#i tried compressing the image like 3 different times to make this fit so if the qualitys ass its because its a screenshot LOLL

[cowleyes]

i think im gonna lose it, wanna watch me do it?

[plush-rabbit]

Bunny!Reader + Mr. Compress Headcanons

Request: hello there bunny! i've seen you've done rabbit quirk hcs for dabi and shiga in the past and i was wondering if you could do the same for mr compress? like a new member of the league having a rabbit quirk and all that mr compress is thinking about the first time he sees them is "bunny assistant" , and it doesn't help that he's getting a little enamored with them, always staying behind to watch their fluffy ears do a little bounce when they walk and the cottontail that he notices it wiggles when they get nervous so he knows when it's the time to cheer them up with a magic trick ~ just something cute about how he'd go about making them fall for him <3

A/N: bunny time bunny time bunny time bun-

When you’re first introduced to the team, Atsuhiro is hardly subtle about his interest in you. He may not have a romantic interest- he does find you cute, however- but he also thinks your quirk works rather well with him. Or rather, it compliments his showmanship personality. You’re plenty strong on your own- your quirk allowing you to have more than the physical attributes of rabbits, but also having some of the more useful tendencies such as a near 360 degree vision and having rather powerful nails and teeth. He’s quick to take your hand and show you around- just a way to make him seem more friendly than the others. He wants your trust- he knows how far that can go in this type of work.

It’s not uncommon for the two of you to go on missions together- or at least be in the same team. It’s easy to tell that he relies on you for the more physical fights seeing as he rather show off and leave the scene as quick as he can. Once the news outlets start to capture the two of you together, it hits a certain chord in him. You’re pictured beside him, your ears tense and face hidden behind a mask and in bold letters, you’re given the title of “assistant”. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He wanted you to be his assistant- you fit well with the aesthetic even if he wasn’t dressed as a typical magician. But you aren’t just his assistant- you’re his partner in crime. You’re more than a simple assistant, you’re not the rabbit pulled out his hat- or marble in most cases- you’re the one who protects him when it calls for it, you’re the one who plays along with his idea of having you be his rabbit. Even when he throws away the paper, he can’t escape the fluttering feeling in his stomach at how he’s glad that the outside world realized how well you two fit together. He ends up pulling the crumpled piece of paper out of the bin and straightening out the image of you two.

Slowly, he starts to spend time with you outside of missions. You’ve always been close during missions since you had to be, but now, he seeks you out, asking if you’d like to practice a certain move that he or you might have stumbled on or even just sitting beside you and watching whatever is on the television. He grows to learn more about you- prying further until it’s late in the night and the board game between the two of you has been forgotten, his laughter infectious as he tells you a story of his past. He’s not exactly sure how you two have gotten so close- why he wants to be near you, or why he catches himself staring at you from time to time, or even why he’s suddenly so interested in you as more than just a partner.

Once you two start to do missions more out of wanting to, rather than necessary, he tries to take on a more protective role. He keeps you beside him- or at least in arm’s reach- and if you happen to move away from him, he rushes towards your side. There are a few places where he’s able to move around without having to worry about heroes or other authorities being called, and there is where he likes to take you. He likes to wander with you, letting you pick out whatever you want- sometimes even stealing if you don’t have enough- and will surprise you with it later. He’s sure that you know what he’s doing with the smile you give him, but you always hug him tight in your arms, and he isn’t going to complain about that.

He’ll realize with a moment of clarity, a small “oh” escaping his lips in a single breath, that he’s begun to see you as more than just a partner, but rather as something romantic. He found you attractive when you first arrived, that’s no lie, but he hadn’t thought of something romantic. Truth be told, he never expected something romantic once he became a criminal, he expected himself to be surrounded with those he considered close but never someone he considered a romantic partner. Because of these new feelings that have surfaced, he’s become a bit more. He’s seeking you out, wanting to spend more time with you than previously, even going as far as to insert himself in a conversation that didn’t include him.

Due to spending a large amount of time with you, he’s gotten to know you and your little quirks. He can tell when you’re starting to get nervous- the way your ears tense and how you always seem to hide your hands behind your back. He doesn’t understand why, until he happens to be standing behind you and he swears that he wasn’t trying to stare at your tail, but his eyes had landed there. It was easy to figure out from there that your tail twitches, while your ears stand firm. He tries to find a pattern as to why you suddenly grow so nervous around him or other members of the league and will eventually give up. He can’t prevent it, but he can help you relax afterwards. He’ll grab your hand and lead you to his room, and he offers to show you a magic trick- something simple and silly. He’s found that you lean when interested, your eyes wide and mouth slightly parted as he moves his hands, the object disappearing and reappearing behind your ear. You could call his laughter infectious, but yours is sweet, something akin to a melody that he doesn’t tire of hearing.

The hopeful part of him, maybe even the romantic part of him, likes to think that he’s the only one who’s gotten to know you. Your excitement is something that he can easily tell, the fidgeting that differs from you being nervous, the way you bounce on your heels and twitch your ears, as if adventure really is calling out to you. He once caught you doing a little dance in your room, your smile wide as you hopped in a circle and jumped up- pure energy that leaked out of you and infected your nature. You were so happy; and he wanted to see more of that. He isn’t proud to admit it, but he does lie to you. He’ll tell you that he needs a bit of help in order to do something, to pull off another trick or to practice a sleight of hands, and he’ll fail, miserably and falsely, but he just wants to spend time with you. Late into the night, as you both take deep breaths with sweat thin against your brow, you’ll lean towards him, the fluff of your ears brushing against his bare skin. He’s never felt something so soft, something that had a shiver run down his back and make his ears feel as if they are aflame.

As the friendship deepens between the two of you, the more personal you both become. He holds your hand more often, his gloved hand covering yours. While you have your fair moments of leaning towards him, he’s the one who’s more touch starved- he leans into you, his bicep pressed against yours and head tilted towards you as if you were the sun and he were nothing more than a flower crawling to be in your light. Past the more touch part of the relationship, he also gives you nicknames. He comes to you, a boyish smile on his face and hands holding one of yours, as he wonders if calling you “Cotton” would be a bit too much. More and more, “Cotton” switches to “Binky” to tease at your little jumps. Calling you “Binky” results in his arm getting playfully slapped, your eyes rolling as you threaten to eat his portion of food if he doesn’t be quiet.

In an attempt to make his feelings more apparent- and to stop the teasing from the other members- he becomes more and more present in your life. He wants you to see him more than just a partner-in-crime and an actual partner-in-crime. He brings you your favorite snacks, buying things that he knows you would like, and will often just show up unexpectedly at your door with a pocket full of marbles holding all things that you and him like. It’s tastical ploy on his end- showing up late and sharing snacks, having you grow tired and him playing the overdramatic close friend, leading him to spend the night in your bed. You two stuck strictly to your own sides, only for the nights to continue and the blanket to be stolen, for you to curl up to him, your ears twitch in your sleep and tickle at his nose. He does more and more for you, wanting to be close to you and letting you wear a mask of his when one of yours breaks. Later, he gifts you a mask- hand painted and made for you.

Waiting for you to get the hint is rather painful for the showman. While people may not have flaunted themselves towards him, they certainly did find him attractive and would at least show some romantic interest. Atsuhiro isn’t the impatient type, he can wait and play the long game, but he’s gotten so nervous around you. He racks his brain for the best way to confess to you- ditching flowers since he feels it might be a bit too ironic given his motif and yours. At the end of it, he stands before you, his hands held behind his back, as he confesses his feelings to you. He likes you- a lot. It stems further than just a simple crush, and into something more intense that leaves him aching for more, to want to spend more time with you. He stops midway, his words faltering to a whisper, as he frowns, realizing that perhaps he might have said too much. He starts to retract his words, wanting to dial it back, but the words have already been said and he only stares at you, his heart echoing in his ears and when you step close to him, he’s ready for rejection. When he feels your arms wrapped around him, your ears and tail twitching, he can hear your confession, your words muffled as you hold him tight. His smile is wide as he returns the hug, lifting you up and squeezing you tight, until you laugh and push at his shoulders.

[fiddlepickdouglas]

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 7 - Memories

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, was it a memory?, 2.6k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

“Don’t look down ‘cuz we’re still rising up right now...and even if we hit the ground...we’ll still fly, keep dreaming like we’ll live forever but live it like it’s now or never…”

Willie bobbed along as the song played from the tinny radio speaker outside the bodega. Sheldon was curled on his lap, purring contentedly as Willie pet him absentmindedly.

“You gonna take any chamoy candy, amigo?” Escobar asked, peeking his head out the door.

Willie shook his head.

“Not tonight.”

As Escobar disappeared again, Willie kept nodding to the beat of the song. It wasn’t exactly like being at a concert, but he had been happily surprised to hear the local station playing their songs - they’d been repeating them, in fact. By now he’d been able to assign faces to the voices singing different parts, and hearing Alex’s come through in the harmonies and the occasional solo was comforting.

“We ain’t searching for tomorrow…’cuz we got all we need today…”

The lines were strangely fitting. If Willie could’ve chosen how to spend his last day on Earth, he knew he would’ve spent it just like he had yesterday without question. If only that could make the Alex-sized hole hurt a little less than it had today.

“Can we turn it back to my station now?” Escobar called out. “We’ve heard the same songs, like, four times.”

“It’s Alex’s band, though,” Willie contested. The radio was already playing rancheras. As he stood up, Sheldon leapt off of his lap and went to eat more food.

“Que tiene este muchacho, anyway?” Escobar asked. “You knew him for, like, five seconds and he didn’t leave you a number.”

There was no way to properly express in words the feeling he got about Alex. Their interactions weren’t based on words, even when they had spoken.

“You don’t have to get it, Escobar,” he said, grabbing his board and helmet from leaning against the counter. He hadn't let himself hope it would magically last forever, but the memory was worth it. “I’ll see you later.”

“Adios,” the man said, sweeping up the store and singing along to his music. “Una piedra en el camino...me enseño que mi destino...era rodar y rodar…”

Shaking his head and smiling, Willie kicked off into the late night. He’d spent all morning cleaning hotel rooms, and he tried to remember which number had been the one for Alex and his band, but he never figured it out. The rest of the day, he’d run errands for Caleb and let the one memory he had regained play on loop in his mind. There was nothing that specifically indicated that the man in the truck was his dad, but he simply knew it was. They had the same squint when they smiled.

He hadn’t bothered telling Caleb about it. It would’ve been irrelevant, since he’d apparently been in the foster care system for quite some time. Those were some of the important details he’d gotten from him, but Caleb was rather stingy about the rest - he’d said it was so Willie could live unbiased and make himself into whoever he wanted. It didn’t feel that way, though. Eventually Willie had stopped trying to weasel things out of him and accepted that he might never regain his memories. Of course, it was different now that he knew they could return.

The wind in his hair was nice, but lacked something he couldn’t put a finger on. As he came upon a large home, he skated onto the driveway around the back. He was headed past the pool in the backyard toward his shed and was surprised by a sudden voice from the water.

“William, I’ve asked you so many times not to skate around the pool,” Caleb said, wading over from where he had been doing some laps. Slowing to a stop and picking his board up, Willie gave him an apologetic nod, continuing toward the shed.

“Wait,” he heard from behind. Turning, he saw Caleb climb out of the pool and move toward him.

“You’ve been running around all day, so I’m sure you want some rest. I’ve just been worried about where you go when it’s so late. That’s two nights in a row. Is there anything you need to tell me?”

Put on the spot, everything went blank in his mind. What was there to worry about? Did he know about Sheldon? Even if he did, it wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong keeping the cat at the bodega.

“Not anything to tell,” he replied, trying to mask the strange guilt that had arisen. “Just been skating around.”

Caleb looked down at him, and Willie could never tell what was making those gears turn in his head. He knew he was just looking out for him, but sometimes he just wanted not to give some kind of report at the end of the day like he was doing business.

“I just think about what would happen if you were out there and something were to hurt you,” Caleb told him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Or someone. Wouldn’t want another accident.”

Willie nodded solemnly. Caleb’s tone was serious, but for the first time he just felt that it was...insincere. His stomach flipped at the thought and he drove it down into the depths of his mind. That was an awful thing to think about the person who literally provided everything for him, especially when he wasn’t blood-related.

“I’m being careful, I promise,” he said, not meeting the man’s eyes.

“I’ll take your word,” Caleb said. He let go of Willie’s shoulder and strolled back toward the pool.

Walking to the shed, Willie shut the door behind him and confusion swept over his whole being. His dad’s face rose to the front of his mind again. If only he knew more about him to compare the two men, then he could understand why he felt so strangely about Caleb. Looking around the shed, he wondered if an answer could be found.

It was big enough for his bed, some shelves and a desk, with a small closet and bathroom. Apparently he had been living in there instead of the house even before his accident. In his first memory of seeing it, it was the bare necessities and nothing else. While Willie still wasn’t much to keep lots of clutter, he had dozens of sketches that he’d put up on the walls to make it feel more at home. It was quiet and thankfully Caleb didn’t bother him too often in there.

Sitting at the desk, he picked up a pencil and opened to a blank page in his sketchbook. Slowly shaping out a face, he tried his best to remember the details as clearly as he could. Willie wanted it to be as close to reality as possible, even though it wasn’t his usual drawing style. That way if his memory slipped, he could have something to keep him steady. So far the best thing about it was the eyes, but it wasn’t hard because all he had to do was check his own face in the mirror every once in a while. The smile was a little more crooked and wrinkly, and it took several attempts, but he was determined to get it right. He knew it was probably a good idea to get some sleep, since he had a full day of work in the morning, but this was more important.

Hours into the drawing, making sure everything was as close as he could get, Willie looked down at the portrait of his dad, steering wheel in hand, happy as could be. It was a really nice image, and if this were the only way he would ever remember him, Willie was glad it was happy. Checking the time, it was a little past three in the morning. He’d probably hate himself later for staying up so late, but it didn’t make him any less proud of his work. Aside from preserving his memory, it had been a great artistic challenge.

Finally climbing into bed, Willie tried to focus on something else. He brought Alex’s eyes to the forefront of his mind and let himself get lost in the soft crashing of the waves again. It had been rhythmic, which was so fitting for Alex. Allowing the rhythm to repeat continuously, he eventually nodded off to sleep.

Sirens blared and red and blue lights surrounded his vision. Willie was lying on the pavement, not moving and fading in and out of lucidity. The pain in his head was overwhelming. For a few moments, he stayed that way, watching the lights flash indefinitely. Slowly, he watched as all the lights and sirens pulled away, and above his face, the front bumper of a car came in view. A man that he couldn’t see clearly appeared, moving backwards, going from the side of the car to kneeling over Willie’s motionless body in a panic.

After a few moments, the man went back to the car in the same backwards fashion, and Willie’s body lifted in the air. His vision tumbled and he made contact with the car a few times, and when his head hit the pain vanished. Strangely, he landed perfectly on his board and it was like watching the city in reverse. Aware this was a dream, he felt so puzzled by the whole thing. This was a part of the city he could’ve sworn he’d never been through before. Willie had his corners that he’d memorized, but Vegas was big enough to confuse him still.

The backwards skating seemed to be endless, until finally he was running back into Caleb’s home. Caleb was yelling, and Willie couldn’t make out what he was saying at all. Then suddenly they were at a social worker’s office, and Willie looked down at a file with his picture on it. He couldn’t make out anything it said, but he simply sat there as Caleb and the social worker blabbed in backwards gibberish.

The scene changed again, and Willie found himself sitting in the shed, crying. He was repeating a name but it made no sense. A deep loneliness filled his entire body and a strange force seemed to try to compress him into as small a space as possible. The tears and the shaking only intensified, ringing loudly in his ears. Everything was miserable, overwhelming, and he just kept crying out into the dark.

Willie opened his eyes and sat up in his bed. Looking around his room, there was too little light to make out any shapes, and after blinking his eyes he found they were wet. Huddling his knees into his chest, he just sat there in his confusion and fear, breathing in and out. Had those been memories? It was so hard to tell, especially since watching everything in reverse had been so trippy. If they had been, he wondered if they were warped in any fashion. Who would have their memories return through a dream in reverse, anway? The frustrating thing about amnesia was that it had very few absolutes and every case was different.

A pit of anger grew in his chest. Willie felt like some higher power was having fun at his expense. The tears that fell were more from quiet fury than pain. Glancing over at his desk, he saw the drawing of his dad smiling back at him again. Unfolding himself and laying down on his side, Willie stared at the picture and let the tears run until either his eyes dried up or he fell asleep again, whichever came first.

Loud banging on his door was what woke him up. Rising groggily from his bed, he opened the door to find Quetzal, one of the girls from the diner.

“You just woke up?” she was saying. “Come on, Willie, Caleb doesn’t know I rushed over here to get you, you better hurry up.”

Sighing wordlessly, Willie pulled on some clothes, followed Quetzal to her car and clambered inside.

“You’ve been off the past couple of days, you okay?”

Willie took in a deep breath and tried to blink himself more awake as they drove to the diner.

“Just in a funk, that’s all,” he breathed. “Thanks for coming to get me, though.”

“Let’s just pray we don’t get caught.”

“We won’t get caught, he’s doing some kind of new deal today. I heard him on the phone a while ago about some record label he was thinking of buying.”

“A record label? How many businesses does the guy own now, like five?”

“I stopped keeping track. Anyway, Dolores is probably managing today.”

“Oh, thank God,” she sighed. “You had me so worried when you didn’t show up on time. I was ready to get fired for leaving during my shift. At least we don’t have to worry about it now.”

Willie didn’t respond. He knew Quetzal was one of those people who would go out on a limb for anyone, but it still surprised him when she did it for him. He never felt deserving. As they parked at the diner and hurried out of the car, he shook his head. It wasn’t always successful but he always hoped it worked like an Etch-A-Sketch, to get rid of the many things cluttering up his brain.

That was it. Enter the kitchen, punch in, grab an apron, and he was in his corner by the dishwasher again. He ignored the eyes of everyone else who clearly wanted to express their upset by his tardiness.  He was there now, right? Heaven forbid. Willie’s mind, of course, only remained cleared from the shaking for a few minutes. As he got into the groove of spraying and moving things into the industrial trays, he tried to remember more details of the dream, but most had been forgotten. All that was left were sirens and lights.

He’d walked back home at the end of his long shift, since he hadn’t taken his board like usual in the morning. That also meant he couldn’t go to the bodega for lunch, and he desperately needed to check on Sheldon. Willie had peeked into the house and called to see if Caleb was home at all. His own voice echoed back followed by silence. Taking that as a confirmation the man was still busy, he gathered his board and helmet and made his way out to the street.

The wind wasn’t its usual soothing sensation against his face. Willie knew he was tired, but was disappointed to feel that the one thing that felt most freeing to him wasn’t doing its job. It should’ve been enough to lose his thoughts to the sound of the low roll from the wheels, only interrupted by the gentle clacks here and there. There was too much noise inside of him. Suddenly, he understood why Alex had chosen to play drums.

Sheldon was already pattering toward him as he came through the doorway. Scooping the cat into his arms, he held him close and stroked his fur in an attempt to find some comfort. When he started purring, Willie made a little sigh of relief.

“Busy day?” Escobar asked as he organized a shelf.

Willie only nodded. Sheldon was rubbing his head against his face, and it did more to soothe him than the wind.

“Sorry I didn’t come for lunch,” he apologized. “I haven’t been doing my part for Sheldon and I owe you.”

“I would like it if you could be around more,’ Escobar said. “But he’s a pretty good cat, so it isn’t too much, amigo.”

Nodding again, Willie finally heard the music playing in the background. Was it…?

“I thought you were tired of their songs,” he commented.

Escobar shrugged.

“Eh, I had an idea you wanted to listen to them. And they’re not all too bad.”

A surprised giggle came from Willie’s throat, and he smiled for probably the first time that day. He went to give Sheldon some food and let his mind replace the red and blue lights with soft green eyes.

[kaetastic]

HISTORY UNFOLDS. 1/3

pairing: Finn Shelby x Reader, Luca Changretta x Reader, Deceased!John Shelby x Reader

summary: A favour that is pending to be fulfilled calls Y/N to Birmingham, from a very old friend. However, the youngest Shelby soon discovers her past with his deceased brother, John, and the one who had ordered the murdering, Luca Changretta.

word count: 14.6k (i did that)

warning: all sorts of angst, mentions of death, war, mentions of violence, mentions of firearm, mentions of blood, smut, profanities, age gap (read note) 

note: okay, so- i was kind of pissed that we barely have finn content. anyways, i wanted to clear a few things about this writing. it is set place in season 4, john died and luca changretta has arrived for his vendetta. finn is 18, the reader is 37. the reader’s last name is stein :D hope you don’t mind, enjoy and have a good day!

Part 2 | Part 3

Muffled thuds stomped against the ground. The heavy gait they trudged through the still air that had been spurted with blood was that of a crackling of thunder, ready to split the land into two. Weaving against one another like ruffled locks of hair, the piercing grass blades obeyed with every force that pressed onto them; the bed of green and yellow compressed into a hefty brick. Just like millions of menacing syringes pointing into the clear sky as if defending soldiers of the ground creatures walk upon, the patchy grass was ready to embed their toxins into bloodstreams. Despite the steel gun’s stomach filled with clanking bullets; men drowned in blood and bodies resting upon the ground as if it was up for display, the sky played with the merry rays of light. 

A staggering sigh fell off her lips as her thumb caressed the chilling metal of the syringe that cried for help in her suffocating grip. Pressing into her head was the bulging intricate lines of the artwork on the tree, the leaves danced with every kiss of the wind. Almost as if it was calling the men that brushed their fingers over the trigger, painting the walls of the camp with dying blood. Blood of those wounded; blood of those who’ve saved countless lives of bleeding soldiers. Fear was the bandage that sloppily wrapped around her chipping heart. War was more than terrifying. It had been for the soldiers prancing around the land of blood. It had been for the wives and children back at home. It had been for their dogs who would stare at the door, waiting. Especially when sizzling barrels that were loaded with merciless ammunition were hunting for the sole survivor who had managed to flee away from their execution. She was outnumbered, guns to a single, used syringe. 

Pressing her lips as tight as she had locked the door of her house that must’ve been drowning in layers of dust before she had hurled herself into the waging war, the battle that raged inside her sliced and butchered every thought of her making a minuscule noise. Even a slight push of both of the breathing organ could lead a body to stand as shooting practice. Y/N glanced down to the stainless steel syringe, neck-craning like an ancient spine of a parasol. Streaks of red stroke her arms as if her body was a the counter where the butcher’s knife met with the poor animal, the foul smell encroached her potency to breathe even though it was something she had already gotten used to. Well, she was forced to. However, she could not digest the fact that the liquid used to run through someone’s body, aiding them to breathe and live. The staining blood shook its leg, waiting to decompose on her freshly scrubbed apron.

If it wasn’t enough of the stark red glazing on her body, beads of the warm liquid coated her tongue as her teeth stabbed into it as if she was scooping up a plot of dirt to nurse another plant. Just like that back at home. Despite her menacing situation, she hoped deep down that the neighbours she placed her trust on, had taken care of her plants. Dread engulfed her body. A tremble waved through her quivering, overcooked noodle knees when the sound she despaired, trickled into her ears. Murmurings slithered behind her unstable feet like a starving serpent, brushing against her skin frequently with its uncomfortably slick scales, spiralling up her leg as it flickered its tongue, tasting the air for nourishment. Fear.

A string of rough mumbled words from a language she could not point out, poured into the silent air. Not long after, grumbles followed the statement before shuffling of feet rubbed against the compacted grass that once used to be a gorgeous, wide field. Now, it was no different than the streets of a run-down city, pressed as tough as the stone bricks that made up most of the homes. It holds the burden of carrying the names of murderers- killings in the name of their country.   

Seconds ticked as hours. The sand trickled down the sleek glass as if crumpled soil had poured out of a cracked pot, one by one. It was agonizing to watch the substance from one side of the tent dive down to plaster down the walls; painting it as if a circus. The faint blotches of clouds that painted the fresh sky seemed to take its time to allocate to another area. Even though it felt as if her heart had been tugged out of her chest cavity to sing a song extremely close to her ears, Y/N tried her best to compromise her chest heaving; forcing her lungs to reuse the same air once again. On the other hand, the only question that remained in her head, blaring persistently was, for how long?

Before she knew it, a whirling of metal echoed through the still, open field. With modicum movements, her head reluctantly turned to face the man who dangled her life over the thin thread-like a puppet. Her throat became parched. Every bubble of moisture that was once the reason she could talk, evaporated from her mouth as death sat in the waiting room, reading the latest paper while he waited for her with great patience. Just like he was with everyone else.

“Found ya.” In broken English, an aged man with a revolver in his grasp snickered. Like a vicious serpent, his tongue flickered to slap his lips as if he was a child, sloppily shoving food down his throat. The scars that trekked down his face reminded her of the newly purchased china dinnerware she had placed on the top of the highest shelf for display, which unfortunately had all met their sorrowful ends; till this day, she pondered how the day would’ve gone if she hadn’t had nimble fingers. All she could see behind his eyes were suppressed anger; an unnecessary need of vengeance. The uniform he wore similar to that of a burlap sack, a boring beige. Despite the prominent lines of age that created a path on his face, the grip he held onto the firearm did not waver- the mouth of the revolver yawned between her eyes.

Birds chirped in the air like an orchestra, their singing was innocent- a gentle melody and a tune that was in sync so perfectly even though their volume stood on the same height. It rained over the bloody land, almost as if it was meant to cleanse the mess humans have created. While the half elevating bunk of the planet cheered with another passing day of joy, the latter was dancing in a bath of terror. This was it, this was the end of her line. If she had only listened to the incessant amount of warnings by several different people and the endless nagging from her friend who she looked back now, spoke only of truth, she wouldn’t be at gunpoint by a man who seemed to be thrice her age. Not to forget his face that looked as if it had a ride under a meat butchering blade. Just as she was, stubborn and blinded by the need to be right, Y/N had decided to oppose. What did she achieve? Nothing, but she was confident that her pride was tucked safely.

Fisting her hand into a ball with immense pressure that pierced her fingernails into her palm like a bed of nails, blood oozed out, seeping onto the dirt as nourishment; the glass chamber of the syringe let out a woozy crack. The only supply the abused land will ever get during the heinous battle would either be from astringent sweat plunging from the soldiers, the haunting lake of blood or the fitful rainfall.

With her eyes squinted shut and toes curled, the prayers she chanted in her head tugged the circular rope around her neck tighter, decreasing the diameter of the hole. Plucks of fibre dug into her skin, the voice in her head amplified- her call for someone. Religion was something the volunteered nurse did not insert in her life as much as some targeted individuals, for she found it irrelevant and obstructive to things such as routine and the words one would utter. However, she stood in front of the enemy, knees trembling with fear, calling out for a God she didn’t believe in seconds ago.

It seemed the trickling of sand had halted, the glass had scattered across the red floor, embedding itself into the decrepit wall. The elongated time that was predicted by a gypsy woman was a lie. The words she had believed once it had fallen from the woman’s lips. She was nothing but a hoax. Y/N acted oblivious to the idea that she would see death prematurely might’ve been because she had scribbled her name on that card- calling upon her death wish with limited time.

During the nauseating ride over the bumpy ground towards the slashing air, Y/N held no doubt that what she would soon see would be an image she would not be able to wipe off her head. However, she had doubted the countless possibilities that could have dropped upon her. Never did she see an ancient man that might as well be her grandfather, aim his revolver towards her.

It was only humane of her to wish that she would walk out of the vile battle in one piece. Everyone did so. But, it seemed that the gardener had tended to pluck out the most ravishing flower that would bring a bag’s worth of money.

There. An agonizing slow-paced train sauntered past her. Even though Y/N was stationed far away from the fields before, she was recently moved to another tent where she was slightly closer towards the bloodbath. And the bangs and slicing of the air with an agile speed from firearms were still new sounds she was getting familiar to since previously, the most she had heard was that of an accidental gunshot. Followed by a spine-chilling bang, was a piercing crack. It had not waited for a second to fall into the uniform pace of the noise. Like a collision of fist towards a drenched plot of soil, the sound rang through her ears. Then, the noise of an agile collapsing hefty object was absorbed by the starving land. Her eyes shot wide open. Immediately, she checked her body for a pool of blood to make sure that even if there was no pain, her body would’ve surely rotted by blood loss. But no, it was not her that had a bullet had flown through.

A thud was muffled by the layers of blood covered by yellowed–stained grass. The sword-like object sunk into the ground as an indent that was to be created by the soldier. Once her eyes had landed onto the corpse that would scar a hole on his head until his body would be part of the land he used to breathe upon, tracks of emotions overflowed through her. Speckles of worn off skin circled the gushing orifice, the crimson blood bursts out to paint the ground. Finally adding colour to his sorrowful uniform. The stream of blood that trickled down his nose reminded her of the water pipe at her house that needed fixing.

Snapping her head to face the hero who had tugged the barrier away from the early end of her life, saving her, a twinkle of relief gushed over her. With a pistol in his hand that was down one bullet, he let out a staggering breathe of air. The smearing of dirt across his cheeks had made it seem as if he had rolled his head over a land of flaky dirt with a splash of water.

“Tommy.” The man was pulled away from the trance at what he had just done.

Letting out a slight smile, he lent out his arm for her to grab, “Come on, get up, the others are still here. Just don’t forget to pay that favour, Stein.” Y/N nodded before grasping his arm. How could she ever forget the man who had been the reason she still had a future?

Obnoxiously boisterous rings from the telephone bounced off the walls of the spacious, palatial hotel room. The vibration of the wooden table under the machine sounded like incessant drumming of crying droplets from the clouds against a pane of glass. Blaring from the vent was frigid wind, kissing the exhausted pair who rested under the thick covers that were meant to shield them from the cold. It seemed it had not done its job.

Warmth radiated from the body that rested an inch away from her, a broad back that had been splayed with taut muscles, occupied the other whole half of the bed. The scent of sandalwood lingered on her sheets. The gentle caress of the cotton blanket was getting warmer. Her leg shifted to find a chillier spot under the blanket, accidentally brushing a pair of legs. An exhausted sigh brushed over her lips when the phone would not rest, continuing to dance on the table.

Since it was a bright and clear morning, Y/N had to cover her bare body, because the window that expanded the whole wall offered a jaw-dropping view of the city. The surrounding buildings might’ve not defeated the towering height of the hotel she stayed in; however, it is never a bad idea to stay safe. Before dashing across the wide window, she had tugged the diaphanous silk robe that was thrown haphazardly over the lampshade above the side table. As if the ringing had been a test for her morning patience, she stomped towards the machine with a huff- trying her best to prevent herself from making too much sound as she liked the sleeping guest to proceed with his needed, peaceful slumber. The frozen air had coated the wooden floor during the night, with every step she took, it kissed her feet like bites from a kitten. It sent shivers up her spine since the only thing that covered her body was a thin layer of silk.

Snatching the phone, she mumbled underneath her breath, not allowing the frigid air to get to her, “Paris, 146.”

The sudden desperate need for a gulp of water coated her tongue, the crying from her head caused the woman to softly tug on the wire connection so she could reach the pitcher. While she poured herself plain, old boring water, she waited for the other side of the line. A stream of water trekked down her throat; she thought it was a wrong call.

“Is this Y/N Stein?” The voice was so familiar, hoarse and raspy. She could smell the cigarette.

“Who’s asking?” Whispering under her breath, Y/N’s feet brushed against one another as all she wanted to do was jump back into the warmth of the bed. Y/N shot a glance at the body that laid peacefully in the blanket while took a sip of the refreshing water. The late-night activity had left her parched.

“Thomas Shelby.”

“Tommy?”

A hum vibrated into her ears, “Remember that favour back then?” Y/N hummed, fingers caressing the wire, twirling it and curling it into loops as she replayed the memory. “I heard that you were in France.”

“Still am, though, words spread quickly.” A chuckle was emitted from the other side of the line.

“Come to Birmingham,” This was it, the only time Thomas Shelby had made contact with her, despite him being her life saviour. Even though it had been eight years since they had last seen each other, there was never an attempt from both sides to invite one another for a reunion. Although a part of her had missed the middle brother who was six years a junior to her, the sudden recall of the man that she had done the most to wipe him off her memory by drowning herself in oceans of the strongest liquor, which had unfortunately failed (she had thought of the intriguing idea of possible brain trauma but what had halted her was if she wanted to forget the joyful memories). “And oh, bring some souvenirs.”

Without refuting the order, Y/N placed the phone back to where it resided. She let out a low chuckle at his words, finally piecing it all together after the call had ended. The wires were being watched.

“What a sight to wake up to,” A husky voice stated in a thick French accent, slicing the empty air into two loaves. Averting her attention towards the bed, her eyes landed on the male who leaned against the headboard, his elbows pointing up in the air- sporting his flexing muscles on display. The chestnut-haired male wore an irritating yet charming smirk that ran across his face, his pearly teeth glittered under the sunlight. It was possibly one of the reasons why he was in her room.  “Come ‘ere.”

As she ambled- the prominent raising peak underneath the sheet was evidence that his eyes were running down her figure shamelessly as sinful thoughts ran in his head. She swayed her hips before halting beside the bed. Shrugging the translucent sheet off her shoulders, the robe pooled around her like mercury, exposing her at all her glory. It was not the first time he saw her naked. And it was only hope that it would certainly not be his last. The worry she had not too long ago of being seen by strangers from the opposing building had been thrown out of the window. Tugging the blanket off, his tongue ran across his bottom lip while he devoured on the sight, his eyes trained on hers as she indulged the throbbing shaft.

“Ah, fuck me.” A wanton moan fell off her lips at good-morning sight, already desperate for the bulging veins to caress and drag against her walls.

“So the lady says.” He groaned as the warm feeling of last night engulfed him. Strings of moans and groans like that of the night before rebounded from the walls.

Chatter and bickering hopped around the circular table. The chandelier that stood above them created wavering shadows with every muscle they moved. Warm and dim yellow rays coated the bodies. Even though sunlight shone inside the house, there was still a need for the electricity to be utilized. The men who did not have the privilege to sit on the chairs but have the opportunity to observe the constant feud watched the circle of people endlessly hurl words onto one another. Well, it was mostly between the pair of blue eyes and the distraught aunt.

The wallpaper was rich in green, a bland colour as a background to the contrasting blaring blue ceramic plates that sat above in the shelves. A faint knock rapped the wooden door. Since a battle was being undone in the room, the sound of the guest was engulfed by an unsatisfied individual on the table. The tension inside the room was palpable even though a door stood between Y/N and the conversers.

Running her eyes on the walls, she tried to spot something interesting along the hallway which she could get lost into. However, all she could think of was the souvenirs she had brought all the way from France; the long-awaited reunion of an old lover. She wouldn’t call it nervousness, she would never admit to such a label. So she went with the assumption that it was the jitters. The patiently waiting-woman couldn’t help but wonder if Thomas had told everyone about her or if she was going to be the surprise that leads to heart attacks. Just like at the pictures, a play of her memories with the middle brother pulsed with every beat of her heart.

After a few seconds had passed, her hands were quick to snatch at the pocket watch that was stuffed in her pocket. The door was yet to open. Turning back to look at the men she solely trusted, the English shrugged his shoulders- not comprehending to why they had not been in the room. Raising her hand in the air once again, she rapped the door. As if a sword had run through the thick air that was beginning to suffocate the arguing chests, silence barged through the doors. Enlightenment to the skulls that would’ve snapped into fragments.

“Finn, get it.” Bopping his head to his brother’s instructions without any bicker, the youngest dashed towards the door. Thomas took a puff of his cigarette, the swirl of smoke inhaled into his lungs, warming his chest.

An antagonizing slow creak blurted in the air, glueing all the eyes onto the unexpected guest. Questions sprinted in Polly’s head. Was it someone he had been expecting? He had looked calm and collected, though, that was just how the second oldest Shelby was, after the war. His face like a brick wall, only chips of cement could sputter out of his mouth while his face remained stoic. By the voices in the air, her doubt had been correct. It was hard to believe Thomas would do such a thing, inviting someone- most likely a stranger to a business meeting which should have only consisted of the closed Peaky Blinders, without informing others. It was something he rarely did if the other times were eradicated where he proceeded with his plan without informing the family. Oh, that was most of the time. There was no extra chair for the guest. The most understandable reason was Thomas wanted to introduce an ally that he has been hiding for God knows how long. Even that brought steam to puff out of Polly’s ears. Her eyes threw a glance at her nephew, whose back was facing the door, only taking frequent puffs of his cigarette. What game is he playing?

“Is Thomas Shelby here?” Finn did not help but notice the towering bodies behind her figure and the humongous bags they held- not even quiver, which should be a sign that it might’ve been an attack of sort. A slight tint of red stroked his face as his fingers brushed over the holster in his jacket. She was either a woman of power from the men behind her or she was nothing but a spoiled lady. Although he did deal with women with power from day-to-day bases, which was more of observing the women Tommy would tangle with, there was something that enchanted her ambience. A spell cast onto him.

Taking rapid glances at his appearance as he turned around to look at his brother for an answer, it was as if she could see his character like a display, seeing through him transparently. Not a bad suit, hair combed extremely cautiously and the face of a babe. She quirked an eyebrow, an interesting yet perplexing combination. Although he did look very familiar, Y/N didn’t bother to prod much into the idea as she sees faces every single day.

Finally facing her once again, he nods at her question. The slight opening of the door only allowed her to view the wallpaper and a head from the boy’s lanky shoulders, he shot his inquiry, catching her off-guard, “What’s your business with Tommy?”

Believing what he was doing was the right protocol, Finn proceeded with the short interrogation; even though it felt like it was being reverted to him every time he took a rapid glance at the men behind her, “Why? You his bodyguard?”

The recently changed boy to a man, wrinkled his nose, gaze focused on her as he tried his hardest to read her, much to his dismay, every item his eyes grazed over, it had only caused him to go in a loop. The array of golden rings decorating her fingers like a twinkling Christmas tree, caused him to assume that she might’ve been a lady flaunting with money. However, the endless list of questions Finn had thought of caused him to be nauseous as the acidic liquid elevated his throat. Where would she get her money from? “I’m not, I’m his brother. Will you answer the question or not?” Blaring across her mind were countless of possibilities that she could’ve said to respond to his question.

But, the bucket of water splashed across her blackboard, flooding it with a thick layer of glazed liquid, obstructing her ability to see all of the answers when his tongue had run across his bottom lip. Oh no. This was the youngest brother John had told her about during the rare days where they could sit back while others guarded. Her mouth gaped open to respond to his question; however, the deeper she swam in the mess, the harder it was for her to remain in search.

Finn raised his eyebrows, arms crossed to lean against the door frame- emitting a slight cocky aura which Y/N could not help but find slightly amusing and magnetic. Before he got back to his more respectful position when it felt like he was being judged by the accompanying man, Finn’s mouth gaped open to press the trigger again. Despite the voices in his head reminding that he was a Shelby.

“Just let her in.” Glances were thrown from the ladies, definitely not expecting the unexpected guest who would interrupt the meeting to be a female. What was she? The freshest whore Tommy had indulged in? If it wasn’t for Thomas’s interruption, she would’ve surely needed a seat for the torturing investigation. Somewhat not grasping the idea of how his brother knew of the guests’ gender, Finn followed the command without a word, opening the door wide open for the guests.

“Wait here.” Y/N’s voice of superiority caused soft trickling of fingers to brush up Finn’s spine. Since the door was blocked by Thomas’s body, no one could see who the individual was, unless they decided to take a risky side peek. However, the three men that stood next to the wall, obeying the command, with three massive bags in their grasp, had directly caused everyone to be pushed to the edge. What was Thomas planning? The corners of Tommy’s lips curled up once distant clicking of heels echoed closer towards his ears, but never a smile, never since Grace’s death. The door creaked back shut. Moving aside, Tommy revealed the woman that caused everyone to get riled up. The ones who stared at her with a slight recognition of her familiar face had finally pieced it all together once he had announced the guest. Finn took his newly given seat at a table, an honour, a prerogative. He crossed his arms, leaning back against the wooden chair to watch the scene unfold.

“Thomas Shelby, it’s been a long fucking time.” A satisfied line sported on Tommy’s lips.

“Everybody, this is Y/N Stein, all the way from America. Was in my unit before she decided to desert us all.” The youngest in the room eyes’ widened at the sudden collision of information which leads him to be dunked into a mass of an ocean, it was overwhelming.

An amused huff escaped her lips at his obvious lie he had just hurled out on new pairs of eyes, well, it was half-lie and half-truth. Although it was not entirely a lie, he had just scratched off the surface, which without deeper context, it would’ve been an easy misunderstanding, “Close your fucking mouth, Tom,” Noticing that the rest of the group did not get the note, Y/N finished to defend herself. “I had to leave for some issue.”

Thomas rolled his eyes at her horrible attempt to drift from the topic, he was amused at how she was trying to humble herself, “Saved John’s life and off she went to Germany to spy for the fucking British Secret Service.”

Slapping his arm, Y/N stood flabbergasted that he had spilt her past during the war. Lizzie watched the interaction with vigilant eyes, alcohol was thrown onto the fire behind her eyes- feeding the voracious element. It was not just her though.

“Y/N Stein. It’s been so long since I’ve heard the name.” Shooting up, Arthur pulled the lady into his arm. He held on for seconds, not a thought of his wife would be roaring with confusion and jealousy flew passed his head as he embraced the reunion. During the bloodshed, the Shelby brothers had enjoyed her company, especially after John had fallen into a terrible condition, making them closer than ever. Even though the middle child was nowhere near his station, she had decided to aid him because it was the bloody war and every soul was worth it. “Those American had been rubbin’ their accent on ya, haven’t they?” The former war-nurse smacked his arm with a laugh, her head thrown back at his observation. Despite her exhausting agile trip, she had always found herself to be enlightened by the eldest. An electrifying thunder was zapping between Lizzie and Linda as they side-eyed the intimate reaction.

“What can you do when you’re surrounded by New Yorkers, amirite Arthur? Jeremiah,” Noting that there was short of one particular person she had hoped to meet, she raised the question she thought she wouldn’t even have to ask. Even during such a bloody time, John’s presence was always prominent and he had radiated an ambience no one ever could. Well, no one she had ever met so far. He could be a nut-head at points but he was always there for her when she needed someone. A shoulder. It was too quiet without him being in the room. “Where’s John?” The room had ebbed to silence once again. Wearing long faces that met with the floor, everyone had suddenly found the ground to be engaging.

After a few seconds which passed like an ancient and a decrepit train, Arthur amplified his voice to answer since no one had dared to reply, “He, uhm, he’s gone.” He stuttered while he fiddled with the rough pads of his fingers, knowing well the history the pair had. Tears welled up on his eyes even though he had bawled a lake-full of water not too long ago. A familiar ringing sunk into her ears as if she had been plunged into the dark abyss of water. No light shone down, terrified of what the deep beyond holds. Every frantic snap she made with her body, she was faced with the same darkness, her accompany, her watcher. The water had muffled her potency to hear, taunting her with indistinct chatter. Words she could not even make out.

“Oh.”

The rubble of fallen cylindrical death piled up like an insubstantial building as if struck by artillery. Before putting an end to the flaking red ashes, Tommy took his last puff, stabbing his cigarette into the glass ashtray. Crying out for help, it wheezed to permanent sleep, “Anyways, Y/N is here to aid us during this… turmoil,” The abrupt and direct change to business from Tommy had piqued her interest even though the bandages wrapped around her heart were draping down so loosely. Polly let out a chuckle of disbelief, gaining a warning glance from Thomas.

There was a switch in the man that flipped. However, she didn’t prod much into the point she had noticed since he had served four bloody years on the battlefield. Four torturous years of seeing blood and as for him, the narrow tunnels he had dug out for hours with crumbling dirt and sludge. “She will be assisting in the area of her expertise, firearm.”

“I will?” Y/N inquired with furrowed eyebrows. The woman who possessed dark bags under her eyes, leaned back into her chair when something seemed off-putting; her eyes watching like a hawk, so vigilant and persistent to dig deeper into the resurfacing secret. Never had Thomas mention her before, well, never did he talk about what had happened during the bloody war either. When Thomas had called her which was the only contact they had made, he had not written a letter informing her of details. She had understood his reason for not directly telling her over the telephone line; however, a scribbling of a letter would’ve allowed her to prepare to what was coming. Then after two days of the contact, Y/N had left whatever business she had in France to men she had trusted; she cruised on a boat towards her desired destination with no idea on what she was about to face. “Oh, yes, I will.”

Shoulders suddenly tensed, not at all expecting for her to be someone they had thought. Even the eldest Shelby stared at her in shock. The woman who wore the navy blue dress, that was not thriving in England, with an exquisite fashion of gold that embellished her figure, was part of a gun trading business? Although the thought died down slightly when their eyes glanced at the three men in splendid suits that came in with her, it still had shaken them to the core.

Ada elevated her eyes to find any points she could note from the woman’s appearance, noticing the fading trail of a handful of tattoos painting her skin. It was a smear of ink on her neck, although, it had only peeked out when she would shrug her shoulders. Tilting her head at her inked hand, Ada’s eyes squinted at the drawing that resembled what had cost her brother’s life. Before she could take another good view to confirm her suspicion, Y/N’s hands were then stuffed in her pocket for warmth. The Shelby made accidental eye contact with the woman she had been staring at.

An amused smirk sported on Polly’s lips as she took a sip of the warm liquid. There were many, multiple times Tommy had managed to baffle her; however, this, this was crossing his imaginary line by a great distance, “We already have enough guns.”

Tommy mumbled, not bothered to look at his aunt, “Pistols. Y/N here, have something much more... predatory.”

“Although I haven’t brought the lot of them, I’m sure my boys can handle an urgent call,” The three men stomped their way towards the table with a gesture of her finger, their gait shaking the ground like an earthquake. The hats they wore tilted to the sides, somehow still resting upon them despite it being hanging off the edge. Bulging through the material of the bag could’ve been assumed as useless sticks; however, if the straps were to be tugged open by the wrong audience, it could’ve been the cause for someone to be thrown behind bars that they would have to call home. “Got me the good batch of Rifles, Machine guns and Shotgun.”

The legs of the table shook, quivering at the abrupt weight pressed at the top of its head. Tremors vibrated through the wooden table before Y/N’s men tugged the sealed straps with such ferocity and strength. The bottle of rum danced to the beat, the liquid slammed into the container walls of the glass cup like the highest tide of the day. Flabbergasted at how the atmosphere had altered from a choking tension to amusement with a simple addition of a person, Linda could not believe it. Especially by the fact that it was a woman who had run the whole syndicate.

“Why more firearm? ‘Tis a vendetta of what? 15?” Arthur inquired.

Thomas nodded, he paced towards the table, fingers brushing over the chilly metal, “Heard that he’s involving Sabini’s men too, not just for vehicles. All he wants is his bullets to end up in us, reserved royally by the avenger himself.” 

“These are my most trusted men,” Y/N uttered once Thomas threw a glance at her. Her head was held high as she watched them pluck the straps open to reveal the stack of firearms that had been stuffed in the bag. Pride torched in her body as she watched eyes glint. Nodding her head at each figure, she listed, “Gavin, Connor and Dante.”

“Italian name.” Polly blurted as her droopy eyes from the medication she had been consumed, peeked at the blare of reflection from the guns. Narrowing her eyes towards the man who backed away from the table to stand beside his boss, Polly quirked an eyebrow. The olive skin of the Italian had been painted with his raven untamed locks. The voice urged at her to keep a hairs’ breadth distance between her fingers and her gun that was tucked in the waist of her pants’. She barely knew the woman and she managed to drag an Italian into the Peaky Blinders’ meeting.

“Yes, he fell onto my plate when there were... mishaps,” Y/N declared. The man whose broad shoulders were squared intensely stared into Polly’s eyes, his head held up high as her glare did not quiver him. “He also teaches me some Italian from time to time. Although, I don’t have much time for that lately, do I?” The claimed Italian shook his head.

“You brought an Italian here,” Polly exclaimed prodding onto the point to why she was even speaking. Was Tommy calling for his death wish? “How do we know he isn’t part of that buffoon of a mafia?”

Before Y/N could even inquire her question, Tommy interjected, “Polly,” Having to see his friend being grilled alive by his aunty was not a pleasant sight that he would tolerate. Especially since this was also meant to be a business conversation; professional. Tommy sighed, “We can trust Y/N.”

“Clearly you do,” His aunt grumbled, flicking her cigarette case with a clash before lighting it up with haste as if the longer she thought about this ridiculous plan, the more ludicrous it will be. Although the time went passed by at an antagonizing pace, Polly would have rather have to go through with Tommy’s past, foolish acts, rather than watching him place all his trust onto a sole woman. “He could be passing information back to him.” 

“Polly, that’s enough,” Tommy instructed with slight superiority in his voice. Polly glared at her nephew before smoke eased her mind. “I’ve heard words flying about that they have made a deal with Sabini, we must stay alert. Finn, go show the men their lodge, the building I had pointed out today while passing and Y/N’s also. I’ll send someone to check the guns, tomorrow, midday.”

Finn’s eyes widened at the job he had been assigned to, glancing at Isaiah who shrugged his head with a faint smirk that he would always wear. This was his chance to prove to Tommy that he was worthy of becoming a Peaky Blinder; that he was ready as a soldier ready to be deployed. 

“Isaiah, you tag on.” 

“Tommy, it’s not a fucking field trip,” Before Tommy could justify to why sending Isiah was a good idea, she had cut him off. “No, I swear to God, if I see a Peaky behind me I’ll use him as a shooting target. Plus, put a little trust on your brother, won’t ya?” Noticing the peculiar glances thrown between Arthur and a blonde lady, Y/N spoke up as she lit a cig. “What? Oh, the God part. Yeah, would’ve believed in him if it wasn’t for the war.”

Linda clenched her jaw at the insolent woman who had used the name in vain. Tommy took a second of pondering, before nodding reluctantly. Was it a good idea? However, he believed with the presence of the three, clearly strong men she had brought, she was safe. A catastrophic debate was set off in his head, questioning if he should risk sending a car to follow them. He signalled his head towards the three exposed bags. Isaiah paced towards the bag, strapping it to a close, ready to be handed back to its owner, “Oh, keep it here, my storage is full at the moment.” 

Y/N stared at the bags as it was being strapped, a faint and faded voice whispered with an ever so lightly volume to take one for safety even though a pair of frigid metal were tucked safely in her coat. The voice had warned her of a premonition that reeked of imminent disaster where her two pistols were of no use, “Although, I’ll take this one.” Grabbing the straps on one of the bags containing the sole rifle, she slung it across her shoulder. Without a word, he bopped his head as a silent order towards the two men to proceed with the command.

Finn shot up with the idea that he would take the bag off of Y/N’s shoulder, to only tower over her figure with his lanky height. No words fell from his mouth when the task was simple: Be a gentleman. Finn’s lips wavered, opening and shutting as if he had something to say. Suddenly, his ability to construct a sentence had been hurled out of the window. The only female Shelby couldn’t hold back her amused chuckle at Finn’s lack of ability and practice on the opposite gender. Finn gazed into her eyes, Y/N’s eyebrows clashed into one another, furrowing in impeccable confusion to why he was acting so peculiar.

“We keep this at Charlie’s yard, yeah?” Since Johnny picked up the bag containing a whole load of shotguns, it had caused his shoulder to slump down from the hefty weight. Isaiah with his own set of weight quirked an eyebrow. Getting a simple nod from Tommy, the two men left the room. When the youngest had already dashed towards the door with pink cheeks from embarrassment, Tommy called, halting the boy’s huge strides, “Finn.”

With his great reflexes the flying car key that hovered from one side of the room to the other, fell into the palms of his hands. Finn stared at it with awe, a twinkle in his eyes of amazement and disbelief. It was not always every day when Tommy would hand his keys to the 18-year-old boy. The opportunity for him to drive a car felt exciting, especially when the key to it is in his hands, “You take care of the car or else you won’t be seeing the sun tomorrow.”

The sun yawed, exhausted at the tiring task it would do every day- repeatedly without a stop, unless, it was the end. The ball of flames crawled down; pleading help from his friend once more. Painted with streaks and lines of red, the sun had spread its largess across the warming yellow sky. A call to those who stood awake.

“So you sell guns?” It had been slightly intimidating with three men sitting at the back who if they were to protect the woman, they must’ve committed nasty work. Every so often, Finn would remember that they had snatched the straps with such strength that he began to ponder whose blood had been spilt on their hands, supported by the fact that they work with firearms. It was to the point Finn had to loosen his tie, sweat clamouring on his chest.

It was when Y/N had ordered for the direction to change to a new route, the youngest Shelby didn’t bother to prod. So he had done as he was told, however, it was only the three men that had gotten off the vehicle. Although it wasn’t his ill-intention, he had eavesdropped on the exchanged words between the boss and the daunting men. It was something along the lines of making calls and warehouses. Finally, Finn was left alone with the woman sitting by his side. Once the newly man had cleared his throat, he decided to pick up a conversation with the woman; not liking the present of a heavily-pregnant, awkward silence. No communication happened between the pair despite them sitting next to each other for nearly an hour as the sun had set. The only noise that made way to play a melody was the rough drumming of the engine, unnecessary bumps and screaming from the civilians who had not cared for their rest.

“I do, yeah,” Y/N let out a chuckle at his obvious question, Finn nodded. Tapping the steering wheel to an asynchronous rhythm, he tried his best to eliminate the idea of making a slight mistake. Not will it only cause an ending to his life by his older brother, it would cost Y/N’s also. With the sudden thought that popped in his head, his palms were drowning in sweat. Not a good idea. “You in the Peaky Blinders?”

Although it might’ve been a stupid question since he had worn the signature cap, Y/N had to flow with the questions thrown back and forth; not liking the silence between them. A hum was muffled by his throat, “I am,” A huff came from the engine as the vehicle entered a path where the roadwork was not so great and smooth. “So, were you a nurse when you were in the war? Not assuming that you could’ve been anything, of course, working in the war offices for example or a cooker. I just thought you were a nurse because that was pretty common.”

Darkness cast over the vehicle as a gigantic red-bricked house shielded the car from the blaring moonlight. A chuckle escaped Y/N’s lips when Finn had finished his rambling, turning her body towards the boy whose face was splashed with red paint; she found it adorable, “I was in fact, a nurse. You guessed correctly.”

“Medals?” If it wasn’t for Thomas’s words about wounding the car, Finn would’ve glanced at the woman, which was a horrible idea because his face was crimson from already displaying all his red pumping and running veins.

“Turned them to these.” Blaring into his eye were sparkles like that of a smear of twinkling stars, iridescent gold shimmers stirred in the gems, despite it being a golden ring, the gem still captured his eyes with its dark brown backdrop. 

An awkward silence filled the ambience once again.

The inquiry played against Finn’s ears, “What exactly is the issue you all are currently facing that made Tommy call me?” There were a hundred of ways he could answer her, maybe structure it so she would be satisfied. However, he was made clear by no other than Tommy that it be he who would do the elaboration over the plan with her.  

“Tommy said he’ll talk to you about it, didn’t want me to mess something up.” The lady who was twice his age chuckled, shaking her head at the older brother’s actions.

“Typical Tommy, always hogging the queen piece to himself.” She chuckled, shaking her head.

“You seem close to my brothers,” The chestnut-haired boy stated an obvious inspection. “When you heard that John died, you looked devastated.”

“A blunt observation said as a statement without holding back.” Y/N quirked her eyebrows, tilting her head in slight amusement. Trying her best to not chuckle at the blushing boy, “Have they taught you no manners, boy?” Y/N liked that her words had brought up such a reaction. Something she had never witnessed. Most likely because she had always been with men. Tinting his cheeks with a darker splash of red, she could see that we were trying not to take a peek at her.

“I’m not a boy,” Finn gritted his teeth, the clench in his jaw could’ve snapped his teeth into fragments of mints. “I’m a man. I’m a Shelby, I don’t need manners.”

Y/N’s eyes blinked at his response, “Even the serpents of politicians have some manners, what would that make you?”

Heavy breathing fell from his nostrils, his clench on the steering wheel tightened as he felt himself being belittled. Never had he been treated like this, if his now-deceased brother was excluded, especially from a female.

Noticing the air had gone still, Y/N mumbled, turning her attention to her window on her side, “You know, Tommy had saved my life during the war,” She stated, her eyes watched as the boats danced over the gentle crashing of waves on the canal before they had entered another route. “I’m practically in debt to him.” Even though she knew she was possibly going to be off the line, her mouth had not halted. “Tell me, Finn, you wear that hat like a tiara. Are your cuts and scars hidden?”

It seemed Y/N had hit a soft spot, “Are all your bags at the place?” Finn pursed his lips, teeth clawing back as he tried his best to not unleash what he wanted to hurl back at her.

Y/N hummed, “I did not only bring three of my men you know? With this line of work, I must be out of my mind to do such a thing.”

Before Finn could agree with her factual statement, an exhausted huff came from the back of the car. The speed that it once sprinted through declined, halting the vehicle to the side of the road, underneath the shadow of a building. Glowing down with faint rays of light, the moon’s spotlight had only glistened over the road. Flickers from the street lamp was a battle cry, an indication that war was striding over.

Finn scowled at the inconvenient breakdown. Already irritated, his hands rested over the heavy door, ready to grab a can of petrol to feed the starving car.

“Don’t!” Tugging his collar down to slam his back into the cushion of the seats with her hovering over him, a familiarized sound Y/N had gotten used to, had swept through the air before grazing the glass. Two cracks banged through the empty street. A chorus of shatters sprinkled the floor as a decoration. Shattering into a million prickling fragments, the flooring of the car was now like a bed of snow made up of pins. Finn laid under her with a gaped opened mouth, breathing heavily when his ability to breathe was restricted for a short second.

He gritted his teeth, the infant glass shards caressed his face. The claws dug into his skin before diving down, his face like a mountain as their blades provide a safe landing like an ice axe. Never was it a good idea to take a peek at your enemies who had been targeting you with a rifle; however, Y/N had only taken a glimpse before they decided to brush their finger against the trigger. The car that had suspiciously rested in the corner of the building with men in impeccable suits and a homburg hat was the only thing Y/N needed to know what was to follow.

“We’re being ambushed.” The woman declared, stating the obvious. Blood sprinted down her body, her heart strenuously pumping to supply. Her eyes widened as the adrenaline rushed through her body.

A string of thoughts ran through Y/N’s head. Then, it all clicked together like a flawless combination for a gun. Rummaging her fingers through her lanky coat, she pulled out what looked like a cigarette case. Finn gazed at her object before darting it towards her as if she had gone mental. She flicked it open with ease despite the dripping sweat that painted her hands, to reveal the reflecting mirror. Without a conscious thought, she shifted to find a better angle. There. Once her mirror had spotted the prominent shadow figures, their hats peaking in the air as if a shooting target, she let out a light chuckle. As light adjusted, the corners of her lips curled down when her eyes grazed over the machine gun they had dragged out, throwing it on the hood of the car. However, it seemed they had been watching through the scope the entire time as another sole bullet swished to fracture the now dead street lamp. The light dimmed down. Standing under the shadow provided by the blocky building, Thomas’s car was hidden away from the spotlight.

Finn’s shoulders tensed as the shatter of glass echoed through his ears once again. The terrible music would drive him to insanity. Even though he was in a tight situation, he couldn’t help but think about what Tommy would’ve thought about the minuscule yet probably visible scratches from the glass shards. Not to mention the vehicle that would need heavy repairing. He was dead meat. Not to forget that he was the one who decided to take a shortcut towards her lodge- the shorter route with horrible scenery. What a way to show an outsider Birmingham. 

“Listen to me, Finn, alright?” The younger boy gazed into her eyes, his mind deteriorated as Y/N hovered over his body upside-down, with an inch of distance between them. Strands of her swirly hair kissed his skin, tickling it with slight grazing. Her eyes were captivating, enchanting him into a place he had never been to; a place he wished to stay forever. Realizing he had not answered her question while he was lost in his thoughts, he nodded with a gulp. “Good, I need you to stay low,” With her superior voice, she commanded the young boy, shivers crawled up his spine as his mind travels to other words she could utter. “Don’t get out, stay here and raise the bag when I tell you to. You understand?”

Her breathing and voice breezed over his face, casting a spell on him just like the white powder he would sniff to ease his mind, “Yes, I mean yes.” Noticing that the pitch of his voice was a bit too high, he cleared his throat, lowering it deeper. Before he could process her words, he had given in to an order he didn’t like. What was he supposed to do? Actually, stand down? He’s a Shelby for fuck's sake. Although cheering in his head agreed with the idea, the cuts on his face played a taunting game. With ever slight contraction of his face’s muscle, his skin tore apart wider. But what was he thinking? He had never been in a situation like this. If he was, his brothers would be the one to step in front.

With minimal movements and sounds, Y/N reached the handle, cranking it down. Shutting her lips and eyes as she opened the door, a faint begging in her head hoped that a sound would not be produced. Much to her dismay, a creak resounded from the rubbing of metal. The silence was too good to be true, the promise it uttered was broken. A series of banging boomed even though they could barely see anything. Embellishing the black car, bullets whirled through the metal to pierce the back seat.

As cotton was thrust up into the air, Finn curled into a ball, hands against his ear. Indistinct chatter from the corner of the building was followed by fusses. Like running a wooden stick against an odd, wavy metal sheet, the loud noise they made as they had reloaded the machine gun for another round of massacre echoed through the still air.

If they had been slightly more precise or weighed with more luck at a random shot, they could’ve already put Y/N in a vulnerable state. A scowl sported on Y/N’s lips, men like them have been given a horrible plan. Sure it might be a good thing for her since she is currently being targeted, victory should never be celebrated until the deed is over. Even though they might get a good shot from the bottom of the vehicle, it seemed their scrawny little brains were only present for a lazy kill. To bring two heads on silver plates, served to the King which should be more challenging than this.

Tommy’s car was not too far away from the wall of a building with Y/N’s side of the car facing the wall. An advantage for her to sneak out of the vehicle. Also benefitting from the shadow that cast over the car, the rays of light shone upon the opposite side as if they stood under a spotlight, giving her a better chance at an angle she could work with.

Landing on the floor with gentle movements like a cat, she crouched down before opening the back door. Finn, who had already twirled to his stomach, watched as she successfully dragged the bag from the back seat, “Y/N,” He whispered, calling out her name as if a lost child to his mother. She snapped her head to face him. “I can’t just wait here while you out there.”

Nearly moved by his thoughtfulness, she stared at him blankly before realizing a fault, “Ah, right,” A twinkle sparked on Finn’s face when it seemed she had given him the chance to participate. However, it diminished when she had tugged her coat to reveal her silky shirtwaist, to only pull out a pistol from her shoulder holster. It then made home on his palm; before he could tug it out of her hand, she stared dead-centre in his eyes. “Remember, don’t even try to look at them. Tommy will hang me if anything was to happen to you.”

Even though he was disappointed he had been treated like a mere child who was being watched by his brother’s friend, he nodded in understanding. Shivers crawled up his spine once again as the tone of her voice brushed against his back with frigid touches.

Strapping the bags open, the scent of leather filled her lungs with a tinge of metal lingering on her tongue. The rifle was lodged on her lap. Thrusting the safety lock back into the bag, a clash banged onto the stone pavement. Thankfully, it was overlapped by an abrupt commotion at the end of the block.

“Finn, take this,” Handing the leather bag to the young man, she watched as he pulled it into the vehicle. “On my signal.”

Like a duck, Y/N waddled towards the back tire. Her golden compact mirror in her left hand while her rifle in the other, she positioned the mirror to see the two individuals under the moonlight. They stood behind the hood of the car with a machine rifle propped on a tripod, the dagger-like ends pierced into their vehicle.

“Now.” As soon as the order was given, Finn, who had rested on his back, raised the slightly flimsy bag into the air. The men who waited for any sign of movement or life caressed the trigger without any hesitation. A long chain of bullets commenced an open fire. If the bag was a creature, it would’ve been murdered with the third bullet which flew through its heart. Not caring to why the shadow had not yet slumped into the seat, their guns continued to ring through her ears. Y/N hovered her finger over her trigger as she angled the scope to her desired spot. Finn’s breathing became heavy as the bullets rammed through the material as if it wasn’t even there. He hadn’t heard a crack from hers yet. Before he had the chance to call out her name as if to wake her up from her dream. A clap echoed through the road.

Bouncing off her rifle, the bullet sprung into the still air like rice on a drum. Twirling like a prestigious ballerina, its toes peaked below, thrusting its heavy body ever so slightly. A heavy thud echoed through the dark alley. The motionless body rested onto the ground with a gushing volcano between his eyes.

Indistinct clutter bounced off the walls. The other man who had watched his accompany fall onto the frigid ground grasped the pistol grip. Y/N’s body snapped to lean against the tire, the rifle rests on her chest as the ballistic man intensely pulled on the trigger. In her head, she was on her knees as she could not risk shifting back into the car for safety. Even a millisecond without the protection of the tires, she was exposed to the gunfire. A wince fell off her lips as a clash of bullet met with the ground before reflecting to ting with the brick wall.

For Finn, it felt like hours; however, the boy had not experienced the bloody rain of war. Before she knew it, the raining of furious bullets had halted. A groan of irritation echoed from the corner of the building. The gun must’ve overheated. Peeking over her shoulder to take a rapid glance at the corner, the man had disappeared. Without a second thought, she grasped the ball grip before flicking it shut, reloading the ammo. Squinting her eyes, she hovered her scope over the tires. Another clap resounded off the walls. A cry burst from the tire that had begun to sink the balance of the car onto the ground. There was no angle she could shoot the man if she hadn’t moved from her position, hasty stomping faded away from the scene.

“Fuck.” Y/N uttered under her breath before she made a sprint towards the running body, her fingers wrapped around the other pistol in her holster. The rifle she had used was thrown to clash against the floor.

Noticing the haunting silence, Finn made a silent prayer before he sat on prickling seat. Through the smashed glass, the dagger-like ends met to a point for him to see the woman running away from the car, “Y/N!” Finn yelled at the top of his lungs, not caring that he might’ve had a bullet targeted on him.

“No! You stay there!” She ordered before running over the bridge that curved over the canal. Leaning against the wall of the building, she took a peek at the gun that sat on the hood of their Model T. When entering the firearm business, an eye that twinkled with gold could read the gun as if it was a person. And read the gun she did. It was a Benét-Mercié. A French design. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she took a glance at the man she had murdered.

His eyes stared into the moonlight, the art she had indented between his eyes was a masterpiece. She had been around and fraternize enough men to note that he was an Italian. She had hopped around with a fair few amount of Italians to reassure her assumption. Although the machine rifle they had used was the gun utilized in the war, it had left her perplexed. Even though the location of her business was in free land America and she had a twinge of experience with the machinery, she could not comprehend to how they had gotten a French gun. Overall, what was an Italian doing with a French gun?

A groan from the narrow alley trickled into her ears, remembering that there was another one to complete the pair. Y/N sauntered with light steps as if a predator had finally spotted its meal for the day. Hasting towards the man, Y/N heard a curse uttered under his breath. Tugging out his hair in frustration, his hairs swirled around his fingers like a whip. His neck nearly snapped as he looked at the peak of the wall, separating him from his ability to escape the madness he had entered.

Finally noting her presence, he turned around to face her. The dread overflowed his eyes as he glanced at the corpse of his accompany. She narrowed her eyes as he pushed himself into a damp corner, cowering away from her. It was as if he was shrinking, a prey to her. To a woman?

“Who sent you?”

For a few seconds, his staggering breathing was the snaring to the incredibly busy road. However, his hands moved swiftly to grab the pistol he had safely tucker in his holster. Y/N’s fingers moved faster. Another press to the trigger and a bullet made home in his arm. An agonizing yell roared through the alley, a pair of legs did not hesitate to start running towards the direction she had sprinted to. The hole in his sleeves made a garnish to his plain suit, the red staining like wine. Red, ancient wine. Kicking the pistol out of his grip, Y/N held her gun’s on his head. Sweat swam down his face as his body made place on the floor. He clutched his hand, squeezing the gushing wound. It was burning like a blister had been rubbed over.

Making her way towards the wounded man, she harshly tugged on his hair, “I said, who sent you?”

He quivered as the cold kiss of her gun pressed on his temple, a battle of whether he should answer her or not was thrown out of the window once he realized he was standing over a string between life and death. Except, he had never seen her ever before. A pathetic yet desperate thought made to his non-existent head. There was hope that this woman was of no power, just another whore to the Shelby’s. Even though he had just witnessed his accompany fall onto the floor with a hole between his eyes, he had tried his hardest to lie to himself that it was all that young Shelby’s doing. In no way was he about to give in, “Sabini! Darby Sabini!”

However, it seemed his tongue had slipped the wine glass onto the floor. A bullet submerged into his skull, snapping his bones into fragments as a burst of blood splashed onto her face, “Y/N.” A gentle voice called her from the entrance of the alley. The woman who had been in the business for several years had to the gentle tone in her life. Unfortunately, it was only resounded by people who had fork-like tongues. Serpents.

This time, it was like a caress against her arm with care as if she was fragile glass. Nothing she had heard of, “Finn.” The young boy stared at her with wide eyes, the gun he held in his hand was clearly of no use anymore. Like an unnecessary amount of jewellery worn on women’s whose husbands danced with the devil, the beads of blood dotted against her skin. Finn glanced at the slumped body. There was only white in his ajar opened eyes, the colour that usually adds an indication of identity had rolled up towards his brain.

Finn liked to believe it was an instinct because he had one older sister; although, a part of his heart opposed to agreeing with the belief. The boy dashed towards the woman, gripping her arms with a slight tug; not too much force to hurt her, “Are you alright?” Turning her left and right to check for any wounds, he was relieved when there was no hole to indicate a bullet had plunged into her.

“I’m quite alright, just a little parched.” Finn chuckled at her sudden appearance of amusement despite her being covered in blood. It must’ve been her careless head to forget the merciless weather Britain possessed, her frigid, shivering hand, made way to rest on his face. Like accidentally electrifying oneself, the boy jumped at the freezing contact.

She tugged her hand away once she had noted the slight tick from his muscle, it was probably uncomfortable on him. Grabbing the two frozen hands into his own, the size of his hands had practically covered hers in one go. Rubbing his gloved thumbs in circles on her exposed palm, he looked down at her to gaze into her eyes. His height towered over her, “You didn’t bring gloves.”

“I noticed,” She mumbled. There was an unexplained glance at his lips. He did too. Without a word, Finn removed one of his hands from hers, leaving the other to warm her up. He tugged out his handkerchief from his jacket’s pocket to wipe the crimson red from her face. Although he had tried his best to not get pulled into her eyes or lips, he had lost. In the midst of wiping the droplets that rested on the corners of her lips, he could not move a muscle.

There were roars in his gut that he couldn’t help but to notice their protest to crawl out of his stomach and to shove him onto her. Although he had pulled himself out from the incredibly enchanting place, she had walked away towards the slumping corpse before he had the chance to proceed. Disappointment engulfed him. The dancing handkerchief tangled with the chilly wind, the white cloth had been stained like a spill. It quivered in the air like a surrender flag, a reminder to him that it was her who walked away, leaving him alone with the fabric he had brushed her skin with. “You know these men?”

“Looks Italian to me.”

“Said Sabini sent them.” Y/N glanced to face his reaction.

“Well then, aren’t they fucked.”

Ringing resounded off the walls of Tommy’s room. Seconds ago, it was tranquil with the indistinct sleep-talking by the clock. Now, all he could see was red. The darkness that confined and comforted him during the night glistened with the light rays from the radiating moon. Glueing his eyes onto the white ceiling, he waited patiently for the noise to stop so he could claim the rare times he would be able to sleep. Even though the air was suited freezing to his content, his seething anger for the attention-calling object warmed the covers for him. The sheets were no longer comfortable. Running his clammy hand down his face, there was always something stopping him from achieving what his heart desired; although, he just wanted a snooze because he had started to notice that he had looked mental (comments by nearly everyone who had the courage to, seeped through his day). Irritation coated his tongue. Bitterness hopped around his mouth when he realized that there were some fortunate people out there who were fast asleep. Then, there was him. A groan left his lips as he had finally been pushed to the edge.

When the hope of silence had not been met, Thomas hurled the blanket off his body. A flood of haphazardly thrown pillows that covered with his comforter caused annoyance to tug onto his ears. His patience had slacked down with a blink of his eyes. Narrowing his eyes onto the obstructive machine, the corners of his eyes were blurry with fuming anger. Almost yanking the telephone with his immense strength, the machine palpitated on the wooden table, swaying left and right like a dancer. Who could blame him? Someone had just disrupted his sleep.

“What?” Tommy sneered with murder dripping from his mouth. His tense grip on the phone could snap the metal in half. Although he wouldn’t usually pick up the telephone with such anger since the line of his work is practically embedded into him, this night, his thoughts were chugging faster than he could swallow down a pint of beer. His head was restless.

The stress in his eyebrows evaporated once a familiar silvery voice echoed through his ears, “Tommy, we’ve been ambushed. Two men.” Even though his grasp onto the metal remained with a constant force, the heat he had concocted sprung into the air once he had realized he could’ve lost two people within a night. His immunity to the frigid floor deteriorated, the floor pierced kisses as if it were incessant stabbing into the numb soles of his feet. 

“Whose men was it?” The clock on the wall of his house groaned, its arms dancing in coordination as it watched the man’s ears fume with anger like a furious train once a familiar name fell off his little brother’s lips.

“Sabini.”

A breathy exhale sunk into the phone, Tommy’s fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to digest the situation. The rumours were true, yet, he sent his guests off without any protection on his side. How could he assume that her three men were enough? He should’ve let someone trail after them, despite her objections. There was already an overflowing amount of issues thrown onto his plate, “Where are you now?”

“Y/N’s lodge. Said that it’d be safer for me to stay at hers for the night.” Finn twirled the wire of the telephone, the door of the bathroom had been closed for a while. 

Tommy hummed in agreement. The late timing of the day restricted his ability to construct words, especially with the fact that another meat had been thrust onto his plate. An exhausted exhale muffled the other side of the line, “Well, she’s right. If those men do not crawl back to Sabini with your head, they will double everything up. I’m sorry to say this Finn, but you’ll have to spend the night there,”

An indistinct mumble escaped Finn’s lips. Before the boy could place the phone back to where it resided, his brother spoke up once again, “Where’d you sent them off to?”

Without any additional word to the vague question, Finn answered with the assumption that there was someone who dared to listen to their conversation, as always, “Y/N had her men come in, showed them the canal.”

“The car?”

“No opened garage, so they made one open up.” A creak from a door trickled onto Tommy’s ears from Finn’s line. 

“I should have sent Isaiah to drive her home.” Before Finn had the chance to react, his gaze flicked towards Y/N. Although it was inappropriate for him to let his gaze linger on her, he couldn’t help but stare at awe. The golden edges of the dress-robe enchanted the translucent material that draped over her shoulders. A faded feminine voice in the distant mumbled incoherently to Tommy’s ears. The man could only make up some words, stitching them in a sentence before the voice was slightly more pronounced. 

“Finn, go clean yourself up, I’ll clean those wounds in a second.” A minute of silence passed. Finn let out a hum once she quirked an eyebrow at him for his confirmation. It was a wonder to how easily she had him with a glance. His eyes followed the woman’s figure before she disappeared into the sliding door of her room.

“Wounds?”

“Nothing serious, just cuts.” Deep down, Finn knew it would not be a simple task to remove the tedious glass shards that penetrated his face. A part of him shook its head, not agreeing with the idea that it would be painless. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow morning.” The call then ended. A shiver tremored through Thomas as he finally realized how chilly his room was. His feet paced faster before he threw himself onto the bed. Within a tug, all the items that scattered over the floor sat back to where it resided. Although the comforter was as soft as he could remember by his late wife’s choice, soft would not be the one to comfort his restless head while two significant people of his life had just been ambushed. Not a wink of sleep decided to greet him.

Staring down at the bustling street even though the moon had made a clear appearance in the night, men had women around their arms as they stumbled down the road. A half tipsy smile was worn on their faces. Y/N watched the lively road, trails of cars and strings of people occupied the area. As she leaned against the window with her arms crossed, she pondered over the saddening news that had cracked over her head like a spoiled egg. There was regret in her chest that roared actively without rest for years- screeching at her to make the simple contact. Now, she could give herself in as she had not landed her ears onto the thought. Despite the day ageing old, the city never sleeps. Oh, how she wished she could see him for the last time. 

Coating her tongue was the ancient red of champagne. Swirling the cup after every dashing thought that sprinted across her head, her attention had reverted towards the day that didn’t seem to want to find an end. A creak of a door echoed through her ears. Pulling her eyes away from the mesmerizing street, she was met with a freshly showered Finn.

Since he had been forced to stay down and not participate in the killing, there was no spill of blood on his suit. It was ideal because the woman did not want to pressurize another shop to open for her to only end up doing a shopping spree. However, it was not the same case for Y/N as her outfit had been splattered with red. So, she wore the other silky shirtwaist she had brought from her recent trip to France

“Hope you don’t mind me using that soap.” The boy mumbled. Thrown over his arm to dangle like a swing was his patterned, green tie, resting above layers of his other clothing that he had decided was not of use to wear. Left in his white shirt and his olive green suit-pants, he scratched the crook of his neck as he wore a sheepish smile at the poor decision he had made. What could he have done? It was the only available option. 

“Absurdly not,” Y/N uttered. As her eyes lingered longer than it should’ve been, she gestured towards the abundant of couches for him to rest on. “Come on, take a seat, I’ll get the stuff.”

Finn rested the clothing on the head of the couch, eyebrows furrowed in confusion when she had hastily placed the cup onto the coffee table before dashing away into her room. He plopped down onto the couch that was richer than the liquid resting in Y/N’s cup. His hands sat on his thighs as he watched her disappear into her bedroom. 

“So, uh, Ms Stein,” Like those pesky squirrels that would dominate the trees in New York with an acorn attached to their hands, the woman rummaged through her bedroom as if she was to find a treasure. Her fingers dug deep in the bag, hands grabbing onto objects that might have possessed the shape of the items she had visualized in her head. As her hand had brushed against a paper-like box, she was quick to yank it out of the bag. “You married?” 

The absence of response had caused the peaks of Finn’s ears to tint red at his pathetic question. Who was he to question her? They were barely even friends. Heck, he had just met her. But she did save him, does that mean something? Peeking her head out from the bedroom with the item in her hand, she narrowed her eyes.

“You see this?” Holding her hand up in the air, she twirled her hand around to show the boy her empty fingers, all her rings had been removed. She thrust the flimsy item onto the glass coffee table, a faint noise resounded by the minuscule object. Entering her room once again, her arms plunged in the massive leather bag to find the next item in her imaginary list. “I would’ve probably been at Rome maybe if that dirtbag had not cheated. Happily married,” Y/N let out an amused chuckle at the absurd thought. ”What a joke.”

“Oh.” Finn mumbled under his breath after realizing he had thrown himself into a hole he could not climb out off. If she had been in the war with Tommy, of course, she had at least been married once. What was he thinking? The air was heavily poured with furious yelling from the road and Y/N’s struggle to get the desired items out. 

“Also, call me Y/N, we’re friends now right?” Finn hummed in agreement as he gawked at the abundant amount of medical items bundled up in her arm. Shock overflowed in him when he realized she had brought all of this in her bag.

“Had you brought all of this? Is it a nurse instinct?” A chuckle echoed from the room, causing a smile to plaster on Finn’s face when he had achieved what he had in mind. A sparkle blared into his eyes when the shiny metal reflected the light rays to him. Beaming his eyes at the off-putting objects, Finn had suddenly become nervous, “Why did you tell me to head to bath first? Wouldn’t it be better if you had removed these first?” His fingers hovered over the glass that embedded his face, decorating his skin like jewels on a mistress’s extravagant dress.

Noticing that his feet could not rest on the ground as his legs bounced incessantly, Y/N held back a laugh, “Needed a clean surface,” She kneeled next to the coffee table and widened her arms, the items clashing with the tables- letting out a horribly written tune. “We wouldn’t want to risk with infections now, do we?”

It was that tone again, he had hated it deeply but all he could do was swallow it before it would climb out of his throat to only be splattered across her face. Finn nodded, oh boy, was he in for a ride. 

Finn sat on the couch with his fingers digging deep in his knees as the frigid tweezers plucked out the daunting pieces of glass. He sat on the couch with his white shirt on, his suit hung up on the coat rack. The blaring air conditioner caused shivers to crawl up his spine; however, thanks to the glass being plucked out of his skin, his body had created enough warmth to heat him up like a fireplace. Iron coated his tongue as his teeth sunk deep into the muscle. Although he had expected about only half a dozen worth of glass shards, it seemed it had beat his expectations to ruin.

“Ow!” He let out the familiar wince. Gritting his teeth so harshly, it was enough for it to wear off like brittle bricks. Despite his luck on trying to concoct a more painful site on his legs by pinching it, his mind always redirected to the obnoxiously close distance between his scarred face and her hands. It was chilly like the night’s wind not too long ago when they were in the ominous alleyway. However, in the comfort of her hotel, it was warm and cosy. Every so often, the metal of the equipment would kiss him, tugging out the embedded fragments. Due to the close proximity, Finn could not help but sniff out the silky scent of lavender. He wasn’t too sure if it was from him but it had comforted him through the excruciating pain.

Y/N huffed at his incessant amount of wincing. She could not believe he had not yet tolerated the pain despite having to pull out a couple already, “Stay still, won’t you?”

The tweezers that rested in her fingers rested over his shoulder. Every time she had gone anywhere close to his face with the equipment, he would flinch away- a repeated task she would have to repeat by shifting closer to him. She rolled her eyes once he had moved a couple of inches away from her. 

“How can I? It bloody hurts.” Finn scoffed, his hands pinched his leg as he tried his best not to touch his face that was still home to a couple of glass shards.

“I swear if you move again.” Y/N declared, her hands ready to remove another fragment from his face.

With another yank of her tweezer, he let out the wince before shifting away. If he had repeated this at least three more times, he would meet the ground as it was the edge of the seat. Frustrated at his actions, her hand landed on his thigh, a bit too close to his liking as her leg was thrown over his so she could ground him on one place. Now practically shoulder to shoulder, Y/N gently rested her hand on his chin. His eyes that gawked at her actions were forcefully beaming at the other side of the room as she restricted his movements, “I told you. If you move, I’ll make a scar on your face and it will not be a good mark for that future girl.”

Before he knew it, she was once again, pulling out another shard. This time, it was different. Her hand made place on the side of his unwounded jaw, making sure he had not flinched. It was like a breezy kiss of a windy day in Birmingham, the scent of the lavender flower swirled through his nostrils. A distraction at the incredibly close interaction. However, before she could pluck out another piece, he pursed his lip. A slip of a giggle rung into the air.

“What’re you laughing at? You big dork, stay still.” Finn mumbled an apology. Trying his best to transform into a serious man, Finn’s back shot straight up. Y/N pulled away, an irritated reaction wore on her face as he had just made her multiply her effort due to his height. It was better when he had his shoulder hunched forward, giving her an easier access to his unfortunate face. He noticed this and pressed his lips shut, attempting to not allow a laugh seep through the cracks of his lips. If it wasn’t for Y/N’s agile pull, she would’ve costed real damage.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m laughing.” Finn gave up, a few beads of tears fell down the side of his face as he began to go insane.

“You’ve gone mental,” The pair chuckle as Y/N clamped onto a rather large piece. Pondering if it was because he had laughed at nothing, which might’ve worn her patience off, the extraction of the massive glass compared to the rest was slightly more painful. When he had let out the annoying wince, she had let out a huff. “Don’t be such a baby, it’s just a pinch.”

His flickering eyes snapped towards her, “I am not a baby.”

“And I’m not a woman.”

“Plus, I think your nurse hands are getting rusty after those years.” With his eyes shut tight, he waited for her to inflict damage from his insult. The tweezers stood a hair’s breadth away from his skin. In an agonizing pace, he opened his eyes to look at her reaction. She stared at him with mouth gaped wide open in disbelief. She could not believe he had just insulted her fine work.

“Hey!” She smacked his arm, Finn let out a laugh to cover the pain. His fingers worked deep to massage the area of tremoring pain. “Fine, you do this by yourself, then.”

Hurling the tweezers onto his palm, she shot up from the couch to walk away. A part of her wanted him to try to clean himself up as she would wander around the room aimlessly. She wanted to hear him whine like the little boy he is. With his length fingers, it curled around her wrist in one go. The warm contact sparked the fire before she was tugged to land on his lap. With a huff, she stared at him with eyes of an owl. Once she realized how incredibly close the distance between them was, she resisted. Trying to tug away from his intense grip, keyword- trying, his grasp held a strong force to keep her in place but not too immense to kiss bruises on her skin. The racing of her heart pumping sang a song in her ears. The sudden close proximity had left in her in a state of shock. How does she respond?

“I won’t be able to do it,” Finn mumbled, his arms resting on her lap before it slithered around her waist. “You do it.” His fingers bloomed open, the kissing of the chilly metal was heated with the warm air. In an antagonizing slow pace, Finn took his time to curl open her fingers so he could squeeze in the tweezer in her grip. Leaning back into the couch, he clenched his jaw before readying himself to go through the torture once again. 

Part 2 | Part 3

[connerhmuu209]

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[hasty-touch]

Here’s what I spent all night doing!!!!!!! A map of Coerthas and Dravania, specifically with an eye to reconciling the world maps and zone maps (and 1.0 with 2.0+) in a way that emphasizes information important to me as a roleplayer, like overland routes and rivers.

Was it worth it? ... Probably not. I mean, I did want to draw my own map for Greening Coerthas purposes but I should have just drawn a messy blobmap instead of trying to do this.

Long long rambling commentary below cut:

Rather than have a continuous overworld, FFXIV splits its world up into many separate maps which players load in and out of at transitions. One of the advantages this design choice gives the map design team is that the zone maps they create for us players to run around in do not need to perfectly represent the way the geography of the world “really” is -- zone maps don’t have to fit together perfectly, don’t have to be to scale, don’t need to cover all the “flyover country” in-between points of interest, and don’t need to match up perfectly to world map art, either.

Some disadvantages of this design choice are... well... the exact same things.

My conclusion, based on my experiences playing and especially working on this map, is that the in-game zones we visit are not meant to be accurate representations of Hydaelyn, like... at all. Instead, I believe that the zones are impressionistic abstractions that represent how the Warrior of Light experiences a region. Distances are compressed, points of interest to the WoL are exaggerated, and everything that isn’t of interest -- people, places, details -- is stripped away.

I remember way back when in Heavensward someone (unfortunately I can’t remember who) pointed out that the exteriors of buildings in Foundation and the Pillars don’t correspond to the interior layouts -- window placements differ, for example. Another example that gave me a particular headache making this map is that the Coerthas River, in CCH, flows from a mountain. If you run behind this mountain, you’ll find it to be a lone peak with no way for the Coerthas River in CWH to connect to it. The river teleported.

It’s true I am complaining about this -- not only does it make reconciling the zone maps with the world maps a miserable exercise, but it’s not really to my taste. I far prefer MMO worlds where you can walk or fly over the whole world, with every place you visit embedded precisely within the world geography, every cranny explorable, each region flowing naturally into the next.

However -- I don’t think that FFXIV’s method is a bad design choice. I actually think it’s the most correct choice, for game design purposes. One is, after all, never going to be able to really represent the whole of a full-size, functional world in a game -- even games that let you wander over the whole planet must abstract to some degree, use shorthand and symbols to communicate things about the world it can’t fully represent, and prioritize what the players will seek out and interact with. So by committing 100% at the start to conveying impressions about the world, rather than having to worry about accurate representation or neat jigsawing, the FFXIV devs can focus immediately and wholly upon shaping the player’s experience and perception of the world. Carefully calibrating travel times. Placing quest and hunt mobs. Engineering vistas. No time is wasted on anything that isn’t part of the product they’re designing and selling: your experience playing the game.

Though... lately, more and more, I’ve been feeling like this is something that I don’t really like about FFXIV. It delivers an incredibly polished, carefully controlled player experience, and the devs put out an immense effort to perfect and deliver it exactly as they intend. They make, for the most part, all the right game design decisions, and FFXIV is exactly what it should be. So much so that I sometimes feel it’s... “overdesigned”, though I’m not quite sure that’s the right word. They focus so much on making the right decisions that I feel we miss out on the weirdnesses, the serendipities, the surprises of a game and world where things aren’t always optimally designed. Sometimes, I think it’s a fair trade (we can’t build our own specs, which I think is the right call, when serious players will all use the same spec anyway while novice players will fall into traps). Sometimes, I think the focus on controlling player experience leads to big mistakes (like, I suspect a lot of problems with Eureka may have come from designing it entirely around “how can we make it take exactly the amount of time we want for a player to grind this stage of the relic”). Sometimes I don’t necessarily think it leads to wrong decisions, but I mourn what could have been if they’d been a little less neat, a little more eccentric. Building a fully walkable world is not optimal game design, but I sure do long for it.

It is not possible to reconcile the zone maps with the world map. However, I am not the first person to give it a good try anyway -- and this definitely not the best job of it that has been done! I studied Linaly Hakuyoko's and this Korean-language one (sadly I couldn't find the original creator) while working on mine, as well as the basic Eorzea/Aldenard map and the region maps that were, IIRC, used as backgrounds for in-game maps in 3.x.

The region maps were clearly drawn on top of the Eorzea map, as the coastlines match pretty much perfectly. I decided to trace my map’s coastline from these maps, but some big problems with reconciling them to the in-game zone maps became immediately apparent.

Here are the region maps with the Eorzean transcribed in English, plus rivers traced from the Eorzea map laid on top:

The biggest problem, for my Coerthas-focused map, was the placement of the western highlands and the Dravanian forelands. Those three rivers that drain into the Strait of Merlthor -- the Whilom has got to be one of those, right? But it’s CWH, not the Dravanian Forelands, that is placed just north of them. These maps also don’t feature, or really have room for, the Swiftrun and Coerthas Rivers. There are also issues like the enormous north/south gap between “Foundation” and the “Pillars”, an artifact of this image being a background for a clickable zone map where those are two separate maps. In “reality”, they’d be pretty much directly stacked.

It was very important to me to include the rivers, and I wanted to connect the Coerthas in CWH to the Coerthas in CCH (something my map senpais didn’t do). I was also interested in figuring out what route we might be taking if we’re bypassing Griffin Crossing.

Here is my Attempt #1 (same as above, just a wider view with fewer settlements showing):

Here’s what I did:

Put CCH in the central bowl suggested by the mountains/contour lines in the Coerthas region map. This might be making the zone map too big (maybe it represents a much smaller part of the world, like in the Korean map above) but this choice put several landmarks in intuitive locations (Griffin Crossing is directly on a tributary of the White Maiden, etc.)

Connected the Coerthas in CWH to the Coerthas CCH and then to the White Maiden at the Yafaem Saltmoor.

Changed those world map rivers in Dravania because they didn’t make sense. I have the Whilom bifurcate, then join again, because both branches of the river are called “The Whilom River” in-game.

Adjusted the Thaliak River to better fit the in-game representation but tried to only make minimal changes.

Problems/questions/self-torture for future nights:

Orientations and distances could match 1.0 and 2.0 game maps better...

I’m not sure how/if CCL’s lakes attach to rivers. Same with Clearwater.

I basically just guessed locations for slapping down settlements in the Shroud. I’d need to go study the rivers a great deal more before being able to confidently place them. (That Korean map I linked above has some great ideas but some of it seems a little strange.)

Unlike the Coerthas region map, the Dravania region map doesn’t make intuitive sense to me. I think if I could confidently place Sohm Al everything else would fall into place, but I mostly just guessed here.

If you happen to have any criticism or suggestions, I’d be very happy to hear them! You are also welcome to use this map for your own purposes. A link would be nice for credit but also (and much more importantly) in case I make an updated, more accurate one. The Shroud section in the corner’s reaaaaally basic right now.

[jarienn972]

Uninvited Company - Part Three

My apologies for getting this final installment of my @ouatwinterwhump tale out a tad later than planned. I was sidelined by a migraine Monday, but I was able to finish it up today and share the conclusion. We left off last week with Emma a hostage and a wounded Killian staring down a wolf. I nearly had to add a fourth part to this to fit everything in (including a little bonus that I threw in at the last minute - sorry Killian).  For those following, I hope you’ve enjoyed the pains inflicted on our favorite pirate.  Once again, thanks to the creators of this fun event and to @the-whumpy-fangirl for providing her beta assistance.

Also on AO3 and FF.net   Part One   Part Two

Hands still cuffed in front of her, Emma faced an awkward challenge rolling up the bright blue tarp as swiftly as her captor would have liked. Answering a question too slowly or not completing a task fast enough earned her a none-too-gentle shove, but so far, the stranger had refrained from actually striking her, although she doubted that courtesy would last much longer. This guy was more agitated now than he'd been when they first encountered him, eager to get moving on his trek towards the Canadian border - one she had no desire to make. She didn't want to venture north because that would take her further from the town line. Further from magic and most importantly, further from the wounded husband she'd been forced to leave behind.

Surprisingly, the stranger hadn't taken her phone. He must have somehow been aware that there was no service this deep into the forest so he wasn't worried about her attempting to call for help. Her brain kept toying with thoughts as to whether the GPS locator inside the device would still work if there was no tower for it to communicate with, but on the off-chance that it did function, maybe someone would be able to find her. Maybe her father, being the often overprotective dad that he was, would become worried when they didn't return by dusk and start a search party? Obviously, it would be better if her message miraculously made it through so David would know they were in trouble, but she couldn't count on that happening.

After the campsite was cleared and all traces of human habitation covered up with dirt or vegetation, they embarked on the journey north once again, following a gravel utility service road. Emma knew that it was at least another hundred miles or so to the border but her captor definitely wasn't equipped to make it that far. He had little water and scarcely enough food for one person, let alone two. There was no logical way they'd manage the several days it would take to reach the destination on foot. He'd been paranoid about cops finding him so there must already be law enforcement out hunting for him. Might there be some way she could convince him to head back to her car? Maybe convince him to drive to the border instead of facing days trying to hike it? This guy wasn't from Storybrooke. He had no idea of how badly she'd magically kick his ass the moment she stepped across that town line. She just had to make him trust her but that would be a difficult task being law enforcement and all…

The sooner she could deal with this unexpected, homicidal third wheel, the sooner she could get back to Killian. She could only imagine how her pirate was faring… Had he regained consciousness yet? Was he getting cold? Blood loss could make you feel colder and all he had was that ratty old blanket stuffed in the backpack. Would he even remember it was there? If the forest canopy hadn't been so thick, she'd half expected to see carrion birds circling above the trees. Killian was alone, bleeding and probably still unconscious in a wilderness full of predators and the mere thought of his situation was conjuring up disturbing images she didn't dare contemplate... Were there bears in these woods? Mountain lions? Another pissed off wraith?

She and her unwanted companion had traveled maybe two miles from the campsite when her alert ears picked up a distant popping sound. It was faint, but it was also unmistakable - another gunshot.

"You have a partner out there somewhere?" Emma asked, certain that her captor would have identified the same sound.

"No partner."

"So, who's out there doing the shooting then? Wasn't me and it wasn't you…"

"Maybe it was your friend putting himself out of his misery."

"My friend doesn't have a gun," Emma stated, putting emphasis on the word friend as she spat it out angrily. "You think the cops are chasing you? Maybe they're shooting at you now too?"

"They wouldn't risk hitting you."

"You don't think so? They don't have the slightest idea who I am," she matter-of-factly reminded him. "From a distance, they can't see the handcuffs to know I'm your hostage and it's not like I'm in uniform here. For all they know, I'm your accomplice. If they're taking a dead or alive stance, you must be wanted for something pretty serious…"

"I killed two people and if you don't shut up and hurry up, I can make it three!"

"Okay, I get that you're obviously on the run and if that's true, there are gonna be cops from all over the tri-state area hunting for you. Probably everywhere from New York to Canada and everywhere in between. You really think you're just going to walk to the border and just hop across? You've got a lot of ground to cover between here and there and you didn't even come prepared! No food. No water. No cold weather gear. Look, take me back to my car and I'll drive you closer to the damned border. You've seen my car so you know that nobody's going to suspect anything. You can hide in the back if we encounter anyone, but they'll just see me as another cop out on patrol."

"And I'm supposed to believe that you don't have a gun stashed in your car or that you won't radio for backup?"

"You can tear the radio out of you want and I don't have a weapon in the car. It's locked inside my gun safe at the station. I didn't plan on needing it today…" The last part was a total lie since both her backup revolver and even a sword were tucked away in the trunk, but if all went well, she wouldn't actually need either.

The stranger thought about her suggestions for a few seconds, then waved his pistol, gesturing back toward the direction they'd just come from. "You lead the way, Sheriff. If you try anything funny, I won't hesitate to shoot you."

"Not planning to try anything funny," she replied firmly, and she definitely meant it. There wouldn't be anything funny about what she had planned for him.

At first, Killian wasn't certain whether he should be terrified or thankful when this latest gunshot sounded. The wolf who'd been sizing him up for a meal hastily retreated into the brush, but considering that the last bullet that was fired in his proximity had left a rather painful hole in his left side, he was understandably skeptical of the shot's origin. The wild animal wanting to eat him might be gone, but there were far more potential predators out there so he had to be leery of whomever was shooting.

"Hook?" he heard a familiar voice calling out his name, leading him to again believe his head could be playing tricks on him. "Are you alright over there?"

"That's up for debate, mate," Killian replied, breathing a sigh of relief as the face of his father in law came into view. "Provided you're not a hallucination, you're a sight for sore eyes…"

"I'm not a hallucination, but as far as the sight for sore eyes stuff, I could say the same for you." David sized up what he could see of Killian's injury, focused on the bloody gash at his temple and the deep blackening bruising surrounding it. "Glad I could scare off that wolf before it attacked, although you look like you've already gone one round with it. What the hell happened to you and where's Emma?"

"Ran afoul of someone attempting to escape the authorities. He shot me and made off with Emma as his hostage," Killian explained.

"Wait - you've been shot?" David asked incredulously. "Is that where the gash on your forehead came from?"

"Afraid that came from a different blow from the same weapon. The other wound's to my left flank," the pirate replied as he raised the wad of blood soaked paper towels he'd used as a compress as much as he could. "Can't get the blasted thing to stop bleeding, but I'm fairly certain I'll survive if I can get back to Emma on the other side of the town line or with the intervention of a physician or someone who's competent at patching things up… Mr. Smee is quite proficient at that should a physician not be available…"

"You're rambling like a drunk," David commented, concerned that Killian's babbling might be a warning sign that he was in shock. His son in law was always a tad verbose, but this was excessive even for him. "I'm going to radio for help. I'd rounded up a few people to aid in the search party…"

"Do we have the entire dwarf brigade at the ready?" Killian asked as David knelt beside him to see for himself just how bad the pirate's injuries were.

"Not all of them," David replied as he moved the makeshift compress away to obtain a better look at the seeping wound. "Damn, this doesn't look good… It goes the whole way through?" Killian gave a single nod to affirm his answer to the question. "How long ago did this occur?"

"I honestly don't know… 'Twas about noontime when we were surprised by the gunman, but I lost track of time after that as I may have succumbed to unconsciousness once or twice…"

"Okay, it's nearly 3:30pm now so maybe three, three and a half hours? We've got to get an ambulance out here… Think you can walk to the road or are we going to need a team to carry you out?"

"I've no bloody idea, Dave…" Killian responded with an exaggerated shake of his head that triggered an immediate bout of nausea accompanied by a splitting headache. "Damn...shouldn't have done that…"

"Well, we can't stay here, so let's get you up on your feet, if we can…" David said as he wrapped Killian's hooked arm around his neck and shoulders to offer some additional support to his impaired friend. He then placed his own arm behind Killian's back so he could help lift the pirate as Killian fought to push himself into a standing position. "Easy…" he urged, not wanting to make matters worse.

Once Killian was standing on his own two shaky feet, David pointed him in the direction of the road. With renewed waves of aches and pains pummeling him, Killian found his train of thought clearing, enough to at least ask the one question that had been swirling around his jumbled mind. "You know, mate, I've been meaning to ask you - how exactly did you manage to find me?"

"Well, I tried to call first, but my calls kept going straight to voicemail and I had this nagging feeling that something wasn't right, especially after reading a disturbing BOLO that came in this morning. So, I pinged the GPS for your last known location and then made a few educated guesses from there…"

"BOLO?" a confused Killian asked.

"A Be on the Lookout alert - you know, those bulletins that come in every morning that Emma ignores?"

"Ah, those electronic Wanted posters? Emma usually tells me to toss them in the rubbish bin."

"Yeah, one of those. There's apparently an escaped killer from Boston on the loose who may be trying to get to Canada."

"Sounds quite a bit like the bloke we encountered earlier and he's got Emma. We need to find her, Dave…"

"You need a doctor. I'll go search for Emma after we get you back to the road and into the hands of the paramedics."

"I'll be fine," Killian insisted, wrestling himself free of his friend's supporting arm and nearly teetering over in the process.

"Damnit, Hook, you can barely stand, let alone walk. You're in no shape to go traipsing around these woods, especially when you're leaving behind a trail of blood that'll attract more predators like that wolf! There are only a few hours of daylight left and only so many viable paths through that forest. There's a service road used by the electric company to reach their towers about a mile from here that runs north for several miles. It's a dirt and gravel road but it would be the clearest route - and one the State Police are well aware of. They've already sent people and helicopters out to patrol the area. Emma's smart. She knows that someplace so open would be the first place they'd start looking for a fugitive who probably doesn't know the area or the terrain so, I think she'd try to lead him somewhere else and I'm betting that it would be back to her car."

"Then we'll go there," Killian stated firmly as he took a few unsteady steps but in the wrong direction.

"It's the other way," David smugly informed his bullheaded son in law.

Killian squeezed his eyes shut, welling with such frustration that his jaw muscles began to twitch involuntarily, but he didn't hazard a response. He turned around without a word, ignoring David's offer of a supportive arm as he stubbornly tried to protect what little remained of his pride. He didn't want pity. He wanted to find his wife and the bastard who'd shot him and then separated her from his side.

"It's going to be a good twenty minute walk back to the car," David continued. "Longer probably at your pace, assuming I don't have to drag or carry you… At least let me help try to keep you on your feet…" He reached out to grasp hold of Killian's arm, but the moment his fingertips made contact with the pirate's leather sleeve, the ground beneath them gave way, sending both men plunging into a dark, subterranean crevice.

The drop itself was approximately ten feet but they slid perhaps another two or three before abruptly slamming to a halt when they reached the bedrock below. Dirt, pebbles and ground cover rained down on them from above, pelting them mercilessly, but thankfully not enough to risk being buried. David landed on his back, feeling every bump and bruise he'd received on the way down as he pushed himself up into a crouch, brushing away as much of the debris as he could while searching for Killian in the dim light. He spotted the pirate lying face down against a debris slope a few feet to his left and while he couldn't see any movement, a low, pained groan let him know that Killian was at least still breathing.

David scrambled to Killian's side, crawling through the loose earth and gravel to reach his friend and get him rolled onto his back so he could discern whether there was any additional injury from the sudden fall. Killian spat out a mouthful of dirt and muck as he tried to get his throbbing head to make sense of what had just happened. He wanted to sit up, but found himself clenching his teeth in agony when he moved too rapidly so he relented and conceded defeat, remaining lying on his backside, partially supported by a pile of fallen rocks and earth.

"You okay?" David asked, seeing the debris clinging to Killian's head wound but unable to locate any other visible wound.

Killian winced as he tried to take a deep breath, clutching tightly to his injured side. "Quite certain I've bruised a few ribs on that unexpected descent and I'm fairly certain that my left leg is broken. Hurts like the devil and I can scarcely move it…"

"Don't then," David stated, digging his cell phone from his pocket to make use of its flashlight feature. "Let me see if I can tell how bad it is…" Shining the tiny but extremely bright light towards Killian's leg, he could see that the dark denim was torn open across his shin. He was relieved not to find any bone protruding from the skin, but aside from bruising and a deep abrasion, he couldn't make out anything else. "I can't really tell, but I'm gonna have to find a way out of this hole so I can go get help."

"Aye," Killian sighed, recognizing that he wouldn't be going anywhere for a while. "There has to be some way to crawl back up topside. Any thoughts on what just happened though? I didn't think that earthquakes were common in this realm…"

"No, earthquakes aren't that common in Maine, but I doubt that was a quake anyway. Looks like we fell into some sort of sinkhole or collapsed tunnel."

"Like the mines beneath Storybrooke?"

"Maybe. I don't think any of ours reach this far beyond the town line, but there could be other ones out here. At least it doesn't seem that we fell very far. I think I can climb out with a little help from those…" David shone the light onto the exposed roots of the towering pine tree above their heads. "I can radio for help and get them to bring rope and a stretcher and have them here in a few minutes - assuming the radio didn't break…"

"Go. I'll be here, eagerly awaiting your return…" Killian replied glumly.

"Hey, if it weren't for the fact that I dropped the radio up there, I'd stay with you, but you're not going to be able to climb out of here with a broken leg. I'll try to find something to splint it with while we wait. Believe me, I don't like this either, especially when you're already wounded, but I don't see any other option."

Killian knew there was no other choice, but it didn't mean he had to like it. He shifted his aching body as much as he could, searching for the most comfortable position since he wasn't going anywhere for awhile.

"Would you at least lower down Emma's backpack so that I'll have some fresh water and our picnic blanket to provide some warmth? It's grown rather chilly…"

"Of course. I'll get it down to you as soon as I get out of this hole and we'll get those dwarves here as quick as possible…" Killian might be conscious and talking right now, but David was revisiting his earlier concern about shock. The air temperature had barely budged and the breeze hadn't picked up so if Killian was feeling colder, it had to be from blood loss. The faster they could get him out of the forest, the better.

Emma's feet were aching and she found herself growing increasingly repulsed by - and extremely resentful of her unwanted, unknown companion. Miles north then miles back south hiked with few breaks. God, she really needed to go to the bathroom but she wasn't going to give this SOB the satisfaction. She'd wet herself before she'd allow her captor to witness that indignity. But her advantage at the moment was that she knew she was entering familiar territory and in a matter of minutes, none of this would matter anymore.

They were still approximately a quarter of a mile from the country road where she'd left her car when she could feel her powers tingling within her again. A faint smile crept across her face and in a flash, her restraints vanished. After taking a brief moment to massage her chafed wrists, she unleashed her pent-up fury. Spinning around to face her former captor, she didn't even allow him time to react to the bright light emanating from her hands before she flung him about twenty feet - into the sentinel-straight trunk of an ancient tree that had long ago lost its branches, leaving only a decaying post that resembled a rough-hewn telephone pole. The rotting wood splintered upon impact, but held its ground.

The stranger tried to shake off the blow, glancing up with wide-eyed confusion and even a hint of fear as a length of rope materialized out of nowhere and began wrapping around both his body and the old tree stump, guided by unseen hands. In comparison to his, Emma's eyes were narrowed, glowing with determination and anger, tempered only with the knowledge that she simply needed to immobilize this bastard long enough for the State Police to come get him. Locating Killian was far more important.

"What the hell are you?" the stranger demanded, struggling against the ropes which only magically drew tighter the more he fought them. "What the hell is all this?"

"Just think of me as the last person you wanted to piss off today," Emma hissed back at him. "You're in my town now and this is how I deal with a low life like you…" This time, she didn't need magic to get her point across. A solid right to his jaw sealed the message as he spat out blood, his mouth gaping open when she disappeared before his eyes, leaving only a cloud of grey smoke behind.

After David lowered himself back down into the sinkhole with the pack, Killian had immediately dug for the blanket, covering as much of himself as he could while pulling it up to his trembling shoulders. He'd managed only a few small swallows of water before swells of nausea threatened to bring it all back up, not looking forward to what would come next. David had gone in search of something that might prove useful as a splint so he could try to immobilize Killian fractured leg before pulling him out of the hole, not that there was any method they could use that wouldn't hurt like hell. Despite his nearly supernatural pain tolerance, Killian found himself almost praying that he'd pass out.

By the time the dwarves and two of Storybrooke's paramedics reached the crevice, the pirate was barely clinging to consciousness. David had scavenged a couple of mostly straight, sturdy sticks that he'd secured to Killian's leg using the purloined straps from Emma's backpack. He didn't figure she'd be too upset with him for cutting them off in sacrifice to protect her husband's leg from further injury although David did hope the paramedics would be able to come up with something better to stabilize that limb. In the end, the sticks remained as the splint but adhesive tape replaced the webbed nylon backpack straps.

One of the paramedics climbed down into the hole with David while the other radioed information and obtained instructions from the hospital. Killian was given injections of both painkillers and a mild sedative to take the edge off of the discomfort he was about to experience from all of the jostling that would occur getting him out of here. Once David and the medic had secured Killian into the metal framed rescue basket, ropes were tied to either end of the basket and he was gradually raised to the surface, but Killian wouldn't remember most of that process. He'd maintained his brave face as long as he could, his features contorting in agony with every jerk and thump until a sudden tilt shifted all of his weight onto his injured leg. That slip incited a scream he simply couldn't bite back before slipping into unconsciousness but at least it meant he was no longer suffering the overwhelming discomfort of the bumpy trip to the waiting ambulance.

Once his son in law was stable and on his way back to Storybrooke, David could concentrate on the rest of his task - locating his missing daughter, who he could only pray was in better shape than Killian. He intended to scour as much of this forest as he could until the sun set beyond the mountains so imagine his surprise when he found his daughter emerging from the shadow of the forest canopy. Looking a bit disheveled and utterly exhausted but otherwise unharmed, Emma recognized her father's face and she hurried down the road toward him as fast as her weary bones would allow. As soon as his daughter was within arm's reach, David instinctively threw his arms out, letting her collapse into him while he drew her into a tight embrace.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you!" Emma exclaimed.

"Same here," David replied as he released his hold on her, worried he might have squeezed too tight if she was injured. "Are you alright? Injured? When I heard you'd been taken hostage…"

"I'm fine. I'll probably be covered in bruises tomorrow, but otherwise, I'm not hurt. I can't say the same for Killian though… He was shot and I was forced to leave him behind in a clearing somewhere a little bit east of here… I've got to go find him…" She was rambling anxiously which drew a little chuckle from her father. Her stream of words halted there and her brow knitted in confusion as it wasn't quite the response she'd expected after telling him that her husband and his best buddy was wounded and lost somewhere in the woods.

"I already found him," David informed her. "How do you think I found out about you being taken hostage? The ambulance left here maybe fifteen minutes ago and I was just preparing to go search for you. I had a hunch you'd try to head back to your car…"

"So Killian's okay?" she interrupted. "He was conscious?"

"He wasn't when the ambulance left. I think he reached the limits of his inhuman pain tolerance, but after everything he'd suffered, I'm not surprised. The paramedics were trying to treat the head wound and the bullet wound and see how bad everything was beneath all of the dirt and leaves. We splinted his leg, but they didn't think it was too bad of a break. Of course, they won't know for sure without x-rays…"

"Wait - his leg? What happened to his leg?"

"Oh, right, I guess you wouldn't have known about that one… After I found him, we fell into some sort of sinkhole or something. We both got bruised up a bit, but he landed differently than I did and broke his left leg. Made for a hell of a challenge getting him out of that hole in the ground but he's going to be okay. Why don't you head over there now? I can drive your car back into town."

"I appreciate the offer, Dad, but there's something I need to do first… Maybe you can help me out here… Can you show me to that hole in the ground?"

"Yeah, of course. It's about a mile off of the road, but mind if I ask why?"

"I'm thinking I need a place to dispose of our uninvited company…"

True to her word, Emma left the stranger in the bottom of that very same hole, altering the appearance of the ropes to look as though the wanted man had stumbled into the hole, becoming tangled amongst the jumble of tree roots. A quick spell earlier had put him into a deep sleep that would leave him with no memory of the couple he'd attacked in the forest. David placed an anonymous call to the State Police, pretending to be a hiker who'd encountered a strange man trapped in a sinkhole. He said he'd received a warning from local law enforcement about a wanted felon who could be lurking in the woods and the man in the hole matched the description he'd been given. David said he hadn't approached the unknown man but gave authorities a brief description of the person and detailed enough landmarks for them to find their way to the hole and capture their quarry. David and Emma had no desire to let anyone know that the Storybrooke Sheriff's department had already done the work for them, merely wanting the bastard out of their vicinity.

Emma never did learn the stranger's name, but honestly, she really didn't care. While they would still have to deal with the fallout from their interrupted picnic for a while, the unknown gunman was no longer their problem. She was content to wash her hands of the entire situation and was certain Killian would agree. The State Police could have him and ship him back to Boston after they dragged him out of the ground - assuming no predators reached him first. David had casually mentioned that there might be a very hungry wolf nearby...

Her focus now was solely on Killian, who she discovered was in surgery to repair the bullet's damage when she arrived at the hospital. That news gave her a few minutes to head home, take a much needed shower and get a change of clothing. She stood nearly motionless beneath the stream of water, allowing it to flush away the muck, sweat and grime until she'd exhausted the hot water supply. When she finally declared herself presentable, she made the trip across town to find her husband admitted to a private room, sound asleep with his splinted leg propped atop a couple of pillows while a nurse recorded notes about his vitals into his chart. Gauze bandages were taped over the gash at his temple, covering the now-sutured tear but barely hiding the surrounding deep purple bruises.

Emma settled into the chair at his bedside, wanting to be sure she was here when he woke, but she'd barely gotten comfortable when Dr. Whale appeared in front of her. She hadn't heard the doctor enter so she nearly jumped out of her seat when she suddenly saw his platinum blond head hovering above her.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you, Emma," Whale said sheepishly, always a little leery anytime he had to disturb her since her actions as the Dark One were still very vivid in his mind.

"It's alright, Victor. I guess I must have dozed off…"

"Well, I just wanted to let you know that we got the Captain here all patched up. For now, I just put a splint on his fractured leg since I assume you'll just wave everything away and magically fix it all."

"I'm waiting until he wakes up," Emma stated. "I can definitely heal all of those injuries, but it needs to be his decision. I already learned that lesson the hard way."

"Well, should he choose not to be magically healed, he'll need to be in a cast for at least four to six weeks and then we can re-evaluate. I did pin the fracture to help give it support but mobility could be an issue… Crutches are likely going to be awkward with his…"

"Hook?" Emma finished Whale's sentence when he hesitated. "I'm sure we can figure something out. What about the gunshot wound and the head injury? Any long term issues we'd need to be aware of?"

"I repaired the damage caused by the bullet. Nothing vital was struck, just some minor tissue and muscle damage, but those will heal. I sutured the laceration closed but he's definitely suffering a concussion. We'll keep a close eye on that once he fully comes around from the anesthesia. Overall though, for a person who was shot, suffered a severe blow to the head, and broke his leg falling ten or fifteen feet down into a hole in the middle of nowhere, he's in surprisingly good shape."

"If you say so."

"Anyway, I'll leave you two alone. You can have the nurse page me if you need me."

"Thank you, Victor. We appreciate it."

He vanished from the room virtually as swiftly as he'd appeared, leaving her alone with her husband in the sterile, white room. She leaned closer to the bed so she could reach Killian's hand and take it into her own, squeezing it tightly and clutching his fingers for a while until she realized that she'd been unconsciously tracing his wedding ring with her thumb.

What a hell of a six-month anniversary, she thought. Their wedding night and honeymoon had been delayed by an evil fairy and her unwitting minion and now, their half-year anniversary had been interrupted by a psycho on the run from the cops.

"I swear to you, Killian, for our one year anniversary, we are getting as far away from this place as we can. And if I ever say I want to go picnicking in the woods instead of sailing on the Jolly Roger again, please remind me of this day and knock some sense into me!" Stretching as far as she could without falling from the chair, Emma gave him a tender kiss on his cheek. "Happy Anniversary anyway, Killian."

[fairest]

DIDN’T GO TO TWITTER YESTERDAY - September 12, 2018

Find your country. 

In the American food court of O’Hare’s Terminal 3, eating my bean & whole egg burrito from Burrito Beach, I thought, the Viet Cong were the Dirt Bag left of their time.

Except the Viet Cong knew how to kill red state Americans.

(At that time red states were blue, weird.)

The only thing the Dirt Bag left knows how to do is put two pictures side by side on a timeline.

But there is hope.

Maybe once, in the past, all the Viet Cong could do was tweet, too.

Maybe it’s only the beginning for the Dirt Bag Left and at the beginning there is only talking, organizing.

Right now it’s still the Truman years.

Dewey defeats Truman, Clinton defeats Trump.

Right now it’s still the French colonizing the American mind (all these poems hurt my feelings and all the Marx bullshit) and in 50 years we will find the right American words and we will remember how to die.

Project for an extremely online leftist: Google Image Viet Cong & Google Image Dirt Bag Left and place the images side by side on Twitter.

I have this note here: On the airplane, the milf reads her thriller.

I have this note here from long ago: a male pilot who misses his flight reading a romance novel.

Find your country.

Today, my wife’s 34th birthday, I saw a young man sitting on the curb, coming to the end of a novel.

The streets smelled of a rain that had passed over.

The farmer’s market band was singing: find. your. country. find your. country.

My wife was holding our son.

We were warmed by the cool sun, my honesty.

What my honesty has done to my perception, how it has allowed me to see things which I could never look at, because someone else was looking.

I asked my wife, is that The Corrections or The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay? And my wife said, it’s The Corrections.

Writers always look at the books people are reading.

In fact it’s one of the only things a writer can do.

It is hard for me to edit my novel during this outpouring because the characters in my third person omniscient novel live to deceive themselves, but here, for this waterworks, I am admitting myself (admit one) in the first person.

I was watching the farmer’s market band and thinking to myself, musician is the only honorable profession, everyone else is a scab.

How can you face yourself, sitting there looking at Visio and TweetDeck, when you could just as easily pick up that guitar and strum.

I can still see the couch where I finished The Corrections, a cheap college couch, I cried on the last page.

I only remember one sentence, it’s the only sentence I almost remember from a Franzen novel: ‘she was going to make some changes in her life’.

It comes at the very end. It’s about the character Enid Franzen. Chip Franzen’s mommy. 

The novel ends on a note of supreme, mainstream hope, an almost Bellovian hope.

Nothing says hope more than making changes.

Hope: One day Mr. Sammler goes to bed with the right papers.

Who was the Tolstoy of the Jews? 

Franzen the Great. Our last great male Jewish novelist.

It was also the couch where AbercrombieAnnie1983 (the best screw[s]of my life) told me she had herpes, and I said so I can’t see you anymore (I can’t fuck you anymore) I can’t love you anymore (I won’t fuck you with a disease). 

I can still smell Annie’s pussy and now you can too. It wasn’t odorless like Kardashian pussy, it had a focused smell.

I used to write things like that in MFA school and people would look at me with hatred, disgust, like they were my grandmother, so I tried to stop doing it.

Style is what you are trying to stop doing?

All of that was in my head for different periods of time and different amounts of headspace, standing in the cool sun listening to the farmer’s market band run through the changes for Find Your Country, on my wife’s birthday.

My wife is a the one. 

That’s not a typo, my wife is a ‘the one’.

It took Karl Ove 240 or so pages to leave his wife, go back to his MFA school, propose love to his mistress or some girl he used to know in college…. 

It would take me eleven million words to leave my wife.

It’s just hard to imagine.

When I see my wife’s friends I think, you gals have aged. When I see my wife she looks the same as she did the day before I met her.

As a good man (I am a good man, my father is a great man, my grandfather was an OK man, his father was a bad, bad man) I searched long and hard for a the one and when I find a the one my memory was erased.

Even AbercrombieAnnie1983 (in 2001) is gone.

It takes 5-7 generations for the badness of man to reach full flavor.

For best results, drink 3 to 4 generations per day.

I read a clearly engaging essay yesterday by Charles Finch … who I know in real life … hi Charles ... but he is not the Charles I mentioned yesterday ... who said ... critics are bitter people … about Karl Ove and it reminded me how part of Karl Ove’s Q&A … like when an indie bookstore talks to Karl Ove … what they Q&A about … is that he “gave up” on art.

Like he “gave up” on art the way Henry Miller gave up on art when he broke the sound barrier of the autobiographical novel, but like Andy told me that time in Vilnius, nobody reads Henry Miller anymore, Stuart, and I added in my own head, not even me.

Miller once said it got to the point of madness where no matter what I said about the man I could have easily have said the exact opposite.

Although I’m back in New York … that’s why I was at the airport this morning thinking about the Viet Cong … and I always bring Aller Retour New York in my bag when I come back, although I haven’t opened it for 12 years or so, and I didn’t bring it this time, I brought Eros the Bittersweet instead, which got Burrito Beach red salsa sauce on it and now is kind of fucked up.

Karl Ove fits easily into Algren’s criticism of Henry Miller: the problem with Karl Ove is that he thinks he thinks.

Much more than Miller himself does.

That’s my problem. I think I think.

This reminds me a lot of David Frum.

I feel like I made fun of David Frum the last few days but I don’t know David Frum.

Making fun of people you don’t know is for people who go to Twitter. 

I didn’t go to Twitter yesterday.

Sorry David Frum.

Thought about tweeting yesterday: 

At the Tribeca Target, my wife said even the mannequins are fat now, and I told her she should tweet that. I’m not going to tweet it’s insane that Tribeca has a Target.

I came to this sentence in Charles’ essay, which gave me a painful pang of recognition: writers who leave more questions than they answer.

I thought to myself, am I a desperate amateur who thinks he thinks and leaves more questions than I answer?

I wrote a humor piece … the only literary criticism possible for me … since literature is hilarious … about Karl Ove … this was like five years ago … I wrote it in Managua … because Dario is boring in English … it was about why Karl Ove is famous … because people like to say ‘Karl Ove’ … you know … like the Seinfeld joke about salsa … that people only like salsa because they like to say salsa … you know I’d been to parties … and people said Karl Ove … but when they said Karl Ove they didn’t mean Karl Ove … they meant themselves … like when they say David Foster Wallace they don’t mean David Foster Wallace … they mean themselves … I did a search for the unpublished article a few moments ago … I was going to send it to HTMLGiant or The Awl at the time … I must’ve erased it … if you’re interested, I’ll leave a broken link to it in show notes.

Giving up is something only men can do.

I have this note here: something only men can do.

I have this note here: A list of verbs from mammals before humans that humans can also do but it’s just the kind of “good writing” with “strong, interesting verbs”: crawl, pounce, slither, wag, others? Use them during editing process.

Women are not allowed to give up.

Men are allowed to give up when they want to harness creativity.

That Picasso line … it took me a lifetime to learn how to paint like a child … if a woman said that she would be laughed out of the salon.

Don’t paint like a child, grow up, paint like a man.

Sometimes I wonder if female writers are burning up, they have ten thousand words to go, and they look over at their husband, and he’s fast asleep. 

I don’t give up.

I am trying pretty hard right now.

I detest creativity.

I am uninterested in the expanding of my mind I want a long, drawn out compression that lasts longer they I could with AbercrombieAnnie1983.

Creativity takes me always from behind. 

It’s weird my president is mad at Nike, they make a shoe called Air Force One, then again he likes his own plane.

Creativity takes a step back for a moment, long after I am miles ahead.  

I am scared of creativity. 

American writers spend a long time being afraid of advertising.

It takes an American writer 900,000 private words before they can say to themselves: fuck advertising.

The Charles Mingus composition Myself When I Am Real, how does it go again, is it a vamp or a romp? Is it a song, or a book? 

For the longest time as a child I would think to myself, I am not creative enough.

I believe in God, saints, angles—the triune stumbling block to creativity. But I don’t believe in fairies, goblins, witches, Batman, the ruling class, late capitalism, planets with more than one moon … Luke Skywalker’s farming planet … I never believed that shit.

If a woman gave up on art man would say, cool have a kid.

I have a note here about men’s bodies that make my cock move: the young falafeltarian waiters wear tight white polos. Does a man still starch a polo these days? My fantasy: their nails clipped in half-moons.

I wrote my wife a card for her birthday.

Happy birthday my love. The wine was dark. The food clean. The service sucked. The conversation spoke to us. There will never be another you.

I wrote her a card from our son, too.

I am scared to die for my country. 

My son might not be. 

I wrote it out with my right hand to be cute (editor’s note: the desperate amateur who thinks he thinks asking more questions than he can answer is, IRL, a lefty). 

Writing the card backward was a notable experience.

I fucked up cute all words except the word Mommy. 

I write mommy almost if not equally well with my right hand as with my left. 

Maybe it’s because I have so much hope.

I have so much hope for the world, my son, my wife, my mommy even though she is old.

My mama’s got cancer in her breast, don’t ask me why I’m motherfucking stressed, things done changed.

I hug my wife, between us our son.

Find Your Country.

Hold your influences close.

Hold your closest influence closer.

[globalmediacampaign]

Generating Flexible Random data in MySQL

I was about to benchmark the various compression methods in MySQL ( Via Engines ). But i liked to simulate my own data set similar to a production work load. Well searched for a tool which should be flexible to enough make customised table structure and more. Mysql_random_data_load is a tool from Percona labs used to manipulate random data based on flexible table structure. This seems like a right fit for our benchmarking needs. Let’s explore this tool to work efficiently on it. MySQL Random Data Load : Mysql_random_data_load will load (insert) ‘n’ number of records to the source table and populate it with random data based on data type. So this tool won’t determine the predefined table column or data type like sysbench. It will insert data into the table based on column data type. Thus we can generate random data based on our custom needs. The table can have any number of columns with varied data types, this tool will generate the data based on the data type of the column and insert the data. How it works ? Mysql random data load will load the data based on the table structure mentioned with most of common data type like int, char, text, blob, etc For strings  If field size 10 and 30 the program generates a “lorem ipsum” paragraph having up to 100 chars. The program can detect if a field accepts NULLs and if it does, it will generate NULLs randomly (~ 10 % of the values). Download :- https://github.com/Percona-Lab/mysql_random_data_load/releases Sample Table structure: I have created a simple table with INT , CHAR , BLOB datatypes for a sample use case. mysql> show create table testG Table: test Create Table: CREATE TABLE test ( id int(11) DEFAULT NULL, name char(11) DEFAULT NULL, desg blob ) ENGINE=InnoDB DEFAULT CHARSET=latin1 1 row in set (0.00 sec) Options: Let us have a view at the few important options. Before diving in –debug : From this debug option we are able to get more details about the data loading. The default bulk size is 1000 rows. We can notice in this example below with additional details. When the –debug mode is enabled the progress is disabled. Example : [root@mydbops11 vagrant]# ./mysql_random_data_load test test 1000000 -u -p --debug DEBU[2019-10-09T07:15:14Z] &tableparser.Table{     Schema: "test",     Name:   "test",     Fields: {         {             TableCatalog:           "def",             TableSchema:            "test",             TableName:              "test",             ColumnName:             "id",             OrdinalPosition:        1,             ColumnDefault:          sql.NullString{},             IsNullable:             false,             DataType:               "int",             CharacterMaximumLength: sql.NullInt64{},             CharacterOctetLength:   sql.NullInt64{},             NumericPrecision:       sql.NullInt64{Int64:10, Valid:true},             NumericScale:           sql.NullInt64{Int64:0, Valid:true},             DatetimePrecision:      sql.NullInt64{},             CharacterSetName:       sql.NullString{},             CollationName:          sql.NullString{},             ColumnType:             "int(11)",             ColumnKey:              "",             Extra:                  "",             Privileges:             "select,insert,update,references",             ColumnComment:          "",             GenerationExpression:   "",             SetEnumVals:            {},             Constraint:             (*tableparser.Constraint)(nil),             SrsID:                  sql.NullString{},         },         {             TableCatalog:           "def",             TableSchema:            "test",             TableName:              "test",             ColumnName:             "name",             OrdinalPosition:        2,             ColumnDefault:          sql.NullString{},             IsNullable:             false,             DataType:               "char",             CharacterMaximumLength: sql.NullInt64{Int64:1, Valid:true},             CharacterOctetLength:   sql.NullInt64{Int64:4, Valid:true},             NumericPrecision:       sql.NullInt64{},             NumericScale:           sql.NullInt64{},             DatetimePrecision:      sql.NullInt64{},             CharacterSetName:       sql.NullString{String:"utf8mb4", Valid:true},             CollationName:          sql.NullString{String:"utf8mb4_0900_ai_ci", Valid:true},             ColumnType:             "char(11)",             ColumnKey:              "",             Extra:                  "",             Privileges:             "select,insert,update,references",             ColumnComment:          "",             GenerationExpression:   "",             SetEnumVals:            {},             Constraint:             (*tableparser.Constraint)(nil),             SrsID:                  sql.NullString{},         },         {             TableCatalog:           "def",             TableSchema:            "test",             TableName:              "test",             ColumnName:             "desg",             OrdinalPosition:        3,             ColumnDefault:          sql.NullString{},             IsNullable:             false,             DataType:               "blob",             CharacterMaximumLength: sql.NullInt64{Int64:65535, Valid:true},             CharacterOctetLength:   sql.NullInt64{Int64:65535, Valid:true},             NumericPrecision:       sql.NullInt64{},             NumericScale:           sql.NullInt64{},             DatetimePrecision:      sql.NullInt64{},             CharacterSetName:       sql.NullString{},             CollationName:          sql.NullString{},             ColumnType:             "blob",             ColumnKey:              "",             Extra:                  "",             Privileges:             "select,insert,update,references",             ColumnComment:          "",             GenerationExpression:   "",             SetEnumVals:            {},             Constraint:             (*tableparser.Constraint)(nil),             SrsID:                  sql.NullString{},         },     },     Indexes: {     },     Constraints: {     },     Triggers: {     },     conn: (*sql.DB)(nil), } INFO[2019-10-09T07:15:14Z] Starting DEBU[2019-10-09T07:15:14Z] Must run 1000 bulk inserts having 1000 rows each INFO[2019-10-09T07:16:04Z] 1000000 rows inserted –bulk-size : The bulk size determines the chunk size of rows during bulk loading. In the below example tried a chunk size of 400. Example: [root@mydbops11 vagrant]# ./mysql_random_data_load test test 100000 -u -p --bulk-size 400 --debug ....... INFO[2019-10-09T07:12:18Z] Starting DEBU[2019-10-09T07:12:18Z] Must run 250 bulk inserts having 400 rows each INFO[2019-10-09T07:12:19Z] 100000 rows inserted –no-progressbar By default, it is off. When you enable it. It masks the progress when it is enabled. Disabled ( Default ) : [root@mydbops11 vagrant]# ./mysql_random_data_load test test 1000000 -uroot -pMydbops@11 INFO[2019-10-17T16:28:51Z] Starting   47s [====================================================================] 100% INFO[2019-10-17T16:29:39Z] 1000000 rows inserted [root@mydbops11 vagrant]# Enabled :  [root@mydbops11 vagrant]# ./mysql_random_data_load test test 1000000 --no-progress -uroot -pMydbops@11 INFO[2019-10-17T16:39:30Z] Starting INFO[2019-10-17T16:40:19Z] 1000000 rows inserted [root@mydbops11 vagrant]# –print : This print option used to get the insert query instead of inserting the data to the tables. [vagrant@mydbops11 ~]$ ./mysql_random_data_load test test 10 -uroot -pMydbops@11 --print INSERT IGNORE INTO `test`.`test` (`id`,`name`,`desg`) VALUES  (583532949, "B", "neque cum voluptas iste maiores est reprehenderit."),  (1342458479, "M", "atque sint ratione nisi natus ad assumenda dolor."),  (280366509, "M", "voluptates voluptatum quia rerum minus quis."),  (1801160058, "S", "modi mollitia eligendi odio accusantium."),  (914091476, "T", "aliquam et nam nihil error."),  (1022430181, "J", "qui voluptatem sed impedit nesciunt molestias!"),  (165910161, "V", "necessitatibus consequuntur id cupiditate."),  (1255569388, "B", "voluptate atque consequatur in et."),  (1375471152, "P", "sunt odit aperiam quibusdam in iusto."),  (1705409249, "K", "aperiam voluptas sapiente culpa a sint dolore."); Now it is time to make the benchmarking test case. I have created two tables with same table structure, with different engines Innodb and Rocksdb respectively. I have chose a longtext and blob data types. mysql>CREATE TABLE test1 ( ID int DEFAULT NULL, Name longtext, Image blob ) ENGINE=InnoDB; 1 row in set (0.16 sec) mysql> CREATE TABLE test2 ( ID int DEFAULT NULL, Name longtext, Image blob ) ENGINE=ROCKSDB; 1 row in set (0.02 sec) Loaded around 100M records using mysql_random_data_load on both those tables. mysql> select count(*) from test1; +-----------+ | count(*) | +-----------+ | 100000000 | +-----------+ 1 row in set (1 min 4.13 sec) mysql> select count(*) from test2; +-----------+ | count(*) | +-----------+ | 100000000 | +-----------+ 1 row in set (8 min 7.25 sec) Now the data is loaded to both the table, let see the size of both the tables on disk. Size of test1 (InnoDB):- [root@mydbops11 db]# du -sh . 12G . Size of test2 (RocksDB):- [root@centos13 .rocksdb]# du -sh .7.5G . I have used the default setting for both InnoDB and RocksDB didn’t do any variable tuning for the max compression. So by default 25% of compression is occurring in RocksDB when compared to InnoDB engine. Now i am ready to test further with various combinations with the help of the customised data set by MySQL Random Data load. This is a very simple example you can make further complex table structures with this tool. This tools any one who like to simulate realtime dataset and in performance related data loading .   https://mydbops.wordpress.com/2021/01/07/generating-flexible-random-data-in-mysql/

[mittensmorgul]

Is there anyone delving into the meta of Jack's name?

Okay, first off, friendo, are you somehow hacking into my search history, and into my chattybubble chats with @trisscar368 or @elizabethrobertajones? WELL ARE YOU?! If so, sorry about the spoilers about the fic I’ve been writing... but anyway, YES, in fact, I have been delving into it and just sorta... letting it all simmer...

I know we went into the meanings of Jack’s name back when we first learned he was going to be called Jack... but I went diving through my Jack tag and I just can’t muddle through all that early Jack speculation right now, so I figure I’ll just start fresh here. :P

trisscar368... see this is why i prologued with "meandering off to bed" because even to me i make no sense.  Also "the jack" - playing card?

mittensmorgulACK sorry, I don't know if you already went to bed... But I was thinking "the jack" like a car jack, a mindless tool that enables a human being to raise a car off the ground...

trisscar368*blink*Oh that would make sense too

mittensmorgulor maybe (depending on perspective) a child's toy that really hurts when you step on it

trisscar368Fits with the tool imagesFor some reason my brain is stuck on the jack -> the knave -> the Fool

mittensmorgulor a big jack, like a caltrop

trisscar368YeahThat tooSo many options

I’d scroll back like three days to where I was talking about this with lizbob, because we kind of expanded on this a bit, but until tumblr makes it easier to search backward through chat logs it’s just too much trouble to dig back that far :P

Needless to say, this actually set me off looking for Meaning™ in Jack’s name. Because Jack can mean a lot of things. I’m just gonna copy/paste the definitions from google here, and then have some fun with this:

jack1jaknounnoun: jack; plural noun: jacks; noun: Jack1. a device for lifting heavy objects, especially one for raising the axle of a motor vehicle off the ground so that a wheel can be changed or the underside inspected.

I guess this was why my first thought was exactly the first definition of jack. :P Because how often have we been screeching about how Jack is in fact a mirror for all of TFW? How he’s literally a vehicle for Sam, Dean, and Cas to deal with their own personal issues, inspecting the underside, so to speak, being able to see their own issues that had otherwise been buried or unrecognized. Jack’s doing some pretty heavy lifting in terms of shining lights on aspects of all three of his guardians’ Major Issues, enabling us to shine a light up under there. 

One thing I remember saying to lizbob when I explained this theory is that TFW is finally getting some fresh tires. :P

2. a playing card bearing a representation of a soldier, page, or knave, normally ranking next below a queen.

And here’s trisscar’s theory. I think this definition fit him more back when he was Intern Nougat, before he started seeking out his own hunts, and definitely before he went walkabout at the end of 13.06. But we shall see. He’s still trying to figure himself out.

3. a socket with two or more pairs of terminals, designed to receive a jack plug. synonyms: socket, outlet, plug, connection; "a phone jack"

Well, he quite literally acted as a jack in this sense in 12.19, when he plugged Cas into himself like some sort of cosmic toaster oven and used Cas to roast Dagon for him.

Unfortunately for Jack, Asmodeus tried to forcibly plug into his power (jacking jack, if you will... but you probably shouldn’t)

4. a game played by tossing and catching small round pebbles or star-shaped pieces of metal or plastic; a small round pebble or star-shaped piece of metal used in the game of jacks. noun: jackstone

And this is another one I’d come up with... Jack’s sort of at the mercy of the people around him, and the people trying to “scoop him up” in order to “win the game.” The angels, Asmodeus, Lucifer, and the Winchesters (including Cas) all have different motives for “winning Jack”

But heck, just thinking of a child’s game metaphorically here, Jack has been “playing” with his power for the most part. His first conscious use of it was to “jack” a vending machine to get free candy bars. Sam tried to encourage him to use the non-delinquent school-level performance of power in moving the pencil (still disappointed nobody’s actually said “wingardium leviosa”). But when he forgets, when he’s not keeping mind of his powers and they just sort of get tossed around willy-nilly, hooboy does it hurt when someone accidentally steps on it, you know? (the tattoo artist who got thrown into a wall, the poor security guard).

It’s not one of the official definitions, but since caltrops are also known as “jackrocks,” I’m assuming a connection here. Used in ancient times to slow the movement of troops (by injuring the feet of people, but especially of horses, etc.), they evolved into what we know as “spike strips” that puncture tires during police chases. They’re a vicious weapon, and nearly foolproof. No matter how they’re thrown, they always land with a pointy-side-up. Ouch.

I kind of think that this is how Jack thinks of HIMSELF right now, that no matter how much he tries to do good, all he does is hurt people.

5. in lawn bowling, the small ball at which the players aim.

Now this isn’t something I’m familiar with at all, but yeah. Going along with what I said under point 4 above, pretty much every player on the board right now is taking aim at Jack... poor kid.

6. US informal: used as a form of address to a man whose name is not known. NORTH AMERICAN informal: a lumberjack. archaic: a steeplejack. the figure of a man striking the bell on a clock.

Hit the road, Jack. Jack of all trades. In this sense, it’s interchangeable with such generic terms such as “Buddy,” “Pal,” (pal >.>) etc. But heck, Lumberjack. Now I kinda want the kid in plaid...

7.: a small version of a national flag flown at the bow of a vessel in harbor to indicate its nationality.

Union Jack, anyone? I have no idea how this relates to Nougat.

8. NORTH AMERICAN informal dated: money.

Well, this one must be REALLY dated, because I’ve never heard it before. But Jack and his potential power are certainly being treated like some sort of cosmic currency at the moment, no?

9. a device for turning a spit.

Wow these definitions are getting more and more obscure :P

Can we stick Lucifer, Michael, and Asmodeus on this spit and have a good old fashioned rotisserie? Please? Evil Colonel Sanders deserves no less.

10. a part of the mechanism in a spinet or harpsichord that connects a key to its corresponding string and causes the string to be plucked when the key is pressed down.

well alrighty, then. *thinks about randomly pressing down on Jack and seeing if that plucks his strings* *wonders if the result would qualify as “music”*

11. a marine fish that is typically laterally compressed with a row of large spiky scales along each side. Jacks are important in many places as food or game fish.

http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/tagged/the-fisher-king

12. the male of some animals, especially a merlin or an ass.

I was gonna just let the picture stand on its own, but heck, I looked up some info about merlins:

Merlins are small, fierce falcons that use surprise attacks to bring down small songbirds and shorebirds. They are powerful fliers, but you can tell them from larger falcons by their rapid wingbeats and overall dark tones. Medieval falconers called them “lady hawks,” and noblewomen used them to hunt Sky Larks.

and then for a sense of completeness, i looked up asses too...

Donkeys have a notorious reputation for stubbornness, but this has been attributed to a much stronger sense of self-preservation than exhibited by horses. Likely based on a stronger prey instinct and a weaker connection with humans, it is considerably more difficult to force or frighten a donkey into doing something it perceives to be dangerous for whatever reason. Once a person has earned their confidence they can be willing and companionable partners and very dependable in work.

And... okay both of these descriptions seem apt for Jack...

13. used in names of animals that are smaller than similar kinds, e.g., jacksnipe.

Well, he is the lil nougat son. The tiny smol giant manbabby. 

14. short for jackrabbit.

aka, the hare. that’s a very long article behind the link. For anyone interested. Y’all who get a kick out of Wild Speculation of the “Red string tangles and wild eyed conspiracy theory” variety.

15. US informal: short for jack shit.

Whelp I think this one speaks for itself.

jack2, jak, noun historical noun: jack; plural noun: jacks

1.another term for blackjack (sense 4).

Riverboat gambling, anyone? Lizbob?

2.a sleeveless padded tunic worn by foot soldiers.

I just googled “jack tunic” at first and... then immediately added “historical” and came up with much more apt results :P Basically, it’s a form of padded armor.

jack3verb NORTH AMERICAN informal’ verb: jack; 3rd person present: jacks; past tense: jacked; past participle: jacked; gerund or present participle: jackingtake (something) illicitly; steal. "his MO in the studio remains the same—jack other people's tracks and present them in a new context" rob (someone). "they jacked him for his car"

We’ll see how this eventually plays out.

Honestly, I’m just waiting for someone to say they’ve got “Jack on Jack.”

I don’t know if this is the sort of thing you were looking for, but I had fun researching it all anyway. So, thanks! :D

[anamedblog]

Feline Entanglements – Commons, Compassion, and Care

by Milan Vukašinović, GABAM-ANAMED Post-Doctoral Fellow (2019-2020) 

We need to talk about cats. / Spotted in Tarlabaşı. Photo by author.

 I have been looking forward to writing this post for a very long time, since “[t]hreatened by the normative that cannot offer an alternative to linear history, I never had the luxury of not supporting my own thesis with evidence.”[1] This speculative piece of anti-standard academism for four front paws and at least two voices will actually be a cherry picking of sensorial and intellectual stimuli that washed over me in the last eight months in Istanbul. I will keep the footnotes and references, however, since I always want to say more than what can fit on a regular page.

Plague

While the Great Plague was tightening its grip on London in 1665, and the rich were fleeing the city head on, the city authorities ordered the human population to kill all the domestic animals whose movements could not be easily restrained, since it was thought that pigs, dogs, and cats were spreading the disease. Ultimately, the historians evaluate the number of human victims to be around 100,000, while the number of feline ones goes up to 200,000.[2] We can speculate about the possibility of fewer people dying had they not been ordered to kill the biggest predator of rats, creatures carrying the fleas that the bacteria used to travel around. The human corpses were being identified and counted by plague-searchers—mostly under-privileged women, paid per dead body.

“The female mind is still more subject to these delusions of disordered fancy… Their bosoms are much more susceptible of the injurious influence of seclusion, the contagion of example, and to dangers of illusion.” Thus wrote an eighteenth-century Swiss physician, before presenting the example of a medieval (!) French nunnery, where all the inmates “caught” a mania of meowing individually and collectively for hours on end.[3] This loosely referenced example is still taken as one of the first recorded cases of mass hysteria. The two months of COVID-19 lockdown in ANAMED lead me to doubt Dr. Zimmerman’s conclusions. Namely, none of the four female fellows secluded with me took up my own habit of purring when content and embraced.

Necla Rüzgar, Innerfauna I (2015) Istanbul Museum of Modern Art

Property

Common sexism aside (or maybe not), I would like to make a sweeping generalization. I believe that the unbridled capitalism and the heritage of private property in the “Western world” found an invaluable accomplice in the Cartesian division between (white, male, Christian, well off) thinking matter and the virtually inanimate extended matter. The definition of animals as moving machines, at the time when machines were meant for making money, paved the way for our non-human companions to become first objects, and then commodities. Is it surprising then that the Hayırsızada dog genocide (1910) was conducted in Istanbul at the time when the Young Turks were desperately trying to morph into “modernity” understood as “Western” capitalism? Starving 80,000 urban dogs to death received the blessing from the Institut Pasteur in Paris. Vagabond dogs still have a harder time than cats assimilating into the human Istanbul.[4]

Can animals be commodities? / Spotted in Karaköy. Photo by author.

Despite the fact that the EU Lisbon treaty defines domestic animals as sensory beings, most of the “Western” democracies treat them as property in their legislations. The Turkish Republic, amidst all the visible imperfections of its legal system, strongly opposes that definition. A recent law contends that all domestic animals, be they house-bound, vagabond, or urban, have the right to food, water, shelter, safety, and freedom. Whoever fails to provide them with those things can even end up in prison, depending on the gravity of the offence. Even though animal cruelty is a crime in many Western states, the difference is that in those states you own the animals, while in Turkey you owe subsistence and respect to the animals you don’t own. A laudable legal incentive—arguably barely needed for most Istanbulites at least. Through a dedicated and documented observation of Istanbul’s cats, I’ve come to define their relation to their human co-citizens as one of reciprocal commoning. The ideas of ownership and responsibility seem to fade away next to the ones of community, sustainability, mutuality, and care.

Infrastructure

So, when I would break the weekend COVID-19 curfew in order to fill up old yoghurt containers on my street with cat food, I would find at least some of them already freshly recharged. Still, Burak Taşdizen, a research associate of the Orient-Institute in Istanbul feels that the citizen care for street cats has been affected by the COVID-19 outbreak: “I myself have experienced a street cat running towards me from across the street during one of my walks in Moda, in need of affection if not of water or food. The situation regarding street animals amid COVID-19 has resonated on social media and the Turkish Ministry of Interior has responded very quickly by issuing a letter in order for local administrative bodies to take care of street animals’ needs.”

Cats queuing in a food spot during the COVID–19 pandemic. Spotted in Cihangir Photo by author.

But why do I care what Burak thinks about the urban-cats situation during the pandemic? Because he cared enough to start thinking of them as a topic of his research. More precisely, he is investigating the urban infrastructure that developed around feline Istanbulites (read:cat houses). He told me, in a digital conversation, that he first got this idea while observing citizens’ interventions in public spaces of central residential areas of the city as a part of a PhD-seminar’s[1]walks:“Throughout the interventions that I documented emerged an accumulation of infrastructures built and maintained by the citizens, providing Istanbul’s cats with food, water and shelter. My initial analysis of these infrastructures was based on their temporality and materiality with a focus on their vulnerability in the face of urban currents be they weather conditions or simply neighbors, janitors or passers-by.”

 In what, at first sight, might seem to be unaesthetic piles of cardboard boxes and plastic containers abandoned on the side of the road, Burak sees rational “solutions and designerly knowledge productions”:  Isolation and insulation of “construction” materials, availability of food and water supplies, clustering of individual units in order to stimulate feline sociability and ensure longer habitation.

Temporary assemblage. Spotted in Karaköy. Photo by author.

In-between Burak’s remarks confirm some of my hunches about urban cats navigating that narrow, compressed, slippery ground—the commons ground—situated in-between the private and the public, with regards to property, space, and agency. The municipalities like Kadıköy and Şişli claim in their official communication the public space of the street to be the cats’ natural habitat, and the local authorities their primary protectors. But “infrastructures such as those built on windows, or near apartment facades or in apartment backyards challenge the conventional definitions of street cat’s habitat… and the issue gets more convoluted when cats start moving from the street to common areas (ortak alan) such as apartment backyards, where a more one-on-one care can be developed between the care giver citizen and the care receiver street cat.” – says Burak.

Citizen cat infrastructure has a political note to it, too. Its insertion reclaims the right to the city for its non-human and human inhabitants alike. Burak explains that most Istanbul cat houses are set up through citizens’ initiatives, whether they order them from municipalities or commercial facilities, or construct them themselves. He calls them citizen-led temporary assemblages: “I believe the municipalities and muhtarlıklar could learn from the know-how of citizens (citizen-designers, citizen-caregivers) in shaping a more-than-human Istanbul. Already-repeating design decisions point at tried-and-tested solutions of care [that are] being consolidated and enriched for the well-being of this beloved non- human animal population who has the right to care and life as much as (if not more than) us human Istanbulites.”

Temporary assemblage – adaptation of a commercial product . Spotted in Moda, Kadiköy. Photo by B. Taşdizen.

Another story / why?

But why do these human citizens spend so much money and go through so much trouble? “I think, wherefore they’re mad!” – Descartes would cry. “Can they at least ride them to work?” – Henry Ford would ponder.  During the first month of my stay in ANAMED, Bianca, Güldem, and I went to see Fabrizio Terranova’s Donna Haraway: Story Telling for Earthly Survival at the SALT walk-in cinema. Then I read Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene. “It matters what matters we use to think other matters with. It matters what thoughts think thoughts, what stories tell stories” – Harraway relentlessly repeats while telling the story of sympoiesis, a collective and solidary worldbuilding by humans and non-humans. Is it unthinkable to supplant the story of human matter that thinks the non-thinking animal matter, with the story of (at least) two similar matters that co-create the world (and the city) together, just like that?

Temporary assemblage – weather-proof food place. Spotted in Kuzguncuk, Üsküdar. Photo by B. Taşdizen.

When I ask him “Why do humans care about the cats here? Because of rats? Because of gods?”, Burak says: “Breeding a cat is considered a sunnah: Prophet Mohammad himself befriended a cat named Muezza as has been told. The positive image of cats in Islam, I believe, has allowed cats to thrive in Istanbul and beyond. Still, recognizing that the human-cat co-evolution might have benefited both parties throughout history on more functional terms, I would refrain from interpreting the current street cat-citizen relationship on a functional ground. I think it has to do with the notion of compassion (merhamet) towards animals than anything else." There, it took four sentences to change the story of human and non-human co-existence.

Donna Harraway, Staying with the Trouble, audiobook cover.

Care

I started with Londoners killing cats, thinking they were contagious. I continued with Istanbulites risking fines, arguments, or even contagion in order to feed the cats and give them shelter. I could end with bitter, ironic comments, anthropomorphizing cuteness or violence, or current political contagion blame games. But I choose not to, because this story/history is neither linear nor circular. It’s always fuzzy.

St. Thomas and the rabbit. Spotted in the Crimea memorial church, Beyoğlu. Photo by author.

I want to end with care. So many world leaders used the metaphor of war, and military language in general, to describe the current COVID-19 crisis. The leaders were crying war, while the citizens were taking drastic care of each other. Why does care need a military metaphor to be communicated and taken seriously? Is it hard to imagine it becoming a political concept? Not a soggy abstract common place, but a radical social act? I say care when I mean care. And here, I learned to say cat when I mean care.

Because I spoke with the person whose job is to observe and think about these things, you know, and he said: “In my opinion, Istanbul with its cat houses, provides a fruitful ground to discuss and imagine alternative futures on the cohabitation of domesticated animals and humans in urban environments, reminding us that societies have always been interdependent, and care is vital.”  Thank you, Burak. Care is vital.  

Cat colony in Cihangir. Photo by author.

I want to thank Catie for correcting the text and being entangled in my life here, Burak for the words and the photos, Güldem and Bianca for ideas and feelings, six other lockdown dwarves for making this period livable, and the fat cat from Kallavi Sokak for running towards me at midnight with all his fat flying around him.  

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] T. Serttaş, Foto Galatasaray: Studio Photography of Marian Şahıyan, Istanbul, 2016, 8

[2] L. & D. Moote,The Great Plague: The Story of London's most Deadly Year, Baltimore, 2004; D. Defoe,History of the Plague in London, New York – Cincinnati – Chicago 1894: “It is incredible, if their account is to be depended upon, what a prodigious number of those creatures were destroyed. I think they talked of forty thousand dogs and five times as many cats; few houses being without a cat, some having several, sometimes five or six in a house.”

[3] J. G. Zimmermann, Solitude, London, 1805, 266.

[4] Chris Pearson, “Stray Dogs in Istanbul,” Sniffing the past:  https://sniffingthepast.wordpress.com/2012/05/03/stray-dogs-in-istanbul/.

For another attempt to cleanse the city streets that same year, check out this ANAMED blog post https://anamedblog.com/post/182215613343/whose-streets-are-these-streets.

[5] “Qualitative Approaches in STS: Cyborgs and Technobodies,” Dr. Melike Şahinol, Özyeğin University, Design, Technology and Society.

[cubersims]

I’m the nonny who asked about the tattoos, would you do a picture tutorial on how to create the tattoos using gimp(Without nvidia plugins)? Would mean a lot I’ve been dying to create tattoos for my simmies. Thank you and have a nice day/night x3

Sims 4 GIMP tattoo tutorial!

Of course!! I had a hard time finding it out by myself, but i saw a lot of tutorials and tried a lot of different things!! I can show you how i do it, which isn’t perfect, but it’s ok ( i think at least ) ^-^

I’m gonna link the pics so the post isn’t that long ( sry if this is annoying i just like it better that way ) sry for many of the things being in danish and not english, i can’t change that :(

1. First of all, you need to download a few things:

you can find GIMP here!

a dds plugin for GIMP ( so you can transport the tattoo into s4s ) find it here ( there is a tutorial in the file, which tells you were to put the file )

sims4studio / s4s which you can find here! you have to create an account on the site to download the file, it’s totally safe and quick to do ;)

a map of the sims template, so you can see where your tattoo will be placed, find it here!

2. Find a tattoo you like, i use pinterest to find tattoos, there are tons of different ones on there! 

Keep in mind this tutorial works best with line work tattoos ( example ) 

But if you find something like this ( example ) or this ( example ) it can work too, it just doesn’t show up as well as the line work ones!

3. Install GIMP, s4s, and put the dds file into the plug-ins folder ( pic )

4. Open s4s and choose “cas - create cas standalone” ( pic )

5. Choose any base game tattoo you like and click next ( pic ), which tattoo you pick will determine where the tattoo will be found in game!

6. Then this will come up ( pic ), this is where your sims 4 package will be saved, you can put it where ever you like!

7. Export the current .dds file ( pic ) and open in GIMP!

8. Then import the “female template” pic into the file and remember to place the template under the dds file, so you can see the tattoo! ( pic )

9. Now open up your tattoo into another file in GIMP, and start playing around with the contrast and lightness/darkness of the pic! 

Since i’m working with this tattoo stencil ( pic ) it’s quite easy to make it into a sims tattoo, but if you’re working with a tattoo that has darker backgrounds or anything else i would play with the different settings under “colors”, like curves, contrast and levels until the background is as light as possible, without the tattoo being ligther than black ( idk if this makes sence ) ( example )

10. Now add an aplha layer to you pic: 

“layer>transparency>add-alpha-channel” ( pic ) 

Now you have to remove the whites from the pic “layer>transparency>color-to-alpha” ( pic ) 

Then choose white, now the white background should be removed! ( pic )

11. Now copy your tattoo “ctrl+c” ( or if on mac “command+c” ), and paste it into the first file we made in GIMP, the .dds one with the female template! And make your pasted tattoo into a new layer! ( pic )

12. Scale and move your image to your liking, but remember when using the “scale” tool to click on the chains, so they are pieced together, or else you’ll make the tattoo slimmer!! ( pic )

13. When you’re happy with the placement of your tattoo: 

Delete the “female template” layer

Rightclick on the .dds layer 

Make a new layer from it ( pic ) 

( Make sure that you ARE on the .dds layer or else the size of the pic will mess up and your tattoo will nok work!! )

Then merge the tattoo layer down into the new layer we just created and then delete the .dds layer! ( pic )

14. We’re now done creating the tattoo, click on the “file>export-as” and a window will pop up! ( pic )

You can name the tattoo whatever you like, but if you wan’t to make more swathes it’s easier to give them numbers! 

If you wish to make more swatches you can go through the former steps with a brand new tattoo, or just move the one you already made, and save it as another .dds file!

It should already say “.dds” up in the file name, if it doesn’t you can just click the “choose file” option in the bottom, and choose the .dds file!

15. When clicking export another little window will pop up, it’s very important that you click “BC3 / DXT5″ under compression and check on the “generate mipmaps” or else the tattoo will not work in s4s! ( pic )

16. Go back into s4s ( sims 4 studio ), and press import and choose the .dds file you just made! ( pic )

Then if you done everything correct your tattoo will pop up on the sim! 

It can be hard to figure out where precisely your tattoo will end up, so play around in GIMP, move the tattoo around ( before you come to step 13. ), and find the spot that fits perfectly!

17. You can go to the categories pannel and play around with the settings to match your liking! And now you’re done! Press “save” and it will save your packages where you put it under step 6., this is where i rename the file and i put into the game or i put it up for download!

Hope you guys liked this tutorial, please send me a message if you have trouble following my tutorial or there’s something you don’t understand! ^-^

[superemeralds]

my take on forces

this is gonna be a long and complicated read but bare with me.

I tried to make this as accessible as possible, using images for visualization and very generous spacing between topic paragraphs.

The question I ask is...

Who is this mysterious villain that people call “Infinity” or “Infinite”? What are their powers? What are those cubes? What may have caused Forces to have happened? What will happen in Forces?

I’m going to present multiple theories that I have come up with in the last few hours since the trailer was aired.

Check TLDR at the end of the post if you are unable to keep up with my thought jumping or the way I type. This theory is about 10 or 11 pages long on word.

Going off physical resemblance this villain looks a lot like proto-blaze (as shown with this redraw of the original prototype art)

(the picture shows the villain in comparison to proto-blaze and current blaze)

They have the exact same eyecolor when color-picked, they have resembling hairstyles, they both have a gem located on their chest. The markins on the tail resemble blaze to an extend, but the tail of the villain is broader. Moreover is Blaze not confirmed for forces yet, maybe that would be the big plot twist?

Why would Blaze suddenly be a main villain? Does this even have to be the real Blaze? I mean. The weird hair/quill thing on the head is white, and the mask has bat ears. White fur, bat ears? That is rouge. But it can’t be rouge because of the missing wings and the fluffy tail.

wait. Big ears. Fluffy Tail.

(picture of a fennec fox)

It might be a new character, perhaps a fennec? Huge ears. Typical canine tail. The face shape fits almost too well.....

oh shit guys I’m. I’m onto something here.

Set was a god associated with chaos, storms and the desert. Originally, he served as a powerful protector deity of Upper Egypt. [...] When Egypt was unified and the worship of Horus became dominant, Set was increasingly villainized, particularly after Egypt was invaded by a people who identified him with their own chief god. The most famous story about him is his killing of his brother Osiris for the throne of Egypt and his contests with Horus over it.

Animal Motifs: [...] Possibly a Fennec fox, otherwise it's just called the 'Set animal'

Adaptational Villainy: Originally a protective deity, he was demonized into a God of Evil [...].

(source: http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Characters/EgyptianMythology )

But wait.... Gods? Chaos??? The sonic world is made up of Chaos Energy! And who else is a God? Solaris and Mephiles!

Hold on guys.... Please hear me out on this one, because I might’ve figured this out to an extend.

When i first saw them I immediately got a Mephiles and Solaris vibe. Why? Because of that red eye and the what seems to be green iris. Another hint to Mephiles and Solaris in general is the shape of the quills/hair or this character which looks a lot like a popular perception of the sun vriewed frontal.

and (thanks to @sh4dzi for the hint) who do we know is the sun? Solaris the sun god. Mephiles is one half of solaris. And he said it himself!

He is the sun. He is a being that stands above time. A bridge to other worlds? Mephiles is probably very similar to dark matter. We can’t grasp it, its beyond our capabilities to comprehend because it probably exists within another dimension. As time itself is “the forth dimension” we live in. We can notice the effects that dark matter has on our universe by space time disortions like curved spaces. And as we know, Mephiles is capagle of time travel! Just like that. No chaos needed.

Those cubes that the villain is holding up remind me a lot of the shadow of a four dimensional cube: The Tesseract, also called Hypercube.

(image of the shadow of a tesseract)

(image of the cubes the villain is controlling)

You can clearly see that there is a cube within those cubes, but it is reflected on each side. The confusing part is, that even though we see 3D reflections on each side, we dont see the rest of that 3D object beyond the face of the cube they are reflected on. This is a way to symbolize the fact that there is another dimension within this three dimensional object.

But wait! Didn’t I say it was called a tesseract? Have you heard that somewhere before? I bet you did!

(image of the MCU tesseract)

In the MCU there is an artifact called the Tesseract! What is the tesseract? Simple! It holds the infinity stone of space!

This cube is pure energy, which a mortal cannot hold without crumbling to ashes by the sheer amount of force this relic possesses. This cube controls space itself. It can be used to warp to another place. It can also be used to defend oneself off of enemies energetic attacks. Moreover can it be used to achieve visions from the past, present and future.

How is this possible? Time itself is not a physical dimension, but a dimension of itself. It flows in only one direction and it is ever present. The past present and future exist all at the same time! Does this sound familiar? I hope it does!

(part of the script of the final story in 06, summary below)

Silver wants to destroy Solaris, a creature existing in the past, present and future, a creature standing above time itself. A creature that sees more dimensions than we can comprehend, a creature that sees the multiverse unfolding before themselves. (Hence it wanting to destroy “all existing timelines” ! )

Yes, the multiverse! There is one theory that says that every possible timeline in the universe is possible. every second another alternate universe, and alternate timeline is split from the one you are currently in. Each and everyone of us exists infinite times, in infinite different scenarios, no matter how small the differences!

(the infinity symbol as shown in the trailer)

Infinity. the symbol shown in the trailer. isnt that the name people give our mysterious new villain?

Our villain has access to the multiverse. Their powers reselble the tesseract, they surpass the power of chaos control. This villain has Solaris’ power. to warp and bend space time at their whim. To access the infinite different universes.

This is how they were able to summon all the death egg robots into the city, despite eggman only ever having made one of them!

The time eater only had the power to travel through time, much like Mephiles. I theorize Mephiles to be the god of time itself, and the time eater may perhaps be a part of him. An alternate form? His shadow? We just don’t know. All I know is that Iblis must be the god of space, for iblis and mephiles to fuse and create solaris: The God of Space-Time.

HOLD YOUR HORESE I JUST REMEMBERED SOMETHING

(jet holding the cubic key of babylon garden)

Look at what Jet is holding. The symbolic of the tesseract has been in the games before! The babylonians were an ancient civilization with immense advanced technologies. perhaps they had the key to unleashing the manipulation of space-time? As we can see in riders the babilonians managed to create an infinate space in a castle.

In zero gravity, we see that the Babylonians had the power to defy gravity. We get to know that they had built an engine (the ARKs of Cosmos) that was rendering their Babylonian Garden afloat. (We would know more if Jet had not told wave to shut up)

The ARKs or Cosmos have enormous powers, which the ancestors of our rouges possessed. These powers are: Direct convertion of Mass-energy into other forms of energy and the control over gravity itself.

Together they induce a black hole. Black holes are immense amounts of mass converted into minimal space, making a force so strong that it destroys time itself...... It Destroys space time by compressing everything into a single point in space, into a single point in time. Basically stopping time.

So to think....

Space-Time is the very fabric of our observable universe. If you control space time, you control every possible time line, every possible outcome, every possible universe. Everything.

( “I will be able to control everything and rule the world.”-Eggman)

and

( ”Capture mephiles, you must bring him to me” - Eggman )

This is why Eggman wanted both, iblis and mephiles, in order to complete his machine in 06. To be able to fully control space-time.

He can’t use chaos control himself, and chaos control would never be able to aid him in the massive way he wants things to go down. No. He needs the power of a god.

It is very clear that Eggman has a liking for mythlogy and ancient creatures, possessive of immense powers. (just like his grandfather.. huh)

Eggman is trying to find a way to control space and time. He’s been doing so ever since the beginning of the franchise.

Ever since Sonic 2 he was eager to get the chaos emeralds. In sonic 3 he first learned about Chaos itself and just how much energy it possessed. In sonic CD he already wanted to conquer time and space, hoping that the time stones would aid him.

in every big title that follows, eggman is always out to gain access to mythical power in order to fulfil his wish. Perfect chaos, chaos energy, solaris, dark gaia, wisps, the zeti (or in the end just life force itself). The ARKs of the cosmos from te babylon rouges......

But he always needs someone or something else to control that power for him, because he is unable to himself, being a mere human being.

Hold on. He needs someone else to control the power. He can create the means to control, but he lacks the certain something. Thats what the villain is for....

Did Eggman straight up create them? Did he follow into Geralds footsteps and created his own ultimate life form? Or did he manipulate another being?

I just got a message reminding of those “clues” the sonic social media posted and was reminded of the myth of icarus (thanks @auranon )

(image of crypic message )

The secret lies in the Empire; the Eggman Empire. Which is now the world. Its real. Eggman is the emperor of the world.

We can get it back; the world. The world will be freed from eggman.

The son of Daedalus is Icarus. The Man that used Wings made of wax and featers to escape prison. He was so blinded by his euphoria that he tried to reach the sun. His wings burned away and he fell to his death.

What id this is what happened to our villain? What if this is the point this game is leading to. They are blinded by the power eggman (the father in this analogy) gave them (or improved), trying to either unleash solaris’ full potential, or reach solaris’ level of power.

Even if Solaris was not involved, the Sun symbolic (their head being shaped like the sun) makes sense, because of the analogy to Icarus.

I dont remember the numbers the sonic social media is referring to but if you can find that please add on to this post!!!

You might think: hold on! What does this all have to do with sonic forces?? How does this all make sense? How does this all add up?

Alright my unknowing children i’m gonna present you a summary and a conclusion here.

TLDR; only related to what this all has to do with forces.

I’m strongly going off symbolism here. The villain resebles a fennec fox a whole lot and that mgiht be the key to understanding them and the story, also leading us to the clues as to who that might be, or who they might’ve been inspired by.

Them being a fennec fox might be very well symbolic for their evil being, as Set was later seen as god of Chaos and Evil. Maybe this is foreshadowing what will happen.

Eggman is onthe throne, he rules the world, and that villain is his pawn. He was somehow able to convince this creature to work for him, perhaps by granting, or improving, the incredible power to control the multiverse, and aid him with his goals.

Assuming they derive their power from solaris, or any other ancient relic that would be able to grant this immense power of maybe advanced/enhanced chaos control, they can warp space-time and access the multiverse to retrieve multiple items, such as death egg robots and villains that are not meant to exist anymore, not in the way they are presented in the trailer.

But if we go by the symbolism of Set and Icarus, then the villain will throw Eggman from his throne and claim it for themselves, blinded by power, essentially having used Eggman for their means by obeying him just long enough to reach their goal.

But following the myth of Icarus, something will go wrong. Something is going to go terribly wrong. How? Maybe it’ll end in a black hole, like it did in zero gravity; maybe there will be a space-time rift like in 06. We don’t know yet.

What we know is that we can look forward to this story, if my theory turns out to be even just somewhat true.

Wow that was a lot. Thank you so much for reading! I’ll gladly appreciate to have everyone engage in a discussion by now. I’ll be very happy to answer any questions you might have concerning my totally all over the place theory.

Sources: (in case you want to read up/check the facts or just understand what im saying and where im coming from  better)

(some sources are in german im sorry but you should be able to change the language of wikipedia articles)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dprxYd_16Ck (the trailer itself)

http://de.marvel-filme.wikia.com/wiki/Tesserakt

http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Characters/EgyptianMythology

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ywn2Lz5zmYg

http://www.sonic-cult.org/dispart.php?catid=3&gameid=18&subid=1&artid=4

https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ikarus

[peachytuna]

ASSIGNMENT 3 — VISUALISING INFORMATION

images: critique submission (left), final submission (right)

Documentation

I loved animals ever since I was a child, and I had a lot of animal encyclopedias lying around from when I bought them way back. One in particular, was an atlas of endangered animals — it was a book that I really enjoyed skimming through, so partially for nostalgia’s sake, I thought, “why not do up an infographic pertaining to endangered animals?” I didn’t quite know which animal to do though, so I selected the giant panda on a whim.

Originally, I wanted to do up a timeline infographic that detailed the history of the conservation of giant pandas. But as I started my research and poured through pages of panda conservation history, I realised that a good portion was really difficult to conceptualise into illustrations. There were a lot of, “China set up Reserve X in 20XX in Location Y”, and I was just, “dang, how am I going to create an icon based off of that?” I didn’t have the confidence (and time) to continue pursuing a timeline infographic with that obstacle in mind, so I switched over to a number-cum-informative infographic. I would have loved to explore and played around with timeline infographics if not for the time constraints though.

For the very first draft of assignment three, I stuck pretty close to my original prototype sketch. However, I didn’t account for the fact that digital elements were a lot harder to manipulate than elements on sketch. I can redraw the panda in my sketch over and over and shape it in a way that fits my prototype perfectly in terms of size and placement, but I couldn’t lengthen my panda digitally without it looking warped. Unless of course, I rework the lineart of the panda in Illustrator, which was unfortunately way too time-consuming. Some elements (especially the header portion and the key facts portion) ended up not as satisfactory because the elements to me felt either all over the place or just, too spaced out.

Improvements

After the critique session, I was given four main things to work with:

Firstly, I was advised to rework the header portion. It was a weirdly-placed portion that seemed neither here or there — it cut into both “columns” that I had in my infographic, and was to me, too spacey. As such, I tried editing the header portion in a way that fit it into either of the existing columns. I also tried compressing the title as well in an attempt to “anchor” it, and added a shadow drop to it in order to ease readability and also to make it pop a little more. I was initially reluctant to change how the habitat portion of the first draft looked, but the bamboo forest visual just... didn’t quite work out for my final infographic, so I decided to let it go and change it into the map of China (with the habitats of the giant panda highlighted) instead.

Secondly, I realised that it was difficult for viewers to understand the IUCN red list without a kind of context. As such, I added a legend to the key facts portion for the IUCN red list, which now lists out the different conservation statuses on the list. This hopefully adds more clarity as to why the list is there — to show that pandas are vulnerable in terms of conservation status.

Thirdly, the graph title, “panda population in the wild”, which was initially just awkwardly placed atop the graph, was shifted to below the graph. However, I didn’t quite know if I should left-align the text or centralise it. We are often recommended to left-align, but I tried it and... it made the right side weirdly empty, so I opted to centralise it. I am not sure if that was the better choice of the two though...

Finally, I got suggestions from classmates on the 67 portion. As the words in that segment was in both grey and white, it took a while for some to realise that the words above (67 reserves...) continued to the bottom (2/3 pandas...). It didn’t help that the pie chart from my initial draft separated the two paragraphs of information into two different parts. As a result, I took the advice of some of my classmates, and changed the words in that segment entirely into white. I also replaced the pie chart with three panda visuals — two coloured and one uncoloured — to visualise the “two out of three pandas” more clearly.

Learning Points

Although time-consuming, I had a lot of fun planning and working on this assignment. I had to recall design principles — of balance and proximity, of colour theories, contrast and similarity. Despite having many ideas that I wanted to see in the infographic, I had to learn to select the best few elements and drop ideas that weren’t working out no matter how much I (stubbornly) liked and wanted to keep. As my infographic really looks a little more clear-cut in terms of structuring and the placement of elements, I’m a little regretful that I won’t get around to play more with more creative forms of structures and ways to visualise information. Hopefully, I’ll get to try some of that out in the final project that we have coming.

[robertshugartca]

Welcome to the latest edition of a new series in which...

Welcome to the latest edition of a new series in which I’ll test out a variety of items from different brands that you want to know about. I’ll give you my honest take in my quest to find the best of the best for you, dear reader. WWW Reviews encompasses everything from trends to staples to fashion utility items and more—basically, anything and everything a fashion girl would want to know about. Next up: leggings.

Aside from being the stretchy pants I wear to exercise, leggings weren’t something that I gave much thought to until the world became obsessed with them circa 2015. Suddenly, my collection of years-old, slightly stretched-out leggings didn’t feel adequate. And since the legging trend has reached a fever pitch, thanks in part to legging-crazed It girls like Kendall Jenner and Gigi Hadid, I decided that the time had come to put some of the top brands to the test in hopes of finding the crème de la crème. My quest gave me newfound knowledge of what makes a successful pair of leggings, and it also led me to a couple of pairs that check all the boxes. (Although, you truly can’t go wrong with any pair in this batch, depending on what you’re looking for.)

Without further ado, read on to get my honest take that resulted from wearing leggings for approximately two weeks straight, and shop them all for yourself.

Fit: True to size, but the fabric is very stretchy, so consider sizing down if you’re in between sizes. Fabric: Luon . Comfort: The Luon fabric is extremely soft and weightless. It's stretchy without stretching out. Rise: High; Length: 28 inches. Price: $98. The Verdict: 3.5/5. Lululemon has always been my go-to legging brand, but this was my first experience with one of its much-lauded Luon options. While these were incredibly comfortable, thin, and breathable, I found myself wishing for a little more structure in the boot camp class that I wore them to. They’d be great for something like yoga or even just lounging or running errands, as you’re not moving around much. For more vigorous workouts, these might not be your best bet. Fit: These run a bit small, but I didn’t need to size up. Fabric: 86% polyester, 14% spandex. Comfort: The fabric is firm yet flexible and weightless, so I didn’t feel constricted. Rise: Mid; Length: 3/4 (23.5-inch inseam). Price: $85. The Verdict: 4.5/5. I’d admittedly been dying to try this much-buzzed-about brand and finally got the chance to test out the Warmup Leggings and the ¾ Warmup Leggings. The ¾ option proved better for me, as I’m 5'4". These ended up being one of the most flattering pairs that I tried. They feature Outdoor Voices’ textured compression fabric, which made for a very slimming look. My lower half felt almost too compressed at times, but I didn’t mind. They’d be perfect for almost any type of workout or just for going out and about. They’re definitely cute enough for that.  Fit: They’re Spanx, so it’s normal for them to feel a little snug. Fabric: 60% nylon, 40% elastane. Comfort: They’re on the firm side. Getting them on takes some muscle. Rise: High. Price: $102. The Verdict: 3.5/5. If you’re seeking a pair with high-tech shapewear-like capabilities, look no further. Spanx’s Active Compression leggings feature Slim-X fabric that smooths and supports from top to bottom. There’s a wide-set gusset, which adds to the flattering look. That said, they’re not for the faint of heart, as they’re quite firm. I loved that they looked clean and unfussy, despite the shapewear-like factors.  Fit: True to size. Fabric: 84% nylon, 16% lycra. Comfort: Very silky and breathable. Rise: High; Length: 26.75-inch inseam. Price: $198. The Verdict: 4/5. Ultracor leggings are very stylish and feature special compressive fabrics that sculpt the body like shapewear without constricting movement or suffocating your legs. They feature a built-in thong, which helps to achieve a smooth look. The price point is on the high side for these, but they do feel quite luxe, as the name claims, and I loved the subtle star pattern. My take? They’re worth the splurge. Fit: A bit snug. I’d consider sizing up if between sizes. Fabric: 62% polyamide, 38% elastane. Comfort: More supportive than comfortable, but not uncomfortable. Rise: High; Length: 7/8. Price: $100. The Verdict: 3/5. I had some trouble getting these on, and they felt a bit on the thick side. That said, they were very flattering thanks to the supportive yet stretchy construction, a backside-enhancing seam, and the slightly cropped length. They also did a great job of wicking away sweat. These are great Spin class leggings.   Fit: True to size. Fabric: 88% nylon, 12% elastane. Comfort: These were very comfortable. I could barely feel them. Rise: High; Length: 23-inch inseam. Price: $85. The Verdict: 4/5. I’m happy to say that New Balance leggings didn’t disappoint. They’re just a solid, no-frills, sturdy pair. The NB Dry fabric absorbs sweat and resists odors, while contour seams make them flattering and the NB Fresh antimicrobial treatment repels odor and inhibits bacterial growth for prolonged freshness. Win-win. Fit: True to size. Fabric: 87% nylon, 13% elastane. Comfort: The fabric was soft and stretchy, but the waistband felt a bit bulky. (It was developed for yoga practice.) Rise: Mid. Price: $70. The Verdict: 3/5. The relatively low price point is definitely a plus, as was the cooling mesh detail. I would’ve preferred for the fabric to be thinner and a bit more supportive, but for the price, these are tough to beat. I recommend them for yoga or Pilates.  Fit: True to size. (I wouldn’t size up with these.) Fabric: 87% polyester, 13% spandex. Comfort: This was the most comfortable pair that I tried. The fabric was incredibly soft.  Rise: Mid; Length: 25" Price: $97. The Verdict: 5/5. I don’t know how Beyond Yoga managed to make these so comfortable and stretchy yet compressive at the same time. They bunched a tiny bit at the ankles for me, but they’re so tapered that I didn’t mind the look of it. I’ve been wearing these to a barre class, but they’d be great for any other workout or just running errands.  More sizes of a similar style available here. Fit: Size up if you’re between sizes. Fabric: nylon spandex/glossy performance fabric. Comfort: I was pleasantly surprised by how stretchy and soft they were. The high waistband added to the comfort factor. Rise: High; Length: 27.5- to 28.5-inch inseam. Price: $114. The Verdict: 5/5. I suppose the Kendall/Gigi/Bella/Hailey gang circa 2017 is to thank for my curiosity about this model-off-duty go-to pair. The moto detail has a leather-like look, but you don’t even feel it. Besides looking quite elevated, these lifted and contoured to a T and wicked away sweat. They felt almost too cute to wear to a Spin class, but at least I could proudly wear them to brunch afterward.  This post was originally published at an earlier date and has been updated.

Opening Image: Splash News

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Welcome to the latest edition of a new series in which I'll test out a variety of items from different brands that you want to know about. I'll give you my honest take in my quest to find the best of the best for you, dear reader. WWW Reviews encompasses everything from trends to staples to fashion utility items and more—basically, anything and everything a fashion girl would want to know about. Next up: leggings. Aside from being the stretchy pants I wear to exercise, leggings weren't something that I gave much thought to until the world became obsessed with them circa 2015. Suddenly, my collection of years-old, slightly stretched-out leggings didn't feel adequate. And since the legging trend has reached a fever pitch, thanks in part to legging-crazed It girls like Kendall Jenner and Gigi Hadid, I decided that the time had come to put some of the top brands to the test in hopes of finding the crème de la crème. My quest gave me newfound knowledge of what makes a successful pair of leggings, and it also led me to a couple of pairs that check all the boxes. (Although, you truly can't go wrong with any pair in this batch, depending on what you're looking for.) Without further ado, read on to get my honest take that resulted from wearing leggings for approximately two weeks straight, and shop them all for yourself. Fit: True to size, but the fabric is very stretchy, so consider sizing down if you're in between sizes. Fabric: Luon . Comfort: The Luon fabric is extremely soft and weightless. It's stretchy without stretching out. Rise: High; Length: 28 inches. Price: $98. The Verdict: 3.5/5. Lululemon has always been my go-to legging brand, but this was my first experience with one of its much-lauded Luon options. While these were incredibly comfortable, thin, and breathable, I found myself wishing for a little more structure in the boot camp class that I wore them to. They'd be great for something like yoga or even just lounging or running errands, as you're not moving around much. For more vigorous workouts, these might not be your best bet. Fit: These run a bit small, but I didn't need to size up. Fabric: 86% polyester, 14% spandex. Comfort: The fabric is firm yet flexible and weightless, so I didn't feel constricted. Rise: Mid; Length: 3/4 (23.5-inch inseam). Price: $85. The Verdict: 4.5/5. I'd admittedly been dying to try this much-buzzed-about brand and finally got the chance to test out the Warmup Leggings and the 3/4 Warmup Leggings. The 3/4 option proved better for me, as I'm 5'4". These ended up being one of the most flattering pairs that I tried. They feature Outdoor Voices' textured compression fabric, which made for a very slimming look. My lower half felt almost too compressed at times, but I didn't mind. They'd be perfect for almost any type of workout or just for going out and about. They're definitely cute enough for that.  Fit: They're Spanx, so it's normal for them to feel a little snug. Fabric: 60% nylon, 40% elastane. Comfort: They're on the firm side. Getting them on takes some muscle. Rise: High. Price: $102. The Verdict: 3.5/5. If you're seeking a pair with high-tech shapewear-like capabilities, look no further. Spanx's Active Compression leggings feature Slim-X fabric that smooths and supports from top to bottom. There's a wide-set gusset, which adds to the flattering look. That said, they're not for the faint of heart, as they're quite firm. I loved that they looked clean and unfussy, despite the shapewear-like factors.  Fit: True to size. Fabric: 84% nylon, 16% lycra. Comfort: Very silky and breathable. Rise: High; Length: 26.75-inch inseam. Price: $198. The Verdict: 4/5. Ultracor leggings are very stylish and feature special compressive fabrics that sculpt the body like shapewear without constricting movement or suffocating your legs. They feature a built-in thong, which helps to achieve a smooth look. The price point is on the high side for these, but they do feel quite luxe, as the name claims, and I loved the subtle star pattern. My take? They're worth the splurge. Fit: A bit snug. I'd consider sizing up if between sizes. Fabric: 62% polyamide, 38% elastane. Comfort: More supportive than comfortable, but not uncomfortable. Rise: High; Length: 7/8. Price: $100. The Verdict: 3/5. I had some trouble getting these on, and they felt a bit on the thick side. That said, they were very flattering thanks to the supportive yet stretchy construction, a backside-enhancing seam, and the slightly cropped length. They also did a great job of wicking away sweat. These are great Spin class leggings.   Fit: True to size. Fabric: 88% nylon, 12% elastane. Comfort: These were very comfortable. I could barely feel them. Rise: High; Length: 23-inch inseam. Price: $85. The Verdict: 4/5. I'm happy to say that New Balance leggings didn't disappoint. They're just a solid, no-frills, sturdy pair. The NB Dry fabric absorbs sweat and resists odors, while contour seams make them flattering and the NB Fresh antimicrobial treatment repels odor and inhibits bacterial growth for prolonged freshness. Win-win. Fit: True to size. Fabric: 87% nylon, 13% elastane. Comfort: The fabric was soft and stretchy, but the waistband felt a bit bulky. (It was developed for yoga practice.) Rise: Mid. Price: $70. The Verdict: 3/5. The relatively low price point is definitely a plus, as was the cooling mesh detail. I would've preferred for the fabric to be thinner and a bit more supportive, but for the price, these are tough to beat. I recommend them for yoga or Pilates.  Fit: True to size. (I wouldn't size up with these.) Fabric: 87% polyester, 13% spandex. Comfort: This was the most comfortable pair that I tried. The fabric was incredibly soft.  Rise: Mid; Length: 25" Price: $97. The Verdict: 5/5. I don't know how Beyond Yoga managed to make these so comfortable and stretchy yet compressive at the same time. They bunched a tiny bit at the ankles for me, but they're so tapered that I didn't mind the look of it. I've been wearing these to a barre class, but they'd be great for any other workout or just running errands.  More sizes of a similar style available here. Fit: Size up if you're between sizes. Fabric: nylon spandex/glossy performance fabric. Comfort: I was pleasantly surprised by how stretchy and soft they were. The high waistband added to the comfort factor. Rise: High; Length: 27.5- to 28.5-inch inseam. Price: $114. The Verdict: 5/5. I suppose the Kendall/Gigi/Bella/Hailey gang circa 2017 is to thank for my curiosity about this model-off-duty go-to pair. The moto detail has a leather-like look, but you don't even feel it. Besides looking quite elevated, these lifted and contoured to a T and wicked away sweat. They felt almost too cute to wear to a Spin class, but at least I could proudly wear them to brunch afterward.  This post was originally published at an earlier date and has been updated. Opening Image: Splash News