#i miss old-school newspaper headlines

[fleckcmscott]

Take a Step

Summary: Arthur and Y/N put away the mundane to create a memorable Valentine's Day.

Words: 4,785

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

A/N: A Valentine's story? In September? It's either really late or really early. ⏰ @jokerownsmysoul made this request over three years ago, the longest it has taken me to fulfill one. 🤯 That puts it in the really, really late category. 😂 Thank you so much for your patience! I hope you all like it!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Mint and sulfur straggled through the sterile air, an unpleasant mixture that tautened his thighs to tight ropes. Breath rushed through flared nostrils, like a bear wanting to be left the hell alone so he could go hibernate. Skip the dreary dread of winter right to spring. He pressed the crown of his head to the wall behind him.

How had she talked him into this. How had he let her talk him into this?

Arthur and the dental profession had never been friends. The last seven years had gone by without just fine, thank you very much. Gotham Dental School's discounted amalgam fillings remained intact. The hole left by his missing pre-molar was convenient, really. A good place to stick a straw.

This would be more of the same old, same old advice, all of which he'd ignore. Start flossing. Use alcohol free mouthwash for dry mouth. Chew sugar free gum after smoking - or better yet, quit that entirely. Now go pay the receptionist and pick a prize out of the treasure chest.

He supposed he should be happy to have a wife who took care of his appointments, who pushed him to take care of himself. Mostly he was. But Y/N had shoved him into this office with an appointment card and a kiss on the cheek. "Dr. Miles does good work," she'd said. "He'll keep that sunny smile sexy."

Compliments were a surefire way to talk him into this.

The memory was enough of a trapdoor to step through, a cubbyhole of comfort that slowed his pulse. In an attempt to ignore the whirr of the drill in the next room, he studied the blotted watercolor of a beach on the opposite wall. The pile of yellowed "What Does God Require of You?" tracts by the overgrown philodendron on the bookcase. Anything but the giant tooth model showing the stages of periodontal disease.

He rubbed the top of his legs to loosen them, crossed them at the knee. His foot bumped the round ottoman that doubled as a newspaper holder. A headline below the fold caught his eye: "Valentine's spending set to shatter records."

A sunny, sexy smile spread across his face.

As a child, the day had meant a break from schoolwork for cupcakes with pink frosting and valentines slipped into a decorated shoebox on each student's desk. Sure, he'd only received a handful. But that'd been enough. A nice change from the usual teasing. When puberty had possessed him, hair and sweat glands sprouting in new places, Valentine's Day had been his personal pining hell. Dates didn't happen. He'd misread basic politeness as flirting. No one invited him anywhere.

Adulthood had been more of the same.

Television was a reminder of what he couldn't have. Advertisements for housewares, for cars, for grape juice all featured couples. They all had an us. One had a pair playing tennis, scoring 40-Love and discussing Speed Stick for Him and Her. A man ran a palm along a woman's leg in another, a commercial for No Nonsense pantyhose.

When would he get to fondle a woman's leg, he'd wondered? When would he get to score Love?

Way back when, Arthur had imagined an imperfect but wonderful evening. An amalgamation of simple yearnings and being green. A homecooked meal with his beloved, a slow dance in the kitchen. The softness of her, the kindness of her. Beauty buttressed by kisses and the kind of infatuation found in storybooks. A break from the bitterness that lurked a heartbeat away.

Now that he had his special person to cook and dance with, it was a holiday to relish. On which to buy a gift for his one and only. To show her off and show off how much he loved her.

There were a million ways to say I love you. Perhaps he'd get her one of those cards edged in lace or a sateen box of gourmet chocolates. Not the Brach's brand from the drug store - those were dry and sour - but from Cane's Chocolatiers, filled with mousse.

He could write a bit for her, perform a private set over coffee and cake. They could stroll along the docklands and listen to the ocean. Watch the moon shine on the incoming tide and their wedding rings. He'd take her hand, lead her out onto the pier, where they'd dance, and her dress would billow in waves. Where he'd twirl her until fell into his arms. Where he'd slip eager fingertips through the slit at her-

"Mr. Fleck," called the dental hygienist from the doorway. Toothbrushes dotted her purple scrubs. "We're ready for your x-rays."

Blinking, he rose and straightened his cardigan. Once the hygienist rounded the corner, he snatched the paper, folded it into thirds, and stuck it in his jacket pocket.

~~~~~

Meanwhile, Y/N waited at Gotham Savings Bank, paycheck and checkbook in hand. With the line a twelve-person-deep swarm, it was doubtful her errands would fit into her lunch hour. She adjusted her purse. Bounced between toes and heels. She'd have to steal bits of an Italian Style Swanson over her typewriter.

As she advanced through waves of mumbling and murmurs, a buoyant post came into view. Pink as an orchid, covered in enough silver glitter to give the janitor a headache, it advertised the Valentine's Club, a special savings account just for the holiday. Perfect for a cruise on the Finger River, starting with a candlelight dinner and ending with an engagement ring. A flash of a smile ruffled the corner of her mouth.

Though a decade had passed since she'd last celebrated, the day was nothing new. In elementary school, the teachers had passed out candy and cards. "I think you're sharp," they'd said, or "You pass the test!" Beyond the chance to eat sweets and the peril of cooties, none of the six-year-olds had really understood what it'd meant.

Despite being serious and stuffy, not one for grand romantic gestures, her ex-husband Jeff had been good at Valentine's Day. He'd eschewed Boonville's diner, pharmacy soda fountain, and immortal dive bar Fogey's in favor of a reservation out of town. Pulled her chair out for her, placed a respectable kiss on the cheek. At the end of the night, he'd given her carnations in the privacy of their living room, even when they'd been too distant to share the depths of their hearts.

One year, he'd whisked her away for an overnight at the Windsor Hotel, a three-story joint on the outskirts of St. Louis that featured coin-operated vibrating beds and a heated pool. They'd been stuck in a single directly under the hotel bar, a place filled with lonely hearts on the hunt for Cupid. Every laugh and every sob had penetrated the popcorn ceiling. Each footstep a bass drum threatening to crash through.

They'd tried to distract themselves with a quickie, but the bed's whirring motor had added to the racket rather than drowned it out. A bath in the jacuzzi was the next attempt to salvage the evening. But when she'd turned on the jets, the pipes squeaked and squealed as if mice ran through them, sprinting towards an entire wheel of cheese. She and Jeff had barely gotten dressed before racing home.

Last year, Valentine's wasn't a priority. She and Arthur were so busy with his move, it hadn't been a blip on her radar. He hadn't exactly been comfortable living together. Not yet. Akin to an anxious guest, he'd hesitated to touch anything. To affect the space that was now his. And he hadn't had access to all of his medications, refusing to elaborate on the cost besides a discouraged, dismissive "expensive."

Arthur's face had been a mask of embarrassment when he'd apologized over evening dishes. "For once in my life, I have someone who needs me. And I- I didn't do anything."

"Did you sample my Steve Wonder record?" she'd asked. An inner joy had sprung at the progress that represented.

Arthur had dried his three-tone brown mug, set it next to hers on a one shoulder shrug. "Yeah."

"We took a big step in our relationship." She'd scrubbed the frying pan with firm, circular motions. "We stepped towards each other. What could be more of a celebration than that?"

"Okay, but-"

She'd pressed a sudsy hand to his sternum. "I know you love me. I love you, too." She sought to brighten him, to lighten him, and settled on another track he might have heard. "Either way, Arthur, signed, sealed, delivered, I'm yours."

The sigh of his entire frame as he'd dropped the dish towel and gathered her to his chest had made her love him all the more.

A middle-aged man in a threadbare beret shuffled forward, making Y/N next in line. The teal and peach lovebirds riding his shoulders pooped streaks of white and brown down the back of his suede jacket. She stayed in her spot and stayed silent. Nothing in this city surprised her anymore. At least he sounded polite.

She eyed the poster anew. This being the first Valentine's Day since marrying Arthur gave it an air of distinction, of specialness she was happy to embrace. Especially for him, her romantic at heart. Maybe they could go ice skating in the park, or take a carriage ride through Gotham, replete with flannel blankets and hot chocolate.

She smiled at the way he conjured such images, how he'd taught her to enjoy the special gestures she hadn't thought necessary.

"Next, please!" From the teller on the right.

Y/N scanned the floor for white and brown splats. At the window, she straightened and said, "Hi, I'd like to deposit this into my checking account." She pushed her paycheck under the glass. But her current preoccupation with Arthur stalled her hand. "Actually, I have to correct the cash back form. I'll need an extra fifty."

~~~~~

A blizzard had rolled in Saturday, bringing Gotham to a standstill under twenty-six inches of snow. Most trains were back on schedule by Sunday evening, but on Monday all city parks remained closed. Waltzes on the pier and carriage rides would have to wait.

What they settled on was closer to Arthur's humble fantasies of yore. He was fine with that - it'd be easier to make reality match the movie in his mind. Gifts after breakfast that her office's delayed opening had turned into brunch and catching Singing in the Rain at the Monarch that night. A flick that guaranteed they'd wear themselves out laughing (or fooling around in the back row if the mood struck).

And an afternoon delivery, a cliché and a classic he prayed would work despite the frost.

Their home was tranquil, serene, the only sounds their hushed voices and gentle conversation. Court for the next three days was sure to be cancelled, so Y/N planned to review older cases, ensure their documents were in order. Arthur would head to the children's clinic with heart-shaped lollipops tomorrow. He'd salted the building's entranceway while she'd showered. ("I got out your boots," he told her. "It's slippery out there." "You take such good care of me," she said.)

The familiarity of their everyday discussions was a comfort, as cozy as a well-tended hearth. Yet, lovely though it was, he wanted less everyday, more play. Less work and chores, more Us.

He eyed the fruit plate. Fresh pears were new to him, and a lifelong dislike of canned made him skeptical. He went for the cantaloupe. "What was the first thing you noticed about me? When we met?"

Y/N munched at her cinnamon oatmeal. "Your hair."

"My hair?" People tended to comment on his laugh or skinniness, if they noticed him at all.

"There's a confidence to keeping it long. And it was obvious you used conditioner. That told me the rest of you was well kept, too." She wet her lips between each spoonful. "How about you? What did you notice about me?"

"That you blushed." He took a cautious nibble and frowned, a taste he could only describe as sweet garbage swamping his mouth. He laid the slice politely in his bowl. Cleared his throat, chugged the rest of his coffee. "Other woman don't do that around me."

"Well, they must be blind, Mr. Fleck, because you're gorgeous. That's the second thing I noticed."

Ducking his chin, he thumbed the handle of his mug. Fitting that she'd see beauty in him he hadn't realized existed.

A sudden anticipation seized him, the urge to shove his gift at her mid-bite. He excused himself, hurried to his desk. Retrieved the key from under the desk lamp. Pulled open the bottom drawer.

The bundle covered in red tissue paper dared him to do it.

He held it with both hands. Reverently, as if it could singe. He wasn't certain what had loaned him the panache to buy this. Maybe being a husband had made him a new and improved Arthur. This felt more daring than marrying her. Than sleeping with her. Solicitation shielded in scarlet.

She was scooping the last morsel of oatmeal in her mouth when he set it beside the fruit plate. Perched on the chair diagonal from her, he rubbed sweaty palms under the table.

Frantic tearing at the paper, her smile rounding to a pleased O. "Oh, Arthur…" She hooked her fingers through the babydoll's straps. A laugh bubbled up, fresh color flooding her cheeks. "I have to admit I'm surprised you got me something like this. But I'm happy you did. Come here." She leaned forward and grabbed his chin.

Deep satisfaction eased his nerves, while her firm, wet kiss sparked others anew. He held her forearm. Parted her lips with his own.

Quick as a flash, she broke away. "I'm gonna try it on," she said, and sprinted in the direction of the bedroom.

His gaze followed her until she was out of sight. A pleasing lightness coursed through him. Lifted him from his chair. Drove him to move, turn on one foot from the table to the sink to rinse their bowls.

Less than a minute later, she'd returned. "What do you think?"

He glanced towards the kitchen entrance, over his shoulder. Registered what he'd seen and glanced again. A knot rose in throat, that glance becoming a full-on stare.

Powder blue chiffon draped over her form, the hem floating below her hips in a soft sway. Dainty white flowers trimmed the v-neck, starting at her breasts, climbing along the halter straps that disappeared beneath her tresses and were tied in a bow at the nape of her neck. Brown aerolas were brazen pendants beneath the lingerie. The strip of mesh that ran under her bust drew his stare downward, to the outline of her comma shaped navel.

"You…" He gulped. Below was a silhouette of dusky hair, a demure triangle at the apex of her thighs. The nightie was more diaphanous than the sales catalog had led him to believe. He lowered the bowl like a man hypnotized. It met the bottom of the sink with a soft clink. "You're beautiful."

A giggle as she covered her face. "You make me feel beautiful."

She went to him, the air around her electrified, sparking with each footfall. She pulled a red envelope from behind her. "Happy Valentine's Day."

With the care of a curator of rare antiquities, he slid his fingertip under the flap. The lilac greeting card had a tic-tac-toe game in which the Xs had lost, and the Os were a horizontal line of three hearts. "You won my heart," it said. Y/N had added a short note in her rounded script: "(You made it a very easy game.)" He traced the letters, his chest swelling with pride. Inside, he found a perforated certificate, akin to an old movie ticket, where a couple tangoed across a black background and gold cursive declared, "Good for three lessons at Arthur Murray Dance Studios."

His fantasy of them on the pier flashed behind his eyes. Had she misread is mind? "But I don't need lessons."

"No," she said, and closed the gap between them. "But I do."

Tender adoration flooded his frame, a gooeyness starting in his scalp and ending in his toes. She was timid about dancing, insecure in the way he was about too many things. And here she stood, willing to take part in one of his passions. To be the center of attention. To get out there in front of everyone to learn to dance. With him. Simply because she loved him.

With a woman like her in his life, it was easy to be a new and improved Arthur.

Relaxing into a grin, he grabbed her hand and snatched her about the waist. She yelped, her palm flying to his bicep. A step forward with his left foot, a slide to the right with his right. He led her through the passthrough galley in a sort of jogging quickstep. His uneven shoulders shimmed, a happy tune behind his teeth.

"What are you humming?" Y/N asked.

"'You Were Meant for Me.'" A number from the flick they'd catch tonight. He lifted their arms above their heads, tried to ease her into a natural spin turn.

Her toes collided with his, her weight off balance as she floundered. She laughed a nervous laugh. "Even though I don't have your grace?"

"But you're the prettiest," he said, and bent to kiss her. His fingers splayed on the elegant curve of her back. "The sweetest." Her form pressed closer, soft curves on hard angles.

He traced a path down her arm, gaze falling to the slopes of her breasts. Fabric obscured the faint stretchmarks, her puffy aerolas now tight dots. Their steps slowed, their dance burgeoning to a dire need for friction. He guided her jaw upwards, his voice velvet edged. "The sexiest."

Her eyes softened, gleaming garnets worthy of song and Solomon. "I love you."

"Shameless," he rasped, thin lips claiming hers.

Her arms flew about his middle, mouths meeting and parting with languorous urgency. Stirring below his waistband swelled to an assertive ache in his abdomen. Heavy and full, he strained against the seam of his pajamas.

She writhed against it, ground her hips into his. Wanton fingers cupped him through the thin cotton. Squeezing, scorching, a fervent up and down. Clasping her upper arms, he walked her backwards, erection bobbing with each step.

When he lifted her onto the counter, lusty laughter filled her throat. Sultry, silky, a sound he longed to wrap himself in. To draw from her tongue. Her knees fell open at his hips. She scooted forward, away from the microwave and upper cabinets. Her breasts jostled with each movement. He cupped one, jiggled it until she snorted and dug her toes into his leg.

Gauzy fabric caught on her nipples. He drew one downward with his thumb, watched it spring back. Gently, he rolled it between his fingers. Pinched and groaned as it grew harder. On a choked cry, she arched into his touch. Reached to tug at the strap by her neck.

He caught her wrist. "Leave it on." Touching her directly was intoxicating, a liquor he preferred to wine. But something about her nightie separating them gave the encounter an illicit air, like he was privy to a secret. A green light of want that flashed only for him.

She leaned back a bit, just enough to loosen the tie of his pajama bottoms. Slide them past his pelvis. The thin cotton pooled at his skinny ankles. She whispered caresses along his ribs, teased the hollows of his hips. The hem of her nightie crept to her waist. He was fully aware of his cock brushing her inner thigh.

She grasped his shaft, ran the tip in a line along her slit. Smeared his arousal from her clit to her plump lips. Pleasure spiked through him. A flinch and a gasp as he sprang to his toes.

Her bedroom eyes met his. "Make love to me."

He breathed a shivering breath. This was more than he'd imagined, yet exactly what he'd yearned for.

He slid into her deliciously. She was fiery, like a furnace, heat radiating from each cell. From this angle, he could see every detail of her sex. The pretty pink, the glistening want of him, her creases and fleshy folds. It was incredible, exciting, and with a hungry grunt he filled her anew.

Peeking out from its hood, her bundle of nerves begged for his touch. He dragged the pad of his thumb across it. Did so once more. Nails biting his shoulders, she jolted, cried out. Another sweep and a canyon formed between her brows. She tossed back her head without a care-

Bang!

A yelp cut off her mewling. Arthur halted mid-thrust, hands hovering by her ears. "Are you okay?"

Laughter cracked out of her. She grabbed the crown of her head. "The cabinet is more dangerous than it looks."

He chuckled along with her and pecked her hair. Scooped her up by the waist and spun them around. The pajamas at his ankles forced his walk to a scuffing. He set her on the dinette table, on the side free from coffee mugs and sickly sweet melon.

Laying down, she stretched her arms out behind her, grasped the edge of the table. Diaphanous blue rode further upward. Gravity flattened her stomach. Her legs dangled over the side.

He rocked into her again, and she smiled his favorite kind of smile. Wide and open, built from love and delight. One hand ran from her shoulder, over her breast, to her hip. Then lower and lower still. Her fingertips quivered at her clit, short strokes that made her thighs twitch. "Just like that," she said, ending on a whine.

He plunged faster, her quickening fingers a guide. Strained to bring her to completion. She bucked lightly, a subtle circling that struck a vibrant chord within him. He bent forward, pressed a palm to her sternum. Urged her to take all that she needed. All that she wanted. All of him.

Ruddy patches bloomed across her chest, crept up her neck, tinged the shells of her ears. A heady moan slipped from her. The rise and fall of her ribs went herky-jerky, her head craned back. Her walls spasmed, clutching and groping him in a rhythm that doubled him over. Warm and nimble, the kind of dance she excelled at. The dance for which she'd taught him all the steps.

"You're so good at this," she purred once her shakes had abated.

A smug smile spreading wide. "Am I?" He flexed the muscles of his pubis, watched her eyes widen with delight.

Her hand went from her center to trail tickling fingers up his spine. "You fuck me like you mean it."

Bottomless contentment unfurled in him, enveloped the peaks and valleys of his soul. "I do mean it," he said, and rotated his pelvis into hers.

Arching to meet him, she tugged at his tousled curls. "Like I was meant for you."

Delving deeper and deeper with each push. "You were."

Managing to be tender and firm at the same time, he cupped her face with both hands. Today was a day for romance, and he wanted to kiss her when he came. The touch of her lips was a thousand-volt shock. His tempo quickened, breath emerging in short, desperate pants. A sudden burst within him, his whole being flooded with besotted bliss. His hips stuttered, every pulse a pierce of pleasure. Eyes screwing shut, he whimpered into her mouth.

Peaceful, warm, and tired, he slumped on top of her. Basked in her smooth skin. Her fingers in his hair, his arm pillowing her head, the sweaty press of their stomachs. He could've stayed in that naked reality forever, signed a lease and moved right in.

But Y/N kissed his shoulder and said, "I should get ready before Phil has to ask why I'm late to work." Her free hand felt around for the fruit plate.

Arthur groaned and propped himself on an elbow. Fumbled with a flower on her neckline. "Well, what would you have said?"

She took a bite of pear, munched thoughtfully before replying. "That my husband had me in flagrante delicto." She pressed the rest of the pear to his mouth. He closed his lips around her fingertips, took the juicy morsel with tongue and teeth. "That you caught me in the act," she said, brows arching twice. His belly tightened on a breathy laugh.

Combing through her bedhead, she scooted to stand. Pulled the nightie down to her hips. Arthur bunched up his pajamas and briefs, held them in front of his thighs. Just as she was about to exit the kitchen, she stopped and turned back. "You make me so happy, Arthur. There's no one else I'd rather have been meant for." A peck to his cheek and she left.

Say something, he thought. Say anything! But his mouth was a stubborn seam, and it was only after the bathroom door had shut that he could even move. That he could even breathe. He fell back against the counter, grasped the edge for purchase. Dropped his clothing and rubbed his hand over his heart.

This damned life had brought so much pain, but then it'd brought her. It was almost enough to forgive and forget all those wasted Valentines.

The rush of the faucet brought him back to the present. He marched to the phone and dialed. Even if he couldn't find the words, this was something he could do.

"Hi, this is Arthur. Arthur Fleck. Is it too late to change the delivery for Y/N Fleck? At Dube and Ellis?" The phone cord curled around fidgeting knuckles. "Okay, good. Can I make it two dozen?"

~~~~~

"Could you fax that attention Y/N Fleck, please?" Y/N said into the phone. She hadn't gotten a chance to shower after this morning's impromptu rendezvous, but she'd run a washcloth over the vital parts and didn't seem to smell of sex. A pity, really. She wouldn't have minded a hint of her husband's piney scent as a private perfume. She'd nuzzle him tonight at the movies to make up for it.

Y/N, you're at work. Stop it.

She crossed her legs and ran a finger along her collar. "No, not Flick. Fleck. F-L-E-C-K."

Terry swaggered through the firm's door and in her direction, carrying a looming bouquet of roses and baby's breath in a fluted vase. Had he forgotten today? Was he on his way over to celebrate a last-minute victory?

"Yes." Again into the receiver. "Thanks a lot. You, too." Once she'd hung up, she relaxed into her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "You made it just under the wire," she told Terry. "I'm surprised there were any flowers left in the city. Your wife'll love them."

"Are you kidding? And risk my hide like that?" He stopped in front of her desk. "I made a reservation months ago. These are for you."

She squinted in confusion. "What?"

"At least, that's what I assume." He made an exaggerated show of reading the floral card. "'To my saucy and sweet Y/N.'"

"Oh my god." She shot upright, her head a fireball.

He surveyed the office. "I don't see any other Y/Ns around here."

"Give me that." She snatched the card from him.

A goofy snicker left Terry, a barrel of ha-has. "Now I know your secret." He squeezed the vase between her typewriter and coffee mug. "Remember that during fundraising season."

When he took off towards his desk, she called after him. "Bribery is illegal." He waved her off with a So Sue Me gesture.

Spicy floral caught her nose, not on par with Arthur's scent but lovely all the same. She traced a bloom, cupped one in her palm. After ensuring the coast was clear, she pulled the card away from her chest. She read the courier font, her smile soaring to an all-out beam:

To my saucy and sweet Y/N, Everyone should know we make a great pear. Your valentine, Arthur.

She made a soft sound, ran her thumb over his name. The salutation was corny and charming and embodied everything she'd come to appreciate about him. To love about him. A declaration as proud and plain as their wedding bands, the last name on her name plate, the photo on her desk.

One more example wouldn't hurt.

Careful not to a disturb a petal, Y/N stuck the card back in its holder. Stood and slid the vase to the outer corner of her L-shaped desk, a vibrant and happy display.

~~~~~

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[liminalpebble]

Eddie's Education, Chapter 33

Masterlist link

Still suspended in her limbo of dreams, Leia curled into that imaginary couch, in that imaginary room, snuggled into imaginary blankets. She sunk deeper, drifting farther away from her reality and memories. When she tried to recall any of it, when the notion would itch within her that there was somewhere she had to be and something crucial she had to do, an opaque wall of dread would shock her back like an electric fence. Whatever was on the other side of this, she was deeply, viscerally, afraid to go near it, like a dog zapped one too many times and conditioned into aversion.

What if I remember who I am, and wish I never had? What if I leave this place and something horrible happens? Or what if something terrible is on the other side?

She was about to doze off and fall a little further into oblivion when a small hand began caressing her arm. A kind young voice was calling her name.

Leia...

“Leia...”

Leia opened her eyes and sat up straight, surprised into wakefulness by the company of a teenage girl whom she was almost certain she'd never met.

The girl was very pretty in a stunning 'prom queen' sort of way. She had wide blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair pulled into a perfect ponytail with a green scrunchie. She wore a matching cheerleader uniform and sparkly blue eye shadow. When she smiled it was bright and beautiful but, somehow, bittersweet.

“Hi, Leia,” she said, stroking her arm, “how do you feel?”

The girl said it like this was casual and normal, like it was just two long-time school friends having a sleepover.

Then comprehension hit her like a bolt of lightning. Upon hearing her name she thought, Leia...of course...my name is Leia, though no other information was forthcoming.

“Hi...um...I'm so sorry, but I don't think I know you. Where am I? What's going on?” Leia mumbled. She gulped, afraid to ask, but compelled to speak the question. “Am I dead?”

The cheerleader shook her head and smiled faintly, head bowing ever so slightly. “No, honey, you're not dead. I am.”

Leia had always tended toward skepticism in her life, but the last few days had challenged that tenet pretty thoroughly.

Though she couldn't remember this about herself consciously, Leia still found herself about to scoff in disbelief. Then she considered that, right now, her grasp of what was and wasn't possible was tenuous at best.

“My name's Chrissy,” she chirped. “I'm here to help you find your way. I know you're tired, but you can't stay here. I'm gonna need you to be brave.”

Leia's sluggish mind began piecing it together. The name rung a bell. Something about old newspaper articles with her picture in them and tragic headlines. A tiny winking gleam caught the corner of Leia's vision and she noticed a delicate golden pendant around Chrissy's neck bearing the numbers '86.

86...1986...something horrendous happened in 1986 to someone I care about.

Leia's head began to ache as if an ice pick was being stabbed through her eye socket. The pain burned white-hot. Just as the ache receded, the urge to simply lay back down on the soft cushions and drift off again hit her with a nearly irresistible force.

As her vision blurred drowsily and her eyelids went heavy, the cheerleader began to fade into an impressionist painting of one instead of the real thing. Meanwhile, Chrissy held on even tighter. “No no no....Leia. You have to wake up. If you go any deeper, you won't be able to come back.

Leia almost asked “back where?”, but when she saw the bold letters on Chrissy's uniform spelling out “Hawkins” in green and gold she knew, somehow.

That was it. That was the “where”.

“I don't understand. I'm missing...something. Why do I have to go back? I don't remember. All I have is this feeling...this horrible overwhelming feeling...that awful things have happened wherever I was. Maybe even because of me. What if I go back and remember and something awful happens to me...or to..?”

To someone...to someone I love so much...

She tried to think past the ache. Chrissy touched her forehead and a warm glow fanned out from the point of contact, like when a child places their hand over a flashlight, illuminating the flesh into translucence.

Leia remembered a smell; cigarettes mingled with the clean warmth of cheap detergent.

A feeling...several; the feeling of warm skin, chapped in places, interrupted by cool metal. The silky sensation of her hand running through wild fleecy curls. The saline trickle of tears. The warm, wet, excited touch of kissing and sex and tender, careful, hands.

A feeling...several; grief, guilt and fear, but also sugary, honey-sweet arousal and infatuation, the rush of being alive; but beneath that shell, true, deep love. Selfless love; bravery exchanged at great cost to each other.

Chrissy took Leia's hand and reverently placed something small and rigid into it.

Leia opened her palm to see a worn out ball and chain necklace with a marbled plastic guitar pick; chipped to hell and attached with a paperclip. It had a trademark haphazard style...something so specific and familiar it made her heart ache.

When she saw it, her synapses lit up like Christmas lights, blinking away. In the medical facility, where her body lay motionless, her monitors lit up the same way, causing a flurry of activity around her.

“Eddie!,” Leia gasped out as if the word had been punched out of her lungs. Her eyes shot wide open where she was resting on the operating table. Although her eyes were open to the real world, they were still clouded over, unseeing.

While her awareness was still completely preoccupied with what was happening in her mind, small rivulets of bright blood trickled from her nose and tear ducts, painting the white hospital gown and steel table beneath her with sanguine blossoms.

She felt panic surge through her now, but Chrissy just held her cheek in her hand and nodded happily. “That's right! Eddie! You remember now? Yeah?”

Leia could only nod while the tears streamed down her face. “Oh god...how...how could I forget?”

“It's okay. This place can do that.”

Leia almost asked again where “this place” was...but she had the sense that words couldn't explain it anyway.

Leia looked around frantically for a moment as the room began to unravel and disintegrate around them. She held tighter to Chrissy's hand and blurted out, “What...what if I'm not supposed to go back? What if something terrible happens?”

Chrissy was silent for a long moment. She wasn't in a hurry, even as the furniture and walls dissolved and washed away like silt.

Finally, she sighed and said, “But what if something good...really good...happens? We can't know anything for sure. Most things we don't get to know or control in our lives, but that can't stop us from living them. I can tell you first-hand...life is unfair. But also, it's so short and so precious. There could be so many good years...good moments for you, for Eddie. Live them for me.”

Tears began to wet her mascara and eye shadow, drawing a little stream of glittery black and blue down the side of her perfect face. Leia wiped it away gently with her thumb, brows peaked in concern.

“I'm sorry...I'm so sorry you didn't get your time with him. You loved him, too. Didn't you?”

Chrissy smiled fondly, nostalgically, at that. She even blushed a little.

“Yeah...yeah, I did. He's hard not to love. But, do me a favor when you get back and love him as hard as you can. Love him for me too. Love him for all the people who weren't there or couldn't be there to love him like he deserved. Take care of him for me, okay?”

“I will. I promise.”

“And, Leia?”

“Take care of yourself. You deserve a good life.”

They embraced, eyes shut, and as their mutual dreamworld shimmered into nothingness around them, Leia found her courage and waited for the next great unknown to unfurl.

The cloudy cataracts cleared from her eyes and Leia finally woke up.

@sweetsigyn @veemoon @elegantkoalapaper @little-wormwood

[tokillamockingbird427]

Overheard conversations pt48(continuation of pts34,40z&43)Middle names and a genealogical revelation. 2/2

Logan: He's your dad?

Keegan: uh-huh.

Keegan: I understand if this is a deal breaker for you.

Logan: WHAT! No, no, no, not at all! Keegan, I love you for you! That's not going to change just because of a biological relationship that you didn't ask for!

Keegan: I kinda did.

Logan: Oh.

Keegan: I found out that he was my dad when Nona brought home a newspaper, telling me that my father had made the front page. All I ever wanted from that point forward was to meet him.

Logan: Do you want to talk about it? What did the article say?

Keegan: The headline was “Marine hero kills suicide bomber! Saves school bus full of children! Promoted to Captain!” When Nona told me that he was my dad, I felt so proud. It was the main reason I joined up with the Marine's so early, I just wanted to see him, make him just as proud of me. I never managed to tell him.

Logan: wow. That's sad that you never got to tell him.

Keegan: I didn't have to. After the funeral we had for him, his lawyer pulled me aside to give me a letter he had written the day before the carcass mission.

Logan: So he did know!

Keegan: He did! Figured me out after the first week! Apparently I look like a combination of my mother and my paternal grandfather. That letter explained a lot of things, like why my favourite fruits and candy were always stocked and why he always had a room at his place ready for me whenever I needed it.

Logan: You had a room at his place?

Keegan: I did, I actually wound up moving in with him after Nona died and he just took care of me. It seems like we were both too worried that revealing our biological relationship would boot me from the team. So he never said anything and never did I.

Logan: That's sweet, and sad. He's not much older than my dad is, do you know how old he was when you were born?

Keegan: I think he was about fifteen, I know my mother was sixteen at the time. The story I got was that they had a fling just before he and my grandparents moved across the country.

Logan: And where did you get that from?

Keegan: The letter. Nona didn't know a thing because I was a cryptic pregnancy, mom didn't even know she was pregnant till she went into labour, on top of that she went to jail for trying to drown me as an infant so I refuse to talk to her.

Logan: Huh? I think you lucked out with being raised by your grandmother.

Keegan: I definitely did.

Logan: So, do you want to use “Gabrielle” or “Gabriella”?

Keegan: “Gabrielle”.

Logan: So that's Elodie Gabrielle, Annabella Maria, Madeline Grace, Daniel Alexander, and Christopher Grim. Am I missing anyone?

Keegan: No, you got it just right.

This universe too thought out now, I beg of thee: Write a fic lmao. My inbox is no place for your creativity to thrive.

"That's not going to change just because of a biological relationship that you didn't ask for! "I kinda did." Kinda made me laugh. Incorrect Lou, he did in fact ask for it... kinda.

All the names are so thought out, you got dedication to this!

[druidgroves]

Chapter 01: Maybe I'll Say Maybe

Fandom: Fallout 4 Words: 6,208 Characters: Georgia Tate (Canon Divergent Sole Survivor), Nate Notes: Soooo I decided to rewrite the first chapter (01/20/2024) since it was originally written years before I started BLP proper. I'll still keep the old one linked somewhere for posterity, but going forward the story will start referencing more things from Georgia's life pre-war. Please let me know what you think! read on ao3 / read on tumblr

August 28th, 2075

Georgia Walker checks her watch for the ninth time in as many minutes.

It’s been over an hour, she thinks not for the first time, where the hell are you?

Beside her, sitting at one of the desks that didn’t even reach her knees, is Henry Tate, number twenty-three in her classroom. Henry had been working on a coloring book she’d slipped him while she had dealt with a truly inane series of phone calls (call home. Reach housekeeper? Learn Mrs. Tate is at the salon. Wait. Answer call from housekeeper, get details on pick-up. Uncle arriving ???). He didn’t seem worried about staying later than the other kids.

Maybe Georgia should talk with his first grade teacher, see if this was a pattern she should expect…

“Let me guess: alien giraffe?” she asks when he sets down his crayon.

“No,” he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world and to him, it is. “He’s a sick giraffe. He’s green.”

Georgia smiles a little to herself and gently smacks her forehead. “Psht, of course he’s sick, silly me. What’s his outlook, doc?”

Henry got that same look on his face that he and the other kids who still needed extra help with their four-letter words shared. Still, she’d read it was good to use an expanded vocabulary with kids. Made them more curious.

She laughs. “Is he gonna get better?”

“I dunno. I don’t think he can get better by himself,” he says.

“Well, maybe you can color him a friend to help him out,” Georgia says as she stands up from her chair and checks her watch for the tenth time. She sighs and puts on a cheery voice, “Hey, kiddo, sit tight, I’m gonna try to give Mom another call, alright? Give me juuust a second and I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, Miss Georgia,” Henry says, barely paying attention to her now as he attempts to find the perfect friend for his green giraffe. She can’t help but ruffle his hair a little before she leaves.

She steps out of her classroom, careful not to bend the decorations she spent all summer making. Her door is covered in all the recycled newspapers she scrounged from the people in her apartment building, painted in varying shades of green. Pasted on top of them were individually cut sunflowers with her student’s names written in neat, bubbly print in the middle. Amongst the flowers are the words “Young Minds Bloom In Ms. Walker’s Classroom!” in white paint.

As she walks past her bulletin board, the real star of the show in her opinion, she feels a little pride go through her. “Blooming Great Work!” scrawled across the sky of an entire paper vegetable garden, squeezed onto a four by eight foot sheet of compressed wood pulp. A tiny pumpkin patch in the corner, tomatoes on the vine, corn in the stalk, all crafted from more recycled newspapers. The real part she was proud of, the one no one had commented on or even noticed, was the fact that she was able to find enough papers without sensationalized political headlines.

War dominated everything from the newspapers to the television to the cereal half her students ate for breakfast (sending your kids to school hyped up on Sugar Bombs? Great plan). Most of them had a father, an older brother, or an uncle in the military, the marines, or the air force. It had become such a permeable part of the fabric of their lives, starting way before they were even a twinkle in their parent’s eyes. On the first day of school, at least three had said that their daddy/brother/uncle died in The War. Kids overshared their big feelings. Georgia knew to expect that. So the very least she could do is try to take their minds off of it in any small way she could. That included keeping it out of her classroom of seven to eight year olds when it wasn’t necessary.

As she walked past the counselor’s office, she wondered just how many big feelings passed through their door on the daily. Not many schools in Boston still had counselors on payroll anymore. Frankly, Georgia was surprised they still had the teachers on the payroll with how many slashes there had been to the national education budget in recent years. Dollar bills for pencils, textbooks, and backpacks spent on bullets, tanks, and warheads. It had almost been enough for her to give up on her degree in her junior year of college, but she pushed through if only to make taking out those damnable student loans somewhat worth it.

All that was to say, that whoever was going to be picking up Henry Tate, they may have gotten stuck behind a military blockade somewhere in the city. It happened. Didn’t make it any less frustrating to deal with.

Georgia rounds the corner of the second grade hallway and runs straight into a cloud of minty smelling smoke. She coughs, not expecting her senses to be assaulted like that in a primary school, and waves it away as she realizes who brought it in with them.

A man with tousled brown hair, broad shouldered and lean, a cigarette between his scarred lips, stares at the trophy case in front of the main office.

“‘Most Patriotic’, eh?” he says aloud like he’d been waiting for her to appear so he could make his snappy quip. “How do they even measure that in kids? I doubt any of them can say the national anthem all the way through at this age.”

“You’d be surprised,” she says before she can think, remembering the first day of school when little Henry Tate himself managed to get through the entire thing, only stumbling over the word indivisible. “By the way, you shouldn’t smoke inside a school, sir.”

The man laughs and finally looks in her direction. She doesn’t miss the way his eyes give her a quick once over.

“Why’s that? Fire hazard?” he asks.

“Among other things,” she replies. “They say smokin’ is bad for your health. I read it in Massachusetts Surgical Journal.”

“A bunch of boring brainy types would say that,” he shrugs, but snubs his cigarette out on the heel of his boot anyways and slips it back into the carton in his shirt pocket. “No offense if you’re one of those brainy types, by the way.”

A laugh sneaks past Georgia’s lips. She’s been known to indulge in a smoke or two during her breaks. “No offense taken, but I might offend you by askin’…you wouldn’t happen to be here to pick up a child, would you?”

“I am, actually,” he confirms. “Sister-in-law sent me to pick him up. Henry Tate. You know him?”

“I happen to be his teacher. I came to make another call, but he’s back in the classroom working on a friend for a green giraffe. A sick giraffe, mind you,” she says seriously, wagging a finger at him and making him chuckle. She smiles. “I’ll show you the way.”

“Be my guest,” he replies, and follows after her.

Before they can even walk through the door, Henry is rushing his uncle like a linebacker. His uncle manages to swoop him up before he can run smack into his shins, making him scream with laughter.

“Uncle Nate! Uncle Nate!” he cries.

“Yep, that’s me, kiddo,” he says and puts Henry down. “Mom was too busy to pick you up—” Georgia catches the look he throws at her just in time that says all she needed to know about his opinion of the woman. “So you get me instead. Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’re not a dis’pointment,” Henry says with a toothy grin. Then, like he remembers Georgia standing not three feet away from them, excitedly shouts, “Wait, wait, Uncle Nate! This is my teacher, Miss Georgia. She’s really nice. I like her.”

“Well, that’s nice to hear,” Georgia laughs as he wraps his arms around her legs in a quick hug. She gives him a pat on the back, then takes Nate’s hand when he offers it to shake.

“From what I hear, he doesn’t stop talking about school, you especially,” he says. He rests an arm against the wall of cubbies nearest the door, running a hand through his hair as he talks. Georgia feels a little warmth pool in her face when she catches herself staring for a second longer than is polite.

“Well, that’s nice to hear as well,” she says after clearing her throat.

Then he winks at her, a split-second thing that makes her blush for real this time as he tells Henry, “Hey, little man. Why don’t you go get your stuff together and then we’ll swing by the Red Rocket and get us some sodas, okay? I wanna talk to your teacher for a second.”

At the promise of soda, Henry darts off with a cheer to gather his things. Nate then turns to Georgia, warm brown eyes giving her another quick once over. She shivers.

“So, is it Miss or Miz?” he asks, nodding towards the door to the classroom. “I wanna know before I make an ass of myself.”

She tries to keep her laugh quiet, putting a hand over her mouth but failing to contain her volume. Her cheeks feel hot already.

“It’s, uh, Miss. Miss Walker. M-I-S-S,” she clarifies, face growing redder by the second.

“Good to know, Miss Walker. But where’s that accent from? Down south? You sound too soft to be from here,” he continues, fiddling with the carton in his shirt pocket.

“Arkansas,” she nods, reaching up to nervously fidget with one of the curls resting on her shoulder. “Grew up outside of Little Rock, moved here for college and decided to stay. You?”

“Boston born and raised,” Nate says with pride. “Nice to know you’re not from around here.”

Georgia raises an eyebrow at him. “And why’s that?”

“Means I can show you somewhere neat on our date,” he replies with a crooked grin, her heart fluttering.

“Date?” Georgia repeats, almost sure she didn’t hear him correctly. She flounders like a fish out of water.

“If you want,” Nate concedes, holding up his hands but his grin never faltering. “C’mon, let me show you somewhere nice. Somewhere you’ve never been before.”

She tries to compose herself, giving him an amused but disbelieving look and crossing her arms. “And what if I have been there? What then?”

Nate snorts, dismissive. “Trust me. You’ve never been there before. So what do you say? One date and then I’ll leave you alone.”

Georgia considers his offer. In half a second she manages to justify either answer. On one hand, she has rules when it comes to dating, not to mention dating a family member of one of her students. It came with its own host of issues from a potential breakup ruining her classroom dynamic or even getting fired. On the other hand…She gives him her own quick once over.

He’s like a goddamn calendar man, all toned muscles in a white t-shirt and charmingly tousled hair. And that scar on his lip? All that was missing was some oil and the washboard abs he undoubtedly had under the shirt. Georgia remembers to breathe again after pushing the train of thought away. The pros quickly begin to outweigh the cons. She’d sooner stick herself with a pair of safety scissors than say no to him.

“Pick me up at six and it’s a date.”

-----

In hindsight, stabbing herself with safety scissors that afternoon might have saved Georgia no small amount of grief.

By her own account, their first date had gone well. Really well if their winnings from hustling his friends at pool in a veteran’s bar was anything to go by. That night she had learned Nathan “Nate” Tate had recently finished up his eight year commitment to the military, but now he was working in a Corvega factory his uncle owned. It was one of the many around the Boston area that had switched from producing its titular cars to jeeps and tanks in an effort to cash in on the war effort. He had his own sweet Corvega Blitz that he picked her up in, shiny and red as her lipstick.

Nate had oozed charm that night, enough to get her into his backseat on that first date, and the second one, and the third one, too. She’d become so enamored with him so fast that her mother had demanded she fly up and meet the man after a single phone call. She dragged her father along, too. Nate impressed them with flying colors. Her mother, albeit a little hesitantly, admitted she could understand her daughter’s feelings. Her father had clapped him on the shoulder and told him he was a solid man.

They were married within the next three months.

“And you’re absolutely sure you want to go through with this?”

“For the hundredth time, yes, Mama,” Georgia huffs, looking at her mother over her shoulder. “Besides, as you and Daddy keep remindin’ me, this weddin’ wasn’t exactly cheap. I don’t see the sense in backin’ out now.”

Georgia’s mother sighs and purses her lips as she finishes buttoning up the back of her dress. It was a simple thing, not much flair save for bits of lace and a tight sweetheart neckline her cousin said enhanced her “natural features” when the women in her family went wedding dress shopping with her. Her mother wears a blush pink dress with an empire waist and a knee-length skirt; she’d tried talking Georgia into a different color palette, but eventually acquiesced to her demands when it became clear she was indeed her mother’s daughter, headstrong and stubborn.

“A hundred percent sure?” she asks again. Georgia replies with a similar pursed expression. “Just makin’ sure, just makin’ sure…Is it such a crime for a mother to want her only daughter to be happy?”

“Mama, I am happy,” Georgia insists. She sighs then takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “I am perfectly happy with Nate. Last night I talked him into us gettin’ a dog when we find a house.”

Her mother all but throws her hands up in the air, exasperated.

“Hell, honey, if a dog is all it takes for you to be happy, I don’t see why we have to go through with all of this,” she says. “I mean really, Georgia, six months? Half the people out there think it’s a damn shotgun weddin’ for God’s sake.”

“Mama!”

“Well, it’s the truth! You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“What? No!” Georgia sighs again and refrains from playing with her neatly styled hair no matter how much she wants to fidget around. Instead, she takes one of her mother’s hands into her own and squeezes.

“I’m not pregnant—yet,” she tells her. “We’ve talked about kids. A dog is the first step, sorta. But I promise you, I’m happy with him. Ecstatic, even. Everyone outside? They can think what they want, I don’t care. I love Nate and he loves me. Isn’t that all anyone can ask for?”

She can tell her mother is biting her tongue. Instead of arguing, Georgia is pulled into a tight hug.

“Love and an expensive reception,” she says, then checks the clock on the vanity. “Almost time, hun. Let’s go.”

-----

May 1st, 2076

When Nate picks her up after work, Georgia just about makes it to the car before she starts tearing up.

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” he asks when she collapses into the passenger seat beside him.

“My decorations!” she sobs.

Nate gives her a sideways look as he pulls out of the school parking lot. “What about ‘em?”

“They ruined them!”

“Who’s ‘them?’”

Georgia wants to scream. Instead, she lets her nails dig into the leather of her seat and heaves a sigh. She hates crying.

“Remember those two teachers I told you about? The ones who kept makin’ snippy comments about my bulletin board?” she asks, trying to jog his memory. They always had something to say whenever they walked past her classroom. Something was always either out of place or over the top for them. For a while she had blamed it on them being bitter and uncreative, but today had been the last straw.

“Oh, yeah, them. So they ruined your bulletin board?”

“They didn’t just ruin it, they–I-I walked into the school this mornin’ and, and everything was a mess. They destroyed everything I worked so fuckin’ hard on!” she manages to get out between sobs, punching the glovebox in frustration.

It was the beginning of the last month of school and she had gone all out with her new decorations. She’d spent weeks on them in between house hunting with Nate. She’d sat at his kitchen counter cutting out buckets, shovels, and beach balls out of more newspaper, creating an entire beach scene for the wall outside her classroom with the words “We ‘Shore’ Are Ready For Summer!” above them. She stayed two hours late just to put them up, and even took a cab home so Nate wouldn’t have to wait on her.

When she walked in that morning, all of it was either ripped, crumpled, or on the ground. She hadn’t cried then, but when one of those teachers walked by and commented “Oh, too bad. Guess you’ll just have to settle for some more lowkey decorations, huh?” she nearly lost it. Instead, she had managed to hold her head high, salvage what she could, and resolve to put it up again when she had the time and the super glue.

“Well,” Nate says, eyes never leaving the road, “fuck them, right? Probably just a couple of jealous old hags.”

Georgia sniffs, not quite wanting to agree but not quite disagreeing either.

“Probably just jealous,” she says, wiping away the rest of her tears and checking her face in the sun visor. Streaks of mascara and eyeliner trail down her cheeks so she does her best to wipe it off, but her eyes are still red.

“In better news,” Nate starts, finally looking over at her during a red light, “I may have found our future house.”

“Really?” Georgia asks, snapping her head over to look at him. Suddenly her problems are miles away. “Where? How? When did you find it? When can we see it?”

“In about a month,” he replies and takes a turn he doesn’t usually take on the drive home.

“A month? Where are we going?”

“You’ll see. Just sit tight and look pretty, alright?”

They drive all the way out to Concord, stopping only to grab a couple of sodas at a Red Rocket before Nate is driving them over a bridge into a housing development. A temporary sign in block letters reads SANCTUARY HILLS, with thirteen prefabricated homes in different states of completion. They were all either yellow or blue, some with covered carports and some without. Only one home stands in its entirety near the entrance to the neighborhood and Nate parks the car in front of it.

“Is this it?” Georgia asks excitedly as she gets out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

“Not this one, but close,” Nate replies as he joins her, then nods further up the road, “ours will be over there.”

She turns on her heel to him, eyes wide. “‘Ours?’”

Nate only gives her a sly smile in return.

“You cannot be serious right now,” Georgia says but he just keeps on smiling down at her. “Do not play with me, Nathan.”

He opens the passenger door to the car and rifles around in the glovebox for a moment, coming back out with folded papers. He barely has them in front of her before she’s snatching them out of his hands, reading them over. She looks back up at him incredulously.

“Nathan Charles Tate!” she all but shouts, making him jump. “What was goin’ through your head?! Are you crazy? Why would you make this decision without me?”

“Relax a little, would you? Plots were going fast, it was in our price range, and we can move in in a month,” he tries to tell her but she can’t keep her upset from showing. “It was now or never.”

They had been looking for somewhere to settle down since before they got married and with the housing market as terrible as it was…Maybe this was a boon falling into their laps. Maybe she was still stressed from school and taking it out on him. That wasn’t fair. Georgia sighs and hands the papers back to him.

“I just…I would’ve liked to be in the loop, y’know,” she frowns.

“I would’ve told you sooner, but you’ve been busy with school stuff. I only signed the papers today. If you’re really pissed, I can try walking back the contract, but—”

“Okay, now I know you’re definitely crazy in the head. That’d be more pain than it’s worth,” Georgia says, a small part of her beginning to think about how they’d like to decorate their first house. The idea is starting to grow on her.

“So you’re not upset?”

“Oh, no, I’m furious. But I think that can be fixed if you tell me you at least signed off on a blue one,” she says and he gives her that crooked smile that still makes her chest flutter.

“All blue for you, baby,” he says, and a little smile of her own works its way onto her face.

With that, she wraps him in a hug, burying her face in his chest. He smells like sandalwood and smoke and is warm to the touch. His arms around her and his face in her hair is comforting in the best way. He kisses her on the forehead and lifts her up by the chin, something unknowable ruminating in his mind if she judges his expression right.

“So…” he starts, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Better watch out,” she jokes and he tweaks her nose for it, making her giggle.

“Seriously, just listen. I’ve been thinking about this while we’ve been house hunting,” he says, and she gives him all of her undivided attention, “and I think you should quit your job.”

Georgia’s pleased expression drops, her eyebrows furrowed as she squints at him in the fading sunlight. Streetlamps lining the road flicker on, one after the other.

“Excuse me?” He can’t be serious.

“Let me finish before you get pissed at me again,” Nate starts, releasing her from his hug to raise his hands in defense. “Look, we have a house now. Or we will soon and you’ve been complaining about that damn school for months—”

“So you want me to quit my job right as we’re taking on a bunch of new bills? Nate, I can’t, that’s crazy!” She has to put her foot down here. Yes, her coworkers were mean, yes, the pay was shit, and yes, being the sole caretaker of twenty-eight kids for eight hours a day was perhaps the tiniest bit stressful. But it was all nothing she couldn’t handle in the long run, and she hasn’t even finished her first year.

“Listen,” Nate says again, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I got a promotion today at work. I’m off the factory floor and in the office making more than enough, plus all of my military benefits.”

“Wait, you got a promotion today? You should have led with that,” Georgia says, crossing her arms.

“I wanted to, but you started crying the second you got into the car.”

She bites her lip and concedes to his point. She hadn’t even given him a chance.

“Think about it: you, at home, putting all your creative genius into some interior decorating. Doesn’t that sound more fun than making flimsy paper decorations only for some old bat to tear them down?” Nate asks her. “And hey, we can finally get that dog you’ve been talking about.”

She’s gone through a whirlwind of emotions within the last ten minutes and Georgia can’t clear her head of them while she’s still looking into his pleading eyes. He’s thrown so much information at her, but she can just about make out the specs of gold among the brown and in that instant she knows he has her just where he wants her. The more she thinks about it, the more she pictures them picking out new furniture, walking the dog around the neighborhood, cookouts with neighbors…Maybe she wants to be there, too.

“I’ll think about it,” she says finally and he grins like he’s already won. She holds up a finger, pressing it to his lips before he can try to kiss her. “Let me finish out the school year first. It’s only ‘til the end of May. After that, we’ll have plenty of time to move in and start decoratin’ over summer break.”

Nate just keeps grinning down at her, then surprises her when he scoops her up into his arms to spin her around.

“We have a house!” he cries out, his voice echoing through the empty neighborhood.

“We have a house!” Georgia shouts, laughing as he spins her.

He brings her down to plant one on her, dipping her when he does, and she can’t remember the last time she’s felt so happy after feeling so low.

-----

It takes a little less than a month before their house in Sanctuary Hills is move-in ready.

After a week of getting things unpacked and settled, Georgia tries to be neighborly. She makes a double batch of shortbread cookies with the few ingredients they have with the intent to go door-to-door and introduce herself, but it doesn’t pan out how she imagined it.

The only person who doesn’t turn her down is the man in the Hawthorne residence at the front of the neighborhood. To his credit, he was neighborly in his own way and offers to trade her the whole container for a box of Mentats that she only declines out of polite shock. Walking away, she can remember the taste of the orange ones from her college days on the tip of her tongue.

Coming home with a still-heavy container, sad and a little dejected, Georgia opens the door to her own home and walks past Nate on the couch and into the kitchen, setting the cookies on the counter.

“It’s either the new tax bracket or there’s somethin’ in the water makin’ everyone paranoid enough to turn down free food in a crisis,” she sighs, leaning against the counter and looking through their unopened mail. Bill, campaign soliciting, bill, bill, junk, paycheck, bill.

“No one wanted your cookies? More for me, then,” Nate shrugs as he watches the news.

After the news anchor reports on messages from the war front, the commercial breaks show fancy new Corvega Atomic V-8s, placement in a doomsday Vault, and domestic helper Miss Nanny robots. Then the anchor is back on screen and talks about the riots (some even inside Boston), the food shortages, and the chance that foreign spies could be anywhere. A rinse and repeat of instilled paranoia until the channel changes. It’s all so bleak that Georgia thinks she can’t blame her neighbors too much.

“Bring me one, would you?” Nate asks, gesturing over at her. “Those are my favorite.”

Georgia purses her lips at him over her shoulder while she opens the bills, “You have legs, mister. Use ‘em or lose ‘em.”

She turns back to the bills—surely the electric can’t be that high—and ignores his sigh from behind her. He walks over and pops open the tin, leaning against the counter.

“The boys invited me out to the bar this weekend,” he says through a mouthful of shortbread, then swallows. “You wanna come?”

Georgia’s eyes flit to him over the water bill. “I thought you wanted to go pick out a new bed frame this weekend. You made quite a few jokes about ‘breakin’ it in’, too.”

Nate almost appears to weigh the two options as he says, “Oh, yeah…”

“How about this,” he says, taking a bite out of another cookie, “bed frame in the morning, bar at night?”

“Maybe. I wanna take another crack at goin’ around the neighborhood,” she replies, thinking over her options. “Maybe these people just don’t like shortbread.”

Nate snorts, “Yeah, that’s it. Well, I’m going either way, so make up your mind by Friday.”

“Will do,” she nods absently, going back to calculating their bills in her head before she suddenly remembers the shortlist of chores she’d left before making her way around the neighborhood. “Hey, did you put the laundry on while I was out?”

Nate, covered in cookie crumbs, looks like a deer in headlights. She gives him a flat look.

“Sorry?” he tries, not looking the least bit guilty.

“Nevermind,” she mutters, and goes to do it herself.

-----

In July, Nate finally makes good on the promise of a dog (a sweet little Bichon Frise named Lady) and Georgia puts her resignation in. By December, regret hits her like a cast iron pan and a wooden spoon.

She sits on the couch, wrapped up in her robe as she reads her books from the library in the city. Despite all the fighting between them in the last few months, he still agrees to drive her into the city on Saturday mornings as long as he’s allowed to go out with his friends later that night. It gives her plenty of time to read, but it leaves her more than a little lonely, even with the dog, which is where the root of their problems lie.

In August, Nate told her that he was having to put in some overtime at the Corvega factory. Something about quotas not being met, workers threatening to strike, and not enough bodies on the floor. So he’s back on the line, but he assures her his uncle isn’t docking his pay. Georgia understands this and for the first few weeks she greets him at night with a late dinner and a warm shower. She even makes him breakfast to reheat in the mornings before he takes off and full lunches to share with the other men on the line. He called her his “perfect little housewife” and she ignored the twist in her stomach.

Georgia doesn’t think it would have gotten as bad between them if they had more than one car. As is, he drives it to work every day and it hadn’t taken long to get the house in order, so she was left to her own devices for the most part. She was a sociable creature, always had been, and being constrained to the house had done a number on her. The daily walks with Lady helped a little, but the dog wasn’t much of a conversational partner, and Georgia liked to talk. At one point she had even called up her sister-in-law, Margaret, and asked if she could babysit Henry, but she wasn’t willing to drive all the way out to Concord every time she needed to run an errand. So with neighbors that hated her and a husband that was rarely home, Georgia couldn’t help but feel lonely.

From the hallway, Nate stalks into the kitchen. His hair is wet from the shower and his clothes stick to him enough to show off every muscle underneath. Six months ago, she would’ve come up behind him and jumped his bones right there. As it stands, they haven’t had sex in four.

He opens the refrigerator and takes out last night’s lasagna before heading towards the side door to the carport. Georgia frowns.

“Where are you goin’? It’s nine o’clock at night,” she says and he stops at the door.

“Boys wanted to hang out,” he says quickly, “you know how it is.”

She dog-ears her book and puts it down, getting up from the couch. “Really? Why can’t you stay home tonight? Please?”

Nate’s sigh is agitated. She’s asked the wrong question.

“Why? So you can ignore me with your books then go to bed with another headache?” he asks her rhetorically. His words shock her nevertheless and she stands there, wondering what she did between now and this morning to make him bring that up.

“I’m sorry?” she says, less like an apology and more like a chance for him to take it back.

“Yeah, you should be,” he snaps, and goes for the door again. Georgia nearly flips the liquor cabinet by her side.

“Nate, are you serious? What the hell is wrong with you?” she demands, following him out to the carport.

“Just leave it alone, alright? Christ. I’ll be home before midnight.”

She doesn’t get a chance to say anything else before he’s inside the car and slamming the door shut. When he peels out of the driveway, Georgia refrains from screaming into the night and slams her own door on her way back inside.

-----

January 2077

“Fuck, ow.”

Georgia squints into the bathroom mirror, face pressed close enough to where she can pluck her eyebrows with surgical precision. A stray piece of wheat blonde hair that didn’t make it into the curlers piled atop her head falls in front of her eyes and she curses again, putting the tweezers down to fix the offending piece. As she does, her blush falls into the sink and cracks the pressed powder inside, staining the porcelain pink.

“Mary, Joseph, and Jesus, can I catch a break?” she mutters, salvaging what she can and closing the compact.

In the trashcan by the toilet are seven positive pregnancy tests she walked all the way to the pharmacy in Concord to get. She had tried to be discreet, but the girl behind the counter had congratulated her loudly enough to draw the attention of a few other customers, and hid a family planning pamphlet between the boxes. Georgia walked out of there sweating like a sinner in church.

She spies her wedding ring beside the hot water handle, and given that it’s pertinent she wears it tonight, she slips it onto her finger before it has a chance to fall down the drain. That was the last thing she needed.

Georgia is pregnant, and she doesn’t feel half as excited as she thought she would.

She and Nate had talked about having kids, of course. It was the main topic of their third date. He told her he’d always wanted a big family—a pretty wife, four kids minimum, and a protective yet lovable dog (they were still working on the dog, surprisingly. Lady ended up pissing on Nate’s side of the bed soon after they got her and was given to her mother-in-law a little while later).

Georgia wanted a family, too, of course. She had always imagined herself having kids someday, but she thought that reality was a little further away. Twenty-three still feels too early to become a mother even if most of her old college friends she hasn’t talked to in two years are starting families as well. It all feels so sudden, even if it’s exactly what she planned.

She files the thoughts away for later, and focuses on finishing up her face. Her makeup had gone untouched for a while after she stopped leaving the house as much, but she knew Nate liked when she dolled herself up. Hopefully it will help.

Once her face is powdered, her hair curled, and lips lined, she goes to their closet to pull out her best dress. Pink, of course, with flowery lace around the hem. She slips it on, careful of her curls, and debates on adding a blue belt just to be on theme before deciding against it. Besides, maybe the pink will help manifest a little girl. On the dresser is her eighth pregnancy test, sealed inside a plastic bag. She slips it into her pocket just as she hears a car pull into the driveway.

Things with Nate have been…better. Not great, but better. He’s stopped going out as much and she’s been less demanding of him. Their relationship was fractured, yes, but she knew in her heart that after today, it would be repaired and made to last.

She’s in the kitchen when he comes in, jumpsuit wrinkled and dirty. Georgia can smell the sweat on him from five feet away.

“Georgia, I’m—Oh, well look at you,” Nate says, giving her a long look from her head to her feet.

She smiles and gives him a little twirl and when he whistles at her, warmth blooms in her chest. He walks over and wraps her up in his arms. Georgia takes a deep breath, swallows the lump that forms in her throat, and hugs him back.

“What’s this all about?” he asks, looking down at her.

Her hand disappears into her pocket. When she pulls out the pregnancy test and sees Nate’s face, she almost wishes she could photograph it and save it forever.

She takes a deep breath, and her voice doesn’t even crack when she inhales the perfume on his collar. She puts on a smile.

“I’m pregnant.”

[charlietheepicwriter7]

We Don’t Talk About Kudo

Hey, @nurbatart I’m your secret Santa! for your present, I decided to rewrite Heiji and Shinichi’s first meeting, with Kudo Fan Heiji and In-the-know Ran. I hope you like it!

Kudo Shinichi. 

The Modern-Day Holmes. 

The Detective of the East. 

Call him what you want; Heiji knew all the different names for his counterpart. He tracked Kudo all over Japan, through newspapers and TV reports, following his exploits with the dedication of a number one fan. 

Or the dedication of a stalker, as Kazuha liked to comment. 

He scoffed at the idea. To be a stalker, he’d have to physically follow Kudo around. And while he has tried to introduce himself to Kudo before, he always got there a day late, or they end up just missing each other. Besides, he wasn’t being creepy in his research… he was just being thorough. And the police should be thankful for that; otherwise, no one else would have caught on that Kudo Shinichi was missing!

It started with the sudden drop in appearances. Kudo couldn’t go a week without showing up in the news, solving one murder or another, grinning smugly at the cameras like he had a secret no one else knew about. He went from regularly solving murders to dropping off the face of the earth, without a whisper of his existence anywhere to be found! 

And Heiji looked. He looked for Kudo’s parents, but they were aboard, with no sign of having returned to Japan or even knowing their son was missing. He called up neighbors, pretending to be one of Kudo’s classmates, asking when they’d last seen him. He called his school, even, not that he could get anything from the receptionist. 

Was it kidnapping? He felt certain that it wasn’t murder—no corpses matching Kudo’s description had been found during his two months of being missing, but maybe his body hadn’t been found yet? If it was kidnapping, it didn’t seem to be for a ransom; his parents had made any suspicious actions that he knew of, nor moved any large amounts of money from their bank accounts. But why else would someone kidnap him?

Was it to keep Kudo from solving cases?

Heiji was at his wit’s end. There was no other choice; he had to bother Kudo’s woman. 

Mouri Ran, karate champion and daughter of the private detective who’d been making headlines in Kudo’s absence. He was hesitant to approach her at first—she was Kudo’s woman after all, and had a reputation herself as being extremely capable in a fight—but after he observed her everyday actions, he could only come to one conclusion: Mouri Ran knew what happened to Kudo. 

No girlfriend could live her daily life as happily as her while her boyfriend was missing. Mouri Ran went to school, practiced karate, hung out with her friends, and looked after her little brother, all without worry or fret. She didn’t even seem to care that no one had heard from Kudo in two months. That meant one of two things: either Mouri was in contact with Kudo… or she was compliant in what happened to her. 

That meant a confrontation was natural. 

Still, he hadn’t expected her to glare at him like that! It even made him nervous, her glaring at him with her arms wrapped around her little brother. Maybe he deserved a little bit of it—the kid had drunk some alcohol after all, even he knew that was bad for kids—but her defensiveness seemed out of place. Almost like… she was expecting someone to come asking around after Kudo. “I don’t know where Shinichi is.”

“Oh? You seem pretty unworried for someone who’s boyfriend is missing.”

The kid in her arms paled as she laughed. “Boyfriend? Shinichi’s not my boyfriend, he’s my best friend! And why would I be worried? Shinichi goes off on cases all the time; just because he’s taking a while investigating doesn’t mean he’s missing.”

Heiji wanted to ask more questions—what cases was she referring to?---but then a woman came to the agency’s door to ask for help. The old man Mouri agreed and Heiji decided to tag along, only to get kicked out of the apartment while the family got ready. Rude. Pressing his ear to the door, he could only vaguely hear the sounds of an argument going on in the other room, before Mouri-chan’s voice rose above the din. 

“We won’t talk about Shinichi!”

Suspicious. 

The case allowed Heiji to learn more about the Mouri family. The father was an alcoholic who couldn’t deduct his way out of a paper bag. The kid was adopted and snooped around like a professional snoop. The girl hated his guts. But none of what he learned pointed to where Kudo was, so Heiji resigned himself to solving the case. He had identified the killer, but then–

“No, that’s wrong!”

Leaning against the doorframe was Kudo Shinichi himself. He panted heavily, like he’d just run several kilometers (because Heiji knew Kudo was a soccer player, and obviously could run up the stairs with ease), and his eyes had a glazed appearance to them. His skin shined under the fluorescent lights. He’s sweating, he realized. 

Kudo exchanged a quick word with Mouri-chan, who seemed shocked and, dare he think, horrified to see Kudo there, before pinning Heiji with his full attention. Heiji swallowed. Kudo’s hair and clothes were ruffled, disheveled, like he’d just rolled out of bed or had… A hot rush of blood flushed Heiji’s face. “It’s not the butler. Let me look around, and I’ll prove it to you.”

Heiji was so thrilled by his appearance, he let him.

[anoseforrottenapples]

@detectiverickitubbs

Muse: Gavin Troy. Drabbles connected to scents. Spoilers within for Death of a Stanger,  Murder on St. Malley’s Day, Shadow of Death, The Killings at Badger’s Drift, and Faithful unto Death. 

Tea

Troy’s nose twitched at the warm, earthy scent as he opened the canister. How many cups of tea had he made over the years? He lost count when he was still in school, but it must have been well over several thousand by now. A few of them always stuck with him though… like the cup he made poor Mrs. Gurdie when they had to tell her about her husband’s death. That poor woman… in less then a month her tear-away son Billy had been railroaded into prison for a murder he did not commit, and her husband had been killed trying to clear the lad. Sure, Billy had gotten out of prison when all the facts came to light… but did that really make anything easier? The last he heard of the pair, they had left Upper Marchwood, aiming to rebuild their life in one of the larger cities. He thought it might have been Liverpool… A passing question about whether Billy had managed to stay out of trouble flitted through his mind but, before he could grab it, the hall door opened, and he heard his boss’s footfalls on the tile. That was not Barnaby’s casual walk, the one he used when he was anticipating a quiet day. That one indicated something new was on hand. Barnaby pushed the office door open enough just to stick his head in, “Grab your jacket, Troy. The body of a local beekeeper just turned up in a stream on the outskirts of Midsomer Shallows.” Troy quickly snapped the canister lid closed, “Coming, sir.”

= = = = = 

Paper

The old library stank of musty books and paperwork. Troy’s nose scrunched up and then he sneezed hard into the sleeve of his suitcoat. “Sorry, sir.” He apologized automatically when Barnaby shot him a glance. Sniffing, he wiped the back of his hand over his nose. Then he gingerly picked up one of the piles of newspaper and glanced at the headline. Like a shock of cold water, he abruptly realized why this library smelled so familiar. Poor old looney Carew… the name floated into Troy’s head, though it had been months since they resolved the St. Malley’s case. His little cottage used to smell like this, a testament to all the newspapers and magazines he kept piled up for his research. In the end, all his conspiracy theories had not done him much good… “It looks like our Mr. Lilton was very interested in treasure maps, Troy.” Barnaby’s comment slides through the library’s oppressive atmosphere. “I wonder if he was just selling them, as his daughter claims, or if he had another reason for his collection.” “Maybe he was going to try and find one, sir.” Troy wrenched his mind back to the current case. “And since he’s gone missing, maybe he went haring off after one… any of the maps for Midsomer County?” His question was answered by Barnaby depositing several dusty stacks of maps into his arms. Biting back another sneeze, Troy tried to ignore the way his eyes started tearing up by blinking hard. “That is for you to find out, Troy.” Barnaby headed for the library door. “I need to have another word with Mrs. Wilder, the housekeeper.” “Yes sir,” Troy sighed, looking around for an empty table he could work on. Though he claimed he was not a superstitious man, he swore he saw a glimpse of the dead conspiracy theorist disappearing behind a bookshelf. Maybe Carew was looking for a buried treasure too…

 = = = = =

Smoke

The firefighters had everything extinguished by the time Barnaby and he arrived on scene, but the lingering scent of water-heavy smoke almost sent Troy retching. Trying to discreetly press the back of his hand to his mouth, he took a step away toward cleaner air and breathed in slowly, before holding it. Barnaby, thankfully, did not seem to notice his absence yet. He had charged ahead to talk to Doctor Bullard. Exhaling carefully, Troy experimentally sucked in another breath. David Whitely’s murder scene, and having to look down on a pile of burned bones that had once been a human being he knew haunted his nightmares. Troy had never liked Mr. Whitely much, admittedly. As the Tye House estate manager, Whitely had been a bit too grand and full of himself for Troy’s taste… especially when they learned he was just a common old adulterer, messing around with another man’s wife. Then, when they returned to Badger’s Drift to investigate the Bayly murder, the former estate manager had almost been worse, going out of his way to goad Troy in particular every time they tried to get information from him. But Whitely had still been a human being… someone with thoughts and opinions and plans… burned alive and suffocated in smoke because of a mistake he made when he was a child. Troy closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose quickly. He had never processed that one correctly… had tried to talk about and quickly got shut down… so he just tucked it away with all the other horrible things he had seen and learned since he became a DS. “Troy? Are you coming?” Barnaby finally realized his shadow had detached itself somewhere, and looked around for his Sergeant. Troy took another deep breath. “Sorry about that, sir. I thought I got a call on my mobile—must have been on someone else’s.” It should not have been so easy to lie to his boss, but Troy still found the words slipping out with a convincing ease that would alarm him later tonight while he was in the shower. However, Barnaby had not been interested in discussing Whitely’s demise at the time. Troy really doubted that three years on, he would be any keener to discuss it now. Better to just leave those memories where they were. It was easier that way.

= = = = =

Car Exhaust  

A heavy fog had moved in during the night, trapping all the scents close to the ground. If Troy had known it was coming, he would have closed his windows before he slept. One of the people in his block of flats left for work absurdly early, and always ran their car for an age to ‘warm it up’ before they pulled away. On nights like this, the car’s exhaust caught in the wet air, and slid into every open crack it could find.

Jerking awake, Troy stared into the darkness as he tried to settle back into his bedroom. All he could smell was the exhaust, a sickening cloud of gases seeping in his window.

He should get up and close it… but he stayed flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.

He had dreamed about Brenda Buckley again-… about how she died in that horrible car accident. About how it had been his fault.

If he had just been a little smarter, he never would have fallen for Hollingsworth’s clumsy set-up. Then the man would not have been able to take off for Finchmere Market, with Brenda following after him like the lovesick puppy she was… and what she saw there, that was what had gotten her killed on the drive home.

If he had never lost Hollingsworth, maybe Brenda will still be alive. Once he debated if Hollingsworth would have survived too, but he dismissed that idea. Simone needed him dead so he would have to go whether Troy succeeded at his stake-out or not. Brenda though… she only died because she had seen something she never should have… and she tried to get her father to get Troy on the phone to report it but…

Kicking the blankets aside, Troy pulled himself from his bed and slammed his window shut. Down on the street, he could hear his neighbor finally pulling away from the building, taking his stinking car with him.

There was no point in torturing himself. The problem was that torturing himself came too easily. Especially when the victim of his blunder was a young woman who had really done nothing wrong, besides reading too many romance novels, and falling in love with a man who cared nothing about her. She probably thought helping Hollingsworth in his hour of difficulty would earn her the man’s admiration…maybe even his love…

Too keyed up to go back to sleep, Troy pulled a tee-shirt over his head and headed for the kitchen. No one would notice if he headed in for work a bit early… it would give him a chance to catch up on paperwork before Barnaby came in.

As he moved, he pointedly ignored the clock on his dresser, and the fact it was not even five am yet.

[jmwetheringtonsr]

New Post has been published on https://jmwetheringtonsr.com/witnessing-three-total-solar-eclipses-in-my-lifetime/

Witnessing Three Total Solar Eclipses in My Lifetime

Saturday, March 7, 1970 I was 14 years old and playing trombone in my junior high school’s orchestra/stage band. That day our school was competing in the state school band contest held in Miami and afterward having lunch at a Swedish buffet restaurant named Sweden House Smorgasbord. We got off the bus in the restaurant parking lot and watched the first total solar eclipse seen in North America in our lifetime. Some of us had film we looked through and some had built pinhole projectors out of cardboard boxes.

Not sure why this newspaper headline only mentions the next one as being in 2024, since there was one in 1979 and one in 2017. But it was pretty neat to see this year’s eclipse being predicted 54 years ago!

I missed getting to see the next total solar eclipse that touched American soil in 1979, but did get to see the following one in 2017.

By the way, here’s a list of all the total solar eclipses that have occurred over the United States since such occurrences were officially recorded.

Now, barring dismal weather or my untimely discorporation, I’ll get to see the third North American total solar eclipse in my lifetime next Monday, April 8, 2024. Cindy and I have planned for two years to be where we’re at now (Canyon Lake, Texas) so we could be in the path of totality.

Which is good, because the odds aren’t in my favor that I’ll be around for the next one a little over 20 years from now on August 23, 2044.

But who knows…?

[visualtaehyun]

DFF language notes and observations

This was originally just supposed to be a quick look at Non's meds in ep. 8 but then I finished watching the episode and felt compelled to rewatch the entire show 🫠 So might as well collect everything into one post!

Disclaimer: not a native Thai speaker, still learning 🙏

Por's mumblings (ep. 2)

กูขอโทษ อย่าเอาคืนกูเลย /guu khaaw thoht. yaa ao kheuun guu loei/ = "I'm sorry. Don't take revenge on me/Don't get back at me."

Time and ages

The present takes place in 2023, the past was three years ago, in 2020. Apart from White, the boys are all the same age according to the character overview below, which makes them all 19-20 years old in the present (while White is 18 and a freshman). In the past up to ep. 8, they would have been 16-17 years old and in 11th grade (ม. 5/3 -> Matthayom 5, class 3; ม. stands for มัธยม /mat tha yohm/ = secondary school).

Potty mouth Fluke

In the present, I swear every other word out of his mouth is a swear and the subs don't always make it obvious. An example of when he's speaking calmly in ep. 3:

เพราะคนอย่างไอ้เหี้ยท็อปอ่ะ แม่งคงไม่ปล่อยให้��อกาสแบบเนี่ยะหลุดมือไปง่ายๆละเว่ย /phraw khohn yaang ai hia Top a- maaeng khohng mai blaawy hai oh gaat baaep niia loot meuu bpai ngaai ngaai la woei/ = Because someone like that dipshit Top wouldn't fucking let an opportunity like this slip his hands so easily.

It's not like the others don't curse, they sure do lol, but Fluke does so even when not in a stressful situation, and it sticks out in contrast to White especially because the baby speaks so properly and politely to his phis.

Newspaper clipping (ep. 4)

เป็นแฟนไอ้ตี๋แต่มึงไม่รู้จักอาโจ้นะ /bpen faaen ai Tee dtaae meung mei ruu jak aa Joe na/ = You're Tee's boyfriend but don't know uncle Joe?

The headline reads: ตายปริศนา'เสี่ยโจ้'นายบ่อนใหญ่ /dtaai bprit sa naa 'siia Joe' naai baawn yai/ = Mysterious death of 'bigwig* Joe' the gambling magnate** ฟอกเงินบัญชีม้ากว่า 300 ล้าน /faawk ngern ban chee maa gwaa 300 laan/ = Laundered money with over 300 million mule accounts

* เสี่ย /siia/ = a rich guy who squanders money, a big spender in illicit businesses, mostly used for middle-aged men; it's used as a pronoun, hence why he's known as เสี่ยโจ้ /siia Joe/ and we hear his subordinates call him เสี่ย /siia/, often subbed as Boss; it's a term of Teochew origin that describes an aristocrat's son, originally ** นายบ่อนใหญ่ /naai baawn yai/ = big shot gambling den boss or the boss of a huge gambling den

The snippet on the right is another easter egg btw - 'Talking to Pond Krisda, director of "Man Suang", Thai filmmaking [...]' but I can't make out the rest in that box (the snippet above that, too, though some of it I can tell says tourists, free visa, 3 months).

Greasy

What the boys call Non is (ไอ้)เมือก /(ai) meuuak/ which is more like Slimy or Mucous, actually.

More news (ep. 6, 7, 8)

Gang of senior high teens accomplices to mule accounts

Police does 180: Senior high teens escape lawsuit for shady mule accounts

High school kid goes missing at same time as teacher in leaked clip Connected to case of shady mule account teens

Past injury?

Whoever actually leaked the clip has this pelvis x-ray saved that's labeled to be from that same year, 2563 aka 2020. The two files at the top look to be invoices.

Pronouns

When Phee goes to confront Non about the leaked clip, he's so furious that he switches from their usual เรา /rao/ (= I; informal) + calling each other by name instead of using a 2nd pers. pronoun to calling both Non and Keng มึง /meung/ (= you; impolite) and himself กู /guu/ (= I; impolite). For reference, กู/มึง /guu, meung/ are the same pronouns the entire friend group use with each other, as male friends in Thai shows often do. Non, as the new addition to the group, is the only one who uses เรา /rao/ + names, and Jin is the only who reciprocally uses these pronouns with him.

Non's meds

Lorazepam -> benzodiazepine; used for treating anxiety disorders, insomnia, seizures etc.

Sertraline -> antidepressant; used for treating clinical depression, PTSD, OCD, panic disorder, social anxiety disorder

Quetiapine -> antipsychotic; used for treating schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, clinical depression etc.

THC poster, and a goof

ที่แห่งนี้...ไม่ได้มีแค่พวกเรา /thee haaeng nee...mai dai mee khaae puuak rao/ = In this place... it's not just us.

I'm sure there's more going on than just Phee and Tan infiltrating the group to get evidence and avenge Non. Like, Keng was on the phone with his contact Joy when he got hit by that white truck of doom car so I wonder if she's gonna come into play again in the present and who she really is.

And just for fun: that half-heartedly covered poster behind Tee looks suspiciously like a movie about a young chocolatier that shouldn't be out for another 3 years, according to the time line of this show lol

[thomine]

the start of something magical : cyno

pair: cyno x reader info: general audiences, build up for a love triangle, modern au (vehicles exist), attempt at comedy (although no puns...), not proofread

summary: cyno's life took a drastic turn ever since he jumped in front of a truck to save a wolf's life. things plateau for a while until you come along and give him another surprise after he thought he's seen everything.

word count: 1.2k words series: day 23 of au august 2023 / prompt: magic school links: work tag

Cyno is many things.

He’s the Chief of his precinct, which is impressive for his age. He’s the 4th time champion of Trading Card Game Genius Invocation—his favourite thing in the world. He knows he’s a great stand-up comedian at work, just that his crowd is tough as Ajilenakh nuts. Let’s not forget he’s also the best friend of Tighnari, a renowned and respected doctor.

What he’s not, however, is crazy, and yet the newspapers publish headline news that he’s crazy to jump in front of a truck. Yes, he did jump in front of a truck, but how could people not see the wolf that was crossing the road?

Even Tighnari called to ensure Cyno was sane, which only made Cyno want to burst in frustration because, surely, he did not dream up a wolf with silky fur that shimmered violet under the sun.

Okay, maybe he hallucinated a tad bit, but the light pitter of its pads against the cement as it hopped away after being saved had to be real even if no cameras caught any evidence the wolf existed.

He finds his answer a week after the incident. The wolf stares at him across the road they first met. Cyno follows it, and he finds himself right in front of large iron gates. There is a metal sign at the side that spells the situation clearly: the wolf wants him to go to school. Not just any school though. Magic School.

“What…?” he asks, and the wolf just tilts its head before slipping through the gaps of the gate. Cyno tries to dash from his weird situation, but the gates creak open and a lady materialises to welcome him. She has purple hair that falls to her ankles, tied in a neat braid.

“Welcome, Cyno. The world needs you here now.”

How does she know his name? He knows his importance in his neighbourhood as the guy who keeps law and order, but to say the world needs him? That’s a bit arrogant.

“Are you going to answer the call?”

Cyno is many things; he’s too cool (and old) for school. When he grabbed that costly certificate, he never wanted to return, yet here he is, signing papers to enrol into this magic school. He should not have given in and permitted them to explain themselves. They’re surprisingly convincing such that he doesn’t need proof of the prophecy of doom for it to send a chill down his spine.

His signature flies off the paper and is collected into the palm of the administrator’s hand. He whispers a few phrases, and the ink evaporates into the air.

“Now, no need to worry about your life back in the normal world because your signature provided us with enough information to send a clone—”

“What?” Cyno slams the table, glowering at the administrator. “A clone? No one told me I won’t be able to return?”

“R-relax, student. Time travels differently here. 10 days here is a day in the normal world. You wouldn’t be gone for long.”

Cyno relaxes, but he should have learned not to take things too lightly as the administrator drops the most horrifying news he’s yet to hear.

He’s stuck here for 1,111 nights.

He’ll miss his card game tournament! Not even the comfortable bed in his dorm can console his wailing soul.

Cyno is many things. He’s especially confused and concerned what he just roped himself into. He might have a knack to pretend to be someone else, but he’s not sure he can believe he’s part of the solution to saving the world.

It’s hard to make friends.

His jokes (still) don’t land, and the average age of the students compare to his youthful days that he’s grown out of. Something about him intimidates the rest, and he often eats lunch alone if you don’t count the wolf he saved.

He still doesn’t understand why he is needed to help the school prevent the prophecy of doom, but he has opened his heart to the wolf he now commands in battle. It grants him strength, and it has become his trusted companion of sorts.

Deep in his thought, he doesn’t notice you walking towards him until you tap his shoulder.

“Hi,” you greet, smiling.

Cyno takes a second to inspect you, and he lights up the moment he realises you’re older than what he expected.

“And you are?”

You tell him your name, gesturing at the empty spot beside him on the edge of the fountain. Cyno’s wolf buddy doesn’t seem too pleased with the new arrangements, but, with magic, you throw a stick of meat, and the wolf warms up to you.

“I’m in your Alchemy class. I mostly… stay at the back, hence why you don’t really see me often…”

Cyno nods. Not that he’s eager to learn, but the front seats are the nearest to the lecture exists.

“Is anything the matter?” he asks the moment he notices your avoidant eyes and restlessness.

“Well… you’re Cyno, right? I’ve heard of you before I enrolled in this school.”

He huffs out his chest. He’s many things—surely one of his most respected positions caught your attention. He’s quite accomplished if he says so himself, especially his title as the 5th time champion of TCGGI. (Yes, his clone, as excellent as he is, won the tournament.)

“After all this weirdness and magic is over, could you introduce me to Tighnari? You know, the acclaimed doctor? He’s just… so dreamy, but, I know, he’s out of my league, but… it wouldn’t hurt to try?”

“… What?”

This familiar feeling… it is the exact same when he signed himself up for this school. It is truly a school of magical encounters and unexpected situations. He does not quite enjoy it as much as he thinks he should.

“It’s not a coincidence that you and I are here,” you say after calming down from your rap. “Everyone else is… much younger than our age and are born into families that know of their powers. But us…”

You look at the wolf that’s gnawing on the stick, meat cleanly devoured.

“You can feel it too, can’t you? How we’re different.”

Cyno follows your gaze to his newly acquired nonhuman friend. From his Ethology classes, he learned that these magical creatures will never yield to being controlled, yet this wolf companion of his is his source of power.

He looks at you, wondering what brought you here.

“Anyways, I know it’s a little sudden and probably a bit too early as we’re stuck here for… who knows how many more days, I lost track, but do… consider my request.”

Right. You wanted him to play wingman.

Cyno deadpans, and he’s about to reject your suggestion when you slide a piece of paper into his palm and bid him farewell.

It’s your number and a legendary card for TCGIG. He already has it in his collection, but he appreciates the sentiment.

“What do you think?” he asks his wolf buddy. It sticks its tongue out like a dog, pleased with its hearty meal. “If you take a liking to my classmate then I suppose it doesn’t hurt to try.”

First things first, he must know you better to be sure you’re a good fit for his friend…

author's note: it reads of as another character x reader but that's intentional. i love cliche tropes, haha.

[semperintrepida]

Fritz, doomed for barking, gets permission to kyoodle all night

NOTE: The following item originally appeared in the Monday, Oct. 4, 1948, edition of the Albany Democrat-Herald.

LEBANON — Six persons living in trailer homes at Lowe's downtown park were saved from injury or possible death, and loss of their possessions, by a six-month-old puppy, "Fritz," who sensed danger when flames began sifting through walls of a nearby building early Saturday morning. Fritz aroused the sleeping occupants by his insistent barking.

Ronald Hix, owner of the pup, had planned to dispose of him because of night barking.

Fritz set up such a clamor that he awakened Lee Irvine in a neighboring trailer, who noticed the flames and roused residents. Occupants of three trailers parked next to the burning community building were removed without injury. A new Cadillac car was among possessions saved before flames destroyed the building.

Origin of the blaze was undetermined. Insurance amounting to $2,000 was reported carried.

Fritz has been given special permission to bark all he wants to, day or night.

Source: (x)

[pedrito-friskito]

friday night fever??

im thinkinggg javi peña,, long time best friends and he moves back and just kind of fluff when they’re reuniting. can be platonic or there can be a confession. idgaf i just love your writing darling, kisses kisses /p. okay thank u love have a good night!!

oh my GOODNESS I love this so much and I had an obscene amount of fun writing this. Javier Peña truly lives rent-free in my mind all the time these days and this idea is just 😙👌

thanks for the submission bby hope you enjoy it ❣️

🔥friday night fever!🔥

Javier Peña has always been your best friend.

Ever since you were little, two gangly kids sprinting down dirt paths, sneaking horseback rides after sunset, stealing popsicles from the icebox before darting over to the other’s back porch and tapping on the screen door. You were joined at the hip, the closest of friends even well into your teen years. Things had changed some when you’d graduated high school, both of you leaving Laredo for one reason or another. Javier disappeared for months at a time, while you were home almost every weekend, unable to cut your ties with your old life completely, trying to hang on to something that even slightly resembled the past.

You knew what was happening in Colombia, saw the fear and concern in Chucho’s eyes whenever you walked over to the Peña ranch house, leftovers from your mother in a container, some whiskey from your dad. It haunted you, the piles of newspapers with less than friendly headlines and scarier photos printed below, the names of dead police officers and agents seared into your brain. Chucho kept every one, some of the articles mentioning Javier’s name cut out and stuffed in a file folder.

“Does it help?” you asked him one night, the two of you sharing the apple pie your mother had sent you over with, a bit of whiskey in each of your glasses. 

Your parents’ ranch bordered the Peña’s, and you’d grown up at the Peña dinner table just as much as your own. After your father got sick, when you moved home to help your mother with the ranch and the house and the…everything, you felt Javi’s absence just as much as you saw it, often wandering over to the Peña’s land to help Chucho catch a runaway horse or mend a falling fence, helping both sides of the land as much as you could. Chucho often griped that you shouldn’t be working the ranches, that you went to school for bigger and better things, you shouldn’t be spending your day as a ranch hand, but you’ve brushed him off every time.

“Reading about what he’s doing,” you continued, gesturing to the stack of papers on the table. “Does it help?”

“It can’t make it any worse, chica,” he answered, tipping his whiskey glass in your direction. “To Javi.”

You lifted your own glass. “To Javi.”

It gets to the point where all you seem to do is eat, sleep, work, and worry. Your mind wanders to Javier every chance it gets, playing over the last conversations you had, the last time you saw him, the last thing you said to him.

“Don’t miss me too much.” You were trying to be coy, trying to play it off like your heart wasn’t shattering in your chest at the idea of him leaving. It wasn’t the first time Javier Peña had broken your heart, and you knew for a fact it wouldn’t be the last, but you were clinging to him all the same. Behind you, the sun dipped low in the sky, a classic Laredo sunset the backdrop for your farewell. 

Javi had held you tightly, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, one palm pressed to the middle of your spine. You could hear the smile in his voice. “Fine, then I’ll miss you just the right amount.”

The words had just made the tears come harder, and your hands were fisting in back of his linen shirt, gripping him as tight as you could.

“Look out for my dad, will you?” he asked, and you nodded into his collar, pulling your head back slightly until your forehead was brushing his cheek. “Stubborn ass won’t ask for help, but he needs it.”

You’d laughed and Javi had reached up, wiping a tear from your face.

“No tears, querida. I’ll see you again before you know it.”

You’d stared at him, the nickname familiar, but the tone in his voice, the warmth and the…love not something you were used to. The words were right there, the confession hanging in the air, ripe for the taking. It would have been so easy, to tell him how you truly felt, to beg him to stay in Laredo, to stay with you.

But you’ve always been able to read Javi like an open book, and beneath the sadness of your goodbye, there was something more. He was excited, raring to go, his skills honed to perfection and his aim better than any man you’ve ever met. He needed to go to Colombia, needed to go hunt the bad guys that kept him up at night, needed to go make the world a better place.

He had to go, even if that meant leaving you.

So instead, you said nothing. You gave him a tight-lipped smile and hugged him back, hoping to god that maybe he’d understand through your touch alone, that the words didn’t need to be said. But then he was letting you go, before you were ready, your grip still too tight as he disentangled from you, a soft kiss brushed to your cheek, your hand squeezed in his once more before he was retreating, disappearing across the dirt road that separated the Peña ranch and your own. The Laredo sun lit his back as he departed, and you waited until he clambered into his truck, started the engine, and drove off, tires kicking up dust in their wake.

Just like that, he was gone.

But just as easily as he’d left, he was back again. Well, maybe not as easily. You know what he’s been through, the hell he’s seen, the danger he’s been in. But the moment Chucho got the call that his only son was coming home, you were desperate for details, wanting to know exactly when his flight got in, what day, what gate, so you could be there. For Javi.

He looks tired, when you first see him, suitcase trailing behind him and bag on his hip. There are bags under his eyes, scruff lining his chin, the line between his brows deeper. Those familiar yellow aviators — a gag gift from you when he announced his move to Colombia — are tucked into the top of his shirt, a few buttons undone and showing off that broad chest, skin turned impossibly more bronze by the further South sun.

You’re standing on the other side of the gate, bouncing on your toes, and you see it, the moment his eyes find you. His entire body softens, the crease in his forehead disappearing, bag nearly slipping off his shoulder as he closes the distance between you.

“Querida,” he breathes, both arms around you, the same as they had when you’d said your goodbyes. He smells different, his cologne foreign to your nose, but his body feels the same against yours, his warmth overpowering. He buries his nose in your hair, bringing you close to him, and you sling your arms around his waist, pulling him close as well. “God, I missed you so much.”

Your reply is muffled in his shoulder, and you’re blinking tears back, squeezing your eyes shut when he plants a kiss on your cheek, much firmer than the one he’d given you when he left. That same warmth swims through his voice, and you let him tuck you under his shoulder, grabbing hold of the handle of his suitcase.

“C’mon,” you murmur, leading him towards the exit. “Let’s get you home.”

Chucho is a mess when you arrive back at the ranch, and you deposit Javi’s bags on the porch before retreating, wiping the wet from your lashes as you slip through your own front door. Your house is quiet, your father asleep on the couch and your mother puttering around upstairs. You make your way to the sunroom on the porch, sinking onto one of the couches and peering out the window. You’re not quite sure how long you’re sat there, watching the afternoon sun slowly sink into evening. Part of you wants to head across the road, to talk Javi’s ear off well into the night, but you don’t want to intrude, wanting to give father and son to catch up.

The moon is just starting to make an appearance when there’s a soft tap at the screen door, and a familiar shadow lurks on the other side. Javier gives you a small smile as you pull open the door, two popsicles in his hand, one brow raised. It makes you laugh, the past returning to the present, and you step through, joining him on the uncovered portion of the porch. The land unfurls before you, rolling grass and pasture, fenced on either side of the dirt road.

Javi sinks down on the porch step, and you follow suit. When you sit, you leave a few inches between you, but he closes that distance almost instantly, shuffling over until you’re pressed together from hip to shoulder. He hands you one of the popsicles, and you eat them in near silence, the chirping of crickets echoing through the night.

“I gotta tell you something, querida,” he starts, his voice cutting through the quiet, nearly making you flinch as you lean forward, bracing your arms around your knees.

You’re expecting him to say something about Colombia. That he’s only home for a visit, that he’s going right back, that there’s still work to be done. “It’s okay, Javi,” you say, shaking your head. “You don’t have to say any—”

He doesn’t actually say anything, but his actions are telling just the same. In an instant, your cheeks are enveloped by his warm palms, his thumbs swiping across your skin, and he tilts your head up gently as he leans towards you. The kiss is soft, softer than you could ever have imagined, his lips plush and the tickle of his moustache much gentler than you’d think. He kisses you slowly, taking his time, exploring your bottom lip and then the top, hands never leaving your face, holding you in place as he kisses your lips. After a moment, he’s kissing the corners of your mouth, the tip of your nose, the apples of your cheeks.

Your eyes flutter shut, instantly blissed-out by the attention, the gentleness in his touch making heat swell in your chest. Every time you thought about it, his coming home, your reunion after so many years apart, so many miles burned between you, you never imagined this. Dreamt it, maybe, but never imagined it as actually happening.

“It’s you, querida,” he says, and you open your eyes, finding him staring at you with reverence, those dark chocolate eyes roving over your face, thumbs swiping along your lashes. The corner of his mouth pulls into a grin, and he leans in again, giving you a kiss that’s even softer, the dipping sun painting you both with colour. “It’s always been you.”

—————

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[etcrow]

We are in this together

Genre: Angst, horror, splatter

Characters: GN!MC + The brothers, dateables and Luke.

Universe: Obey Me! x Corpse Party CH6

Warnings: physical and mental violence, intrusive thoughts, blood, deaths

A/N: likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

Word Count: 3424

Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Asmo, Levi and Mammon sit on the ground for a few minutes, exhausted. The news that they had become human had shocked them. None of the three had spoken the whole time, only the sound of rain could be heard. They could not believe what that spirit had told them, and moreover, they were in danger of dying in there and never seeing MC and their brothers again.

Mammon stood up to go inspect the other classrooms on that floor and Asmo and Levi followed him in silence.

He entered an old classroom where he found some very old newspapers.

<> said one of the headlines.

Mammon picked up the newspaper and read the article.

Apparently, children had gone missing and were found inside Heavenly Host Elementary School brutally mutilated and lifeless along with one of their teachers, who was found alive but in a catatonic state holding a pair of scissors.

The demon had been silent for a moment, thinking about the ferocity with which they had killed and mutilated those children. He felt a strange twinge in his stomach.

Even he who was a demon found what they had done to those children horrifying and gruesome.

The children...? Mammon had remembered about the diary in the infirmary, written precisely by the school nurse. It talked about how a certain Sachiko, the daughter, would turn seven, and something told him he would find more answers there.

"I'm going back," he muttered distractedly, making the brothers turn around.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to the infirmary to read that diary."

Asmo looked at him, incredulous. They were in danger of dying and he was thinking about that diary?

The avatar of lust shook his head, bringing his arms to his sides. "We risk death and you want to go around the school?"

"Do you want to come or not?" asked Mammon, impatiently. He would have gone there alone if he had to.

Asmo and Levi looked into each other's eyes. They could not let him go alone, so Asmo tapped Levi's shoulder, signaling for him to follow his brother.

The avatar of greed made his way to the infirmary at such a brisk pace that his brothers had struggled to follow him.

As soon as he had crossed the threshold of the infirmary, a strange sense of coldness had gripped him, making him shiver. He could hear the brothers' footsteps as they prepared to join him.

Mammon made his way to the desk and picked up the diary. Many of the pages that were previously glued together were now readable.

The nurse talked about how she loved the children at that school and how they loved her. She also talked about the daughter who was waiting for her for dinner.

As he turned those pages, he felt a strange sense of anguish growing inside him.

Suddenly, the woman had changed the subject. She talked about how the principal had stopped by the nurse's office to talk to her and how, all of a sudden, he had tried to harass her. She had escaped the principal's grasp and run away, falling ruinously down the stairs after the man had pushed her, dying from the fall.

Mammon had stood motionless for a second, rereading the last sentence. If she was dead how could she have written all that...?

He had continued reading this kind of post-mortem diary and learned that her daughter, Sachiko, had seen everything. The principal had caught her with ease and strangled her in front of her mother's lifeless body.

He had then arranged the woman's body as if it were an accident and buried the child in the basement.

The diary continued with the woman talking about how people had learned of her death; a horrible accident, they said.

In his mind, he could hear a voice repeating:

'I'm so alone. So very alone...

I want to see Sachiko again. I want to see the children again.

I will never forgive him for what he did.

I'll kill them all.'

Mammon felt colder and colder, but he could not stop reading that diary. Page after page, the coldness kept making its way inside him.

<>

Sachiko...? The demon had continued reading, discovering that the spirit of that little girl kept killing innocent children to make her mother happy, but she sadly realized that she was not and wanted the little girl to stop.

<>

According to that diary, the little girl killed anyone who entered that school and took their souls to please her mother.

After that, the pages were too worn and bloodstained to continue reading.

Asmo had touched his brother's shoulder, noticing how cold he was. Mammon's fingers had taken on a strange bluish hue.

His brother took the diary out of his hand, laying it on the desk. The avatar of greed looked at Asmo, rubbing his frozen hands together.

"Why is it so cold?"

"I don't know, but I don't like this."

Levi remained in the background, observing that room more closely. At the foot of the stove was a pack of matches. When he had picked it up, he had heard a childish laugh behind him. The demon had turned suddenly, but there was no one there. He no longer knew whether he was imagining things or not.

Inside the room he had found a strangely lit candle with a message carved on the floor.

<>

"Guys..." Levi had called out to the two brothers, a puff of smoke had come out of his mouth because of the cold.

The two demons turned toward him, joining him.

"Solomon left a message."

"How is that possible? The spirit said they are in the school, but in another astral plane."

"Perhaps we can interact with each other through these candles and the engraved messages, as did all those who left a message before they died"

The three had exchanged a look of understanding, and Levi took the house keys from his pocket and carved the phrase 'Levi, Mammon and Asmo' on the floor.

Asmo had mumbled a 'Why did you write my name last?" and Levi snorted.

The demon heard that ghostly laughter again, this time in the direction of the beds. Mammon blinked, a sign that he had heard it too, and ran out of the room.

'That idiot' muttered Asmo, but as soon as Mammon had stepped outside the door, it had closed abruptly, trapping Levi and Asmo inside the infirmary.

The major started banging his fists against the door. "Guys, this is not funny."

"It wasn't us, the door closed on its own."

The two brothers tried to open the door, but to their surprise, hair was tangled all around it, blocking it. They could sense a malevolent presence holding the door firmly shut with that hair. Behind them they could hear the sound of someone frantically writing in that journal.

Asmo had turned slowly, seeing that the lamp on the desk was lit.

Levi tried to approach the desk, but a mysterious force had repelled him.

<>

A strange dark cloud had formed all around Asmo and slowly took the shape of a person. Positioned behind him, the shadow begun to strangle Asmo, while that malevolent force had flung Levi away, knocking him unconscious.

Mammon, on the other side, had continued to slam his fists against the surface of the door.

"Asmo, Levi. What's going on?"

Asmo was trying, to no avail, to stop that presence from strangling him. He felt his breathing getting shorter and shorter, his head was spinning, and he felt the grip on his throat getting tighter.

He had almost lost consciousness when he heard a glass bottle shatter against the door and a strange smell of alcohol make its way into his nostrils.

Levi, still half dazed from the blow to the head, was standing in front of him, holding the lit candle. The presence had stopped, looking at him insistently.

"Get the fuck out of here or I swear I'll set the room on fire."

The presence let go of Asmo, suddenly disappearing into thin air. The avatar of lust fell to the floor, gasping for air. Levi had set fire to the hair, which, thanks to the alcohol used as an accelerant, had caught fire and disappeared.

The door had opened and Mammon ran inside. He bent down to rescue his brother, but Asmo had pushed him away.

"You're a fucking coward, that's what you are! You ran away and I was going to die."

Mammon fell to the ground from the push and looked at his brother, his eyes wide with surprise. "Asmo, I..."

"You WHAT? You are and always will be a useless coward. You are of no use, you only put us in the shit."

The elder wanted to hearten his brother, but his voice died in his throat. Instead of saying what he wanted, horrible words had come out of his mouth. Words he would never have allowed himself to say to his brother. "I'm sick of you and your fucking whining, all right? I've put up with you for years. These shoes are signed, my hands are dry. You know what? I can't stand you anymore. Go be a slut somewhere else."

Silence had fallen in the room and Asmo was bleached. Levi could not speak, and Mammon was silent, realizing what had come out of his mouth. The avatar of lust stood up, running out of the room. Levi had tried to chase after him, but he was still shaken by the blow he had taken to the head and had slipped to the floor.

Mammon had tried to yell at him to turn back, that he was sorry, but he was unable to say anything. He felt a strange lump in his throat, as if something was stuck.

Shortly thereafter, he had begun to have violent retches of vomiting that grew stronger and more frequent. He felt his stomach turn over as he made those horrid noises, then he had finally vomited and to his horror had felt something slimy run down his throat. He had looked down and seen hair tangled together with his vomit. That was what kept him from speaking.

Levi watched the scene, shocked, and approached his brother. "Mammon... we have to go find Asmo."

"I...I'm sorry...I didn't mean to say those things. Someone was talking in my place. Levi, I swear to you, I didn't mean to, I..." the demon had started repeating that sentence as if it were a mantra, and Levi had laid a hand on his shoulder, looking at him. "This school wants to separate us Mammon. We have to go to find Asmo."

Mammon stood up wearily and helped his brother to his feet, supporting him. "Let's go get Asmo..."

-

Diavolo regained his senses, and a dazzling light hurt his eyes. The demon had awkwardly set himself down on the cold floor of that room unknown to him and brought a hand to his head. It ached so badly and the strong musty smell was making him nauseous. He looked around, unable to figure out where he might be. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, but he still could not figure out what kind of place that was. Around him he could see school desks too small for an adult or a boy and an obvious state of disrepair. It definitely had to be a school, but it was certainly not RAD.

"Barbatos...?" the demon muttered and immediately heard noises coming from across the room.

"My lord are you all right...? You have been unconscious for a long time and I have been worried."

Diavolo nodded, seeing the silhouette of Barbatos making his way across the room, occasionally illuminated by flashes of lightning. It was pouring rain outside, and the rumble of thunder was deafening.

Barbatos approached him and knelt down. He then helped Diavolo to his feet. The two demons had looked around and another flash of lightning had lit up the room.

"I think MC's ritual was cursed..." Barbatos whispered and Diavolo nodded. The fall, the earthquake-it was all too suspicious. The two demons taken their DDDs and lit their flashlights, illuminating the room.

It was in an obvious state of decay and the floor had several holes all around it.

The professor's desk was filled with old worn and yellowed by time papers, and on the blackboard could be read the words 'We are all rat food.'

At those words, Barbatos had turned up his nose in indignation. Filthy beasts, rats.

Diavolo walked over to the desk, picking up the old papers and looking for something useful.

<>

<>

The two demons looked at each other, nodding. They were right, that situation reeked of a curse from a mile away. Diavolo remembered the ritual done by MC and also Barbatos. Both pulled their student IDs from their pockets, but only Diavolo had the mysterious piece of paper still with him. "A pity," Barbatos had mentioned, "I'm afraid I lost mine during the fall."

Diavolo observed the fragile fragment of paper in his hands and put it back.

At their feet was a streak of what most likely had to be dried blood.

The two demons followed the trail to outside the courtroom, finding the now advanced decomposing remains of someone. Neither of them had batted an eyelid at seeing that pile of rotting flesh that used to be a person lying there on the floor. That body was too small to be one of them nor did it wear RAD's colors.

Barbatos had almost flinched when he saw a rat come out of the poor unfortunate's mouth.

"Forgive me, young lord, but I just don't digest rats...."

"Don't worry, Barbatos. It's okay."

They had both looked around, trying to figure out what kind of place that was. It was very likely that it was an elementary school, given those documents, probably human, but they did not understand what kind of curse or ritual could bring them to a dilapidated school.

As they passed by one of the other classrooms, Diavolo felt a presence, as if someone was there with them and had just passed by them. 'MC...?" the demon whispered and Barbatos turned away, nodding. "I heard it too."

To their amazement there was no one there with them, but they had both felt that curious presence pass by them.

Barbatos stepped forward, offering to lead the way, and as they descended the stairs to the lower floor, an earthquake tremor nearly threw them to the ground. Diavolo had almost fallen down the stairs, but Barbatos had caught him just in time.

There was a complete lack of power on the lower floor, and the only source of light came from the flashes outside and the flashlights of their DDDs.

Barbatos took the trouble to lead the young lord down the school corridors, and their path had led them inside another classroom.

Half the floor had collapsed and the remaining part was in a pitiful but still walkable state.

In front of them, the sad scene of two skeletons holding hands was illuminated by their flashlights. They had probably accepted their end and preferred to die together. At their feet was a sheet of paper:

<>

The two demons cast a glance at each other, noting with deep horror that those two skeletons were wearing RAD uniforms, but neither of them recognized either their names or the photos in their ID tags.

They didn't even remember hearing about the disappearance or death of any of the school's students in recent years, if not centuries. Especially since getting the better of a demon was something very complex and required high skills even to take down or subdue a minor demon. "I don't like this," Diavolo pointed out.

Barbatos nodded, bringing a hand to the demon's shoulder. "Fear not, my lord. We are in this together."

On the blackboard, someone had carved the words 'It's not the children's fault' almost as if they had swiped their fingernails against the black surface.

At the feet of the two bodies, along with the paper, was a key with the tag 'janitor's room' attached to the handle.

Diavolo picked it up, while Barbatos had inspected the floor plan of the school hanging on one of the classroom walls. The words 'You are here ... forever' were written on their current location with an x showing where they were.

To Barbatos it all looked like the sad plot of a cheap story written for some video game Levi liked to play with Diavolo.

The young lord approached him and pointed with his finger to a red rectangle on the floor plan that said 'custodian' in clear letters.

Fortunately for them, it was only a few steps away from that classroom.

The two demons walked down the east wing of the first floor to reach the custodian's room; a locked red door was the boundary between them and the inside.

Diavolo took out the key and introduced it into the lock, turning it carefully. The door opened, emitting a sinister squeak. Strangely, the light still worked there.

There was an old television set from the human world and a VCR.

The calendar marked the month of October 1975, dried blood stains were scattered on the paper surface.

Barbatos tried to turn on the television, but to no avail. It did not seem to work.

Diavolo remained observing the entries on the calendar, noticing the words 'Behind You' written at the end of the page. The demon raised an eyebrow, but you know, curiosity is too much, and when he turned to look, the power had suddenly gone out and a flash of lightning illuminated the room, revealing the presence of a huge man behind Barbatos, holding an axe. Diavolo opened his mouth to yell at Barbatos to move away, but the man behind him had raised the weapon too quickly, thrusting it into the demon's head and causing him to collapse on the floor with a broken skull and brain matter spilled on the floor.

Diavolo was left staring wide-eyed as some of Barbatos' blood landed on him, along with pieces of his brain.

The man, meanwhile, had pulled the axe out of Barbatos' open skull, which lay now dead on the ground, intent on wanting to take the young lord's life as well.

The energetic man uttered an inhuman cry, spitting and drooling, while Diavolo had recovered and lashed out at him, struggling against him. The demon had strangely found himself getting the worst of it, the man showing superhuman strength. He almost knocked him to the ground when the man uttered a cry as he pointed his eyes to the sky and collapsed on the ground beside Barbatos' lifeless body.

Diavolo turned to look and the silhouette of Lucifer covered in blood from head to toe was in front of him with a crowbar in his hand, a weapon he had used to knock the monster to the ground. Diavolo took the axe from the man's hands and thrust it into his head over and over again, smearing the walls of the room with blood and brain matter.

The avatar of pride took the axe from his hands, stopping him. He threw himself to the floor and picked up Barbatos' body, bursting into silent weeping.

"What the hell is going on, Lucifer...?"

The demon looked down at poor lifeless Barbatos at his feet in Diavolo's arms and sighed bitterly. "It's a long story..."

[loganofthenorth]

Welcome to Atime, a (fictional) small town in Ontario where magic is said to be in every corner, and many horrible and amazing stories come to light.

After driving through a large enchanted forest, a newcomer to the town such as yourself might drive in past a large blue sign with forest green letters. ‘Glance Upon Atime’ the sign says. ‘May Your Stay Be Beyond Your Wildest Dreams.’

You’re hungry from your long drive, so you stop at Mama Odie’s, a locally owned restaurant where, according to the slogan, you’ll ‘Find What You Need.’ Apparently what you need is a good pot of gumbo and some tea, served by two very hardworking waitresses named Ella (though they call her Cindy or Cinderella sometimes) and Tiana.

While there, you notice a bulletin board with many posters and newspaper articles pinned to it. Once again, you start to get that feeling that something isn’t quite right. ‘Child Murdered, Suspect is Hilda Grim.’ The largest headline announces, showing a picture of an angry woman with emerald eyes and raven black hair. ‘13 Year Old Pocahontas is Missing. Last Seen Walking Home From School With Friends.’ A Missing Child’s poster states. There were a few other posters of girls her age that said the same thing but with different names.

The posters somehow get weirder from there. ‘Ban on Spinning Wheels Still in Place. Please Ignore Rumours That it Was Lifted.’ one says. ‘Boy Jumps in House Fire to Save Dog’ says another. ‘Italian Restaurants Should Keep an Eye Out for Two Pasta Loving Dogs’ is a headline that certainly makes you chuckle. Next to that one is an add for a puppet show called ‘The Monster and The Man’ that will be performed in Town Square on Friday. Another poster that catches your eye reminds students of St. Walters’s High that potions are not to be used as ingredients in the monthly bake off. There’s many more, but you’re done your meal and it’s getting late.

After that, you’ll need a place to stay the night, so you head to The Fortunate Soul Inn. It’s an odd looking place with an ocean theme and staff dressed in black, but it’s a comfortable enough stay. A red haired staff member named Ariel takes you to your room. She can’t speak, but she writes down many notes to ask about you and the outside world.

Your stomach’s full and your mind is tired as you enter your suite. This town seems remarkably strange, but then again that is why you came here. You’ve heard that there are many mysteries in Atime, and you look forward to unlocking the secrets of such an eerie and beautiful place. For now, however, you need to get your rest. There are plenty of stories waiting for you tomorrow.

***

Just a little intro to the AU I’m working on!

And here’s the cover!

(Yes I’m aware Aladdin’s skin looks red I was hoping it wouldn’t be obvious but unfortunately it is. The picture I got of him was in a sun set so that’s why he looks like that.)

This is going to be a Wattpad story that follows a story book kind of format.

The main story is about a newcomer (such as yourself) that came to Atime to explore the mysteries within the town and the enchanting places surrounding it. During this time, you will be staying at The Fortunate Soul Inn, enjoying meals at Mama Odie’s and other local restaurants, and attending St. Walter’s High, the town’s High School.

Between the over arching story, there will be various short stories taking place either before the main story or during the main story but in another place. My goal is to basically make this a series of one shots in the same universe that are all linked. I want to build on the Disney Characters, especially the older ones, and build a mysterious and magical small town experience! I’ll post the story on here once I finish writing it.

The other storylines include but are not limited to:

A couple of years ago, a trans girl named Snow runs away from her step mother who wants her dead. With an insane amount of charisma, Snow manages to convince seven brothers to let her live with them in their summer home, which they all move into permanently in order to raise the child. Now fourteen years old, Snow is starting High School believing that her step mother left town. She hopes to make friends, plan a life for herself, and maybe even find true love one day. Speaking of friends, maybe she can find one in the kind homeless lady that likes to sell apples outside the school.

For a long time, Ella put up with the abuse from her step sisters and step mother because she wanted to stay in her father’s house. She did all their chores and errands, slept in the attic, she even let them call her Cinderella after she got soot on her dress one winter. She had been sleeping next to the fire place to keep warm, since it was awfully cold in the attic. All she wanted in return was to have one night out, and she did everything they asked of her to earn that. However, it seemed that wasn’t enough. Finally, Ella had enough. She searched the house for her father’s will, which she couldn’t find. Instead, she found out that she had a Godmother, Fairy Felton. With a lot of research, she managed to contact her Godmother, and with a lot of hard work, her life begins to change.

Stefan and Leah are a wealthy couple in Atime. For years, they had been struggling to have a child. They decide to request help from the fairies that live in the forest. They find three fairies willing to help them. These Fairies bring them to the Queen of the forest, who Stefan and Leah are surprised to see is a toddler named Maleficent. After some convincing from the three other fairies, Maleficent agrees to help the couple as long as they promise that she can be friends with the child they have. They hesitantly agree. When their child is born, they host a celebration for their daughter Aurora! Everyone, including the three fairies that helped them, is invited! However… Due to fear for their child’s safety, Maleficent is not. Needless to say, the powerful toddler is not pleased by the broken pinky swear.

Briar Rose grew up in the Country Side with her three Aunts. She was a very well behaved child by nature, so they only ever had to give her three rules. One, no touching sharp objects. Knives, scissors, and, for some reason, she was told to especially avoid sewing needles. Two, always be back at home before sunset. Three, never under any circumstances talk to strangers. Rose breaks that last rule at eight years old when she meets a boy named Phillip in the forest and they become instant friends. They meet regularly in the forest after that, playing make belief and believing that they are in love. It’s only puppy love, of course, but as they mature and realize they didn’t have romantic feelings for each other after all, they manage to remain close friends. Then, at sixteen, Rose’s life is changed completely when it’s revealed on her sixteenth birthday that her parents are very much alive, and it is time for her to go home. She learns upon arriving to her new home that she was sent to live in the forest to protect her from Maleficent, a dangerous fairy that cursed her when she was born. Rose now has to deal with adjusting to a wealthy lifestyle, getting used to the name Aurora, attending school, questioning her sexuality, navigating an awkward arranged marriage with Phillip, and finding a way to cure her curse. Thankfully, she befriends a very odd girl at her school named Melonie, who, after Aurora befriends her, offers to help Aurora in finding a cure for her curse.

Being raised by a father that isolates her and her sisters from the world, a sixteen year old girl named Ariel has always longed to explore the world around her and experience what it is to be free. One night, she sees a large light off in the distance, and, for the first time, sneaks out of her house to see what it is. While doing so, she saves a man and his dog from a burning house, falls in love, explores the town, and is followed around by two men in black suits. The next morning, Ariel tells Sebastian, a teacher hired by her father and the person she trusts most, about her adventures. Sebastian ends up telling her father, who doesn’t react well. With the trust in the only two adults in her life broken, Ariel runs away from home. She’s then found by the two men that followed her the night before, who offer her a deal she can’t refuse.

Belle is the village bookworm and the teacher’s pet at school. Being Autistic, she goes through a lot of bullying and often gets frustrated with her mundane yet overwhelming life. Her father, who is also Autistic, assures her that she can find a place for herself in this world. She just needs to find out where to look. Belle tries her best to follow her father’s advice, but when Gaston, a bully at her school, starts attempting to force her into a relationship with him, Belle decides she’s had enough. She drops out of school and decides to go travelling in the enchanted forest, leaving the familiar behind. To her surprise and delight, she finds an enchanted castle hidden away in the forest. She is invited by the castle’s master, who she has yet to officially meet, to stay for as long as she likes. Little does Belle know, the castle isn’t enchanted, but cursed, and she might be the Master and Staff’s last hope to break it.

Jasmine is the daughter of a wealthy man who wants Jasmine to have more of a social life. Jasmine, however, is perfectly content in working towards taking over the family business and being on her own. One day, however, Jasmine takes one of the talks with her father about his worry for her loneliness to heart. She disguises herself and heads out into town, going by the name Mina. While in town, she befriends Aladdin, an orphan living on the streets, stealing to survive. Jasmine regularly visits Aladdin in her disguise, until one day when he is arrested. Or at least that’s what Jasmine thought happened. When she went to visit Aladdin in prison, however, he wasn’t there. The police didn’t even know who Aladdin was, and eventually Jasmine realized all his wanted posters were gone too. While she tries to solve the mystery of where her friend went, she receives an unexpected visit from Ali, yet another rich guy from a nearby city. At first, she wants nothing to do with him, but something about him seems familiar.

Just a note before I describe the next storyline. This Disney Movie is a sensitive one that I’m going to do my best to be accurate with, because Disney has done Pocahontas dirty. This is not going to be based off of the love story between a white supremest that became famous from committing genocide and the manic pixie dream girl version of a thirteen year old child that is known by fans of Disney Movies. It might not be completely accurate to the true story either. My intention with Pocahontas is to represent the actual life of Indigenous women/girls in present day Canada, specifically those being kidnapped and murdered. As well as the generational trauma and political events that indigenous people go through, and the struggle of attempting to revive their culture. It also goes through the realities of Human Trafficking, which appears to be a normal relationship unless you look closely.

Pocahontas is a thirteen year old indigenous girl who has several struggles in finding out who she is. She’s passionate about reviving her people’s culture, protecting the environment, and correcting her arrogant history teacher. However, as much as she is a strong and capable advocate, she’s still a child. She likes to spend time with her friends, build things in wood shop, play music, and do arts and crafts. Her parents try to give her as safe of a childhood as possible, but with how the world is, it’s not as easy for a child to have a safe and happy life as it should be. Pocahontas was walking home from school with her fiends when John Smith, a man one of her friends trusts, tells them that there’s an emergency and he has to take them home. They get in his car and he begins driving off, and as they pass the familiar sign that states ‘Farewell! We Hope You’ve Had A-wonderful-time!’ that they realize home is the last place they are going.

Mulan is the top of her class, and works hard every day to make her family proud of her. She is a bit clumsy, okay, maybe a lot clumsy, but her hard work and loyalty certainly make up for that! Unfortunately, this doesn’t seem to be enough for her parents. While her teachers give her plenty of praise and mentorship and assure her she’ll go far, her father still believes a son would have done everything Mulan has done but better. Mulan, having been raised with these beliefs, internalizes them. So, when a new student at her school, Li Shang, begins to rival her in school, she requests that he help her learn how to do things like a man would. Li Shang, being a nerd himbo, agrees to help if Mulan agrees to join his DND campaign. However, as Mulan becomes closer with Li Shang and his friends, Li Shang starts to admire Mulan and wonder why she believed she needed his help in the first place.

Ever since she was a little girl, Tiana has always dreamed of opening her own restaurant. After graduating High School, she got a job working at Mama Odie’s to save money. Tiana’s best friend Charlotte, a girl with a very wealthy father, has offered many times to pay for Tiana’s restaurant, but Tiana is stubborn and wants to earn her dream with her own hard work. One day it’s announced that a Prince from a far away (fictional) country is going to be travelling to Ottawa to negotiate with the Prime Minister. Seeing this as her chance to achieve her dream of marrying a Prince, Charlotte begs her father to take her to Ottawa so she can meet Prince Naveen. This appears to be Tiana’s big break when Charlotte offers a large payment in return for Tiana coming with them as their personal chef. Tiana thinks she finally has enough money to buy the building she wants for her restaurant, but due to inflation, the price goes up during their trip. Afraid she might never reach her dream, Tiana makes a desperate plea to a shooting star. Her plea is answered with a croak.

There are going to be other stories as well, like Meg and Hercules, Rapunzel and Flynn Rider, Quasimodo and Esmeralda, Cruella, Elsa and Anna, and Merida will come in as an exchange student at some point. It’s just the stories I wrote down will be the main focus while others will either be mentioned or will exist as filler.

This is definitely going to be an ambitious project that will take a lot of work, I hope I can do Justice to the potential that Disney wasted with these characters. Of course there are some things I’m changing just for my own personal preference for example Maleficent being a toddler because a toddler totally would curse someone because they weren’t invited to their birthday party. Also I have other reasons for making Maleficent closer to Aurora’s age. Anywho, wish me luck working on this! I’ll keep ya’ll updated!

[true-blue-megamind]

FAN THEORY SUPPOSITION SUNDAY: The Warden

SPOILER WARNING!  It’s still a thing, and, if you haven’t yet, you still need to watch Megamind.  (If you have seen it already, however, you need to see it again.  Because it’s awesome.)

Yes, yes, the post is three days late this time.  Real life has to take priority and such. So sue me.  (Don’t really do that.  LOL!)

For that same reason—or more accurately because this week has exhausted me—I will attempt to make this post shorter than usual.  We’ll see how that goes.  My money is on “not well.”  LOL.

Anyway, today we’re going to look at a subject that often divides the Megamind fandom: the Warden and his relationship with Megamind. There are several fan theories—I mean, suppositions—surrounding this, but I’m going to be focusing on a few of the main ones.

The first of these is that the Warden was actually a father figure to Megamind when he was young, allowing him to be raised in jail not out of cruelty or disinterest, but because it was the only way to keep him safe from shadowy government agencies that otherwise would have performed all sorts of experiments on the blue alien.  This both accounts for why a child would be allowed to grow up in what is clearly a high-security prison for dangerous adult criminals—something that, admittedly, needs some sort of explanation—and fits with widely accepted sci-fi and comic book tropes. (From Area 51 to mysterious “Men in Black” type organizations, fiction is full of government agencies created to study extraterrestrial life and technology.)  Some even go so far as to suggest that the Warden may have tried to adopt Megamind officially, but was blocked from doing so by these same entities. On top of this, such an idea also offers room to re-imagine the Warden as a much more interesting, complex, and sympathetic character.  Indeed, there has been some excellent fan fiction written about this pseudo-parental relationship.

Art: Fathers And Sons Day by tabbydragon

There is some evidence to support this.  The first is that, although the Warden behaves harshly toward Megamind in the “jail-break” scene near the beginning of the film, Megamind himself seems to be trying to engage in a playful exchange: pranking the older man, wishing him a good morning, and even teasing him.  While some say that this is simply Megamind’s personality as well as his determination to always appear indominable, others suggest that, perhaps, the blue man is trying to recapture a lost amiability between himself and the prison Warden.  It is possible that, when he was younger and less villainous, Megamind might have exchanged friendly jokes and greetings with the man in charge of the jail he called home.  It has even been suggested that the Warden is so hard on the blue man at the beginning of the film not because he hates Megamind, but because Megamind’s life choices have hurt and alienated his father figure. This idea finds some support in the facts that, when Megamind leaves jail to confront Titan, the Warden wished him good luck, and at the end of the movie, that same man seems genuinely happy as he watches the television broadcast of his one-time prisoner being named Defender of Metro City.  Finally, there is some evidence from the comics which, although not truly considered canon, as I’ve mentioned before, do offer some material for fan theories.  In the “episode” entitled Bad Minion! Bad! Megamind runs into the Warden in a bar, and the latter offers the former advice.  There is certainly a somewhat fatherly feel to the scene.

The second theory is exactly the opposite: that the Warden either did not care for or outright disliked the former supervillain.  Unfortunately, as fun as the Warden/Father Figure concept is, this second, darker idea has far stronger evidence to support it in the film itself.  (Try not to hate me, everyone.)  These clues range from the obvious to the subtle, but there are quite a few of them to be found.

During the first scene in which we see Warden interact with Megamind, he doesn’t behave like an angry, disappointed father—at least not a good one.  He isn’t merely surly toward Megamind; he is absolutely nasty. The Warden verbally condemns the alien, telling him that he’ll “always be a villain,” and essentially steals what he believes is a gift for the blue man, even taunting him by saying: “I think I’ll keep it!”  This hardly seems like the actions of someone who once felt any sort of affection for the extraterrestrial.  That same portion of the movie holds another clue as well: the screens monitoring Megamind’s brain activity.  Indeed, in original concept art for the film, the system appears both more invasive and more nightmarish.  It seems that, far from protecting Megamind, the Warden may have actually allowed him to be experimented upon.

Next, there is the newspaper article at the beginning of the title sequence, which bears the headline “Hometown Boy Makes Bad.” It’s hard to see what the paper says, of course, even if you bother to really notice it, but luckily for us Liz (Demishock) wrote a wonderfully thorough blog post which, among other things, provides a transcript of the “news story.”  In it, the Warden is quoted as referring to young Megamind as a born villain as well as abnormal.  

You don't know this kid. I've watched the little criminal since he was in diapers. This kid is just a bad seed. I've got experienced, hardened criminals in here who are afraid of him - I mean, have you seen the size of his head?…  It's not like he's a normal kid… I mean, have you gotten a good look at his gigantic blue head? I don't know where you come from, but where I come it's just not right.

Granted, there seems to be some truth to what the Warden is saying, as the article also mentions that Megamind, who can hardly have been more than seven years old at the time, has basically been put into solitary confinement for the safety of other prisoners following an unnamed incident, adding that the other inmates “refused to point fingers for fear of retaliation.”  (This fits with the fan theory that young Megamind would have had to both fight and develop a fearsome reputation in order to protect himself. You can read more about that in the post How Strong is Megamind?) However, the Warden seems to dwell a lot on the fact that Megamind looks alien, and he displays an obvious dislike for the young boy.

Finally, there is evidence hidden in the school scene, although it’s easy to miss. In an amazing two-part video series, Megamind: A City of Deception. YouTuber The Theorizer illustrates several hidden clues about Megamind’s early life and how it it led him to embrace villainy.  (I will very likely write another post going into more detail about that at a later date.)  One thing that The Theorizer discovered is a seemingly innocuous detail in the background during the popcorn scene.  Take a moment to examine the images below.  Look closely at the blackboard and you’ll see a paper cut out of a school bus.  Look even more closely at that and you’ll find something odd: the bus is full of crayon-drawn children except for one figure: an adult male, riding in the back of the bus, who looks suspiciously like the Warden as he appears at the beginning of the film. 

In a movie where so much attention is given to small things—I mean, seriously, the animation team actually went through the trouble to write a news story for a paper that was on the screen less than ten seconds—this cannot possibly be a coincidence.  (You can learn more about the artists’ amazing dedication to detail in my post What’s Hidden in the Animation?)  Although it is vaguely possible that Megamind, painfully aware of how much his appearance was despised, chose to draw the Warden’s face instead of his own, most fans believe there is a darker reason for this oddity.  

Think about it: the Li’l Gifted School for Li’l Gifted Kids is built close by a jail with a strangely similar name: Metro City Prison for the Criminally Gifted.   It’s clearly a small academy, yet the only two known aliens in the city—who, by the way, have extremely different social backgrounds—both just happen to attend there.  And now the prison warden appears to be somehow involved with the elementary school?  It’s bizarre.  Add to this the fact that the young alien adopted by a privileged family—a boy who possessed super-strength and laser vision—seemed inclined to be a bully, (as is made obvious by the kickball scene,) and a disturbing fan theory emerges.  Adults realized that Wayne Smith, the child who would eventually become Metro Man, might prove dangerous if left unchecked, and came up with a plan to turn him into a hero instead.  Wayne was showered with praise, conditioning him to seek public approval, but a superhero needs a nemesis.  The strange-looking, unwanted blue boy who’d already been labeled a criminal would have seemed like the obvious choice.  If this is true, then Megamind was purposefully, albeit covertly, groomed to become a supervillain from a young age, and the Warden played a major role in doing that.

So there you have it.  Two competing fan theories concerning the Warden’s connection with Megamind.  Both have some evidence supporting them, and there are fans who are firmly dedicated to one or the other.  Which is true?  Did the Warden care for Megamind like a son but distance himself when the boy turned to villainy?  Or did he judge and despise Megamind but come around to liking him when he finally realized what sort of person the blue man was deep down?  The fact is that those questions can be argued for hours on end.  No matter which of these suppositions you prefer, however, the mere fact that even a minor supporting character is complex enough to offer room for this debate speaks to the impressive amount of work and devotion that went into creating this amazing animated film.

[itsmeevie01]

A Moment in Time

ok, so. a little disclaimer before we get into the good stuff. Cannon is in no way whatsoever being followed in this. honestly? im not even sure that i REMEBER cannon at this point. that said, cannon is non applicable. at. all. 

moving on. YES, i WILL finish B!DBWM stuff eventually. but uh...not today. i just mentally cant. it. will. come. when. my. brain. can. handle. the. world. that. i. had. tailored. for. it. 

ALSO this is going to be kinda sporatic, but the goal (not end all be all but) is to have this wrapped in a pretty little package and finished (at least on my end) by the end of february.

and now....onto the stuff you came here for!

---

Marinette was running late to school when she met him. She ran into the boy and stumbled back, flailing to catch herself before she fell. He looked down at her owlishly, before looking around. By the time he had returned his gaze to her, the teen had pulled herself back together. He smiled and nodded at her, before moving to go around. When Marinette had pulled herself together enough to call a short “sorry!”, He was already gone.

That was three weeks ago. Now, she was looking at a picture of their interaction, where it blared on the front page of the newspaper that Jagged had sent her. When Marinette had received the package, she had been confused. Jagged wasn’t supposed to send her another demo for a few weeks. They were still working on singles. When she had opened the box and found five different American publications with her on their front page, the teen designer had shrieked. With shaking hands, she picked up the top one and studied the headline.

HAS BRUCE WAYNE’S WARD FOUND PARISIAN LOVE?

The bold text was catching, sure, but Marinette was caught on WHO it was placing her with. Someone she had never met. The second one had a picture of her next to Jagged at an event, and a picture of the boy next to a blonde girl. The headline wasn’t much better than the first.

TIMELINE OF THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN MDC AND THE HEIR TO WAYNE INERPRISES.

The teen snorted. She was starting to see the pattern. Putting the tabloid down the girl moved onto the next one. This one had, once again, a zoomed in picture of the five second interaction between her and a stranger. The title, however, was different than the first two.

ALL OF BRUCE WAYNE’S CHILDREN, AND THE INSIDE SCOOP ON HIS NEWEST DAUGHTER

She squinted, laughter bubbling up a little as she observed the piece of fiction. Whoever the Bruce Wayne was, Marinette hopped that he was able to combat this, because she had no intention of letting this fly.

Tim and Bruce were staring at the pile of papers in mild shock. When Jared had reached out to them in mild panic, they had been confused. His panic had been explained when the rocker had arrived carrying a stack of tabloid literature a foot thick. When he had thunk’d the stack down on Bruce’s desk, the businessman’s shock had been more than notable. When Tim had picked up the first few publications the initial look on his face was mirth, but it quickly morphed into shock, then panic. When he handed the top item to Bruce, the older man frowned. When the second pamphlet made its way to his hands, Bruce paused. His next move was to call the Wayne family lawyers. when he turned back to his old friend, all the faces in the room told the same grim tale of what was to come.

When Tim found out that it was Jared’s niece that he had accidentally run into in the brief moment in Paris, he wasn’t sure whether he should be more stressed by it, or if it was by pure luck. When Bruce’s friend went on to explain that the girl would probably already suing the reports and papers that had published the rumor, the young CEO was impressed. To have a lawyer on hand like that was…surprising, considering that she couldn’t be older than 18.

When he asked the rocker if he thought the girl would let anyone go after her, he laughed. Then, Jared Stone explained that the girl was known in Paris for squishing rumors with surprising efficiency.

That evening, Bruce invited his childhood friend home for dinner, and the star spent the evening telling stories of their capers as children, with Alfred grimacing in agreement with the stories. Partway through dinner, Jared’s phone went off. While the rest of the family tensed, glancing to Alfred, their guest frowned at his phone before rushing to answering. “Hey Little Rocker! How’s Pari- oh. So, Penny was more efficient then I thought she’d be. I- yes I figured that you may want to hear. Do- No! Marinette, what!” here, the man paused, his head cocked to the side, his eyes screwed up in thought. “No luv! Sue them within an inch of their lives! You more then have that right.” Here, the rocker paused before he laughed. “Tell that buzzing bee of yours that she’s a good friend. Alright, Miss Mari. I’ll ring you when I’m back on that side of the Atlantic.” He laughed again, “See you soon, Marinette.” The table stayed quiet, waiting for the man to give an indication on the status of the conversation. “Well, Brucie, expect to hear from my niece in the next few day, or at least, her team of lawyers.” the Wayne patriarch blinked before nodding in hidden surprise.

When the family was talking during patrol that evening, Tim grumbled. The 18-year-old was still taken aback that the press had even seen the momentary interaction almost a month ago. As his brothers listened in, many of them started to make fun of the teen. When Jason tuned in, he dropped in the middle of tale. At his confusion, Tim sighed and started over, again. While the family was laughing over his run-in with the press, the former Robin shook his head and silenced his family. He had a feeling he wouldn’t live this one down for a while.

Originally, Jason had found Tim’s predicament hilarious. Of course, the kid had to have the worst run-ins with the press. Then, he had picked up one of the many tabloids with the story. When he had seen the pictures, all mirth left the resurrected vigilante. The noirette that was looking up at him from the page? Yeah. He knew her. Better than anyone else, actually. With shaking hands, the young man paged to the story. What he found was…illuminating. So. She had been adopted. In France. In Paris. After forcing his lungs to draw breath, Jason pulled out his phone. He had arrangements to make.

The day after Jagged had sent her the gossip rags that were considered journalism, Marinette strode into school with a scowl so ingrained in in her features that anyone who didn’t know her would think the expression was permanent. When she stalked into the Lycée classroom, Chloé grinned at her from where she had settled in the front row. Marinette nodded at her friend as she slid in next to her. Lila came skipping in moments later, a cruel smile playing on her lips, before falling when she saw the bone quaking scowl resting on her nemesis’ face. “oh Marinette! Did something happen? Did…did you anger your parents? Did they find out about all those men?” the other girl huffed before turning to her. Lila froze as she was met with the iciest glare that she had seen in years.

“oh Lila. That’s so cute. It almost sounds like you still think that your little stories affect me at all. That’s…adorable.” The Italian girl shrunk under the younger girl’s stare. Suddenly, she understood why people had been warning her to leave the teen alone. this girl, she was brutal. “lucky for you, you’re not the one I’m after, this time. My lawyers have bigger fish to fry.” The newer addition to the classroom gulped, her throat suddenly very dry. It occurred to her that maybe Marinette had let her take control of the class. After all, if they turn that easily, why would she want them for friends. The smaller girl nodded as she watched the realization run over Lila’s face. Raising her eyebrows, the Eurasian girl motioned her classmate along, sending a cruel smile after her.

Chloé waited until the little liar was gone before giggling at her friend’s reaction to the girl who had become their daily annoyance. “I’m guessing you saw what’s been running in the American news? I thought it wouldn’t take long for you to respond. Are a plethora of lawsuits on the way?” Marinette giggled slightly as her severe demander giving way to the internal glee that was consuming the teen over the sheer chaos that was to come.

When Jason touched down in Paris, he tensed. The atmosphere in the city was less carefree than he remembered. There was an air that actually reminded him of Gotham. Tense. Waiting or the other shoe to drop. The expectation that your day was going to go wrong set from the moment one woke up. Pulling out his phone, the Gotamite looked up the address to the bakery that he had found when digging online. If today went the way he was hoping it would, the bakery would be his only stop for the day. Of course, he didn’t count on Gina.

When she called him over from where she was standing by her bike, Jason had to smile. The woman was part of the reason that he wasn’t still camping out in Gotham, waiting to kill a certain billionaire. Once the spry biker had latched onto his arm, the young man knew that his mission would have to wait just a bit. After all, he owed Gina almost everything he had.

[glambytes]

@fczbecrspizzc​ sent a transmission!

      ❛  do you really want to help me ?  ❜ // sunny and geg.... sunny and geg :)

⇒ Barbie of Swan Lake sentence starters 

      ☆ ◦  “Well, yeah! I don’t see why not, right?”

      Gregory smiles — a rare sight from the boy in question, but he means it at the moment. Sunny told her story (however much she shared) and it’s clear that she’s determined... a least, he’d be hard-pressed to believe anyone else around here. He pulls out a newspaper from a spare duffle bag, finger tracing under the headline: MISSING: Local Residents Continue to Disappear. 

      “I think I know some of these kids — he’s from the last school I went to. And that girl right there... we kind of lived at this one guy’s place. He was a big jerk.”

      Old placements. They’re not something he likes to bring up, but Sunny’ll need as many leads as she can find. Were they taken by her too? Gregory can’t be the only kid who’s snuck inside the Pizzaplex. Maybe there’s a pattern, he just hopes it’s not what he thinks it is.

      “Uh, we should keep looking.” He shakes his head as if to drive away that train of thought. Gregory hands her the paper before pulling out a flashlight. “Maybe there’s clues in the office? We just need to make sure that officer lady won’t lock me in there again.”