#he does look like a very dapper little gentleman however

[crimsonshadesblog]

Saw Lu Woh and immediately blacked out

Top tier post

Behold, a man!

[erigold13261]

>>:3 enjoy my happy headcanons

1. Mystery man's real name is Martin but Tatiana calls him Marty McFly when the two are alone

2. Sayu crew owns an DDR mashine and Sofa has the highest score out of everyone

3. EX-Jay play D&D together and recently BJ2 joined in

4. You better believe Neon is little spoon! I mean look at his partners prime cuddle material

5. Mayday used a preppy, cheerleader type girl Mama went through a gothic lolita phase and J loved dressing like a Victorian gentleman... Let's just say they don't talk about it a lot today, except J because of course he would

6. West and Eve meet up for Just Dance and chill, it gets intense sometimes with how dedicated these two are

7. Yiruk, Kayne and Dew got into trouble for a prank involving duck tape, mentos and Soda but not in the you think it would

8. Dodo loves Ena! he even did a cosplay once maybe even commission Remi for some of his OC's

9. Yinu watches Samurai jack with Orange! They think it's fun! ( J not so much because of the amount of robot brutally destroyed in the show)

10. Zuke dreamed of having a late night talk show when he was younger, think something similar to Eric Andre

1). I feel like this is a reference that is going over my head. But cool headcanon! Not what I imagine Mystery Man's name to be, but a good one to have! Tatiana being silly my beloved

2). Sofa and Dodo just having dance-offs where Dodo puts too much effort in and ends up just dancing a random dance and not even hitting the right buttons while Sofa is expertly dancing and hitting every button perfectly every time.

3). Pft, what a bunch of losers /j. I can see Noa being a DM and he regrets it almost immediately as he now has like 3 murder hobos in his campaign.

4). I like the idea that Neon switches but is big spoon most often. Or at least he wants to be, it can't be comfortable to sleep on a metal arm wrapped around you. But same thing with being little spoon, it would be difficult with his head and body. Not to mention DJ is probably not the most touchy person, and even though Mama likes spooning, it is difficult with Neon's metal body.

They try to use blankets or something to soften the metal, but it just leads to Neon getting overheated and very paranoid/feeling trapped. Which is another thing that probably stops him from being little spoon a lot.

Like I LOVE the idea, but unfortunately it has to be a conscious and awake cuddle session for spooning to work, otherwise if any of them try to sleep/nap, it will just end up bad for someone. But Neon switching a lot and being little spoon every so often is a very nice thought that I love1

5). Hmmmm, not how I see them. I like Mama as a flowey, pastel colored skirts and dresses kind of girl. And Mayday I could see going through a goth phase more than a preppy girl phase.

HOWEVER. Mayday trying to fit in and make friends so she pretends to be a preppy cheerleader kind of girl is something I see happening. It didn't make her happy but it got her some friends (who were fake but at least she wasn't alone).

For Mama, I can see her always wanting to try gothic lolita fashion (and for those who don't know lolita is a legit fashion and is different from lolis or lolicons) as it is super pretty and cute, but never having enough money for it growing up and then feeling too old to ever try it once she was an adult. I can see her finally getting to live her dream one day for a Halloween party where she dresses up in lolita fashion (and then does so more regularly every so often for fun).

As for Neon, yeah. I can see him going through a phase like that for fun. Especially if he and Martha were dressing up together. He hasn't dressed up like that for a while until Carna wanted to be a kind of Victorian noble person for Halloween one year which sparked Neon to try and wear more outfits like that at times. Especially if Carna was also dressing up to go out so fea wasn't alone in looking dapper.

6). I'm so sorry but "just dance and chill" made me think of netflix and chill lol! Those two would not be doing THAT hahah. But no, I can see them dancing together for exercise and to just bond.

7). Okay, at first I'm thinking they made a makeshift bomb (by accident, they were not thinking), but you said it's not what I think so hmm..... I can't think of anything other than taping a bunch of mentos into a duct tape ball.

8). Don't know much about ENA, but sure, I can see Dodo liking that media. Maybe even showing Eve since they both have split color designs or something like that.

9). Don't know if Maragold would like Samurai Jack all that much. Not because it was bad, but because Maragold wouldn't really be interested all that much. They would watch it with Yinu to be nice at least, and honestly I actually don't think Maragold would like the robot violence that much too. Carna would love the violence in the show but think some scenes are too slow and get bored with it too (I have seen very little Samurai Jack and it's been years so yeah, memory might be bad).

10). Also don't know anything about Eric Andre, so uh, yeah. I can see Zuke wanting to be a show host one day though! That seems like something Zuke would want to do at some point, but ended up growing out of that dream later down the line.

[winterscaptain]

spoiled.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: happy valentine���s day! 

words: 2.1k warnings: language, over-the-top valentine’s day shenanigans

summary: “the best love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes us reach for more, that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds.” - nicholas sparks. au!february 2012

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

Aaron leaves rather early in the morning, leaving you in bed complaining with only a kiss for your trouble. 

When you eventually get up, on track to be about fifteen minutes late to the federal building, you find a pair of post-its on the fridge. 

Always the romantic. 

+++

The evening rolls around and finds you on the couch with Jess and Jack. 

“You gonna start getting ready?” Jess asks. “You’ve got a long night ahead of you.” 

You look over at her. “Wait. He told you what we’re doing?”

She nods. “Yeah. You have no idea. He hasn’t done a big Valentine’s Day thing since he surprised Haley in her senior year of college. He’s been looking for an excuse.” 

That’s terrifying. 

“Guess I better get ready then.” 

Jack’s got a funny little smile on his face, but you ignore it. You’re sure the Hotchner boys are in cahoots, but it’s not really worth it to try and wiggle anything out of him. 

You head to the master bedroom to get dressed, throwing off your slouchy day-off clothes in favor of something that can take you to a fancy dinner and whatever else Aaron has planned for your evening.

+++

You walk out of the apartment, hearing Jess lock the door behind you. When you reach the front of the apartment complex, Aaron closes the car door as he hops out, meeting you halfway to the sidewalk. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

He’s wearing a black button-up, black slacks, and his favorite pair of black oxfords. It’s a sharp look and one he knows you love. 

“You’re looking quite dapper yourself, sir.” 

The boyish grin on his face melts your heart and you take the arm he offers. Like a real gentleman, he opens the door for you and makes sure you’re inside before closing you in.

+++

The drive is quiet. You ask about the office once or twice, but it’s clear there’s nothing significant to report. 

“So...what are we doing tonight?” 

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “Dinner. And a few other things.” 

+++

When he says ‘dinner,’ he’s not joking. The restaurant is a high-end, no-prices-on-the-menu type of place. The lighting is low, the environment cozy and quiet. 

He must have planned this months ago. Reservations are like gold on Valentine’s Day. 

Aaron’s squinting at the menu across from you. It makes you laugh. 

“Need a flashlight and your reading glasses?”

“Shut up.” It comes with his own laugh, but he’s still squinting. 

You finally decide on something and order, trusting Aaron’s taste in wine. When the waiter leaves, Aaron reaches across the table for your hand. 

“Okay,” he says. You recognize his tone - it’s professional, like he’s starting a press conference. “No work, no kids, no serial killers.” 

You smile, waiting for him to give you a little more context. 

“How are you?” 

What a question. 

How often does the answer to that question not include work, kids, or serial killers? 

Not very. 

“I’m good.” You mean it. “I’m really good.” 

There’s a small smile on his face. “Why?”

Are you profiling me now, Hotch? 

Deciding to give him shit, you ask, “Why am I good, or is that a more general existential question?” 

He rolls his eyes and you relent. 

“Alright. Well…” You take a breath. “There are a lot of things to be happy about. You, for one thing.” 

“Me?” He asks. He looks genuinely surprised. 

Fool. 

“Yes, you.” You squeeze his hand. “You are my best friend and somehow - somehow - I’ve landed you as my partner. I am living out everything I dreamed of at twenty-five.” 

That pulls another smile from him. “Really?” Again, he looks genuinely surprised. 

Can’t believe I’ve never told this to him. 

Ridiculous

“Oh yeah. I can’t believe you never noticed. I had a huge crush on you - instantly. Derek gave me nothing but hell once he figured it out.” You pause. “Do you remember that time on the plane, really early on, when I woke up and everyone thought I had a nightmare?” 

Looking a little confused by your change in direction, and you don’t blame him. 

“I think so? I remember we all felt so bad.” He shrugs. “We all get them, of course - still do - but we were worried about you.”

“Right. So -” 

Aaron’s head tilts to the left as he interrupts you. “Did you say ‘everyone thought’ it was a nightmare?” 

Your face gets hot and you suddenly regret bringing this up at all. “Yeah. I’m getting to that.” 

With an embarrassed huff, you continue. “So, it wasn’t a nightmare.” 

“No?” The question comes accompanied by a frown. 

“No. It was a sex dream. About you.” 

You can tell he’s doing his best to hide his smile for your benefit, but there’s a threatening dimple that gives him away and you’ve simply known him too long for him to get away with anything. 

“Really?” His tone is neutral, polite, but you can hear the humor behind the apparently bland interest. 

“Yep.” 

“What - if I may ask - was it about? Specifically?” 

You take a breath and adopt the same kind of ironic professionalism as Aaron. “Well, now it doesn’t seem so notable, because i’m more than familiar with your, um, technique.” 

And it’s true. Though you hardly remember the details of the dream anymore - it's been years - you know that real life doesn’t even come close. 

Aaron pulls his hand from yours and steeples his fingers under his chin. He’s the picture of interest, so you continue. 

“The key points are as follows -” 

He holds up a finger, and you stop. “On second thought,” he says. “I think this recollection would be better served by a demonstration.”

You nod. “You’re probably right.” 

“I’ll pencil it in.” 

You grin at each other for a moment, the back-and-forth of it so deeply on brand you can’t help but steep in it for a second. 

“So,” he says, “as you were saying before…?” 

“Right.” 

Back to business. 

“I had a huge crush on you and could swear you were the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.” 

Never one to forgo an opportunity to compliment him when he’s not actively swatting at you, you continue. 

“In the lecture you gave with Gideon and Derek, I knew you were in charge before you said anything. Even though Gideon had the years and experience on you, it was clear that everything came through you.” You attempt to explain the inarticulable. “There’s a kind of steadiness - one you still have - that radiates off of you.” 

The two of you sit in that for a moment. 

You continue. “And then, of course, when we met again I had to really focus on not making an ass of myself in front of Strauss.” 

He laughs. His laughter makes you laugh, of course. It’s so much higher than his speaking register, so delightful in its unexpectedness. 

“Okay, okay.” You stop, covering your face with your hands. “Okay this is cheesy. Promise not to laugh.” 

His eyebrows rise and he forces his mouth into something that only threatens a dimple once more. 

“When you shook my hand in Radner’s office, there was this crazy jolt of energy or something that just flew up my arm. It was wild. I’ve never been able to forget it, almost like a flashbulb memory.”

As promised, he doesn’t laugh. There is, however, a kind of wonder in his eyes when he replies, “You felt that, too?”

+++

After dinner (and dessert), Aaron takes your hand and ushers you into the car when you leave the lod. He doesn’t turn the way you expect. 

“Where are we going?” 

The dashboard casts a glow on his face. You can still spot a dimple in the dark. “You’ll see.” 

+++

Your disbelief only grows when you go deeper into the city and pull up to the Hay-Adams. The valet opens the door for you, while Aaron hands over the keys to his SUV. Once all the details are covered, you take his arm again and let him guide you into the lobby. 

It’s expansive. The Hay-Adams is, of course, one of the most historic buildings in the district and considered one of the best hotels on the East Coast by people who know of these things. 

Aaron confirms the reservation and gets the room cards before promptly finding the elevator and swiping in for the seventh floor. You look down, remembering your attire at the last minute. 

“Aaron, I don’t have my go bag.” 

He shakes his head, still looking forward. “Don’t need it.” 

You scoff. 

He doubles down. “Do you trust me?”

Stupid question. 

“Of course.” 

“Go with it. I’m trying to spoil you.” He turns and presses his lips to yours, taking your face in his hand. Against your mouth, he says, “Let me.” 

+++

The room is gorgeous - a one bedroom suite with a living room, balcony, and kitchenette, a huge couch dominates the center of the open living area, opposite an impressive television. Through the open door, you catch a glimpse of a king-sized bed. 

This must have cost a small fortune. 

As if reading your mind, Aaron takes your hand and tugs you forward. You land against his chest and he smiles at you. “Don’t think too hard. Come with me.” 

You follow him out to the balcony and the view takes your breath away. The White House, well-lit in the D.C. nighttime, sits right across the street. From here, you can see Lafayette Square - beyond it, almost the whole city. 

When you come back to yourself, you realize there’s an outdoor loveseat and a small table, holding champagne (on ice) and chocolate-covered fruit. 

Champagne, chocolate, fancy dinner… The whole nine. 

Spoiled indeed. 

Aaron sits, pulling you down beside him. He pours two glasses of champagne - mostly for show, and moves the bucket to the ground. The fruit goes off to the side table and his feet go up on the small table, crossing at the ankles. You curl up against him, tucking under his arm. 

“Do you like it? Too much?” 

You can hear the genuine insecurity behind his cheeky question. You press a kiss to the back of his hand. “I love it. It is too much, but it’s very thoughtful. You twist to kiss the underside of his jaw. “Thank you.” 

With that, the two of you settle in, quietly enjoying the company and the quiet. It’s cold, but with the outdoor heater, it’s comfortable enough that you don’t need your coat. 

“Okay.” 

Aaron sits up. “Yes?” 

“You asked, so it’s only fair. No work, no kids, no serial killers. How are you?” 

He pulls you over so you’re sitting across his lap. You rest your head on his shoulder, your hand smoothing over the soft fabric of his button-up before placing it over his heart. 

“I’m good,” he says. “I’m really good.” 

“Why?” You feel a little like a parrot, but you’re sure that’s what he’s going for. 

“I can’t...quite articulate how lucky I feel.” 

That’s relatable. 

“I’m happy to be here with you.” He shakes his head - a pensive gesture. “I never thought I could make it here again.” 

“Where?” You ask. 

“In love, happy, facing a future that doesn’t scare me. My son is happy, safe...I wasn’t sure I'd ever have any of that again after losing Haley.” 

He pauses and you can feel a little sardonic smile. You don’t have to see it to know it’s there. His next admission, though, surprises you. 

“I accepted that I would be a bystander in your life a long time ago. I accepted that I would likely remain a widower, a single father. I knew you’d be around and that I would be your friend, but I made peace with the idea that I’d never have you right here.” He squeezes you twice, in time with his words. It makes you smile. 

He shakes his head and lets out a little laugh. “I’m not sure it’ll ever sink in.” 

You feel much the same, but it's kind of at once alarming and amusing to hear him so beautifully articulate feelings that so closely resemble your own. 

You lean back to look at him. “I’m glad you were wrong.”

He places a gentle finger under your chin and kisses you, long and languid. It’s a promise. After a little while, he leans back, brushing the back of his fingers over your cheek. 

“Me too.”

+++

tagging: @avengersbau @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygranger @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @prentisswrites @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-dr-reid @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @luciilferss @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me @itsalwaysb33nyou @s-unflowxr @imlottiie @stummdummrumstehen @hqtchner @finnologys @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @hothothotchner @the-falling-in-the-danger @mac99martin @ssahotchner99 @vagabond-ing     @itsmytimetoodream @rebel-flying  @nuvoleincielo @rqgnarok @ssa-volturi @reidyoulikeabook @schlooper @itsmytimetoodream @bau-baby @ssagube @oreogutz @lexieshuntingsstuff @saintsmotels @hotchestie @marvelousmissmaggie @mosiacbrokenhearstf

[brokentoys]

I  realized  I  never  properly  explained  here  why  I  think  City  is  the  best  design  Ed  has  ever  had.  Like,  I  can  and  will  go  into  detail  regarding  that.  And  it  may  also  make  you  guys  understand  why  I  feel  so  passionately  about  Ed’s  design,  and  why  I’m  not  a  big  fan  of  his  new  look  in  the  movie.

Already  as  I’ve  said  a  thousand  times  before,  Eddie  wears  bright  colors  for  two  reasons.  1)  Ed  was  neglected  his  entire  life,  and  his  character  has  been  all  about  getting  attention  and  love.  In  fact,  you  may  even  say  this  is  the  most  important  thing  for  Eddie.  Because  him  proving  his  superior  intellect  is  just  a  branch  off  that  desire  for  validation.  What  better  way  to  get  attention  than  wearing  a  suit  that’ll  make  people  notice  and  recognize  you  instantly?  Also,  because  it  contrasts  our  main  hero.  Eddie  is  vibrant,  whilst  Bruce  is  dark  in  colors.  It’s  also  ironic  the  bad  guy  is  the  colorful  one  whilst  the  hero  is  the  grim  one.  This  applies  to  pretty  much  all  Eddies  with  the  green  suit  (or  even  spandex/leotard.)

Like  the  movie,  Eddie’s  colors  are  a  bit  washed  out.  But  he’s  still  wearing  green  and  purple.

Now  I’m  gonna  explain  why  I  think  City  is  specifically  the  best  take  on  the  bowler  hat  +  suit  design.  Because  if  you  notice,  Eddie  is  still  wearing  the  suit,  yes.  But  he’s  not  exactly...  neat.  The  collar  of  his  shirt  is  sticking  out,  In  general,  Eddie  looks...  quite  untidy.  But  wait!  Didn’t  I  say  Eddie  should  dress  dapper?  Yes,  he  absolutely  should.  However,  just  because  he  dresses  it,  doesn’t  mean  he  has  to  do  it  properly.  This  untidy  suit  but  still  wearing  one  is  perfect  for  Eddie.  Why?  Because  it  actually  tells  you  about  his  character  just  by  looking  at  him.  Eddie  pretends  to  be  a  gentleman  (keyword  PRETENDS)  he  wears  a  suit,  he  formally  addresses  people,  he  talks  about  how  he’s  not  a  savage,  and  even  refers  to  himself  as  “refined.”  However,  one  you  start  to  actually  get  to  know  Eddie,  you  start  seeing  the  act  slip.  He’s  rude,  ill-mannered,  throws  tantrums  when  he  doesn’t  get  his  way,  Eddie  is  not  a  gentleman,  even  if  he  tries  to  present  himself  as  one.  This  design  tells  you  that  right  off  the  bat.  Because  yes,  he’s  wearing  a suit  like  a  gentleman,  but  it’s  untidy  -  and  a sophisticated  gentleman  wouldn’t  wear  an  unkempt  suit.

Next,  his  accessories.

Typically,  Eddie  is  designed  with  nice  gloves,  and  dress  shoes.  This  Eddie?  Fingerless  gloves  and  dirty  combat  boots.  These  two  little  details  are  actually  wonderful  for  two  reasons.  First  I’ll  get  to  why  they’re  actually  far  more  practical  for  Eddie,  and  why  they  make  more  sense  for  him  to  wear.  The  gloves  because  think  about  it;  Eddie  is  a  tech  genius;  he  often  does  things  with  computers,  phones,  and  other  technology.  And  modern  technology  almost  always  has  touch  screens.  A  lot  of  times,  gloves  would  get  in  the  way  of  being  able  to  interact  with  a  screen.  So,  how  does  Eddie  resolve  this?  By  wearing  fingerless  gloves  instead.  That  way  he  can  still  wear  them,  but  easily  touch  any  screens.  It’s  no  longer  the  60s,  after  all.  And  the  boots?  Would  Eddie  be  caught  dead  in  those?  WELL,  he’d  RATHER  wear  dress  shoes.  But  think  about  how  expensive  dress  shoes  can  get.  Also  think  about  how  inconvenient  they’d  be  when  walking  around  the  dirtied  streets  of  G0tham  (or  even  in  the  sewers!)  He’d  QUICKLY  ruin  his  shoes,  and  they  won’t  be  very  effective  to  run  in.  But  combat  boots?  Better  for  BOTH  things.  He  won’t  have  to  worry  about  destroying  any  expensive,  nice  shoes  (he  can  wear  those  for  OTHER  occasions!)  And  these  boots  will  be  reliable  when  he  has  to  make  a  run.  Another  reason  why  the  gloves  and  shoes  are  great  because  come  on...  they  DO  give  Eddie  a  bit  of  a  subtle  badass  look.

Then  there  are  his  glasses.  I  actually  always  prefer  Eddie  with  glasses  (my  own  portrayal  is  supposed  to  wear  glasses,  but  alas  the  resources  of  him  with  glasses  are  scarce.)  I  think  it  modernizes  his  design,  and  makes  him  look  less  like  a  Comic  Book  Villain  if  you’re  going  for  adaptations.  And,  I  think  it  makes  more  sense  for  Ed’s  character.  After  all,  everyone  KNOWS  Ed’s  identity.  So  what’s even  the  point  of  wearing  the  mask?  And  Eddie  himself  WANTS  people  to  know  him,  and  his  beautiful  face.  Therefore,  I  don’t  think  he’d  hide  it  at  all.  Therefore,  the  glasses  still  give  him  an  eyepiece  without  it  being  a  mask,  and  also  adds  to  his  “nerdy”  appearance.

There’s  also  his  hair  (and  OCD?)...

Many  of   Ed’s  designs  have  slicked  back  hair,  because  get  it, gentleman  and  all  that?  Whilst  the  messy  hair  fits  for  the  same  reason  as  his  untidy  suit.  Except,  WAIT!  THERE’S  MORE!  Eddie’s  hair  is  a  mess  because  he  stims  by  scratching  at  it.  Like  he  is  doing  in  the  above  example.  The  concept  art  points  this  out.

This  is  actually  quite  impressive.  Because  it  shows  that  they’re  really  thinking  about  Ed’s  character  when  designing  him,  it  showed  how  much  they  cared,  and  also  took  in  account  that  Eddie  is  mentally  ill.  Because  of  this,  I  always  prefer  Eddie  with  messy  hair.  

Also,  I  felt  unlike  many  modern  horror  things,  especially  the  new  movie  with  wanting  Eddie  to  have  a  “scarier”  and  thus  “grim”  design.  The  designers  of  City  realized  the  art  of  juxtaposition.

His  scariness  would  come  from  his  body  language,  and  his  super-smarts.  And  I  would  say  Eddie  may  be  at  his  scariest  in  City.  Because  dresses  in  vibrant  colors,  throughout  the  game  -  he  tends  to  talk  in  this  childlike  wonder,  and  seems  to  be  GENUINELY  having  FUN  with  the  horrific,  inhumane  things  he  does. Seeing  this  man  who  has  a  fun  sense  of  fashion,  and  talks  about   stuff  like  a  game...  when  he’s  CHOPPING  PEOPLE  UP  is  scary  compared  to  something  that’s  trying  so  hard  to  be  scary  by  using  grim  and  edgy  designs.

And  that’s  why  I’m  so  “meh”  about  his  new  movie  design.  Because  people  are  like  “ooh!!!  he’s  based  on   THE  ZODIAC  KILLER!!!  That  makes  a  lot  of  sense  because  they  were  both  smart  killers  who’d  taunt  the  authorities  with  clues.”  But...  that’s  just  it.  Like  here  I  literally  gave  you  a  book  as  to  why  his  City  design  is  perfect  for  a  person  like  Ed.  Whilst  with  the  new  movie  design.  That’s  is,  I  can  just  explain  why  Eddie  was  designed  that  way  in  one  or  two  sentences.  “Zodiac  killer”  and  “edgy”.  There  you  go.  City’s  design  tells  you  so  much  more  about  Eddie  beyond  being  a  murderer.  And  it’s  also  why  I  think  this  design  is  VERY  important.

[marvella15]

Astaire & Rogers Rewatch Part 6: Swing Time

• Swing Time aka the Astaire/Rogers film that I think is actually the best, especially from the dance perspective. Every duet is fabulous. You could watch just the duets and understand the entire plot of the film. That’s how well crafted and executed they are.

• Our characters/actors: John “Lucky” Garnett (Fred Astaire), Penny Carroll (Ginger Rogers), Pop (Victor Moore), Mabel (Helen Broderick), Ricardo Romero (Georges Metaxa)

• Is this the first Astaire/Rogers film where he’s the one engaged (or married) to someone else? It’s usually her. 

• Lucky is already ridiculously late for his wedding, even before he’s rushing to get dressed. But I love his little snap-and-a-heel-click. 

• How does Fred Astaire manage to look so dapper in shoes, a top hat, no pants, and a robe?

• It’s interesting that Lucky’s bride-to-be calls him John, rather than his nickname, which is tied to his gambling talents and therefore doesn’t fit in with her or her upper class family. But Penny only calls him Lucky. The two women even have a little exchange about it later in the film. 

• As usual, Rogers’ character is uninterested in Astaire’s upon first meeting and also as usual, she has a very good reason. She thinks he’s using any lame excuse to hit on her. Wow, look how much men have not changed at all.

By the way, 25 cents in 1936 is almost $5 today. Not saying it’s a reason to call the police but it’s at least not as outrageous as calling the police over a quarter. 

• Remember I said her cries for a porter in Gay Divorcee would come back? Here it’s reprised in her calls for an officer, which Lucky will also gently mock later just as Guy did to Mimi in the previous film.  

And wow, the officer is condescending and patronizing to her in deference to a man whom he thinks is an affluent gentleman. Look how much the police have not changed. 

• It’s odd that Lucky describes Penny as having red hair when Rogers was definitely a blonde (originally a brunette). Maybe she had strawberry blonde hair at this time?

• The tense exchange between Penny and Lucky as she teaches him to walk at the start of his dancing lesson is some of Astaire and Rogers at their acting finest. It’s a short, rather simple scene but they make it charming, funny, and entertaining. 

• Penny’s line, “If you’re trying to annoy me you certainly are succeeding,” is such a mood sometimes.

• Lucky, already starting to flirt: “All the world loves a dancer. Don’t you?”

• Astaire does a good job of acting like he’s a terrible dancer. Takes a lot of talent to pretend to suck at something you’re actually incredible at. 

• Pay attention to the three-step maneuver Penny teaches Lucky. He uses it as the building block for all of their dances in this film, beginning very soon with “Pick Yourself Up.” 

• I love the “Pick Yourself Up” duet so so much. As much as the romantic duets for Astaire and Rogers get a lot of attention, I really love tap dancing and this is one of their best tap routines. Plus, you can see Penny (thanks to Rogers’ intuitive acting) go from surprise to delight to pure enjoyment and maybe a little bit of well-deserved smugness. Also notice that Lucky and Penny are much closer together in this duet than they had been during the dancing lesson. They’ve already become familiar with each other in that short span of time. 

• Because of the nature of the scene, Astaire looks frequently at Penny’s boss but Rogers is watching Astaire almost the entire time. Her expression conveys the feeling that Penny has finally found the right partner.

• There’s a lovely moment where she glides back with her arms up as she waits for him and Rogers’ face is so full of joy and affection. 

• Astaire typically avoided naming a “favorite” partner out of consideration for the many other actresses he danced with. But he did comment that because of how well Rogers danced with him, “She got so that after a while everyone else who danced with me looked wrong.” And he’s kind of right about that. Swing Time as a whole is probably the best example. No other actress would look right in any of the dances they share in this film. 

• The moment of wordless conversation between Penny and Lucky after their dance feels very much like the actors themselves. In addition to having known each other prior to making films, they’ve also now spent the last 5 years working very closely together. No doubt they had some silent shorthand. 

• One of the reasons I enjoy Swing Time is because unlike other Astaire/Rogers films, the misunderstandings between them don’t emerge until later on, rather than appearing at the start to constantly obstruct their relationship. Here, Lucky and Penny begin their relationship almost right away. Just look at their cute conversation in front of the elevator where he hastily decides to get a room in the same building as her. 

• For the second time in this film, Astaire looks incredibly dapper while also being pantless. 

• At first it seems ridiculous that Lucky is picketing outside Penny’s room claiming she’s been unfair to him since he made them miss their try-out. However, he’s done everything to make it up to her, including arranging a new try-out for them, building up a sizable bankroll for him/them and Mabel, and, obviously, getting some new clothes. 

• Although they tried many things in Rogers’ hair to make it look like shampoo, I believe they landed on whipped cream at her suggestion. And they use it as a very convenient excuse to prevent yet another kiss. 

• Unlike other romantic songs in their films, “The Way You Look Tonight” is framed as a popular song of the time within the film itself. And we know this because Ricardo Romero is singing it in the next scene as part of his “romantic medley hour.” 

• Love the way Astaire looks at her during this social dance. So warm and loving. And when they leave the dance floor, he gets her attention at one point by hooking his index finger to the point of her elbow. Just little moments of familiarity between them. 

• More little moments: When Penny gets up from the roulette table, Lucky stops her until after the ball has landed, indicating he feels she’s good luck. Rogers is holding Astaire’s elbow as she goes to leave so he grabs her hand under his arm without looking. 

• I’ve always loved the look on Lucky’s face when he watches Romero approach Penny. It’s not jealousy or concern, necessarily. Just soft, like he’s wondering if his heart is about to be broken. And the music playing? “A Fine Romance”

• Lucky does everything possible to get Penny and himself the promised try-out including winning nearly $25k at the casino tables, then winning Romero’s contract, and eventually publicly goading Romero to play for them. But Mabel was right before when she told Penny that everything Lucky did was solely for her. He doesn’t need a new dancing gig, and had in fact come to New York to earn money as a gambler, rather than a dancer. That all changed when he met Penny.

• Remember a time when you were newly in love? The sheer elation of that feeling is what the “Waltz in Swing Time” is. It’s a celebration that builds on what was established in “Pick Yourself Up” and adds sweeping moments of romance. The three steps to the left and right move is expanded on first with outstretched legs and arms and later with exuberant movements around the floor.

• Right at the start, Astaire has a twinkle in his eyes when he looks at Rogers and she responds in kind. They smile at each other easily as they move through a fast-paced and breathtakingly beautiful routine. 

Usually in their films, a romantic and celebratory duet comes near the end when all of the misunderstandings have been resolved. But in Swing Time, it’s right in the middle. 

• There’s one moment where Astaire affectionately touches Rogers’ wrist. It almost looks as though he’s going to spin her towards him but instead they keep dancing separately, next to one another. 

• When the music kicks up, Rogers smiles broadly and she looks radiantly in love. As they spin together, tapping in a circle around the dance floor, both of them keep looking up in wonder and rapture. 

• They’re cuddling during the snowy scenes is very sweet but some of the romance is sucked out when you see the behind the scenes pictures. 

(photo credit)

• Cuuuuute:

Penny: “I like being off alone like this.”

Lucky: “You’re not alone. You’re with me.”

Penny: “Then I like being off alone with you.”

• Lucky’s face when he accidentally finds himself in an embrace with Penny is purely Astaire and you can fight me on that. There’s so much longing and want in that look. He’s able to get away with it because of the long moment before he has to say anything but even when he does speak, his voice cracks a bit. His gloved hand keeps stroking her forearm. 

• Not hard to see some true-to-life parallels in this dialogue and I’ve always felt that the way Astaire said his last line here was as himself, not just him acting. 

Penny: “It’s funny how we met, and all that’s happened to us since.”

Lucky: “The way we’ve been sort of thrown together and everything.”

Penny: “As if it were all meant to happen.”

Lucky: “It’s quite an experience.”

• Like I’ve said before, no way the actors and creative team didn’t know exactly how much they were trolling audiences by having lyrics like “a fine romance with no kisses” in Astaire and Rogers’ SIXTH. FILM. together where they still haven’t kissed romantically on screen. 

And in fact there will be at least two thwarted kisses in this sequence alone.

• “A Fine Romance” is quite scandalous when you pay attention to the lyrics too. Penny says Lucky won’t “nestle” or “wrestle” and she’s “never mussed the crease in [his] blue serge pants.” 

Rogers does a really wonderful job throughout. She’s frustrated and disappointed when singing at him and then stewing with hurt feelings when he sings to her. 

I’ve always loved how Astaire flatly says “cactus plants” in the lyric “you never give the orchids I send a glance, no you like cactus plants.”

• I always chuckle at the way Penny loudly and awkwardly asks, “HOW DO YA LIKE MY DRESS?” Who hasn’t suddenly gone awkward af in front of their crush?

• In the movie Grease, there’s a part where Rizzo has a hickey from Kenickie. According to Stockard Channing, actor Jeff Conaway insisted on giving her the hickey himself. But just in case you thought maybe Ginger Rogers insisted on leaving her own lipstick imprint on Fred Astaire’s lips, sorry to disappoint. A makeup artist came in and applied it. 

• And I adore how they’re both giggling and giddy after the supposed kiss. So much of this movie is about young love or your first real love, those butterflies mixed with terror and anticipation. 

• I always thought the club owner said, “Lucky, you’re a mess” after finding Penny and Lucky immediately after their first kiss. But he actually says, “Lucky, you’re on next.” Either way, Lucky’s dazed response of “Am I?” is cute. 

• Ok, the “Bojangles of Harlem” number. It’s the only time Astaire did blackface. It’s uncomfortable to watch even though he intended it as a tribute to African-American dancers Bill Robinson and John W. Bubbles. There’s also some very innovative use of 1936 special effects to make it look like Astaire is dancing with three of his shadows. Largely because of this, choreographer Hermes Pan was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Dance Direction. 

He lost but won an Oscar in the same category the next year, the final time that category was awarded, for a routine in Astaire’s only 1930s film without Ginger Rogers, A Damsel in Distress. 

• If Lucky had just let Margaret say her piece, he would’ve known that he’s actually not beholden to her anymore. But then we wouldn’t have one of the greatest dances ever put to film. 

• In all fairness on the kissing front, Lucky’s well timed entrance does prevent Romero and Penny’s kiss from appearing on screen.

• A heartbreaking exchange where they never break eye contact:

Penny: “Does she dance very beautifully?”

Lucky: “Who?���

Penny: “The girl you’re in love with.”

Lucky, meaningfully: “Yes. Very.”

Penny, after a beat: “The girl you’re engaged to. The girl you’re going to marry.”

Lucky: “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve danced with you. I’m never going to dance again.”

 • “Never Gonna Dance” is distinguished from the other songs in this film’s world because it’s not something that is also used in the dance studio or played by Romero’s band. Instead, it includes elements specific to these characters. The line “the la belle, la perfectly swell romance” recalls Penny’s line earlier in the gazebo. The reference to “dinner clothes” harkens back to Penny and Lucky’s first day together. The repeated use of the word “penny,” transforms in its final iteration to being her name when Lucky sings, “Though I’m left without my Penny.” The whole song is Lucky’s elaboration on his line above. Nothing matters now, not his clothes or money or dancing. All he’s going to do is love her. 

• The music of the dance and many of the moves are pulled from previous songs and dance numbers. A fittingly mournful version of “The Way You Look Tonight” plays as they walk together, which is also how Lucky began his dance lesson with Penny. Later, “Waltz in Swing Time” trumpets in to propel them into that same three steps move again but as euphoric as they were in that previous dance, now he is almost desperate and she is slowly letting him go. “Never Gonna Dance” is a compilation of their entire romance from start to heartbreaking finish and it’s a truly stunning duet. I know “Cheek to Cheek” gets a lot of hype, and it’s deserved, but “Never Gonna Dance” is something extra special and is certainly tied with “Waltz in Swing Time” as the best Astaire and Rogers duet in my book. 

In keeping with how much Swing Time breaks the tradition of Astaire/Rogers films, “Never Gonna Dance” is the duet where Astaire is trying to woo Rogers’ character, something we typically see earlier in the film but was never needed here. It’s also very tragic, something we almost never see in Astaire/Rogers films. Even “Let’s Face the Music and Dance” had a hopeful tone. 

• Their expressions in this number are especially poignant. He is imploring her to stay while she is gazing at him as though drinking him all in because she knows this will be the last time they’re together. While he is concentrating on pouring everything into the dance, she is memorizing every detail of this last dance with him, even watching him when he can’t see her. I know I talk a lot about Rogers’ acting ability during these dances but it never stops being worth mentioning. No other partner of Astaire’s got it the way Ginger Rogers did. 

• Thank god they cut this dance into two pieces so that they only had to perform this last bit again and again by itself, rather than having to start from the very beginning each time.

After two films that included “issues” with her dresses, Rogers this time has an issue with her shoes. Or rather, they did so many freaking takes (47ish) that she bled into them. And supposedly she didn’t complain at all because she was just as committed to getting the dance right.

She does the majority of the tough work in this final piece too. Not only is she spinning quickly and frequently, in the final spin she has to move towards where he waits, rather than him coming to meet her. 

Some credit to the level of trust they’d built though, Astaire’s arm is always ready well in advance of when she will spin into him. 

• Even as the duet is ending, Astaire keeps his face longing and hopeful. Lucky has done everything to win her back and as they move towards the door he thinks he may still have a chance. But in their last embrace where he holds her tightly to him, she tellingly doesn’t return the gesture and leaves both of her arms raised. When she exits, he grimaces as though his heart has truly been broken. 

• The ridiculous overacting when they’re all laughing is 🙄🙄🙄. Did the Joker unleash some laughing gas?? The silliness of this ending takes away from the rest of a truly excellent film. 

It also reminds me of the silliness of the beginning. If I had to guess, the writers probably had a great middle and no clue to how start or end things. At least, it feels that way.

• I do like how she sings a reprise of “The Way You Look Tonight” about him while he sings a reprise of “A Fine Romance.” And they go in for another kiss, pause, then embrace with his back to the camera because GOD FORBID we see a single dang kiss between these two!

Though I am left wondering just what Astaire and Rogers were doing in the final embrace because their faces do seem awfully close together...

• Swing Time is probably the last exceptional Astaire/Rogers film. Everything after this doesn’t quite measure up except in a few specific instances. That said, I do enjoy many parts of Shall We Dance, which is next. 

[solaneceae]

EGOTOBER DAY 4 - Jacket

It all started with a jacket.

It wasn’t even anything special. If anything, it was quite pathetic-looking: a ratty, washed out denim jacket, torn up and stitched back together more times than any of them could count.

“It barely has any thermal protection, Chase!” Schneep kept saying, always the practical one.

Despite all that, it was Chase’s favourite. He wore it through thick and thin, even when the cold wind of early spring sneaked through the holes and making him shiver. Even when his brothers advised him to just replace it. 

Until the day it tore up again, one time too many.

The tear was massive; right in the middle of the back, almost running through the entire length of the denim. Stitching could only do so much for a jacket who’s threads barely held on anymore.

“You’re sure you can’t fix it?” Chase pleaded. Marvin rubbed his arm uncomfortably. All the egos suspected the article must’ve been a gift from his former family before… well.

“I can mend the threads back together,” he explained in an apologetic tone, “but they’ve been stretched so thin they’d just break within a few days.”

The magician felt useless, and that was basically his least favourite thing to feel; why did everyone keep coming to him with the FEW problems he couldn’t solve with magic?!

That’s when Anti, who’d been enjoying the peace of the living room until the vlogger came whining, lost his patience and lashed out. As he always did.

“Get over it, Brody. It’s just a dumb jacket. Just get a new one.”

Chase’s face fell even more, his chesnut-colored eyes glazing over. One could’ve heard a pin drop in the heavy silence that settled then.

“Anti.”  Marvin hissed at the glitch, green eyes glaring daggers. “What the actual fuck was that.”

JJ was frantically signing in the corner of his eye. Anti ignored him, and sneered at his rival. “What? I’m just telling the truth.”

“There are more delicate ways to say it!”

“Oh, so what, I’m supposed to baby him like you all do? It’s been years, ever heard of moving on?”

“That’s not-”

ENOUGH.

The whole room froze, the temperature suddenly dropping. A shiver ran down Anti’s spine as he slowly turned to face the local mute. He… wow, okay. He looked downright enraged.

See, here’s the thing: JJ usually spoke with his hands, occasionally mouthing his words for more clarity. But the dapper man possessed another, less uh, conventional way of communicating. As Marvin had explained once -well, more like attempted to, that fraud didn’t know shit about this stuff-, Jameson could project what he wants to say directly into people’s awareness with more or less force. It wasn’t telepathy, as the targets didn’t “hear” his nonexistent voice in their head, it was more of a... direct transmission of meaning and intent.

In any case, this wasn’t something the mute enjoyed talking about, and Anti could count the number of times he’d used it on a single hand. If the current situation had warranted it... well, it couldn’t be good.

JJ briskly walked up to Chase and pointed at the jacket. “Please give it to me. I’ll see what I can do.”

Oh, so back to signing it was.

“U-um-” Chase stammered, still wide-eyed and tense by JJ’s previous outburst. The younger ego’s features softened, and he gently grabbed the vlogger’s shoulder. “Trust me.”

Chase stayed silent for a few seconds then nodded, passing the ruined piece of clothing to JJ, who draped it over his left arm before turning to the glitch.

“Anti, a word.”

Said glitch didn’t have time to process the words before the smaller ego grabbed him by the arm, pulled him off the couch and dragged him outside, slamming the door closed in his wake. Anti wasn’t sure why he let the other manhandle him like this, but it might have something to do with the fact that he’d never seen the mild-mannered Jameson Jackson so… visibly pissed. The guy was more of a silent rage type. 

Not gonna lie, he was curious. And, for reasons he didn’t want to delve into, a bit uneasy.

JJ finally stopped walking, letting go of his arm and turning towards him. “Do you know what today is.” the shorter man signed angrily. 

Anti frowned. “What the fuck does it have to do with-”

QUIET.

The demon’s words died on his tongue. Jameson had done the thing again; two times in one day, that was new. The blue-haired ego was glaring up at him, his dark grey eyes burning holes into his skull and pulling at something inside of him. It pulled and pulled, and Anti could feel himself slipping deeper and deeper into the inky darkness those eyes had become it was spreading and enveloping him and his body felt light and airy and he could almost reach out to the wisps of light coming into focus and he was burning and freezing and pulsing like a neutron star further and further and closer and closer to the edge of everything-

Then JJ closed his eyes and Anti felt himself snap back into his own body, dizzy and gasping for air. He could feel goosebumps prickling all over his arms and down his spine, feel the thrumming energy boiling under his brother’s skin. 

Cold. Restained. Drawing him in a gaping hole in the fabric of reality, one you couldn’t see the bottom of. So similar, yet so unlike his own glitching powers.

The demon found his footing again as Jameson let out a pained grunt, his fingers tracing soothing lines against his forehead. He looked about as rattled as Anti felt right now. Said glitch had no idea what had just happened; hell, he had no idea what JJ was, truly. But he was aware he was dangerous, had been for a while now. He’d just never experienced whatever JJ had been talking about, until now.

He remembered the dapper man telling him about the... incident. Something about accidentally becoming entangled with the universe’s timestream, back when he used to mess around with this stupid time-warping pocket watch of his. 

Or some shit like that. The details always became fuzzy whenever he tried to think about it.

It was funny, in a messed up way. Under the carefree attitude, the silly old-timey attires and fancy parlé, Jameson was the only ego who could inspire true fear in him. The dapper, monocle-wearing gentleman was by far -and it physically hurt him to admit it- the most powerful entity he’s ever met. Ridiculous, right? But now, Anti suspected they guy could very well hold his ground against Dark himself. Holy shit, he realized with a dizzying mix of horror and awe, it wouldn’t even be close.

And no-one, in his family or off at Dark’s manor, had any fucking clue. No-one, except for himself. This was their secret. Their deal.

JJ took a grounding breath; the cool flow of energy receded, before disappearing from Anti’s awareness. He re-opened his eyes; the usual dark grey. Perfectly ordinary. Misleading. 

“Apologies,” his hands spoke as he sighed. They were moving more sedately than before. “Let’s try this again, shall we? Do. You know. What today is.”

Anti nodded, slowly. “April 10th. You-”

“That means,” the other interrupted, “tomorrow is April 11th. Do you understand what this means, or are you that far up your own ass?”

Now, if this had been anyone else speaking to him that way, Anti would’ve smashed their head into the ground by now. But, contrary to popular belief, he valued his life. So he swallowed his pride and made a notable effort.

It clicked after about ten seconds.

“Fuck.”

“Indeed. Now you see why Marvin didn’t care for your insensitive comments.”

Anti barely caught himself before he could blurt out that this sorry excuse for a magician got offended at everything that came out of his mouth anyway, and pondered the situation.

Tomorrow was… what was the negative version of an anniversary? Tomorrow was the suckiversary of the day Chase’s wife had taken his kids away from him. Honestly, Anti should’ve picked up on the signs; the guy got really withdrawn at this time of year, locking himself in his room for hours on end, barely getting up to eat or take care of his basic needs. The first few years had been the hardest; one time, Robbie had found the fatherly ego passed out drunk on the kitchen floor, barely scabbed cuts all over his arms and legs. Kid had nightmares for weeks after that.

He’d been doing better lately. But it was still pretty rough.

Anti scowled. “So, what about it? What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“What you are going to do, is help me fix this.” JJ started, gently tapping on the blue jacket draped over his left arm.

“What, this old thing?”

“Why, yes. You like swinging that knife around, cutting things, don’t you? What I planned is right up your alley.”

Anti rolled his eyes. “Whatever. No like I got anything better to do.”

“I figured you didn’t. You will also apologize to Chase.”

Anti blinked in surprise, then let out a high-pitched “HA!”, smirking down at Jameson. “Like hell I will.”

The gentleman tilted his head at his refusal, his eyes lighting up mischievously. Anti didn’t know what was going through that head, but he didn’t like it.

“Ah, I’m afraid it’s an all-or-nothing kind of deal. A shame.” JJ shrugged. “Oh well, guess I’ll have to ask Wilford to come and help me.”

That cunning little shit.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Anti growled, static flickering in and out of existence around his body. “I don’t want that psychotic bubblegum bitch anywhere near this house, you hear me?!”

That was another of James’ mysteries; he was the only one -save for the emo at the head of the Iplier household- that could somehow get the trigger-happy ego to do what he asked without killing anyone. Most of the time.

Maybe it was the mustache. He’d believe anything at this point.

Looked like he had no choice. “Let me guess.” he laughed, low and bitter. “I have to mean it?”

“No.”

The demon blinked at him, stunned. That wasn’t the answer he expected.

“No,” the younger ego repeated, “because you don’t believe you’ve said anything wrong. That won’t change, not now at least, and we don’t have time to go over your severe lack of empathy at the moment.”

“Why you-”

“However, Chase is hurting and in need of our support. No matter how… insincere it might be for some of us. You and him might not see eye to eye, but he’ll appreciate the gesture nonetheless.”

Anti glared at the floor, fists clenched. His sharp nails were digging into his palms; the pain felt nice and grounding. “And how, pray tell, do you know that? You just said it yourself, we don’t get along.”

“Because your words hurt him.”

The glitch’s head snapped up, staring at JJ. His brother wore a bittersweet expression. “Chase isn’t the kind of man to be affected by what strangers think.” he signed softly. “Do you truly believe that Chase doesn’t care about what you think of him? Do you truly believe...”

Chase pestering him. Chase telling him about his stupid brats. Chase’s disappointed face when the demon refused to give him the time of day. Chase yelling at him whenever he disappeared for a few days at a time.

“...that Chase doesn’t care about you?”

Silence. After a nondescript amount of time, the static quieted down before slowly fading away. Anti groaned and rubbed his hands against his face. What a headache. “Fine. Fine, fine, fine, I’ll fucking apologize if it’ll make that crybaby happy.”

“Good. Then we can begin.”

The glitch looked up. “What, like right now?”

“Quite. We must finish before tomorrow morning. You’re the closest to Chase in terms of height, so I’ll need to take your measurements. Let’s see, I should get more fabric from Marvin…”

“Not to insult your sewing skills or whatever, but didn’t the others say that stitching it back up wouldn’t work?”

“I’m not trying to.”

JJ’s eyes shone with determination, a conspiratory smile on his lips. “I can do  better.”

***

Chase’s gaze kept jumping up and down. He stared at the bundle in his arms, then back at JJ’s smiling face. Back to his lap, back to Jay. The day had started the usual way. Wake up feeling like crap, debating crawling back under the covers until the sun burned out and swallowed them all, then get up anyway because he wanted to show his family he was still alive.

But something had thrown a wrench into his usual plans -heh, plans. Like feeling like a useless husk of a human being and laying around all day qualified as plans.

Jameson had marched into the kitchen as he unenthusiastically made himself a cup of that ol’ dirty bean water, gently grabbed his arms and led him to the living room while he was still confused about this whole endeavour.

Then he had made him sit on the couch and shoved a bunch of fabric in his lap.

Well, no, that wasn’t totally accurate, he realized as he held up the thing in front of him. Patches of light and dark blue, soft yellows, all neatly stitched together. A jacket. A rather cool-looking one at that. Handmade too, if his younger brother’s familiar stitching pattern was any indication. But that wasn’t what had grabbed his attention.

“Jay… is that-”

“We couldn’t fix it, Chase.”

The dad tilted his head, confused. JJ was smiling sadly. “I do apologize for that. But as you can see, we managed to save most of the original fabric, to incorporate it into this one.”

The gentleman’s hands stilled, hesitant. He was visibly looking for the right signs. “Think of it as... the sum of the best parts of your life. Both your past and your present, here, with us.”

His vision was blurring. He choked on a sob, hand flying up to muffle the sounds threatening to spill out of his mouth.

“Do you like it?”

Chase looked up, brown eyes shining with unshed tears. A small, but sincere smile lighting up his tired features. “I- I love it. I t-think this is your best work yet.”

JJ positively glowed at the compliment. “Why, thank you. But I wouldn’t dare to hoard all the credit, it was a team effort after all.”

“It was?”

“Indeed. Anti helped me out.”

“Anti…?”

“Ya called?”

Chase startled, eyes widening; the demon had glitched right next to Jameson, an odd expression on his face. It was like he was trying to look both aloof and annoyed, which usually meant he was conflicted about something. The vlogger swallowed thickly. “Anti, you-”

“Brody, I need you to shut up and listen closely, cuz I’m only gonna say it once.”

Chase closed his mouth and nodded. The glitch didn’t look angry at him for once, just… uncomfortable for some reason. He watched as Anti crossed his arms and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.”

The dad just stared. Whatever he was expecting to happen, it wasn’t this. Anti never apologized for anything, especially not to him. Heck, sometimes he wondered if the demon was allergic to his very presence or something.

“There. I said the wrong shit at the wrong time, and while I stand by what I said about moving on-”

“Anti.”

“I’m not done, James. What I’m trying to say is-”

He green-haired ego groaned, scratching at the back of his skull. What the fuck was he doing. “I. Didn’t. Want. To hurt you, or whatever. But I did, apparently. So, I’m sorry about that part.”

He turned around to glance at JJ as Chase just kept blinking like an idiot. The smaller man nodded in approval, and Anti relaxed. There, he said it. Now he could put this whole dumb shit behind him and go scream into the void or-

His train of thought was interrupted by a hand grabbing his arm and pulling him down. He let out a startled -and offended- yelp as Chase circled his arm around him and pulled him tightly against his side. Oh, okay, that was a thing they were doing now. Hug. Right. Guess this was his life now.

JJ smiled fondly as Chase squeezed him against his other side, crying happy tears while Anti looked like he wanted to jump through a window. To the dapper man’s pleasant surprise, the demon stayed put and let the local rad dad indulge in his own special brand of affection.

Well. This was a success if he ever saw one. Their little dysfunctional family still had a lot to work through, but they’d get there eventually. Hopefully.

----------

...

GUYS GUYS I CAN EXPLAIN-

okay no scratch that, i cant. this was supposed to be a short (ITS SEVEN PAGES LONG NOW I CRAVE DEATH) and sweet piece about jj making a new jacket for the rad sad dad, and now he’s some sort of Bad Wolf-like, uber powerful cosmic entity who could kick everyone’s ass if he felt like it??? WHAT????

My brain did a big brain move or something, i dont know. well, JJ’s abilities are actually  destructive as hell, he almost pulled anti from reality and into the Void there. so it’s not like he’d ever use them voluntarily. It’s more of a curse really.

god this one is all over the place, i’m sorry. I don’t even know if this whole cosmic thing will have any relevance at all in the future, i just let my monkey brain take over when i write. hope you like it anyway?

@tabbynerdicat @egopocalypse @humblecacti @awkward-bullshit (sun! sunshine boyo is here! though you’d like it, maybe)

[rai-wick]

Birthday

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: It is Bucky's first birthday with the Avengers but both you and Steve were away on a mission together. He doesn't feel like celebrating considering you had been gone for 2 weeks now, so he doesn't mention it to anyone however little does he know what's in store for him.

Emotional range: Feelings of Neglect that turn into feeling of Happiness, Reminiscences and Awe.

Warnings: 1 f-bomb

Word count: 1340 words

Bucky winced as sunshine streamed through his window. Looking at his clock, he realised what day it was. He turned over to an empty bed, remembering that you and Steve were away in Dallas on a stakeout. He sighed and got up, making his way to the kitchen.

"Morning Barnes" Tony said as Bucky poured himself coffee and nodded in response.

"Good morning" Wanda and Nat greeted as they walked in.

"Tony, we have meeting in 10 minutes, get dressed"Nat said, sitting on a stool while sipping on smoothie.

"I'm going, I'm going" He muttered, walking out.

"So Bucky, got anything special planned for today?" Nat turned to him, a small grin playing at her lips.

"No" He replied, taking a sip.

"Are you missing Steve and Y/N?" Wanda gently asked.

"This stakeout is taking forever"He sighed and stared into his cup “I haven’t had both Steve and Y/N this far away from me for so long”

"They’re closer than you think" Nat winked. Wanda nudged her as Bucky shot them a look of confusion.

“Let’s go ladies”Tony called out.

“We’ll be back soon”Wanda told Bucky who nodded as they left. He finished his coffee and putting his cup in the sink, he made his way to the gym. He checked his phone for any new messages which of course there were none. You had told him that it would be difficult for you to reach out to him but he was desperate for any contact with you. Sighing, he pulled his hair into a messy bun and began punching the sandbag. 

~A few hours later~

Bucky panted as he put down the weights. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and stood up. No one had come into the gym all day and the compound seemed rather quiet, although to be fair it was Sunday, most of the squad spent this day outside of the facility. He picked up his phone then made his way back to his room. He pulled off his sweaty clothes and went for a shower. Bucky sighed in relief as the warm water eased the pain in his bones. He showered quickly and turned the water off. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he grabbed another and slung it around his shoulders, using the ends to dry his hair. He came in to find a parcel on his bed.

“What in the world?”He quickly looked around the room for a person before returning to the parcel. It was wrapped in brown paper and had a note attached to it. Picking the note up, he read it;

𝓦𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓰𝓸 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓶.

‘What’s going on?’ He thought. Opening the parcel, he found his Howling Commandos uniform inside. Smiling to himself as he thought of the simpler days, he pulled on the suit.

 (in case any of you forgot how fucking attractive he looks in the Howling Commandos uniform)

To his amusement, it fitted almost perfectly. He brushed back his hair into tidy ponytail ‘Maybe Clint is right, I should get a haircut’ He wondered ‘Although Y/N would probably be heartbroken’ He chuckled, recalling how much you love to run your fingers through it ‘Well, let’s see what this is about’.

He closed his door behind him and made his way to the living room. Upon arriving, he saw it was cast in darkness.

“Guys?”He spoke into the room. 

“Suprise!”The lights burst open to reveal Rhodey, Vision and Tony holding a banner, Bruce and Thor holding a large cake, T’Challa, Peter and Shuri held sparklers while Pepper, Happy and few others stood behind them. “Happy Birthday Bucky!”They yelled out.

“Thank you”He grinned. He noticed they were all dressed in 1940s clothing “What’s with the getup?”

“That’s for us to know and you to find out very soon”Shuri grinned as they all exchanged grinning glances. Bucky looked at them with confusion before Peter led him to a chair in front of a stage.

"Enjoy the show!" He giggled as a spotlight turned on and music began to play.

Who's strong and brave here to save the American Way? Who's vows to fight like a man for what's right, night and day? Who will campaign door to door for America? Carry the flag shore to shore for America? From Hoboken to Spokane? The Star Spangled Man with a plan!

The curtain rose and Nat walked out followed by Wanda, Sam, Clint, Steve and...Y/N. You were all dressed in the ladies outfit, matching with Sam and Clint who wore striped trousers while Steve was dressed in his original attire. Bucky felt a smile growing as the six of you performed The Star Spangled Man with a plan. A hologram of Hitler appeared behind Steve and he fakely punched it making Bucky laugh loudly because Sam and Clint joined in with you girls as you fawned over Steve.

We know it's no one but Captain America! Who'll whip the giant attacking America? Who'll finish what they began? Who'll kick the Krauts to Japan? The Star Spangled Man with a Plan!

Small sparklers set off as you finished. Bucky stood up, clapping loudly and cheering while you guys made your way down.

"That was brilliant"

"Happy Birthday Buck" Steve hugged him tightly.

"Thanks Steve" He pulled away and saw you smiling at him. His heart pounded in his chest as he engulfed you in a hug.

"I missed you so much Doll"He whispered into your ear. You held onto him tightly, breathing in his scent.

"I missed you too Bucky"

"Enough with the sappyness, let's cut the cake!" Peter yelled out, grinning as both you and Bucky rolled your eyes at him. You made your way to the table and gave a knife to Bucky.

"Am I not a bit old for this?" He chuckled as you scoffed.

"Not for birthday wishes you aren't" You grinned as he shook his head in amusement. You all began to sing Happy Birthday to him making him hide his face in his hands "Go on, blow out your candles and make your wish!" You told him excitedly. He looked at your bright light of beauty and closed his eyes before blowing out his candles.

"Now let's get drunk!" Music began to play as everyone cheered. Bucky looked to his side for you only to see you had disappeared. He walked over to Steve who was getting drinks with Clint.

"I can't believe you actually wore that back then" Clint laughed.

"He also invaded a hydra camp wearing a prop helmet, the dumbass" Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve who blushed sheepishly.

"It works just as well Buck"

"I could bend it with my thumbs Steve" He shook his head at Steve as Clint laughed.

"Looking good there Wilson" He smirked at Sam who frowned as he approached.

"You're lucky Y/N is such a sweet talker"

"That I am" He poured himself a glass of scotch "Have you seen her by the way?"

"I think she's at the balcony" Steve pointed out.

"Thanks" He headed towards the balcony where you were standing. You looked back at him, smiling.

"I have to say Doll, no girl back then looked as good in that as you do"

"Says the one. You look quite the dapper gentleman Sergeant "You bit your lip teasing as he wrapped his arms around you.

"You don't know how long it's felt without you Doll" He sighed.

You put your arms around his neck, stroking the back of neck"We actually came back yesterday afternoon but I realised it was your birthday the next day so I began to plan while we stayed at Clint's house"

"You did all this for me?"

"Yep, I know sometimes you wish you could go back to a time era you understand" You softly smiled "I needed to see you smile"

"You're an angel from heaven, Y/N" He tucked a curl behind your ear, his eyes sparkling making you blush.

"Happy birthday my love" You kissed him passionately as everyone cheering from the room.

"Get a room you two!" Tony yelled out.

"Don't worry we will" You replied, winking at Bucky while everyone booed. He laughed and slipped his hand around your waist, happy to have you home and by his side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝒷𝓎 𝑅𝒶𝒾 𝒲𝒾𝒸𝓀.

[cryptidofthekeys]

Jameson Jackson x Tiny!Reader

Tag List: @tiny-yan-anon | @dapper-boi-protection-squad | @clanwarrior-tumbly

@imagine-ego-trash  Some of you have been waiting for such a long time and for that I apologize!

Jameson was wandering around the house like usual, trying to ignore all the chaos going on... This household could be so noisy sometimes, usually he didn't mind that much but for once it was getting on his nerves. He wasn't alone however... Well he probably didn't know that much but you were in fact sick of all this noise yourself, way to pick a household full of a bunch of rowdy noisy people. You sighed, now this would be a risky move since the people who owned this house didn't...exactly know you were there nor did they know you were...tiny, but anything to get away from the loud noises would work for you, you decided to follow the one who was always silent. He had never spoken a word but he did use his hands a lot, most likely sign language, he must not be able to speak, part of you wondered why but the other part didn't think asking would be a good idea not to mention it could be a touchy subject. You had followed him all the way into his room, gasping slightly at what you saw... His room was black and white, it looked like a really old... well silent-film sorta style, it was oddly calming and pleasing to look at. You decided to explore around since it seemed the other was preoccupied with something, you noticed a pumpkin with a cute drawn on mustache, it looked rather adorable actually! You then saw a whiteboard which of course he must've used just in case someone didn't understand his sign language. There was a tea set, a few films that must've dated way back before well... most everyone's time, at least it was before everyone in this household's time, he even had one of those old Phonographs! Surprisingly it was quiet and relaxing in here, more so than anywhere else in this house, you were about to find a hiding spot before you heard someone snap their fingers, which instantly made you freeze in fear... Oh god... Did... You slowly but surely turned around and sure enough there he was, looking down at you rather curiously, you were tempted to let out a scream right then and there honestly. Why? Why did you have to follow him? Getting away from the noise sure but, now he found you and there's no telling what he'd do with you! He'd probably treat you like some kind of vermin! You regretted your decision entirely in that one moment... 'Nerts! What are you? I've never seen somethin' like this before!' He signed, he was about to extend his hand for a simple handshake and that's when you sprinted, you had to get out of here and fast. (I swear-- I'm using a bit of 20s slang I saw online but I wouldnt take it as accurate cause honestly I dont know myself tbh-- I just looked up 'slang for the 20s' or somethin like that) His eyes widened as you sprinted, he... honestly didn't expect that but then again, he could understand why considering he was a giant compared to you, he had to do something quickly but he didn't just want to snatch you up without permission that would be rude! You kept running until you found a safe spot to hide in so he couldn't grab you, you watched as he stood up and imitated a sigh, he walked over and grabbed a whiteboard and wrote something down on it and then brought it over to you. You immediately backed up when he came closer but noticed the words on it, it took you a moment but you finally managed to read the whiteboard 'Can you understand sign language?' And to that you looked up at him and nodded. (ahem, sorry if you can't actually understand sign language, I just wanna make this easier than the whole whiteboard thing) He pushed the whiteboard to the side and then began to sign 'Ah forgive me for giving you a fright earlier! I was merely wanting to shake your hand, I guess I should have been a bit more... careful! Oh I should introduce myself! Jameson Jackson at your service!' He gave a tip of the hat. You blinked and tilted your head, why was he being so...friendly towards something like you? Was this a trap to lure you out so he could grab and dispose of you? ...You wouldn't trust him just yet "...M...My name's (Y/N)..." Was all you mumbled, still not moving out of your spot. There was a pause before he smiled calmly 'Do you mind coming out of there? I mean, its completely fine if ya want to stay in there of course, I know this must be awfully frightening for you and I would never want to make you uncomfortable' He was definitely treating you like a normal person instead of just... well... a thing. You stared at him for a few moments, you were just... shocked, he was talking to you as if you were just a normal person "...I...I'd rather stay in here... for... for a bit..." You admitted to which he simply nodded at. 'Alright, and just so you know, you can come and go as you please I won't try and stop you and I certainly won't just snatch you up without permission! I can only imagine that would cause you more stress, speakin' of which... Would you like some tea? I was about to prepare some!' He signed, he was actually... quite the gentleman it seemed. You hesitantly nodded, maybe this guy wasn't... all THAT bad, you still wouldn't trust him just yet "S-Sure if you got anything I can actually drink out of..." JJ's smile grew at your words 'Ah but of course! If you don't mind wait right here please!' He then moved away and began preparing the tea, you of course couldn't help but watch as he did so. After awhile the tea was done, he brought a bottle cap over and placed it down in your reach, he then carefully poured some tea into it 'There you go! Hope you enjoy!' He signed and then walked back over and poured himself some tea, he then came back over but kept his distance as he sat. 'Ah, I won't sit too close, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, you'll have to forgive me as well if I get too... rambly so to speak, I never really have anyone to 'converse' with during tea-time' He signed and then took a sip of tea, even though he couldn't speak aloud that...seemed a bit sad actually. You took a sip of your own tea before looking up to him "I don't mind... Er... If you don't mind me asking, you live in a house with a ton of others, so how come you don't have anyone to converse with during tea-time?" JJ mimicked a sigh and took another sip of his tea before signing 'Well, most of the others are rather... noisy or some of them don't even have the time, Henrik is usually always working and he does prefer coffee over tea, Chase is... too loud and tries to trick-shot things into the mug, Anti is... not the best company... Marvin is usually busy with his magic, and Jackie is a superhero so he is normally always on duty, there is Robbie of course but he doesn't really talk THAT much he usually wants to cuddle' he finally finished. You... didn't really know how to respond to all that, that seemed really sad, he had no one to just sit down and talk too, you contemplated for a few moments before stepping out from your hiding spot "Well... I'm here now, I'll be your conversation buddy how about it" JJ seemed...surprised at that, he rose a brow and signed 'Really? I thought you didn't trust me, or something of the sort! And you seemed awfully frightened of me as well' He then took a sip of his tea. There was a long pause ...well... he hadn't tried to just scoop you up, or do anything bad to you yet... ...And he honestly seemed very nice "Well, at first yeah I guess I was a little scared and I didn't exactly trust you but... You haven't really done anything bad yet, and if you were going too, you would've already done something" JJ gave a nod and smiled 'Ah heavens no! I would never do anything bad to... Well ANYONE really, call me a pacifist if ya wish but, I would especially never harm someone smaller than me! That just seems completely uncalled for if you ask me, even if you are smaller than well any human out there you A R E still a sentient being who feels things such as pain, sadness, anger, all of that!' You blinked and stared at him "So... You don't think of me as just a thing? You... actually see me as someone sentient, not just a thing you can play with, mess with, or anything for your amusement?" JJ then wrinkled his nose in disgust and set his now empty cup down 'Gadzooks! Who on earth would EVER think you are ''something'' to play or mess with, whoever thinks that would be amusing must be very sick in the head! ...Well I suppose Anti would have some sort of... demented fun HOWEVER! Not to worry, I swear to you I will not let him get his hands on you!' He thought for a moment and without advancing his hand towards you, he laid it on the ground and used his other hand to sign 'I won't force you to climb onto my hand! That would be quite rude, so I will leave this decision to you!' You backed up a little bit before listening to his words, ...he surely didn't have anything planned by now, he seems far too... nice to do anything bad, you sighed and reluctantly stepped onto his hand, flinching once he raised it up, he seemed... really surprised you did that but nonetheless a happy smile was now plastered onto his face. 'Ah! I see you trust me a little bit more now! That's good, I don't want you being afraid of me or anything of the sort! I just want to be your friend! Now, hmm... What would ya like to do?' JJ signed, waiting for your response, he moved his hand closer to his chest so there would be a less likely chance to drop you. You thought for a moment, what was there to do around here honestly? You then shrugged "I... don't really know?" Well you were being honest, you did hope he actually had an idea... JJ's mustache began to twitch from side to side, as if he were... pondering something, he then seemed to get an idea 'I could introduce you to the others if you'd like! Don't worry I can assure you they won't grab you nor hurt you in any way! Most of the others are actually very nice except for Anti... He is... not so nice...' You didn't like the sound of this... 'Anti' character you've heard him speak about, there was a moment of silence before you nodded "Just, don't let anyone grab me up without warning, that's all I ask..." JJ nodded and smiled brightly, he then began to head off into the living room, eyes widening at the chaos unfolding before him... Almost all the egos were arguing and of course it seemed Anti was only adding fuel to the fire, he was most likely the cause of the argument to begin with... JJ then looked down at you 'Erm... Perhaps we should... Wait until later on to introduce you to the others...' He mimicked a sigh and simply held you close to him, only jumping when he heard a groan beside him. Jameson immediately turned and looked relieved at who he saw 'Ah, its just you Robbie!' He... had forgotten however the zombie didn't understand sign language... The zombie blinked and tilted his head "...Jaaamieee... Egooss yellinggg... makee Robbieee saaad..." He whimpered, holding his ears as he looked at the others, yelling and or loud noises always made the poor zombie dreadfully uncomfortable... JJ thought for a moment ...oh wait... He didn't have his whiteboard with him, and Robbie couldn't understand his sign language just yet... Man, they really needed to teach him this... Robbie looked back at Jameson and then down at his hand, gasping when he noticed a tiny being... Oh- Oh no... "Smmm....ollll!... Caann Rrrobbieee holldddd?" He made grabby hands which of course frightened you. You backed as far as you could away from Robbie, you didn't trust him just yet, you especially didn't trust him because he looked like a zombie, who knows what he'd do with you! Jameson seemed to notice this and raised you up before signing 'Ah, I need to go get my whiteboard, Robbie can't understand sign language just yet, but I can assure you even though he's a zombie, he means absolutely no harm, he simply just wants to cuddle you!' You then thought about what JJ had said about this 'Robbie' character earlier on, well if JJ trusted him then maybe it wouldn't be so bad... So far it seems the only person he doesn't like nor trust is this 'Anti' person... You sighed and gave a nod "Just... hurry back" And with that the dapper man smiled and nodded, handing you to Robbie who immediately cuddled you, JJ then turned and went back to his room... ...Well now you were basically alone with a zombie of all things. You looked up at the zombie, well as best you could considering he was practically cuddling you into his chest, he...actually seemed kind of adorable as he nuzzled and cuddled you, he was almost like a puppy in a way! "Smoollll... Cuutee...! Naamee Robbieee... Whattt yourrrs?" He gurgled out, he was... definitely a slow speaker, but it was understandable since he was undead, there was a bit of a pause... "Er... My name's (Y/N)... Nice to meet you... Robbie" You mumbled out rather awkwardly, you couldn't help but smile however as he merely nuzzled you some more. "(Y/NNN)... Niicee naamee...!" Robbie paused, seeming to try and think of what to say next "Haavee youuu Meettt theee ottherrrs...?" You shook your head "No... Jameson was going to introduce me to them but it seems they are... rather busy" You glanced at the others who seemed to still be arguing. Robbie looked over and whimpered slightly before looking back down to you "Yeaahh.. Otherrss arrguee a lottt... Antiii causesss a lottt of theee arrgumentsss... But, theyyy arree niice!" He smiled, even though the others did argue and yell a lot more than they should he still cared for them of course. You couldn't help but smile at that but before you could speak JJ came back, whiteboard in hand of course, he then wrote something down and showed it to Robbie who immediately squinted and began to read... Robbie pouted but gave the silent man a nod and immediately handed you back to him, he then winced at the others yelling "Jaamiee... Stopp otherrrss frromm yellinggg? Pleeease?" The zombie begged, you... couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor guy. You looked up at JJ and immediately got his attention "Can we help the poor guy out? He seems so upset and honestly..." You then whispered this next part "They are being very annoying..." JJ of course nodded and turned towards the other egos, he immediately walked towards them and snapped his fingers which seemed to grab everyone, including Anti's attention. Luckily the other egos had learned sign language over the course of time, some of them just learned to understand it, while others learnt to sign back even, it was really just to make JJ as comfortable as possible, which was honestly a really nice thought. 'Can you all please stop that bickerin'? Just take a look at what you are all doing to Robbie! The poor fellow is scared!' He then pointed towards the zombie who looked like he was about to cry. The others immediately went silent except for Anti who scoffed and crossed his arms, he then rose a brow and... Oh no... He was staring straight at you, that... must've been the Anti dude JJ was telling you about, considering he was the only one giving you a malicious grin. JJ mimicked a sigh 'Thank you so much, now there's someone you all should meet! But please, try not to overwhelm them!' He held you up so the others could see, and of course that immediately made you nervous. The first to... Well actually before the one that looked like a doctor could step closer the one you had assumed was Anti... glitched right in front of you...? Just what was he? He had black eyes, a very grotesque looking slit throat, and a grin that could send even the toughest people running scared. "͏̀Ẁè͜l̀͞l͞ ̶a͡re͘ǹ̨͢'̢̀t͝c̸͠ha̡ j̶͟ư̧͞s͝t̷ ̀t͞h̛͠e̡͟͝ ̸͡c̶ ù̧̨ ̀͜͞t̷͡ ̸̢́e̶ ҉͏s̴͝ ͠t͠͡ ́̀l͞͏͘i̛tt̀l͘e̡ ̡҉t̶̨̧o͜͠҉y̨?͡~̴̨" He spoke with a rather distorted sounding tone, it made you shiver but before the other could do anything JJ immediately pulled you back and began signing 'Anti... Leave (Y/N) alone... Please...' He paused 'If you get near them I will... I... will' Anti got right up in JJ's face and pulled out a knife, he immediately held it to the other's throat "̢͡O͝h̷?̵̀ ̢Y̶̷ȩr̷ ͡g̕͢o̕nǹ̨͞a͜͝ ͏̸w̨͟ ̕h̷ ̷a͡͏͡ ̕t ͢p͞͏͘u̴p̷̛͠p̶͜e̵t͏̧?̵̡ ̸͠͞Hm҉̀?͏ ̷̴̕Y͠e͢ ̵s̛ee̛m '̨̀t̴ ̢̀h̸͏a̶̸͞v̨e̡ ̸̛f͘͟͡or̶̀͠g̛̀͡ot̸̕te̸n͏͠ ̛y̕e͟r̨̧ ͜p̛҉l͠a̧̛̛c̸͝e̛͞,̸ ̶d͟o y͏e͏ ̀͝͝ņ̷̛e̴̸e̕d͡͞ a͡ ŕ̶ ̶e͟͏ ͟͏̶ḿ ͠ì͡ n̢̕͜ ̵͢͟d̀͞ e͞ r̷ ḿa̴̴͡y̷̶b҉e?̧͘͜" He spat, his words held pure venom, it was surprising you didn't actually see venom drip from his mouth at this point. JJ's eyes widened and he began to... shake, shake with pure fear, you immediately glared at the supposed demon in front of you, there... wasn't much you could do however at your size but it seemed before the situation could escalate anymore everyone surrounded Anti, holding up weapons of their own, except for one with yellow hair who was merely standing there as if waiting for something, and another man with ink all over him who was cursing at the glitch demon. The doctor held a needle, the one in the cap held a... nerf gun, the one dressed in red held up his fists, and the one who appeared to be a magician held up his wand... They were all glaring at Anti but the doctor was the first one to speak up "Anti, zat is quite enough... You have caused enough trouble, zhere is no reason fo' threatening Jameson nor ze ozher... I sink it vwould be best if you l e a v e..." The doctor definitely had a German accent, you could tell that much but he seemed to have... pure hatred towards Anti, it made you wonder why but its probably best not to question it... Anti growled and glared daggers at everyone surrounding him, he then turned back to JJ and his stare was completely cold before a large grin spread across his face "͝T̷̛h̛͘͠is̛͘͏. I͘͘͢ ̷̨s͠ ̵n҉̶ ̵̨' ͏t́.̢̨ ͡O̢͝v̢̕͞e͝͡r.̡̢.́.̴͘ ̴̴͞S͘é̢e ͡y̵͞͏a ̀s̶o͜͜o͏n̨̨~̵"̀ And with that he was just... Gone. He didn't walk away but merely just... vanished it would seem. This made you feel... uneasy, you immediately looked up to JJ who still seemed shaken and...worried even, you began patting his hand since that was... really all you could do "Hey... Are you alright JJ?" The silent man looked down at you and smiled a little even though it looked like a weak one 'I am fine... Don't worry about me! That was just... Anti being well... Anti... He's... usually like that, just, don't worry I promise I won't let him near you' You nodded at his words, you then watched as the doctor approached an apologetic look all over his face "I am very sorry fo' Anti's behavior, I know zat... Probably scared you but I can assure you zat vwe are nozhing like him... Und... Jameson, are you alright?" JJ nodded at the doctor's words 'Yeah, I'm... I'm alright... He didn't hurt me or them thankfully, anyways... Since he is gone, perhaps its time to get acquainted with them?' He then pointed towards you. The doctor nodded "Ah, vwhy of course, I vwill gazher ze ozhers und bring zhem over" He then walked over and began conversing with the others. After a bit of conversing, the others had turned their attention towards JJ and you as well, and then JJ held you up in plain sight, using his other hand to sign to you 'Go ahead and introduce yourself! The others won't bite or do you any harm, I promise!' You nodded and looked to the others, feeling a bit... uncomfortable considering they were all fixated on you "Er... Uh... H-Hello! M...My name is (Y/N)" ...That was a bit awkward but they didn't seem to mind. JJ then lowered you down a bit so you weren't as high up, and luckily for you... The others didn't crowd around and overwhelm you, they had lined up and the first one was of course, that guy who looks like a doctor. "Hallo, my name is Henrik, it is very nice to meet you (Y/N)" He then reached out a pinky finger, it took you a moment before realizing, he must've wanted a handshake... You held out a hand and grabbed at his pinky as best you could before slowly shaking it up and down "Nice... to meet you as well..." After a few seconds, Henrik withdrew his hand and stepped away, letting the next one step up and it was the one in the cap "Sah dude, my name's Chase! Wow... I've never seen a human your size..." He seemed amazed before he realized "Oh wait, er, no offense by the way... It's just kinda awesome to me" You smiled a bit and shook your head "None taken, I can... understand I guess why it'd be so fascinating to see another being that's just... tinier than yourself" Chase gave you a smile and then stepped aside, seeing as he was keeping the others waiting, and one by one you got to know each one of their names, the one in the cat mask was named Marvin, the one in the red jumpsuit was named Jackie, the one who seemed and spoke like a robot of some kind was named Bing, and finally the one covered in ink was named Shawn. You already knew Robbie and JJ, so they didn't really have to introduce themselves, and you had the misfortune of meeting... Anti, you were definitely going to try avoiding him at all costs, as for the others, they... actually weren't bad at all, at least, not as bad as you had previously though, they were... Really nice and caring of each other it seemed. They weren't treating you as if you were vermin either or anything of the sort, they actually seemed to think of you as a normal person, despite your size, of course they had to approach some things differently but nonetheless they didn't seem to mind you. JJ snapped his fingers which quickly caught your attention and you watched as he signed 'Well, would you like to go back to my room? It's been quite an exhausting day hasn't it?' You nodded "Y...Yeah... I am pretty tired" You admitted, it was a bit of an exhausting day so far, so maybe it would be best to go back to a nice, quiet, and calm place to rest... As JJ turned and began walking to his room, you noticed Robbie waving at you, you waved back and smiled, he was so nice to be a zombie... After a bit of walking, JJ had made it back to his room, he sat you down on the nightstand near his bed and then mimicked what appeared to be a sigh, he looked... worried? He was probably worried about the situation with Anti if the truth was told, you decided to ask anyways instead of just assuming "Jameson...? Are you alright?" JJ looked at you and began to sign 'Yeah... I'm fine... It's just... I am very worried Anti will get a hold of you...' He finished, of course, that is what he is afraid of... Deep down, you were also a little afraid Anti would get his hands on you, but you decided to push that fear back, for JJ's sake. "Hey... It's gonna be alright, he won't get me, you and the others won't let him... I know you can protect me, and so can they, he's not going to hurt either of us! I promise!" You tried to be reassuring, and to that JJ smiled a little bit. JJ still seemed a tad bit worried, he looked over towards his tea set 'Perhaps another spot of tea is in order? It does help calm the nerves a bit, wouldn't you say?' He looked back towards you, and you nodded at him "Yeah... Some tea could help calm our nerves I think..." Jameson walked over towards his tea-set and began preparing everything, however after a few moments, he seemed to notice... 'Oh dear...' He turned towards you and signed 'It appears we are out of tea, I'm sure Chase has some however! He usually does, I'll go ask him, would you like to come with?' You shook your head "Nah, I want to just relax here for a bit..." You spoke, but you noticed JJ's worry again "Don't worry Jameson, I'll be fine, just go on and get some more tea!" JJ looked reluctant but nodded 'I'll be back as soon as I can' and with that being signed, he walked out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts, you could honestly get used to being here... The giants of this household weren't as bad as you had previously thought, the only bad one was Anti... That giant was dangerous and very deadly... Speak of the devil... You suppressed the urge to scream upon seeing him just glitch into the room, you scrambled behind some rather old looking books before he could spot you, luckily enough you managed to get behind them in time it seemed, you shuddered upon hearing that awful, awful cackle of his. "̛͝C͜omé͘ ̶̧͘o̵ù̀ţ̷,̴͟ ͜C̸͏̧o͞m̵̷e͜͜ ͏͜o͝ù̡t̵ ̛́͢w̴h͢͏er̵̡͞e̸͘͢v̢͏e͝͏r̴ ̢̀͠ye̕͟ ̴̢͠a̷̕r͘e̛ ̴̴li̵ţ҉t͏l̸͜e͏̵ m o͠͏̢ ̴ų̀ ̨s̕͞ e̴~̸͝ I̧ ͠k̵n̶o͏w̡͏ ̸̨y̢̢͢e̡͢͠r̶ ͠҉̵i̴n̵͘̕ ̡ḩ̵e̴r̴͏̨e̷̵͢.̵.̨.́ I̧̢t́'l͡l̶̀͏ b̴e͏̵ e̕a̸s̀ier͘͢ ̧̡ó̵͜n͟ ỳe̵̛͢ŕ̡҉ş͜el̢̛f̸̨ ̷̢í͠f͟ y̨͏ę ̕j̸ų̵͘s͏ţ̧̧ ͠c̷͘ò̡͝m̛e̵ ̶o͡͡n̸̡҉ ̸́́ó̢͡u̶t̴̛͟" He spoke, beginning to practically ransack JJ's room, this might be a good time to make a break for it while he's distracted... After all, it doesn't look like he's gonna stop anytime soon, he won't stop until he gets what he wants... You decided to take a chance, it'd be better than staying hidden, you sprinted as fast as you could, finding the fastest way to climb down off the nightstand, once down on the ground, you made a break for the door which wasn't too far away... You might actually make it before he spots you! You were so close, right there at the exit, before a foot slammed down in your path, the vibration from that slam was enough to make you fall back, and of course you screamed out of pure terror, you were actually hoping, praying, that somebody, anybody could hear you. Anti merely cackled and picked you up, keeping a rather tight hold on your small body, "͡Y̷' ̛k̷͞n̢o̴͠͝w҉...͘͟ J̸̢a҉m̶e̢s͝o͏n͘͘'ş ̵n̵̡͡e̶͟v̕͢er͜͠ ̛s̛̕p̕͘ǫke̢ ̡t͡'̧̨͟ ͞m͡e̶ ̢l̷͘͠ì̷ke̸ t͡ha̡͏́t͢͝ ̴b͝ęf̵̀o̢re͜,̡҉ ̵h͝e ́ù͝su̷a͢ll̀y ͢ķ͜now̸͏s ̷̨͡h̵i̶̛s̴̨ ̛p̴͢͝la͞c̢͢͞e̢.̸.͘.̷͢͝ ͠H̕͡ȩ̢́ m̡u̕͢st ̧c̸͜a̵͡r͏e̸̶ ̸͟ą͜ ̸̡͢g̡͟r̴̶͟e̡̧̛a͏͜t͏̸ ͟͡de̕͏ą̷ĺ̡ f̕҉͝e̕͝r̵͠ ̸͝y̛͏̨a.̡̀.̴̵.͠ ͢͠S͘̕͠uc͘h̛͝ ̕͝a ̀͢͞śh͠͞a͏̨m͠҉͝e͡ ͝m'͡ ͏g͝҉o̶͢n̢͜n̶͞á̛͡ ̛h̕͘͢á̷v̵̛e̶̕ ͝ta̛͞ ͞҉҉b̴̧͠r̡ę͟a̢͘͢k̴̵ ̶̷hí͢s̛͘̕ ̸l̨í̡t̡t͏͡l͘͏e͏̛ ţ̨o̸͟y̷͞...͠͏ M̛̀́ày͏͘b҉e͏ t̸̕h̨҉is̶̢'̢̧l̴̷̢l̨̕ t̡҉é̸a͞c̨h̀ ̴h̨͘i̷͞m̵̴͟ ͝͞nǫ̵́t͟ ͟t̵́͠'̡́͘ ̸͠s͞h̴̡̕ǫ͏w҉̸̵ ̧͞h҉i̛͢ş̨͠ ̡m҉̢a̶̶ś͏t̡͡e͠͏̶r͝ ̸s̶̨͘u̧c̴̶͞h̢ ҉́in̴s̶̶͢ờ͡l̸͞enç͜ę̛̛" He tightened his grip to the point where it was getting painful. You were beginning to cry, out of both pain and fear, you began trying to struggle and squirm, you were even punching at his hand, clawing at it, doing anything you possibly could in hopes to escape his grasp, of course your feeble attempts only made him chuckle and grin. Anti seemed to get an idea, which meant bad news for you... His grip surprisingly loosened, not enough for you to squirm free of course, he looked towards the doorway "̢Ye̢͞ ̸̧̨k̷̡n҉́҉ow,҉ ̧͏ I̧̧̕ ̸sh̡ơúl̡͜d̡͘ ̀̕͡l̸e҉͠͞t̢͝ ̧͜h͡͏͟i̧͘m̷͟ ẁ͘a̢̨t̷͜͞ć̡h͢ ͏́a҉ş͘ ̶̷I̧ ͏b͟r̨e̷̛a̡̕k͞͞ ͘y͘͝҉a̡..̵.̨ ͏͠T̕h͘͞a͢͜͡t̵̡'̴͠l̨͟l̸ ţ̴e̕͞a̶̶c̡̨h̢͝ ̶͢hį͝m̛͢͡ ̨̛à ̛l̸̨es̡̕ş̴ơn~ H͝e҉ ̧͞͠s̕͢h̛ǫ̵ul͜d͘͏ ̶b͜e̡͢͟ ̀cǫ͘m͘͢͝i̡͜ǹ͜g̀ ̧b͢a̕ć͟͠k͜ ҉͏r͜i̴g̕h͠t͏ ̷a͏b̢o͡͏u̧̡͝t͘.̶̸̛..͜͞"́͘ He trailed off, his grin widening as JJ stepped in the doorway, the silent man's eyes widening. Jameson's eyes were wide as could be, he and Anti locked eyes and then he noticed that he had you in hand... No... This was what he was afraid of, this was why he didn't want to leave you alone, and now the others weren't here to help out, there was no way Jameson could take Anti on alone. "N̨͠ ̴o̴ ̷͜w̕.́́.̷̛.̡͘ ̨W̨͏͝el͝͞c̶͘͡o̕͠͡m̴e ̵b͞ąç̧k̛,́ ̨͠p͝ ̢́u͏ p̢ ͜p̶ ̧͝e̸̴ ́t̕.̡͝.̛͢.҉́ Ye͢͡'v͢͞e͞͞ ̀́b͡͞e̸e̶̡ņ̡ ͏̧̡d̸̀į͝͠s͜͏̛o̵b̶̵͠e҉d̢̛̛i̢e̢̕n̡̛͞t,̶ ̢̕͞yer͏̨͡ ͟m̧͏á͝st̴̀̀e͏̵͜r ͝͡͏d͏̧ó͟e͟s̴͞n͝'t͏̶ li͢k͘͢͡e ͠͠͏t͘͏ ͞h̢ a ̷̀͘t̵̛.̴.̨̀́.͏҉S̸̸̕ǫ̸̶ ̸̕͞n̡͘̕ow ̧̡y̛e͟͜͠r͟ ̷͏li͠ţ̵͜t̸͘҉l҉̀è͟ t͟ ҉͘͝o҉̡ ̴̨y̛ ̶̴is̢ ҉go̸̴n̕͝ņa͝ ̨̀h͡҉̸a̷҉͟v͜͡e̵̴͠ ̷͝'̧̛t ͜͠s͏̵̨ù̴f͢f̧͡e̴̢ŗ̶ f̀͞҉é͡͡r̀͘͞ i̴͟t, ͞o̢̕͜f͘͘ ҉̕ć͘ours̢e͏̢.̴́..͠͏͞ Tḩ̸at̶͠ d͡o̵e͞sn͢'̶̡͝t̛҉ m̸̕eaǹ ̨͘y͢é̕'l͘͘l ̵͝ģ̷e͜͜t̴͠ ͢͠o҉҉f̶f̨͟ ͠f̕͞r̀͞e̸̸e̡ ̵̕é́̀ì͝t́͟h̢e̷҉r͞,̨ oǹ̛c̕͜e̵҉͝ ̢͢m̵̸̵'͘͟҉ ͘d́o͘n̨̕e͝ ̶w͢͠͝i̵͞t̵͘h̶͘ t̢͠h̢̀e̛m̕͟͠.͝.̴̨.͝͡ ҉͏Y͢ò͟͜u'̸̕͢r̨͢͠e ͜N ̷͞e̛҉͜ ̨͟x͢͝ ̀͢ţ̛.̀͜.̢.̴͟" Anti spoke, cackling at the look of terror on Jameson's face. Jameson quickly began signing 'Anti! Please! Don't hurt them, its my fault anyways! I shouldn't have talked back to you, I'm... I'm sorry... I won't do it ever again, just please... don't hurt them, hurt... hurt me instead! I am the one who deserves it!' Anti sneered "̵́I͏sn̵͢͟'̴̀t̛ ͘͡t̨͢ha̵t̛̀ ̵cu͟t͢͟͡é.̨.̧.͘ ̷Y̨͝e͠͏'l͝͞l̸ ̡͝ǵ̨͝ę͡t̵ ̧̛y̴̡er̡̛ ́t͟u̴̶r͘͝n̸͟ pu̵p͘p̴̛et̵҉̶,̸̷ ͏͞r͘igh̛t̢͟ ̵ą̛f̵͢҉t̸͡͝e͡͠ŗ̵ ̵̵t ҉̵h̡ ̶̨͞ę̵̢ ́͜m͏.͘͢.̀̕.͟" He paused, his grin was now as wide as it could be "M̸̕'̨ ̷g̀͢uń͟n͜҉͘a̴̡͟ m̶a̴͜k̶͟͝è̵ ҉͏y͞e̢͜ ̴́w̡͞a҉t͞c҉h̵͟ ͡t̶h̛e̴ ̕͟li͢fe̴҉ ̡͏d̢͢r̨̧a̷͏i̵͏n ̛f̧̕͡ŗ̀͘om͞ ̢t̷̢h̶̡͠ȩ͜ì̸r̸͡ eye҉͜s̸̴" Suddenly, there was that tightening pressure on your fragile little body again which caused you to scream. JJ immediately tried to approach upon hearing you scream, however all of a sudden he felt some form of rope or string tugging at his arms and legs, it pulled him to his knees and he was forced to look up at Anti who was practically squeezing the life out of his new friend. (bc I really like the red strings thing, the strings on a puppet thing, whatever its called Imma use it) Jameson began to cry, hearing you scream out in pain, hearing your sobs, every little noise of pain or fear you made, it just made his tears flow faster, he couldn't stop this, he was too weak to even get out of the strings! He was trying and struggling against them but that only seemed to make them tighter, almost to the point where it cut into his skin. Anti kept cackling, that damned laughter of his... It grew louder and louder it seemed, at least to Jameson it seemed that way and suddenly... Everything stopped, the screams of pain, the crying, the laughter... JJ immediately focused on Anti and his friend, oh god... Did he...? To JJ's relief, he saw that you were miraculously still alive, he was very grateful, he just hoped Anti hadn't broken any of your bones... Suddenly, Anti had approached Jameson and put a hand under the man's chin, he tried to turn away, he was disgusted by Anti's touch. "̶Ý̧͟'͠͡ ̷͘͞kn̨̛ow.͟.̶͢.́͞ ̴̀I̶ s҉͠h̀o̕͟u҉҉̴l̸d̶n̶̢͝'̀͢t ͢b͏e ͢t̴͟h̶̸' ͜͢ơ̢n̡͘e̷̶̛ ͘t͏̨͞'̀͘ b̧̢̛r͘͏e͜a̶k̨ ̶ém̵͠҉.͢..́̕͠ ̴̀͠I ̸h͘ave̸ ͝a͘̕̕ ̴̸̢m҉ ̷̵u̧ ̵̨͜c ̵̀͟h̸ ̨b͝e҉̛t̶͟t̢e̕r͞ ̨̛͠i̡d̕ea̢̢͝ i͏n̶͘ ́̀͡m̵̨̨i͝҉n̨͜d́,̨͢ ̴̛i̛͘t̸̕'͞҉d̸͢͝ ͞b̛e̢ ̕͡͡nơ̛̕ ̢͜fun̵ ̵̡i̴f͘͝҉ ̷I d̨̡id͢ a̴l̀ļ̵ t̸̕h̢͢͝'̷̢͝ ͜͝w̡͘o̶͟҉rk̀͘" It took Jameson a few seconds before ...Oh no... He understood what Anti wanted him to do, he immediately shook his head, a glare appearing on his face which was rare for a gentleman such as Jameson, of course Anti only laughed at him. "͢O̶h̡͠?҉ ̸Y҉e҉ ̶̧̕t͝h͞i͏̷͢n̶͡k͠ ̀y͠e̶͝ h͢a̸͟v͞ę̛͜ ̛͞a̧ ҉̡ćh̢o̵ice͘͟͢ ͟i͏͝n̶ ̧̀̕t́h̛͡'͏ ͘ma̵tt̛͞er̨ ̨̛nǫ̶w͞ d̢ó̶̧ ̛͝y̷̕͝a̸?̕͜" He paused for a few moments, looking back at you, smirking at your rather exhausted expression, he then looked back at Jameson "́̀W̵͟҉e̛l̡l̷,̡͘ w͘ę̛'ll͢͞ ́͝j̡͜ųs̷̡͠t̶͜ ̸͟͟s̢ee ́a̴b̶͏̛o̢u̶̡t͞ t̡̕͘ha͡t n҉̀o̡w,̨ w̵̛o̸̢n̵'͟͟t̶͡͠ w̶̧e̸?̛͘" And suddenly, the strings were tugging at JJ's arms, threatening to dig into his skin at some points. Tears were flowing from the dapper man's eyes, he didn't want this... He just wanted this to stop, the moment you were placed in Jameson's hands, his eyes widened and he looked at Anti, a pleading expression on his face, Anti only grinned at him, of course he wouldn't show mercy, why would he? You looked at Jameson, your eyes widening as you felt the grip tighten, of course your expression was one of fear and agony "Pl...Ple... Please...! Jameson! Fight him! Don't let him do this to you, to us!" Upon hearing your words, Jameson began struggling against the strings, trying desperately to loosen the grip he had on you, he didn't care anymore, he didn't care if they dug into his skin, just so long as you'd be alright in the end, surprisingly, after a few moments, he managed to snap a string off... Anti's look of amusement faltered slightly but he still cackled nonetheless "́͠͡T̀c͏͟h̴̛,̨͟͞ ́y̡e̡͏r͜ ̶̧w͏̧̕ ̢̧e̵ ͜à̸̛ k J̕a͘҉͠m̶es̶͜o̡̡n̶.҉.̵.̷͠ ̀͢Y͏̵a̕ ̵̸k̡no̵͜͝w͝,̸͠ ̕͡ye̵̢͞'̷̢͠v͜e̵ ͘̕b̢ee̢͘n͡͡ ̀́ą̡̛n͜͢ ̛͠a̶̧w̶̡f͡͝ưl͡l̴̛͟y̢̕͡ d͝i̷͠s̛҉o̕͞b͠e̷̛͜d̵͜i͏e͜͞n͘͟t̕͝ ̨҉̕p̴̢u͏p̸pe̕͘t͘, ̢̧a̧̡n'҉ y̨a͏͜ ̀͡ķ͞n͘ow̢̧ ̧Í ̴d҉ ̢́o̧͜ ̢̛͘n̨͠ ͘' ̀͢t͞҉ ̵͠t̡o̷ĺ̴erat̵͡e͘͠͠ d̕ ̸͏̴i͡ ̢̢͞s̵̨͞ ̷͢o͞͡ b̸ ̸e͏ ̷̕d̵ ̴͢i͝ ̢͟è n ̛҉c̛͠҉ ̶̢e̛͏͢.͘͡.̛.͏" Anti now had his knife in his hand, however before he could even get to use it, he was suddenly flung back against the wall... Jackie had rushed into the room and punched him, his eyes glowing a bright green, Henrik, Marvin, and Chase dashing into the room behind him, Henrik's eyes widened as did the others, they immediately began getting the strings off as best they could, Chase took you from JJ's grasp and looked over you, making sure you weren't severely injured. Jackie looked absolutely enraged, he stepped closer, and closer to Anti, picking the glitch demon up by the shirt collar "L e a v e. N o w... I will not warn you again, villainous scum... Leave this place, leave us alone, don't e v e r return..." His tone was low, warning, for once Jackie was not messing around like he usually does, he was completely serious. Anti grunted slightly, but that didn't stop him from grinning and cackling "͞͝I͏̴ ̛͠w̨͢o̕͞n̛͏'̀͜t͏̷̨ ̶év̀er̷̀͘ ͟͞͞l̵͜e̢t͢͞ ͟ye͜͜ ̶r̴̢͜e̴s͏͘t̵̡..͏͞. I ̶̧w̶͟͝ó̧͘n̴͟'t ̧e͞ ͡͏v ̴͟e̡͞ ̢r͠ ͢l̶͠ęà̴͜vę̢ ̶y͞e ͟a͞l̶̛o͡ǹ̛e̶̷, ͢ò̷̕n͘͝è҉ ҉w̛a̡y̕ ̵o̡r͟ ̶́an͟͏͏o̴t̨̀͘h͞e͏̴r͏.҉͢͞.̸ ͏̢Y̶̴̕e̕'̡͠͏ll͘҉ a ́l̴͘͠ ̸͠҉l̡͜ ͡҉f̧al҉l͜.̴..̡̛͝ ̴́Th̨í̀͘s̛ ͡i͘s̛҉n̷'ţ̵͠ ̷ơ̸̢v̵͟e͝r.͟͏.͟͜.͘͝ ͞S̸͜e͡e ͢͏̵y͢e͏ s̸̕͜ò̧͟o̷̕n" And suddenly, he glitched out of the hero's grasp, that made the hero ball his hands into fists "God..." He trailed off, slamming his fist into the wall, cracking it slightly "FUCKING DAMMIT!" Marvin placed a hand on Jackie's shoulder "Dear... Please, try to calm down... Don't destroy Jameson's room... Any room really, I don't want to fix another one for the five hundredth time this week, just... Don't let Anti get to you" He tried to be reassuring, patting Jackie's shoulder. Henrik wasted little time in focusing on you "Let me see zhem Chase..." and of course, Chase handed you over to the doctor, who began inspecting you for any type of injury "Hmm..." While Henrik was inspecting you and making sure you were alright, Chase helped Jameson off the floor, who immediately turned his attention to Henrik 'Is... Is (Y/N) alright...?' He was very worried, worried that something might be broken... Henrik had side-glanced at JJ, after inspecting you thoroughly "Zhey are alright... Luckily, I can only imagine vwhat zat bastard tried to do... Zhey are a bit bruised und sore however" He spoke, holding his hand out "Be as gentle as you can vwith zhem..." JJ nodded and gently took you into the palm of his hands, you looked up at the dapper man, you were completely exhausted at this point, after all that had happened, you were honestly just ready to lay down and sleep "A...Are you alright Jameson...?" Miraculously, you still managed to find your voice even with as exhausted as you were. Jameson looked at his arms, he had some marks on his arms from the strings for sure, he looked towards Henrik who nodded and stepped out of the room, pulling Chase along with him, the ones that remained in the room were Jackie and Marvin, and of course Jackie approached JJ, a sorrowful expression on his face. "Jameson I... I'm so sorry... If I had came sooner, you and (Y/N) wouldn't be in this condition... I shouldn't have left you both alone, knowing that... that son of a b i t c h was still a threat..." Jackie's tone held guilt as he spoke, you felt bad for the hero... It wasn't even his fault! Jameson mimicked a sigh and began to sign 'Jackie... Please, do not beat yourself up about this, it isn't even your fault... Look at the bright side, at least we are still alive... You still saved us, if it weren't for you ...Well, I'd rather not think about it!' JJ shuddered, and that... seemed to make Jackie smile, his guilt slowly going away, Jackie looked both at you and Jameson before sighing. "Well... We'll go ahead and get out of here, after all... You both need rest, after all you've been through..." Jackie smiled, gently patting Jameson's shoulder, and with that, him and Marvin walked out of the room together, leaving both you and JJ alone... Jameson was the one to have a guilty look on his face 'I'm sorry for hurting...' before he could finish signing, you shook your head and put your hand up "Stop, don't you even think about apologizing for something you couldn't even control, it was all Anti's fault, it wasn't your fault at all..." There was some silence before it seemed like JJ took in what you said, he nodded '...You are correct... I... I just wish he didn't have so much control over me... I just want to break free entirely... I'm sick of being a puppet in his twisted little game...' And with that you sighed "...You managed to break free from one string earlier, I believe you can break free... You WILL break free one day... I know it" Jameson looked at you and blinked 'Do... You really think so (Y/N)?' And to that, you nodded "I know so... Just never give up... Please" It took him a moment... 'I won't, I promise...' And with that, JJ finally made his way over to his bed and climbed onto it, he was being careful not to smush you all the while. JJ then signed once more 'It's time for some rest dear friend... I mean, jeepers! Look at the time! It's getting very late... We'll have some tea once we wake up' You only nodded at that, cuddling up as he placed you on his chest, after you got comfortable... You mumbled a soft 'Goodnight' to Jameson, who patted you gently in response, that made you smile slightly... It didn't take long for the both of you to drift off into a peaceful sleep, you being curled up on Jameson's chest, his hand over you acting as a nice warm blanket, hopefully when the both of you next wake, the day will be much more promising.  

[askmyboys]

Tex the Ghost and Victor the Ghost (I wanted two ghost babs shh)

Name: Tex | Gender: Male | Species/Race: Ghost/Spirit | Age: ???? | Appearance: Like most ghosts he is see through, his aura is one of an Orange-yellow aura: He has a scientific mind and tends to be a bit of a perfectionist. He has a love for detailed work and mentally challenging projects. The Aura is basically the color of their entire body even if they are see through. His actual appearance however is: He wears a cowboy hat on his head (he died with it on so it had went along with him, he can't take it off), some of his hair tufts stick out from underneath it and they seem to be an orange color anyway aside from the aura that surrounds him and he wears your typical cowboy/ranch attire, except for where the legs would be, he only has a tail there instead (his facial features are simple, his eyes are just pure white and honestly they just look half lidded most of the time as if he's perpetually tired and he has some facial hair on his face aka the circle beard bc y'all know that's apparently one of my fave features to give my OCs) | Personality: He's cold (literally and metaphorically), he isn't cruel or necessarily evil, he just doesn't like opening up to many people, he hasn't got time, he's a hard worker and he has a lot of work to do on the ranch, taking care of the animals, taking care of the property itself, etc. He does a lot of hard work and hardly pays any attention to his surroundings or any of the other people, he just focuses on the animals and ranch itself, so basically- he's cold, not very open with many, he does love to work hard, harder than he needs to truth be told, he does stay tired 24/7 and he can't understand why but it doesn't matter to him, he has no time for rest. | Side Facts: He doesn't.... exactly know he's dead, he has noticed strange things before... Like how he's tired all the time but he can never actually sleep, not that he actually had slept much when he was alive of course but still... He notices little things here and there but suspects nothing too major of it, he doesn't seem to even notice anything at all when he looks at himself, not the ghostly body, not his aura, nothing... It's as if he's stuck in his own little world, stuck working over and over, no end to it in sight, he just does the work over and over each day, it isn't necessarily the exact same work, some different stuff happens, however work never stops for him it seems. If he did ever find out he was dead, if you could ever show him proof... He definitely wouldn't take it well, if anything... His whole world would come tumbling down on him, he wouldn't know how to feel, now that he's learned he's been dead this entire time, it'd probably break him entirely, perhaps some things are best left a sheer mystery... For his sake, anyways...

Name: Victor | Gender: Male | Species/Race: Ghost/Spirit | Age: ???? | Appearance: He isn't see through at all, despite being a ghost... He has a Clouded red aura: This represents a negative energy. He has a deep-seated anger that he can't let go. His hair is slicked back and looks like a crimson color amongst his aura, he was actually wearing some fancy clothing before he died, it seemed to be a Victorian Era suit, he seemed to like those the most, then again he liked fancy clothing in general, he still wishes he could wear them... He has some facial hair on his face (oh god that fucking circle beard is back- w ow ie-), and some faint markings on his face that resemble scars, his eyes are a reddish-white color, its a bit hard to see unless your close to him, he also doesn't have a ghost-like tail, he actually has a full human-ish looking body, from his head down to his feet (he wears fancy pants and shoes too- this ghost is waayy too dapper for anything casual) | Personality: He tries to act scary, evil, etc- but in all honesty, he knows he fails miserably at the act, in actuality, he's shy, scared of pretty much everyone and everything, and absolutely anxious, he knows he can't be scary or evil, or anything of the sort, he's just... Not cut out for that kinda act even if he is a ghost, he knows ghosts and spirits are usually meant to haunt people or something but he just can't bring himself to do it, he's too much of a gentleman for one but also too shy, scared, and anxious, if he hurt someone himself... He could never forgive himself for it. (basically, tries to act tough but is actually shy, scared of everything/everyone, absolutely anxious, but he can be a gentleman too! he does have manners surprisingly) | Side Facts: He does know he's dead, he can't remember what happened exactly, or who it was that murdered him, he doesn't even know why it happened...? What did he do to deserve it? He barely remembers anything from his past life at this point, he does remember he was a simple gentleman or at least he hoped he was in life, he still wants to be a gentleman to most even in death, his fear of everything and everyone especially constantly plagues him, he's so scared to be around another person or ghost, he knows he can't die a second time, but dying the first time around was enough alone to traumatize him... He just wants to go back to the way things were before, he wants to b e alive again, he's so tired of being a ghost... He just wants his old life back, that's all he could ever TRULY ask for.

[silver-the-cat]

“I’m sorry. But Jack….from now on, he vill be in critical condition.”

All it took was those few words, those two simple sentences, to suddenly change everything forever.

Jameson took in a deep breath, resting his elbows on his knees. The entire room was almost dead silent, minus the sound of the heart monitor beeping every so often. It didn’t help his own nerves that the faint scent of whiskey still hung in the air. He sat not far from the bed, right next to the nightstand. There were the normal things you could expect from a hospital nightstand, a white, clean lamp, a digital clock, a few flowers that Jameson could only assume were from family and other friends. There was also a strange magic 8-ball sitting up against the clock, but he knew better than to touch that. An IV drip and heart monitor sat on the other side of the bed, attached to the man who laid in the bed, completely still minus his chest moving slowly.

Just a few weeks ago, Henrik had suddenly come back from his vacation. He had told them he would be returning, but it was far sooner than any of them had expected. Next thing Jameson knew, Marvin had called him, worriedly explaining both him and Chase were now at the hospital. That something was wrong with Jack. It took hours before they had any news on Jack’s condition.

Hours before he had heard those two sentences.

Now, Jameson had a basic understanding of how hard words affected other people. He was mute, not deaf after all. But it still seemed slightly amazing to him that, when strung together in a certain way, words could have such an effect on other people. Maybe it was just the fact that he couldn’t express his emotions in the same way everyone else could, through their own voice. He wasn’t too sure.

He simply sat there, mulling everything over. So much had changed in the past few week, he didn’t know what to think of anymore. What exactly were you supposed to do when someone you’ve known since...well, forever, was in such a bad shape? That they might never even wake up?

“Where….Where Jack?”

Jameson bit his lower lip, looking to Marvin. The magician didn’t look as if he was going to answer, instead striding right by, hands curled into fists. Robbie looked to Jameson, tilting his head like an innocent child (which Jameson supposed he really was).

He’s….He just needs to rest for a while. The gentleman signed, only to earn a confused look from Robbie. He took a moment to find his favorite whiteboard and marker before writing out the message.

“So….he’ll be back soon, right?” Robbie asked. Again, Jameson bit his lower lip, sincerely wishing Marvin hadn’t run off so quickly so he could at the very least have some sort of help.

I really hope so…

What else could he have told Robbie? Jack was going to die? That they just had to sit tight and wait for Henrik to pull some sort of miracle out of thin air and save him?

He fidgeted slightly in place. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like any of this. He really couldn’t do anything either, which was, in his opinion, the worst part about any of this. He didn’t like this feeling of complete and utter hopelessness, unable to do a thing to help one of his closest friends. But he didn’t have magic on his side like Marvin did, he didn’t have the same superpowers as Jackie did, he didn’t have the medical training Henrik did. Hell, he couldn’t even replace Jack in his normal videos like Chase had been doing, given the fact he had no voice. He was just Jameson Jackson, the mute who carved a pumpkin for a Halloween video.

When your friends could all do something to help out, even just a little, it only made it sting a little more when you realized you could do absolutely nothing.

He checked the time, realizing he probably needed to get back soon. Chase would be visiting in only an hour too, as he normally did. He heaved a silent sigh, standing up and about to sign a goodbye to his friend. He knew it was no use, but still did it out of force of habit. This time, however, he stopped himself.

An idea suddenly flashed into his head. He opened the door, glancing from side to side until he saw the person he was looking for. Doctor Henrik Von Schneeplestein.

“Are you finished yet, Jameson?” The doctor asked tiredly once he caught sight of the dapper man. “Or is zere something you need?” Jameson thought for a minute, before quickly signing out a request. Henrik gave him a questioning look, but obliged anyways. He ducked into his office, coming out with a notepad and marker.

“You’d better give zis back. And don’t take much longer eizer.” He said, handing the notepad over. A nurse called from down the hallways for him, causing him to sigh tiredly. “I have business to take care of. Please don’t take too much longer.”

I won’t, I promise! Jameson quickly signed in response, before heading back to Jack’s room. Sitting back down and resting the notepad of his leg, he began writing out a message with a small smile on his face.

Once finished, he quickly folded it up and stuck it in between the clock and magic 8-ball. He stood up for the last time, sticking the notepad under his arm so he can sign goodbye to his friend. Jack didn’t react at all, but again, Jameson had grown used to that.

About several hours later, Hernik had stopped by just to clean up and check up on Jack’s vitals once more. Chase and Jameson had been the only ones visiting as of late, but even then Chase managed to create a mess every time he visited. Although most times it was just bottles of alcohol he had accidentally left behind.

I probably shouldn’t even let him drive anymore. Henrik thought, taking one of the whiskey bottles and dropping it into the bin. ….Or let him bring zem into ze hospital in ze first place. How ze hell is he even getting zem in at zis point? He moved to go check on Jack’s vitals when he noticed something on the stand, not far from where the whiskey bottle had been. It had fallen over when he had taken the bottle, still stuck between Marvin’s gift and the clock.

Henrik set his clipboard down, taking the thing, which turned out to be a folded up piece of paper labeled “To Jack” in big curly letters, and unfolding it. It was a letter, all written in the same curly letters (albeit smaller). 

Dear Jack,

This was somewhat spur of the moment, but it’s the least I can do. If I can’t communicate directly, I’ll just write it out then.

Anyways, I don’t know if Chase has been telling you everything, but I guess I could give you an update. Everyone’s been taking….what’s happened in different ways. Chase suddenly started drinking again whenever he’s not filling in for you. He keeps trying to act like nothing's wrong, but you can always smell the whiskey on him. I’m surprised you haven’t woken up from the smell alone!

Henrik’s been trying his best too. He’s always tired and really stressed out, I can tell. I don’t even know if he’s rested since he got back from his vacation. I feel bad for him, I think he believes this all is on his shoulders. That he has to do this all alone. I wish I could help, but I’m no doctor.

Then there’s Marvin. He’s been acting weirder than normal. He barely even leaves his room nowadays too. But he did give you that magic 8-ball. I keep trying to get him to talk or come out, but he keeps saying he’s working on ‘magician business’. Do you have any idea what he’s talking about? Maybe it’s just Marvin being Marvin again. He always was a strange one.

And as for Jackieboy Man….I have no clue what he’s up to. Once we all got the news, he just disappeared. I see him sometimes out in the streets, but even then it’s hard to tell because he isn’t in his normal outfit. I think he might even be taking it harder than both Chase and Henrik. I really hope he’s doing okay. Robbie and I might go try to visit him soon.

That would just leave me then, I guess. Well, I don’t know what to think about all of this. I just don’t like sitting by doing nothing. So that’s why I’m going to start writing these letters. It’ll be my way of telling you everything that’s happened so far! You know, unless you actually did hear Chase telling you everything and you can still remember it whenever you do wake up.

Please try to wake up soon….Robbie’s getting super worried about you, he’s even getting scared that you might not be coming back. We’re all really worried. And honestly, I’m not sure how much longer we can all keep going like this. We all really need you and your….what did you call it again?

“PMA….” Henrik read softly, hand gripping the paper slightly. “Positive….mental attitude…” It was taking almost all of his self-control not to break down right then and there.

Anyways, I’ll be back to write another letter soon. I’ll try my hardest to keep you as updated as possible.

Your’s best pal,

Jameson Jackson

“So zhat’s vhy you needed the notepad.” The doctor said, giving a small, sad smile as he folded up the paper. “You could’ve at least told me beforehand, ozhervise I would’ve zrown zis out.” He carefully placed the letter back once more, before looking back to Jack.

It had been weeks since this entire ordeal had first started. Weeks since he had first uttered those words that had thrown all of them into chaos.

“Ach….I really do need more sleep….” Henrik finally said after a few moments of silence and thinking. “A patient is only as healthy as zeir doctor, I suppose….” Grabbing his clipboard once more, he started for the door.

Never getting the chance to see a faint flicker of static pass on the heart monitor’s screen.

((Ok, so since the fandom is completely on fire and possibly nuked atm, I thought why not contribute in the only way I know how. By writing. Since I can’t draw at all. So boom, here’s my interpretation on what’s exactly going on with the coma and the egos and whatever. Yk, just my interpretation and stuff

Also, personal headcanon that Jameson writes Jack a bunch of letters trying for him to read whenever Jack does wake up, if it even is in a happy ending type thing. I think I’m just lowkey falling in love with Jameson in general and seeing what everybody else does with him. Anyways, hope you enjoyed reading!))

[fluidforthought]

The Gender Tag

I thought this could be fun.  I know, I know I am really late to the party... but that’s ok :).  I’ve only just begun to dive into gender so this is all new to me and I’m excited so let’s do this!

Q. How do you self-identify your gender, and what does that definition mean to you?

A.  I would identify as genderfluid, but also have just become aware of the term transmasculine.  Genderfluid means, to me, that I fluctuate between the opposite ends of the gender spectrum.  One day I feel far more masculine but I don’t have a problem with looking beautiful as a women either.  This is where the term transmasculine might serve more purpose for me.  However, right now in this moment I prefer to masculinize myself over feminize.  I am much more overall comfortable and confident with myself when I present more masculine despite being born a female.  

Q.  What pronouns honor you?

A.  This is tough for me right now.  I would say I prefer either she/her or he/him over they/them.  For me personally they/them feels impersonal.  I have not asked anyone to change or use he/him when referring to me but I often refer to myself as he/him (I tend to use words like boi and bro when referring to myself.  I don’t feel that right now it is a big problem for others to continue with she/her.  I do not like being called a woman though, I don’t like the word woman, and I can’t explain why.  That being said I don’t know that I want to be called a man either.  This is obviously something I am still trying to work through myself, so what a long answer.  In a perfect world it would be cool if everyone could tell what gender I was representing on any given day and choose the appropriate pronouns, but they aren’t a huge deal to me.  Right now anyway.  

Q.  Describe the style of clothing that you most often wear. 

A.  T-shirts and jeans or shorts, tennis shoes.  I’m in the process of amping up my wardrobe to fit what I see in my head.  I’ve been wearing bro tanks and khaki colored knee length shorts for the summer, some casual dude shoes or flip flops from the guys section.  I’ve realized how much I love bow ties and neckties and have begun a collection of them, and would like to grow my button up shirt collection.  I bought some very sleek men’s dress shoes too.  I want my clothing to be the definition of dapper.  Gentlemanly.  

Q.  Body hair... how do you style your hair, do you have facial hair, and what do you choose to shave and not to shave? 

A.  Right now my hair on my head is tall on top and shorter on the sides.  I’m trying to figure out how I want to deal with it haha.  I either just toss a hat on my head or comb it over and throw some Old Spice Fiberwax in it to add volume.  

I don’t have facial hair because, well, none grows there.  I wonder if I would look cool with a beard?  Idk, I have never thought about that... but I’d need some help from T for that.  

I like to have clean shaven legs and armpits.  I’ve tried growing both out but I just get so uncomfortable and itchy, I can’t get myself past the itchy stage.  I’ve always liked the idea of being able to be more free with that but the discomfort is too much for me to handle.  I don’t shave above my knee though, and that means I don’t shave my junk.  I remember trying to shave that area when it first started to grow but, I hated it so I just let it go.  Needless to say it's probably been 8-10 years since I’ve done anything with that.

Q.  Do you choose to wear makeup?  Paint your nails?  What types of soaps and perfumes do you use?

A.  I didn’t wear makeup until I came to college.  I finally starting learning my freshman year and tried to wear it as expected.  But I hated how dirty in made my skin feel.  How cakey and greasy.  And there is a particular smell to a full face of makeup that I just hate.  So gradually I quite and now four years later I am back to not really ever reaching for makeup.  I take pride in the fact that I am comfortable without it.  Occasionally I like to dabble with it though, it’s a fun hobby but not a necessity.  

I don’t paint my nails any more either.  I used to a lot but it was so much work that never lasted long enough for it to be worth it.  So now I am in love with my natural nails and I have a hard time thinking about painting over them, they are healthy, no need to change them.

I’ve switched to men’s soap in the shower, a matter of fact I made the bold switch to cheap 3-in-1 soap so I don’t even buy shampoo and conditioner and body soap any more, I just use all the same stuff from one bottle. I do have a wide selection of perfumes as I wen t through a bath and body perfume phase a coupe of years ago but have faded out the use of those over time too.  I bought a cologne that I wear on “special” occasions, and I tend to use men’s deodorant (IT WORKS BETTER, and smells tasty too). 

Q.  Have you experienced being misgendered?  If so how often?

A.  I experienced this for the first time about two weeks ago!  I wear swim trunks and a tank to the pool and I was climbing out of the pool and a guy was walking past and he nodded and said “what’s up man?” This caught me off guard but I kind of liked it.  Because he perceived me as a male instead of a female which has never happened before, which means I was passing as I was expressing to an extent and that was a really epic feeling.  A little kid once called me sir due to my short hair but his mom was quick to correct him saying that I was a lady.  I didn’t like that.  

Q.  Do you experience dysphoria?  How does that affect you?  

A.  I wouldn’t say I really experience dysphoria.  But I do experience a lot of euphoria.  When I am going about my life as a female I don’t excessively hate any of my parts.  I don’t experience feeling disconnected with my anatomy.  However, when I pack, I feel absolutely on top of this world.  I am far more confident in myself and more courageous.  And it has only been the last couple of months where when I am packing I wish so badly that I had a binder, to simply complete the feeling, the whole desired expression.  But when I don’t pack I don’t feel any less than I am which I am very thankful for.  

Q.  Children, are you interested?  Would you want to carry a child if that were an option for you?  Do you want to be the primary caretaker for any children you may have? 

A.  Children is the hardest question ever!!  I still feel confused about whether or not I want them.  I’ve always felt like I would want to carry a baby, to experience that intense connection with a human being for 9 months, I’ve always thought that I would like to understand what it is like to be pregnant.  But I’ve never really seen myself keeping it (like maybe I carried it as a surrogate or something).  I’ve never felt very comfortable around kids, I don’t know how to act or talk or simply be with kids without feeling an insane amount of awkward.  I don’t know why this is the case I have four younger siblings I should be comfortable.  

I don’t think I would resent having a kid if it happened, especially if it was with a long term partner, the thought of a small family is something I have always loved but just never decided if it was really what I want.  Maybe fur babies??? ;)

If I did have my own kids of course I would want to be the primary caretaker, well me and my partner together.  I would want to be able to support them and love them and teach them and watch them grow everyday.

Q.  Is it important to you to provide for a family financially if you choose to have one?  Is it important to you that you earn more than any partner you may have?  Do you prefer to pay for things like dates?  Are you uncomfortable when others pay for you or offer to pay for you? 

A.  Money isn’t as important to me as it probably should be.  I have always wanted to put love first.  I believe that with love, you have everything.  But if I did have a family absolutely I would want to be able to provide for them.  I would want to be able to spoil them and surprise them.  I would want to be able to set up autopay for my bills because I had money left over every month and never have to worry about waiting for the next paycheck before I could pay the electric bill.  

I don’t care who makes more money, that shouldn’t matter, setting unfair pay based on gender aside...  I don’t like that competition.  

I wouldn’t say I prefer to pay for dates, I like to take turns.  If the date was my idea I pay, your idea?  You pay.  Evening stuff like that out I think is important.  And yes I am uncomfortable when someone offers to pay for me, and that goes for EVERYONE,  even my grandparents.  I want to pay sometimes, again, let’s even things out.  I always feel obligated to pay back.  

Q.  Anything else you want to share about your experience with gender?

A.  I didn’t even realize I needed to step back and look at gender until a year and a half ago.  And now that I have, I fell so proud of myself.  I’ve made baby steps to feeling more comfortable in my own skin.  I have realized that I don’t need to be so concerned with what others think, I am me and that is truly all that matters.  I have never felt so confident.  I am talking to strangers, I’m sharing love with people when I used to feel the need to bottle it up and save for very specific people.  But everyone is deserving of love.  

I keep saying I feel my heart has grown three sizes sense I started looking at my gender.  I feel more open and accepting than I ever have before and that is liberating.  I’m sharing more and more of myself with people when I’ve always been so, so shy and quiet.  I’m letting people in and I’m allowing myself to form in the public eye and I’ve just never felt so excited!

I’ve realized that I simply want to be a gentleman, so that is just what I will be.  

[rassilon-imprimatur]

The Master, Surviving Elemental

As she got nearer, Miranda got a good look at him. He was of average height, and looked very smart in his black suit and pressed shirt. He had neat black hair, greying at the temples and a small, pointed beard. But that wasn’t what Miranda concentrated on – she was struck by his eyes. They were black, but they burned into her, like he could read her mind. Like black lasers.

He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Hello, Miranda, my dear. I am the Headmaster.”

[...] 

The Doctor was disappointed to find himself in a perfectly ordinary Headmaster’s Office, or at least something doing a very good impression of one.

A large oil painting of the current Headmaster in academic robes glowered down at him as he began a quick search of the room. There was a grandfather clock in one corner… but there was something odd about it. Something wrong with the way it had been made – it didn’t look quite finished.

Opening the desk he found a glowing sphere, the size of a cricket ball. Space twisted around it.

‘A dimensional stabiliser,’ the Doctor heard himself saying. It was responsible for moving the office into the fifth dimension. No-one native to Earth could possibly enter the room while it was active.

He picked it up, found it responding to his thoughts. He could hear it talking to him. Yapping, like a loyal dog.

The Doctor asked it to go into standby mode, then slipped it into his pocket.

He quickly found a set of official school notebooks, like registers. But they were full of mathematics symbols, what looked like Greek writing, and a number of very interesting drawings. One looked remarkably like a scale diagram of a black hole. Another was a spiral, like a five dimensional whirlpool.

The Doctor scowled – he knew he should be able to read this, but he couldn’t. If it had been Greek, it wouldn’t be a problem. And he wasn’t sure he could ever decipher it – very few of the symbols were repeated. If it was an alphabet, it was a huge one.

‘It’s called the omegabet,’ a voice told him. ‘It has a million letters…’

‘…but only five vowels,’ the Doctor completed.

‘So you do remember?’

The Doctor frowned. ‘No…’

Then he turned. The Headmaster was there, covering him with what looked for all the world like a laser pistol. ‘

I knew you’d track me down, my dear Doctor. But you’re in the same boat, aren’t you?’

‘Boat?’

‘Where are you from, Doctor?’

‘I don’t know,’ the Doctor admitted.

‘Not this planet, though?’

‘No…’

‘Neither am I. We’re from the same place. Something’s happened to time. Something’s happened to… to…’ The headmaster squeezed his eyes together, tried to concentrate. ‘Wherever we came from, it’s gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘It never existed. That’s my theory.’

‘Of course it existed. Otherwise, how could we exist?’ ‘It’s paradoxical, it’s mindbending and upsetting. But… it’s exciting. Liberating. Full of potential. We can push things further, how far only depends on us.’

The Doctor looked at this strange man. He wasn’t a tall man, but there was something about him – his bearing, those eyes. He was a born leader.

‘And where do you want to “push things”?’ the Doctor asked, already suspecting what the answer would be.

‘If we don’t take control, someone else will,’ the headmaster insisted. ‘This is a perfect opportunity.’

[...] 

The Doctor was edging back towards the door.

‘We can’t do this alone. We have to recruit other… other people like us. We’d also need to root ourselves into this reality. I don’t know how yet, but we don’t have long. I don’t think there are many of us left. It’s why you’re special. It’s why your daughter is so special.’

‘Miranda’s adopted, she’s -’

‘I know who Miranda is, Doctor. I know the truth. There’s no need to hide it from me. I know.’

The Doctor tapped his lip. Until the Headmaster had mentioned Miranda this had been a game. But he was threatening her, now.

‘And you’d be our leader?’

‘We would have a universe, Doctor. A whole universe. The whole of space and time. Even I don’t think I could rule all that alone. We’d need an army, and what better place to raise an army than here on Earth?’

‘Then we’d divide up the universe between the three of us?’

‘Four. There’s another.’

‘Another time traveller?’

‘Someone else like us.’

‘But you said yourself that you don’t know what we are.’ ‘Precisely. But I know what I am not. I’m not a slave, not a servant, not a subject. I was born to rule, as were you. It’s our birthright, Doctor.’

- “The School of Doom,” Lance Parkin

Standing before the iron door – a still definitively and solidly locked iron door – is a dapper, sardonic-looking man dressed in a pristine dinner suit. His jet-black hair is slicked neatly back with oil. He is leaning, nonchalantly, on a silver-handled cane. 

‘Who. . . ?’ Anji’s voice falters with a curious mixture of relief and trepidation. ‘What. . . ?’ 

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ says the man. ‘You know perfectly well who I am. In a certain sense, anyway. And as to what I did. . . ’ He blows on the nails of his free hand. ‘You know how it is when you have any number of pets. Familiars, chimeras, creatures of hideous, diabolical and slitheringly unutterable evil, that sort of thing. One has to let them out occasionally. One has to keep them fed. It’s a bit of pain, sometimes, to tell you the truth, but it is rather expected of one.’

Abruptly he becomes brisk. ‘Well, I really should be going, for the moment. You’re swimming busily for the surface, I can see, but you still have a way to go yet. Never does to rush these things.’ 

He essays a formal little bow and shoots out a well-manicured hand. Anji has no time to lurch back in alarm before she realises that he is merely proffering her (as if for her inspection) a small pasteboard card. Still in something of a daze, she takes it. 

‘Feel free to drop by,’ the man says. ‘When you feel up to it. Any time at all.’ 

With that, he lays his cane over his shoulder, slides past her and strolls out of the alley, whistling a complicated little tune that Anji has never heard in her life, and will never hear again – though it strikes a chord somewhere inside her, some part of herself vaguely recalling troop trains and soldiers packing problems into their old kit bags and smiling, smiling, smiling.

- The Slow Empire, Dave Stone 

According to Scarlette’s journal – though not Lisa-Beth’s – during the fight one of the male denizens of the tavern edged his way through the violent crowds and quietly seated himself at Scarlette’s table. Though no name is given for the man, Scarlette says that he was ‘a gentleman of distinguished nature’, clean-shaven and dark-haired, and at first she thought he might have been in the market for business. She does note, however, that on the lapel of his black clothing he wore a rosette in blue-and-white. It would have marked him out as a member of the Opposition, but nonetheless he was quite gracious and civil.

[...] 

Assembling a picture out of all the accounts, he’s described as a cleanshaved, dark-haired man in distinguished middle age, handsome in some respects even though to some of the British witnesses he came across as ‘swarthy and difficult to place’. He was slim and well turned out, and he made an impression on the island by always dressing in tight, straightforward clothing of prim black. . . apart from the rosette of blue and white which he wore on his lapel. He would often be seen simply standing in the vicinity of the other guests, hands folded behind his back, observing intently without becoming involved in any of the visitors’ many disputes. Whenever people would ask each other about him, in muted whispers, the dark-haired gentleman would simply bow his head to them. His accent was English, although some said they detected a little Latin in his features.

[...] 

DOCTOR: Have we met? I’m sorry, my memory isn’t what it was. I shed most of it a long time ago. 

THE MAN: Met? Oh, I’d say so. Believe it or not, we used to know each other quite well. 

DOCTOR [with recognition?]: Good grief. 

THE MAN: Ah. Spoken like the man I used to know. 

DOCTOR: You’ve lost that terrible beard, then. 

THE MAN: But of course. I have whatever it is you lack. And vice versa. Have you forgotten? Oh, I’m so sorry. You’ve forgotten everything, haven’t you? [Irony?] 

DOCTOR: You’re behind all this? No, of course you’re not. Not your style at all. 

THE MAN: Here, Doctor, I’m simply a guest. Thank you for the invitation, by the way. Most touching. Admittedly, I would have preferred something more personal. . . 

DOCTOR: And would you mind telling me what that rosette’s meant to be? 

THE MAN: A sign of my allegiance to the great Whig cause. I’ve become an exponent of democracy. 

DOCTOR: Why does that not sound convincing? 

THE MAN: My dear Doctor, I’m telling you the truth. I told you. I have to offer the universe whatever you can’t. If you’ve decided to take on the colours of your new sweetheart, then it’s up to me to side with the Opposition. Perhaps one day you’ll consider destroying the universe. Then I’ll be in the awkward position of saving it. 

DOCTOR: You don’t expect me to believe that, surely? 

THE MAN: Your friend in red came closest to the truth. What does she call you, again? Her ‘elemental champion’? Very perceptive of her. There are only four of us left now, you know. Four of us in all of the universe. We have certain standards to uphold. 

DOCTOR: Then I suppose you’re going to say that you don’t want to kill me. 

THE MAN: It’s hardly the time for that any more, wouldn’t you agree? While our kind still walked tall, we had the whole of space and time as our battlefield. These days, I’m afraid our little duels would be utterly meaningless. You’ve met Sabbath, of course. 

DOCTOR: Yes. He reminds me of you. I think. 

THE MAN: How interesting. He reminds me of you. Our replacement, Doctor. The new breed. All our kind in one, and a mere human being, too. We can hardly return to our old routines, with his kind in charge. Can we? 

DOCTOR: I’m sick. I’m helpless. You must know that. 

THE MAN: I rather think that’s my point. Do your duty Doctor. However tedious it may be. Save the universe. Become King of Time. Go after that irritating black object in the sky. Whatever you think is necessary. Once you’ve done that. . . well, perhaps the universe will be ready for us again, who can say? Then we can set about destroying each other properly. Otherwise, I’m afraid this is hardly our arena any more.

- The Adventuress of Henrietta Street, Lawrence Miles

‘There were four of us left, apparently. You’d be number five.’ 

Marnal rounded on him. ‘Left after what?’ 

The Doctor hesitated. ‘I don’t know. Some disaster. I’ve picked up hints, seen the odd vision, but I was never able to follow up on anything.’ 

Marnal leant over him, sensing a moment of weakness. ‘Weren’t you, now? Not terribly enterprising of you. So you have no idea?’ 

The Doctor shrugged apologetically. Marnal raised his hand, and the Doctor thought he was going to hit him. Instead, Marnal touched the Doctor’s temple with a fingertip. 

‘Contact.’ 

For the briefest moment, the Doctor saw himself as Marnal saw him. Then back to vice versa. Then rapid alternations between the two viewpoints. It was dizzying. 

A man with a sallow face and small, pointed black beard, who wore a blue rosette; a young woman with long blonde hair in an extraordinary piece of haute couture; a tall man with a bent nose wearing a cravat and holding a pair of dice; the Doctor himself with close-cropped hair, sitting on an ornate throne, a newborn baby girl in his arms.

- The Gallifrey Chronicles, Lance Parkin

[hellobestjaropener]

Leading 8 CUSTOM PATCHES Suit Brands for The Gentlemen

A fit adds gravitas in the appearance of a man. It draws out a mood of design in his individuality as well as makes him appear like a real gentleman custom patches . Besides, a match is an important garments product in a guys's wardrobe that he can use to spruce up for an official occasion.

Regardless of if you are an entrepreneur, a C-level employee in a company or a man who enjoys stylish clothing, a fit is what you will certainly require in your wardrobe. The blazer, the tee shirt and also the pant, every little thing is simply stylish concerning a fit. Unlike casual garments like a denim jacket as well as denim pants with CUSTOM PATCHES, a fit is what makes you look dapper and extravagant.

Fortunately, there are many exceptional guys's fit brands that are known for their exquisite cut as well as remarkable fit. From American cut to Italian silhouette, these are some of the most effective brand names that markets the most effective suits for men:

1. Armani.

From its dabbling in Hollywood to ending up being a household name, Armani has actually proved its guts in men's matching and also it is currently one of the most coveted clothier for males.

This Italian brand is known for its sharp match designs that reflect the typical Italian customizing. Unlike the American or British fits, the Italian suit has sleeker cut that fit closely to the body and this is what Amani provides to the men.

Armani uses the finest woollen as well as gabardine textile to manufacturer fits that feels soft and also light on the body. The brand has one of the most proper colors and patterns to fit any kind of taste as well as type of body though majority of its matches appropriate for the men with slim body.

Nonetheless, Armani is a bit pricey as compared to various other brand names in this checklist given that it sells solely tailored matches for men that have a high taste in apparel.

2. Burberry.

We understand Burberry as the brand name that markets the most effective raincoat. Yet the business is additionally a genius in men's suiting. Unlike Armani, it does not market customized fits and also only supply ready-to-wear males's matches. While it started as an outerwear brand name, this high-end style brand name has piqued the passion of guys for its suits that have an ideal fit and also style.

The cuts are similar to Italian style except that the chasm is much reduced which is a criterion in the British design of fit. The Burberry fits are made from woollen as well as they are available in patterns ranging from check and Birdseye to chalk stripe and also pinstripe. It has both single-breasted as well as double-breasted matches for the young and also old.

3. Brooks Brothers.

If you are a patron of English-inspired fitting that has vents on the sides of a coat as well as has flap pockets, after that there can't be a far better brand than Brooks Brothers. The charcoal grey suit is the staple product of this brand that features the two-button jacket and also low-gorge lapel that make a guy look sophisticated without making him show up overemphasized.

However there are a lot of various other colors and patterns as well as you may feel overwhelmed to select one that fits your taste. From herringbone as well as houndstooth to Birdseye as well as chalk red stripe, you will discover a variety of patterns to fit your taste.

4. Gucci.

The giant of luxury apparel, Gucci is understood for its slim-fit suits that makes the funkiest fits for men. The diverse colors, the fancy material and also the glitzy patterns, everything is simply progressive with this Italian brand. The suits made by this firm has a contemporary appearance which makes you stick out from the group and also still keeps you downplayed.

But if you are not comfortable with a snazzy appearance, you can find one of the most classy pieces of fits that will certainly bring the gent out of you. As well as Gucci offers the very best slouches in the world that have CUSTOM PATCHES on its vamp. So you have the chicest boots to pair with your fit.

5. Prada.

The brand of the royals, Prada is a prestigious name in males's garments. A favorite of the Hollywood chunks like Miles Teller, Ansel Elgort and Andrew Garfield that frequently uses Prada on the red carpet. The Prada brand has an air of class which sets it apart from the rest. It is understood for making mournful matches that boost the class of a guy.

Prada makes the classic two-button match which has an unbelievable fit as well as clean style. There is a wide range of colors that you can select from. The blazers are offered in both notch lapel and also shawl lapel. The majority of suits are made from wool and also mohair fabrics.

6. Dolce & Gabbana.

If there is one brand that is truly creative in guys's fitting, it needs to be Dolce & Gabbana. The brand name is renowned for its pinstripe suits which is the most-loved pattern for the men. The brand markets even more prints than any other guys's suiting brand name and it makes the very best jacquard print which is a favorite of the bratty kids.

And also if you have a fascination for sleek shape after that Dolce & Gabbana is your go-to brand name to locate the very best suits that snug flawlessly to your body.

7. Hugo Boss.

Hugo Boss is popular for its two kinds of items, i.e. fragrance and also fits. The company has a collection of some of the fashionable suits that are known for their sharp cut and also eye-popping styles. The suits have a soft building and construction and also smooth lining that are two trademarks of Hugo Boss.

The fits are readily available in various products consisting of wool, cotton as well as bed linen and also you can pick the color and pattern according to your taste. Besides, you can select the right fit based on the measurements of your body as the brand provides the fit from unwinded fit to extra-slim fit.

8. Saint Laurent.

Slim-cut and also flawless fit are what define the suits of Saint Laurent. Launched in 1961, the firm has actually been satisfying suiting requirements of males for more than five years. What makes this brand attract attention is the smooth style of its suit that accentuates the masculinity of a male.<br> The firm makes use of the staple woollen and cape materials to make suits that feel soft and fluffy on the body. Saint Laurent has an online reputation for explore the suiting and also it keeps featuring brand-new fabrics and also patterns in its new clothing line.<br> A match is one of the most essential wear a men's closet. These are eight brand that you can transform for buying the very best fits for your particular requirements.

[lolcakes91]

Anti Theory Thesis

I’m mainly a lurker and this probably just going to be me word vomiting here... So don’t mind me. :D Also shout out to all you wonderful folks and your kick ass selves in the JSE community. Going to tag some people in here that posted some stuff that resonated with me. Hope you guys don’t mind. I remember in a Q&A, don’t remember which one, Jack said that we don’t have to make every single thing into an ego. I know he was mainly referring the thumbnail pic that spawned “Rob Zombie” but it kind of supports the theory that Anti was in disguise and that this dapper Jack fellow, I’ve seen multiple names for him, isn’t a new ego. To me, either Anti is a savage and hardcore mothatrucka that ripped a dude’s mustache off. (Violent AF btw, no chill, P.S I know it isn’t a real mustache but let’s pretend it is for the sake of the “new ego” debate.) OR It was Anti providing evidence that he was, in fact, in disguise. I only bring up the Q&A point because I feel like if that’s Jack’s mindset about the egos and us creating multitudes of them already...? Then he wouldn’t readily give us another character to build. It just feels like he is trying to throw us off and miss the fact that Anti is indeed in control and in disguise. It’s supposed to be Jack in a costume but he cracks after cutting himself, or convincing Jack to cut himself. OR it’s Jack manipulating us, DUN DUN DUN!!  @booperdoopcr posted a great detail that fuels this theory. Anti winks just like The Dapper Gentleman does. Though, that little detail in that sea of awesome theory may be a coincidence. But come on, who in this fandom believes in that? 

I will say though, Anti is looking like a dashing gentleman is quite exquisite.

@hawkeye221b Posted a sick theory for some Anti lore. MMMMMMMM! As a d&d fan I have to suggest you read it. So good and a cool idea/inspiration. Seeing the text “Run” upside down kind of gave me a D&D and Stranger Things vibe with the whole “upside down” or “Vale of Shadows” theme. As if Jack and the other egos are trapped somewhere. That somewhere being where Anti is from? Born? Summoned somehow from? Dunno. :D BUT IT EXCITES ME. The zalgo text situation. I’d like to point out we have time traveled into the past. Or at least we think we have. Zalgo is more of a modern, computer era, code based form of writing/typing out characters that make up words. It seems a bit advanced for what would be present in the era of the video. It wouldn’t make sense if it was still zalgo in this time period/theme. So I wouldn’t say he is more powerful because he doesn’t need to use it anymore. I’d say it’s more of Anti’s modern flare. Kind of like his knife size getting bigger and bigger. XD I will agree that this video having no zalgo text does, to some degree, suggest he is strong but perhaps not stronger because of the lack of it. On top of the time traveling business, to be able to manipulate any era of media or the world around you, is impressive. As for the actual messages that we do see. Things like “Run, Smile, Puppets.” I kind of agree that it may not all be Anti. There are several different fonts/scripts being used. That plays into the multiple egos bit quite well. Each having their own personality and handwriting. If it IS Anti in disguise, then most of the messages in the beginning and very end would be Anti. Things like “Not to worry! He’s already dead! Didn’t feel a thing!” Therefore, when he cuts himself and begins to crack, the other egos surge for power and the different small fonts could be in fact Jack and the other egos, not Anti.

Did anyone notice the mention of “doc”. I’m sure you clever cats did, nothing gets by you guys. Well when Jack/Anti/New Ego cut themselves and begin to wrap their bloodied fingers in the cloth. At 5:28. He smiles and seems to be talking to himself. To me it felt like it was ze good doctor taking care of Jack. Easing his worry or pain. Kind of like. “Oh Jackie boi. Zis is okay. Just a boo boo.” You’ll notice Anti doesn’t stay for long in the video. A minor wound, an easily tended to wound, a short amount of time. A slit to the throat? A mortal wound, he stays longer.

Now that we have discussed all of that it brings us to the time traveling dilemma that seems to be prevalent in all the theories I’ve just drooled out. Oooo boy do I love some time travel theories. If this pumpkin carving video provides more than it just being a kick ass theme and a play on words to surprise us. Then I am super hyped about the prospects and theories this opens the Anti fandom up to. Firstly, his neck isn’t slit. Obvious is obvious, I know. However, this detail seems to have people thinking Anti is getting stronger. AKA he is having an easier time not glitching as much and keeping up disguises. (Though I believed he glitched fabulously and fittingly for an old timely film.) AKA he is having an easier time “Playing Pretend”. Which may be true and doesn’t sound so far fetched to me but I feel like it shows that this is a time before he has actually “killed” or “harmed” Jack by slitting his throat.

 @corruptedmetadata posted something that intrigued me and gave me a thought. What if they aren’t in order? It’s a bit far fetched and probably the wonkiest idea I’ve spit in this thesis but what if some of the more modern looking videos is older than the old timey ones? I know I’m kind of contradicting myself here but we are talking about time travel and all it’s possibilities, paradoxes, alternate timelines and such. What if Jack has been dead for a long time and there really is nothing we can do. “He’s already won.” Jack really is gone, forgotten, and replaced. If Anti can disguise as him, and manipulate time, how would we know the Jack we are seeing today is actually from today. Any number of his videos could be from any point or just not him at all.

It all makes me wonder what Anti’s intentions are. I know we all have our ideas and some more concrete than others but the time manipulation changes it a bit doesn’t it? Gives Anti more of a motive to the why’s and how’s. Stuck in time, losing time, a need to have control. Is he using Jack and us to gain power to get out? To gain more power over our world or timeline? To trick us into switching spots with him? I’m curious what all of your opinions are on his motives now that we have a little more light shed on Anti.

Ahhh. I love theories. If you made it this far. I appreciate ya. I really love this kind of interaction with you guys and Jack. This is one of the only things that has really brought me out of my shell when it comes to interacting with this community more. Anyway. I bid you guys a goodnight and feel free to point out anything that may seemed too much of a stretch or flawed. I’d love to hear what you guys think. :D

[faveficarchive]

The Secret Histories: Part 1

The Swimming Pool Heroine

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Mel/Janice

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Set soon after All the Colors of the World, an old flame wanders back into Mel’s life, and threatens a relationship already wrought with unspoken problems. Janice is sent off to Bavaria to work with the Monuments Men, and Mel isn’t far behind. Will their shaky relationship withstand the test of distance, violence, and ancient obsession?

Note: This is the second installment in Vivian Darkbloom’s Mel and Janice Series. In order to really get it, you’ll need to read through the first bit, All the Colors of the World (a real hardship, I know lol). 

London, August 1945

Whatever daylight that existed in the room was dying, due to a sudden summer storm, yet her perverse stubbornness—which came to her, quite honestly, down through the generations—prevented her from turning on a reading light. This is how you ruined your eyes, my dear, her father had scolded her many years ago, catching her poring over a book in very similar circumstances. But it wasn't that Melinda Pappas was so utterly engrossed in learning more about the mystery cult of Mithras; rather, she needed something to pass the time while she waited for her companion, Janice Covington, to return from her duties as a driver for the U.S. military. The room was Mel's "home"—if one could call a hotel room home, she thought. Her Mecklenburgh Street flat, where she had lived since coming to London last year, had finally succumbed to one of the Germans' final air raids, and she quickly secured accommodations at Grosvenor House, overlooking Hyde Park. I might as well stop pretending that I don't have any money, she had thought. She had enjoyed the stunned look on Janice's face when the archaeologist—who had spent a lifetime in dives, flophouses, tents, digs, and currently a narrow bed in a military barracks—first entered the suite and dropped her rucksack on the floor in disbelief.

She heard a familiar clucking noise above her, and realized she would hear a chastisement from the gentleman nearby. Colonel Anton Frobisher, her father's best friend, stood over her, dapper as usual in his British uniform. Frobisher had come over to her room at the Grosvenor House to have tea with her and Janice, saying that he needed to discuss something with them. The call from Frobisher had not exactly been urgent, but something steely in the old man's voice convinced Mel that it was serious.

"You'll ruin your sight, Melinda, if you keep that up," he growled pleasantly. Deja vu.

"My eyes are already ruined," she retorted with a fond smile, unconsciously touching her glasses.

He snorted. "When are those bloody American fools—no offense, dear child—going to let her off duty? I'm feeling rather peckish." It was past tea time, and the old man, having loitered in the room with Mel for almost an hour, was rather set in his ways.

"Well, they've been discharging people right and left. Those folks left in the army must be working overtime," Mel commented by way of excuse for her late friend. With the war officially over, many American soldiers and military personnel were given their papers and being sent home. Janice, who had spent over a year as a WAC, had not yet received her discharge, but anticipated release from the army any day now. Mel too looked forward to it, although it left her with a sense of unease as well.

It would be, she knew, a period of adjustment. Their respective duties kept them both so occupied—Janice as a driver, Mel as a translator—that they barely had time for the frantic lovemaking that frequently occurred in Mel's hotel room, let alone time to think of the future. But the thoughts had intruded upon her this morning, as she cradled the sleeping archaeologist in her arms. 

So what happens now? she had thought, a hand idly stroking Janice's back. Do we roam the world as our ancestors did? Where do we live? New York? North Carolina? Do we even take it to that level right away? This isn't like getting engaged to Joshua Davis. There are no rules here. And, the scholar admitted, that was more than a little frightening to her — or, more precisely, it threatened the ordered, stable, self-contained world she had lived in all her life. At the same time she almost hated leaving London, where she and Janice had renewed their affair; the great gray city, too old and stubborn to be obliterated by bombing, held this sentimental value for her. And she definitely hated leaving Anton, the man who turned out to be a guardian angel for her, since he proved crucial in reuniting her with Janice. I guess I am as set in my ways as Anton is, she thought with a self-deprecating smile, putting the book aside. She stood up and patted his arm. "I'll have them send up tea," she said, and went over to the phone.

The fact that they would probably leave soon for the States was unspoken between Mel and Anton; she had grown closer to the old man, a man who—she was surprised to discover, through his vague allusions—had been in love with her father. No wonder Daddy was so understanding about me, she thought. She knew she reminded Anton of her father, and that it afforded him both pleasure and pain at the same time. And she knew her departure would be hard for him. Hard for them both.

Having placed the request for tea, she hung up the phone and watched him stare moodily out the large window at the overcast skies over Hyde Park, while absently stroking his neatly trimmed gray mustache. Obviously, something bothered him.

"Uncle Anton?"

"Hmmm, Melinda?"

"Are you sure you want to wait for Janice?" She walked over to him and gently tugged his uniform's sleeve. "Why don't you start telling me what you came here for?"

He smiled, a little sadly. "I will, Melinda. But I don't think I'll have too wait much longer." Mel followed his glance toward the door.

A key jangled in the lock, and the door opened. Only one other person had the key to this room—and to her. With a leather jacket draped over one arm and a cigarette dangling between her lips, Janice Covington sauntered into the room, filling the space with her particular energy, its sexual component conveyed in the swagger of her hips....Mel sighed. She's one part John Garfield, one part Carole Lombard, thought the Southerner.

"Jesus fucking Christ" was the first thing out of Janice Covington's mouth.

The Colonel turned pale.

"A more traditional greeting would be something along the lines of 'Hello, '" Mel remarked sarcastically.

"Oh, yeah. Hi." Janice dropped her jacket on a chair, where it promptly slid to the floor.

She ignored it. "I had a hell of a day. I had to drive this Belgian bastard — a goddamn major or something — all over greater London just so he could find some rare blend of tea — "

Another knock at the door announced the arrival of — “Tea!" cried the Colonel.

"Yeah, that's what I said," Janice remarked, looking at him as if he were prematurely senile.

"No, they've sent up tea, honey..." Mel began, heading for the door.

"With honey? I like honey."

"Never mind. Just sit down and behave yourself."

"What the hell did I do?" protested Janice, who nonetheless sat down.

The elegant silver tea service was wheeled in and quickly laid out for them on the table in front of the picture window.

With a generous tip from Mel the waiter exited, and the women sat down with the Colonel. Janice flopped down in a chair and hastily shoved a cucumber sandwich in her mouth. As she brutally masticated the crustless triangle, she snatched the cream dispenser and promptly drowned Earl Grey in a river of bland white liquid, and then drove the nail in the coffin of the tea's fragile flavor with three large lumps of sugar. All of this occurred under the horrified watch of Frobisher; Mel, used to the spectacle of Janice eating, merely allowed her tea cup to hover over her mouth for a slightly longer than intended to cover her amusement.

Janice felt the old man's eyes on her. "What?" she said, grabbing another tea sandwich.

He was speechless. His head wavered a little in disbelief.

"You'll have to forgive her, Uncle Anton," Mel said airily, "she did live in New York City for an extended period of time."

"Oh great," Janice grunted, slurping some tea, "the forces of prissiness, a Southern lady and a British gentleman, descend upon me." She popped another sandwich in her mouth. "So what's new?" she addressed Anton.

"We're about to find out," Mel said. They turned their attention to the Colonel.

"Ah....yes. Melinda, I'm afraid you've been headhunted," Anton said.

"Excuse me?" murmured Mel.

"Can't blame them. It's a pretty little head," Janice threw in, all the while wondering what the hell was going on.

"I have been contacted by an official from the OSS. An old classmate of yours, I believe..." Anton trailed off.

Mel froze with apprehension, which was not lost on the woman who sat across from her. "Who?" she asked, defensively. Oh God no...it can't be.

"Catherine Stoller." Oh God yes...her. "You remember her?" Frobisher asked.

Mel nodded. She said nothing. Janice, however, asked, "Who's Catherine Stoller?"

Mel carefully lowered the tea cup, momentarily grateful that her hands weren't shaking at the mention of this woman's name. "Precisely what the Colonel said. She was at Cambridge during the year I studied there. We were...acquainted."

Ah, the tell-tale pause before that word, thought Janice. With Mel, she was discovering, the silences sometimes spoke as clearly as the words.

"Righto," the Colonel affirmed. "Catherine was an OSS operative during the war. Working in Berlin. I can't disclose what she was doing, but suffice it to say her mission is over, and she's back in London." He cleared his throat and sipped his tea.

"What does this have to do with us?" Mel ran a finger around the rim of her tea cup.

He sighed. "Catherine was sent to me by her commander, the head of operations in London. She's looking to recruit bodies for the Monuments operation."

"Monuments?" Janice echoed. "That's a whole other ballgame, separate from OSS. Why is she doing the Monument men's work?"

"Remind me again," Mel interrupted, "who are the 'Monuments men'?"

"The MFAA. Monuments, Fine Arts, and Archives," Janice supplied. "And the OSS is the Office of Strategic Services, in case you forgot, sweetheart," she added with a teasing grin, knowing Mel's aversion to and confusion in the militaristic realm of acronyms.

"Catherine's work now involves the Art Looting Investigation Unit, under the auspices of the OSS. The aim of the unit is to trace monetary assets and ensure that these finances are not falling in the hands of the Germans. At the same time they compile evidence for the prosecution of war crimes. They've been working closely with the MFAA in this respect. Since the Monuments men have been so generous in sharing their information, they've asked, in return, that OSS donate the services of some of their agents, or at least assist in finding some new personnel."

"Lemme guess..." Janice began.

Frobisher sighed yet again. "Yes, Catherine wants Melinda to work for them. I had to supply Catherine with a list of all my civilian staff. They're calling in a favor from me, you see. Of course, she recognized Melinda's name right away and immediately wanted her."

Mel ran a long finger around her tea cup. "Well, that's just too bad. I'm not going anywhere," she stated defiantly. She looked at Anton. "They can't force me to go, can they?"

"No, of course not. You're an American, and non-military personnel to boot."

"Good."

"Mel," Janice piped up, "are you sure you don't want to go? You don't even know what they want you to do yet. Or where they want you to go. It might be interesting. Or fun."

"Janice Covington, I can't imagine that anything associated with this war could be 'fun,' " her companion retorted.

Janice grinned, which made Mel all the more irritated. I love it when she gets all haughty, thought the archaeologist. "But look," she said, "maybe I could go with you. I could try to get transferred to wherever they might send you."

The Colonel smiled grimly. "The Yanks aren't too keen on handing over any of their military personnel for this, Janice. However, if you were persistent in your request, I'm sure they'd let you go wherever Melinda was sent—they wouldn't want to make a stink over it." He sipped his tea. "In fact, I'm rather surprised the Americans haven't put you in this line of work sooner. You would be a most valuable asset with your particular background."

Janice shrugged. "Who knows. I made no secret of my background. But it wasn't why I joined up in the first place."

The question why she had joined up in the first place was one that was perplexing to the Colonel. He suspected it had less to do with patriotic duty than with something else...probably something the scrappy little corporal would be reluctant to admit.

Mel looked nervously across the table at Janice, who had lit yet another cigarette. Cigars were still hard to come by in postwar London, and Janice had grown used to the substitution of cigarettes. A scrim of smoke rose in front of her young companion's face, making it even more inscrutable to Mel. Are we ready for this? she thought.

A silence descended upon the group. Frobisher nibbled at a sandwich. Mel stared into her tea. Janice smoked. Then the young archaeologist broke the silence. "Hell," she drawled with typical Covington bravado, "it couldn't be that difficult, could it? The war is over."

"Europe isn't exactly a playground right now, Janice," Mel responded, a little more sharply than she intended. "The war is over, officially, but everywhere, everyone is...torn to bits." Even you, my darling.

Janice knew what her lover was communicating in her quiet way. Ever since her return to London, nightmares of what happened in France were a regular occurrence: Blaylock's death, the blood, the near-misses, the broken bodies....Even more horrific were the dreams about the soldier. The variations were endless: Sometimes the soldier shoots Mel instead of Blaylock. Sometimes Janice shoots him and stabs him with a bayonet, over and over, her rage incomprehensible, her guilt palpable. Sometimes she looks into the dead eyes of the soldier, and those eyes are as blue as Mel's, and suddenly the dead man is Mel. I have put her through hell, and myself as well. thought Janice. So why am I tempted to run back there, and risk it all again? Well, he's right, at least we could be together this time.

"See here," added the Colonel, "both of you would be perfectly within your rights to reject this assignment; you're both Americans, and Melinda isn't even military personnel. All I ask is that you meet with Catherine and I tomorrow, and then make your decision."

"Fair enough," Janice replied cautiously. "What do you think, Mel?"

"I don't see that it would hurt," murmured Mel. Knowing that it was likely it would hurt, in the long run, that it might lead to something more painful than she was prepared to deal with. She had a bad feeling about this.

After the Colonel left, Mel made a pretense of examining the notes she had made on the book (Mystery Cults of the Ancient World) that she had been reading. Janice poured herself a bourbon. It was almost amusing to watch Mel try to ignore her. Okay, here comes the interrogation room scene. "So," drawled the petite archaeologist, "are you gonna tell me anything about this Catherine Stoller?"

"What's to tell?" Mel asked, defensively. She stacked and re-stacked the small piles of books on the mahogany desk. I almost wish they wouldn't clean the rooms, so I'd have something to do now, she thought, as she scanned the immaculate area. Nervous energy jangled through her long body. "We were friends at Cambridge." She idly flipped through the bound journal containing her notes.

In contrast, Janice lounged comfortably on the couch, sipping her drink. The golden liquid that swirled below her in the glass enhanced the deep green of her eyes. Carefully she sat her glass down on the table in front of her and leaned forward, forearms resting on her legs, fingers interlaced. "Mel," she began gently.

"Hmmm?" The Southerner pretended to be distracted by her notes.

"Look, you acted a little funny when the Colonel mentioned her name. Were you...I mean, were you close to her?" Some loose papers slipped from the journal and sailed to the floor. Hastily Mel knelt to retrieve them, and Janice walked over to her, kneeling beside her. "I mean," she said, handing Mel the sheets, "it's okay...I just want you to be honest with me. We all have a past..."

"Some of us more than others," she responded impulsively, and instantly regretting it. That was definitely below the belt, as Daddy would put it....Mel was quite aware of Janice's past in this respect, having met the intriguing sociopath Mary Jane Velasko, with whom Janice had lived, however briefly, in New York; not to mention her suspicions that Janice had bedded someone named Meg during the war. Janice knew that Mel had met Mary Jane, but the scholar had not confronted her companion with her knowledge about Meg. Part of her hoped that Janice would mention it. Another part hoped otherwise.

"What the hell does that mean?" Janice growled as she stood up.

"Nothing, forget it," Mel said quickly. "I guess...I'm trying to change the subject." With a sigh she removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "All right....Catherine and I were...involved."

"Huh," Janice muttered, trying to hide her surprise. I was expecting the admission of some platonic-like crush, actually. "Was she...your first?"

Mel nodded. "I haven't been with anyone since...well, until you."

The archaeologist blinked. "Wow. I guess I thought...I mean..." I thought I was the only woman you ever slept with.

Mel started to blush, and her stammer, which asserted itself when she was very nervous, kicked in. "S-surely, Janice, you c-could tell I wasn't...you know..."

"A virgin?" Janice supplied. Definitely, yes. She recalled the pleasant surprise of the first time they made love, when she realized she had an experienced lover on her hands (so to speak) and not a naïve, virginal Southern belle. Not that it had meant that much to her. I would've been more than happy to be the first one....But how I misjudge you at times, Melinda.

"Yes," Mel mumbled in response, clearly embarrassed. Her Methodist upbringing had precluded any explicit talk of sexual matters; despite her father's tolerant and open nature in that area, the child spent a lot of time in the company of prudish relatives, conservative schoolteachers, and restrained, repressed churchgoers. Janice knew this, but this prim, almost guilty behavior contrasted sharply with the brunette bombshell who inhabited her bed and displayed an uninhibited passion that easily met her own.

"Well, yeah, I could tell, but I thought the magnolia blossom of your Southern ladyhood was captured by that fiancé of yours." Janice sarcastically employed the euphemisms. She should just be glad I didn't say "I thought that Joshua bastard popped your cherry." That's the way Harry would've put it.

"You mean Joshua?" Mel said, incredulous. "Joshua was a gentleman, Janice. He would never have taken advantage of me." She blushed furiously, recalling that there were several times when he came close to doing so; he was nothing if not persistent. "Besides, we only engaged to be engaged," she sniffed. Then blinked in confusion. "I think."

"Okay, so you're saying Joshua was a gentleman and Catherine was not. And I guess neither am I...I thought that was kinda obvious, despite the clothing."

"Oh, I don't know what I mean," moaned the black-haired beauty. "I...I don't go to bed with just anyone, Janice. Love has to be involved somehow. That's just the way I am. And I must admit, I never loved Joshua in quite that way. But...I was in love with Catherine." She released a breath. She had admitted it.

"In love," Janice echoed. She was not prepared for the full frontal assault of jealous anger that spread through her. Hands on hips, she wandered away from Mel to gaze out the window, hoping for an opportunity to get a grip on the unpleasant sensation. You fucking hypocrite, she berated herself angrily. You've fallen into bed with any number of women for no other reason that sheer pleasure. So what if she slept with someone else before you? She gazed out onto the green of the park; summer was dying, but doing so in a very verdant, brilliant way. She knew the real reason why she felt this way. I have never been in love with anyone except you, Mel. No one even comes close. I couldn't even pretend. Before you, lovemaking never really had anything to do with love.

"You wanted me to be honest. But it's all in the past..." Mel replied quickly, quietly.

The past. Janice drew a breath and held it. Didn't she, as an archaeologist, know all about the past? What did it mean to have a history? Didn't we all? What could she believe was important, what could she discount? About Mel, or anyone else for that matter? I'm getting way ahead of myself here. This is only the personal history of one woman. Albeit the one who means more to me than all the scrolls, buried and uncovered, in the world. She felt Mel's hands resting gently on her shoulders. She exhaled. She turned around to face the tall woman, and then she reached up and let her fingers lazily trace the smooth planes of Mel's cheekbones. And would she still love me if she truly knew what a slut I've been? Enough. Don't torture yourself. But the resentment lingered. How dare she love anyone else. Her hand cradled Mel's neck, the soft skin blanketing the life force—blood, muscle, bone—below it.

"You know that. And I love you now," Mel concluded. Her dark head bent down to meet Janice's lips. The kiss started out as a soft nip, almost chaste, and then took its usual course: it grew wetter, bolder, warmer. Janice steered her tall companion over to the bed. With skilled and gentle forcefulness she pulled Mel down on the bed; a gasp from the taller woman tickled her ear and she pressed her body atop Mel's, her gold hair falling down and brushing against Mel's face. A sliding hand trespassed the boundary of a skirt.

"You belong to me. I love you," Janice whispered into Mel's ear. "Don't forget that, or I am lost." What am I saying, she chastised herself. I sound desperate, and possessive, and...I know it's all true.

Mel too, knew the truth within the words; but she said nothing. She let a world of sensation take over as she gripped Janice's back, smooth and rippling under the fabric of her shirt, and felt lips and caresses work a spell upon her, a gold gossamer web of hair against her lips. The dark music of jealousy played itself out among the moans and gentle cries, and the soft rustling of falling clothes.

***

The Tube stopped a mere two blocks from Frobisher's office. As Janice and Mel emerged from the underground that morning, both were temporarily blinded by the sun. Janice had been unusually quiet during the trip—no cursing of the late train, no anecdotes about her fellow drivers, no impromptu musings about the scrolls. Mel was content to let her brood—obviously she needed to think some things out before the meeting. But as they walked the short distance to the office, the Southerner could tell that Janice wanted to say something.

And so she did.

"Tell me she's ugly, Mel."

Mel turned to her in surprise. "What?"

"Tell me how ugly this woman is. Tell me how she would frighten small children. Tell me you always closed your eyes when you kissed her. Tell me her ankles are thicker than Sergeant McKay's."

Mel laughed. "All right. She makes Churchill look like Greta Garbo."

They arrived at the door of the building. Janice turned to her lover and arched an eyebrow. "Now tell me why you put on lipstick this morning," she said quietly.

Mel froze. During her existence in London she had all but forsaken makeup; not that she had ever used a lot of it. There was no time, usually, and it had all come to the point where she really didn't give a damn how she looked, so long as Janice found her attractive. Of course, you fool, she would notice. She was not sure, consciously, why she did it. Was it because she wanted to look good for Catherine? To make her jealous? To make Janice jealous? To show Catherine that she was still beautiful, and abundantly happy without her? Her mouth hung open, but before she could attempt any sort of reply, Frobisher's assistant, Sergeant McKay, appeared at the foot of the steps.

"Good morning, ladies. The Colonel is expecting you. Can I get you some tea?"

"No," both women muttered in unison. They climbed the stairs silently. McKay followed them. When they reached the office door he jogged ahead of them, like a bear running an low-level obstacle course, and opened the door for them.

Frobisher sat at his desk and stood up when they entered. A woman stood at the window, her back to them, but she turned around slowly. She was not nearly as tall as Mel, but very slender and dressed in an expensive-looking, wine-colored suit. Her curly, white blonde hair was pulled back from her face, and her dark brown eyes were intense, almost hard. Janice sighed inwardly. Not exactly my type, but she's attractive. Okay, goddammit, she's beautiful. She felt her own features harden when she noticed that the blonde's attention, her gaze — in fact, her whole being — seemed centered on Mel. Before the Colonel could dispense introductions, the woman walked over to them and clasped Mel's hands between her own.

"Melinda," she said softly. "My God, it's been years." Her accent was strange; not exactly British...perhaps slightly German? Janice wondered.

"Yes, Catherine. It's been quite a while," Mel concurred by way of greeting. The Southern scholar looked into the dark eyes. Once upon a time, I felt something for her. I loved her. But it's not there anymore...I don't feel it. A sense of relief came over her; immediately it relaxed her, and she grinned fully at Catherine, without regard to the effect it had on Janice. "Let me introduce my friend, Dr. Janice Covington. Janice, this is Catherine Stoller."

Catherine allowed her eyes to linger on Mel for a few seconds before reluctantly wrenching them away to Janice. The blonde beauty raised a critical eyebrow as she took in the form of Janice, clad in rumpled khakis and boots. But her tone was polite. "Dr. Covington, I'm very honored to meet you. I have heard much of your work. And your father's as well."

Mel winced slightly, knowing that Harry was a touchy subject for Janice, especially when broached by strangers. She saw the archaeologist's green eyes narrow a bit. "It's good to meet you, Miss Stoller," she responded crisply. They shook hands.

In the background of it all, Colonel Frobisher nervously tugged at his tie. "Shall we get down to it?" he asked smoothly, hoping to conduct business before Covington could do something...unexpected. He was quite fond of her, but military life, obviously, had not tamed this loose cannon. Well, it doesn't work for everyone, he thought. He tried to peer into her open jacket to see if she was carrying a gun. She caught him looking, however, and glared at him.

They all sat down.

"Do you still swim?" Catherine asked unexpectedly. Her brown eyes regarded Mel once again.

Mel, taken aback, blinked for a moment. Or two. "Ah, not really. I haven't in a long time," she admitted. She shifted with discomfort as all attention focused on her, or rather, on this unknown aspect of her character.

"Swim?" Janice echoed, looking at her tall companion.

"Yes," Catherine supplied. "When we were at Cambridge, Melinda swam all the time. She was excellent. She beat the university's best swimmer, one of England's best, in fact — Paul Peterson — in an informal race. Won me twenty quid. My heroine." The last sentence was spoken with a familiar, teasing warmth.

Janice regarded her lover with no small amount of surprise. But as she pondered it she could see it — Mel's long, graceful body, its strength hidden and unsung, gliding through the water. "Well," she drawled quietly to Mel, just loud enough for Catherine and Frobisher to hear, "I guess that explains why you can hold your breath for so long."

Mel looked at her, stunned, and hoped no one else had caught the double entendre. Although it shouldn't surprise me what that mouth is capable of, she thought. She shot Janice a foul, irritated look and struggled not to look embarrassed.

The statement, meant to shock and cause discomfort for Catherine Stoller, had no such effect. The blonde merely smirked, indicating to the archaeologist that she was quite aware of Mel's...talents. Who do you think taught her all those tricks, little one? the thought coursed darkly through Catherine's mind, but she said nothing. Her dark eyes were imperious as they met Janice's.

Frobisher, in the interim, rolled his eyes in disbelief and angrily tapped a pen against his desk. Perhaps this whole thing is an enormous bad idea. "If we may suspend discussion of Melinda's prowess in the arena of swimming"—he cut his eyes at Janice—"let's do get on with it."

"Very well," Catherine began. A manila file sat in her lap. She read from it. "In Bavaria, there is a castle called Neuschwanstein. During the war it served as a repository for a vast amount of both artwork and archival material—books, scrolls, and the like. Much of the written material gathered there was considered 'degenerate' and non-Aryan. A good amount of it was Jewish materials—like Torah scrolls and religious tracts. And much of it was taken from Eastern Europe and the middle East. Macedonia. Syria. And so on."

"If it was all so worthless to them, why did they keep it?" Mel asked a rhetorical question. She suspected the answers she was about to receive.

Catherine smiled bitterly. "The Ahnenerbe. You're an archaeologist, Dr. Covington. You've heard of them."

Janice returned the strangled smile. "Yes. I have. The art and archaeology branch of the SS. They sponsored digs throughout the world. I was approached by them more than once—they wanted me to work for them."

"Yes. The Ahnenerbe had many purposes. They busied themselves finding anything to confirm the greatness of German heritage...but, they also realized that what they found that wasn't Aryan was valuable in many ways. It could be used for propaganda. It could be sold on the international market and make a tidy profit for the Fatherland; art dealers and collectors—even scholars and museum curators—they wouldn't give a damn where or how they got something, just as long they possessed it...isn't that right, Dr. Covington?"

Janice raised an eyebrow. I don't think I like what this bitch is implying.

Catherine continued to address her. "If the Nazis had had some of your so-called Xena scrolls, what would you have paid for them? What would you have done for them? Would working with the Ahnenerbe have been such a distressing prospect?" Catherine asked in an urgent tone.

Janice's jaw shifted. What would she have done for the scrolls? The Germans who had sought out her services always offered money, power, material possessions, even beautiful women...but stupidly they hadn't offered her the one thing she wanted most: the scrolls. Probably because they didn't have them at the time—but they could have bluffed it. At least then they would've had my attention. She said nothing.

Frobisher and Mel shifted uncomfortably at the turn of the conversation. Catherine noticed this, and added, "I say this only to prove a point. They knew how valuable these artifacts truly are." The tension in the room dissipated a little. "Well, you see, Dr. Covington—and Melinda—you may have a chance to uncover some of your precious scrolls."

Mel thought she detected a slight sneering tone at the word precious. Ah, Catherine...still the same, she sighed inwardly. "So you think that there may be some scrolls about Xena among these materials," she stated flatly.

"It's a possibility," Catherine responded. "And that is the bait by which I use to tempt you. We've got a lot of material there. It needs to be classified. Ordered. Returned to where it belongs. And, if you are very lucky, you may find something that interests you, yes? One would think that among so many riches, you would surely find what you desired." Unconsciously the dark eyes flickered again to Mel.

"One would think," Janice muttered. She was not sure that she trusted this woman—God knows, she didn't like her—but this was a wonderful opportunity, even if she didn't find anything pertaining to Xena.

"Now that you have heard me out—and I appreciate you taking the time to do so—what do you think?"

Mel and Janice exchanged a look. "I need to think it over," she said. "And I only come if Janice comes with me. Can we let you know by tomorrow?"

Catherine nodded. "Of course. Although I cannot guarantee that a decision might be forced upon the Doctor." Her eyes met Janice's.

"What do you mean?" Mel asked apprehensively.

"Dr. Covington is still a member of the U.S. Army. She must go where they send her, correct?" She placed her folder in a leather briefcase, snapped it shut, and stood up abruptly. The other three rose as well. "If you'll forgive me, I must go. It's been a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Covington, and..." she faltered a little as she looked at Mel. "Melinda...I hope I see you again. I hope you decide to come," she concluded softly. As she walked by she stopped, and placed a hand on Mel's shoulder. "Let Anton know your decision tomorrow. Goodbye." Then she was gone.

Janice lit a cigarette. "That was fun," she drawled sarcastically.

Mel, shaking her head in resignation, walked over to the window. She could see Catherine walking through the courtyard, to a cab on the corner. Just before she entered it, the enigmatic young blonde woman turned to look back at the building. She looked up to the window and smiled. I can't believe...all this time has past, and I feel nothing, but she still feels...something. How could she? After everything that happened?

"Young lady, if I were your father..." Frobisher growled at Janice.

"...then I'd know how to appreciate a good cup of tea and Italian opera." A stream of smoke unfurled from her mouth. "If that bitch thinks she can get me transferred to the far corners of the world so she can make her move on Mel, she's sadly mistaken."

The mention of her name broke Mel out of her reverie. "What?"

"Do you think Madame Stoller is going to have me sent to the halls of Montezuma or the shores of Tripoli?"

"What are you, a marine?"

"She’s up to something, there’s no doubt about that."

"Don't be ridiculous. It would defeat her purposes. I said I wouldn't go to Germany without you."

"True, but you're here, in London, and she's here...and I could be in Timbuktu by tomorrow if she has any influence. She's obviously still taken with you, Mel...who could blame her? And she's probably very powerful within the OSS. Isn't she, Colonel?"

"So I have been lead to believe," Frobisher commented. "I doubt she has that much influence, however." Secretly, he was concerned; Catherine was the type who was used to getting her way—he could discern that about her from the very first. She seemed quite determined. What lengths would she go to...?

He shook his head, as if banishing the thought from his mind. "Well, I have some things to attend to. I've got a dinner planned with some Monuments officials later. Care to join us? It might be interesting, and useful to you both, should you take on this mission."

After a late supper with Frobisher and a bunch of smarmy-looking Monuments officials, the women had returned to the Grosvenor. Janice was quiet, as she was pretty much throughout dinner. She had managed to maintain basic conversation skills whenever the prying interest of an officer was forced upon her, but for the most part she kept a low profile, lest another inappropriate remark fly out of her mouth; she wasn't sure if Mel had quite forgiven her for the comment at Frobisher's office. She shrugged off her leather jacket and lit a cigarette as she sat on the edge of the bed. She watched Mel as the tall woman peeled off her suit jacket, kicked off her heels, and started to remove her earrings. So let's see if she's still mad at me.

"Don't remove the earrings. I like them," Janice commanded quietly.

Mel's hands lingered for a moment around an ear, then she slowly inserted the post of the pearl earring back into ear. Without missing a beat she fell into the game. "Can I take off my glasses?" she asked.

"Yes."

She did. "And may I let down my hair?"

"Most definitely."

"My clothes?" Mel tugged at her skirt.

"Remove them. Slowly."

The scholar undid the buttons of her white blouse. Her fingers wavered in a dream-like, agonizing slowness, as if she were plucking out the most delicate of songs upon a harp. She kept her cool blue eyes on Janice, who twitched with impatience. "You've been sulky all evening," she gently accused her audience, in a low voice.

"I'm sorry I haven't been better company," Janice replied in a noncommittal voice.

The buttons were undone, revealing an expanse of a creamy white camisole. Janice, expecting to see the blouse discarded, almost gasped when Mel reached down, unzipped her skirt, and discarded it in one fluid motion. Didn't I say slowly? But the surprising suddenness of the gesture was just as stimulating, she realized, as she stared at a beautiful woman in a slip. Why complain? The tall woman walked toward her, letting the blouse fall from her body as she approached Janice. She knelt before Janice, in between the latter's khaki legs. Her eyes never wavered from Janice's as she slid her hands along the archaeologist's legs to her belt, where she grasped the belt buckle and slowly undid it. "You're always good company, my darling. But perhaps I can put you in a better mood."

Janice leaned in and kissed her. She kept the prize of Mel's lower lip between her own lips, sucking and savoring it. Oblivion. Then she disengaged, knowing she had to say what she needed to say. "You are making me feel better...." Janice began. She touched her friend's cheek. "I'm sorry about the way I acted earlier."

"It's all right. You always say the most unexpected things at the most inopportune times. It has a very strange charm all its own."

Janice chuckled. "If you say..." She allowed herself to drown in the mesmerizing blue eyes. "But...I must know..." Mel's skillful fingers were making short work of the buttons of her trousers. Her hips shifted a little in anticipation.

A gentle smile from Mel was encouraging. "Ask me whatever you like," she said, expecting the question. And knowing her answer.

"What did you feel today, seeing her again?" the archaeologist managed to ask, her voice thickened by desire.

The long answer included surprise, confusion, suspicion, guilt, relief. She felt the muscles of Janice's legs tighten with excitement. The situation called for the short answer. She reached up and let her long fingers trace Janice's bow-shaped mouth. "I assure you, I felt nothing for her."

"And now? What do you feel now?" asked Janice. The words breathed, as living things, at Mel's fingertips.

"I feel that I must have you. Right now."

***

Spring 1937, Cambridge University

Catherine Stoller looked at her best friend, Daphne, whose lovely face was pulled into an expression of distaste. "I don't know if this really goes with the eggs, dear," Daphne said, staring into a glass of red liquid.

They were sprawled in the lawn overlooking the chapel, nibbling on plover's eggs and drinking kirsch; Catherine had swiped the unmarked bottle from the hiding place of her dipsomaniac Latin tutor. Daphne, sometimes a friend, sometimes a lover, always amusing, thought it would be "positively sacrilege" to do this in front of the chapel. And nihilism was the order of the day, especially for Daphne. Although how nihilistic it really was, Catherine thought, was debatable: The chaplain and his staff were gone for the Easter holiday ("Let them take their religion elsewhere," Daphne had declared haughtily), so there really was no one to shock.

"Who gives a damn? It's alcohol, and that's my only requirement," responded Catherine. She stretched her languid body along the blanket that lay beneath them.

"Cat, what shall we do tonight? We've got an invite into London, darling. Charles is having a party..."

Catherine tuned out her friend as she lazily focused her attention on a figure that appeared in the distance, walking away from the library: A tall woman, with dark hair, dressed rather drearily. Another one, Catherine thought, who took being a student much too seriously. She reached for the opera glasses beside her—nicked from her roommate several months ago—and put them up to her eyes. The figure, head bowed, clutched a satchel filled, no doubt, with lots of boring books. Suddenly the woman swung her way onto the path leading past her and Daphne. "Looks like we're getting company, Daph," Catherine commented. She kept the glasses up as the woman came fully into view. What was it about her that prompted Catherine to wonder what lay under that drab, shapeless gray skirt, the big dark sweater and stockings, the flat utilitarian shoes? That face. For the face she encountered through the binoculars was quite lovely, she could tell, even from such a distance: smooth white skin, black hair, perfectly sculpted cheekbones, and intelligent eyes hiding behind a severe-looking pair of round, silver eyeglasses.

"Gimme," said Daphne, snatching the binoculars from her friend. She peered into them and moaned. "What a drone!"

The woman picked up her step as she walked past the two friends. "Hey! Christ's College!!" Daphne shouted; the woman was wearing a navy scarf around her neck with the simple white stripes denoting the college that she belonged to.

"God, Daph," Catherine muttered. Could it be? For the first time in her life she felt... embarrassed. She did want to speak to this woman, but on her own terms, and in her own time. In other words, sans Daphne.

The woman stopped and stared at them.

"Your outfit is drab enough, did you really think you needed to wear the most boring colors of the whole bloody university?" Daphne said sarcastically. The woman looked flummoxed. She quickened her pace and walked away, as malicious laughter rippled from Daphne. Catherine glared at her. "You damned fool, you didn't have to do that," she snapped.

Daphne looked at her, surprised. "What on earth do you care? You don't even know her."

"You're really a bloody bitch sometimes," Catherine muttered. She picked an egg and studied it, in order to avoid glaring at her friend.

"I know, and usually you love it."

She dropped to her knees at the edge of the pool. With a little hesitation she slipped her fingers into the water. The temperature was cool, but she liked it that way. Wrapping her long body into a crouch, she dove gently into the water, her body rumpling the blanket of blue that enveloped her. The echoes of voices stilled as she pulsed through the water, and when she did rise to the surface she heard only the crash of the waves she created and the brutal, satisfying chop of her strokes, and then her head would duck underwater again. The world was only a murmur when she was in the water.

It felt good to use her body. In the outside world, she only walked to and from buildings. She slept. She ate, sparingly. All day, in a library, in a classroom, even at night, her mind was consumed by her studies. As a result her body craved movement, something to distract her mind from language, from history, from books. And this was...safe. Solitary. It was pleasant. The water comforted her. It was a drowning sensation without the actual death. And afterwards her muscles burned and she was pleasantly exhausted.

She reached the edge of the pool and executed a flawless spin to turn herself around as powerful legs launched her into yet another lap. She reached the other end, and this time, body flying through a halo of light and water, gripped the edge with both hands and hauled herself up out of the water.

There Melinda sat, panting, shaking droplets of water from her face. Her long legs remained dipped in the water.

"Very nice," a woman's voice said.

She looked up. A blonde was disrobing, revealing a taut figure in a black bathing suit. She tossed her terry white robe onto a nearby chair. Without asking, she sat down next to Mel and slowly slipped her feet into the pool. She smiled at Mel, her deep brown eyes sparkled mischievously, as if she intended for them to conspire together, or if she would reveal some plum of gossip.

"I hope you don't mind," the woman said in her whispery voice, the words waving over her much like the water.

Mel blinked. "Mind what?" she asked. It was then she recognized the woman as the one who had been sitting on the lawn with that rude girl who had yelled at her.

"Being so forward as to sit next to you without an introduction. Because I wanted to apologize for my friend yesterday. You recall, on the lawn..."

"That's...all right."

The woman smiled. "You're American. That's probably why you don't mind me speaking to you frankly."

Mel smiled uneasily.

"My name is Catherine. I'm at Dawson's." An undergraduate? Mel thought, surprised. She seemed so much older and poised. She held out her hand. Mel took it gingerly.

"I'm Melinda."

"Melinda," Catherine repeated, savoring the name upon her tongue in such a way that Mel felt a tingle of pleasure. "That's a lovely name."

"T-thank you," Mel stammered.

"What are you studying, Melinda?"

"Latin and ancient Greek."

"Ah. I'm more of a medievalist myself. Nonetheless my Latin is rather atrocious." The blonde woman chuckled in a self-deprecating fashion, then regarded Mel in a manner that she had seen men do; but instead of the curious indifference she felt during an occasion of that sort, Mel felt strangely pleased. A little thrilled. And a little frightened. Catherine's deep brown eyes were alluring, sparkling, and deep. Perhaps a little too deep. Can I swim in these depths?

"Melinda," Catherine drawled the name in her seductive way once again, "perhaps we should meet for tea one afternoon?"

A nervous shudder passed through Mel. "Ah...yes. That sounds lovely."

"Wonderful," Catherine murmured. She pressed her hand against the cool, wet skin of her new friend. "I'll send over a note. An invite, if you will."

"Er, ah, don't you want to know where my rooms are?"

The lithe young woman stood up and gazed down upon Mel. "Dear heart, I already know where your rooms are," she responded confidently, as she walked away.

Her hair was almost dry by the time she reached her rooms. Mel considered herself fortunate to have wrangled rooms in the top floor of the quad; she did not mind the walk up the stairs, and the height and distance afforded her peace from the usual goings-on of her less studious classmates, who all, seemingly, inhabited the lower floors.

She opened the door and was greeted by a familiar large form blocking her large window. "Daddy!" she exclaimed happily. He opened his arms, and she flung herself into them.

"Hello, Melinda." He grinned at her and kissed her cheek. A neat black beard covered most of his face; he had not yet "shed his winter coat," as Mel put it many a time, to his amusement.

"What on earth are you doing here?" she asked, depositing her books on her desk.

"I'm on my way to Egypt, my dear, for a dig." He squeezed her hand. "So I could not resist a visit." He scrutinized her. "You look too thin."

She swatted him playfully. "I am not."

"I'll take you out to dinner. Unless, of course, you have plans."

"No plans," she replied happily. A little too happily, he thought. Did his solitary daughter have any friends in this place? He cleared his throat. "Are you sure? If you're seeing anyone..."

Catherine's visage appeared in her mind suddenly, like a shooting target tossed in the air. She shot it down. "No, not tonight, anyway," she said nervously, and turned away from him suddenly so that he could not see the bright blush inflame her face.

"Hmmm." She knew it well: his Hum of Disapproval, she called it.

"It's a break, you see, for the Easter holiday...not a lot of people are around..." She hated trying to excuse her loneliness to him.

"Ah. Well, if you are on a holiday, perhaps you could come with me to Egypt."

She spun around. "What?"

His deep blue eyes sparkled. "I've a new lead on the Xena scrolls..."

Her eyes narrowed. Whenever the name Xena came up, in was usually in tandem with someone else's. "Wait a minute. Who's running this dig?"

He sighed. "I believe you're quite aware who it is, my dear. Who else is as obsessed with Xena as I?"

The name hung unspoken, until Mel drew a breath and lectured her father thus:

"Harry Covington is nothing but a scoundrel, Daddy. A thief. A carpetbagger. He'll drag your reputation through the mud along with his own if you're not careful."

He chuckled. Which was not the response she had hoped for. "Melinda, I am a grown man. I appreciate your concern, but I can manage my own reputation quite nicely, and I don't think associating with Harry will cause me any permanent damage. In fact, once you get to know him, he is really quite a decent fellow." He laughed again. "Carpetbagger, eh?" he said wryly, affectionately.

She blushed at a letting the blatantly Southern expression slip. She longed to be as worldly as her father; he did not grow up in the South as she did, and thus was not saddled with a Carolinian drawl. Nor had he been affected by a conventional religious upbringing (although he did his best to counter his late wife's Methodist family) in a small, provincial town. Even now, as an adult, she wished fervently to shed her accent, her attitudes...her whole self, at times.

Dr. Pappas smiled, and decided to play the trump card...or what he hoped would be a trump card. "Believe it or not, Harry has a daughter, too. He raised her alone, as I did you. So we have a bit of a common bond. If you come with me, you'll meet her. She's an undergraduate at Harvard, but she took a leave to go on this dig with Harry." He tried to keep his tone detached, so that Melinda would not suspect his true intentions: that of matchmaker. Ever since he laid eyes on Janice, he became convinced that Harry's tomboyish, intelligent daughter might prove to be a most pleasing companion for his daughter. In fact, his interest in Janice sparked Harry's suspicions; the elder Covington thought that he coveted Janice for himself, and had not been pleased about it. Good thing he lets his daughter carry around the gun, he thought with relief.

Mel snorted with disdain, and ran a finger along the trim of her desk. It was tempting, she mulled, to leave here, to go to Egypt. It would be exciting. It would be fun. Despite Harry Covington and his daughter, who was probably just as much a rogue as her father. You can send a blackguard to Harvard, but you can't change its colors. She drummed her fingers on the desk furiously. I must remember never to say "blackguard" aloud; it's one of those things, like "carpetbagger...."

She thought again of Catherine Stoller and the faint aura of danger that shrouded the dark-eyed woman. Maybe I should go to Egypt, she thought with a hint of fear. But desire (and stubbornness—she did not want her father to think she condoned his association with Harry Covington) was keen upon its course. "I think I'll pass this time," she said, almost wistfully, to her father.

Mel was pleased to discover that Catherine's room were on the top floor of her building, much like her own; effortlessly she climbed the four flights of stairs. The door that she deduced to be Catherine's was slightly ajar. She knocked lightly, and it swung open even further.

She took in the cluttered, messy room. Sumptuous velvet drapery hung from the walls, an exquisite yet modest Persian rug lay on the floor. Some books were piled on a desk, along with a mess of papers, empty bottles...dirty dishes...was that some sort of chemistry experiment? Mel thought, peering into an old cup filled with strange sludge. A few overstuffed chairs were piled with books and strewn with clothes. The back of a divan faced the door. "Hello?" she called.

"Oh bloody hell, you did show up," a voice said. The curly dark head of Daphne emerged from the other side of the divan. Then it disappeared with a sigh. "Well go up then," Daphne said, exasperated.

"Up where?" Mel asked.

"To the roof, darling. You see, you're special. You're so bloody special. You get the roof."

Mel raised an eyebrow. Very jealous...she's tipping her hand. "Thanks...uh, where do I go?"

"Out in the hall...door at the end of the corridor."

At the end of the hall was a doorway, much like the others, but when she opened it, it led to a narrow, claustrophobia-inducing staircase. Cautiously she climbed up the stairs. I hope this Daphne creature isn't playing some sort of prank...She imagined brawny cricket players, the sort of thick-headed youths she tutored in Latin, ready to pounce on her and throw her off the building, all at the evil Daphne's bidding.

She looked up and was rewarded with a square of brilliant blue. Quickening her pace she reached the sky, and plunged into it.

The first thing she saw as she emerged onto the roof was the phonograph. She stood, still on the step ladder. The music crackled along the breeze; it was the barcarole from Tales of Hoffman: The voices of two women were woven together in the air.

"Hello."

Mel turned around. Catherine was standing in front of a rickety table that strained under the delicious burden of lilacs, sandwiches, a bottle of sherry, and a pot of tea.

"You're prompt, dear," Catherine continued, "that's actually quite refreshing for someone of our generation."

"It's just good manners, I think," Mel said. She pulled herself out of the hole. She stood on the roof, in full view of the university, and gasped with delight. What was sprawled before her sight were the buildings of the college and nearby town, and the rolling green tucked in and around them. Mel allowed herself to smile. It was like Catherine was serving up the world for tea. Just for her.

Catherine chuckled. "I thought you'd like this."

"I don't see why anyone wouldn't," Mel replied.

"Well, Daphne is afraid of heights..." Catherine trailed off, not really wanting to speak further of her sulky friend who was probably sitting downstairs and deliberately, sadistically, drinking all of her gin. Impulsively she walked over to Mel and let her hand press into the small of the tall woman's back; she could tell by the slight squirming motion and gentle intake of breath that her gesture was not unwelcome.

"Would you like some wine? Or would you prefer tea?"

"The latter. Please."

The blonde laughed. "I should've known...you're a tea-drinking kind of girl." Again she pressed her hand into Mel affectionately and was pleased at the girl's slight blush. She walked over to the table and began to pour out the tea. "Catherine..."

Catherine looked up brightly, enjoying the sound of her name on Mel's lips. "Yes?" she replied eagerly. My God, this is sickening...I'm utterly smitten.

"I'm curious...where are you from?" Mel asked softly.

The blonde chuckled. "It's the accent, I know...it throws a lot of people. My mother is English, my father German. I grew up shuttling between Berlin and London. Not so much so now, " she said darkly.

Mel nodded sympathetically. "Do you have family in Berlin then?"

"Some," Catherine responded curtly. The dark eyes grew hard. She did not want to talk about Germany, or its problems, or anything else. She wanted to drink some wine, laugh, and seduce this pretty girl before her.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to bring up an unpleasant subject."

"It's quite all right, darling." Catherine shifted gears and was once again the gracious hostess. She handed Mel a tea cup. For herself, she poured a glass of wine. "Let's talk about you."

"What about me?" Catherine loved Melinda's voice. Sometimes the Southern drawl was girlish and sweet, sometimes low and husky. Regardless, it was always pleasing.

"Why do you wear your hair up all the time?"

Blue eyes blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Why don't you let it down? I don't mean to sound so forward" — a lie, she did — "but you have lovely hair. So dark, so thick." She sipped the wine and her brown eyes sparkled. They were fixed on Mel. "Show it off. Let it breathe," she said simply.

Mel had no idea why she did it. Whether it was the beauty of the day or the beauty of the woman who requested it, or both, or nothing but a strange desire to do something so different, so outside herself...or all of these things acting in tandem. For once, I want to be someone else. She looked past Catherine into the dizzying, lush world around her. A church bell chimed and the air vibrated with its sound. Her hands pulled the hairpins and released the clasp that reined in her sleek black hair. It unfurled past her shoulders and she smiled.

The day seemed to flow by in much the same fashion. As if something great had been loosened within her and rushed out in a flurry to touch the world. She even drank some wine. And as the sun set around them on the roof, she let this strange, wonderful woman — who she didn't know a damn thing about — take her hand, and kiss her. It seemed as if the world then exploded around her, like the sunset. Despite the assurance from Catherine: Don't be alarmed. It's only a kiss.

But she was alarmed, and later remembered bucking like a nervous colt as Catherine's lips were pressed against hers, and her mouth was gently pried open. She had kissed boys before, her ex-fiancé more often than anyone. Among the boys, in half the instances the kisses were sloppy and flaccid, the other half too brutal—usually she had a tongue down her throat before she could blink. Joshua was a decent kisser, however, the best of that lot; he was gentle and skillful, yet his kisses always left her giggling—she felt vaguely naughty, as if she were merely indulging in smoking a cigarette in the girls' bathroom at school. Not that she would ever do such a thing.

But these kisses aroused her. They tingled and they burned, and when, six months later, Catherine Stoller walked out on her, she thought she would never again feel that sensation. It took five years for Mel to be mistaken, indeed, for her expectations to be wildly surpassed in a single kiss from Janice Covington.

[readbookywooks]

Search For Mr. Hyde

That evening Mr. Utterson came home to his bachelor house in sombre spirits and sat down to dinner without relish. It was his custom of a Sunday, when this meal was over, to sit close by the fire, a volume of some dry divinity on his reading-desk, until the clock of the neighbouring church rang out the hour of twelve, when he would go soberly and gratefully to bed. On this night, however, as soon as the cloth was taken away, he took up a candle and went into his business-room. There he opened his safe, took from the most private part of it a document endorsed on the envelope as Dr. Jekyll’s Will, and sat down with a clouded brow to study its contents. The will was holograph, for Mr. Utterson, though he took charge of it now that it was made, had refused to lend the least assistance in the making of it; it provided not only that, in case of the decease of Henry Jekyll, M.D., D.C.L., LL.D., F.R.S., etc., all his possessions were to pass into the hands of his “friend and benefactor Edward Hyde," but that in case of Dr. Jekyll’s “disappearance or unexplained absence for any period exceeding three calendar months,” the said Edward Hyde should step into the said Henry Jekyll’s shoes without further delay and free from any burthen or obligation, beyond the payment of a few small sums to the members of the doctor’s household. This document had long been the lawyer’s eyesore. It offended him both as a lawyer and as a lover of the sane and customary sides of life, to whom the fanciful was the immodest. And hitherto it was his ignorance of Mr. Hyde that had swelled his indignation; now, by a sudden turn, it was his knowledge. It was already bad enough when the name was but a name of which he could learn no more. It was worse when it began to be clothed upon with detestable attributes; and out of the shifting, insubstantial mists that had so long baffled his eye, there leaped up the sudden, definite presentment of a fiend.

“I thought it was madness,” he said, as he replaced the obnoxious paper in the safe, “and now I begin to fear it is disgrace.”

With that he blew out his candle, put on a great-coat, and set forth in the direction of Cavendish Square, that citadel of medicine, where his friend, the great Dr. Lanyon, had his house and received his crowding patients. “If any one knows, it will be Lanyon,” he had thought.

The solemn butler knew and welcomed him; he was subjected to no stage of delay, but ushered direct from the door to the dining-room where Dr. Lanyon sat alone over his wine. This was a hearty, healthy, dapper, red-faced gentleman, with a shock of hair prematurely white, and a boisterous and decided manner. At sight of Mr. Utterson, he sprang up from his chair and welcomed him with both hands. The geniality, as was the way of the man, was somewhat theatrical to the eye; but it reposed on genuine feeling. For these two were old friends, old mates both at school and college, both thorough respecters of themselves and of each other, and, what does not always follow, men who thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company.

After a little rambling talk, the lawyer led up to the subject which so disagreeably pre-occupied his mind.

“I suppose, Lanyon,” said he “you and I must be the two oldest friends that Henry Jekyll has?”

“I wish the friends were younger,” chuckled Dr. Lanyon. “But I suppose we are. And what of that? I see little of him now.”

Indeed?” said Utterson. “I thought you had a bond of common interest.”

“We had,” was the reply. “But it is more than ten years since Henry Jekyll became too fanciful for me. He began to go wrong, wrong in mind; and though of course I continue to take an interest in him for old sake’s sake, as they say, I see and I have seen devilish little of the man. Such unscientific balderdash,” added the doctor, flushing suddenly purple, “would have estranged Damon and Pythias.”

This little spirit of temper was somewhat of a relief to Mr. Utterson. “They have only differed on some point of science,” he thought; and being a man of no scientific passions (except in the matter of conveyancing), he even added: “It is nothing worse than that!” He gave his friend a few seconds to recover his composure, and then approached the question he had come to put. “Did you ever come across a protege of his — one Hyde?” he asked.

“Hyde?” repeated Lanyon. “No. Never heard of him. Since my time.”

That was the amount of information that the lawyer carried back with him to the great, dark bed on which he tossed to and fro, until the small hours of the morning began to grow large. It was a night of little ease to his toiling mind, toiling in mere darkness and besieged by questions.

Six o ’clock struck on the bells of the church that was so conveniently near to Mr. Utterson’s dwelling, and still he was digging at the problem. Hitherto it had touched him on the intellectual side alone; but now his imagination also was engaged, or rather enslaved; and as he lay and tossed in the gross darkness of the night and the curtained room, Mr. Enfield’s tale went by before his mind in a scroll of lighted pictures. He would be aware of the great field of lamps of a nocturnal city; then of the figure of a man walking swiftly; then of a child running from the doctor’s; and then these met, and that human Juggernaut trod the child down and passed on regardless of her screams. Or else he would see a room in a rich house, where his friend lay asleep, dreaming and smiling at his dreams; and then the door of that room would be opened, the curtains of the bed plucked apart, the sleeper recalled, and lo! there would stand by his side a figure to whom power was given, and even at that dead hour, he must rise and do its bidding. The figure in these two phases haunted the lawyer all night; and if at any time he dozed over, it was but to see it glide more stealthily through sleeping houses, or move the more swiftly and still the more swiftly, even to dizziness, through wider labyrinths of lamplighted city, and at every street-corner crush a child and leave her screaming. And still the figure had no face by which he might know it; even in his dreams, it had no face, or one that baffled him and melted before his eyes; and thus it was that there sprang up and grew apace in the lawyer’s mind a singularly strong, almost an inordinate, curiosity to behold the features of the real Mr. Hyde. If he could but once set eyes on him, he thought the mystery would lighten and perhaps roll altogether away, as was the habit of mysterious things when well examined. He might see a reason for his friend’s strange preference or bondage (call it which you please) and even for the startling clause of the will. At least it would be a face worth seeing: the face of a man who was without bowels of mercy: a face which had but to show itself to raise up, in the mind of the unimpressionable Enfield, a spirit of enduring hatred.

From that time forward, Mr. Utterson began to haunt the door in the by-street of shops. In the morning before office hours, at noon when business was plenty, and time scarce, at night under the face of the fogged city moon, by all lights and at all hours of solitude or concourse, the lawyer was to be found on his chosen post.

“If he be Mr. Hyde,” he had thought, “I shall be Mr. Seek.”

And at last his patience was rewarded. It was a fine dry night; frost in the air; the streets as clean as a ballroom floor; the lamps, unshaken, by any wind, drawing a regular pattern of light and shadow. By ten o’clock, when the shops were closed, the by-street was very solitary and, in spite of the low growl of London from all round, very silent. Small sounds carried far; domestic sounds out of the houses were clearly audible on either side of the roadway; and the rumour of the approach of any passenger preceded him by a long time. Mr. Utterson had been some minutes at his post, when he was aware of an odd, light footstep drawing near. In the course of his nightly patrols, he had long grown accustomed to the quaint effect with which the footfalls of a single person, while he is still a great way off, suddenly spring out distinct from the vast hum and clatter of the city. Yet his attention had never before been so sharply and decisively arrested; and it was with a strong, superstitious prevision of success that he withdrew into the entry of the court.

The steps drew swiftly nearer, and swelled out suddenly louder as they turned the end of the street. The lawyer, looking forth from the entry, could soon see what manner of man he had to deal with. He was small and very plainly dressed, and the look of him, even at that distance, went somehow strongly against the watcher’s inclination. But he made straight for the door, crossing the roadway to save time; and as he came, he drew a key from his pocket like one approaching home.

Mr. Utterson stepped out and touched him on the shoulder as he passed.” Mr. Hyde, I think?”

Mr. Hyde shrank back with a hissing intake of the breath. But his fear was only momentary; and though he did not look the lawyer in the face, he answered coolly enough: “That is my name. What do you want?”

“I see you are going in,” returned the lawyer. “I am an old friend of Dr. Jekyll’s — Mr. Utterson of Gaunt Street — you must have heard my name; and meeting you so conveniently, I thought you might admit me.”

“You will not find Dr. Jekyll; he is from home,” replied Mr. Hyde, blowing in the key. And then suddenly, but still without looking up, “How did you know me?” he asked.

“On your side,” said Mr. Utterson, “will you do me a favour?”

“With pleasure,” replied the other. “What shall it be?”

“Will you let me see your face?” asked the lawyer.

Mr. Hyde appeared to hesitate, and then, as if upon some sudden reflection, fronted about with an air of defiance; and the pair stared at each other pretty fixedly for a few seconds. “Now I shall know you again,” said Mr. Utterson.” It may be useful.”

“Yes,” returned Mr. Hyde, “it is as well we have, met; and a propos, you should have my address.” And he gave a number of a street in Soho.

“Good God!” thought Mr. Utterson,” can he, too, have been thinking of the will?” But he kept his feelings to himself and only grunted in acknowledgment of the address.

“And now,” said the other, “how did you know me?”

“By description,” was the reply.

“Whose description?”

“We have common friends, said Mr. Utterson.

“Common friends?” echoed Mr. Hyde, a little hoarsely.” Who are they?”

“Jekyll, for instance,” said the lawyer.

“He never told you,” cried Mr. Hyde, with a flush of anger.” I did not think you would have lied.”

“Come,” said Mr. Utterson, “that is not fitting language.”

The other snarled aloud into a savage laugh; and the next moment, with extraordinary quickness, he had unlocked the door and disappeared into the house.

The lawyer stood a while when Mr. Hyde had left him, the picture of disquietude. Then he began slowly to mount the street, pausing every step or two and putting his hand to his brow like a man in mental perplexity. The problem he was thus debating as he walked, was one of a class that is rarely solved. Mr. Hyde was pale and dwarfish, he gave an impression of deformity without any nameable malformation, he had a displeasing smile, he had borne himself to the lawyer with a sort of murderous mixture of timidity and boldness, and he spoke with a husky, whispering and somewhat broken voice; all these were points against him, but not all of these together could explain the hitherto unknown disgust, loathing, and fear with which Mr. Utterson regarded him. “There must be something else,” said the perplexed gentleman. “There is something more, if I could find a name for it. God bless me, the man seems hardly human! Something troglodytic, shall we say? or can it be the old story of Dr. Fell? or Is it the mere radiance of a foul soul that thus transpires through, and transfigures, its clay continent? The last, I think; for, O my poor old Harry Jekyll, if ever I read Satan’s signature upon a face, it Is on that of your new friend.”

Round the corner from the by-street, there was a square of ancient, handsome houses, now for the most part decayed from their high estate and let in flats and chambers to all sorts and conditions of men: map-engravers, architects, shady lawyers, and the agents of obscure enterprises. One house, however, second from the corner, was still occupied entire; and at the door of this, which wore a great air of wealth and comfort, though it was now plunged in darkness except for the fan-light, Mr. Utterson stopped and knocked. A well-dressed, elderly servant opened the door.

Is Dr. Jekyll at home, Poole?” asked the lawyer.

“I will see, Mr. Utterson,” said Poole, admitting the visitor, as he spoke, into a large, low-roofed, comfortable hall, paved with flags, warmed (after the fashion of a country house) by a bright, open fire, and furnished with costly cabinets of oak. “Will you wait here by the fire, sir? or shall I give you a light in the dining room?”

“Here, thank you,” said the lawyer, and he drew near and leaned on the tall fender. This hall, in which he was now left alone, was a pet fancy of his friend the doctor’s; and Utterson himself was wont to speak of it as the pleasantest room in London. But to-night there was a shudder in his blood; the face of Hyde sat heavy on his memory; he felt (what was rare with him) a nausea and distaste of life; and in the gloom of his spirits, he seemed to read a menace in the flickering of the firelight on the polished cabinets and the uneasy starting of the shadow on the roof. He was ashamed of his relief, when Poole presently returned to announce that Dr. Jekyll was gone out.

“I saw Mr. Hyde go in by the old dissecting-room door, Poole,” he said. “Is that right, when Dr. Jekyll is from home?”

“Quite right, Mr. Utterson, sir,” replied the servant. “Mr. Hyde has a key.”

“Your master seems to repose a great deal of trust in that young man, Poole,” resumed the other musingly.

“Yes, sir, he do indeed,” said Poole. “We have all orders to obey him.”

“I do not think I ever met Mr. Hyde?” asked Utterson.

O, dear no, sir. He never dines here,” replied the butler. “Indeed we see very little of him on this side of the house; he mostly comes and goes by the laboratory.”

“Well, good-night, Poole.”

“Good-night, Mr. Utterson.” And the lawyer set out homeward with a very heavy heart.” Poor Harry Jekyll,” he thought, “my mind misgives me he is in deep waters! He was wild when he was young; a long while ago to be sure; but in the law of God, there is no statute of limitations. Ay, it must be that; the ghost of some old sin, the cancer of some concealed disgrace: punishment coming, PEDE CLAUDO, years after memory has forgotten and self-love condoned the fault.” And the lawyer, scared by the thought, brooded a while on his own past, groping in all the corners of memory, lest by chance some Jack-in-the-Box of an old iniquity should leap to light there. His past was fairly blameless; few men could read the rolls of their life with less apprehension; yet he was humbled to the dust by the many ill things he had done, and raised up again into a sober and fearful gratitude by the many that he had come so near to doing, yet avoided. And then by a return on his former subject, he conceived a spark of hope. “This Master Hyde, if he were studied,” thought he, “must have secrets of his own; black secrets, by the look of him; secrets compared to which poor Jekyll’s worst would be like sunshine. Things cannot continue as they are. It turns me cold to think of this creature stealing like a thief to Harry’s bedside; poor Harry, what a wakening! And the danger of it; for if this Hyde suspects the existence of the will, he may grow impatient to inherit. Ay, I must put my shoulder to the wheel if Jekyll will but let me,” he added, “if Jekyll will only let me.” For once more he saw before his mind’s eye, as clear as a transparency, the strange clauses of the will.