#he's not gray he is dark blonde but has a lot of different highlights he is gorgeous

[honeygrahambitch]

Hannibal's hair color is this fandom's blue&black/white&gold dress

[frenchie-fallen-angel]

Infrared theory

(Idk if someone already noticed this, and I'm sorry if that's the case)

That's going to be a pretty long post, sorry about that.

Since the pilot drop, something in the color grading of the "gray world"'s scenes was troubling me. I couldn't really put my finger on it but something in how the light and the shadows were reacting to the movement felt wrong.

I did go to film school, but I specialized in video editing and 2D animation. So my first instinct was to think (wrongly) that it was du to post-production. I thought it was a weird choice they probably made in the color grading before removing the color (vibrancy/saturation) from the rush that create this weird rendering.

Firstly, this isn't bad, it's just, for someone like me (but probably everyone I guess) the images felt like something wasn't right but it's just a feeling because you can't actually explain what feels wrong with it. I don't know if I'm been clear right now, my apologizes.

I just saw the BTS picture Jeff posted, and it brought even more questions to me. Like their clothes IRL are as dark as Jeff's hair but in the video Jeff's hair are still black while their clothes partly went white.

At first, I thought they could have use rotoscoping on his hair but that would have needed a lot of time and the rendering would have probably had artefacts. I showed it to my boyfriend who works in cinema post-production (compositing) and for him it's clearly not rotoscoping. (please, the poor soul listens to all my HES ranting those past weeks, he's very patient with me 😭)

He asked me if I knew the camera they used which I clearly don't. But that made me think about something we saw in film school.

I'm not sure I remember correctly so feel free to correct me if I'm spilling bullshit right now. If you use a infrared light camera, to film in the dark, you can differentiate a natural dark head person and someone who colored their hair. A natural dark head person will be seen with dark hair on infrared but someone who used bleach at some point on their hair will look blond even if they colored it back to black after the bleach. Infrared light cameras perceive light we don't and react to texture differently.

So, I think they used a infrared light camera to film the gray world parts. The part of the guards' clothes that came out black look very matte in the BTS picture like faux leather while the white part seems like a cotton base fabric, that could have been bleach before been dye in black.

Like I said earlier, infrared are wavelengths of color that can't be perceive by human eyes. Those cameras reveal what's invisible for us.

So... if I may try to theorise this again. (All the theories I made recently were all wrong so don't take this seriously I guess) Humans like Anawin can't see the gray world, but it doesn't mean it doesn't exist. I don't really know what to make out of this information but Damon could clearly come from a world where the colors aren't the same as in ours, which would also explain his appeal to painting and colorful stuff ( like the bright yellow bouquet). It could also explain the "Damon is partly or fully blind" theory, because his eyes aren't made to see the wavelengths of color we have in our world, like we would be completely blind in an infrared world. Or, maybe, he has been blind all his life in the gray world but not in our world, which made him fall in love with the colors of our world, and the infrared is here to highlight this.

[lotorsshoulderpads]

Merla HCs for the soul

General Culture HCs ⭐ Her home planet is called Orulla ⭐ Ever seen that part where Zarkon says “no one knows where she’s from”? That’s because her and her people are from a place akin to VLD’s quantum abyss in terms of how the place functions. Trying to get in is a death wish so the place has yet to be discovered. ⭐ Her race is all one sex, and their secondary sex characteristics are more inline with that of a human female ⭐ But if you went there you might not notice bc gender expression is all over the place ⭐ Gendered pronouns are a wild concept to her bc “why is the gender of the person in question at all relevant, that’s like having a different pronoun for each hair color” ⭐ They do, however, use different pronouns depending on what they’re talking about. They have pronouns used for people, a word similar to “it” for inanimate objects, and another pronoun used for animals. ⭐ Like in Spanish, their language has formal and informal versions of the word “you” ⭐ The only reason they design their armor to overly highlight their bodies is because they realized it freaks other people out to fight an “all female” army and they get embarrassed as fuck when they get their asses beat by a bunch of ladies ⭐ Way more lax about nudity than a lot of other planets. The idea of modesty is more applied to one’s behavior, like their humility, rather than their clothes. ⭐ The most popular colors/materials for clothing is dark green and purple, red, silver, and gold. ⭐ Most of her people have darker hair, ranging from a black or purple color through magenta and dark pink to red. Eyes are typically the same color as the hair, and skin ranges from gray to a desaturated dark blue color. Most have a gray-blue complexion ⭐ Popular makeup trends are lipstick a similar shade to the skin, but darker or more vibrant, and killer eyeliner. ⭐ Her species is actually incapable of blushing, but after discovering it in other species they found it absolutely adorable and now blush is a popular makeup product. ⭐ Body mods are also very much A Thing in her culture. Piercings, tattoos, scarification, tongue splitting, all sorts of things, and they’re very popular. It’s sort of a right of passage, if an unofficial one. Once someone becomes an adult it’s sort of expected to get something done. ⭐ On that note, getting body mods are also seen as highly inappropriate if the individual who has them isn’t an adult. Something as simple as piercing your ears is jaw dropping to them if you’re a kid. ⭐ On her home planet, people aren’t considered adults until age 20 ⭐ Her people’s life expectancy is around 100-110 ⭐ Her people are also known for doing some funky fun hair stuff. Lots of elaborate braids, curling, and such. Shaving down parts of the head and even the whole head used to be really popular, and is now making a comeback in their mainstream culture. Shaving the entire head is seen as a sign of rebellion or mourning, depending on the context. ⭐ Animal motifs are The Thing in their fashion, particularly birds atm, as they are associated with power and royalty thanks to Merla’s affinity for them. So feathers, things shaped like wings, things with wing patterns on them, etc, are in. ⭐ The average adult of their species is about 6′1.5

Merla HCs ⭐ Age 23 at debut ⭐ 6′0 ⭐ Call her vulture ugly and she will fight you ⭐ Her bird is named Onyx ⭐ She raised that bird from the minute he hatched ⭐ Her telepathic abilities only extend to making people want to do things and getting a vague idea of what someone is thinking about at any given moment. She can’t truly force someone to do something and if she uses too much power she gets migraines. ⭐ She gets along better with animals than with people ⭐ Big Lesbian ⭐ Kala from Voltron Force is her older sister but Merla thinks she died a long time ago ⭐ Merla also has a sister 8 years younger than her named Dyla ⭐ Merla herself actually has a rare pigmentation issue. Her whole color palette is much paler than normal. She’s like an albino of her species in a way. ⭐ Merla has multiple piercings, including several in either ear, a septum piercing, and snake bites. She used to have a tongue piercing but then she got her tongue split and it’s kinda hard to have both ⭐ As for tattoos, she also has more than one, but some are more important than others. On her chest she has vulture wings around an “angel eater,” a flower that, in her culture, means “don’t get too cocky, ya lil shit, you’re still mortal.” On the inside of her right bicep she has an old proverb, “the river goes, and with it the stones.” It means that, yeah, people can make you promises, but ultimately as life goes on things could change and the only person you can really count on is yourself. ⭐ Heart breaker. She doesn’t like getting into actual relationships, she finds them... messy. So when she finds someone she actually likes she dips. And as a Queen needing to one day provide an heir, this is troublesome. ⭐ Merla had a good relationship with one mother and a bad relationship with the other. One, Arella, was a kind hearted woman, who died due to complications having her 3rd child. Merla calls her “mother.” Her other parent was a cold woman who was only interested in herself. Merla simply refers to her as “that woman” or by her first name, Zenaran. ⭐ Dyla was born prematurely, but even if she was carried to term she still would have been a sickly child. To this day she is a very delicate girl, who Merla will protect at all costs. She stands at 5′5, four inches shorter than what’s average for her age. ⭐ Merla herself had complications relating to her birth, but Dyla got everything she had, then some, and dialed up. ⭐ Unlike Dyla and Merla, Kala had no issues in regards to her health and birth. Not only that, but she hardly resembles her other two sisters. This has led to rumors that perhaps the three sisters don’t all share the same two parents, but that Kala is actually a half sibling to Dyla and Merla. ⭐ For several reasons, Merla refuses to acknowledge these rumors and has made no effort to look into them. ⭐ Dyla has not left the safety of their home palace in many years, and hasn’t been off-planet since her toddler years. ⭐ Kala and Merla were close. Kala expected the very best of her little sister, and always pushed her to succeed. ⭐ Mama Arella was a usually kind woman who lacked a backbone, but it’s rumored that she slept around outside her marriage and Merla, despite not really wanting to think about it, also has suspicions in regards to her mother’s faithfulness. ⭐ Arella was monochromatic, having black hair and grey skin. She looked like an old school cartoon character come to life. ⭐ Zenaran, much like her wife, wasn’t very faithful. However, she didn’t bother to hide it. As the one of royal blood, she was the one of higher status and could pretty much get away with whatever she wanted. Plus being an execution happy tyrant also helped. ⭐ Zenaran had long, dark red hair and blue-grey skin. ⭐ Kala is 2 years older than Merla and bore a striking resemblance to Zenaran, with dark red hair and blue-grey skin. ⭐ Dyla, age 15, is a bright and kind girl, despite her rough start to life. She has white hair and dark grey skin. ⭐ Dyla and Merla have an odd relationship. Merla is, on one hand, very much devoted to her little sister, but on the other, dismissive of the younger girl’s thoughts and wishes. She sees Dyla as fragile and incapable of taking care of herself, thus needing constant supervision and someone to make decisions for her. Dyla, though she understands where her sister is coming from, grows increasingly frustrated. ⭐ There is only one person alive who knows the origin of Merla’s powers, and it’s the woman who Arella had an affair with. ⭐ Dyla also has powers like Merla’s, but aside from the Muses teaching her how to rein them in, she doesn’t really know how to use them.

Muses HCs ⭐ The Muses of Norn weren’t kidnapped, they came with Merla willingly ⭐ She sought them out in hopes of learning to control her telepathy ⭐ Now it’s just. Merla and her squad of pretty girls. Sappho and her gal pals. ⭐ The Muses of Norn are named Thetis, Sura, Ceralean, Penelope, Era, Josephine, and Melody. ⭐ Thetis is 22 and the leader of the muses. She stands at 5′5 with blue hair and eyes, and a light brown complexion. She is associated with leadership and honorable conduct. ⭐ Sura is Thetis’s younger sister, age 21. She has redish-pink hair and blue eyes and is 5′6. Her complexion, like her sister’s, is light brown but dotted with freckles. She’s the muscle in their team. She is associated with sportsmanship, combat, and strength. ⭐ Ceralean, age 21, functions as second in command. She’s the analytical type. She’s ghostly pale, with dark blue eyes and hair, standing at 5′4. She is associated with academia. ⭐ Penelope is the oldest at 25 and is the mother hen of the team. Blonde, brown eyes, stands at 5′11, and has a lightly tanned complexion. She is associated with domestically, crops, and the changing of seasons. ⭐ Era, age 23. She has red-brown hair, dark pink eyes, dark brown skin, and stands at 5′7. She is associated with liberation, freewill, and is considered the protector of young women. ⭐ Josephine is the youngest at 17. She’s a little bratty, but they love her anyway. She has black hair, brown eyes, light brown skin, and stands at 5′2. She is associated with childhood, rebirth, joy, and is considered the protector of children. ⭐ Melody, age 19, is the quiet, soft one. Stands at 5′5 with blonde hair and green eyes, and a fair complexion. She is associated with the fine arts and humility. ⭐ Note that they haven’t aged since the became muses, so they’re all technically much older than their physical age. ⭐ The Muses were once mortal women, who ascended to a sort of deity-type status. ⭐ Although the Muses cannot age or die of old age, they can still be killed. ⭐ Thetis, Sura, and Ceralean have a strong, familial type bond, despite the fact that the 3rd isn’t actually blood related to the first two. Sura and Ceralean butt heads often, and Thetis has to play mediator. ⭐ Sura and Era tend to be a bit more loose canon than the other muses. They get into all kinds of trouble together. ⭐ Ceralean is rather protective of Melody and in turn, Melody has a bit of a crush on her.

[chongoblog]

Can we have little a reference?

Alright, so here are some fresh references for the red kraken, complete with some pieces of fanart I’ve seen of them that look the part, however the descriptions may have some lack of matching since their designs have been through some changes over time.

Mac

(art by necconya on instagram) Mac’s got messy black hair that’s around mid-length (but goes a lot more out than down) and round glasses. He’s above average height and very lanky, usually carrying a small book around with him. Upon joining the crew, he wears a red plaid button down with some baggy brown pants and eventually a bandana over his hair, trying his best to nail the pirate look (whether it was successful is up for debate). He also probably looks tired half the time.

Disco

(art by @tmvagabond) Disco is a blue-furred yellow-eyed catgirl with black stripes that run perpendicular to her limbs and sideways on her face who dons a red blouse and somewhat torn up brown pants. She’s usually carrying either her weapon of choice, a crossbow, or whatever she’s recently stolen.

Twist

(art by @val-ocity )Twist wears a thick red sweater with a darker red scarf featuring a dolphin embroidered into the end of it. She has freckles on her black skin and curly black hair with a sidecut on each side. Her eyes used to be brown, but ever since the start of where the story begins, they’ve turned purple for some reason, sometimes glowing an incredibly bright purple when her powers are out of control. I’m sure it’s nothing.

Tap

(art by @tmvagabond) Tap is also a furry (technically known as “Beastials” in this world) and is part rabbit with burnt orange fur. She has somewhat long black wavy hair and hazel eyes. Her attire is usually a more skin-tight dark bodysuit to allow her to be more difficult to spot along with a red bandana that is spotted like the skin of a cuttlefish and black fingerless gloves, however will wear unbuttoned flannel shirts in more casual settings.

Samba

(art by @thooidd or beaudryfilms on Twitter (also someone who is cute)) Samba, the proud captain of the Red Kraken, is a somewhat burly guy who usually doesn’t wear a shirt, which reveals his hairy, scar-ridden chest, however will usually wear a crimson coat with golden highlights to at least cover up somewhat. He has short red hair with a full red beard with blue eyes and after a recent accident has a classic peg leg along with a harpoon gun to replace his left arm. He wears bright tan pants underneath his golden kraken-shaped belt buckle.

Dougie

(This art was submitted to me, and when I looked back it didn’t tell me who submitted it, so if you’re the submitter hmu and I’ll put your name up!!!!) Dougie is…..an odd creature. He looks more like a ghoul or a goblin than a person with pinkish skin and wiry white hair. He’s much shorter than all the other members with clothing that looks more like a patchwork of red torn rags than actual clothing. He’s usually seen either wearing huge circular glasses or equally huge green goggles when he’s working on….whatever he’s working on. He also always wears his shrimp-shaped earrings.

Tango

(art by @val-ocity) Tango has short black hair that’s usually sticking up somewhat, brown eyes, olive skin and is ripped. Just absolutely stacked my dude. Like. Wow. His weapon of choice is a bl. His attire of choice is a red suit with the sleeves ripped off along with long red pants. His right arm has a tattoo of a shark with exposed teeth along his bicep.

Waltz

(Art by @redbuddi) HER! Waltz is a short girl with messy blonde hair that’s usually tied up in a ponytail. She has green eyes, and her face is always partially obscured by her squid-shaped gas mask. She wears a brown coat (that lightly glows in the dark from exposure to previous experiments) with a red shirt underneath, a pair of dark blue pants, and brown boots. Around her belt are usually a variety of corked flasks containing gaseous potions of various colors (the most common being pink, orange and green, however there are always different varieties).

Jig

[No art available]

A very tall, incredibly slim and somewhat elderly man (moreso middle-aged) with a clean-cut head of hair and sideburns that are brown with plenty of gray hairs growing in. Like Tango, he wears a suit, however this one still has its sleeves. He also wears very small spectacles along with a bowler hat with a sea turtle sewn into the front.

Salsa

[No art available]

Salsa’s infectious happiness is visible everywhere she goes, and is always always ALWAYS smiling. She has short pink hair, freckles and grey eyes, and is found either wearing a white shirt with a red vest or her red checkered apron. Also, she is very big, very muscular, and might accidentally break something during a hug. Also I am formally apologizing to this character because of how often I’ve changed her design

If you decide “hey I’m gonna draw one of these characters!” and you post it, DM me, because I would LOVE to see it, and I get a lot of notifications so I wouldn’t bank on me seeing a tag. And if you have any further questions about these references, feel free to ask, because I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the BEST at references.

Thank you all so much for all your support and love for these characters thus far.

[outlanderfandomfollies]

Diana Gabaldon’s Commentary on Casting Sam Heughan as Jamie Fraser | November 4, 2013

Goodness, can’t leave you lot to your own devices for long, can I? [g] Given the amount of traffic I see in the stats for this blog and my Facebook page, I conclude that the Casting Wars are still boiling along.

Well. Look.

1) People are entitled to their own opinions. Naturally, I’d prefer these opinions to be expressed—and received—civilly, but up to you, of course. I believe in the virtues of free discourse.

2) I—of course—am likewise entitled to an opinion. [cough]

Now, my opinion is based on rather more information than most others expressed here, because

a) I created Jamie Fraser and thus—presumably–have a pretty good idea of what he really looks and acts like.

b) While I haven’t yet met Sam Heughan, I’ve seen Rather a Lot of him (about 95%, at a rough guess), both in terms of

a. Photographs, and

b. Film, and

c. Bits and pieces, like audition tapes

Naturally, everyone forms mental images while reading. Everybody. I do it when I read other people’s books, too. Now, I can’t imagine why anyone—having read OUTLANDER—would form an image of Jamie as a 7-foot tall Bozo the clown on steroids, but you know….whatever floats your boat.

Why anyone should expect a film company to a) telepathically extract your personal vision of a character and b) try to replicate that onscreen is one of the Great Mysteries of the Universe, and I’m not about to try to solve it here—I got a book to write, among other things, and there are only so many hours in the day.

So I’m just going to say This about That:

Y’all have not seen Sam Heughan “be” Jamie Fraser.

I _have_.

[See more under the cut.]

Now, when they told me who they’d chosen and that they were sending me the audition tapes, I was in the car, driving from Phoenix to Santa Fe with my husband. Unable to get to my computer until we got to Santa Fe, I was madly googling “Sam Heughan” on my iPhone (my husband was driving, I hasten to add).

Frankly, I thought he looked bizarre. He’s 6’3”, that’s fine…very chiseled face, but oddly chiseled, and what’s with the large forehead and cleft chin?!? Jamie doesn’t have a cleft chin and his nose is not all that long, though it _is_ straight…and good grief, I know we wanted somebody who could play a 22-year-old virgin, but this guy hardly looks like he has hair on his behind, let alone the dangly bits…but…

But.

But you know, I _do_ understand what it is that actors do.

(Do you know that, btw? What they do is magic. They can become somebody they aren’t—and their physical outline is just Really Not That Important. (Within limits. Tom Cruise as Jack Reacher is a long way outside those limits…).)

So I sat down at my computer, sort of looking warily through my fingers. Willing to suspend disbelief if I could, but kind of dubious, you know?

So here he is, dark-haired, in a long-sleeved gray T-shirt, and I’m thinking, “Boy, he doesn’t look _anything_ like his IMDB photos, he actually looks pretty human, that’s a relief…”

And five seconds later, Sam Heughan was GONE, and it was Jamie Fraser right there in front of me. True. No costume, no makeup, no props, nothing but cues from an offstage casting director, and…it was him.

He did two scenes. First, a confrontation with Dougal, right after Dougal’s ripped his shirt off in the tavern.

“Devil take ye, Dougal MacKenzie! I dinna owe ye that!” Blazing blue eyes, swelling shoulders, and…bam. Showed this small bit to a (male) friend recently, who blinked at the screen and said, “Man, he’s powerful!” He was.

Second scene was even better; it’s the scene where Jamie explains to Claire exactly why he’s about to punish her. [g] And he had it all: patience, seriousness, annoyance, patience, humor, menace, humor, and…enough sex to drop anyone with functioning ovaries in their tracks.

Now. In the months since then, the production people have been kind enough to show me the occasional glimpse of this or that. I _have_ seen the red hair in its full glory (it took seven tries—and 27 hours in a salon chair, I was told by the victim), and speaking as someone married to a red-head (himself Jamie’s original body model) and with two more in residence…it’s definitely the right kind of red.

Red hair—as I notice a few red-heads have been mentioning—looks Way Different, depending on the light. Unless it’s truly carroty (and Jamie’s is Definitely Not), sometimes it looks almost brown, sometimes it’s red-gold and sometimes it’s all different colors and sometimes it has almost-blond highlights and sometimes…well, let’s put it this way: it doesn’t look like Bozo the clown or Shamus the Wrestler, it looks like Real Hair, just red. (And if you really worry about this, do go and google “red deer images” and _see_ what the heck a red deer’s pelt looks like.)

But beyond the physical details (which are, um…Really Good, and decency prevents me going further, save to say that while Jamie certainly doesn’t look like Thor (gag me with a spoon), he—and Mr. Heughan—look Very Nicely Muscled indeed)….Sam Heughan can _act_. And he totally nailed it.

So. Feel perfectly free to express your own opinions. (I don’t know quite what people expect as a result. Surely they don’t figure that Starz will say, “Oh, no! Robyn MacGillicuddy Stimson thinks Chris Hemsworth should be Jamie! Get Hemsworth’s agent on the phone!” Or at least I hope they don’t think that…) You’ll change your mind in due course.

Or I’ll pay you a dollar. [g]

I love to read Diana’s early impressions of Sam Heughan! The “bizarre” remark about his appearance was so strange! (Elsewhere, Diana even said she initially thought he looked “grotesque”!) 😂 

I was reading a post recently where someone completing mischaracterized part of Diana’s initial impression of Sam Heughan. They apparently did so to promote a certain “agenda” about Sam. Consequently, I thought I’d post one of her earliest (and most thorough) commentaries about her early impressions of Sam. (For some of her even earlier comments about Sam--from July 5 to 9, 2013--see POST1, POST2, POST3, POST4, POST5, POST6. BTW, these comments are consistent with Diana’s November 4th commentary. After seeing Sam transform himself into Jamie, Diana was clearly a fan.)

[edited]

[cultureisdarkbeer]

The Beginning - Chapter 2 

Scully found herself in a crowded bar at 2 o’clock in the afternoon waiting on her partner.  What so many patrons were doing there at that hour she hadn’t a clue, but the thought of possibly being hit on by a drunk made her very uncomfortable. Not to mention, it was so loud she couldn’t even hear herself think.  It was week two of working with Agent Mulder and she still wasn’t quite sure what to make of him.  The first week with him was quite an exciting one, but surely the cases would become mundane as time went on. She was suspicious of meeting at a bar.  He had already asked her to go out for a run with him in the middle of the night, called her at nearly 11:30 PM when they got back, and now this.  She began to think he might be hitting on her.  Maybe she should let him know she had a boyfriend.  She really wasn’t into divulging her personal life so easily, but this might be borderline harassment. On top of all that he was late. Impatiently, she glanced at her watch.

Mulder entered the bar and saw the studious Miss Agent Scully reviewing paperwork.  He liked the name Scully, it reminded him of the famed announcer Vin Scully, although, thankfully, she looked nothing like him. Today she was smartly dressed in her pinstripes and her hair was poofier than last time they met.  He was drawn to her lips that were highlighted by a killer red lipstick.  Maybe knowing what she looked like under that suit wasn’t the best for their working relationship.  I’m not attracted to her, he repeated to himself.  Besides, they had more important things to delve into.

He snuck up behind her and it took her by surprise.  It was meant to.  He was so close at first she thought he might kiss her.  A pleasant musky sandalwood cologne filled her nose removing the bar stench that was there previously. He was standing so close he dissolved whatever personal space she had.  Missy was right.  He was hot.  The heat emanating from his body was soothing causing her to go into an almost hypnotic state.  Her body gravitating towards him on a subconscious level.  Their eyes locked and the room went quiet.  His eyes seemingly changing color from an olive green to a gray steel as it happened.  She took off her glasses to get a better look.  He offered to buy her a drink and now she was sure he might be hitting on her.  Keep it professional Dana, she said to herself, knowing there was someone at home.

Scully let out a sigh as he left her to go to the bathroom.  There was something deeply intoxicating and intriguing about him.  At the same time she knew they were headed for trouble with this latest excursion to Idaho.  Still, he put her under his spell with his paranormal bouquet.  She smirked as she could only anticipate what he had in store.

*

At 9:13PM outside Ellen’s Air Base Scully was awoken by the crashing of the back glass of the car. Mulder grabbed her hand leading her up the hill to bear witness to the unexplained.  As they made their way to the top she grasped his hand tighter.  Why did her hand feel so comfortable in his?  Electric charges coursing through his hand into her own.  Why did it always feel like she already knew him?  A familiarity not like an ex-lover or a family member, more like the way you know your own limbs, like the way you sense your lungs take in air or feel your heart coursing blood through your veins.  She looked out at the night’s sky, lights darting everywhere not following any set pattern that she could discern. She heard the blast of a plane engine and the breeze from the exhaust. Oh. My. God.  It was close to a religious experience.

Running from the military helicopter they hid behind a tree with two kids they had discovered in the field high on more than just life. His hand scorched electricity into her back as he held it there until it found its way to her shoulder. They attempted to slow their breathing, hearts pounding with excitement.

The sun was up as they dropped off their new found young crusaders busy misspending their youth.  As they performed some more back and forth inside the car, attempting to learn more about the other, Scully’s casual comment of “If I was that stoned”  caused Mulder to believe that maybe she did loosen up and gazed at her incredulously.   

Eventually, he revealed his belief that the planes at Ellen’s Air Force Base were built using UFO technology.  She thought that he may actually be as crazy as previously alluded and her lack of a filter relayed the information to him.  He laughed as if she was just ignorant to the facts. They were speaking of UFOs, but she felt her body flirting with his as she tucked strands of hair behind her ear, eyes sparkling as she returned cracked smiles and pouty lips. The chemistry between them was strong.  An electricity so thick you could almost see it.  But she wouldn’t describe it as sexual. This was something she had not come across.  Her mind yearning for additional proof.   Another observation she made, at times, even given the substantial difference in their heights, her hips would naturally sway in time with his as they walked.  As if their hips were keeping time with a metronome only they could hear leading them through uncharted supernatural enchantment.  If he was one step ahead of her, it was only due to his inability to keep her in the loop.  She was beginning to think his private agenda was interfering.  Why couldn’t he understand that the government had a right to protect its secrets and the questions they had, they may have no business asking?

*

As the fog began to lift from his mind, he was unable to process what had occurred on the base.  It was taken from him, wiped like a hard drive.  Not like when something is on the tip of your tongue.  It was just gone.  He looked over at his partner.  She was driving them to the airport.  He knew everything he had put her through in the past two weeks had been a lot.  To tell someone of her background the things he had told her.  He understood it was hard for her to believe.  What he failed to understand was how she was still by his side.  He had lied to her, left her, broke the law, and put her career in danger.  Yet she stole a car and threatened a high powered man’s life in exchange for his own.  She didn’t leave without him and she was tough.  Qualified in her position. He was sure that the powers that be had no clue what they had done.  They saw her as a quiet capable obedient young lady, conservative in her thoughts as well as her dress.  Someone able to take him and his department down with her stringent rules and the mighty words of her field report.  What they failed to realize in their cursory assessment was what he knew as an expert profiler, a connoisseur of people.  What she showed the world was a shell she created, encased in a sculpture of choices.  Underneath the rigid layers was an ocean of unpredictability and surprises.

“How are you feeling?” She asked as she glanced over.

“Better than before, but I’ll never get parts of my memory back” He could see her frowning out of the corner of his eye.  “What made you stay?”

“I don’t understand your question.”

“I thought for sure you would have left and headed back to D.C., but you stayed.  You didn’t leave me.”

“I’m not going to leave you Mulder.  You’re my partner.  You don’t leave your partner.”

“There are some that would”

“Well, I’d like to think I have more character and integrity than that.”

“Point taken……thank you. It didn’t go unappreciated.”

“Don’t thank me yet Mulder, I’m sure this isn’t the last time I’m going to have to save your ass.”  A smile started to form at the corner of her mouth.  She glanced at him sideways keeping her head facing front as they drove off into the darkness back to D.C.

*

“Dana honestly, ever since you’ve taken this assignment you haven’t been the same person.”

“Ethan, what are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that you’ve become distant.”

“You know I am not at liberty to discuss my work with anyone.” This was the third discussion they were having about this.  The conversation was nothing but irritating.

“It’s not just your work Dana.  I think it has something to do with that partner of yours.  Something you haven’t been telling me.”

The mention of her partner caused her blood pressure to rise. “We are partners and I am a professional.  I’m also loyal.  How dare you make any insinuations otherwise.”

Ethan took a visible step back and ran his hand through his dirty blond hair. “Look Dana.  I’ve been offered another job opportunity.  This time in L.A.” He reached out and grabbed both her hands staring her straight in the eye. “Dana, I’d like you to come with me.  You could transfer to the L.A. field office.  We can work on us. Right now it’s too hard on us. You’re gone for weeks at a time, working weekends, this isn’t what we had in our plans.”

Scully released her hands and turned away from him busying herself folding laundry. “Ethan, now is not the time to talk about this.  It’s late and I want to go to bed.  It looks like we both have a lot to consider.  I’m going to need some time.”

“Well, I have to fly out to LA for a meeting next week.  You’ll have some time to think about it then.  Hopefully we will have come to a decision by then.”

One week later…

Mulder stared at Tooms in deep contemplation of the implications of such a mutant on society. He felt Scully’s hand on his arm, stroking his bicep.  Instead of stiffening uncomfortably, his body turned into hers as if part of a dance, folding into her momentum.  She pulled him out of his depravity with a simple touch and they strolled down the hallway together.

As they left the prison with Tooms quietly building a nest inside his cell, Mulder asked Scully if she wanted to stop for a bite to eat.

“I really have to get home.”  She was thinking of Ethan and how he might be upset if he knew she was having dinner with another man.  Although she did have lunch with Tom Colton, but that was only during lunch break.  The truth was she still wasn’t sure whether or not Mulder was hitting on her.  When he grabbed her necklace at work what she found unsettling was that she didn’t even flinch.  They were strangers and her body responded to him like an old friend.  What if he did try something?  What if he kissed her?  Would she pull away?  Would she try to stop him?  She wanted to think that she would turn down his advances, but would she?

“If I promise not to take you out for liver and onions will you come?”

She smiled. It was probably harmless. “Okay, but I really can’t stay out late.”

“Neither can I.  It’s a full moon. I might turn into a werewolf.” He leaned into her and let out a howl.  He grinned and his eyes sparkled.

As they entered the restaurant, Mulder opened the door for her and casually placed his hand on her lower back leading her inside.  He had done the same as he led her through the dark staring at Tooms’ trophy collection.  Once again, she did not like when men made moves like that.  She found it patronizing and possessive.  Yet, when he did it, it felt like they were lego blocks clicking together.  He picked a small booth in the corner so they could talk.  She could tell he was very much into private conversations.  His eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that shot through her core.  In his eyes she saw a day where they wouldn’t need to talk.  She would look into those eyes and know.  That was if she didn’t get lost in them first.  Her tongue flicked out to lick her top lip.

“So what looks good to you?”

“Excuse me?”  His question bringing her back. For a second, she thought he was reading her mind.

“For dinner, what looks good on the menu?”

“Oh, I’m thinking about the steak.”

“Be still my heart, a woman that doesn’t just order a salad.”

“Don’t discount me yet, I had one for lunch.  Normally, I try to eat healthy.  Then sometimes, I don’t.  After what we’ve just been through, I deserve the steak.”

“Well, good for you. I believe I will join you.”

As the waitress set down their plates, Scully took a bite and swallowed.  “I told off Colton.”

“Did you now.” He looked up at her with a grin and placed a fork full of steak into his mouth.

She nodded. “I told him I can’t wait to see him fall down the corporate ladder and land on his ass.”  This drew a laugh from Mulder. She continued passionately. “I still think we should file a complaint against him for calling off that stakeout.  He put my life in jeopardy. Thank you for saving my life by the way.”

“You saved your own life. You were kicking ass. You didn’t need me.” Mulder reached over and fixed her collar. Once again she let him without even a flinch.

That was the in she needed to address his actions. “Mulder, is it an issue that I’m a woman?”

His look was one of surprise.  It was apparent she had startled him with the question. “Why would you ask that? Anyway, you’re not a woman to me.  You’re Scully.”

Okay, so that kind of answers the question.  Whatever that means.

“Is it an issue that I’m Spooky?” His eyebrows forming a pyramid on his forehead.

Oh, this poor man. “If they’re going to call you spooky, they’re going to have to do it behind my back because I won’t put up with it.  I like working with you Mulder, the cases are definitely different.  We look out for each other...”

“And what about you?  What about Mrs. Spooky?” As he said it he lifted her chin with his index finger so she looked him in the eye.

“I’ll wear the title proudly.  I told you, we’re partners now. Mulder, I’m proud to be your partner.”

“If you left I wouldn’t have anyone to run lab tests to prove my theories.” He said it matter-of-factly like that should end any debate.

Scully was able to counter. “Hey, you believed in me when they all said I was wrong.”

“How’s your steak?” He asked completely changing the subject.  He was obviously done with the conversation.

“Very good.  Thank you.”

“Were you able to get your door repaired today?”

“Yes.  Thankfully.  I was able to get the door and window done.”

When the check came he pulled out his wallet, “I’ve got this one.  You get the next.”  

Finally, she had confirmation.  She let out a sigh and relaxed.  He wasn’t making advances. It was just who he was.

***

It was Friday night and Ellen had convinced Scully to go out with the gang.  She hadn’t been out with her friends since she started her new job, so she graciously accepted.   The bar was crowded with a dance floor to match, top 40 music pumping from the DJ’s sound system.

Ellen and Scully were propped on the bar stools watching their friends dance the night away.

“Ethan wants me to go with him to L.A.” Scully’s voice elevated to be heard over the music.

“Is that really what the problem is Dana?  Moving?” Ellen raised an eyebrow at her.

“I don’t know.  It seems like lately we’re so distant.  I blame myself.  It’s probably me.  I think I’m the one pulling away.  He says I’m working too much with my new assignment and when I’m home I’m not paying him any attention.”

“Do you love him?” The question struck her like a hammer in the chest.  She wasn’t expecting that question.

Ellen sensed her anxiety and rephrased the question.  “Do you think you could love him?”

“I don’t know.”  Scully sunk her head into her hands.  “Something’s off.  Maybe I’m not ready for another serious relationship.  Or maybe it’s him.”

Ellen straightened her posture and ordered another drink. “Or it could be your childhood fantasies of Prince Charming.  That guy doesn’t exist Dana.  No guy can be everything.”

“It’s not that he’s not romantic. He’d be a good husband.  Have you ever had that feeling inside, like there’s somebody out there that you’ve been waiting for. Somebody calling out to you in the night, and when you meet, you’ll just know he’s the one.”

Scully’s phone rang and they both jumped. “Scully”

“Hey Scully, it’s me.  Mulder.”

“Oh hey, hi Mulder, what’s up?” Scully mouthed the name Mulder to Ellen and she gave her a look that made Scully scowl.

“It sounds kinda loud on your end, did I catch you at a bad time?”

“It’s fine Mulder, what do you want?”

“I was wondering if the second set of lab results came back yet.  I’m filling out the report and I want to include it.”

“They’re in my briefcase. Can this wait until Monday Mulder?”

“Would it be possible to drop it by my apartment on the way home if you’re in the neighborhood?”

Scully let out a sigh. “Sure Mulder, no problem.”  And with that she hung up the phone.  Scully looked up at Ellen.

Ellen had a shit eating grin on her face. “You were saying about somebody calling you?”

Scully rolled her eyes and smiled finishing off her drink.  “That’s not what I meant.”

“So how is your new partner?”

“He’s good.  I think it will work out if he lets me have a day off.”

“Missy said you think he’s cute.”

Scully blushed. Leave it to Melissa to shout it to the world. “Yes, he’s cute, but I’m taken.”

“Maybe not for long.” Ellen said raising an eyebrow.

*

It was a little after midnight when Scully flicked the lights on in her apartment. Ethan was there on the couch.

“Ethan, why are you sitting in the dark?”

“I don’t know, just thinking.”

“About?” Scully put down her briefcase and sat down on the loveseat. She was not looking forward to this conversation, especially not after the long day she had.   

“It’s been an entire week since I asked you what I asked you and I haven’t heard the slightest response.”

Crap.  With all that had went on this week Scully had completely forgotten about Ethan’s proposal to move with him to L.A. “Ethan, I’m sorry, I just need time to digest all this, to think…”

Ethan rested his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward.  His voice slightly above a whisper. “Dana, I came home and I heard from the landlord that you made the newspaper.  A man broke into our apartment and attacked you and you didn’t even pick up the phone to tell me.”

“It’s ok.  I’m fine.  I didn’t want to worry you.  My partner came in and …”

“Your partner.  I’m tired of hearing about your partner.  And that’s another thing Dana.  I called Ellen and she said you were with him at his apartment.”

“I was dropping off some paperwork.”

“At this hour?”

“Ethan, I’m not going to be interrogated like this.”

Ethan got up off the couch and held out his hand as an olive branch. “Look, it’s been a long day.  We can talk about this in the morning.”

Scully stood next to him ignoring his hand.  A feeling of impending doom boiling up inside her. “I can’t. I need to head into the office in the morning.  I have to meet…”

“Your partner, right.” He ran his hand through his hair visibly agitated and pacing, pointing his finger at her.  “You know what Dana, you don’t have to worry about it.  I’ve accepted the job in L.A. I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow and you and your new partner can go ride off into the sunset.”

“Ethan you’re being dramatic.” She reached out to grab his arm, but he brushed her hand away.

“Am I?  In the month that you’ve known this guy your entire personality has changed.  You might not see it Dana, but I have.  You don’t even know him, but you’re ready to risk your friends, your career, your time, and us.  I don’t know what hold he has on you, but you need to look in the mirror.”

“I’ve heard enough Ethan. It’s not as simple as you’re making it. It’s not about him, it’s about the work.”

“That’s fine Dana.  I’ll make it simple.  Come with me.  Live in L.A.,”  He said pleading at her. She could see he was holding back tears.

Her head dropped along with her voice. “I can’t do that Ethan, not right now.”

Ethan took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  He spoke carefully with an even tone. “Well then, when you come home tomorrow.  I’ll be gone. I really hope he’s worth it Dana.”

Continue Reading

@ms31x129 @season4mulder @baronessblixen @babygirlmulder1018 @muldermakesmehorny @kyouryokusenshi

[otome-loli]

The SOS:FOMT remake and why the designs make SENSE

A lot of people dislike the SOS:FOMT remake designs because of the fact that they don’t bear a lot of resemblance to their old designs. However, the designs used in FOMT were ported over from HM64, however, the characters had completely different roles and personalities in comparison to HM64. That said, I know that BTN had changed their roles and FOMT just carried it over, but I’m focusing on FOMT and HM64 because FOMT is getting the remake and HM64 were the original designs. 

Overall, their new designs fit within the aesthetics of a new game and better suit their new roles and personalities, as opposed to the ones they originally had in HM64. If they had kept their roles and personalities from HM64, I could understand being upset with the redesigns, however, I feel that their designs needed to be updated even if it means they don’t look the same anymore.

Because truth be told, they aren’t. 

Let’s start with the ones we’ve already seen, Karen, Popuri, Rick, and Cliff. 

In HM 64 Karen:

Is the daughter of Gotz and Sasha and is the cousin of Cliff and works in a vineyard/bar. 

Is rude and ungrateful, becoming defensive towards strangers

Has a strained relationship with Gotz

In HM64, Karen’s outfit complements her personality. She’s rude and harsh, similar to Gotz and likely got her style of clothes from him. Your rival for her was also Kai instead of Rick. In HM64, she was the daughter of a rude and hard to befriend man who was described as lazy and unmotivated by his wife and a quiet but kind mother who doesn’t seem to socialize much. 

In HM:FOMT Karen:

Is the daughter of Jeff and Sasha and works in the local supermarket. 

Is chill and laid back, rather friendly and easy to get along with.

She gets along with both of her parents. 

You can see how her design is still pretty much the same despite the fact that her personality and role in the story has changed. This design doesn’t really suit someone who has a gossipy and strong-willed mother and a quiet and anxious father. 

However, her new design better reflects her personality and parents. It pays homage to her blond bangs and dark hair by having her hair transition from a light blond to a dark brown, it also pays homage to her original design by keeping her boots and shorts, as well as the vest and undershirt, but gives them a more stylish appearance. It’s something that is befitting of a girl that is no longer temperamental and rude, but rather someone who is casual and friendly. But otherwise, she looks more like Sasha and Jeff as seen in their new designs here

Jeff and Sasha’s designs even better suit their personalities with Sasha’s being more reminiscent of someone who is actually strong-willed and a social butterfly while Jeff’s looks more like a guy who runs a supermarket as opposed to looking more the version of himself who was Duke’s nephew and ran a bakery. Between the transition to HM64 and FOMT, the main thing that stayed the same for Karen was her love of drinking, but otherwise, she was a completely different person. 

In HM 64 Popuri:

Is the daughter of Basil and Lillia

Works at the flower shop

Seems to be overall more mature although still considered young and upbeat. 

You can see here how this design is better suited for someone who works more so with flowers than they do chickens. Both Basil and Lillia are florists and both have friendly and upbeat personalities. In HM64, your rival for Popuri is Gray instead of Kai. Her parents get along well and she is an only child, as a result, she helps out more in the shop. 

In HM:FOMT Popuri:

Is the daughter of Rod and Lillia, and sister of Rick. 

Works on a poultry farm.

Is more childish and doesn’t seem to help out as much on the farm. 

Like Karen, you can see how her personality has changed but her design didn’t. With Popuri, her personality didn’t undergo many changes, however, they did make her more childish with her having a huge sweet tooth and participating in festival events mostly meant for children. While still youthful, her outfit doesn’t seem beneficial for someone who works in a chicken coop even if it isn’t as much as she’d like because Rick takes care of most of it. Her outfit is better suited for someone who is a florist or works in a flower shop. 

However, her new design is better suited for someone who is still feminine, girly, and childish but also someone who works on a poultry farm. It pays homage to her original job by giving her a flower-like bow for her braid and giving her a two to three-piece outfit consisting of a blouse, bodice, and dress. It keeps in with her childish nature as well as for someone who would work on a poultry farm. Her boots are similar to the ones that Rick has and the shorter dress makes it easier to get around a coop. 

While we don’t know who her father will be in this game, we do have Lillia’s design here

Assuming they still keep Lillia’s personality and illness the same, it’s safe to assume that she doesn’t get to leave the house as much. It pays homage to her original design with the dark colors and long dress, as well as keeping her hair tied back. 

You can easily see how Popuri’s style of clothes is very close to that of her mother’s in both games. 

In HM 64 Rick:

Is the cousin of Gray and Ann and is the nephew of Doug

Works in the tool shop where you can purchase brushes, milker, etc. 

Is not your rival in any way. 

As you can see, his outfit is pretty well suited for someone who works in a tool shop. In HM64, we don’t know who his parents are, but we do know that he’s related to Gray, Ann and Doug. Because of that, we can see the resemblance between him, Ann, and Gray since they both have blonde hair and he has brown eyes like his uncle Doug. The apron allows him to reach and work with tools easily and the shoes presumably protect his feet in case any of them fall and seems to have a sweatband of sorts to keep the sweat from his eyes while working. 

In HM:FOMT Rick:

Is the older brother of Popuri and son of Lillia. 

Works on a poultry farm

Is your rival for Karen

Like the previous ones, you can see how his design didn’t change even though his roles and relations did. Here, he doesn’t look related to Lillia or Popuri, but that can be attributed to Rod as we don’t see him in FOMT. While this outfit isn’t horrible for working with poultry, there are some that could be a little more effective. 

His new outfit in the remake pays homage to his original design by keeping his hair the same color, his bangs, his glasses, and even keeping the green long-sleeved shirt, apron, and pants. However, is better suited for a poultry farm, they even gave him an eye color similar to Popuri’s so they look more related. 

With a shorter apron, it’s less likely to get pecked at by rowdy chickens and with pockets on both sides as opposed to just one in the middle, it’s easier for him to store and access small things for dealing with the chickens. And his pants are also tucked into his boots so the chickens can’t peck at that either. 

We’ve already seen Lillia’s redesign for the new games, so I won’t go over it again. While his outfit isn’t similar to either Popuri or Lillia, it is better suited for someone who is more active in caring for the farm. 

In HM64 Cliff:

Is the cousin of Karen and nephew of Gotz and Sasha. 

Lives off the land and in a cave behind the carpenter’s shop.

Doesn’t worry about not having a job, just a quiet guy enjoys animals and fishing. 

As you can see, he looks like a guy who prefers to live off the land rather than a nomad who travels place to place. His hair even has blond highlights, similar to Karen since their cousins in this version of harvest moon. He has thick braces on his arm, useful for his pet hawk Kane/Cain to land on. He’s just a simple and quiet guy who likes animals and doesn’t worry about a job because he lives off of the land. 

In HM:FOMT Cliff:

Has no known family in the town

Needs a job in order to stay and is presumably a nomad for that reason, doesn’t live off the land. 

Rather than just being quiet, he’s simply shy and has a bit of trouble opening up to people.

Just like with everyone else, noticing a trend here?, Cliff’s design wasn’t updated to better suit his new personality and role. He still maintains the outfit and looks of a guy that looks like he lives off the land rather than someone who needs a job and has no known family. The only thing that really changed between the two designs is that he lost his thick arm braces as Kane/Cain is not mentioned anymore in the games. 

While I am going to miss his blond hair and highlights, his new outfit looks more like someone who is a nomad as opposed to looking like someone who knows how to live off the land. Since he has no known relatives, we don’t have anyone to compare his outfit too. However, unlike the others, it doesn’t seem like his outfit fulfills a particular kind of job or purpose, which attributes to his nomadic lifestyle as he searches for a job and place to stay. So far, his design pays the least amount of homage to his original one, however, given how much he and his role has changed, it makes sense as he is more of a “new person” than the others revealed so far as they’ve normally have had at least one family member in common going from HM64 -> FOMT> 

I’d like to do the others, but their designs haven’t been revealed yet. So chances are, I’ll either update this post or make a part two I necessary analyzing and discussing the character art. 

In the end, while the old designs are more nostalgic for a lot of us, at the end of the day, they gave them new designs to represent who they are as people... and FOMT is vastly different from it’s HM64 counterpart even though a lot of the characters at the same. A majority of the time, their mother has stayed the same although their father changed, however, some changed more than others. 

Ultimately, I’m glad that Marvelous decided to treat the FOMT versions as if they were different people rather than just cashing on the nostalgic designs to be a selling point of the game. Their new designs further distinguish them from their hM64 counterparts because they are basically different people in comparison to their HM64 versions. 

If HM64 was the game getting the remaster, then I’d say that they should probably stick closer to the original designs. However, they aren’t and it’s FOMT getting the remake. 

It’s also important to note that the game is a remake rather than a remaster, which basically means that this is a completely different game compared to the original (as a remaster would just be graphical and mechanical updates) and I’m glad they’re treating the characters as if they are brand new characters. 

Once more designs are released, I’ll discuss them either here or in another post.

Part Two - Mary, Elli, Doctor, Gray

[kclenhartnovels]

Episode Two

[Episode One]

Kate startled awake around midnight as music suddenly blasted in the apartment.

It started with a sensual saxophone solo, cresting with a low, steady back beat and a crooning voice that spoke of cheating lovers and nights of passion. Kate sat up abruptly, clutching the sheets to hold it over her naked chest. “DeWitt!”

“It’s alright,” they called, standing in front of the window and pooled by the neon city lights. They had sent Kate to bed fully clothed, and they had been the same, but now the pair of them were nude, and DeWitt didn’t seem at all surprised. “We were supposed to be having sex by now, that’s all. The music is to cover up the sounds.”

“But where is it coming from?” she asked, twisting her head to try and find the source. She had to shout over the volume of it, but she was sure that her voice was husky for a different reason.

DeWitt shrugged, toying with an unlit cigarette and leaning their forehead against the cool windowpane. “The same place the dramatic chords come from whenever someone dies. Or the trendy pop music whenever there’s a big battle scene.”

“But I’ve never heard that before.”

They lifted their head, and for once their lips cracked in a smile. “Really? This is the first time you’ve heard the sex music?”

She nodded. Her curly hair bounced with enthusiasm. “Yes, and Trent and I have had sex a lot. It seems every time he comes home from a night of danger, I patch him up and scold him, and then we make love all night. I’ve never heard this before.”

“That’s good,” DeWitt enthused. “It means we’re starting to break your narrative, and you can see outside of it. I mean, it’s not great for your eardrums, but it’s a step closer to saving your life.”

“How long is this going to last?” she asked, dropping the blankets in favor of holding a pillow around her ears. A black bar politely appeared to cover her nudity.

DeWitt shrugged. “Usually doesn’t last longer than a few minutes. It’s a story, after all, not an erotica.” Their eyebrows lifted a moment. “God, I hope this isn’t an erotic fanfiction arc. Those always go bizarre directions, and you never know who they throw in as a crossover.”

“What?” Kate yelled around the pillow.

DeWitt offered her a smile. They pushed away from the window at last, pouring two glasses from a bottle of whiskey whose label was politely tilted to hide the brand. “This is how you can tell we have no sponsors,” they remarked, picking up the bottle and turning it. No matter which way it faced the light, the label was crossed with odd shadow, and all that could be made out was WHISKEY in all capital letters.

The music at last faded off with one last triumphant blast of saxophone. Kate dropped the pillow with a sigh of relief. Her hair was attractively rumbled, and she pulled her shirt back on without trying to find her bra. “Why is that whiskey gray?”

They shrugged. Their hat had appeared on again, but no other clothing. The long shadows politely created a deep blackness between hip and thigh. “Some of the things I bring never seem to get colored. There are days my skin is gray, too.”

Kate took the glass with a little smile, the ice rattling too-loud. A bead of condensation rolled over the edge of the glass and skipped across her fingers. “You were saying something about breaking my narrative?”

DeWitt pulled on a pair of pants, and sat across from her. They laced both hands around their glass, and stared into it as if it held all the answers. “It’s the only way to pull you from the story before the writer decides to kill you off. Sometimes keeping you absent will make the writer forget about you, but the artist seems very fond of you.” They glanced up again, watching the way the neon lights caught against her dark skin, a myriad of color that highlighted her cheekbones, the curve of her jaw, the angle of her shoulder, the ice in her glass. “We may need to take more drastic action. You need to break up with Trent.”

She dropped her glass. It shattered. Ice skidded across the floor, landing in a pool of light.

“His villain’s name is Frosticle,” DeWitt muttered, then swore. “Foreshadowing.”

“I can’t break up with Trent,” she said, clasping DeWitt’s hands. “I love him, Agent. He’s--I’m nothing without him. And he needs me.”

“He needs you to further his story.” They squeezed Kate’s hand, then stood to get a broom. “I’ll go with you in the morning, and we will see if we can’t get you quietly written out of this story before you end up in a refrigerator. Or worse.”

“What could be worse than being put in a refrigerator?”

DeWitt swept up the glass. “Oh, Ms. Jackson, I’ve seen so much. Strapped to barrels and blown up while the hero saves a future villain instead. Dropped from a clock tower and and killed inches from the hero’s fingers. Shot with a bullet meant for the hero. Killed as they are confessing their love, killed while pregnant, anything to make the pain worse for the protagonist. Spy movies are even worse--I’ve seen girls encased in gold, attacked by dogs, drowned in oil, poisoned, hit by cars, eaten by piranhas, and shot more times than I can count. It’s a dismal world for the devalued woman.”

“I don’t feel like Trent devalues me.”

“It’s not Trent that I’m worried about. He’s not the one writing this, after all.” They stole a glance towards the window as day broke too quickly, sending lances of red across the floor. Too bright, too red, and DeWitt was sure that the artist was laying the doom on a bit too thick to expect Kate to last until nightfall. They would have to move faster. “Let’s get coffee, and go find your boyfriend.”

****

DeWitt swore that, despite being a city that spanned ninety square miles, Sugar, Honey, Ice, and Tea was the only coffee shop. They couldn’t remember ever seeing another one, but despite that, the line was never longer than it took for them to complete a conversation, and there was always a table available to sit.

“Have you ever noticed, Ms. Jackson, the incongruities of our daily lives?”

Kate fussed with her spoon, stirring her coffee more than necessary, though the swirl of cream and coffee refused to blend. “I’ve noticed that my coffee never cooperates.”

“It’s more satisfying to ink a high contrast swirl like that,” DeWitt said sympathetically. “Look around a moment. Do you ever remember getting coffee from any other cafe? Do you notice anyone familiar, even though you come here every day?”

“How did you know I come here every day?”

“Ms. Jackson. Where else would you go?”

She wasn’t sure what to say, just screwed up her face and stirred her coffee with more force. “I don’t know. I don’t really pay attention to people when I’m in line.”

“What about the workers?”

Her gaze flicked up, settling on the perpetually sullen goth girl manning the register, her colored contacts and lip ring never so much as twitching from the long line of flirtatious regulars and complicated orders. Behind her, a man worked as barista, his shoulders at least twice the width of the machine, the steam billowing in front of his face. His jaw was too square, and his brow too heavy, and DeWitt couldn’t help but think it was extremely lazy henchman design.

“They’re the same as I see every day,” she said mildly. “The barista hardly ever says a word, aside from calling out orders. His name tag says Joe, but everyone behind the counter calls him Steve. The cashier’s name is Demeter, and she hates it. She’s dating a man named Harold, and she hates his name, too.”

“I don’t think I would like the name Harold, either,” DeWitt agreed, still watching the barista fill orders.

“Hey, do you think we should think up a first name for you?” Kate asked brightly. “I mean, something aside from Agent.”

They shrugged. “Truth be told, Ms. Jackson, it doesn’t bother me any longer. Let’s focus on you, first.”

“I think you’re overthinking this, Agent DeWitt. I mean, we’re in the middle of a coffee shop. What could possibly--?”

“Kate?”

She whirled around, her hair flying out behind her to take up at least three panels. Immediately, she smiled, and stood to meet the young man who called from the door. “Trent!”

DeWitt swallowed a groan. Trent Terrigan was precisely what they expected: shapely muscles even in their civilian clothes, a mop of blond hair that they supposed was charmingly messy, and troubled green eyes. A perfect poster boy for a superhero. DeWitt could already see him holding Kate’s body, screaming at the top of his lungs in the middle of a broken building, the light pouring in through the shattered ceiling.

“Kate, where were you last night? You never answered my text. I was so worried.” Trent crossed the distance between them quickly, and pulled his girlfriend into his arms. Kate’s head fit perfectly against his chest, tucked under his chin as she hugged him back. “When I got home and you weren’t there, I thought--oh, I thought something terrible must have happened to you.”

“I had a weird night,” she answered at last, and stepped back. She touched a fresh bruise on his jaw with a frown. “What happened?”

Trent pulled his head away, and looked off into the distance above her head. “It’s nothing.” DeWitt could see the flashback panels appearing behind Trent, showing quick clips of a battle with some great beast made of ice.

DeWitt cleared their throat, and stood at last. “Ms. Jackson.”

“Oh! Yes.” She pulled out of Trent’s arms, though reluctantly. “Trent, this is Agent DeWitt. I was staying with them last night.”

“Agent?” he repeated. “What agency do you work with?”

“The SCPA, Mr. Terrigan, and we’ve placed Ms. Jackson under our protection. And she has something she needs to tell you.”

“ASPCA? She’s not a dog.”

“Wrong acronym, Mr. Terrigan,” DeWitt corrected. “Common mistake.”

Kate tilted her chin, and stood beside DeWitt as if she could draw strength from them. “Trent. I want to break up.”

The lights in the cafe flickered, and the color drained from Trent’s face. “What? Kate, no. Why? Is it this--this Agent? Are you leaving me for them?”

“No. Trent, I love you, but--”

“%#@!,” said DeWitt.

I love you was enough. The espresso machine flew across the room, crashing between Trent and Kate and narrowly missing both of them. DeWitt pulled her back behind them quickly, and Trent turned to face the barista who was already climbing over the counter. Electricity crackled along Trent’s knuckles, and he immediately crouched into a dynamic pose.

“Power Surge,” the barista greeted, rolling up his sleeves as the other customers scattered to the corners of the room. “Frosticle sends her regards.”

DeWitt pushed Kate under the table as the barista picked up a chair and threw it at Trent’s head. The lights flickered overhead, then the bulbs popped one after another, sending shards of glass flying through the cafe. DeWitt drew their gun, standing guard over Kate as the first bolt of electricity from Trent’s hands sent the metal chair flying back at the barista, glowing blue from the charge.

“Please don’t shoot them!” Kate pleaded from under the table, grabbing DeWitt’s pant leg.

“Probably wouldn’t hurt them anyway,” they muttered, then pulled the trigger, firing the gun into the air. A vibrant red and yellow BANG accented the shot.

Both men stopped, staring at DeWitt in surprise.

“I have one question,” they said to the barista, the gun still pointed at the ceiling. “Is your name Joe, or Steve?”

The barista shrugged his massive shoulders. “It depends on the edition.”

DeWitt produced a business card, and offered it to the brute of a man. “Come by my office later on. I think you and I need to have a conversation. Kate,” they added, leaning down to help her back to her feet, “come on, you can come back with me.” They walked her to the door, picking their way through the broken glass and the tangled wreck of an espresso machine. “Gentlemen. As you were.”

The door swung shut. DeWitt heard the fight music swell again, and put their back to the chaotic fight within the cafe. Instead, they took off their coat, and draped it over Kate’s shoulders.

She held it close. “What do we do now?”

“Now, Ms. Jackson, we go back to my apartment and see if we broke your narrative enough.”

****

The rest of the day passed in relative quiet; when they returned, DeWitt’s apartment had at least expanded to a one-bedroom instead of a studio, and the couch and coffee table afforded them the option to play cards and talk. They ordered takeout for dinner, delivered by a tiny Chinese man who spoke only broken English, and DeWitt ate with a fork instead of chopsticks. Kate showered at least three times, and spent most of the afternoon in a towel or lingerie.

As the sun finally began to sink low, Kate stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, pressing her hands against them as she watched the city. The evening light cast long shadows across her face, accenting the arch of her cheekbones and curve of her lips. Somehow, her makeup was still impeccable, even if her hair was still damp from the latest shower. She was about to speak, then gasped, the noise coming with tremor marks in the air around her.

“Agent DeWitt, something is happening!”

Her breath frosted the window. DeWitt swore under their breath as ice crystals crackled up the pane, thin and spidery at first, then cementing to a solid block that completely obscured the view of the waking city. The room dropped in temperature, and their breaths clouded in front of them.

“Frosticle,” DeWitt guessed, pulling down the brim of their hat and pulling the revolver from their belt. Their long black coat flapped in a breeze that wasn’t there. “I guess we’ll have to deal with her first.”

Kate shivered, wrapping a blanket. “Agent DeWitt, I’m frightened.”

“Of course you are, Ms. Jackson. Otherwise you wouldn’t be a damsel in distress.”

She bit her lip. Frost tipped her black curls. “I need to call Trent.”

“Don’t. I’ll take care of it.”

“Are you going to shoot her?”

“Shoot her?” DeWitt looked down at the gun in their hand, then holstered it with an irritated sigh. “Of course not. I’m going to talk with her.”

Before Kate could protest, they crossed the small room (still cursing that their two-bedroom had shrunken. They were sure that their rent wouldn’t reflect the new size.) They unlocked their door, put on what they hoped was a calm and disarming smile, and swung it open. The hall outside was at least ten degrees warmer than their apartment, and also devoid of life.

Behind DeWitt, the iced-over windows shattered inwards.

Kate screamed, throwing the blanket over her head to protect her face. The crunch of heels on glass echoed the smile that curled the corner of Frosticle’s white-painted lips, stark contrast to her dark skin.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

DeWitt closed the door behind them, turning to face Frosticle and sighing through their nose. “Ah, yes, we’ve been expecting you, Miss--?” They paused, and a frown creased between their eyes. Though six-inch heels made her look taller, and her mermaid-cut white rhinestone dress was almost more revealing than anything Kate had worn, her face was unmistakably similar to the one still hiding beneath the blanket.

“Ms. Jackson, why didn’t you tell me that you had an identical sister?” DeWitt sighed.

Kate cowered on the floor, lifting one corner of the blanket carefully. “I don’t. I have an evil twin sister.”

Frosticle smiled, and extended one hand towards DeWitt, curls of ice spiraling up from her palm. “And honey, I’m so good at being bad.”

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[bytheangell]

Long for the Next Distraction

(Read on AO3)  (inspired by this tweet) (also blood donation so needle tw!) 

“Blood drive, hosted by Pride! This Friday, noon to four, outside the East Commons!”

Alec normally avoids eye contact with the people on campus with clipboards and flyers but the guy in front of him is the sort who demands attention. His tight black jeans, black and red shirt, and the matching red streak through his hair look more put together than Alec has felt in his entire life. And once he makes the accidental eye contact the guy smiles at him, and the color that rises high on Alec’s cheeks matches all of those accents.

“Coming to the blood drive Friday?” He holds a flyer out to Alec and Alec hesitates just a moment before taking it from him - noticing the black polish on his nails and too many intricate rings to take in at a glance.

Alec is suddenly very aware of the faded gray sweatpants and letterman jacket he’s wearing from his high school, and the rough calluses of his hands that brush against the impossibly smooth skin of the guy handing him the flyer.

Underneath the basic date/time/place of the event are a number of facts and statistics which focus on the percentage of Americans banned from donating blood simply because they’re men who have sex with other men, and other disparities between the national blood shortage and the restrictions keeping an entire willing subsection from helping. It isn’t just for a good cause - it’s to raise awareness, too. These are the sorts of things he wants to get involved in one day… when he can casually admit to more than just Jace and Isabelle that he’s gay, that is. He isn’t hiding it anymore, and that alone is a huge step for him. He simply isn’t broadcasting it, either.  He remembers a day not too long ago where he would’ve take one look at the flyer and dropped it like even being associated with holding it might ruin him, and something warms in him at the very positive shift in his life since the start of this year.

“Sure,” Alec says immediately. He hadn’t really thought about it before now, but with any luck in his college dating life this might be his last chance to donate blood for a long, long while. Not that he’s going to say that out loud, but he wants to help while he can.

The blonde next to Alec raises an eyebrow. “What are you--” but falls silent as Alec ‘accidentally’ hits him in the side with his elbow when he brings his arm back in from taking the flyer.

“We’ll be there,” Alec repeats, his words taking on a pointed tone as he side-eyed Jace.

“I’ll see you Friday then-” The guy’s eyes dart down to a space on the chest of Alec’s jacket where his name is carefully stitched in gold thread, before turning back up to his face with a smile. “-Alec.”

Alec gives a slightly flustered nod and smiles back, starting to walk away with Jace following close behind.

“Alec, you hate needles.” Jace points out. “The last time you needed a shot-” “Shut up,” Alec cuts him off. “That was forever ago, I’ll be fine. Plus, it’s for a good cause.”

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say.” Alec can hear the smirk in Jace’s tone before he even looks over. “I’m sure the cause is the only reason you’re going.”

“Oh, look, it’s that cute redhead from Econ!” Alec says suddenly, and Jace stops walking to whip his head around in every direction.

“What? Where?!” He frowns when he realizes Alec is just messing with him. “Alright, point taken. Let’s just grab dinner and I’ll stop giving you a hard time about blood guy.”

“...we’re not calling him that.” Alec decides immediately, turning left to head to the dining hall with a small smile he’s careful to hide from Jace.

---

When Alec shows up on Friday he isn’t sure if more of him is hoping Magnus will be there, or hoping he won’t. He only met the guy once, hardly enough for even a proper crush, but it’s the first time he felt those butterflies in his stomach over someone since he reached a place in his life he could - theoretically - do something about it. Of course he’s always been a disaster when it comes to flirting, so it’d probably be better if they just never crossed paths again.

There’s also the small fact that Jace bailed on him at the last minute, and doing this alone isn’t exactly something Alec’s looking forward to. In fact, maybe it’s a sign, and he really should just head back to his dorm and get some extra revisions done on his paper. That’d be safer for everyone…

Which is not at all what the fates have in mind for him that day. Once Alec spots the same spiked-up hair and smile he remembers from the other day it’s too late to turn around.  

“You came!” The guy says, practically beaming. “Alec, right?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Alec points out, unable to help a too-wide smile in return. His energy really is infectious. “And yeah, it’s Alec. I don’t think I caught your name, though…” he says, obviously inviting the information.

“Magnus. The pleasure’s mine, I’m sure.” Magnus shifts the stack of flyers he’s holding to his left hand to reach his right out to shake Alec’s. His nails are a deep crimson today to match the highlights in his hair, Alec notices. When Alec brings his gaze back up from Magnus’ hands he finds Magnus staring rather intently at his eyes, and Magnus doesn’t look away when Alec catches him doing it, either. A faint blush rises in Alec’s cheeks for the second time in as many encounters with Magnus and he makes quick work of the handshake and turns his gaze to the side.

There’s a table set up with flyers, stickers, pins, and a donation jar to support the group. Alec doesn’t hesitate to reach into his pocket and pull out a $20 to toss inside even though he doesn’t take anything. It’s the only cash on him but he isn’t hurting for money, and he’d only blow it on lattes from the overpriced place on campus anyway.

“Wow, thanks! Sure you don’t want something?” Another guy manning the table with dark brown hair and glasses offers, but Alec shakes his head.

“No, thanks. I don’t really--” he starts, but hesitates, not sure how to say what he wants to say without it coming out all wrong.

“Hey, say no more, that’s cool! We always welcome the support of allies.” “Oh, I’m not an ally,” Alec says instinctively as he moves away from the table.  

“Oh,” Magnus says, sounding deflated. It isn’t until Alec sees the face Magnus makes that he stops to think about how that sounded.

“Shit, no, I don’t mean--” Alec stutters out, not sure how this could possibly get any worse. So with that in mind he takes a quick glance around before finally managing, “I mean, I’m gay.” It’s a work in progress, saying it out loud as a statement rather than a secret, but he’s getting there.

“Oh!” Magnus repeats, in a much different tone this time around.

“Just not, you know…” Alec glances at the display on the table. “...I’m just not quite at rainbow bumper-stickers yet.” His voice is quiet and he averts his gaze to his sneakers, studying them very intently until Magnus speaks again.

“No judgment here. Really, it’s cool.” Magnus obviously picks up on the anxiety Alec was feeling about the admission and the reassurances are enough to bring Alec’s attention back to the reason he’s here in the first place, which he almost forgot after everything else.

Magnus steps a little closer, holding out one of the flyers from the other day with the facts on them. “You do know that there are regulations against donating. If you’ve… been active lately.” Magnus doesn’t look embarrassed to talk about it, though he’s doing his best to be quiet and discreet so it isn’t a thing for passersby to overhear.

Alec realizes what he’s hinting at and nods, praying that he doesn’t sound as pathetic as he feels. “I know. I haven’t quite, uh, gotten there yet, either.” He’s suddenly regretting everything that drove him to show up here today, because the last thing he wants to be doing is discussing is lack of a sex life with the hot flyer guy.

“Hey, no judgement there, either,” Magnus repeats with that easy smile back on his face.  “Just didn’t want you to be wasting your time. A lot of people don’t realize until they’re filling out the questionnaire.”

Alec nods again, wishing he had something to say that wasn’t prolonged and increasingly awkward silence on his end while he waits for the person already talking to the donation crew to finish filling their form out. Thankfully, Magnus picks up the slack.

“You didn’t bring your blonde friend?” Magnus asks, and Alec shakes his head and hides the flicker of a frown that crosses his features, trying not to give away how nervous he is to be there alone.

“No, he got held up after class,” Alec shrugs, but bites down on the corner of his lower lip a little.

The lady at the door of the donation van motions for them to come over and Magnus nods that way, walking Alec over to the door and following him inside to continue talking to him just a bit longer.

“You alright?” Magnus asks, catching the way Alec rubs at the back of his neck once they’re inside the van. Alec wonders if he looks as anxious as he suddenly feels.

“Yeah, I”m fine! Never better.” Obviously forced, too excited. Alec is trying too hard and if Magnus doesn’t notice the lab technician certainly does.

“This isn’t your first time giving blood, is it?” The woman in the lab coat asks as she makes her way over to him with the standard form to fill out on a tablet.  

“No,” Alec says, and that much is casual and confident because it isn’t a lie. He just leaves out the fact that every time ended with him on the floor, if not during the process then immediately after.

“Well then, you know the drill. Just fill this out and we’ll get going.” The tech smiles at him.  

Magnus looks back towards the door, fidgeting with the flyers in his hands. He has the look of someone who knows he should probably go and Alec realizes he stopped bringing in new volunteers to linger and talk with him.

But Alec doesn’t want him to leave again, especially not as he looks at the needle attached to a tube just a few feet away, eyes widening slightly.

“Do you want me to stay?” Magnus asks, but Alec shakes his head. Needing someone to hold his hand while he donates blood isn’t the first impression he wants to make.

“No, I’m fine,” Alec insists, making his way over to the chair in the far corner of the van. The tech pulls out the needle and gives it a tap, and that’s all it takes. 

Alec’s vision starts to spin, the edges going black as his breathing comes in short, sharp gasps, and he sways. Alec doesn’t have time to react before he feels his knees go weak underneath him and the room goes black.

--------

The flyers flutter to the ground at his feet the instant Magnus sees Alec start to sway. He’s next to Alec in an instant, arms outstretched to catch him the best he can. Mostly he softens the fall, allowing Alec to tumble into him before backing them against the wall to brace himself. Alec’s body slumps against his chest and Magnus can’t keep his grip, only managing to let him slide down to the floor as gently as possible.

“Let’s get him to a bed,” the tech suggests, moving to help Magnus carry him over to one of two makeshift beds for just-in-case scenarios like this. Alec’s legs dangle over the edge but at least it’s better than nothing.  

“I’ll get some water and crackers for when he wakes up,” Magnus says, thinking of the food he has in his backpack outside.

“We have the juice and food for the donors right over there,” the tech points out. “It’s usually for after donations to keep this from happening, but…” She laughs a little, clearly no stranger to fainting donors, and Magnus grabs a plastic bottle of orange juice and a packet of crackers - and some oatmeal raisin cookies (just in case, since he has no idea what the guy likes) - before walking them over to the table next to Alec’s chair. He sets them down and then lingers, hesitating next to the bedside.

“Are you going to stay with your friend until he wakes up?” The tech asks, and Magnus only falters a few seconds before nodding.

“Yeah, I can stay.” Magnus knows he should be outside but Simon will be fine on his own for a bit. He doesn’t point out that he’s only spoken to Alec twice for a grand total of 10 seconds, let alone long enough to be his ‘friend’. But he doesn’t want him to wake up here alone, either. This was obviously what Alec was so worried about earlier, the poor guy.

So Magnus takes a minute to go pick up the papers he dropped earlier before settling in, sitting down in the chair next to the makeshift bed and sending Simon a quick text to let him know what’s happening. Simon responds back with more winking and heart-eye faces than should reasonably be in any single message, and Magnus rolls his eyes… but not without a small smile. He was very decidedly giving Alec looks the other day and today, just some minor flirting, but he was almost positive there was something there in the responses he got out of Alec.

When Alec starts to stir Magnus tenses by his side. Will he even want him there when he wakes back up? Is this going to seem way too creepy, like some horror movie stalker level of ‘I was watching you sleep’ concern over a guy he didn’t even know? They already had what was probably a way-too-personal conversation outside about his sexuality and sexual activity, even if it did serve an actual purpose, and the poor guy probably wants to get as far away from him as possible…

It’s too late for those sorts of worries because Alec’s eyes flutter open and land on him with confusion, slowly trying to process what happened.

“Where am I?”

“The blood drive. Why didn’t you say you were afraid of needles?” Magnus asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, fuck.” Alec groans, trying to sit up - it’s a motion he immediately regrets, closing his eyes again quickly before laying back.

“Here,” Magnus opens the orange juice and holds it out to Alec, making sure he has a decent grip on it before letting go. “There are crackers and cookies, too. I wasn’t sure which you’d prefer.”

Alec looks surprised. “Thanks.” He takes a small sip of the juice, smiles a little, then takes another before answering Magnus’ question about the needles. “I was hoping I was over that. It’s been about a year since the last time.” Alec sighs.

The tech reappears at the sound of their voices.

“Oh good, you’re awake, and you already have some juice and food. Take your time with those and head back home whenever you’re feeling up to it, alright? No rush.” Her voice is kind and patient in a way that tells them she sees this plenty of times for it to not be even remotely surprising.

“Actually… I’d like to try again. If-” Alec starts, catching all of them by surprise by his insistence, before he turns to Magnus. “Would you stay and distract me? Just until it’s started? Then I’ll be fine, I swear.”

Magnus isn’t sure why he feels butterflies over the request, reminding himself Alec is only asking him because he’s the only one there and no other reason.

“Sure. I’ve been told I can be quite distracting, so I might as well put those skills to good use,” he says with a wink, noting the way Alec bites back a laugh with success.

“If you’re positive,” the tech starts slowly. “I’ll try one more time, but if it happens again you’re done.”

Alec nods determinedly and they relocate to the chair again, with Magnus pulling a spare one over to sit across from him. He has to admire Alec’s dedication. Most people wouldn’t have even humored the idea of showing up in the first place, let alone a second attempt after passing out.

She starts to prep a spot on Alec’s left arm, and the moment Alec’s face turns towards it Magnus immediately reaches a hand out and touches his chin lightly. It’s instinctive, like dropping the papers to catch him, but this time he freezes for a moment once he realizes what he’s doing before slowly guiding Alec’s face back to look at him instead, hoping he isn’t being too out of line.

Alec doesn’t seem to mind.

In fact, he appears properly distracted by the touch to his chin, so Magnus drops his hand from Alec’s face to hold Alec’s free hand instead, rubbing small, repetitive circles onto the back of Alec’s hand with his thumb.  

“So, tell me a little about yourself, Alec. What are you studying?” Magnus isn’t shy about making eye contact, especially not when those hazel eyes are so lovely to look at.

“Are you really asking me my major? I thought you said you were distracting, not predictable.” There’s an edge to Alec’s tone but he’s clearly trying to make a joke, and Magnus laughs.

“Alright, is that how it is?” There’s a hint of challenge in Magnus’ tone. “I’d say tell me your biggest fear but I think we’ve had enough of those for one day, so…”

Alec’s gaze drifts over to his side at the thought and Magnus’ free hand is back up at his face, bringing it back over again. Maybe he welcomes the excuse to do that again a little too eagerly. “Oh no you don’t.” The tech is holding the needle now, Magnus notes, giving him a subtle motion of warning that she’s ready.

“Alright, so no boring school talk. I guess I could tell you all about how I spend my nights and weekends moonlighting as an exotic dancer, then. There is a lot of glitter, and a surprising amount of tassels. I own this one very interesting pair of assless chaps for country nights, and-”

“OW!”

Magnus feels Alec’s hand squeeze down on his with a surprising amount of strength and winces, wondering if a broken hand is worth sticking around to flirt with an impossibly handsome stranger he’ll likely never see again. He decides it is when Alec slowly releases his grip and looks at him with apologetic puppy eyes that nearly melt him on the spot.

“You’re all set, Alexander. It should only take about 10 or so minutes.”

“-Alexander?” Magnus repeats, eyebrow raised slightly.

“No one calls me that,” Alec says quickly. “It’s just Alec.”

“Pity. I quite like Alexander,” Magnus muses. “Also, for the record, I am not an exotic dancer. I just made that up to make sure I had your attention.”

“...you didn’t have to make up a story for that.” Alec’s tone is surprisingly soft, and there’s a hint of a nervous smile as he adds, “And that’s too bad because I’ve always wanted to actually see a pair of assless chaps. You hear about them but no one ever actually owns them.”

Magnus deadpans. “I said I wasn’t an exotic dancer, I never said I didn’t actually own a pair of assless chaps for country night.”

There’s a pause where Alec looks like he isn’t sure whether to believe him or not, and then they both start laughing.

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious” Alec admits, and Magnus takes a split-second to weigh his options before tossing caution to the wind.

“Maybe you can find out one day… though I think that’s at least third date material.” He watches Alec’s expression shift at the words with a flutter of anticipation.

“You’re probably right,” Alec agrees. “Maybe… maybe we could grab coffee first, sometime? If you want?”

Magnus has no idea why Alec looks so terrified when Magnus is the one who brought the idea up in the first place but it’s still endearing. “Coffee sounds great.” Magnus agrees.

They talk a little bit more about little things - how Magnus dabbles in creative writing in his free time, how Alec’s parents wanted him to study politics but he’s currently undecided and just feeling things out, much to their horror - and before they know it the woman is back to wrap up the donation process, clearing him to leave.

Alec goes to stand - slowly this time - but pauses, looking down.

Magnus realizes he’s still holding Alec’s hand.

“Sorry,” Magnus says, quickly pulling his hand back with a light laugh. “Guess we both got a little distracted.”

Alec laughs back, and Magnus finds that he thoroughly enjoys the sound. It isn’t the first time Alec laughed during their brief conversation and he notices that it always seems slightly surprised, like Alec is caught off guard to be enjoying a moment of simple amusement. It’s a great laugh.  

With any luck, Magnus hopes, he’ll get to hear a lot more of it soon.

[hadirtybubble]

I Wrote This Because I Watched Underworld Pt. 2

Close your eyes.

What do you see?

Do you see memories?

Dreams?

Hopes?

When I close my eyes, I see the dark.

I see my fears.  

I see my daydreams that scare me into sleep.

1

Happily ever after doesn’t exist. I’ve always known this, even as a child. That never stopped me from hoping, though. It would be so nice if it were true. 

Too bad, I think as I walk down the street toward my apartment. It’s a cloudy, warm day and the street is bustling with people. It’s almost time for the fall festival that they have every year. I’ve never understood why it was thing. Games, dancing, music, all this work and for what? To hope for a good harvest before the winter killed everything? Seems like too much work for me. 

I stop to watch as Mrs. Gilligan puts a banner over her shop’s door. She’s a short, older woman, maybe in her late 60’s. Her dark gray hair is in a tight bun with a flower in the middle. She’s nice enough, but very serious about everything. I would go help her with putting that stupid thing up, if I didn’t know that the moment I tried, she would shoo me away saying that she is more than capable to do it herself. Her husband is holding the ladder for her. He is a thin, tall man with a smile as mischievous as the Cheshire cat. You can tell that he got into quite a bit of shenanigans back in the day. He seems as carefree as his wife is serious. Quite the pair those two make. 

Mr. Gilligan helps his wife down the ladder and before she reaches the last step, he picks her up and swings her around in his arms before planting a very loving kiss on her lips. She tips her head back and laughs like a teenage girl on her first date. She’s very pretty when she smiles. 

I start walking down the street again. I see a lot of people I know the names of. Dennis Magner, the owner of the bakery three doors down, is setting up a table outside of his shop. Probably going to sell some of his goods. I hope he sets out his brownies. They are absolutely heavenly and probably my favorite thing that he makes. His daughter, Anna, is standing by the front door, waiting for instructions that probably will never come. Dennis would rather do everything himself, naturally. He’s a bit of a headstrong man, with the demeanor of a rebel. Even has the fitting tattoos on his arms and neck that would usually make the timid people of this town scurry off into the sunset. He’s made a name for himself, though, so most people don’t pay any mind to it anymore. Anna isn’t any different from her father. Tattoos up her arms with blue hair that goes just past the middle of her back. Personally, I like the look of them. However, I doubt my opinion would be worth much to their proud family. 

Aiden Berger, the daughter of the owner of the pub on the corner, is walking toward the park at the end of the street. Probably to put up flyers of some kind. Her style just as much a rebel as Anna Magner is, only with the half shaved head and gauges to match. She is nowhere as nice as Anna is, though. Her face is in a constant scowl that only ever lets up when she sees a cat. I think I’ve only ever heard her say one sentence that wasn’t condescending or nasty in nature. Not that I mind. It’s pretty entertaining to watch her at the pub. Her being blessed with the body of a goddess does cause quite a few people, men and women alike, to want a piece of that. Watching her shut them down in the rudest way possible can be the highlight of my day. I’m quite fond of her, even though she could probably kill me with one look. 

Ioan Pearce is following after Aiden. He’s basically a puppy dog that has imprinted onto her. He’s dressed in his typical frat boy shorts and a white T-shirt. His blonde hair is shorter than it was last week, with the sides shaved almost to the skin and the top long enough to go past his ears. His whole presence had a very frat boy feel to it. I’m not sure what he hopes to gain by pursuing her, but it’s his funeral. He walks past me as he catches up to her. I stop to check my phone when he finally catches up to her. 

“A, why won’t you talk to me? Was it something I did?” Ioan says a little too loudly as he places his hand on her shoulder. As soon as it makes contact, Aiden grabs his wrist and twists his arm behind his back as gracefully as a martial arts master. He cries out in surprise as she pushes him against a wall. “Ow! Aiden, what the hell!?” 

“I’ve told you not to touch me,” Aiden growls at him. “What the hell do you want?”

“I just wanted to know why you seem mad at me. You haven’t talked to me in three days.” Aiden let go of his arm and he turned around. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing that concerns you, Ioan.”

“Nothing that concerns me? Why would you say that? I don’t understand what’s happening. I thought you liked me.”

“I do, but that doesn’t matter.” Aiden looks a little sad when she says this. “This can’t happen.” At this point, quite a few people (myself included) have stopped to watch the spectacle. Ioan looked hurt and ready to cry. Aiden looked close to the same, but still firm. Her blue eyes are looking at Ioan with a mixture of regret and pain, but didn’t say anymore. She turned away from him and continued down the street as Ioan leaned against the wall to a shop. I stepped closer to him and put my hand on his shoulder. Before I could say anything, he shrugged it off while saying, “Don’t touch me, crow.” He ran back down the street from where he originally came. 

I continued walking down the street toward my apartment. I don’t know why I try to help people who want nothing to do with me or my family, but I can’t help it. It’s a compulsion, I guess. Maybe it’s because of all of the fairytales of my childhood, or my everlasting hope of some kind of connection. Either way, I doubt I’ll find someone who will want to be in my life at this point. I think of this while I walk. I eventually start to zone out and not pay attention to what’s going on around me. 

Crow, I think. What a stupid nickname. How did they even come up with that? I don’t even look like a crow. 

“Hey!” Someone yelling breaks me out of my head and I stop. I turn and see an unfamiliar person to my left. Her bright, yellow-hazel eyes take me by surprise. She was very pretty. Tall and curvy, with long, brown hair with a white streak in it. Odd, considering she couldn’t be more than twenty-five. She looked at me expectantly, like she was waiting for me to acknowledge her. 

“Yes?” I ask, hesitantly. 

“Do you know where the Berger’s pub is?” She continues staring at me with her hazel eyes with an almost permanent frown on her face. I started to wonder what her smile would look like when I remember that I’m supposed to reply. 

“Oh, uhm, it’s on that corner over there.” I said, hesitantly. 

She looked down the street to where the pub sits. She looked back at me and said, “Would you mind walking me down there? I’m not very familiar with area. I don’t want to get lost again.” 

I’m sure she can see the sign for the pub from here. It’s kind of hard to miss. “Uh, sure. No problem. Follow me.” I started walking toward the pub. She followed me while staying a few steps behind me. I looked back a few times since I couldn’t tell whether she was still there or not. Each time, she looked like she was about to kill a man. Kind of reminds me of Aiden. 

We finally reach the front of the pub and I turn toward her again. “Here you go,” I say as I start to walk back toward my apartment. 

“Wait,” she says. I turn toward her again and wait. She says nothing for a few seconds, looking at me. “What’s your name?” she finally says. 

“Ava. Ava Wefan.”

“Wefan, huh?” She looks at me very seriously. Like she was trying to calculate something.

“Uhm, yeah. Wefan.” I shuffle on my feet nervously as she looks me up and down. This was the longest conversation I’ve had in weeks and I was starting to get uncomfortable. I get like that, especially with attractive people. And she was very attractive. Her eyes are so bright and focused that I can’t look at her without getting even more nervous. 

“Interesting. Do you happen to know Aiden Berger?” 

“Yeah, I know of her. We don’t exactly talk to each other very often.” More like, we haven’t spoken to each other in nearly two years but whatever. I glanced around to see if anyone was watching us. Nope, not a soul. I look back at the woman who is still studying me. I wish she would stop. I put my hands in my jacket pockets to help with my feelings of awkwardness. 

Please stop looking at me.

“Okay,” the mysterious woman says as she turned her eyes away. “I’ll stop looking at you on one condition.” My jaw nearly falls off my face. Did she hear me!? She slowly blinks, then looks at me again. “Let me buy you a drink. As a thank you for showing me the pub.” I look straight into her eyes for the first time since meeting her. I’m still confused about the answer to my private thoughts and am not sure how to react. How was she able to hear what I was thinking? Is she able to hear everything in my head? Has she been able to hear everything I’ve been thinking since we met? What the hell??

“Sorry,” I say. “I don’t really drink.” I want to get out of this situation ASAP. This feels dangerous and I want no part of it. 

“That’s too bad,” she says while looking around. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later.” She turns toward the door, then stops and looks at me. “My name is Ria, by the way. Ria Durham.” Stare. “See ya.” Then she steps through the door and disappears into the hustle and bustle that is the pub. 

I turn back toward my apartment and run. I run as fast I can back to my safety net of isolation before someone else can talk to me. By the time I reach my home, I’m huffing and puffing like the big, bad wolf with asthma. Running, I think. Always a bad idea. I pull out my keys while still gulping down air. As soon as I turn the lock and step inside, I breathe a ragged sigh of relief. I never want to talk to another person again. I collapse against my door and try to compose myself. 

She was terrifying. I rub my hands against my face and tuck my knees to my chest. After a moment, I lean my head against the door and let my legs relax a little. I look at my ceiling and try to continue catching my breath. “Ria Durham, huh,” I say softly. I shake my head and stand up. I hear a thud from the kitchen counter and look up. It’s my cat, Sabbath. He’s a thin, black cat who is a pain in the neck if he’s hungry. His big, green eyes look at me expectantly. “Dinner time, yeah?” I scratch under his chin while I turn toward the cupboard where I keep his food and pull it out. 

“Meow!” I hear him yell. 

“I’m getting it, you noisy thing. Give me a minute.” I pulled out his food dish and filled it halfway. I turn to the cute mat where his water dish is and set down his meal. He immediately runs to it and begins gobbling it up. “Are you that hungry?” I squatted down next to him and watch him eat. “You act like I haven’t fed you in days. Dirty liar.” I stay there for a while before I smile and stand up. 

I walk to the fridge and pull out a water. I chug it while also eating an apple. Fitting dinner for me. Ha.

I walked to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. My short hair looks greasy and sticks in random places. It’s faded from a bright red to a sad, light pink. I can see my dark, brown roots peeking underneath the color. I need to redye it. 

I look at my gray eyes and study the color. Pale gray irises with specks of gold stare back at me. I never liked my eyes. They’re too noticeable. Draw too much attention. Why couldn’t they have been a common brown or even a dark blue? At least new people who see me wouldn’t stare so much. 

Like Ria. The thought caught me off guard. Her beautiful eyes flash in my mind. My heart begins to pound and my hands begin to shake. Stop thinking about her, I firmly tell myself. I had almost forgotten about the random meeting. Was she really able to hear my thoughts or did she just read my body language? I shake my head. Of course it was my body language. If I had acted any more nervous, I would have started vibrating. 

I turn on the sink and wash my face several times. I look at myself in the mirror again. I’ll forget all about it. It was just random meeting. I’ll never see her again. Quit worrying about nothing. I walk out of the bathroom toward my bedroom, determined to forget the whole encounter. I change into my pajamas and crawl into bed. Sabbath jumps on top of me and nuzzles into the curve of my stomach and legs. 

“Goodnight, Sabbath,” I say as I pet his small head. “Sweet dreams.” I turn off the side lamp and get comfortable. 

Time to forget everything from today, I think to myself. 

I close my eyes and begin to drift. 

[seasaltmemories]

The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein Review/Analysis

Really expanding my pallet by tackling a book instead of anime like I’ve done in the past, but I have a lot of complex thoughts about this that I pretty much need to spill out immediately

Summary time:

Elizabeth Lavenza hasn't had a proper meal in weeks. Her thin arms are covered with bruises from her "caregiver," and she is on the verge of being thrown into the streets . . . until she is brought to the home of Victor Frankenstein, an unsmiling, solitary boy who has everything--except a friend. Victor is her escape from misery. Elizabeth does everything she can to make herself indispensable--and it works. She is taken in by the Frankenstein family and rewarded with a warm bed, delicious food, and dresses of the finest silk. Soon she and Victor are inseparable. But her new life comes at a price. As the years pass, Elizabeth's survival depends on managing Victor's dangerous temper and entertaining his every whim, no matter how depraved. Behind her blue eyes and sweet smile lies the calculating heart of a girl determined to stay alive no matter the cost . . . as the world she knows is consumed by darkness.

All my reviews are extremely personal, but this is going to get even more personal bc of the unique relationship I have with the original Frankenstein, I read that back in my senior year of high school and while it wasn’t a favorite of mine, I had my fun with it, I wasn’t the most diligent student, skipping much of the latter half bc I wanted to focus more on my senior thesis, but I really enjoyed Victor as a protagonist.  In contrast to how adaptions portray him, he’s a pathetic teenager/20-something who drops out of college bc he gets offended when his science professors laugh at him for wanting to study alchemy instead of a real field of science.  He gets sick at the drop of the hat, is so self-centered he really only acknowledges others when they are right in front of him, and a coward who can’t take responsibility for any of the problems he creates, all without being particularly malicious, I more enjoy laughing at him than fangirling over him, but there is a lot of humanity there that I find endearing in its own way

But I was an Elizabeth fangirl, the girl goes through equal amounts of hell without knowing it is all the fault of the man she adores.  While the narrative mostly kept her as “love interest” I felt their could be a lot of pathos to her tale and even wrote an essay about it.  However as I looked for academic material/retellings, I couldn’t find any that shared my sentiment

Recently I was brought back to Frankenstein because of a local writing contest that was celebrating its 200th birthday.  While it was looking for horror submissions in general, I wrote a modern retelling with the intent of giving it a female perspective and subsequently won first place for it

So when I discovered this book, published around the same time as when I wrote my own retelling, it seemed made for me.  And oh those first few chapters were a treat, it felt exactly like something I might even write: Elizabeth is someone who plays the angel bc she fears she won’t survive if she is anything less perfect, and no matter the situation this suffocating anxiety grips her every action as she tests people’s reaction to her, I was on cloud nine for all of act 1, other reviews seem to dislike the slow past of that part as it all takes place in one slow day with lots of flashbacks, but I loved marinating in Elizabeth’s inner world as I hadn’t be able to before

Act 2 is where some complicated feelings mixed in, and to talk about then completely I’m gonna go into spoilers.  If you are interested in it so far or tend to like my writing of worn-down girls trying to survive in worlds where their image can decide their fate, then I recommend it.  For full effect it helps to have read Frankenstein since there is so much of the novel is tied to the original and it pays a lot of love to the cultural icon it has become as a whole, but apparently other reviewers have enjoyed it without that prior knowledge.  If you are still on the fence/don’t care about spoilers, let’s dive into the next 2/3rds of it

First of all, this novel reads so much like fanfic.  I say that as not a measure of the quality of its writing, bc at its core it is fanfic, and since it falls into that genre, it shapes many of its strengths and flaws.  For example, Act 2 is the weakest section of all bc so much of the plot is recounting plot point by plot point or the original, and aside while the POV switch makes certain events, like Justine’s death hit harder and in a different way, it also inherits some less tightly-written sections, like Victor traveling to England to build the bride.  But in a way I can excuse that because by then I had started to treat it like fanfiction and took that as a sunk cost that couldn’t be avoided bc of the format

What really shows that this is fanfic is the fact that rather than simply retell the original, it uses the material left behind to build an original story of a woman trying to find an identity that has never felt her own, and I don’t find any fault in that because I have done the same, hell I’ve written about blonde teenage Elizabeths in the 19th century who tailor their entire personality for their dark, morally ambiguous cousin that they are in love with it, but because I can so closely relate to the mere concept of writing a story like this, I find I am much more critical of matters of personal taste than I would be otherwise

To put it bluntly, TDDEF’s Victor is not Shelley’s Victor.  And while it tries to play that “untold story” angle to explain the discrepancies, it does not work.  Here Victor is like one step away from being a literal demon child, lacking any care for anyone besides Elizabeth and always ready to cut someone/thing open with a knife.  He is completely obsessed with her, being inspired to conquer death not because of losing his mother, but because he realized her morality when she catch a life-threatening illness, and while it works for the story TDDEF wants to tell, it is not the Victor I know as he goes on to do even worse things than Shelley’s version

Now again I am faced with having done the same before, taking much less morally gray characters and in fanon dying then a few shades darker, but while this is nitpicky, it makes a lot of the details between the two works not line up so well, even before the narratives diverge

Like for example I never bought Victor’s love or even obsession for Elizabeth here, like Shelley’s version they are often apart and even when together Victor is stuck in his studies, yet here she becomes his entire motivation, part of this was because TDDEF wanted to highlight the problematic elements of the original relationship, but I feel like it still could have been done while veering closer to the original depiction, like despite all Elizabeth does for him, he treats her more like a pet he has to remember to feed and allows her to go through a lot of trauma to save his own skin, that’s still a damning portrayal without falling into the evil cartooniness TDDEF’s version sometimes does, but even within that criticism I can see my biases getting in the way bc I like and write male love interests who mean well but can still fall into toxic behaviors

Regardless, Act 3 is where the narrative really comes into its own, and while I still prefer Act 1, it preferable to the safeness and predictability of Act 2.  It is completely unsubtle about the message it wants to send, and while I can’t fault it for it, that’s when the YA label really starts to show, my feelings about the YA genre could fill an entirely different post, but to explain what I mean about feeling YA  in the most simplest terms, well I would have absolutely adored it if I was younger, sometimes it may get cheesy or self-indulgent but I know if I was the target audience it would have shaken my entire worldview on what books could do and say.  And a lot of that is bc it caters to the adolescent appeal of fanfic, like the narrative could have ended two chapters before its true end, but it instead goes on what feels like a fan’s post-canon imaginings, which while a bit too sappy and simplistic for me, is the type of closure younger me would be starved for

So I am in an odd position, feeling on one hand almost betrayed for it drifting from the vision I found perfect, but also knowing it did so to be true to a vision younger!me would have needed, I guess the best way to describe it is that while Act 1 is still something I personally enjoy, the rest is something I more appreciate from an academic/impersonal perspective.  And while I can’t say I am completely satisfied to be there, I feel like maybe a high school girl who reads Frankenstein for her English class and falls for Elizabeth like I did may now be able to find others giving her the type of love she needs Elizabeth to get

[oftextmessages-a]

oh so i meant to do this a while back but a quick thing for how some of my muses differ from their fcs

ALANA - she basically just looks like kristolyn lloyd with the exception of unlike kristolyn she is almost never seen w/o her glasses bc she cannot see w/o them herself. she usually wears gunmetal gray squareish-rimmed glasses like her pair in the play, but her back up pair in case those ones get lost or broken are basically just round wire frame glasses

CAROLINE/GLaDOS - actually no there’s no difference fairlith as caroline and glados is perfection and i refuse to mess w/ it. The only thing that really counts as a difference is that instead of the glados costume being in pantomime for her chassis i literally just use it as an android body design

CHRIS - his hair is a slightly more golden blond and is also slightly longer and more naturally curly. his face is a little more round in the cheeks, and he has a small amount of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He also has more sparse freckles distributed across the rest of his body. if you’ve ever seen wonkabar’s drawings of elder poptarts?? That’s pretty much how i envision him. Oh and he has a lil bit of tummy chub. he’s cute and i love him

EM - she’s had two rlly different fcs so i just kind of combine what i like best abt both of them in my head?? she has freckles all over her body, but they’re especially concentrated across her nose, on her shoulders, chest, and upper back. her hair is wavy and it’s natural coloring is dark brown but she dyes it more of a reddish-brown color and has blonde-faded/highlighted tips most of the time. She’s small-boned and pretty lean in most places being so petite but has a lot of muscle particularly in her biceps and thighs because of her active lifestyle

GOLDIE - there’s no real difference between my vision of her and her fc. altho she does have stretch marks from her pregnancies with shania and she got more while pregnant with sawyer and they’re good and i love her and just thought i should mention those things

SHANIA - not really much different from canon but she does get prescription glasses post-canon! they look the same as the ones that are just frames and she wears them all the time despite really only needing them for reading

[twilight-alchemist]

Thalassophile

Ao3- x

for @varusai

Thalassophile- a person who loves the sea

Summary: Saitama lives on a small boathouse in a hidden bay, just her and the sea. She thinks she’s content until she gets a curious visitor that upsets the balance of the little world she’s made for herself.

It’s one of those gray days, where the sea and sky are joined in one great foggy expanse across the coastline. Saitama quickly strips down to her bathing suit and pulls her goggles from around her neck to over her eyes. She wanted to come out and swim hours ago, but sleeping in was better. At least she’s doing it now. The smooth wood of her boat’s deck is cool under her feet as she steps down onto the platform just above the water’s surface. She jumps and the water is shockingly cold as it closes over her head. She pops back up to the surface and shivers as the cold jolts her fully awake. Treading water is easy, feeling supported and safe with water all around her. This is the best part of everyday. She kicks off and dives under. The sea is dark today, with no sunlight to reach below the waves. The wind is still and so are the currents; the resulting calm making the water as clear as glass.

Saitama glides easily through the water. The quiet is thick around her until she pops up for air and hears seabirds yelling at each other like old women fighting over the last free sample at the supermarket. She rolls over to float on her back, staring up at the sky. Normally she’d look for shells and cool fish, but today it’s hard to see much. Floating is fine.

She knows the bay well, every out cropping, every oyster bed, every place the seals haul out to warm in the sun. With her ears in the water she can faintly hear the whales singing past the coastline, where the ocean is deep and vast. She’s swam with them there before; it was nirvana. Restless, she dives again. She longs to go swim with them now. She would need her boat to be running though, and the engines not getting fixed until tomorrow when Mumen can swing by. Her feet touch sand and she half-sits on the seafloor. A crab skitters by her, waving its claws in warning, and a small school of silver fish dart around her to disappear into the depths. Her mind is as still as the water as one minute, and then two tick by. It’s peaceful here, away from land and all its troubles. Safe.

A large highlight appears in the distance, a smear of white against darkness, and Saitama stiffens. There are seals around here, so it wouldn’t be the first time she’s seen a shark in her bay. But she’s never heard of a shark this big. Her instincts scream at her to move, but she knows she’s safest staying right where she is. The creature moves closer and Saitama nearly sucks in seawater with the urge to gasp. There’s a mermaid only meters away from her. They’re so rare that little is known about them, beyond that they are intelligent and capable of speech. This one is clearly some kind of whale as she’s huge and scale-less. Most bizarrely, one of her arms is cybernetic. Saitama stares at the mermaid who stares back unblinkingly. Her eyes are black and gold and almost seem to glow in the dim water. Minutes pass and Saitama needs to breathe. Slowly, as to not startle the mermaid, she swims upward. The mermaid follows after her as she scrambles up onto her boat. She lifts her head above the water and blinks up at Saitama.

“Are you lost?” Saitama asks, feeling foolish only moments later for asking.

The mer lets out a small chirping laugh, revealing sharp teeth. “No, I’m not lost.” She speaks as someone who’s unfamiliar with English, with halts and odd vowel sounds. She pats the boat deck curiously. “My family- the whales… want to know how you swim. Like a seal, but a human.” The mermaid frowns. “Are you a selkie?”

“No!” Saitama squeaks. “I’m a human.”

“Then how do you hold your breath?”

“Lots of practice.”

The mermaid seems to think on this. “What are you called?”

“Saitama.” She says. “And you?”

The mermaid makes a series of hums and clicks.

“I don’t think I can pronounce that.” Saitama admits.

The mermaid looks annoyed. “It is not hard.”

“My vocal cords don’t do that.”

She huffs. “You can call me Genos. It is the name on my tag.” She points to a bright pink tag on her dorsal fin.

As she turns Saitama notices that the same side with the cybernetic arm is a mess of old scar tissue, faded pink against ivory. “Okay. Your family is the humpback pod? But they’re not mermaids.”

Genos looks unimpressed by this observation. “I am adopted. I lost my pod and arm to a sea monster when I was a calf.”

“Oh. Sorry.” There an awkward silence, and Saitama motions to the cybernetic arm. “Who made you that?”

“Dr.Kuseno. He found me on the beach after the attack, saved me. A mer without an arm and without a pod is dead, but because of him I did not die.” Genos rests her arms on the back of the boat, causing the whole ship to list towards her and Saitama to squeak. “Now I protect the whales who took me in. None of the other resident merfolk would take me in, because I’m not family. They also think I’m weird looking.” Genos frowns at that. “They say the sound of my arm hurts their ears, but I do not hear anything. They do not like that I am not mostly black, like a resident mer should be. They say all the white means I’m a ‘dirty transient seal-eater’.”

Saitama processes all this information. She’s talking to mermaid. She’s easily as long as the boat from head to tail tip, making her nearly 25 feet long. She’s tan from her head to her chest but it fades to pure white and then cuts into black at the end of her arm and tail. She has short platinum blonde hair that looks as oily and thick as an otters. ‘Probably to keep her warm where she has no fat’ Saitama thinks. She’s definitely chubby, not that much different than Saitama herself. Certainly helps to prevent getting a chill.

“You don’t have ears.” Saitama blurts when she notices. Genos blinks at her.

“Yes I do, or how would we be talking?” Genos says, her tail swishing through the water and rocking the boat. “I forgot how stupid humans are. You don’t have any hair but I wasn’t nosy about it.” She starts grooming the fur on her head, running he hands over her neck and through her fur as she fluffs it. She looks more human like that, with her hair mussed and her tongue poking out in focus.

Saitama huffs at the insult. “Hey I’m not the one grooming myself like a cat.”

“What is a cat?”

“Forget it.” Saitama snaps. Genos visibly wilts. Saitama mentally smacks herself for being an ass.

“How old are you?” she asks. Genos perks up at that.

“19.” She says.

“You’re uh, big for 19.”

Genos preens at that. “Yes! The whales always tell me ‘little one you are so small! Like a new calf!’ and I am much older than a calf.” She splashes her tail with a slap that echoes around the bay.

Saitama nods as she shuffles around the tilted boat, grabbing what she needs for lunch. There may be a mermaid on her boat but she’s still hungry. Saitama’s appetite is one thing that has never failed her. The oysters are still in the cooler, though nearly knocked over, and she sets it next to her and pulls one out. She sets about shucking it open with a dull knife, looking for weak points in the seam of the shell. Genos watches curiously as Saitama fits her blade between the seam, prying it open with a crunch. “Want it?” Saitama offers. Genos eyes her.

“That’s food?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

“Is too small to even be a snack.” Genos says, but she takes it anyway. She just holds it, watching as Saitama shucks another one. Saitama adds lemon to hers and throws is back. It’s not her favorite food, but free lunch is free lunch. There’s enough oysters in this bay to feed her for years. Genos eyes Saitama and slurps the oyster out of the shell. She smacks her lips and inches closer. “Can I have another one?”

“Yeah there’s plenty.” Saitama hands her a shucking knife and a handful of oysters. They seem so small in Genos’ hands, and Saitama notes the thick webbing between her fingers. “Here, just find the weak point in the shell and jam it open. It might take you a few tries to get the hand of it.”

Genos easily prys open the first one, and Saitama raises her eyebrows. “Lucky first try.”

Genos repeats it perfectly with a second one. “I saw you do it, so I figured it out.” Genos hums, munching on the oysters. “And I am much stronger than you.” She breaks another shell open with brutal efficiency and hands it to Saitama. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Saitama says, somewhat impressed. She considers frying some of the oysters for variety, but with the ship tilted it’s probably a bad idea to cook on the stove. They eat in quiet for a while, until Genos insists on trying some of Saitama’s lemon slices and shrieks so loud Saitama thinks her ears will burst.

“That’s like trying to eat a stinging jellyfish.” Genos wails. “How do you enjoy that?!”

Saitama shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s good on things. Normally you don’t just eat the peel and all. If you hate that then don’t even think of trying cocktail sauce.” Saitama holds up a little jar of it from the cooler, and adds some to her next oyster.

“I want to try it.” Genos says.

“Are you stupid?” Saitama drawls, eating her oyster. “It’s spicy. I don’t think the ocean has spicy, just like it doesn’t have sour.”

Genos makes puppy eyes at her until Saitama gives in, handing her an oyster with cocktail sauce in it. Genos eats it and pulls such a face that Saitama nearly tumbles backwards into the boat from laughing. Genos sulks low in the water, just her eyes and the top of her head poking out.

“I did warn you.” Saitama says. Genos makes a series of annoyed clicks and thrashes her tail, stirring up the sediment in the bay and clouding the water. She pauses to listen, head cocked, and disappears under the water. Saitama can hear her clicking and warbling. Genos pops back up.

“The whales are checking on me. I think they trust you more than other humans, but they worry about me.” Genos frowns. “Whenever you went to swim with them before they made me hide.”

Saitama hums “So that’s why I’ve never seen you with the pod.”

Genos nods. “Our matriarch says that long ago, humans would abduct merfolk, and so we should be careful.” Genos reaches out to poke at Saitama’s toes, making her jump as claws skim the pads of her feet. “But you are always alone, and your ship is small. You live on the water, and you swim like a seal. You are a strange human.”

“Hey my boat’s not small it’s just compact.” Saitama grumbles, tucking her feet up under her so Genos will stop poking at her toes. “And I’m not strange. I just like being alone, and being near the ocean.”

“I don’t like being alone.” Genos hums, looking out towards the mouth of the bay. Saitama turns to see what she’s looking at. The waves crash against the rocks there and the push and pull of the tides is mesmerizing. Genos is staring at something out past the waves, like a half-forgotten memory. “The ocean is vast and often empty, and it is easy to lose yourself if you are alone.” Her expression is deeply sad, and Saitama scrambles to say something.

“You have the whales now. And you could always come visit me again.”

Genos lights up. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, if you want to.” Saitama mumbles. “I don’t think I’m that interesting.”

“I think you are.” Genos rolls over so she’s floating on her back and clasps her hands over her chest, looking like an overgrown sea otter. Saitama grabs her short flippers and tugs them on so she can have small hope of keeping up. She slides off the platform and swims around Genos’ side. Genos stays carefully still, watching her. She seems even bigger up close, and Saitama can’t help but run her hands over her tail where white merges with black. Her skin is soft and cool to the touch. Genos squeaks and twitches away from her hands, rolling over and resting low in the water again. The mermaid reaches a hand out for Saitama and she nearly flinches away. Her large hands are pure black and tipped with claws and Sai’s base brain sends off panic signals. Saitama reaches her hand out in return and Genos gently pokes at her palm, examining her fingers and blunt nails.

“Are you really adult size?” Genos asks.

“Yeah, I’m full grown. You must be too, right? You’re already as big as an adult orca.”

“I have hit maturity if that is what you mean, but I still have a lot of growing to do.” Genos says. “Maybe in a few hundred years I will be big enough to kill the sea monster.”

“Uh, how big is that?”

“About as big as my moms, the humpbacks.”

Saitama whistles. “I’ve heard merfolk could get that big but it’s never been confirmed.”

“Yes, it is not that unusual. Humans are just terrible at finding things in the ocean that do not want to be found.” Genos hums. She looks up at the sky, squinting as the sun starts to break through the clouds. The bay lights up around them and Saitama smiles at the way the water sparkles. She pulls her goggles up and dives down, running her hands over the soft sand on the seafloor. Genos alternates floating over her and swimming circles around the bay. When Saitama breaks for air Genos comes up to breathe as well.

“Let’s go swim out there.” She says, pointing to were the waves break against the rocks. Saitama frowns.

“I’d like to, but I can’t swim through that. It’s fine for me to take the boat through it but the current there is too strong to swim against and I could get thrown into the rocks.” Genos smiles, which manages to be both cute and unnerving. She turns so her back is to Saitama.

“Grab my dorsal fin and I can get you through.” She says. Saitama figures she can now check mermaid riding off her non-existent bucket list. She quickly discovers that trying to climb up Genos’ smooth side is nearly impossible. With some undignified splashing she manages to get to her curved dorsal fin and hold on. Genos dives and surges forward with such force that Saitama nearly loses her grip. It isn’t even moments before they shoot out of the bay and hit open ocean, the sea floor falling away beneath them. The whale calls are much clearer now and Genos calls back to them several times. She hovers in the water, still and listening. The whales calls are haunting and beautiful, and Saitama realizes that Genos’ signing is almost like someone slowly playing a violin. Saitama lets go of Genos’ fin and swims a circle around her. She then swims down, aiming for the dim seabed below them. Genos follows slowly after, clicking in concern as they go deeper and deeper. Saitama touches the bottom and feels herself go lightheaded, kicking off and swimming upward. When she breaks the surface she sucks in air, the head rush disorienting.

“Why do that?” Genos asks.

“Just to prove I can.” Saitama says, grinning. It’s easy to tread water with her flippers on, and she sucks in air until the sky stops spinning. She pulls in a deep breath and dives again. Genos swims loops around her, graceful and controlled. Saitama grabs her arm on the next pass and let’s herself be gently pulled along. The ocean is all encompassing and so serene, and Saitama imagines she could almost nap like this. Unfortunately she’d drown. If only she’d been born a mermaid like Genos.

Two whales emerge from the distant haze and approach quickly. It’s clear that they’re having some kind of conversation with Genos as she picks up her singing again. Saitama notices a calf peeking out from under its mother, curious as to what’s going on. Genos wiggles out of her grip and swims to the calf. They squeak at each other. It must be a game, because the next moment Genos is zipping away, the calf hot on her tail. They both breach the surface and slam back down with a great splash. The calf’s mother rolls over on her back and Saitama swims along her side, amazed as always by how peaceful the massive creature are. Genos and the calf return only to race away, and Saitama realizes the game is tag. Genos slows and doubles back until she is caught, making a big fuss about it. The calf returns to mom and pauses to give Saitama the big eye, floating sideways to get a good look at her. Saitama wants to laugh at the calf’s expression, but then she’d lose her breath. Genos drifts overhead and gently lifts her under the arms and tows her to the surface. When they break the surface she rolls over so Saitama is perched on her belly. The mermaid gives Saitama a look not unlike the calf a few moments ago.

“Are you sure you are not a selkie?” She asks as Saitama yanks her goggles off with a pop.

“Yes, I’m just a human with no survival instincts.” Saitama jokes as she pulls air into her burning lungs. Genos starts to move back towards the bay and Saitama flounders. “Wait! Will we get to swim together again?”

“Maybe.” Genos says. “Depends on when the matriarch decides we move on. It might be tomorrow, or it might be moons from now.” Genos pauses and Saitama thinks she might be blushing. “I’d like if we could swim together again soon.” Genos lifts Saitama back onto the boat and hovers in the water. Saitama pulls off her flippers and goggles, grabbing a fluffy towel to throw around her shoulders and ward off the growing chill of evening. “I have to go.” Genos says, looking for all the world like that is the last thing she wants to do.

“There’s always tomorrow.” Saitama hums, and she turns to climb back into her boat.

“Wait!” Genos says, and as Saitama turns back she rears out of the water and kisses her. It’s over before Saitama’s even processed it, Genos already disappeared. She breaches just past the mouth of the bay and is gone. For the first time in ages Saitama finds herself thinking that tomorrow can’t come fast enough.

[gloriousgwendolinechristie]

Press: Why the Women of Top of the Lake Are Laughing in the Face of Male Complaints

“They’re asking for too much, these dudes.”

    VANITY FAIR – A brief cloud crosses actress Gwendoline Christie’s face when I asked her if she thinks her Top of the Lake: China Girl character—the hopeful, open-hearted officer Miranda Hilmarson—bears a close resemblance to her real-life persona. Anyone who has watched Christie in interviews or on a red carpet knows that the six-foot-three blonde—who made a name for herself playing severe, lethal characters like Brienne of Tarth on Game of Thrones, Commander Lyme in The Hunger Games, and Captain Phasma in the latest Star Wars trilogy—is, in actuality, one of the friendliest and easy-to-smile actresses in the business.

  That goofy side is on display for the first time in Christie’s decade-long career in a role that Top of the Lake creator Jane Campion wrote specifically for her. Hilmarson will stoop to make friends with a dog, and does her best to crack the hard nut that is Elisabeth Moss’s Robin Griffin. But Christie is still right to distance herself a bit from Hilmarson—because, like everything in Campion’s work, this bright and cheery constable has a darker side.

  Moss herself is fond of repeating Campion’s thesis statement for creating Top of the Lake, an ongoing dark feminist drama disguised as a crime story which follows Detective Griffin from a small New Zealand town in Season 1 to the faster-paced dangers of Sydney, Australia, in Season 2. “The placid lake of Season 1,” Moss says, paraphrasing Campion, “hides the danger underneath. But while Season 1 dealt with the wildness without, this year we’re tackling the wildness within.” And indeed, the second season of the critically acclaimed drama—which airs six new episodes on three consecutive nights starting Sunday, September 10, on Sundance—brilliantly juxtaposes the gray, ordered facade of a city like Sydney with the messy, violent passions of the people who inhabit it.

  Still licking her wounds from the trauma of Season 1 (the loose ends of which are brilliantly tied up via heartbreaking flashback and a harrowing guest appearance in Season 2), Robin once again serves as avenging angel—this time for a young Asian sex worker who washes up on a Sydney beach inside a suitcase. “Hello, darling,” she murmurs to the mutilated corpse. “Do you want to tell me what you saw?” But while Griffin has always had an easier time tenderly connecting with the dead, the second installment of the series pushes her, hard, out of her comfort zone when she is reunited with Mary, the long-lost teenaged daughter whom she gave up for adoption (played by Campion’s real-life daughter Alice Englert) and Mary’s parents (played by Nicole Kidman and Ewen Leslie).

  In Mary, a role also specifically written for the actress who plays her, Campion has outdone herself in her ongoing exploration of duality, darkness, and femininity. A smart, damaged, vulnerable, hard-to-love teen, Mary finds herself wrapped up in the case of Robin’s dead girl and dares the audience to sort her into either the hero or villain category. She defies definition, which ultimately is Campion’s finest gift for all of the women in Top of the Lake. “When I took on the role,” Englert says of that at-times monstrous, at-times vulnerable Mary, “I felt like that was my challenge—to root for her. And I didn’t know if anyone else would, to be honest.”

  Once I had seen the full season of Top of the Lake: China Girl (Sundance initially only set three episodes), I understood Christie’s reluctance to identify too closely with Constable Hilmarson. “I enjoy playing humor very much,” she admits, “but I would hope that I’m not as dark and sad as Miranda is, or struggling with life as much as she is. But she is a character with an open heart, and that is a joy to watch and a joy to play.” Moss also rejoices in getting to play Detective Griffin once more—a role that did a lot to change audiences expectations of what a petite and wide-eyed actress like her can bring to a part like this. TV lovers are quite accustomed, now, to Moss’s steelier edge, having watched her grimly stare down the camera for 10 episodes of The Handmaid’s Tale. But way back in 2013, Campion was the first filmmaker to really tap into the dark, messy potential of an actress then best known for playing good girls like the president’s daughter on The West Wing or Don Draper’s protégé (with, O.K., a slight edge) in Mad Men.

  How does Jane Campion write such messy, complicated, hard-to-define women? Easy, Moss says. “Every character is an avatar of Jane. Every single one.” When I run this theory by Englert, she laughs in delight. “Yeah—now that you say, what I love about my mom is that sometimes she reminds me of that special energy and passion that you have. That fight in you at like, 12. Hormones haven’t hijacked you and manipulated all of your energy into ridiculous pursuit of procreation. You can see the adult world, but you’re not part of that yet. My mom reminds me of that.”

  But for all the room Campion gives her female characters—space to be disasters capable of tight control, or monsters capable of tender heroism—she doesn’t quite afford the male characters of Top of the Lake: China Girl the same dimensionality. Almost every single male character, from customers in the brothel to Mary’s piggish, too-old boyfriend, Robin’s sexist colleagues, her somewhat selfish brother, and her wrapped-up-in-the-murder boss, is either an outright villain, an exploration of frustrated male sexuality, or someone caught in arrested development. There are scant men, other than Mary’s dad, Pyke, worth rooting for. And most of the compelling relationships in Top of the Lake: China Girl are between two women—either mother and daughter or female colleagues. In other words, as Englert puts it, the female issues that are usually the “side salad” of most films and TV (especially in the crime genre) are the “main course” of Top of the Lake.

  Rather than reject this critique of the men in Top of the Lake—initially brought to my attention by a male TV critic—Moss and Christie gleefully embrace it. “Another man pointed it out to me,” Moss responds, laughing. “I didn’t notice it either.” Pointing out that it’s usually women who fill the two-dimensional roles while men have the meatier parts to chew on, Moss teases that Top of the Lake was a “taste of your own medicine. How’s that?” Christie also had to have this phenomenon pointed out to her. “I hadn’t noticed at all. A good friend of mine actually said: ‘There is not one likable male character in this.’” Grinning devilishly, she continues: “That’s unlikely, isn’t it? We don’t normally see that in our TV dramas, do we?”

  Only Englert is willing to stick up for at least one of her male co-stars. “Pyke is a lovely man! He’s a beautiful character,” she says, heaping praise on her TV dad. He’s played with passive, bearded charm by Ewen Leslie, though some might argue that Pyke is neutered by the fact that his wife (Kidman’s brusque and insecure Julia) has left him for another woman. He’s also constantly capitulating to his willful daughter. And Englert also concedes that there are no unalloyed heroes (of either gender) to be found in Top of the Lake. “I find it really interesting that men want to be so liked. They have to be perfect to be a likable character. It’s like, get used to it. You can be imperfect and still be interesting. They’re asking for too much, these dudes.”

  It’s the art of imperfection that Campion has truly perfected in Top of the Lake’s shaggy second season. The mystery of the girl in the suitcase resolves itself, improbably, much the way the first season mystery did, via coincidence and too many connections to Robin’s personal life. But that’s because Campion isn’t as interested in the mystery as she is in the striving, failing, complicated women caught in its orbit. Top of the Lake goes well over the top at times to highlight cartoonish male villainy, and has zero qualms about leaving certain threads dangling. But at its beating heart, this is a story of a girl caught between two mothers—which Campion can’t help but make intensely personal by casting her own daughter at the center of this unconventional love triangle, and drafting two of the finest working actresses to play different versions of herself. “What great auteurs do, in my opinion, is show you their vision about what it is to be human,” Christie concludes. In other words, this is just Jane’s world—and we’re all lucky to be in it.

Press: Why the Women of Top of the Lake Are Laughing in the Face of Male Complaints was originally published on Glorious Gwendoline

[writeroffanfiction]

Protagonist Prep

Ch. 1 Student Letters “ WriterofFanfiction owns nothing”

Dimesion 54A-2113A “SVTFOE”

In a quaint but odd looking house two teens are examing two strange letter. Actually, one was examining the letters and the other was trying to grab them and open them.

“Star quit trying take them” A teen with dark brown hair and wearing a red hoodie told his friend, A blonde haired blue eyed girl with a slightly crazy grin, while holding the letters in one hand and using the other to keep the girl, now known as Star, at bay.

“Come on Marco aren’t you a little bit curious whats in them?” Star asked with a little bit of annoyance in voice due to Marcos’ lack of enthusiasm to the letters.

“ I’m more worried than curious Star.” Marco answered  which left Star more confused than informed and before she could ask why Marco just explained to her in a sober tone.

“Star, I know you’re probably excited to see whatever in them but we have to be careful from now one. For all we know this could be from Ludo. We can’t be reckless anymore what if Ludo actually manages hurt y…I mean us.” Star donned a rare serious face , although slightly confused by Marcos’ stuttering, rembering how the short bird man was able to actually beat them and take not only the book but Glossyrk as well. However, when she looked at the golden letters they filled her with wonder and somehow hope so she just looked straight him in the eye and said.

“ Marco, look we don’t know that and who knows maybe it could be something awesome. So can we open them please.” Star begged with big puppy dog eyes which Marco couldn’t say no to. Defeated Marco just sighed and said.

“Fine Star but can we be cautious. I really don’t want this to be a trap.” Which Star replied in a happy go lucky tone.

“Okay.”

Dimension 36A-8376H (Penn Zero Part Time Hero)

Inside an abandoned movie theater three kids are being pulled out from a different dimension by a futuristic device by an interdimensional tractor beam.

“Well guys I would call that mission a success.” A semi tall red headed teen boy exclaimed in a prideful tone. While a tan dark haired Asian girl voiced somewhat different opinion.

“Penn I’m pretty sure waiting at the last minute to do anything isn’t called saving it’s called being lazy.” The girl deadpanned. While the red head, Penn, just gasped and looked fake hurt and said.

“Oh, Sash how you wound me so.” The girl, Sashi, just rolled her eyes at her friends’ antics. However, something was amiss in the movie theater and one of the group of teens noticed it.

“Hey, Phyllis what ya holding?” A pudgy brown haired teen named Boone asked a gray-haired woman holding three golden letters in her hand. The gray-haired woman, Phyllis, just told the teens in bored tone although it has a slight hint of worry and fear in it.

“These came for you when you finished the mission.”  The three teens looked at the letters with a tiny bit of fear in their eyes but somehow that was crushed by their curiosity. It was Penn who asked the question.

“ Who sent the letters?”  Phyllis ,for the first time that the teens have that emotion were a mix of  fear and admiration.

“ I know him by reputation only but it is good one.” The teens were confused but if this guy was able to get Phyllis to admire him then he can’t be that bad, right?

Dimension 2B-986ZG (Invader Zim}

“For the love god hurry up”

Hey don’t rush me it takes time okay. A little but highly annoying robot raced to his master’s secret headquarters and he did so by flushing himself down a toilet? “Don’t ask.” Anyhow the robot just ran throughout the strange lab filled with strange experiments from failed giant machines to misfire weapons. The robot past all that until he stopped at a roundish port with a work table and large purplish reddish chair behind the table. At this moment that the robot made its presence known and yelled at top of its vocal processor.

“Master something came for you!!!” After the robot yelled there was a small explosion and dark plume a smoke came from behind the chair. The chair spun until short green alien with purple eyes and soot covering his face came into view with a highly-annoyed look.  Said alien was Zim an invader from quote unquote Drooler “An entire species of weaklings, idiots and gluttons. Heck the only good ones are those who aren’t even part of the empire.” Any way said invader spoke to the robot in an extremely venom filled tone.

“Gir what could be so important that you had to interrupt and destroy my progress.” The robot, Gir, clearly not hearing the hate in his master voice just cheerfully replied.

“A letter came for you!!” And at this moment Zims’ rage at the little robot flowed like a flooded river.

“ You mean to tell me that you just wasted my time and progress just to tell me that I got outdated human communication paper!” Gir for once actually realized what he had and started to shake and tried to justify his actions.

“I…it said f…from… him.” Gir stuttered out. Zims anger dissipated and turned into fear and curiosity. However it was unknown to him that two of the same letter had arrived at a certain brother and sister home.

Dimension 875-12SC (Steven Universe)

Outside of a strange house/temple a pair of teens were discussing the latest adventure the two of them had.

“So, you really got to see another diamond and other gems too!?” A young bushy black haired girl of Indian descent exclaimed. While a  young curly black haired boy with a pink gem in his stomach answered? “Don’t ask long story.” “Yeah but Blue wasn’t like yellow at all. Blue was kinder she even care for the humans even though it was for a friend but still. Oh by the way how was your time as a crystal temp?” The boy with “Half Gem.” What? “Just call him half gem or otherwise a lot of people are going to get pissed.” Fine half gem answered and asked the young girl who just blushed and laughed saying.

“Well let’s just say it was interesting.” The two teens were about to continue talking about their adventures until they saw a certain mailman walking down the beach towards them.

“Hey Steven, hey Connie.” The mailman greeted the teens. To which the teens greeted back.

“Hey Jamie” “Hey Jamie what are you delivering?” Steven asked the overdramatic mailman who simply replied.

“Oh, not much, a few packages, wififlim movies, and some letters. Speaking of, I have two letters one for you and one for Connie.” Jamie answered. As he handed them the two golden letters the two teens had different views on these letters. Steven looked at them with wonder and literal stars in his eyes. While Connie looked at with worry and slight feeling of terror and something grim. Steven was about to open his letter until.

“Steven wait, I don’t think we should open these.” Connie suggested with a hint of fear which confused Steven a letter couldn’t scare anyone, could it?

“Connie, can I open please!! Who knows what it could be a ticket for a fancy cruise, a million dollars or uhh oh it could be a chance voice a cartoon character!”  The young half gem exclaimed in anticipation trying to convince his friend. Connie just sighed knowing it would be impossible to change his mind when he’s excited about something. So, shaking her head in defeat and laughed saying.

“Fine, but if something bad happens we get the gems okay.”

“Okay!” He exclaimed in joy of being able to open the

Dimension 7735-2246MA (Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir)

“Finally, this story is almost over. You really like hearing yourself talk huh.”

Oh, shut up. Uhm anyway at Collége Francois Dupont six teenagers are currently having a falling out. Well, actually two are having a falling out, one is trying to stop it, and three are hiding.

“There is no way that Ladybug would be friends with a snob like you!” A dark-skinned girl with glasses and dark brown hair with reddish highlights yelled at a blonde haired and blue eyed girl. In return the girl yelled back.

“ At least its more likely she hang out with me than hang out with someone like you!” The glasses girl was about to retort until a blue haired Asian girl with pig tails tried to step in and asked them.

“Alya, Chloe why the heck are you two even fighting over this? Besides why does this even matter?”  Which she was met with hostilities. Most of which was from Chloe.

“Stay out of this Marinette!” “Sorry, girl but this queen bee needs to be taken off her throne!” Marinette just sighed and shock head while sending a small glare to two boys hiding behind a desk one with blonde hair and green eyes the other with light brown skin with black hair. Both gave Marinette an apologetic and sheepish grin while going back to hiding behind the desk but what happened next nothing could protect from the wrath of the fangirls.

“ Your Ladybug cosplay is bad that not even Copy Chat would call his lady.” Alya screamed at Chloe who donned a look of extreme rage and embarrassment. The entire class went dead silent all of them even the teacher all of them wondering and fearing what was going to happen next until all of them heard a noise. Everyone looked at the source of the noise which to their surprise was one the arguably strangest and funniest thing they ever saw. Said thing is a tall, dark red haired, muscular mailman with scars on his face but the funniest part is that hes’ wearing an outfit that’s a bit small for him specifically 2 sizes to small. “ A shut up I took it off the first mailman I knocked out. How was I supposed to know that he would be a dwarf.”  The mailman just ignored the looks and snickers of laughter from the students and walked straight towards the desk of a very confused and slightly frightened teacher. The mailman either didn’t know or ignored it and just bluntly asked in a bored or annoyed tone.

“ Is there a Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Adrien Agreste, Alya Césaire, Nino Laniffe, Nathaniel Kurtzberg, and a Chloe Bourgeois in this classroom?”

The teacher getting over her initial shock and answered in a shaky voice “Nino, Adrien, and Chole are in the front row. Marinette and Alya are in the second row and Nathaniel is at the back row.” “Okay thanks”  Is all the mailman said to the woman. He started to pass the letters out to Nino, Alya, Marinette, Adrien and Chloe as well to Nathaniel a red haired bluish green eyed boy. He was almost out the door of the classroom when one of the kids who got a letter yelled.

“What are these for?” The mailman just grinned and yelled back without turning to look.

“For something great!” Then the letters given out in the certain dimensions burst opened and inside them was a piece of paper sayin.

“ Dear future students. It gives me great joy and excitement to inform you that have been accepted to enroll at Protagonist Prep. Now you may be wondering what is Protagonist Prep well it is a highly rewarded and prestigious school only for a selected few. Now to arrive at this school all you have to is these words Afino daravaaza apartu jadi saya puet entrer. Good luck.”

La final

“Finally, this story over, I thought it wouldn’t end.” Oh, hush up and besides aren’t you forgetting something.  “What do you. Oh god the mailman!” Now its La Final.

[pocket-anon]

CSJJ Day 22: Captured

Happy Sunday, Oncers! Here’s my submission for CS January Joy, a oneshot based off the following prompt:

You’re the photographer my friends used for their engagement, wedding, and kids. Now I’m graduating, and they’ve called you to document the happy occasion.

I don’t generally write off prompts, and the fic below is a little different than what you might first expect based on the prompt above, but I hope you enjoy it. Many thanks to @katie-dub for organizing @csjanuaryjoy and helping me select this prompt in the first place. It’s been an emotionally-charged week for me as an American, but writing certain parts of this fic was definitely therapeutic. Happy reading! Comments, as always, are welcome!

Find it on AO3 and FFN.

Summary:  Killian Jones is a promising student who enters law school with no family left and a hunger for vengeance. But three years under the guidance of the right mentors helps him find hope and a new purpose in more ways than one. (Captain Swan, Outlaw Queen, photographer AU, lawyer AU. Romance/Fluff. Rated G.)

Tagged upon request: @optomisticgirl

He first sees her at a wedding.  It’s a predictably classy, predictably ritzy affair.  His law school professor-slash-mentor-slash-boss, Robin Locksley, and Robin’s legal partner-turned-fiancé, Regina, get married a year after Killian lands a highly sought-after summer internship at their prestigious firm.  

He’s busted his ass for the firm, worked twelve-hour days, taken advantage of his nearly non-existent social life to throw in even more hours overtime, gone on countless runs for coffee and take-out, and dozed off over stacks of legal briefs at 2 AM more than once, but it’s paid off.  The partners have been impressed by his resourcefulness and doggedness and personal charm.  Even the notoriously exacting Regina, in one of her rare complimentary moods, once declared him surprisingly good at research.  But Killian realizes, as he dutifully escorts yet another of Boston’s political royalty down the groom’s side of the grand cathedral and tries not to stare at the woman across the nave, that this, his last-minute recruitment as an usher when one of Robin’s other men fell ill, might just be the biggest reward for all that hard work.  Because the woman?  The wedding photographer?  Bloody hell, she’s beautiful.

Her long blonde hair is the color of morning sunshine and held out of her face with a braid that arcs over her temple and disappears beneath the loose waves that cascade to the middle of her back.  Even in the looming shadows that intersperse the halos of daylight piercing the stained glass, he can make out her delicate features, long lashes, and a becoming flush overlying her creamy complexion.  Her figure is graceful, almost willowy, in a petal pink dress with flowing sleeves and a tastefully plunging neckline and her expression largely business-like as she repeatedly fiddles with her camera and aims her lens experimentally toward the altar from various locations in order to find just the right angles.  Every so often, however, she has to sidestep the bride’s guests as they’re led to their seats, and she smiles demurely, a small upturn of her lips that manages to light up half of the church.  And when the guests she’s dodging are a small pair of excited children in tiny dress clothes with their harried-looking parents in tow, the amused glow of her face and the way her eyes crinkle at the corners is pure radiance.

Killian eventually finds himself on her side of the church with some of the bride’s guests on his arm, though some of Regina’s slightly older, female friends don’t actually take his elbow so much as drape themselves all over him while he escorts them down the aisle.  One such woman, a gaunt-looking specter with a striking half-white, half-black dye job and a blood red smirk, seems particularly enamored with him, but the discomfort is a cross he’s more than willing to bear when they pass the photographer and he shoots her a comically pained expression that causes her to erupt in silent laughter, her mossy green eyes dancing above the hand she holds up to hide her smile.

She vanishes shortly after that, presumably to go take pictures of the bridal party making their final preparations, and Killian preoccupies himself with scanning for a glimpse of her return.  It isn’t until the guests are all seated and the ceremony is minutes away that he finds her again, accompanying the bridal party as they emerge and line up for the processional in a hallway just off the main vestibule.  

Regina looks stunning in an off-the-shoulder white gown he has no doubt comes from some exclusive boutique.  The bodice shimmers with hand-sewn crystals, and intricate lace detailing extends all the way down the skirt that hugs her curves and flares just below her hips.  The dark beauty Robin refers to her as his queen looks every bit the title today, especially surrounded by a small court of bridesmaids in deep plum gowns, the lot of them lovely enough for a magazine spread as they whisper animatedly to one another and do their last-minute preening. Nevertheless, Killian finds his eyes drawn repeatedly to the blonde who stands in the corner as inconspicuously as she can while capturing these precious moments with her camera, her motions fluid and practiced as one hand manually focuses her lens and the other triggers the shutter over and over again in a coordinated flurry of minute but mesmerizing movements.

Her lens finds him standing with the other ushers and catches him watching her, and she pauses, pulling back from her viewfinder in order to blink at him over the top of her camera with those big gorgeous eyes, a blush creeping across her face before she hastily retreats back behind her equipment.  They share barely a second of eye contact, but Killian can feel his pulse quicken, and he swallows and scratches behind his ear, flashing her a bashful smile before looking away.  He’s familiar with his effect on women and uses his charms to his advantage frequently, but under her gaze he suddenly feels uncharacteristically shy and much more self-conscious about the stump where his left hand used to be than usual.  Perhaps it’s the scrutiny of her lens, but he suspects it has more to do with the fact that there’s something about this woman that makes him want to watch her work all day.

The ceremony goes off without a hitch, as is to be expected for any enterprise paid for and overseen by Regina Mills, and Killian observes the joyous proceedings feeling genuinely happy for the couple.  In addition to being incredibly grateful to Robin Locksley for taking him under his wing and giving him the chance to prove his mettle in one of the most highly-respected law firms on the Eastern seaboard, Killian actually likes the British ex pat immensely as a person.  For all his sharp legal acumen and storied courtroom victories, the man is the epitome of decency and generosity, the sort of lawyer unafraid to take on corrupt corporations and ne’er-do-wells on behalf of charities or the little guy.  And Regina, well, Regina may have a sharp tongue and be so demanding that the interns occasionally refer to her in hushed tones as the Evil Queen, but she also has a softer side, and even a blind man could see how happy she makes Robin.  Killian has never seen his mentor look more jubilant as the forty year-old stands at the altar, exceedingly debonair in an immaculate tuxedo, his brown hair highlighted with a few distinguished strands of gray and his face split into an enormous grin.

It’s a fairytale wedding, simultaneously grandiose and yet made intimate by the obvious affection between the bride and groom.  The music is uplifting and ethereal, the bishop’s homily funny and poignant, and the wedding party, which includes Robin’s young son from his first marriage as ring bearer, picture perfect.  And as the elated pair say their vows and exchange rings, the clicks of a camera echoing softly in the hallowed space make Killian’s smile a little wider.

*                             *                             *

The wedding reception is held in a lavish Baroque ballroom done in cream and crystal and gold gilt, and the room is buzzing with guests, the din rivaling the volume of the live brass band. The food is exquisite, the champagne like drinkable stars, and the Killian definitely approves of the tumbler of top shelf rum he appropriates from the open bar.  

He divides his attention between hobnobbing with associates from the firm, ducking the handsy cougars, and trying to keep tabs on the photographer.  She’s easy enough to spot during the traditional events – the toasts, the cake cutting, the bouquet toss, and the formal dances – hovering near the head table and the dance floor, her skirts fluttering around her shapely calves as she flits about on strappy metallic heels to get her shots.

Shortly after the dancing really gets underway, however, Killian loses her again.  He cranes his neck, trying to spot her blonde head, but between the constantly moving crowd and the lights which have been lowered for dancing, he struggles to locate her, and his heart falls as the minutes tick by.  Half an hour without eyes on her, his heaves a resigned sigh, wondering if perhaps she’s gone for the evening and chastising himself for missing his opportunity to talk to her.

“There you are, darling,” a voice purrs from behind him.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.  Bollocks.  Killian plasters on a polite smile and turns to see Regina’s black-and-white-haired friend standing behind him, her spindly arms crossed and a glass of champagne clutched in one gloved hand as she stands with her weight on one hip and surveys him with a predatory leer.  

“Oh hello,” he says. “Ma’am.”

Sadly, she looks more amused than affronted by his greeting.  “Now, now, no need for formalities,” she chuckles with a little wave of her champagne flute.  “We’re all friends here.”  She gestures toward the dance floor.  “It’s a shame to see such a handsome man hanging back from such a delightful party. Come dance with me.”  She tips her head downward, her blue eyes raking over him, and curls the index finger of her free hand.

A flash above his head catches his attention, the intermittent reflection of light off a lens shining like a flickering star, and Killian looks upward, his heart leaping when he sees Emma standing on a balcony, presumably taking wide shots of the party.  Sweet saving grace.  His face blossoms into a genuine smile, and he glances back to Regina’s friend.  “A tempting proposition,” he tells her. “But something else requires my attention rather urgently.  Apologies. Excuse me.”  

With a hurried bow, he spins on his toe before the woman has a chance to voice her indignance and sets off immediately.  A member of the wait-staff points him toward a set of doors and the staircase beyond, and he strides out of the room at a clip just short of a trot.

His heart begins to thunder in his chest as he takes the stairs, and he fiddles absently with his left shirt cuff, his mind racing to figure out the right opening line.  He huffs, silently rebuking himself.  He’s training to be a lawyer for heaven’s sake, a man paid to think fast on his feet, a bullshit artist of the highest order, and here he is unsure what he can say to a pretty girl that won’t make him sound like an imbecile.

Her back is to him when he wanders on to the balcony.  As focused as she appears to be on her work, the subtle sound of his footsteps causes her to raise her head suddenly and turn to look at him over her shoulder.  Surprise flashes over her features before her lips curl into a little smile that makes his stomach flop.  “Hi.”

He manages a grin, shoving his hand and stump into the pockets of his tuxedo and meandering forward. “Hello.”  Good start, Jones.  Good start.  He tears his eyes off her and tips his chin toward the balcony.  “Quite a nice place to take photos.”

“Uh, yeah.”  She nods amiably and follows his gaze down below, chuckling.  “This whole wedding is kind of a photographer’s dream.  Everything about it is beautiful.”

Killian hums in agreement, appreciating the flawless lines of her profile as he settles himself next to her at the balcony rail.  “Yes, well,” he says, “Regina would have it no other way.”

She laughs, and the sound is music to his ears.  “Right.” She glances at him with an arched eyebrow.  “I take it you know her well?”

“Aye.”  His shoulders start to relax as he settles into the rhythm of conversation.  “I’m an intern at her law firm.  Robin is one of my professors.”  He extends his hand.  “Killian Jones.”

He thinks he sees her cheeks darken a shade as she acquiesces to shake, her hand soft and warm in his.  “Emma Swan.”

Lord, even her name is perfect.  He smiles.  “Pleasure.”

She releases him, flushing prettily and turning to aim her camera back over the balcony.  “So tell me, Killian Jones,” she says, eye in her viewfinder, “Why do you want to be a lawyer?”

“Well, brain surgeon was a bit out of the question,” he quips, raising his left arm and giving it a wave.

Emma glances at him, and her lashes brush her cheeks as she gives a little laugh.  If she’s fazed by his lack of a hand, she doesn’t show it before she resumes shooting.

Killian licks his lips, bowing his head and debating whether he should risk saying more. “Seemed like a good way to go after people who are corrupt and powerful and try to hold them accountable for their crimes,” he tells her at last.

Her eyebrows lift as she continues to work.  “A hero.”

He snorts.  “I’m no hero, lass.”

She pauses.  “No?” she asks.

“It certainly doesn’t feel that way.”  He shrugs.

Emma lowers her camera again and narrows her eyes slightly at him, and for a second it feels as though she can see through him, see his secrets, see the resentment he harbors toward the corporation that failed to disclose the toxicity of the chemicals that killed his brother.  For a second, he gets the sense those amazing gray-green eyes are reading his soul. Miraculously, whatever she sees does not seem to merit her disapproval.  Emma’s expression softens, and she hums thoughtfully.  She allows her camera to hang from the strap around her neck and detaches the lens, tucking it away in the leather bag slung over her shoulder. “Well, if you’re not a hero, then what are you?”

He chuckles and scratches the back of his head, putting on his most charming grin.  “Dashing rapscallion?”

This earns him another lovely laugh.  “I could buy that,” she admits with an amused smirk.

He hazards a small step forward, noting the way her eyes widen with a small swell of pleasure.  “Not to seem too forward, love, but would you allow me to buy something as well?” he asks hopefully.  “A drink?  Or dinner?”

“Oh.”  Emma’s brow wrinkles, and she looks conflicted before giving him an apologetic smile.  “As fun as that sounds, I, um, I can’t,” she answers awkwardly.  “I’m kind of seeing someone.”

Disappointment washes over him like a cold shower, but he does his best to maintain a pleasant poker face.  “Ah.  A shame.”  He holds his hand out again, and when she takes it, he lifts her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles.  “It was nice meeting you, Emma Swan,” he says.  “If you’re ever in need of not-a-hero…”

“I can come find you?” She grins weakly, and he dares to convince himself she looks a little wistful.  

His wink belies the heaviness of his heart as he takes his leave.  “Always.”

*                             *                             *

Killian unbuttons his wool pea coat as he pads along the polished stone floor of the law firm’s main hallway toward Regina’s office on a crisp October afternoon.  He flashes a quick smile at Regina’s assistant and holds his hand up in a perfunctory greeting as she waves him on through from behind her desk.

The thick panel of glass that comprises the door to the corner office vibrates with a thunk when he raps his knuckles against it, and the high-backed leather executive chair behind the desk rotates away from the floor-to-ceiling window behind it to reveal Regina with a sheaf of papers in one hand and a pen in the other, a pair of elegant reading glasses balanced on her nose.  She glances up and gestures for him to come, and he enters the austere but stylish black and white office, lifting the flap of the messenger bag he wears across his chest with his stump and reaching in to retrieve a fat file folder.

“Here’s that child welfare research you requested,” he announces, handing it over.  “I think there are some things in there you’ll find useful.”

Her face brightens, and she thumbs through the neat stack of computer print-outs and photocopies, eyeing the colorful Post-it tabs scattered throughout with approval.  “You notated everything?”

The corner of his mouth quirks.  “As always.” His eyes fall upon some new picture frames on the console table behind her desk, and he nods toward them.  “Got your wedding photos back, I see.”

She beams and swivels a little to glance at them proudly over her shoulder.  “They turned out well, don’t you think?  Spectacular.”

Killian makes a noise of agreement, studying a photo of Regina and her bridesmaids consorting in front of an ornately carved limestone wall and realizing that it must be one of the shots Emma captured while he was watching her work just before the start of the processional.  The photo is indeed marvelous, beautifully composed with Regina dazzling as the central focal point, his eye drawn to the bold contrast of her dark hair and thick lashes and laughing red lips against her pristine skin, the surrounding purple of the bridesmaids’ dresses adding a vibrant punch of color in an image largely consisting of shades of white.  The slightest blur of motion manages to clearly convey the energy and anticipation of the moment.  

Killian takes a minute to appreciate the other photos on the table, each of a similarly precious spot in time, and though he’s already reviewed Emma’s online portfolio and familiarized himself with the quality of her work, his respect for her grows still greater. “Indeed,” he agrees, smiling politely, “Everything about your wedding was brilliant.”  

As they have been since the wedding, thoughts of Emma are accompanied by a pang of melancholy deep in his gut.  She’s not the girl who got away considering that he never really had her, but he’s discovered, much to his dismay, that he misses her, despite only having spoken to her for all of five minutes.  

Regina admires her wedding pictures a second longer before turning back to the research file.  “Well, thank you for this.”

He lifts an eyebrow at her thank-you.  Marriage has indeed made a new woman of Regina Mills, he reflects with amusement, though he knows better than to risk pointing this out.  No sense in testing how far her new magnanimity stretches.  Killian merely bows his head.  “You’re very welcome.”

There’s another reverberating knock on the door, and Regina’s assistant peeks her head in.  She glances at Killian and visibly blushes before she clears her throat.  “Mrs. Locksley,” she says, “The lieutenant governor’s on line two.”

Regina nods, and the woman ducks back out hastily.  Regina waits until the door is solidly shut.  “You have an admirer,” she simpers.

Killian glances at the petite redhead through the glass and scratches behind his ear.  “A pity.”

His boss cocks her head. “Not your type?”

The image of Emma’s laughing eyes flits through his memory, and he shakes his head, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag absently.  “Sadly, no.”

“And what is?”  The corner of Regina’s mouth curls as she reaches for the handset of her phone.  

He throws her a small smile over his shoulder and heads out the door.  “Unavailable.”

*                             *                             *

Killian arrives at the law professors’ department offices late in the afternoon in the spring of his final semester, a couple weeks before graduation.  April rain is soaking Boston today, and he runs a hand through his damp hair absently as he pads down the familiar path toward Professor Locksley’s office, filled with curiosity as to what awaits him.  The text from Robin earlier in the week had been a bit cryptic:

Have something for you.  Care to come by Friday after office hours?

Killian trusts it won’t be an unpleasant surprise – Robin and Regina revealed their decision to hire him at the firm as a junior associate following graduation over a month ago – but his mind still whirls with the possibilities of what could be in store.

The office door is open, and his mentor sits behind his old oak desk at work on his laptop.  The usual neat piles of books and papers cover most of the available surfaces in the wood-paneled room, and a fresh cup of coffee steams on the desk next to Robin’s hand.  

He looks up at Killian’s approach and grins broadly.  “Jones,” he says jovially, waving him in.  “Come in. Shut the door.”

Killian arches an eyebrow, the worn brass knob cool to the touch as he complies.  “What’s up?”  He pulls his bag up over his head and lowers himself into one of the chairs across from desk, settling the bag on the floor next to his feet.

Robin beams and shrugs as he leans back in his chair and considers him.  “Excited about graduation?”

Killian narrows an eye at the silly question.  “Of course.”

“I heard your classmates selected you to give the student address,” Robin comments.

“Oh.  Yeah.”  He colors and leans forward with a chuckle.  “You know they’re mad, the lot of them.”

Robin rumbles happily. “Of course they are.  But it was an excellent choice.  You’ll do a bang-up job.”

Killian’s chest swells, his smile reaching his ears.  “Thank you, Sir.  I’ll try.”

“Do you have any guests coming?”

His lips part a moment, the cheer fading out of his expression, and he closes his mouth and gives a rueful shake of his head.

Robin smiles kindly. “Not even friends?  A girlfriend?”

Killian grins regretfully, his eyes falling toward the floor.  “All my mates are graduating with me,” he says.  “And there isn’t… anyone else… at the moment.”

“Ah.” Robin tilts his head back.  His expression warms.  “Well, that will work nicely then,” he announces, sounding upbeat.

Killian’s brow furrows, and he looks up.  “Sir?”

A smile curls at Robin’s lips.  “Regina and I would like to do a little something for you to celebrate your graduation.”

Killian’s expression softens.  “You mean other than giving me a job?” he chuckles.

Robin laughs.  “Other than that.”  He picks up a framed photo of himself, Regina, and his son, Roland, that sits on his desk.  It shows the three of them playing in the autumn leaves.  It’s an artful upward shot taken from near the ground, the image capturing the trio laughing wildly while loose leaves flutter through the air and the sun shines down upon them through the nearly bare boughs of a great tree. “See this?”

Killian admires the picture. “It’s very nice,” he says with a small nod.

“It’s from the same photographer who did our wedding,” Robin explains.  “Talented girl.  Regina uses her exclusively for all our family events.”

Killian blinks, thoughts of Emma yet again rushing to the forefront of his mind.  He looks back down at the photograph and imagines how she must have lain in the grass with her camera to get this shot, a satisfied smile on her face, stray bits of leaves and grass perhaps embedded in her hair, and the corner of his mouth quirks in a bittersweet grin.  

“We want to hire her for your graduation.”

He freezes.  His wide eyes slowly rise to take in the professor’s amused expression.  “Sorry?”

Robin chuckles. “You’ve worked long and hard for your degree, Killian.  You’re graduating at the top of your class and speaking at commencement, and it’s going to be a big day for you, and we thought it would be nice to have some photos from the occasion.”  He sits forward and clasps his hands on the desk thoughtfully.  “Look,” he says more solemnly, “I hope we’re not overstepping, but it’s usually family members that take pictures at these things, and we know you haven’t any, so we thought perhaps you’d let us see to it if you didn’t have other guests coming.”  He smiles kindly.  “Except I’ll be tied up on stage with the rest of the faculty, and Regina is rubbish with a camera,” he laughs.  “If you let her use one of your guest tickets, Emma will do an amazing job – much better than us or the standard University photographers,” he explains confidently, taking the frame from Killian and setting it back on his desk.

Killian’s heart rises in his throat, and his eyes warm momentarily before he blinks the evidence of his emotion away.   He swallows thickly and nods.  “I don’t know what to say,” he admits.  “You and Regina have done so much…”

Robin smiles and waves it off.  “It’s nothing,” he says.  “You’re a good man, Killian.  You’ve done great work for us, and we know you’re going to having an amazing career. We’re happy to be a part of your success.”  He stands and comes around the desk, extending his hand as Killian jumps to his feet.  They shake, and Robin slaps his back in a quick one-armed hug.  “I trust you’ll allow us to take you out for a celebratory drink after as well?” he says, pulling back, one eyebrow lifted appraisingly.

Killian grins.  “Yes, Sir.”

“Excellent.”  Robin swipes his phone off the desk and brings up his texting app.  “I’ll leave the details up to my lovely wife.  You know how she likes to dictate these things.”

Killian laughs knowingly. “Thank you.” He turns toward the door and reaches for the knob.

“Have a good weekend,” Robin tells him cheerfully, thumbs flying as he taps out a message to Regina. “Oh, and Killian?”

Killian pauses and turns. “Yes?”

“Not that it’s of any interest to you,” he says casually, “But Regina tells me Emma’s quite single at present.”  He locks his phone and looks up with a sly smirk.  

Killian gapes a moment before schooling his features back to neutral.  “I see.”

Robin folds his arms across his chest, looking quite pleased with himself.  “Not much escapes Regina’s notice, you know,” he says proudly, “Not even at her own wedding.”  He winks.

“Indeed.”  Killian’s cheeks grow warm, and he ducks his head with a sheepish smile, pulling the door open. 

*                             *                             *

The day of graduation is warm and breezy, and the university campus is swarming with excited students in a mass of fluttering black robes, square black caps visible in every direction and the air thick with chatter and laughter.  Killian meets up with Robin and the rest of the law school contingent at one of the university’s ancient gates for the class march at seven thirty.

His mentor is resplendent in one of the heavy red faculty robes, a black velvet cap angled atop his head, and he greets him heartily with a firm handshake and a welcoming smile. “Ah!  There he is.  The man of the hour.”

Killian chuckles.  “One of many, Sir.”

Robin steps back and turns, bobbing and weaving a bit to see through the crowd until his face lights up, and he cups his hand to his mouth.  “Regina!”

Killian follows his gaze, and his heart stutters when his eyes fall on Regina, characteristically sharp in a snug skirt and matching suit coat, conferring with the blonde angel he hasn’t seen in a year but would know anywhere.  Emma is just as gorgeous as he remembers, this time dressed in a fitted dark red leather jacket over a knee-length black dress embroidered with colorful flowers at the neckline, her camera bag slung over her torso and her pretty ponytail swaying with every little movement of her head.  High heels accentuate the long line of her legs, and Killian’s mouth runs dry when she turns and sees him, her green eyes sparkling and her cheeks rosy.

The women approach, and Regina smirks knowingly.  “Jones,” she says, “I believe you remember Miss Swan.”

Killian swallows and smiles, bowing his head a touch.  “Hard to forget,” he says.  “A pleasure to see you again.”

“Killian Jones,” Emma drawls teasingly, gripping his outstretched hand.  “My not-a-hero.”

He laughs, his cheeks growing a bit ruddy.  “The same.”

“Congratulations on your graduation.”

He beams.  “Thank you.  And thank you for coming.”  He nods to Regina.  “And thank you for having her here, Regina.”

The brunette tosses her head.  “One good turn,” she says agreeably.  “Besides, it’s not every day you get to speak at your law school graduation.”

Emma looks back at him. “Nervous?”

“Do you think I should be?” he asks, the corners of his eyes creasing as he savors her dimpled smile.

She blushes prettily. “Not from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh?”  He arcs an eyebrow mischievously and grins from ear-to-ear at his bosses.  “I smell perjury.”

“Okay,” Regina interrupts flatly, rolling her eyes.  “Perhaps you two can hold off flirting and making eyes until after the Kodak moments are past?”

“We’re not…”  Emma’s protest dies on her lips with one look at Regina’s imperious expression.  She clears her throat, though her smile fails to fade as she hastily preps her camera.  “Right. Sorry.”  She pops the lens cover off and glances behind her before backing up a few steps.  “How about a few shots of the three of you together?”

The day passes like a dream for Killian, a whirlwind of exuberant celebration and congratulations and the repeated shaking of hands, highlighted by the constant underlying awareness that he’s being watched by Emma’s camera, and, more importantly, by Emma herself.  As it was at the wedding, he tries to keep a bead on her without her noticing, but inevitably their eyes meet from time to time, and the open smile she wears for him, as though she’s actually proud of him, makes him want to punch the air in victory.  

As one of the speakers, he’s afforded a seat on the stage with the rest of the faculty following the conferring of individual degrees, and from there he can see the horde of seated guests assembled behind the rows of his classmates.  One ear on the proceedings, he combs the masses until he finds Emma’s gold head.  Her bright face is buried behind her camera, and he smiles.  He’s tempted to wink, knowing that she’ll see it through her lens, but a glance at Regina, who sits next to her, makes him think better of it, and he quickly adopts a look of reverent attention as he redirects his eyes toward the Dean.

When he’s introduced, he stands and takes the podium to applause and some raucous cheers from his classmates, and he chuckles low into the microphone.  “Thank you, Dean Thompkins, for that very generous introduction.”  The assembly falls silent, and for a second the enormity of the crowd strikes him. He folds his lips and takes a deep breath, glancing down at the typed words in front of him.  “Thanks also to you and to this world-renowned faculty for putting up with me and the rest of this class – a lot so unruly that they chose me to speak at this event, partly because they thought it might be amusing and partly because I’m told my accent lends itself to officious occasions.”  He smiles at the laughter that ripples through the audience.  “Thanks also to our esteemed guests and to the family and friends that have come to help us celebrate this important day.”  He looks at Robin and then gives an appreciative nod toward Regina and Emma. “And, of course, a hearty congratulations to you, my fellow graduates.  Well done, mates.”

Killian licks his lips. “We all came here for different reasons, each with a different tale behind our decision to pursue a career in the law.  Some of those stories are happy ones, rooted in tradition or ambition or optimism or selflessness.  My own tale, however, is none of those.  My decision to pursue a career in the law came out of personal tragedy, and while I won’t waste your time over-sharing or rehashing the details of that sad event, suffice it to say that when I entered law school, I did so with a heart full of bitterness and a hunger for vengeance.”  Killian’s brow furrows, heavy with confession, and he finds himself looking nervously to Emma, who has lowered her camera and now listens intently. Her eyes are fixed on him, and though he can’t see into their depths at this distance, he can tell her face is curious and forlorn, and suddenly he feels like he’s speaking just to her.  

My not-a-hero, she’d said.  Hers.  He knows he doesn’t have any right to read too much into her banter, but it isn’t just those words that fill him with hope.  It’s the way she looks him – the warmth in her gaze when they talked at the wedding, the fondness in her expression when they greeted each other this morning, the way she’s looking at him now.  She barely knows him, but despite his insistence that he isn’t a hero, she looks at him as though she knows he could be one, and it makes him want to believe it’s true.  It makes him want to try.

He continues.  “I came to this place driven by anger and wallowing in self-pity, but I have found that life sends you where you need to be, and while my purpose in coming was to gain the skills necessary to try to avenge my family, my time in law school has shown me a bigger purpose – the pursuit of social justice at large.  I have seen just how many opportunities there are to right the wrongs of this world beyond my own personal concerns.  People wrongly imprisoned or punished with harsh sentences that do not befit their crimes.  Members of certain races or faiths or socioeconomic groups who are targeted by unfair laws.  Families separated by legal technicalities and red tape.  Victims of domestic violence with few means of recourse. People who suffer human rights abuses who go unheard.  Refugees who need asylum.  Honest citizens bankrupted or endangered by corrupt people and organizations that see them only as a means to profits and power.”  He swallows hard.  

“The world is full of pain. But I have seen in the last three years, in my experiences here and in the drive and compassion and intelligence of you, my colleagues and my mentors,” he turns and makes eye contact with Robin, “that there is good reason to hope for a better future.  That there are lion hearts out there.  That we can effect change.  That we can find a way to slay the demons and try to right the wrongs. Law school has not only given me the tools with which to fight the good fight, but two things that are equally important – a family of bloody brilliant individuals who are similarly devoted to the cause of making the world a fairer place and the hope to keep chasing justice even when it seems elusive.”  He can see Emma’s eyes shining now, and he answers her watery smile with one of his own. “And if there’s one thing I’m becoming more and more sure about, it’s that happy endings start with hope.”

*                             *                             *

Killian salutes with his tumbler as Robin and Regina, arms around one another, wave and head for the door of the pub.  Perched atop a tall barstool, his elbows planted on the small table they were sharing, he levers his foot against the rung on the stool and bounces his knee when Emma leans over from the seat next to him.

“You know, for not-a-hero, you give a pretty rousing speech,” she says, her voice raised to compete with the cacophony of simultaneous celebrations happening all over bar.

He grins, his eyes dropping to his tumbler, relishing the fact that she’s near enough that he can detect the scent of her perfume.  “What can I say?  I learned from the best.”  He gestures with his glass out the window at his bosses’ retreating profiles.

Emma chuckles and narrows her eyes a little.  “Again with the modesty.”

“Who, me?”  He laughs.  “I’m a lawyer, remember, love?  I don’t know the meaning of the word.”

Her eyes glint as she considers him, swirling her own drink around in the glass beneath her nose. “Fine then.  Prove it.  Tell me some things about yourself that aren’t modest.”

Killian hums and straightens his back.  “Oh, I love a challenge.”  He swallows a mouthful of rum, enjoying the pleasant burn as it washes down his throat, and turns back to face her expectant gaze with a raised eyebrow.  “I’m devilishly handsome.”  His smile widens when she rolls her eyes but concedes the point with a nod.  He begins tracing the rim of his glass with a fingertip.  “I’m ace at liar’s dice.  I read 800 words per minute.  I’m kind to children and animals.  I’m always a gentleman.  I’m quite good at making grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Emma laughs, and Killian marvels for the hundredth time at how alive the sound makes him feel.  He tilts his head and looks her square in the eye, his face becoming more solemn.  “And not a day’s gone by since we first met that I haven’t thought of you.”

Her eyebrows rise, and her lips part a little as she sits there and blinks at him in awe.  “Really?” she breathes at last.

He nods somberly. “Aye.”  

There’s a pause, and then Emma moves, slowly closing the distance between them.  His heart races and an expression of almost tearful rapture overwhelms his features when her lashes flutter downward.  

“Good.”  She presses her mouth to his, soft and tentative at first, but he answers with a deep intake of breath and cups her jaw, and they come together as though drawn by gravity, lips parting and moving with one another like they were always made to do this.  He allows his tongue to graze hers, and she responds aggressively in a way that makes him groan, the kiss growing deep and soulful, and it’s so full of longing and happiness that Killian feels as though his chest is going to burst with pure joy.  

He pants when Emma finally breaks away, pulling back just far enough to be able to gaze into his blue eyes with a shy smile while he thumbs the tiny cleft in her chin affectionately.

“I love grilled cheese,” she murmurs.

Killian chuckles, his fingers sliding forward to cradle the back of her head.  “That,” he says, leaning in to seal his lips over hers again, “is excellent.”