#he might be gone for Ray despite his protest but he has no affection for top

[heretherebedork]

Sand sees Top and he knows what to do.

[agentnolastname]

Tell the World

Pairing: Raleigh Carrera x Cadence Dorian (Platinum)

Prompt: Image

for: @choicesseptemberchallenge20 • Day 25

Note: Hello! This is my first time joining a fic fest and my first time writing, too. It's not the best but I hope you'll enjoy it. Thank you!

---

Cadence wakes up as the rays of sun hit her eyes. She stirs and tightens her arms around the waist of the man beside him, unwilling to move and get the day started. It hasn't even been 24 hours since the last time she went on stage and she feels so tired. She groans as her phone buzzed once again making the latter chuckle from behind her and stroke her hair.

"Babe, you have to wake up. Your phone has been going off since earlier." Raleigh pats her back lightly as he inched himself away from her only to put a kiss on her forehead and on the tip of his nose. Cadence waits for his lips to land on hers yet she didn't feel it. So he opened her eyes and pouts only to see her boyfriend grining down at her. "Thought it's gonna wake you up and it did. Good morning, hermosa. Let's move now, shall we?" He says finally reaching to let their lips meet.

Cadence groans and hides her head on his neck once again.

"Can't we stay for another hour?" She protested and let herself nuzzle the latter's neck. Raleigh just stays still as she does, holding her tighter.

"You know just how much I'd love that but I bet Fiona would disagree." Just then, her phone buzzed once again. Fiona's caller ID appearing on her screen. Raleigh takes it and answers the call.

"Hey, Fiona." He answers brightly. His husky voice long gone. Cadence chuckles as Raleigh continues bickering with her publicist on the phone.

It was after a few minutes when Raleigh sets the phone down on the night stand that he rolls them over, he ends up hovering on top of her.

"My manager talked with Fiona and it's bad news." Raleigh smirks as he lowers himself to trace kisses on Cadence's neck. She giggles at the sudden contact, lulling her head back to give his boyfriend more access.

"How bad?" Cadence asked him as he goes to kiss her on the lips once again.

"Let's just say, a pap saw me walking into your house last night." Cadence hums and pushed him to sit. She moves to straddle him.

"That's not so bad." Cadence says unfazed, trailing Raleigh's neck and chest with her fingers as she follows them with little kisses. The man held her on the waist pulling her impossibly close.

"Except they saw me carrying a box of condoms." Just like a lightning, Cadence's expression changed as she moved away from Raleigh's body.

"They did what?!" She asked, obivously surprised. Well who wouldn't be? The press will eat this issue. Especially when both of them are coming out with an album next month. Especially when they allegedly broke up three weeks ago.

"They saw me walking into your house with a box of condoms in hand." Raleigh chuckles and pulls her back to him. He leans his forehead against hers and smiles. "It isn't that bad, babe."

"Raleigh, we broke up three weeks ago." Cadence says emphasizing the word broke up as if it'll knock some sense into him.

"That's what they know." Raleigh shrugs, Cadence hits his shoulder lightly and stands up. Grabbing clean towels and heading into the shower. "Oh in the shower? Again?"

"You're not joining me for shower today, Mr.Carrera!" Cadence says out loud just as he was about to enter. He laughs and moves away going back to bed as he waits for her to finish.

This will be a long day.

---

They arrived at Overknight early since they did not make any stops today, Cadence did not even speak to him during the whole ride. She just leaned on his shoulders and not say anything. Not that Raleigh would wish for anything else though. Holding Cadence in his arms is more than enough, but surely, being able to tell the world that she is a big part of his life rather than a phase would be great. They walked into the studio hand in hand. Cadence stayed quiet despite Raleigh's efforts to open up a conversation one after another. They sat side by side into a couch in front of Fiona and Raleigh's publicist, Edward.

"I said that you two should be careful." It was the first thing they heard from the two. Cadence's heart beats fast on her chest. Unable to make herself feel at ease because of the possible scenarios this event might lead up to.

She doesn't get nervous often, but then this might affect both of their careers, and she wouldn't like it if this will harm Raleigh's career in any way. She looks down as the publicists talks about the issue, thinking of ways to avoid further controversies.

"If we're talking about publicity then this issue is definitely doing great in terms of exposure. America loved their relationship, don't you think?" Edward scrolls through twitter showing that the netizens mostly had positivie reactions regarding this.

Some even thinks it's funny how their relationship is an open secret the company is trying to hide. Cadence plays with her hands, still unable of what to make of it. Suddenly, Raleigh's hand covered hers and gives it a little squeeze. When she looks at him, she saw Raleigh grinning at her. So she smiles, too.

They continued discussing with their publicists unable to come up with a definite solution, but with the current position of the issue, it seems like there's no way that it'll worsen. After an hour, Fiona decided that it was enough talk for a day.

"I can see that the issue has no significant effect on your standings. I'll leave it up to you both."

Just like that they were dismissed. They said their goodbyes and head home right after.

---

Contrary to what Raleigh had initially thought, today went by fast. They dozed off to sleep right after they reached home and they played a couple of movies during the afternoon, making out a few times in between. Yet, they still haven't decided on what they should do next.

It was night and Cadence is almost done cooking for dinner. Raleigh, on the other hand, is on the kitchen bar stool when he decided to bring the topic up.

"I want to go public." He says randomly as he takes in the sight of his girlfriend moving across the kitchen. Looking a lot more beautiful wearing her messy bun and without make ups on.

This is the kind of sight he would kill to see everyday. The kind of moment he would like to boast around the world. He's the lucky man who gets to eat Cadence Dorian's cooking every day, what's there not to be smug about? He chuckles when he realized Cadence still hasn't moved since he says it. He stands up and goes behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning down on her shoulder.

"I want to tell the world that we own each other, Cadence." He says, placing a soft kiss on her exposed shoulder. Cadence turns the stove off as she looks over her shoulder to reach his lips for a kiss.

"What if some of your fans become mad again?" She says, now leaning her head into Raleigh's chest.

"They're not fans if they act like that. Besides, I don't intend on having fans forever. On the other hand..." he trails off and perched a kiss on top of her head. "... I plan to stick with you from now on."

Cadence chuckles at this, turning around and dragging Raleigh back into the living room where she pushed her boyfriend into the couch and she sits on his lap. Raleigh's arms are wrapped into her in seconds.

"Is this real? Raleigh Carrera being cheesy? Sounds like headlines to me." She teased as she loops her arms around Raleigh's neck.

"Make it a headline then, I don't care." He says nuzzling her neck. "If that's how you want to go public then so be it. Good way, too, since they'll realize I probably plan on marrying you."

"And do you?"

"Of course, hermosa." He chuckles placing yet another kiss on her neck. Cadence giggles and hugs him tighter.

"I love you."

"I love you more, Cadence."

"You go and tell the world how crazy you are for me then."

Raleigh placed one more kiss before the latter stood up and heads back into the kitchen. He follows after a few seconds hastily snapping and image of his girlfriend. Then he opens twitter and types, attaching the picture he just took, clicking on the tweet button once he's done.

He chuckles as their friends replied one by one. The people went crazy, as their names enter the worldwide trends in just a few minutes. Cadence confusedly looked at him as she unlocks her phone only to see his tweet.

"God, why is my boyfriend like this?" She frowns and placed their food in front of Raleigh who is still busy scrolling through the tweets. Cadence sits beside him and sends a tweet.

"What's this? You actually don't mean..." Raleigh trails off and shakes his head, moving closer to Cadence. "Nah, you won't break up with me." He says sneaking his arms around her waist immediately.

"Oh, who told you?" Cadence raises her eyebrows, bringing her tweet to life as he teased his boyfriend. Yet, Raleigh didn't budge. He still wears his confident smirk, inching himself closer to her. He leans his head on Cadence.

"You did."

They both laughed as they started eating. Finally relieved that they wouldn't be sneaking out for a date tomorrow, or the next few days, or ever. They happily ate dinner. Glad that they can finally date freely now.

---

EXTRA:

[healthtech102]

After Hours Medical Advice

As you know, and certain have in mind every day, nursing is a career that carries a huge amount of duty. Be sure to guard your self, especially when asked for advice in an informal setting.

No, Uncle Bob has cornered you within the hallway after Christmas dinner. In trying back, I realize that not as soon as during this experience did anyone INVITE me into a discussion of what could be best for my mother. 

She spent two nights in the hospital beneath remark, with IV hydration. Now, admittedly, she has varying levels of dementia even on a good day, but she reached the point of getting severe hallucinations and paranoia.

Having a whole remedy group looking out for you and preparing a discharge plan that is going to set you up for achievement. 90 days of therapy allows for the affected person to work via many of the above mentioned considerations and we treat it using an American Society of Addiction Medicine dimensional assessment. 

The general size of keep in remedy that is really helpful is often ninety days. Health safety and prevention is the key to staying healthy for the long haul. From easy blood checks and vaccines now to mammograms and colonoscopies later, your doctor might help you turn into the healthiest model of you.

Although it might appear to be a problem now, one hour in a physician’s workplace now can add years of health to your life. When we have well being questions and considerations, it’s easy to show to good ol’ WebMD for answers. And even though the Internet can be a great well being useful resource, reading about your health points online can usually lead to pointless fear and fear. Remember, you might be unique and deserve a customized evaluation. 

So instead of browsing the web for a generic, or even worse, incorrect answer, talk to a doctor in particular person to get the total image—and to cease dropping sleep over your questions (see reason number 5!). While I’ll be the primary to confess that a trip to the gynecologist’s workplace isn’t my favourite way to spend a day, annual pelvic exams are a important a part of any girl’s preventative health care.

Will we have to battle the battle of keyword voids at a grassroots degree, wrangling with the asymmetry of passion by tapping folks to search out these voids and create counter-content material? Do we need to arrange counter-GoFundMe campaigns to pay for ad campaigns that promote real science?

Do not rely on a form’s basic remark that “risks of leaving were discussed with the patient,” he says. That doesn't negate the value of those documents, however they should not be the sum complete of the hospital’s evidence displaying efforts to provide care. 

First, the hospital must reconcile any excellent diagnostics, as a result of if any checks had been ordered, the hospital is still liable for checking the results to make certain nothing critical was identified, he says.

Despite our protests, she saved making an attempt to pull out the IV fluid line from her arm and the gizmo , and tugged at her gown. The paper-thin pores and skin on her arms was black and blue from a number of blood attracts. Successful treatment begins with an correct diagnosis, and our experts take the time to get it right. 

A team of specialists will listen to your needs and evaluate your condition from each angle to make the very best plan for you. Every year, more than one million individuals come to Mayo Clinic for care.

If witnessed by RN, have them doc the time the patient left in addition to the standing of their IV. If an IV is still in place, first try to contact the affected person after which their emergency contact.

From all the information you've gathered from the Internet and your research, it's time for you to go to your physician with this data and get to know the details. It is important to decide on doctors with whom you're feeling snug.

The level of questioning I got in response to my advice was almost insulting at times. In my head, I advised these callers, “If you trusted me sufficient to name me together with your ailment, why aren’t you trusting my opinion?

Our highly specialized experts are deeply skilled in treating rare and complex circumstances. I actually have been put in this identical position so many times, that I lastly, like you, needed to tell them to contact their supplier or go to the ER/Urgent Care. 

I owned a small household follow clinic and some would actually present up there quite than going to their PCP or ER. I do perceive how onerous it is to tell them to go to their PCP’s, but I believe that is the proper motion. We love our family and pals and do not need to see them ill or in ache, however we additionally want them to obtain goal care.

 I actually have been practicing as a Nurse and APP for over 15 years now and have found, for me, robust boundaries come with time. You don’t have a look at them as patients, but as whomever they are to you.

YOUR ability to want them to be OK and not be as goal as you'd be with a affected person. Another disagreeable facet effect of trying to assist was the pushback I received.

doctor certification, from the Membership of the Royal College of General Practitioners, and checked performance towards historic outcomes from an independent 2015 examine that evaluated several symptom checkers. symptom checker seems as a chatbot that users can work together with by way of an app or web site. When the consumer varieties out their primary symptoms as a quick sentence or phrase, the symptom checker asks questions about possible related signs.

According to the NIH, 30-40% of Americans report having occasional symptoms of insomnia and 10-15% report persistent issue sleeping—with ladies representing nearly all of those affected. 

While you could assume that a poor night’s sleep simply means you’ll need an extra cup of espresso in the morning, chronic sleep problems can actually improve the lengthy-time period threat of hypertension, melancholy, and diabetes.  treatment medical disclaimer A physician’s visit can help identify attainable underlying causes for your restless nights—and get you the help you should truly get some zzzs.

 Does your family have a history of diabetes, excessive cholesterol, heart disease, cancer, or another significant illness? If so, you could be at risk for these conditions, too—and there are likely issues you can do to decrease that danger. A doctor may help you find out and work with you to determine which screening exams you want.

"Casual" could exit the window, if the individual you advise feels you have triggered them harm; together with your recommendation or deeds. State legal guidelines differ greatly and litigation can truly change the legal guidelines as time passes. So as a nursing skilled, even if your action or advice was justifiable, there isn't a safety from being sued . You might prevail and be discovered "not liable" if sued, but by then you'll have gone by way of plenty of wasted time and pointless stress.

They might help detect vaginal infections, together with sexually transmitted ailments , and should often embody a PAP smear for cervical cancer screening. Although you might have heard about some current adjustments to screening recommendations, the U.S. Preventative Services Task Force nonetheless wants women between the ages of 21 to 65 to get a Papanicolaou test (a.k.a. PAP smear) a minimum of each three years (or more incessantly when you’ve ever had abnormal results).

The lawsuit claimed that Dr M had failed to recognize the patient’s skull fracture and improperly released him when he was intoxicated, and that the delay in treating the fracture was attributable for approximately half of the affected person’s neurological deficits. Later that day, a hospital radiologist learn the affected person’s x-ray and famous a markedly depressed left parietal cranium fracture.

Or will the tech platforms where that is occuring start to grasp that giving legitimacy to health misinformation by way of high search and social rankings is profoundly dangerous? Getting excessive-quality, fact-based well being information shouldn’t be dependent on the result of SEO video games, or on who has extra assets for pay-to-play content promotion. few hours of a newborn’s life, medical doctors administer a vitamin K shot. 

This is as a result of infants are born with out sufficient of the vitamin, and the child wants a boost to prevent any potential bleeding. The documentation also should detail the discussion with the affected person regarding potential risks from leaving AMA, Merkrebs says.

The reasons for refusing additionally may be wide-ranging, every little thing from worries about the price to concern about ache or dying, or dislike of being touched, photographs, surgical procedure, or drugs. Once a affected person is examined beyond triage and exams are ordered, a departure at that time could be classified as left without completing remedy , Klauer notes.

Patients leaving the emergency room too soon “are intentionally putting themselves at extra danger for morbidity and even mortality,” Polevoi stated — a degree echoed by other physicians. Ko stated the column will proceed as long as individuals want to study totally different health subjects. Connect with a medical skilled everytime you need one, 24/7, for customized recommendation and prescription, if deemed necessary.

At the end, the symptom checker identifies possible causes and recommends a course of action, similar to reserving a video consultation with a human physician or going to a hospital. The patient and his family consulted with a plaintiff’s attorney who agreed to take the case. Dr M was shocked to find out that he was being sued for medical malpractice.

Within each of these kinds of AMA, there may be further breakdowns when it comes to why the person is leaving, he notes. The affected person might not want any care of any type, or the refusal could also be extra limited — refusing the particular kind of care being provided, as an example, but still willing to be handled.

That's to not say all of the internet is unhealthy, it is okay to make use of Google for health questions when you use a credible supply and if it prompts you to go to your doctor should you could have considerations. Without limiting the generality of the foregoing, the Author makes no representations or warranties with respect to any Information offered or offered within or via the Site relating to treatment of medical circumstances, motion, or software of treatment. 

“When sufferers convey themselves into the ED, they are seen in about 5 minutes by a qualified registered nurse and, on common, are seen by a supplier within 30 minutes of arrival,” Thomas mentioned in a press release.

From 2012 to 2017, the variety of emergency room encounters in Fresno County elevated by nearly ninety five,000, or 37%. At Fresno’s Community Regional Medical Center, about 9% of ER encounters ended with a patient leaving too quickly, greater than 3 times the statewide fee.

If no success, contact the police non-emergently to aid in finding the affected person. In this situation, the patient has not but interacted with a doctor. There isn't much to do here as long as the provider by no means met the patient, if so, they might be in a different category. 

There are no known instances the place the ED, or ED Providers, have been sued and located to be at fault or responsible for an end result. We recognized people ages with International Classification of Diseases, 9thRevision prognosis codes for infective endocarditis within the National Inpatient Sample, a representative pattern of United States hospitalizations from January 2010 to September 2015. 

We plotted unadjusted quarter-year developments for AMA discharges and used multivariable logistic regression to establish elements associated with AMA discharge among IE hospitalizations, evaluating IDU-IE to non-IDU-IE.

The police were notified, and the patient was taken from jail back to the hospital. At the hospital, he was monitored for a number of hours and then taken to surgical procedure where the depressed fracture fragments have been elevated. However, Mr G ended up suffering a brain injury from the fracture which affected his cognitive talents, and which prevented him from with the ability to hold down a job. The police knowledgeable Dr M that the patient, a 24-yr old named Mr G, had been the perpetrator of an assault and in the process was hit within the head with a blunt object by a bystander. 

The police had been called, and found him mendacity on the street, clearly intoxicated and with a bloodied head. They took him to the ED, however Mr G was uncooperative and initially refused any treatment. When most individuals hear these words, they're whispered by an overcoated stranger on the bus or a counterfeit Prada peddler gesturing towards the trunk of a car.

[movedkagen]

it’s  always  snowing .

kenta  doesn’t  remember  the  last  time  he  saw  fresh  grass .  he’s  so  far  north ,  snow  is  a  near  constant  on  the  mountains ,  a  light  dusting  even  in  spring .  the  grass  is  prettier  in  the  warmer  months ,  but  with  less  clouds  in  the  sky  obstructing  the  sun ,  he  rarely  gets  to  see  them  in  full  bloom .  

it’s  snowing  today .  he  knows  that  today  is  a  day  where  fuyumi  may  be  a  little  weaker ,  may  be  a  little  sicker .  he’s  by  no  means  an  intelligent  man ,  but  he’s  become  fluent  in  the  study  of  his  only  neighbor .  when  it  was  snowy ,  cold ,  or  windy ,  she  would  become  plagued  by  coughing  fits .  work  would  be  harder  for  her .  the  pallor  in  her  cheeks  would  bloom  in  deep  pinks  and  reds ,  and  her  hands ,  frigid  and  almost  cyanotic  at  the  tips  of  her  fingers ,  would  tremble  as  they  concealed  the  spasming  of  her  lungs .

he  would  worry  about  her  immensely  during  those  times .  she  would  insist  she  was  fine ,  that  it  would  pass ,  but  kenta  understood  sickness   ---   he  knew  that  it  would  until  it  wouldn’t ,  that  every  coughing ��fit  brought  her  closer  to  her  last ,  and  then  she  would  be  gone  and  he  would  be  alone  again .

it  didn’t  seem  fair  to  him  ;  fuyumi  was ,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned ,  a  good  person .  she  was  kind ,  if  not  a  little  sad .  good ,  if  not  a  little  lonely .  she  made  wonderful  stews .  when  she  laughed ,  her  cheeks  would  always  tinge  with  rose  in  a  way  that  his  never  had ,  causing  spring  to  bloom  in  his  chest ,  and  her  laugh  . . .  it  was  lovelier  to  him  than  the  sound  of  birds  in  the  morning ,  lighter  than  the  evening  zephyrs  that  would  wake  him  from  sleep .  he’d  never  seen  someone  so  wonderful ,  and  while  she  was  the  first  human  he’d  ever  met ,  he  was  sure  she  was  the  most  breathtaking .  

taking  care  of  fuyumi  had  become  his  own  task  to  carry ;  losing  his  father  had  been  hard ,  but  if  the  world  had  her  in  it ,  it  was  still  good .  he  could  still  be  of  use  if  he  could  make  her  life  a  little  easier  ---  and  so  he  had .  without  being  asked  ---  and  more  often  against  her  own  protests  ---  kenta  had  made  it  his  personal  duty  to  care  for  her .

he’d  found  her  collapsed  after  chopping  firewood ,  so  he’d  ensured  she  never  had  to  chop  wood  again .  every  week ,  he  would  run  up  and  down  the  mountain  two  or  three  times  collecting  the  wood  he’d  gathered  and  storing  it  for  her .  when  he  noticed  how  hard  it  was  for  her  to  get  a  hold  of  meat ,  kenta  would  spend  his  nights  (  and  the  days  that  would  allow  it  )  hunting  pheasants  and  boars .  when  he  noticed  cleaning  them  would  take  her  hours ,  sometimes ,  he  would  come  with  them  decapitated ,  skinned ,  and  bled ,  and  then  he  would  insist  on  being  the  one  to  cut  them  into  pieces .  and  then  she  would  lie  to  him  ---  she  would  say  he  didn’t  have  to  do  any  of  those  things ,  that  she  had  no  way  of  repaying  him ,  but  every  time  he  would  come  down  the  mountain  he  would  be  greeted  with  a  smile  that  would  pay  him  in  full .  for  that  warmth ,  that  favor ,  he  was  certain  he’d  explore  the  mountains  a  hundred  times  over ,  combing  every  crevice  for  something  to  bring  home .  

kenta  knew  she’d  always  found  him  strange ,  in  that  regard .  she  claimed  no  man  ever  did  anything  like  that  for  free  ---  but  it  wasn’t  for  free .  the  warm  bowl  in  his  hands  and  the  company  she’d  offer  was  plenty  payment ,  she  just  never  realized  its  value .  even  when  he  tried  to  tell  her ,  she  would  insist  he  was  still  strange .  he  could  never  understand  why .  after  all ,  she  couldn’t  finish  most  of  her  chores  without  fighting  to  breathe  ---  why ,  then ,  was  an  allergy  to  wisteria  so  far - fetched ? it  made  his  throat  burn  so  badly  he  felt  as  though  he  couldn’t  breathe .  his  allergy  to  the  sun  was  admittedly  much  stranger  . . .  but  with  her  so  pale  her  fingers  were  almost  blue ,  she  ought  to  have  understood  that .  i’m  not  strange ,  he  would  think . i’m  just  different .  i’m  like  you .  that’s  why  we  need  to  stay  together .  because  if  we  don’t  take  care  of  each  other ,  who  else  will ?  

odd  as  she  found  him ,  she’d  accepted  him ,  nevertheless .  and  from  there ,  things  only  became  easier .  her  smile  only  became  warmer .  he’d  stopped  aching  for  morning  because  his  days  had  become  brighter  ---  he  preferred  the  soft  glow  of  her  eyes  to  the  rays  of  the  sun .  what  was  the  difference  between  a  spring  day  and  the  warmth  of  her  hearth ,  anyway ?  it  was  nothing  that  mattered  to  him .  

she  would  be  his  spring ;  her  smile  would  be  the  sun .  her  cheeks  would  be  the  flowers .  her  tears  would  be  his  rainfall .  her  voice ,  saying   “ welcome  home ”  would  replace  the  morning  songs  of  birds .  ladybugs  and  caterpillars  would  crawl  over  his  skin  in  the  form  of  her  fingers  on  his  arm ,  shyly  creeping  up  from  his  knuckles ,  fluttering  away  before  he  could  catch  them .  the  smell  of  sweet  nectar  rose  better  from  her  skin  after  a  bath  than  any  flowers  he’d  ever  encountered .  and  suddenly ,  despite  his  fear  of  the  sun ,  spring  was  his  favorite  season .  

the  snow  and  the  clouds  no  longer  offered  him  security ;  no ,  they  smothered  his  sun ,  his  flowers ,  his  rain ,  his  birdsongs ,  his  ladybugs  and  his  nectar .  he  hated  winter ,  for  that .  but  he  would  still  stay  by  her  side ,  on  cold  nights  like  these ,  because  he  would  not  allow  winter  to  hurt  her  anymore .

they’re  smoking  fish  when  the  coughing  starts .  already ,  he  counts  this  as  a  failure  ---  he  should  have  known  and  prepared ,  better ,  but  in  the  very  least  his  reaction  is  quick .   ❛  ---  fuyumi ?  i’m  sorry .  here ,  let  me  ---  ❜   he  rushes  to  open  the  window ,  then  grabs  a  cloth  and  stumbles  back  to  the  ground  to  press  it  to  her  nose  and  mouth  so  that  she  doesn’t  inhale  any  more  smoke  while  the  room  clears .  the  smoke  makes  his  eyes  water  a  little ,  but  he  doesn’t  worry  about  it  ---  this  is  his  fault ,  anyway .   ❛  i’m  awful  sorry ,  fuyumi .  it’s  all  my  fault .  i  was  just  thinkin ’  about  keepin’  you  warm .  ❜  fuyumi  looks  at  him  incredulously ,  and  he’s  sure  it’s  because  she’s  thinking  that  he’s  a  real  fool .  he  smiles  sheepishly ,  because  she’s  right .

the  smoke  fills  his  lungs  and  makes  his  chest  tight ,  but  he  knows  it  will  be  over  soon .  he  pulls  her  closer ,  presses  the  cloth  a  bit  tighter .  if  it’s  affecting  him ,  he’s  worried  about  what  it  will  do  to  her .  after  all ,  he’s  strong  ---  smoke  and  fire  almost  never  bothered  him .  this  smoke  was  worse .  he  knows  it  because  there’s  real  fear  in  fuyumi’s  eyes ,  now .  he  feels  it  making  his  eyes  water  profusely , all  of  a  sudden ,  the  tightness  in  his  chest  feeling  crushing .  it’s  getting  hard  for  him  to  breathe ;  all  he  worries  about ,  however ,  is  fuyumi .  he  has  to  protect  her .   ❛  . . .  i  think  we  should  go  outside .  hold  that  napkin  tight ,  now .  i’ll  carry  you .  ❜   he  reaches  under  her  knees  to  hoist  her  up ,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life ,  he  can’t .

he  falls  backwards .

suddenly ,  the  room  spins .  kenta  feels  ill ,  really  ill  ,  like  he  does  when  he’s  around  wisteria .  what  was  in  that  smoke  . . . ?  he  doesn’t  realize  the  smoke’s  been  cleared  for  a  while ,  now .  he  doesn’t  realize  that  fuyumi’s  stopped  coughing  since  the  beginning ,  and  a  surge  of  panic  washes  over  him  as  she lowers  the  cloth  from  her  nose ,  exposing  a  horrified ,  pale  face .   ❛  fuyumi  !  what’re  ya  doin’  ?! you’re  gonna  get  sick  ---   ❜  he  rushes  to  reach  for  the  napkin,  only  to  realize  the  hand  he’s  stretched  forth  is  half  missing .  

that’s  new .  where  are  his  fingers  going  ?  he  forgets  his  concern  for  a  moment  to  bring  the  hand  closer ,  watching  his  pinky  and  ring  finger  crumble  and  float  away ,  carried  by  a  gentle  breeze  out  of  the  open  window .  he  looks  back  at  fuyumi ,  and  realizes  the  horror  isn’t  from  the  smoke .  it’s  from  him .  something  is  happening  to  him .  something  . . .  something  is  happening .

he  doesn’t  speak  again  until  she  opens  her  mouth .  ❛  don’t  go  breathin’  it  in,  you  dummy  ---   ❜   but  he’s  interrupted  by  a  scream .  her  scream .  these  tears  aren’t  his  gentle  spring  showers  ---  they’re  a  tsunami ,  a  violent  wave  of  emotion  washing  over  her ,  and  he  feels  himself  go  dizzy  when  her  hands,  usually  so  shaky ,  grab  him  and  yank  him  closer .  when  did  she  go  and  get  so  strong ?  she’s  clutching  him  to  her  chest ,  begging  every  god  he’s  ever  heard  of  in  a  fit  of  sobs . no ,  no ,  not  him .  please ,  not  him .  he’s  not  supposed  to  die  ---  i  am !  don’t  take  him ,  please  !  not  him ,  she  repeats ,  over  and  over ,  and  while  her  tears  fall  onto  his  skin ,  he  finds  himself  even  more  confused  than  before .

wasn’t  he  the  one  protecting  her  ?

fuyumi  buries  her  face  into  his  chest ,  hysterics  seeming  to  have  no  end .  she  clings  to  him  with  such  tenacity  that  kenta  thinks  not  even  death  could  tear  him  from  her  arms .  but  with  every  second ,  he  feels  himself  get  weaker ,  feels  himself  wither  away .  his  legs  are  gone .  whatever  is  happening ,  it’s  happening  quickly .  he  doesn’t  know  the  what  or  how  or  why  ---  just  the  when ,  and  that  it  is  any  second ,  now .  ❛  fuyumi ---  come  on ,  look  at  me .  ❜

his  gentle  plea  wills  her  to  look  up ,  tears  streaming  down  her  face ,  eyes  and  cheeks  red  with  agony .  he  doesn’t  think  he’s  ever  seen  her  so  sad .  ❛  you’re  breakin’  my  heart ,  fuyumi .  i’m  gonna  be  okay .   ❜  kenta  watches  her  lip  tremble ,  knows  she’s  going  to  argue  with  him  ---  so  he  kisses  her .  he’s  always  wondered  what  that  would  feel  like .  he  never  did  because  he  was  afraid  she  would  push  him  away .

her  lips  are  soft  and  warm,  but  he  thinks  the  kiss  shouldn’t  be  this  wet .  he  pulls  away  gently ,  licking  her  tears  away  from  his  lips .  ❛  don’t  say  nothin’  about  me  not  knowing .  i’m  fine ,  fuyumi .  i  am .   ❜  he  reassures  her ,  then  lies  back  in  her  arms  and  smiles  a  little .  despite  being  a  little  weak ,  the  smile  is  genuine .  somehow ,  right  now ,  he  feels  happy .  giddy ,  even .  he  thinks  kissing  fuyumi  might  have  been  the  best  thing  in  the  world .  ❛  i  feel  really  good ,   ❜  kenta  promises ,  and  fuyumi’s  tears  still  fall ,  though  she’s  quieter ,  now .

she  looks  so  sad  ---  he’s  never  seen  her  quite  so  crestfallen ,  and  he  can’t  stand  that  he’s  causing  it .  ❛  don’t  look  like  that ,  okay  ? smile .  i’m  smilin’ .  see ?   ❜  and  she  hiccups ,  her  voice  small  and  broken : how  can  i  smile  right  now  ? ,  she  asks  and  he  hears  that  it  may  be  impossible .

❛  you  should  smile ,   ❜   he  says ,  his  voice  peaceful .  the  world  is  cruel , she  whispers ,  but  he  knows  she’s  coming  around .  fuyumi  just  needed  a  little  push .   ❛  ---  the  world  ain’t  cruel ,   ❜  kenta  replies .

❛  the  world  is  good .  it  has  you  in  it .  and  it  has  me ,  so  i  could  be  with  you .  ‘fore  that ,  you  n’  me  were  alone .  but  the  world  let  us  be  together .  i  can’t  think  of  anythin’  more  wonderful  than  that .  so  i’m  happy ,  fuyumi .  n’  you  should  be ,  too .   ❜  he  sounds  so  wise ,  but  then  he  pauses .  ❛  ---  sorry  i  kissed  you ,   ❜   he  adds ,  and  the  footnote  is  so  ridiculous ,  she  laughs .  it’s  a  sad  laugh ,  but  he’ll  take  it . it’s  okay , she  says . i’m  sorry  i  got  tears  in  it .

he  smiles  again .  ❛  it’s  alright .  i  shoulda  done  it  when  you  weren’t  cryin’ .   ❜  he  wants  to  reach  for  her ,  but  his  hands  are  gone ,  and  most  of  his  arms  are  following  suit .  ❛  smile ,  fuyumi .   ❜  he  urges .  he  feels  one  eye  is  gone ,  and  before  he  loses  the  next ,  he  just  wants  to  see  her  smile .  thankfully ,  she  does .  it’s  tear - stricken  and  weak ,  but  he  knows  it’s  genuine .  good .

i  love  you ,  kenta .

what  was  there  to  be  sad  about ?  he  felt  like  he  was  floating .  maybe  he  was .  he  grins  .  he  wants  to  say  it  back ,  but  . . .  time  is  not  his  ally .  gone  is  the  grin ,  gone  is  any  solid  piece  of  him  left .  he  wanted  to  tell  her   . . .  he  wanted  to  tell  her  so  badly .

he  hopes  she  knows .

[citrinekay]

a prompt!!: (established relationship) they're out on consult in the middle of bill's divorce. he's angry and lashes out at holden even though it's not his fault, holden's like 'i'm ging for a swim'. he comes back and they make up! hope this makes sense :)

Thank God it’s the weekend! I missed my babies. Thanks for the prompt 💕

The shimmering whorls and loops of the Galveston Pleasure Pier is a distant outline against the fading sunlight beyond the window of their hotel room. Five stories below, the fenced-in pool offers a cool escape from the summer time heat and the crushing gravity of stress. If they hadn’t been here on consult, Holden might have found this island retreat butting up against the cerulean stretch of the Gulf of Mexico relaxing, and he imagines most of the people staying in this hotel with them are enjoying their vacation. Maybe they know about the string of murders, dead bodies on sandy beaches, and missing posters, and maybe they don’t; some of them probably don’t care because it doesn’t affect them. 

It’s affecting Holden. The case, and every other outside force that had already been bearing down on them before they arrived in Texas. 

Stripping out of his suit, Holden changes into swim trunk and a t-shirt. He grabs both his room key from the desk, and slips out into the hallway. 

Bill’s room is only three doors down from Holden’s, making for a short trip. When he reaches the door, the sound of Bill’s voice reaching past the walls makes him stop with his hand around the knob. He can only make out bits and pieces of what sounds like a telephone conversation, but he instantly recognizes the strain and frustration spiking in Bill’s tone. 

Stomach sinking, Holden rests his forehead against the door. Some days, he wonders if he’d been incredibly reckless and irresponsible to strike up a relationship with his partner directly after returning from Atlanta, a case which had worn both of them thin, and just as Bill was beginning the process of divorcing his wife. The separation, despite being mutually anticipated, is complicated by Brian’s situation with the courts and CPS. He’d chosen perhaps the worst time to let his feelings for Bill run free, but Bill hadn’t stopped to consider the consequences either. 

When Bill’s agitated tone comes to a stop, Holden knocks softly on the door.

The knob turns and the door swings open. Bill stands on the other side of the threshold with a frustrated frown pinching his brow and his jaw clenched. His eyes soften when he sees Holden, but the tension in his shoulders lingers. 

“Hi.” Holden says, “I was going down to the pool. I thought you might want to join me.”

“I don’t know. I’m beat.” 

Holden nods, slowly. 

Their gazes hold, a quiet exchange traversing underneath the banal conversation. Holden leans against the doorjamb, one foot creeping across the carpet into Bill’s room. 

Bill leaves the door open, and turns to walk back into the room. 

Slipping inside, Holden pushes the door shut behind him. He watches Bill’s stiff movements as he lights a cigarette, and sits down on the bed with a weary sigh. The case files are open on the bedspread beside him. He bites the inside of his cheek. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.” Bill says, leaning over to tap ashes into the tray on the nightstand. “You know. Same shit, different day.”

“Was that Nancy?” 

Bill’s gaze cuts up to meet Holden’s. His eyes are tired, stress wearing nerves thin, leaving him reactionary and frayed. The ripple of tension in his jawline casts resistance across the space between them, igniting hesitation in Holden’s chest. He thinks of adding, “We don’t have to talk about it.” But, Bill clears his throat. 

“Yeah.” He says, shifting back against the pillows with a dour nod. “The custody hearing got pushed because I’m out of town.”

Holden licks his lips anxiously as he wanders closer to the bed. “She was mad?”

“The courts move slow enough as it is. I’m making it harder than it needs to be.” Bill says, waving sloppy quotation marks. 

“You want this to be over just as much as she does.” 

“You think I haven’t told her that?” Bill asks, scoffing in the back of his throat. “I can’t make her understand my job.”

Holden sits down on the edge of the bed, and tentatively puts a hand on Bill’s thigh. Peeking up at Bill, he quietly watches the frustration sift across Bill’s profile, exhaling steadily inside the cloud of smoke seeping past his lips. 

“Ah, fuck. I don’t know what it matters anyway.” Bill mutters, absently dropping his hand over Holden’s knuckles. “The judge is going to rule in her favor.”

“You’re not going to fight it, are you?”

“He’s my kid, too. Part of me feels like I should.”

“But, doesn’t this situation right now prove that she’s right? You’re out of town so much-”

Bill’s hand pulls away, and his gaze swings from the window to grip Holden’s with flaring anger. “Whose fucking side are you on?”

“Yours, of course.” 

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

“I’m just trying to think of it from a logical perspective, and-”

“I didn’t ask you to come over here and try to logically fix my divorce, okay?” Bill says, swinging his legs off the bed, and climbing to his feet. 

Holden presses his mouth shut as a wounded flinch expands in his chest. 

“There’s no fucking logic to it.” Bill continues, his hand jabbing angrily at empty air. “The whole situation is fucked up.”

“I … I’m sorry.” Holden whispers again, his cheeks growing warm. “I was just thinking of what’s best for Brian.”

“Oh, so now you know what’s best for my kid before I do?”

“No, I- I just … I’m wondering if anyone has asked what he wants in all of this.”

Bill’s nostrils flare as he crushes his cigarette purposefully in the ashtray. 

“Look,” He says, his voice dropping to a strained, flat tone. “None of this would be happening if those kids hadn’t murdered a fucking child - if Brian hadn’t stood there and watched it happen, and did nothing about it. He’s eight years old, Holden, and apparently, he doesn’t know right from wrong - and now, because of that, we’ve got Child Protective Services rooting through our life, and a therapist dissecting his every thought and action. Because of him, this divorce is going to take two times longer than it should have - so, no, he doesn’t get a fucking say in what happens. And neither do you.”

Holden glances away from Bill’s cutting glare, trying to suppress the burn of pain in his chest. Swallowing back the sting in the back of his throat, he stiffly rises from the edge of the bed. 

“I’m going out to the pool. I’m sorry for putting my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Bill’s hardened expression cracks with a sigh as Holden brushes past him, but he doesn’t turn around or try to stop Holden from leaving. He stands still, his fingers braced against the bridge of his nose as Holden marches across the room and out into the hallway.

As he rides the elevator down to ground level, Holden tries to smother the flinching pain in his chest. It’s understandable that Bill is upset. They spent all day talking to family and friends of the latest victim, an emotionally harrowing task by any seasoned detective’s standards, and then he had to come back to the hotel to argue with Nancy about hearings and their child’s precarious future instead of trying to unwind from the long, stressful day. Holden shouldn’t have intruded. He shouldn’t have offered his advice, or even his opinion. As Bill had so succinctly pointed out, it’s none of his business.

He’s still kicking himself when he pushes past the door toward the pool enclosure, and the muggy heat hits him in the face. Drenched, yellow sunlight washes across the pool, reflecting blinding rays across the water that offers a buoyant escape from his thoughts.. A young family of four splashes joyously in the shallow end, creating ripples that travel all the way over to the deep end where Holden has the section of the pool all to himself. Stripping out of his t-shirt, he draws in a deep breath, and dives in. 

The shock of the cold water immediately quashes the sweaty layer of heat gathering on his skin. Channeling the bursting hum of frustrated energy into his strokes, he swims cleanly, rapidly across to the other side. When he reaches the opposite wall, he rises up to get a breath of air for only a moment before pushing off into the next lap. 

As his body cuts through the water, he focuses on controlling his breathing and the rhythm of his arms and legs propelling his momentum. He lets the fire in his chest burn, lets it fuel him. After ten laps, he clings to the edge of the pool with gasping lungs and wet cheeks, but he isn’t crying. The adrenaline-laced shudder in his limbs feels good, and it masks the lingering frustration simmering in his chest. 

After less than three minutes of rest, he launches away from the wall again. 

This round of laps is slower as his energy burns lower, his tired body protesting after a long day on little sleep, but he keeps pushing himself until his muscles are trembling, until the sharp edge of wounded pride and hurt feelings abates into a sickly knot in the pit of his stomach. When he can’t make one more stroke through the water, he rolls onto his back to float in the center of the pool with his gaze turned up toward the open dome of the sky. 

While he watches the sunset unfold in glorious pinks and purples, the hum of adrenaline fades and his body cools in the water. He thinks of going back inside, but he has no idea if Bill will still be angry, especially when he has a justified right to be; and so, he stays in the water as the colors elongate, oversaturate, melt, and fade.The light is almost entirely gone from the sky, and he’s shivering from deep in his belly when movement at the edge of the pool draws his gaze. 

The water splashes quietly, breaking the utter silence, as Holden rolls off his back and treads water. 

Bill stands at the edge of the pool, holding a six pack of beer at his side. His eyes are shielded by his sunglasses, but the quietly extended olive branch is clear. 

They share a long, silent gaze while a breeze comes in from the gulf, blowing warm, night air across the strained distance between them. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Holden swims over to the edge of the pool. 

“Is one of those for me?” He asks, nodding at the beer. 

“No. Three of them are.”

“Okay. That seems fair.”

Bill’s mouth tugs ruefully as he bends down to extend his hand to Holden. 

Grabbing onto it, Holden pushes off the lip of the pool surround while Bill hoists him up out of the water. He crawls onto the sun-warmed cement, his body shivering as cooled air strikes his bare, wet skin. 

Bill sets the six-pack down on one of the plastic lounge chairs, and snags Holden’s towel. He tosses it to him, and Holden catches it mid-air. 

Wrapping the towel around his shoulders, Holden watches quietly as Bill sits down on the lounge chair, and cracks two of the beers open. He tries to gauge Bill’s frustration, but his silence means nothing - he’s a pro at the cold shoulder. 

Bill nods for Holden to join him. “You want your half or not?”

Holden shuffles over to the other lounge chair, and takes the offered beer. Leaning back, he takes a slow sip of the beer, and studies Bill’s profile. 

In the dying light, Bill’s mouth is damp from the beer, and his jaw is a tempered line of frustration. He pulls his cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, and lights one. The motions are familiar, his hands recognizable, his mouth and nose and sunglass-shielded eyes known to Holden, but he doesn’t understand this space between them, this friction. It’s new and unwieldy, a stretch of landmines he isn’t sure how to navigate. 

“Do you ever think we made a mistake?” Holden asks, sinking lower against the lounge chair with the towel tucked against his chin. 

“With what?” Bill asks, not looking over at him. “Sleeping together?”

“I was going to say ‘having a relationship’.”

Bill sighs, softly. “Yeah.”

“Maybe we should have waited until the divorce was over.”

Bill laughs, a small, wry chuckle that draws Holden’s gaze over and a frown to his brow. 

“What?” 

“You can’t approach everything from an analytical perspective.” Bill says, taking a drag of his cigarette. He tilts his head back to exhale smoke toward the open, dusky sky. “I couldn’t have made myself wait any longer even if I tried.”

Holden purses his mouth against an unbidden smile.

“Fuck,” Bill mutters, shaking his head. “I wanted you so bad, and now-”

“Now what?”

Bill takes his sunglasses off, turning to cast Holden a somber gaze. He tucks his beer in his lap, and reaches over to touch Holden’s knuckles. 

“Now, I’m … I’m trying to ruin it.” 

“You’re not. You were upset, understandably so.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“And I shouldn’t have acted like I know more about your situation than you do. I’m fine with just forgetting about it and moving on.”

“That’s the problem.” Bill says, swinging his legs over the side of the chair to face Holden completely. “I’ve already made that mistake - a million times.”

Holden purses his lips as Bill’s fingers curl tighter around his fingers. His chest tightens, a quiet flood of emotion wanting to break free. He’s good at repressing his feelings and leaving them to rot deep in his chest. That’s how he prefers it, and he wants to beg Bill not to make them face this - the raw honesty, the vulnerability that could undermine his entire emotional structure. 

“I’m sorry.” Bill says, quietly. 

Holden draws in a shuddering breath. “It’s okay; I’m already over it. Do you want to go inside? We could go back to your room or mine-”

“Holden.” 

“What?” 

“I’m serious.” Bill says, the corners of his eyes pinching with worry. “The divorce is far from over. There’s a chance today is going to repeat for months. If you don’t want to go through that, I understand.”

“What are you saying?”

“Well, you admitted it yourself - this could have been a mistake.”

Holden pulls his hand away from Bill’s, fresh anger of a different sort surging through his chest. He rises to his feet, clutching the towel closed at his chest. 

“No.” He says, sharply.

Bill squints up at him. “No?”

“No. I am not falling for that.”

“Falling for what?”

“You, manipulating me into breaking up with you because you won’t do it yourself.” Holden says, jabbing an accusatory hand at Bill’s alarmed expression. “I’ve been through that before, too, Bill. I’m not doing it this time. If you want to break up with me, you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

Bill’s mouth falls open slightly as Holden grabs his t-shirt and shoves his feet into his sandals. As he marches toward the hotel, Bill bolts up off the lounge chair and rushes after him.

“Holden.” 

Holden keeps walking, his vision swimming with enraged, hurt tears. 

Bill grabs at his arm, catching him by the wrist just as he reaches the pool gate. He pulls Holden back around, his other hand bracing firmly against his hip. 

“Please, stop.” Bill whispers as Holden tries to wrench away from him. “Holden, look at me.”

Holden stops, slowly lifting his misty gaze from the ground. His pulse thumps against Bill’s grasp, skin singing to the touch despite the frustration surging through his chest. 

“I came down here to apologize.” Bill says, softly. “Not to break up with you.”

“Then why are you saying these things?”

“Because, I … fuck-” Bill says, glancing away, his jaw clenching. He lets out a low sigh. “Because, as much as I love you, I can’t put you through this without at least giving you the chance to cut your losses and walk away.”

Holden swallows hard as fresh tears crush to the corners of his eyes. This time, they aren’t tears of pain or anger, but a rising relief climbing his chest like a tide. 

“You … you love me.” He whispers, the words sounding awkward and foreign in his mouth. He heard Bill say them out loud, but he’s not convinced it’s real. 

Bill lowers his head for a moment before lifting his eyes somberly to Holden’s. 

“Yes.”

Holden draws in a hitched breath. “Oh.”

“Yeah, so … that’s why I can’t drag you into something you didn’t sign up for, or not warn you that things could get worse before they get better.” 

“Well, that’s … that’s going to be a problem.”

Bill’s brow flickers worriedly. “Why?”

“Because.” Holden says, lifting his chin defiantly. “I love you, too. And I’m not walking away, come hell or high water.”

Bill gives a choked laugh, his eyes gleaming as he pulls Holden closer. Their mouths collide in a brief, warm kiss, shielded by the flimsy layer of the fence around them. When he pulls back, they’re both fighting quivering smiles. 

“Come on.” Holden murmurs, nodding towards the hotel, “Let’s go inside.”

“Yeah, okay.” Bill agrees, giving Holden’s waist a squeeze. 

He drops one more kiss on Holden’s cheek before going back to retrieve the six-pack from the lounge chair. 

They cross the deserted lobby at a distance, but when the doors of the elevator slide shut behind them, Holden reaches over to nudge his fingers against Bill’s. 

Bill smiles softly as he extends his fingers, entwining them loosely with Holden’s. 

Inching across the space between them, Holden lowers his head to Bill’s shoulder, and watches the floor indicator blip through the numbers. His heartbeat slows down, sinking into that melted, calm place that Bill so easily constructs with his touch. It’s a small moment in time, a lapse between storms, but Holden stubbornly defies the odds. Even if the water rises up over their knees, he isn’t letting go; whatever darkness lies ahead, this light, this happiness, is worth the struggle.

[this-is-such-a-bad-decision]

Lup and the Kind of Okay, Could be Better Day

AU in which LUP is burned into the cafeteria wall and the Madame Director actually follows up on it. Lucretia has a lot of feelings, and Lup is tired of being the sane one in the family. (Spoilers for everything post Petals to the Metal.)

Can also be read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22515841/chapters/53802781

***

Chapter 1

She had just wanted a damn muffin.

Lucretia did not usually eat with the rest of the Bureau. She had a professional distance to maintain, and, if she ate in her office, she could consume calories and keep working towards saving the universe. Maximum efficiency.

On this particular day, however, someone had brought a big box of lemon blueberry muffins up from the surface, and they were being dispersed in the cafeteria. Davenport was already occupied with a different errand, so if she wanted that sweet, lemony goodness, Lucretia would have to get it herself.

What she went looking for was a muffin. What she found was an irritable janitor staring at the name of Lucretia’s best friend—MIA, presumed dead, forgotten by all but two—burned into the cafeteria wall.

This isn’t possible, was all her stunned, useless brain could offer, and yet it was.

A quick tap of her staff, and the name was gone, the walls once again smooth and unmarred by past sins.

Lucretia could feel the eyes of the cafeteria’s occupants on her back, curious, so she turned to meet the room at large. The look on her face must have truly been something to see based on the hush that immediately fell, the tension so thick in the air it was hard to breathe.

“What. Happened?”

***

She found Angus first. Lucretia was stalking past the library when the boy came rushing out the door, his arms full of tomes; a quick glance at the top of the stack revealed them to be what was probably their entire selection on anything remotely related to the Umbra Wizards. He had a look on his face like a man (boy) on a mission, and she could guess what it was.

“Hi, Madame Director,” Angus greeted her distractedly. “Can’t talk now, got a mystery on my hands!” he called, already rushing past her.

“That will have to wait, Angus. I need to speak with you, now.” Her voice was cold and grave, and it stopped the detective in his tracks. “I understand there was an incident in the cafeteria. I need you to tell me everything that happened.”

Angus turned and looked up at her with clear surprise and slight wariness. Lucretia usually spoke to him with more warmth than she allowed herself with the others, and he didn’t seem to know what to make of the change.

“Is- is something wrong, Director?” Angus asked, hesitantly, then started babbling. “Madame, it wasn’t Taako’s fault, Taako was just trying to teach me magic, I was the one who made the bad macarons and-”

Lucretia sighed to herself and put a hand on Angus’ shoulder, squeezing once, firmly. “Angus, I’m not mad, and no one is in trouble. I just need to understand what happened. Please, start from the beginning.”

“Oh, okay.” After a moment Angus seemed to gather himself.

“Um, you know how Taako has been teaching me how to do wizardly magics? We met up today to practice, and I showed him that I can do Produce Flame now. And he said that he was proud of me, then he said he was going to destroy me, then he said it was for a theater production… Anyway, it was weird and uncomfortable, but then I gave him some macarons I made as a thank you gift for the lessons.” He grimaced.

“Unfortunately, they weren’t very good, so Taako was going to make them taste better with Prestidigitation… Except fire came out of the Umbra Staff instead and destroyed them. I thought he just really didn’t like my cookies, but Taako said it wasn’t him, then the Umbra Staff started casting Scorching Ray at the wall all on its own. It spelled out L—U—P before it stopped and went back to normal. After Taako ran off, I came straight to the library to see what I could find,” he finished, lifting his stack a little higher to demonstrate.

Lucretia held herself very still throughout the explanation, barely keeping herself from flinching towards the end. She took a deep breath and tried to organize her racing thoughts.

“Thank you, Angus,” she said, finally. “Do you know where Taako went? I need to speak with him about this.” Angus looked concerned again. Lucretia felt her heart swell with exasperated affection despite itself. Angus had such obvious loyalty to Taako, and he was clearly worried he’d thrown the elf under the bus. “No, he’s not in trouble.”

“Um, I’m not sure where he went, ma’am. He might be hiding; I think he didn’t want anyone to yell at him or make him clean the wall.” That earned him a small chuckle, and Angus seemed to relax a little.

“Alright, I’ll just call him on the intercom. Thank you again, and good luck with your investigation. Let me know if you find anything,” she added, knowing that he wouldn’t. Angus perked up at the encouragement.

“You’re welcome, Madame Director. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you updated,” he said with his signature cheesy grin. Lucretia gave him a strained smile in return, then turned and swept off to her office, her mind a whirlwind.

***

“What? No! It’s not even from the Bureau, I found it, it’s mine.”

“Taako, please be reasonable,” Lucretia said tiredly, barely resisting the urge to rub her temples. When she had called Taako over the intercom, he had taken a while to arrive, clearly dragging his feet and reluctant to come in.  When she asked him to recount the events of the cafeteria and—again—the circumstances in which he found the umbrella, he had been cagey and wary. And when she informed him that she would be confiscating his Umbra Staff, his response was, predictably, less than thrilled.

“Why are we even talking about this? It’s just a stupid wall, if it’s that big a deal I’ll fix it myself. Fuck, I’m a transmutation wizard, I could make a whole new wall if you wanted. You want a wall made of gold? I can make that shit happen.”

“Taako, the issue is not the wall, that has already been dealt with. The issue is that your arcane focus is firing off dangerous spells on its own; it’s a safety hazard. Someone could have been hurt, Angus could have been hurt.” Taako scoffed.

“Angus is fine, not a single hair on his know-it-all head was even singed.”

“Taako, Angus may be the world’s greatest detective, but he is just a little boy. Do you know how many hit points little boys have? Not many. Never mind hurt, he could have been killed.” The rebellious, petulant look remained on Taako’s face, but she could see it cracking a little. “This is my fault. You told me you found this on a dead red robe, I should have investigated immediately to make sure it was safe.”

“Director, it’s never hit an ally,” Taako tried again. “It’s only ever gone off on its own when I was in danger; it’s been pretty helpful in the whole ‘keep Taako alive’ department, something I would like to keep doing if it’s all the same to you.” She tilted her head.

“What was the danger this time? What was it protecting you from that could justify firing off powerful spells near your co-workers?” Taako just glared back at her, seemingly trying to think of an answer.

Lucretia wondered how much of his anger actually came from losing such a powerful weapon and how much of it came from a subconscious desperately clinging to anything of Lup’s. Honestly, even if someone had gotten hurt, in most circumstances she would have let him keep the Umbra Staff. He was right that it had been helpful, and his continued existence was one of her top priorities. Perhaps more importantly, she loathed separating him from the only thing left behind by his sister. In this case, however, she would make an exception.

“Fine, whatever,” Taako snapped. He lifted the Umbra Staff and dropped it rudely on her desk before turning to walk out the door.

“Wait, Taako, wait a moment,” Lucretia called after him, reaching into her desk drawer for her paper and quill. Taako turned and watched as she quickly jotted something down before sealing the sheet in an envelope.

“Take this to the Fantasy Costco and give it to Garfield. Just this once I will comp you an arcane focus to replace this one—considering it’s Bureau policy that’s causing you to lose it.” That got his attention, and the look on his face was one she knew well.

“An arcane focus, Taako,” she emphasized as she passed over the envelope. “Something powerful for your spellcasting. Not just something expensive cause you can’t afford it otherwise, and especially not the Flaming Raging Poisoning Sword of Doom.” Lucretia might have accumulated quite a bit of gold in the making of her organization, but she wasn’t made of money; the budget cuts required to pay for something like that would be a nightmare.

Taako was giving her an overly innocent look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, why would I know anything about a sword? Actually, why do you know anything about a sword?” When she didn’t answer, his grin stretched wider.

“Lucretia?” Taako asked in a sing-song voice, and her heart clenched hard at the familiarity. “Have you been window shopping? Had your eye on it and don’t want anyone to snatch it up?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Taako. I am an abjuration wizard, a practitioner of the defensive magical arts. What possible use could I have for something like that?” A pause as he just grinned at her. “… But I have to admit, it would look pretty fucking rad on my mantle.” That earned her a delighted laugh.

“Too bad, Director, I’m getting there first.” Seeing her about to protest, “Next time, next time I guilt you into writing me a blank check.”

Lucretia rolled her eyes, the corners of her lips twitching as she valiantly attempted to keep down a smile at his antics. Maybe she would normally have less patience, but right now she was too relieved to see him accepting the olive branch.

“I’ll expect a receipt.” Back into business mode, “That’s all I needed of you. If there’s nothing else on your end, I need to get to work.”

“Yeah, alright, later. Don’t blow yourself up poking at that thing.” He walked out of the room, throwing a peace sign over his shoulder as he left.

Lucretia watched the closed door for a moment before slowly turning her gaze to the staff lying in front of her.

“Taako, where did you find that umbrella?” Barry’s voice came in over the Stone of Farspeech—distorted and strange, but it had to be him—and, beneath her rising panic, Lucretia fought back tears. “You- YOU FOUND HER?”

Lucretia rested her chin in her hand, fingers over her mouth, while the other hand tapped lightly on her desk. She stayed that way for several long minutes before finally jumping to her feet, snatching up the umbrella and heading into her personal chambers. Once there, she grabbed a bag and stowed the umbrella inside (no one needed to see her walking around with this thing) along with a pouch of spell components. She cast around a moment for anything else she might need before heading back into her office.

“Davenport,” the gnome, back from his task, perked up from his seat in her office. “I am going to the brig. Unless there is an emergency, I am not to be disturbed.”

“Davenport.”

“And when I say emergency, I mean the moon is under attack, or we’re falling from the sky, or literally the entire planet is on fire. Nothing less.”

“Davenport!”

Lucretia nodded to her friend, then stalked off into the hall. Lucretia used ‘walk like you’re ready to murder’ and it was super effective; not a single person tried to stop her to voice any questions or concerns, and she soon was in the elevator descending into the brig.

There were six standard cells in the brig, only one of them occupied. These did not interest her. She walked past the last cell (currently containing a sleeping Robbie) to a door with a key code lock set in the back wall. She punched in the seven-digit code, her mouth a tight line, and the door opened to reveal a descending staircase.

The stairs went down three flights before opening into a large circular chamber, 60 feet in diameter and with a 20-foot ceiling. In the center of the room, taking up most of the space, was a large white circle, the border made of intricate magical runes. Lucretia set her staff against the wall, took a small jar of paint and a fine brush out of her components pouch, and began carefully combing the room, looking for any sigils or runes that looked the slightest bit worn. This room was full of wards, and she needed them to be perfect.

Once Lucretia was satisfied with her search, she set her bag down on the ground and removed the Umbra Staff. Her hands had begun to shake a bit as she stared down at the umbrella, her friend’s creation, the only thing they had left of Lup. She started to lift it out in front of her, then instead hugged it tightly to her chest, her body almost curling around it.

“Please,” she whispered to herself. “Please be right.” Then Lucretia held the Umbra Staff out in front of her, so it was fully behind the line of the circle. With a little magic strengthening her hands, she snapped it in two.

A shockwave shot out of the broken handle, and Lucretia was sent flying. She hit the wall as she fell, her head slamming back hard and leaving her dazed. And in the air, there was a woman’s laughter, loud and joyous.

Lucretia looked up and saw a column of fire entirely filling the circle. After a moment, the flames dispersed, and in the center of the room was a floating red robe, a vibrant specter with arms thrown wide as she spun and laughed.

“Lup,” Lucretia croaked, tears instantly beginning to stream down her cheeks and a wide smile stretching across her face. Her friend turned towards the sound, and even though Lup currently didn’t have a face, Lucretia knew she was beaming.

“Lucretia!” Lup cried, and the red robe rushed forward as if to throw her incorporeal arms around the other woman.

This course of action was stopped as Lup suddenly hit a wall—more specifically, the edge of the circle. The lich paused, hood tilted in confusion, then lifted a hand, pressing against the invisible barrier and failing to pass through.

Immediately, all levity was sucked out of the room as the two women remembered where they were. It was silent for a long moment, the two just staring at each other. Then, Lucretia was struggling to her feet, words tumbling from her mouth before she knew what to do with them.

“Lup, I—I’m so glad. You were gone for so long and—Taako and Barry, they—you just vanished and we had no idea what—fuck, Lup, it’s so good to see you.” Back on solid footing, Lucretia stepped forward, careful now of the boundary between them.

“It’s good to be seen,” Lup agreed with false cheer. “You know what would be even more good? If I wasn’t trapped in a magic anti-lich circle. Think you could do something about that, babe? Then I could come and hug you, then my brother and the boys, and then I could go find Barry? Whomst hasn’t seen me in years?”

“…Lup, you know why I can’t do that, I—wait a second, how much do you know?” Lup shrugged.

“You know, it’s a little hard to know things when you’re trapped in a magic umbrella and every moment of exterior awareness is one you have to struggle and fight for, but I think I have an idea. You’re determined to do your shield plan, so you fed our memories to Fisher so the team couldn’t stop you. Now, you have everyone but Barry helping you collect the relics. Oh! And you’ve also convinced everyone that the ‘red robes’ are evil, power-hungry mages to be feared and despised. Is that about right?”

Lup’s cheery voice grew a bit harsher as she continued, small red sparks starting to shoot off her shoulders and bounce off the walls of her containment. “Obviously there’s more to it than Fisher since the boys drank the Kool-Aid and yet my own fucking brother doesn’t recognize my name when I magically carve it into a wall for him—but do I have the general idea?”

Lucretia abruptly sat down on the ground, about a foot from the circle. Lup looked down at her, clearly surprised, the sparks flying off her sizzling out. After a moment, Lup floated down and joined her.

“Lucretia,” Lup said, her voice firm but not unkind. “Talk to me.”

And Lucretia did. Lucretia told Lup everything. Everything she had been keeping to herself for 12 long, lonely years came rushing out, and it was such a relief. A bad idea—obviously. But it had been too long since Lucretia had talked to a friend who knew her, who knew what they all had been through. Lucretia wanted to share, and Lup deserved an explanation. And, as long as Lucretia did her job right, it wouldn’t matter what Lup knew.

Lup was quiet and attentive as Lucretia told her tale, only interrupting once as Lucretia explained her ordeal in Wonderland.

“Okay, that—that makes sense. I was really wondering, cause I’m not great with human aging, and Magnus looks older but not that much older. I was wondering if it might be job stress, in which case we’d really need to kidnap you for a vacation.” A wet chuckle from Lucretia. “But, uh, that makes sense.” Gently, “I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”

Lucretia finished her story, and Lup took the opportunity to give her own account about why she disappeared, what she was trying to do and what had kept her. Lucretia had to stop herself from leaning over the line to hug Lup as she described her death and captivity.

After, the two sat in silence, absorbing all that had been said. Lup broke the quiet first.

“Lucretia… Taako doesn’t remember me. You made everyone forget everybody, I know that, but the others still got to keep themselves. They’ve all been alone before. But Taako and I have been together since day one. My brother is my heart and I am his and you made him forget.” The pain in Lup’s voice was like a lance to Lucretia’s chest.

“Lup, I am so sorry, I am so sorry, but please understand—I agonized over what to do with your memory. I never wanted to take you away from Taako, but I couldn’t see any other way. If I had edited around you—Taako, you used to have a sister that went missing one day—you know he would have never stopped looking. He would have looked for you, and he would have gotten himself killed doing so.” Lucretia paused, took a deep breath.

“I… considered planting a false memory where you had existed but died—so he would at least know you, at least remember that he hadn’t always been alone, but… Gods, Lup, losing you was so hard. We had every reason to hope that you were still out there somewhere, and it was still so hard. I can’t imagine waking up and knowing that I would never see you again. To do that to Taako on top of everything else he’d lose…” Something like a snort came from the red hood.

“Yeah, no, thanks for not retroactively fridging me, that was probably a good call.” Despite the flippant words, Lup’s voice was heavy with emotion as she looked away. Lucretia thought she heard a sniffle, but since Lup didn’t have bodily fluids that was probably her imagination. The silence stretched on once again while Lup seemed to settle herself. Finally, she looked back and held Lucretia’s gaze.

“I understand what you are doing and why you are doing it,” she began. “We can talk more about it later. Right now, you need to let me go; I have to find Barry.”

“Lup…”

“Lucretia, Barry is straight up not having a good time. Have you heard how he talked to the boys? He sounds fucking bananas! He’s alone, his family fears him, and he doesn’t know where I am or if I’m even okay. For someone whose sanity is kind of entirely dependent on his close personal relationships, that is a very dangerous place to be. You know this.”

“Lup, I can’t. You and Barry together are virtually unstoppable, and I must stop this. I’m sorry, but I can’t have you getting in my way.” Lup stared at Lucretia for a long moment.

“You’re really okay with this?” Lup asked. Her voice was low and calm, but it was a bit of a wasted effort. Red lightning was skittering off the surface of her cloak, and as she continued to speak, the intensity only grew, until the inside of the circle was like a bottled storm. “You’re okay with knowingly letting your brother, my husband, suffer and possibly lose himself for the sake of this plan?”

“For the sake of the world, Lup.” Another bolt, this one powerful enough to send thunder rolling through the room. Lucretia stood up, knees protesting, and Lup rose with her.

“And no, I’m not.” The lightning stopped. “I—I won’t let you leave, but on this one matter I won’t keep Barry in the dark. I’ll find some way to contact him and let him know that you’re alright.” Lup’s shoulders slumped, her relief palpable, but she was obviously far from happy.

“Lucretia, please let me go to him.” But Lucretia just shook her head.

“Barry’s lasted this long without knowing what happened to you. I’m sure hearing that you’re okay will be more than enough to keep him going.” Lucretia picked up the broken remains of the umbrella and retrieved her staff. “He won’t have to wait long. In just a few months, this will all be over, and everyone can be together again.”

Lucretia allowed herself one final look at her long lost friend, now her prisoner. She said, “I’ll come visit you soon,” then left.

She’d honestly forgotten about Robbie’s existence during all that hubbub, but as she passed the threshold of the stairs, he was quick to remind her.

“Hey, uh, Director, what’s going on? I heard some crazy noises and—whoa, are you okay?” Lucretia had also forgotten that she still had tear stains on her face and only just noticed the dried blood she could feel on her neck—probably from when she hit her head. She did not acknowledge Robbie beyond the slightest pause in her steps and instead continued straight to the elevator.

“Wait, Director! How much longer are you going to keep me down here? Can I at least—” and then the doors closed. In the privacy of the elevator, she cast Prestidigitation to make herself presentable, and then she was going up.

***

Back in her office, Lucretia stared down at her spell book, deliberating.

The thing was, she had tried to find Barry before. She spent months looking for him when he first went missing, and every time she found a lead the trail would go cold; eventually she stopped finding even that much. When he finally showed himself in Captain Captain Bain’s office, she looked again, and still found nothing. None of the divination magic she knew went through, and she could never find any rumors of red robed ghosts floating around. (Not that Lucretia really expected either of those to work; she knew Barry had wards to protect from scrying, and he wouldn’t be stupid enough to just let random people see him unless he’d already lost himself.)

So, she could not send him a physical message. The Sending spell, however, should work. It allowed the caster to mentally send a short message to anyone they knew anywhere in the universe, though there was a small chance of failure if the recipient was on a different plane. It was the basis for the Stones of Farspeech, but in this case you didn’t need to have the recipient’s frequency.

Course of action decided, Lucretia pulled out a sheet of paper to help her figure out how to word the spell… and proceeded to horribly overthink it. She had crossed out 20 different versions of the same message before she had to remind herself that she did have other work she needed to get to, stop finding reasons to put this off. And it was a form of procrastination.

What she was about to do made her very nervous. Lucretia wasn’t used to sharing information when she wasn’t in control anymore, and she hadn’t spoken to Barry in a decade. She missed him terribly, but she doubted he’d be happy to hear from her. Well, he’d probably be happy to hear about Lup, not so much the part where he didn’t get to see her.

Lucretia picked up the paper and burned it in her hand. She needed to get this over with.

“Davenport, I’ll be right back.”

“Davenport!”

Lucretia went into her personal chambers where no one could see what she was doing. She took a few deep breaths, lifted her staff, and cast the spell. Then, she waited for a response. And waited. And kept waiting. She waited until she could feel the panic settling in.

Why wasn’t he replying? The spell hadn’t failed, she felt it send. Was he sleeping and—no, no, liches don’t sleep. Was he on a different plane and her spell was unlucky? Maybe the wards Barry used kept any long-distance spells from acting on him, not just divination?

…Or maybe it was too late. Maybe Lup was right to be concerned, and Barry was in no state to reply to her message.

She cast the spell again, the same message. Nothing.

Lucretia had a hand over her mouth, the other gripping her staff tightly. No, it wouldn’t do to speculate. Either Barry was fine, or he wasn’t; she couldn’t do anything with the later, so assume the former. Sending wasn’t working, that she knew. She’d just have to try something else.

Lucretia returned to her office and tried to refocus on the many demands required of the Director, but her mind kept circling back to one point; what would she tell Lup?

***

Angus held his Interceptor Book in his lap, brow furrowed, his eyes running over the lines again and again.

“I found Lup. She’s safe. You’ll see her again when this done. I love you. Don’t interfere.” Sent twice, then nothing. Angus looked up with a frown on his face, thinking.

Taako’s staff shoots the letters L-U-P into a wall. The Director shows unusual concern. A few hours later, ‘I found Lup’ appears in his book (something that must have been sent with a spell and not a stone or else it wouldn’t have been intercepted).

He didn’t know enough to even begin coming to any conclusions… but maybe he wouldn’t be keeping the Director updated after all. Not yet. This may go deeper than he thought.

[dwestfieldblog]

Q ONAN IN THE AEON OF HORUS

Insanity is contagious in the Aeon of Horus. Hope you all had a happy and healthy Sirius day on 23rd... I wasn’t going to write another screed until late September but I might well be trapped on the festering cesspool prison island of guinea pigs in three weeks time where the oven ready Boris variant runs wild, and will have very limited access, if any, to the matrix. And I needed to rant off as catharsis on current popular topics. Arf arf arf and fnord as well.

Climate report Doom...fires, floods, earthquakes, hurricanes on the rise, watch the Texans and Arabs and all those aligned with oil continue to deny global warming in the sweating face of the evidence.  The tyranny of the driller killers has been disabling those with clean solar power ideas and the mass use of limitless superconductive  energy for decades, while they work out how ‘to put a metre between us and the sun’. Blame greed. Perhaps they think Bezos will have enough rockets for them to plunder other worlds and leave the future desert of earth behind. Climate change deniers usually have the same mind set as those who are anti vaxxers, it seems to be a typical item on their lists of dislike. Right alongside all the other bollocks and twaddle they don’t believe in, despite the enduring and building testimonies of the majority of professionals.

‘To prevent yourselves doing and seeing and coming into contact with this, that and the other...lock yourselves up in a monastery where you’ll be safe. Immunity...it teaches us how not to be affected by the countless vicissitudes of life; not how to avoid them by running away...The philosopher adapts himself to the exigencies of life, not the exigencies of life to himself.’ The Initiate in the New World by his pupil. Book two of a fascinating trilogy. Hello Cecil Jones.

America...the gurning evil one (‘I love the poorly educated’)  doesn’t seem to be back in the White House quite yet, Q Onan and the boys can’t seem to get their insurrection up. Been there eh? White guys just take the blue tablet and avoid getting redpilled.  ‘We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men evolved differently, that they are born with certain mutable characteristics, and that among these are life and the pursuit of pleasure.’ Yuval Noah Harari-Sapiens.

However, the Onan boys have exported their rabid drivel abroad...A shameful group of wannabe prophets in London a couple of weeks ago were spewing dire craziness and waves of silliness dearly wishing to become important and individualised particles by being observed and applauded. One of their brilliant ideas is that the Great Reset, New World Order of children’s adrenochrome drinking liberal reptiles will be a QUOTE’ An authoritarian socialist government run by powerful capitalists.’ UNQUOTE. Howls of derisive laughter turning into the growl of a wolf with a curled top lip and my left eye twitching for a blackout minute. When sentience returned, I was fairly sure there is no way in this lifetime of me attaining Satori while consumed by this spite. Fear and self loathing in England part 23. To attempt to counter...

Putting the con into conspiracy theories... 1. IF the vaccine is; (A. A poison to cull the overpopulated millions, that would mean that every single decent doctor and nurse in the world is in on it and not one of them is spilling the beans. Neither scenario seems plausible in any way, therefore the first premise appears to be excrement. If Covid doesn’t exist and the x rays are ALL faked (showing the difference between pneumonia, cancer and covid lungs, that also aggressively suggests a high level of implausibility. If you truly believe medical professionals are mostly freemasons and/or serving the Illuminati in the name of genocide etc, you are just a MORON. A DUNGHEADED IDIOT.

As God tweeted last month; It’s always the really dumb who make life hard for the moderately dumb.’

Drug companies and politicians have always been deeply corrupt, some would say with great justification, evil.  Their foul business is as usual. But every nurse working a 16 hour shift in intensive care, do you honestly think they are doing it for the kicks to kill, for the (ha) money or to serve the Devil? Again, if Covid IS real but only the plebs are getting the bad vaccine and the here today gone tomorrow (unless they are Putin types) omnipotent holy world leaders are getting the good stuff...again this would be mighty hard to cover up. And it isn’t only the old, obese and those with ‘underlying health problems’ who are dying, teens and workers are too. No government wants to wreck its economy (apart from Brexit England) by murdering its workers, students and quarantining hundreds of thousands.

If the vaccine is a shot of death and the toll rises twice higher than it already is, governments will know that nobody will believe them the next time round when a new virus mutates...which is not good for mass control. (That said, I feel a deep grim certitude that step by blatant step, totalitarianism is coming to democracies as they realise the only way to dominate the drone masses is to do as China and Russia do.) But ‘why am I drifting into negativity’ eh?

And IF folk think the vaccine is a brain control agent by which we can be spied upon and controlled by our puppet masters via the ubiquitous spooky G5 masts, then the science of how the jab’s ingredients work (And could not possibly be activated with sound waves) should be explained in primary schools so the kids can go home and teach their elders with crayon. At the same time, the anti maskers need to watch videos (with their eyes held open (a la Clockwork Orange) of droplets in breath, the distance they travel without protection, the length of time they hang in the air and in what concentration. Humans react well to moving pictures, it might help. Yes that is dripping with rancid sarcasm. And as for those ranting that wearing masks causes illness, tell that to all the healthcare professionals of the last 100plus years who wore masks most of every bloody day, not just a couple of years. Did they all die of lung problems? I don’t have the actual statistics and I am damn sure you don’t either, so shut up and sit down. As Bill Hicks would say...

‘YOU SEE, IT MAKES NO SENSE’.

Beautiful to see so many holy men in the main religions, priests, rabbis, imans and pujari telling their flock to refuse the vaccine because it will (deep choking breath) make them impotent, gay and/or that it has cows blood and human foetuses in it. For the 23rd time, your shepherds will lead you to butchers again. Very spiritual blokes. Are any women as full of manure as this? Well actually...

One talking blonde cow on the London stage mooed about the vaccine being created by Bill ‘I think it makes sense to believe in God’ Gates, with the patent 060606, so was clearly ‘satanic’. Brilliant detective work and a rational conclusion. Except Bill didn’t formulate the vaccine and the patent was for an entirely different shot with an ACTUAL micro chip to measure if work had been completed and pay wages with Bitcoin. (Which, granted is creepy as fk, but nothing to do with Beelzebub or covid, unless you are going to bang on about none being able to buy or sell without the mark of the beast. So the antichrist is a protestant eh? I saw a video last year of an American ‘Christian’ woman blogger saying Bill was the devil, because of ‘the GATES of hell.’ That’s what we are up against and sidestepping the fk away from.

Those not vaccinated are walking time bomb laboratories of new variants.  Making their own beliefs real as they will be able to say ‘See, told you the vaccine doesn’t work’. Listen to the doctors and nurses begging you.

Once yet again with even more feeling...These demonstrations of hogwash moonshine bullshit theories, mixed in with a fine blend of ahem, ‘patriotism’ are ripping the country apart. On one side the increasingly corrupt English government and their lies and on the other, the deranged and deluded with their falsehoods. An empty vessel makes the most noise and both sides are ripening the fields for populism.

Using the enemy’s own strength against them, well known to Judo black belt KGB pretty boy Putin...widening and deepening internal divisions in democracies, using the basic mistrust of half the people against their governments and encouraging it...works like a charm in times of stress/ fear/ anger. Just let them do most of the work and their own momentum will destroy them...at very least weaken them for the kill. Britain, America, Europe  et al, you are being suckered and you bloody well deserve it for being so thick.

(Sidebar...By the way...Congratulations on 100 glorious years of Chinese communism and now all in the Middle Kingdom are being told, taught, trained, ORDERED to think just like Winnie the Pooh. Perfect unspoiled socialist paradise where millions wonder (as they do in most other places) ‘will there be any hunny for me?’ Unlikely...Communism doesn’t really work that way... another self righteous scam by those who seek power and to maintain their privilege. So the stick makes you keep plodding on for the promised carrot until all you believe in is the stick because it hurts and pain is real. (To greatly paraphrase Sir Terry Prachett, may he remain creative wherever he is.)  )       

Or...The Bilderbergers met a couple of years ago, discussed overpopulation and a threefold plan of how to deal with it...Release an airborne virus in several countries; allow it to spread for a year, Allow fear to rise. Use algorithms to predict the percentage of the obedient and those who will suspect conspiracy. When the vaccine is ‘found’ it will calm the believers for a while and enflame the rebels all the more who will look for ways to make it fit their own schemes of disbelief. This will cause a degree of expected demonstrations and rebellion...which will have the effect of enabling governments to create and quickly pass new laws on freedoms, including peaceful demonstration, to ‘protect’ the law abiding masses that need to believe all is for their own good.

The B boys talked about phased genocide, vaccines, drugs, supplies of medical equipment, government tenders to similar friends, knowing they will survive, and be well positioned to financially ride out the deaths and bankruptcies of lesser protected groups. Who they will then be able to buy out with ease and thus expand. The goldrush thrill of disaster capitalism! When all of this is (temporarily?) over, food and energy resources will be a little less stretched and/or  stricter controlling laws will be in place and democracies will be far easier to control . A sadistic lack of empathy from the richest sociopaths.

There doesn’t need to be anything weird in the vaccines now, people’s minds are doing the paranoid job in their imagination, either with fear or with anger. The rich will remain rich empowering themselves with their inhuman business as usual. Populists will appear to take the side of the people as long as they are rewarded with money and power...and are allowed to join the club. All ethics and morals sacrificed for the temporary glory of pretend immortality.

This was written very quickly over a period of a couple of nights but at least it is a page shorter than usual eh? J I have to concentrate on booking tests (150 pounds in England for a PCR test is RIP OFF. Bastards. The outrageous weight of my suitcase with all my cds and books plus some pants and socks, the forlorn hope of getting a free seat or at least cheap for one of my guitars. The fear I might not be allowed back in to where I am now because the UK still seems to be Boris covid red. And Brexit and being a tourist again. Love the way the brexiteers are pissed off they will have to pay a few Euros to enter Europe as a third country citizen. The Tories voted yes to this idea in 2016 and you voted to become a third country you idiots. So now, you get to stand for a looong time in a longer queue with all the brown people you so disparage. In your nostalgic pride for something which will never be again, you have relegated England to the status of a failed state and voted for the worst government in my lifetime. You should be ashamed but you will just double down.  Disgusting.

Anyway, late summer ‘holidays’ ahoy.  Stay sane and in rude health...hope to see you again, spreading my cosmic rays of great happiness, comfort and joy. Outside of the insanity, keep visualising...Female male left right brain...Yin and yang let’s do our thang...

Y=01=FIRE...WANDS...ADENINE

H=00=WATER...CUPS...THYMINE

V=11=AIR...SWORDS...CYSTOSINE

H=10=EARTH...DISCS...GUANINE

[rileywrites-reylo]

Dancing

Kylo Ren x Rey

Summary: Ben Solo has always been there. He was always burnished brass, starlight eyes, and a voice like the breeze through green leaves. The shadowed man had plagued him, too.

In which the Force provides a balm for two lonely souls.

Credit to the maker of this gif.

Sometimes, when the rays of the sun beat down on golden, freckled shoulders and heated tiny hairs on a tiny neck, she found her eyes tracing the lines of a shadow that wasn’t quite right; wasn’t quite her own as it kept time with her, moving over fine grains of sand with a finesse her scrawny legs had yet to discover for themselves.

Dust laden, sand paper wind pushed at fine, wispy tendrils of hair that were still too short to pull up; teasing at shadowed ears that were too big; the lines of her profile, button nose a little too long, too harsh in contrast with the softness of youth.

When the yellow light of the moons danced overhead and the warm flickering light of the sunset imbued flames crossed over each rusted patch of the walls protecting her from the night, that shadowy figure loomed over her, hovering, encasing, engulfing her in companionship that she greedily clung to despite the dark of it; lessening the sting of the horizon of solitude as the moons tracked across the black.

She liked to pretend that the dark silhouette, that day time companion that always followed, was someone known and loved. She knew it was likely the shimmering heat gliding over the dunes playing tricks; hazy azure skies sparkling with whispers of a sun that teased and offered a quiet, yearning heart an imagined friend.

On clear nights when the winds had blown themselves out and the sands had settled, she always found herself stretched out over radiant sheets of blasted metal, skinny arms beneath a heavy head, bony ankles crossed over the other as she looked up at distant points of glowing warmth; places where she could be, where it might be. On nights where the moons were too low to brighten the sky, too low to welcome the company of her shadow, she told it; loneliness, stories while she picked at dirty, ruined hemlines of a shirt she was quickly growing out of. She sang to it, the feeling of it, that ever present darkness that held on to her even when she couldn’t find it for want of light, the songs she only half-remembered and others still that she’d half made up.

“Are the stars the same where you lie waiting?”

“Maybe one day…”

“Will you feel me, too?”

As arms and legs lengthened, the days and nights grew longer, too; stormy line of weariness and the quiet rolling in to push at the dunes of her heart, shifting each granule, altering the landscape. Rationing of her affection and trust became as important as carefully guarding water. Seediness and mal intent were woven into every interaction of Nima Outpost.

When she’d started bleeding, she’d cried herself to sleep, scolding her eyes for wasting precious fluids, for wasting time, but the fear that chilled her scalding veins as soon as she’d felt the stickiness between her legs had begged for release.  She thought immediately of another girl who traversed the scrap  heaps as she did, a few years older, and how the light in her eyes had gone, how it was like the exposed wires had snaked their way into her bones and pulled down at her soul, her smile. She remembered how the looks of others had changed around the outpost when someone had taken note of her purchasing scraps of fabric with a heavy frown on her face. She thought of how small she’d looked with bruises on her arms and a scream caught in her throat.

She’d thought of what it must be like to be a shadow.

With the red came hours of practicing with the staff she’d made; sunlight beating down on her, on it, ends of that sturdy metal glinting with hints of ‘No,’ ‘Unbroken,’ and ‘I’m sorry;’ lines of her shape-shifting daylight companion, shoulders strong, torso long and made up of words that read: ‘You are stronger than you know.’

With her staff came many sweaty nights woken from sleep with wide eyes and a heaving chest as pain blossomed in her heart and welled at her eyes for reasons she couldn’t understand; her shadow curling into her body, clinging to every crevice of her skin as she waited for the sun inside her metal cage that dripped with humming musings of terror coated in glowing green.

As years passed, her shadow loomed, it darkened, it crackled; the edges of it slowly fraying and tangling. On those particularly hot days, sun blistering, where the wind dried out her very bones and the blasting sand rubbed the freckles of her skin raw, she swore she could hear that dark thing that followed crying out in protest of the sun.

“Tearing apart,” it would sometimes whisper, sound of it like the breeze blowing through the tapestry hanging over rusted edges of holes too big to be patched.

Slowly, her companion took on a whole new form, the shape of her head now odd and too smooth, far less human than the lines she had grown used to, too big ears gone; the whole of it bigger and terrifying in the way that made tiny hairs raise and skin to pucker. Its presence weighed her down, pushing at the golden sand as she moved, and it moved, they moved.

She had stopped singing to it and instead took to whispering.

She swore to never speak to it again when its darkness had spread so far and so violently that the inky black of the backs of eyelids had turned into an abyss, a swirling vortex of something that pulled and tugged on every fiber of her being, darkness like a glove reaching into her chest and ripping her from beneath the surface of nightmarish dreams full of screaming and fire.

The whole of the horizon had been made of thick, acrid smoke that prickled at her neck and fingers, sent her heart into a frenzy. She found that her shadow was no longer at her feet, but in the sky, teasing her from within the ashes carried on the wind.

“It’s you,” she’d whispered, embers on her breath and the night in her eyes.

“What girl?” It had echoed, voice made up of the same fraying edges and less than human form.

Suddenly, that monstrous friend was no longer just a shadow she thought had been part of a cruel trick the Jakku sun had been playing, but a fully formed  being when it split from her toes to manifest from the trees as this menacing, blackened soul; breathing, asking, breaking as that same gloved hand from her dreams reached out, hovering; the lines of it solid, but still unraveled as fingers bled into thick arms and a dusky chest. She’d found herself frozen, incapable of understanding, but at the same time, everything abruptly making sense to her amidst the shimmering green of the forest encasing two shadowed souls meeting for the first time under a different sun.

“Scavenger,” he, and she now knew it to be so, had spat at her; her whole being confused. He was a scavenger, too, had always been; just as she. They had scaled the same dunes and climbed through the same discarded relics together, picking at things that were still good but unwanted.

How could he so easily forget the songs, the stories and all of those star-kissed wishes?

Had her whispers fallen on deaf ears? Had there been too many nights where moons had been too low and the light too fleeting?

“I feel it, too,” and a part of her ached for golden sand and skinny arms.

When he’d pushed and she’d pushed, she’d seen it: a too small, too skinny, sun-kissed shadow walking alongside another that had been made up of moonlight.

Reds and blues had swirled and danced wickedly across the flurries that traced the outlines of that threadbare, bleeding man. Terrifying; consuming. When the hills and valleys of his strange, familiar face; lines of that long nose, freckles and moles on cheeks in the same constellation groups as the ones that mapped her shoulders ran purple, her heart pounding in her chest, she was suddenly not so sure if she had always been afraid of her shadow or was only now that after all this time, it, he, had a face and a name.

Kylo Ren.

Ben Solo.

She decides on both.

She strikes it down; that shadow, that man, and rips that bruised darkness in two, leaving the lines of him gaping; dying; cratered moon of a man having fallen out of her orbit. Or at least, she allows herself to believe it, he, has; the ferocity of that glowing blade shearing that thread of gravity, of something, that had sewn his shadow to her, and hers to his, a long time ago, ripping at her flesh in time with his; blue blending with the red spilling from him to make this ugly cauterized purple stamp on her soul.

As she climbs into the light of a new day, she does it with a thready pulse pushing at her fingertips that nudges its way up her arm to lap at her hollowed chest.

When he appears again; her shadowed man, it’s in a dream. In sleep, he’s made of burnished brass and wears this quietly crooked smile that disarms the fury prickling behind her eyes in an instant. His shoulders aren’t mountains and his eyes aren’t made of the same vicious, loamy waves that pound away at cliff sides on Ahch-to, but of the night sky instead. When he speaks, it’s with a softness that so vastly contrasts with the man she knows that when she wakes, it’s with a furrowed brow and question marks in her heart as “It is you,” plays itself over and over again in that tone of bewildered reverence murmured from cashmere dreamscape lips.

It’s when a set of pale fingers, looming and huge in a different way, reach out to her for a fourth time, on different terms, where darkness hides in the subtle shadows cast over his knuckles and those ears, lips, and nose, where his hand and dark eyes are alight with sunset imbued flames, that she realizes Ben has always been there. He was always burnished brass, starlight eyes, and a voice like the breeze through green leaves. The shadowed man had plagued him, too; had attached its self to his shoulders with needlepoint claws and had wrapped its threads around his chest, knotting at his heart, cutting at his soul. He’d been there in the shape of her shadow and the notes of her voice when the cords in a too-tight, too-dry throat rasped for water that her dark companion had always had, could have been, but could never share.

So now, as she walks alongside his dark, brooding figure; aura brassy, not-so distant points of light in the night of his eyes, his own twin and hers bleeding together in a menagerie of grey lines and curves, she feels a spark of fondness; a tickle of something from hot, burning days past where big ears bled into the shape of hers to blend with strong jaw; where his long wispy hairs crashed into the waves of hers like all souls eventually do in the cosmos.

Please, let me know what you guys think!

[webcricket]

Catch a Falling Star

Characters: CastielXReader

Word Count: 2264 (Part 2)

A/N: Part 2 of a Soulmate AU mini-series. I’m uncertain how many “parts” will make up this mini-series – the original outline is for 5, but my muse has a sordid history of adding more plot twists, turns, and verbs than I initially anticipate and/or know what to do with. Thank you ALL for the overwhelmingly KIND and POSITIVE feedback thus far! I hope/strive not to disappoint. Enjoy the ride. (P.S. Still on vacation mode and taking advantage of a quaint coffee shop with wifi on this rainy afternoon – will respond personally when I have normal internet access.)

Summary: What if angels didn’t end up just anywhere when they are banished by sigils…what if sometimes they end up exactly where they need to be? Turns out you are Castiel’s grounding stone, and it’s more complicated than either of you realizes. Cue the hurt/comfort and mandatory associate angst (be warned, it gets heavy). Angels are a damned stubborn lot, and in this regard Castiel is no different from his kin.

Completed series Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/165166387163/catch-a-falling-star-masterlist

Man seemingly drops out of the sky. With an absolute disregard for common sense given your lakeside isolation, you invite the peculiar stranger into your home. You convince him to disrobe and shower. Obviously his common sense could also do with some fine tuning – what sensible person follows a random stranger home and immediately consents to getting naked? Alright, it wasn’t immediate, he put up a gallant protest and you routed his muddied multi-layer modesty at every turn until he acquiesced and passed his trench coat, suit, and shoes through the barely cracked door of the bathroom. Perhaps you’ve underestimated your powers of persuasive speech all these years. Perhaps you should consider a new career revolving around this superpower. Lawyer? Lobbyist? Nah.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

You serve him tea in a proper porcelain cup and saucer because it seems like the civilized thing to do, and also because it gives you something to do and him something to do because right now you’re wordlessly stealing furtive glances of one another and questioning every life choice you’ve ever made that led you to this awkwardly silent fête. He did look awfully good in those borrowed pants. And what was it about those vivid blue eyes of his that fascinated you so? Was it the way they reflected and refracted the star light? One look into them and you were certain you could chart the infinite depths of those luminescent blue cosmos forever and not stumble twice upon the same breathtaking hue. Man proceeds to vanish, stealing your car and taking it on a joy ride into town, ditching it there in such a manner as to ensure you won’t receive a parking ticket. How…polite? Must have been the tea.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

It’s the kind of unbelievable zany tale you share with friends over drinks so they can laugh at your expense and reproach you for being a total nincompoop with zero regard for personal safety – classic fodder for them to dredge up out of the blue at a party years later to embarrass you in front of your date. There it is again, the inescapable blue. Shake it off, move on. He’s long gone. Where were you? Right, being hypothetically painted a fool in front of your date. You laugh. If you’re being completely realistic, it’s to embarrass you in front of their date. “Let me tell you about this time Y/N invited some strange guy…” Not that you’re sharing.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

At this point, despite the clerk at the bus depot informing you a man fitting your exact description purchased a one-way ticket to Lebanon, Kansas this morning, you’ve persuaded yourself the whole experience was the result of a bit of indigestion and an over-active imagination. Kansas! It practically reeked of Oz. Blue gingham dress, blue post office logo, clear blue skies – everywhere your thoughts tread twisted into a titanic blue distraction. Throwing your head back, dallying outside the car door, you lost yourself in the uniform cozy blanket of blue atmosphere stretching overhead. Somewhere someone sat behind a curtain having a grand old belly-jiggling guffaw about your life while you sang your off-tune songs on cue and skipped down a yellow-brick road. Brakes squealed. A horn blared. A delicate ivory patina teacup embossed with a pattern of blue periwinkle shattered upon the floor.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

The sage green curtain hung around the bed meant to instill an ambiance of warmth in the otherwise icy cold hospital room swooshed aside. Castiel’s steely gaze roamed over the myriad of tubes and wires trailing into and out of your stone-still form, frowning regard settling on the white tape crudely clamping your eyelids shut. Like everything else he touched, he defaulted to the presumption this, too, was his fault. As it so happened in this particular set of circumstances, he wasn’t necessarily absolved of all blame.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

The ventilator bellowed another gush of life sustaining oxygen into your lungs. He shouldn’t have fled. The angel was no coward, but when your skin touched his you shocked him, literally and figuratively, to the very core of his existence. He felt the spark in the deepest part of his being, in the pure angelic heart created especially by his father to fiercely love humanity above all else and without limits that set him so starkly apart from his kin, the unique element of his creation that doubt and regret had not yet sullied no matter how unforgivable his past actions or how epically he failed in the skewed summation he maintained regarding himself. Nothing and no one had affected an influence there, until you – and he yearned for more.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

As a steadfast rule, Castiel wanted nothing for himself. Averting the apocalypse, the multiple falls, the grabs for power, the sacrifices, each and every enterprise set in motion in the name of helping others – humanity, his kin, and above all the Winchester brothers who redefined his notion of family. He viewed himself as useful, but ultimately expendable – the tinder wood to ignite larger fires. Auspiciously, someone sympathetic above his pay grade viewed him in a far more indispensable light, resurrecting him from the ashes time and again. Unsurprisingly, when threatened with the prospect of selfish desire kindling in his own heart – a great and terrible unknown burning want of something solely for himself, the need presenting as utterly foreign, abhorrent even, to his abstaining nature – he ran for the hills.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

At the bus station in Cleveland, he disembarked – the action not so much born of a cognizant plan to buy a return ticket to Seneca Lake to see you again, but more out of a precipitous and overwhelming need for breathing space to lessen the tightness seizing his chest. He found the acute need for oxygen bizarre since he didn’t need to breath in the first place – the involuntary rise and fall of his chest thus far a mere remnant of muscle memory tickling at the neurons of his vessel. Entertaining and committing to the act of boarding a bus back to New York seemed to ease the unrelenting vice grip on his ribcage.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

Now that he stood at your bedside and saw the machines keeping you alive, now that he had time to objectively examine and interpret his impressions – now, it all made sense. As an angel, with his abject history of imperfect and pitiable glory, he never ventured to hope in all of his father’s creation there existed a heart cast expressly for him, least of all a human heart. Even amongst humans a match such as this was so exceedingly rare as to be the stuff of legend. He daren’t think the word for fear his suspicions were wrong…or right.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

“Friend or family?”

Castiel angled his neck to acknowledge the young woman in the sterile white coat with a black stethoscope slung around her neck positioned at his elbow. “Neither,” he answered, focus gliding again to your frame. His frown deepened at observing your limp fingers jammed uncomfortably through the side rail of the bed, the result of a nurse’s haste in changing a dressing. He badly wanted to reach out, move them, wake you, apologize. A combination of apprehension and wonder incapacitated him.

“Oh…well, such a shame,” the doctor followed the target of his furrowed brow to your crumpled hand, taking it upon herself to gently reposition it to lay flat, “hit and run in front of the post office this morning. Witnesses said Y/N just stopped in the middle of the street to stare up at something in the sky. Massive head trauma. Terrible tragedy.”

Hissssssssss. Beep!

“Y/N,” your name spilled from his lips as a reverent whisper. It dawned on him he hadn’t learned your name until now. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask you – he knew you by the dazzling glow of your soul in a universe beyond names and that was enough.

“I was hoping you might know the next of kin. We’re having difficulty locating anyone. You’re the first visitor.”

“She has an uncle,” Cas murmured, disbelieving the insinuation you could possibly be alone in the world, “he has a place on the lake.”

“He passed years ago.”

Hissssssssss. Beep!

“Do you mind if I spend a few minutes?” Cas spoke hoarsely, collapsing into the chair beside the bed, knees feeling weak.

“Of course, take all the time you need,” the doctor strode over to the door, pausing to look back pensively. If Castiel had the inclination to read her mind just then, he would have heard her musing as to whether or not he was one of those angel of death characters she’d been hearing about in the news lately. Privately, she thought in your hopeless case it would be a mercy – if no next of kin emerged, it was only a matter of days before they pulled the plug anyway.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

Cas enviously watched the last rays of the setting sun reach through the window to warmly caress your cheek. You might be on life support, but your soul still outshone anything in his recollection including the sun itself.

Other souls in your quandary would have accepted the open summons to escape their physical pain and soar to the blissful embrace of Heaven. You obstinately clung to your shattered body, reliving the night and day on endless loop, floundering in a sea of blue. Your eternal happiness wasn’t in Heaven – he was no longer welcome there.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

Cas meditated on the large calloused fists resting uselessly upon his lap, determining his grace still too drained from the banishment by sigil to fully heal you at present. He reached out, palm hesitantly hovering over your pale hand. The strain of resisting the longing to twine his fingers through yours to comfort you trembled every muscle in his suspended arm. He desperately wanted to lose himself in your electric touch. He flinched, afraid that once he submitted to the desire, he’d never be able to let you go. He blockaded his objecting heart inescapably behind all the reasons why he must not be in your life. He wasn’t safe for you, beholding your languishing body that much was clear. He couldn’t protect you, not from himself. He was a storm from which you would find no shelter. He would destroy you. He resolved to touch your skin only once more when the time came to heal you.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

He stoically waited for his grace to rally, wincing through a thousand plus a thousand whirring actuations of the ventilator accosting his ears, avoiding the anxious stares and well-meaning inquiries of the nurses and doctors on rounds – wasn’t he thirsty? Hungry? Tired? Despite their best efforts, your condition was rapidly worsening. Was he certain he didn’t know a next of kin? Your kidneys were failing, fluid regurgitating into your lungs, he should think about saying goodbye. Would he like to speak to a grief counselor? There is a chapel on the second floor if he is a praying man. A priest offers last rites as the angel numbly waits.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

On the third morning, his silent vigil concluded. He rose purposefully to his feet. Without looking at you – for he’d ceased being able to look at you the night before without weakening his resolve, unable to bear the agony of observing the flickering ebb of your soul as you clawed to hang on against forces grown insistent upon tearing you asunder – he closed his wetly glinting blue eyes and pressed two fingers to your forehead. “I’m sorry Y/N,” the golden glow of his grace flashed bright, bouncing off the glossy white finish of the walls, surging throughout your body, repairing, soothing, rectifying the mortal injury indirectly resulting from his fateful plunge into your peaceful world, “forgive me.” His fingers lingered, heart thrashing wildly against the self-imposed barriers he’d erected, a shaky sigh rattling from his throat, “And please…forget me.”

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep…

The hospital staff tittered amongst themselves, giddy with the miracle of your complete recovery. Congratulatory backslaps and fist bumps resounded here and there in the halls. Miracles have a way of generating a shockwave of infectious hope in their wake.

A lone nursing assistant remembered to ask you in passing during your discharge about the dark-haired man in the tan trench coat who stayed by your side for three days without leaving. Handsome. Hardly said a word. In possession of the saddest blue eyes she ever saw. With a show of such selfless devotion, surely you know him?

No name for this remarkable man stirred in your memory, your tongue poised immobile between your teeth.

“Must have been your guardian angel,” she smiled, ferrying your wheelchair down the hall toward freedom.

“Must have been,” you mimed, chasing a fleeting indigo shadow of memory just out of grasp of your awareness.

Safely home, leaning over the sink, your fingers attached to a favorite ivory colored teacup left to dry in the dish rack. You twirled the cup around and around, mesmerized by the repeating pattern of blue flowers adorning the rim. You thought tonight you would devote a few hours to stargazing – the idea sent a quiver of exhilaration coursing to your limbs.

Castiel failed to eradicate himself from your mind as he intended. After all, how could he erase the cosmic void in your heart which came into existence on the day of your birth – an emptiness prevailing long before you met him, and that he alone was equipped to fill? Even an angel can’t purge something that was never there.

Part 3:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/163231161990/catch-a-falling-star

[therunnelofdreams]

From The Cinematograph Act of 1918 to the present Central Bureau of Film Certification: The only visible mouthpiece of a moralistic society.

In 1895, for the first time a film was publicly screened. A nitrate fire at the Bazar de la Charité, Paris in 1897 killed 126, one caused due to the violently flammable nitrate films. Fast forward to 1909, after several similar cases of fires caused due to the films, world’s first Cinematograph legislation was passed in Britain. It was hoped that the legislation would ensure safety by curbing the issue of cinema licensing (without any expectations). Licenses were made mandatory for public screenings. Eventually, the authorities began to control not only the conditions in which the films would be screened but also the content of the screenings. The first full-length Indian feature, D.G. Phalke’s Raja Harishchandra, released in 1913. The Cinematograph Act was born in 1918 and with it film censorship in India. The 1918 Act gave the district magistrate or the commissioner of police the power to issue licences to exhibitors, and the government to appoint inspectors to examine and certify films as “suitable for public exhibition”. It wasn’t until 1920 that multiple Censor Boards were set up and rules were put into place to judge the appropriateness of films, both local and foreign, for release. “No generally and rigidly applicable rules of censorship can be laid down.” were the positive words that the general principles of the Bombay Board of Film Censors began with and then proceeded to lay out 43 objectionable subjects. Most of these objectionable subjects comprised of politically incorrect depictions from the perspective of the British authorities. The Indian cinematograph committee (ICC) of 1927-28, chaired by a former Madras high court judge, T. Rangachariar, was the first comprehensive inquiry into movie viewing, censoring and exhibiting habits in the country, and an acknowledgment by the British of cinema’s increasing popularity in India. It made several pragmatic suggestions regarding censorship and the Indian cinema but in vain like most of the painstakingly written reports that have followed since. Despite the earlier mentioned long list of objectionable subjects, Indian cinema wasn’t exactly prurient in the 1920s and 1930s. Hamarun Hindustan (1930) had an intimate scene with Sulochana and Jal Merchant. Film-maker J.B.H. Wadia recalled, years after the fact, Lalita Pawar kissing her co-star “without inhibition” in a film, and Jal Merchant and Zubeida “kissing each other quite often” in 1932’s Zarina (depending on which account you read, Zarina had a total of 34, 48 or 82 kisses). Actors kiss in the Franz Osten-directed Shiraz (1928) and A Throw Of Dice (1929). And there’s the famous kiss in Karma (1933), which has gone down in legend as being 4 minutes long, though it lasts only a minute and involves a snake and a tearful Devika Rani trying to bring a comatose Himanshu Rai to life. (July 14 2018, Livemint) Suresh Chabria writes in Light Of Asia: Indian Silent Cinema, 1912-1934, “Even mentioning British excesses, the Indian National Congress, self-governance, or even revolution in other countries was enough to earn your film a cut or a ban.” “It’s a strange phenomenon which we find in this country to see the Government-sponsored Indian News Parade claiming to give all the news to the Indian people while the Censors black-out the Nation’s beloved leaders who make the most news,” cine-journal Filmindia complained in 1945, noting that even framed photographs of national leaders were cut from films. Through the Film Inquiry Committee report submitted to the government in 1951, we get a picture of what censorship was like in the years leading up to, and just after, independence. Things were, to put it mildly, chaotic. The five censor boards examined films separately, and each had their own set of rules and local pressures. Often, a title passed by one would be rejected by another. In addition, the government—of India, or of a particular state—might deny a certificate to a film passed by the censors, a fate which could befall a noir or a war film as easily as it could a propaganda newsreel. In the same decade, it was made evident that film censorship in free India would depend not only on official sanction but on societal approval. It was then that the kiss disappeared from Indian cinema—a curtailment so long and stifling that it hasn’t fully returned yet. In film critic and historian B.D. Garga’s words, “Kissing disappeared from the Indian screen not because of a fiat of the censor but because of pressures brought on by social and religious groups.” Over the next few years, a Central Board of Film Censors (CBFC, renamed as Central Board of Film Certification in 1983) was set up, regional boards were abolished, and U and A were adopted as certification categories. “The Act of 1918 was repealed, but it was later replaced with a law not dissimilar in scope,” Arpan Banerjee notes in his essay Political Censorship And Indian Cinematographic Laws: A Functionalist-liberal Analysis. This was the Cinematograph Act of 1952, the cornerstone—and, in many ways, the millstone—of film censorship in India. The 1952 Cinematograph Act sets out the structure of censorship as it stands today: the chairperson at the top, then the board members, then the advisory panels (members of the initial examining committee and the revising committee, which do much of the actual examination of films, are drawn from these). Everyone, from the chairperson down to the advisory panel members, is a government appointee. And every government at the Centre has taken advantage of this, staffing the CBFC with party loyalists eager to make cuts and deny certificates to films critical of the establishment. The Emergency saw the most blatant use of this power, with Gulzar’s Aandhi (1975) and Amrit Nahata’s Kissa Kursi Ka (1977) banned, and Shyam Benegal’s Nishant (1975) stuck in a bureaucratic tangle, because they were perceived as critical of the Congress government. (July 14 2018, Livemint) What makes the Cinematograph Act such a problematic piece of legislation is the Section 5B of the Act, which states that any film that is against the “interests of [the sovereignty and integrity of India] the security of the State, friendly relations with foreign States, public order, decency or morality, or involves defamation or contempt of court or is likely to incite the commission of any offence” can be denied a certificate. Censors are tasked with ensuring that films provide “clean and healthy entertainment”; do not “deprave the morality of the audience”, endanger public order or “depict the modus operandi of criminals”, and so on. All these rules are not only vague but also convenient since no film can be released without a certificate from the CBFC, a government appointed body. In 1968, Abbas—already well-known as the screenwriter of Awara and Shree 420—made a 16-minute documentary, Char Shahar Ek Kahani, which had scenes showing prostitution in Mumbai. The CBFC’s examining committee handed the film an “A” certificate; after Abbas protested, the revising committee reached the same conclusion. After a fruitless appeal to the Central government, Abbas petitioned the Supreme Court, arguing that pre-censorship was antithetical to freedom of speech and expression. The court ruled against Abbas. “The censorship imposed on the making and exhibition of films is in the interests of society,” said the judgement, though it also asked Parliament and the government to do more to separate the objectionable from the socially valuable. Though Abbas’ suit was probably doomed from the start, it did have one useful fallout: the formation, in 1981, of the Film Certification Appellate Tribunal (FCAT), a quasi-judicial body headed by a retired high court judge, which one could approach if unhappy with the decision of the CBFC’s examining and revising committees. (July 14 2018, Livemint) There have only been some minor developments in the years since—films must now carry no-smoking advisories, and (thankfully) it’s almost impossible to shoot a scene with a live animal. In addition to the ever-arbitrary demands of the board—a blurred brassiere here, a bleeped “virgin” there—censorship by mob has emerged as a disturbing issue. Starting with Bal Thackeray demanding his own cuts in Mani Ratnam’s Bombay in 1995, the Shiv Sena’s protests against Deepa Mehta’s Fire in 1998, religious organizations and fanatics demanding cuts in movies like Ae Dil Hai Mushkil and Padmaavat in the present times to delaying releases if the demands aren’t met, censorship by mob has been normalised. Though everyone in the industry is affected by it, they refuse to unite and speak against it. “Bollywood does not care,” director Dibakar Banerjee says, “because it knows it will somehow navigate through the bureaucratic red tape to survive. It’s a vestige of the licence raj.” In an interview to The Hindu in January 2002, Vijay Anand, director of Guide and Jewel Thief and the CBFC chief at the time, was asked whether the media was right to pick on the board’s decisions. “Why not?”, he replied “We are the visible mouthpiece of a moralistic society.” This is an uncomfortably honest self-assessment, but there’s some truth to the idea that the board isn’t entirely to blame. Film censorship in India can only be fixed if the rules governing it are overhauled and if there’s a change in attitude that has persisted since the days of the British: the tendency to treat the viewer as incapable. Movie-watchers should finally be allowed to decide for themselves whether a particular film will offend their sensibilities or not.