori asks. “Or did Hattori-kun offer?”

“Huh?”

“Well, if Hattori-kun offered before Kudo-kun asked, then you’re probably mad at the wrong person.” Nakamori’s pull into a sardonic smile as she pushes away from the fountain, a small jump in her step. “I’m probably just overstepping, it’s not really any of my business.”

Kazuha lifts her hands, tugging on the bow in her hair. Her ponytail tightens as a result, tugging at each strand in a way that leaves her scalp aching.

“Maybe it isn’t,” Kazuha says, “but you sound like you speak from experience.”

“Oh, definitely.” Nakamori doesn’t turn back to look at her, heading instead back towards the main building. “Drive home safely, Toyama-chan.”

The first available train with two tickets available heads to Nara. Twenty minutes, the board says, until departure and as relieving it is to know they’ll be able to disappear within that time, Ran can’t help the anxiety that builds either.

The vote seems almost unanimous to go down to the platform until the last possible moment, lowering the risk of being followed onto the train.

Until then, they move between stores. First, the pharmacy for anything they think necessary. Bandages, gauze, antiseptic, among other things. Then, they move on to UNIQLO, grabbing baggy clothing in their sizes to change into once they’ve treated their wounds.

The only thing they wear on their way out, are matching ‘I <3 Tokyo’ caps, each pulled down in an attempt to keep anyone from seeing their features as easily.

By the time they make their way to their seats on the train, they’ve fallen into what Ran hopes is an effective ‘tourist’ role. Saguru seems to follow suit, playing the part with a quiet certainty. She supposes since he’d grown up moving between England, he’s used to being perceived as a tourist when trying to gain his bearings of a set country.

It’s as they sit in their seats, people sitting around them that Ran realises – it’ll be difficult to patch up their wounds without anyone noticing.

“Saguru-kun,” Ran says quietly as the train lurches into movement. When he doesn’t immediately turn to her, she pokes his shoulder to gain his attention. “Are you alright?”

“As alright as the situation permits,” Saguru replies.

Ran supposes that’s the max they can ask for right now. They’re not going to be bright and overjoyed – of course not. It would be impossible for them to be, to smile and mean it in any other way than relief they’ve managed to survive since yesterday.

Truthfully, if they were alright, Ran would be worried. What would that say about them? The ability to adapt to a new situation and push feelings down until it’s safe to react fully to them is completely different to being unaffected.

“Do you think we’ll be able to find a compartment somewhere,” Ran asks, before he can as if she’s alright too. Perhaps he knows better than to ask, but it’s something she doesn’t want to get into out in the open like this. “We need to stop the bleeding.”

Saguru lifts up from his seat slightly, looking up and down the train’s carriage before dropping back down into his chair with a long, heavy sigh. He shakes his head. “I doubt this model has individual compartments.”

“The restroom then,” Ran says, using the armrest beside her to stand without applying any pressure to her leg. “It has a lock on it too, so we should be able to avoid anyone questioning us.”

“Not the most hygienic of places to stitch a wound,” Saguru sighs, standing beside her and following her into the aisle. “But it’s not like we have a wide variety of options.”

Shinichi is suspended in silence. Unable to find the words to express just how relieved he is to see Kaito alright, to know that he’d not been responsible for someone else’s murder… His fingers curl into claws aiming for his own throat, but he manages to catch them before they move, uncurling them in a long process of self-restraint.

Kaito watches him, Shinichi knows he’s watching, as calm as ever – not showing everything he’s feeling but enough of it to be comforting.

“Hattori told us about how he found the place,” Kaito continues, and Shinichi glances past his shoulder to the now-closed door. “Interesting idea to hide in some place he couldn’t find until he was lost.”

It’s very Hattori, Shinichi can admit that much.

“Yeah,” Shinichi says, slowly. He tries to cling to the relief that’s filling him, holding onto him in an attempt to push away the dread that follows so closely behind it. The best part about working with Kaito towards a breakout was the way he chose the right time to share his feelings, keeping everything neutral outside of that but now…

Now Shinichi wishes he were less opaque.

“I’m sorry,” Shinichi blurts out. “I – shouldn’t have let you go to the heist alone and I should never have just left you either. I’m sorry, Kaito.”

Kaito opens his mouth, stands quietly for a moment before closing it again, one brow raising in an exaggerated version of surprise. It’s not a purely natural expression – or at least, it isn’t on the Kaito that he knows.

“Where’s all this coming from?” Kaito asks.

Shinichi shifts, uncomfortably. “I wanted to apologise, that’s all. You were caught and hurt and I didn’t… I could’ve helped and I didn’t.”

There’s more silence. Kaito glances down at the table, one hand tapping his typical repeat of ‘pandora’ in morse code against the wood.

“Alright,” Kaito says, “sure, but you really don’t need to be apologising for it. It wasn’t your fault.”

You know what? Shinichi would like to refute that. He does, and it had been. If… listen, there’s so much that he should’ve done, choices he could’ve changed and after everything with Kyoto and Vermouth, he just…

“Shinichi, look at me.” Begrudgingly, he does. The exaggerated expression has shifted into seriousness – lips pursed together, face more neutral – and only in its absence does Shinichi realise it had probably been exaggerated in an attempt of lightening the mood. “You weren’t responsible for any of that stuff. Why’re you blaming yourself for it?”

“I should’ve…”

“Stop it,” Kaito says, lifting his finger up and wagging it in front of him. Ah, Shinichi’s missed his inability to remain serious for long periods of time. “I’m not letting you do this.”

“What, apologise?”

“I’m not letting you beat yourself up over another thing that isn’t your fault.” Kaito lies his hand flat on the table. “Everything’s worked out, and now we can just continue where we stopped off. It’s no big deal.”

Shinichi feels like it’s impossible to brush this off as just something that’s no big deal, but he supposes this is as resolved as the issue will ever be. He sighs, stills as Kaito pushes back up to his feet towards the door.

“Uh?” He says, eloquent as ever.

“I’m going out of the room,” Kaito says, “and then, we’re going to try this whole reuniting thing again. Alright?”

The door to the train’s restroom locks with a faint click and while it’s cramped having two people inside, it’s not uncomfortably so. Ran lowers the toilet seat, placing their bags on the seat before placing the pharmacy supplies in the tiny sink.

“I’ll have to buy a new handkerchief,” Ran notes quietly, as she lifts her hand to Saguru’s wrist, slowly pulling his hand – and the handkerchief in question – away from his skin. “I doubt I’ll get out all the blood from this.”

“Sorry,” Saguru sighs. “It wasn’t a gift, was it?”

It had been part of a set – two handkerchiefs each with sakura petals stitched into the fabric, one black and the other pink. She’d found them in a small souvenir store on a visit to Kyoto she’d taken with her father, years ago, had given Shinichi the other. Sometimes she wondered what had happened to the one she’d gifted to him. Perhaps it was lost in old boxes of the Kudo household, maybe it was gone completely.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ran says, voice soft. She’ll purchase her and Shinichi a new matching pair when all of this is over. A better set, a more fitting design. “I’ve been considering changing the design anyway.”

She doesn’t think she’s been able to see sakura petals in the same way, hasn’t been able to since Shinichi’s arrest so long ago, that night when she’d been left waiting alone despite their previous plans to view the cherry blossoms together. What had once been a symbol of new beginnings had, to her, before a symbol of pain.

A fitting end to her handkerchief then, for it to be involved in concealing more pain.

“Either way,” Saguru says, “sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Ran turns, taking the handkerchief and placing it on the sink. She rummages through their bag for some wipes, placing the pack on the sink countertop as well. “Honestly, I didn’t like it that much anyway.”

She removes the bag from the sink long enough to wash her hands, before placing it back inside, turning to Saguru.

“Maybe you should sit down while I do this,” Ran says. He follows her request easily enough, the bags shuffling awkwardly onto the ground as he turns his face to the side. “Tell me if you need to take a break.”

He doesn’t ask for any break. Even as Ran sews his skin back together with a small needle and thread, the most Saguru does is close his eyes, brows furrowing with concentration as he attempts to keep from scrunching his face up.

She finishes the stitches to her best ability – they’re not exactly the neatest, but the most experience with stitches Ran has is with holes in fabric. Not tears in skin.

Dressing the wound is a little trickier. She fixes it in place with more tape than is probably needed but at least it fixes easily into place. She sits back, taking in the dressing before her gaze focuses onto a second problem.

Saguru’s ear is bleeding, fluid dripping from his earlobe. Not a heavy bleed, but specks, enough that she purses her lips together with concern.

“Your ear,” Ran says, leaning in to get a closer look. “It’s bleeding.”

Saguru shifts, letting out a long sigh. “I’m not surprised. When I pushed you out of the way, the barrel was right beside it.”

Oh.

Ran hadn’t even thought of that complication, of the fact that the sound vibration from the gun would be enough to leave damage like this. Her attention had been stolen mostly by the tearing of his skin.

“It’s fine,” Saguru stands, moving her gently to take his place. “Or well, there’s nothing to be done to help it – it probably ruptured my eardrum, that sort of thing heals naturally.”

Ran settles, letting out a long sigh. “Can you hear out of it?”

“Not really,” Saguru says, after a long pause. It explains why she’d had to repeat herself sometimes or tap him for his attention. “It’ll come back though.”

Ran presses her lips together. “Alright.”

“Enough worrying about me” Saguru says. “You’re still bleeding. Let’s deal with that.”

The traffic on the way back to Osaka is light, and they make good time as they bring their bikes back to the Toyama household. And yet, the entire drive, Kazuha feels her thoughts whirring, muddling in her head. One thing in particular repeats in her head, over and over, unable for her to move on from.

As they bring their bikes to a stop, Kazuha clicks the stand into place before stalking up to Heiji and immediately jabbing him in the chest. Hard.

“Don’t you ever tell me to go on ahead without you again,” she says, as he pulls his helmet off, indignant frown skewing his features. His brows draw downwards, forehead crinkling into a frown.

“We were bein’ followed Kazuha, I didn’t want you to get into any trouble,” Heiji protest, the words irritated.

“I don’t care about trouble you ahou,” Kazuha replies, frustration leaking into her voice. “You told me to go on thinking you were walkin’ into danger and I had to go and just hope you’d be alright? No way – that’s not fine by me.”

“Yeah, well, lettin’ you walk into danger isn’t fine with me, Kazuha!”

Kazuha grits her teeth together. Heiji’s always had the tendency to find himself in dangerous situations, it why they have matching omamori, to keep him safe. He’s been in dangerous situations, yes, but he’s never been such a… such an absolute idiot about them in the past.

There’s always been a more developed plan and Kazuha has always had a role in some way or another. They’ve always been a team.

“Letting you walk into danger isn’t alright with me, either!” Kazuha hisses. “Don’t you know how awful it was leavin’ you behind? What if that had been the last time?”

Heiji’s irritation lessens, slightly.

“Idiot,” he says, “It was fine.”

“And what if it wasn’t?” Kazuha crosses her arms close to her body, before immediately unfolding them. She doesn’t know what she wants to do with her hands – she’s reminded of the anxiety she’d felt earlier that afternoon and now it settles around her like an old, heavy coat. “What if it wasn’t fine?”

Heiji doesn’t say anything at first, mouth opening and closing as he considers her words. Kazuha decides to continue.

“I care about what happens to you, ahou,” Kazuha says. “I don’t want you to ever get hurt if there’s something I could do to help.”

And oh, she does know what she wants to do with her hands – she wraps them around Heiji’s waist, hugging closely into him.

“Why do you think I’m helpin’ with all of this you idiot?” Kazuha asks, as he lifts his hands up to return the hug. “We’re meant to be a team. Don’t ask me to leave you to do something stupid alone again.”

Heiji is quiet, but after a moment his arms tighten around Kazuha, squeezing her gently. “Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Geez, what do ya want, a pinkie promise or somethin’?” Kazuha steps back, raising her pinkie and waiting. Heiji splutters. “Wha– I wasn’t bein’ serious.”

“But I am.” Kazuha narrows her eyes. “Don’t offer if you’re not gonna do it then. You mentioned it, so now I’m makin’ you – come on.”

Heiji lets out a long groan, as if this is all an inconvenience, but he’s not hiding the smile as he shakes his head.

“Fine,” he lifts his own up, their fingers interlocking. “I pinkie promise not to send you away again. Better?”

“Better.”

They train deposits them in Nara and Ran leads them out with little knowledge of where they’re actually going. She considers briefly, asking Saguru to look it up on his phone, before shaking her head.

They’d turned their phones off for a reason – to keep their phones from pinging any signal towers and broadcasting their location hidden from anyone who might come looking.

It also has the added bonus of keeping them from any news alerts that might pop up on their phones. Ran doesn’t want to see and judging from the ever-growing quietness on Saguru’s side, she can assume he doesn’t want to see it either.

“We should find an internet café or a library,” Ran says, as they leave the station behind, scanning the road for any signs of life. They don’t need to speak to know they’d each prefer to remain on busy streets rather than side streets where people might strike to attack. “See if we can find somewhere to stay for the night.”

Saguru nods, the movement minute as he follows behind her.

They walk at a steady pace, slow enough that it doesn’t further agitate their injuries, following street signs and roads until finally the outline of an internet café comes into view.

Ran holds the door open for Saguru and after a quick payment for a ‘couples booth’, they climb the stairs up to the second floor, walking past shelves of manga to their booth in the far corner of the room.

“It’s not exactly private,” Saguru mutters as they settle by a small desk, two computer monitors showering light over them as he moves the mouse. “But we could stay here overnight.”

Ran wrinkles her nose – there’s nothing wrong with the space but… they won’t be able to talk without the risk of being overhead. She shakes her head. “We wouldn’t be able to investigate in the same way.”

“Maybe we should find some sort of hotel that won’t ask for too many details,” Saguru says, settling at the computer. He begins typing, the keyboard keys clicking beneath his fingertips. Ran settles on his left. “Get a room somewhere if we can. Hopefully, we can find someplace cheap.”

“Somewhere with complete privacy...” She considers, lips pressing together as her cheeks begin to burn pink. “Saguru-kun, how about a love hotel?”

#:3c #Fic: Cost of Freedom #DCMK #Detective Conan #Magic Kaito #Kuroba Kaito #Kudo Shinichi #Hattori Heiji #Toyama Kazuha #Nakamori Aoko #Mouri Ran #Hakuba Saguru #KaiAo #HeiKazu #(~ish)#mywriting #i hope you guys enjoy i always love getting responses to this!#next chapter should be out may 22nd!#until then! later~!

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