#ideas subject to change as I see fit I just love to rotate them

[becauseplot]

Hi thinking about my post-osnf au again, the same one I use in my fic Still Feel. Have some rambles. Spoilers for osnf finale (obv).

(And I guess spoilers for like,,,, tiiiiiny itty bitty details from opd? Nothing story/lore relevant but I thought I’d put it there in case people are trying to go into the next season completely blind, which I can respect. I’m the same way lol.)

Thiago survives destroying Santo Berço, but he’s gravely injured to the point where he’s not going to be well enough to travel for a while, and while no one in Equipe E wants to leave him alone, they need to report to Veríssimo ASAP. Thus, Liz hands over her investigation notes to the boys and stays in Carpazinha to once again sit vigil at Thiago’s bedside, and the boys (with Ivete) travel to São Paulo to meet with Veríssimo.

Time passes. Thiago, slowly, gets better. And though he’s finally well enough to travel back to São Paulo, he still needs support in his recovery. Plus, his apartment isn’t great for his condition, as it’s on the fourth floor and sometimes the elevator breaks down.

Liz, meanwhile, now lives in a two story house. One bedroom is used for her actual bedroom with her mother’s old bed (queen sized) that she sleeps in; the other she turned into her office. There is a room downstairs that’s intended to be an office, but she decided it was too small for her purposes and turned it into a storage/guest room where her old bed growing up (twin) is kept. That’s where Thiago ends up staying during his recovery. Eventually, he just moves in altogether.

Even once Thiago is able to traverse stairs with less difficulty and starts to share Liz’s bed (to help deal with his disorienting dreams of the Symbol, and simply because they want to), the spare bed downstairs is still used semi-frequently. Sometimes Thiago’s knees lock up or his pain is too much or his body gets too tired, and stairs are his worst nightmare. Sometimes the upstairs gets too hot for Liz to comfortably sleep, especially with another person in bed with her. (Or sometimes Thiago sees that Liz has overworked herself and doesn’t want to disturb her sleep in case he has a nightmare of the Symbol.) (Or sometimes Liz comes home having stayed out too late and drank too much and doesn’t want to deal with the stairs or Thiago’s scrutiny, or much less his concern.) Or sometimes one of them just needs some space.

Whatever the reason, the spare bedroom is always open for whoever needs it, whenever they need it, typically with no questions asked.

(Even Joui will crash on it sometimes. It often happens when he’s in the middle of or returning from a solo mission, like surveillance or an arrest. His go-to excuse is “I was tired and your place was closer,” and that’s true! Usually! Mostly! A good deal of the time! At least half! And it has nothing to do with the fact that his studio apartment is tiny and lonely—it’s practical for his purposes and also all he can afford right now—and that his fridge has no food in it! And he always cleans the bedsheets and the kitchen for them before he leaves, so it’s a good trade-off anyhow!)

[gamerbearmira]

Hello resident evil au person sorry for the hiatus but I am back! First off I would like to say thank you Soo much for that snippet it was sooo beautiful and well done I've read it like 10 times now and I can't wait to see what you come up with next! also I love what you did with Isabela camilo and Bruno designs they look so cool!

I thought about what you said about the children idea and I agree that it would make sense for her to get them a bit how Alcina got her daughter so I thought about it and decided that Miranda would probably pick three orphaned children around five or younger (I was thinking boys since in the Madrigal family there's a generation of two girls and a boy then a generation of two boys and a girl and then one with all girls but not one with all boys and I don't know it just feels like it completes the rotation if that make sense?)

Their names are Desmond, Cassius and Sebastian they like Alcina's daughters have no memory of their human life and immediately saw Mirabel as their mother they can turn into moths just like she can but it's different species of moths for all four of them Mirabel can turn into the Madagascan sunset moth Desmond turns into the White witch Cassius turns into the Antheraea assamensis and Sebastian turns into the Polyphemus moth. I don't have much for each of their personalities just that Sebastian is a mama's boy and follows Mirabel wherever she goes and does whatever she says and gets jealous whenever she isn't paying attention to him (if it's his brothers his a little more tolerant but after an hour he will start to get huffy). Desmond is a bookworm and will read everything he can no matter what the book is about he also loves to paint play music and to make things out of yarn with Mirabel whether that's embroidering knitting whatever. Cassius is the wild child running around getting into anything and everything he can he has a temper that rivals pepas he has rage fits that he has a hard time controlling and usually goes to Mirabel when he's getting too worked up and she helps calm him down. I haven't thought about what they looked like I thought I would leave that up to you!

As always any and all artwork is appreciated and loved!

YOU THOUGHT I WAS DONE BUT I’M BACK 🙏

No but I am SOOOOO sorry this took basically a month the to get back to??? I was busy a lot of June and the thing is?? I literally started the drawing?? But I got distracted and completely forgot BUT THE ETHAN DRAWING REMINDED ME!! SO WE'RE BACK ON THE GRIND❗❗❗💪💪💪💪

ALSO I'M GLAD YOU LIKED THE SNIPPET!!! Maybe I'll do more hmmmm 🦫🦫

ANYWAYYYYY I finally did Luisa and Agustín. Eventually I'll do all of the family with color, but for now only sketches 😞But I'm glad you liked Isabela, Camilo and Bruno! Fun fact lol, at the time I had redone Camilo's jacket bout 3 times 💀💀

And I did get to do the triplets!! Also I like the idea of three boys, very fitting now that you mention the other gens 🤭🤭

They are very silly...I tried my best to match them based on their personalities. Also note, if they were colored in, their antennae and wings would match the moths, I swear 😭 also I gave them antenna and wings. Because they are still small children being exposed to the black mold 🌚 and I think they'd look more similar to Mirabel in that way. Except Mirabel has dragonfly wings, BUT THAT'S BESIDES THE POINT

An idea I had, like Antonio lol, I think the younger the subject, the more susceptible they are to more physical/openly visual changes. Another fun fact, I almost gave the family members bug parts based on what you discribed them 🪕🪕🪕

ALSO RANDOM QUESTION...but like still related. If there was a family tree (given that this Casita is basically a darker, probably black mold invested version), would it be normal OR.

Would Mirabel be at the top and everyone just below her because, by Miranda's rules, she's technically the head of the house, not Alma. The seniority isn't by age but rather by the fact that Mirabel was named as that by Miranda. Idk, I was just thinking about it 🦀🦀

[inevitablemoment]

Unexpected But Welcome [ch. 1]

Word Count: 540

Warnings: Mentions of postpartum depression, pregnancy mention

Fandom: Ghostbusters

Pairings: Egon Spengler x Cathleen Paige Spengler

I’m a little impatient to get to this era of the Cathleen Lives AU because I feel like GB2 is probably one of the best portrayals of the “found family” trope, and I really want to fit her into that.

I headcanon Callie’s birthday to be in January 1981, so she would be nine years old at this point.

Enjoy!

————————

“... and the alchemist Egon and the scribe Cathleen returned home to their beloved Callie and their family, and the brave knight Winston was reunited with his lady love Tiyah,” Cathleen whispered to Oscar as she carefully laid him down in his crib. “And they all lived happily ever after. The end...”

She stood over the crib for a few seconds to check to see if the two-month-old-baby was truly asleep and hadn’t been disturbed by the sudden change of location. She sighed with relief when Oscar stayed asleep, and opened the door to check on Egon, who was helping Callie with her homework.

Egon and Callie looked up when they heard the door opening.

“Finally got him down,” Cathleen whispered as she exited the nursery.

She did her best to quietly close the door behind her, but it took a quiet snick for Oscar to begin wailing.

“Did Dana cheat on Andre with a Vulcan?” Cathleen asked with an exhausted sigh.

She could certainly understand why Dana was having such a difficult time. Memories of how fussy Callie had been at Oscar’s age replayed in her mind, and she pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes.

Egon looked back at Callie. “Callie, you think you could try to figure this next problem out with what I told you? I need to help your mom with Oscar, okay?”

“Okay,” Callie agreed.

Egon and Cathleen walked into the nursery, and he carefully picked Oscar up. He let the baby’s head rest close to his heart, and quietly made shushing noises, slightly bouncing from his knees as he rotated his body. Oscar began to settle down, his wails settling down into sporadic fussing, which soon turned into contented coos.

Cathleen smiled at the sight before her, and Egon lifted his head up to smile at her, as well.

“Nine years later, still haven’t lost your touch,” she remarked.

“Well, it is always important to keep certain skills honed,” Egon told her.

She could sense that he almost added “just in case,” but decided against it. They had already had such a hard time conceiving before Callie came along, not to mention the doctors had said Cathleen’s uterus was “inhospitable,” so it had been a miracle that she had been able to carry a pregnancy to term at all.

While the two of them had considered giving Callie a sibling in the past, they finally decided that actively trying wouldn’t be emotionally healthy for either of them-- including Callie. She would be able to sense the stress and frustration from them, and they didn’t want to subject her to that. But they did decide that if they were to get pregnant again, they would be happy to have that baby.

For a while, it had just seemed like a fun idea to float around between the two of them, but nothing more than a fantasy.

Until now.

Cathleen’s smile widened as she thought of the thin, plastic stick sitting on the toilet tank in the bathroom at the townhouse, the two pink lines stark and standing out against the white screen.

“Well...” she drawled quietly. “You might have a chance to use those skills more... a lot sooner than you think.”

[feeling-grubby]

Designing Horns

I absolutely love designing characters. I am not a big person of drawing backgrounds and illustrations. I mainly do art so I can show people my character designs because I feel if I were to describe them it will never truly match the image in my head. When it comes to designing trolls, I really like the limited color pallet and trying to make something unique with those limited colors. But by far I my favorite part about designing trolls is the horns. Like when I started to revamp my ocs that is the first thing I did. I sat down and designed their horns first based predetermined things like their sign, themes, animals associated with them, and etc. I really want to show off the horns I made a while back even if it just wips because I just love the ideas and yes, I will go into detail about them.

They are color coded to their sign btw and if go look back on some of the trolls I already introduced you will see that colors go back to normal troll horn colors in the completed designs. It just so people know which character the horns belong to.

This is Rakker Dolika's horns. For his horns I took the bottom part on the left side of the sign and rotated it to be up wards. I thought the design was cute and realized a few hours to days later it looked like snail eyes. He is the least flushed out of my characters, so his horns are subject to change. Rakker's sign I am not sure where it comes from, but it apparently means laughter. Rakker's design is going to be one of the ventriloquist dummies used for comedy skits, so I thought it worked. Like he is a Juggalo so his makeup will reflect that concept.

These are Hollie Mathis horns. The horns are based around the plus sign on top of the m. I took the shape and spilt it basically. Hollie's sign is the alchemy symbol for alum which is a chemical compound to hydrate things. which makes sense seeing how thirsty some of my friends are over her. her design is hot I have been told. Anyways the word itself means bitter salt, I think that kind of fits Hollie personality as she is often pessimistic and can come across as bitter. Alum is also apparently used in a method to ward off evil and negative energy. Which I like to think I incorporated that aspect in the fact of how she is protecting sinner from being killed and hurt.

Sinner Sumter's Horns everybody. For his horns I took the top part of his sign and spilt it. His sign is the alchemy symbol for fixation. fixation in alchemy terms according to Wikipedia states that "fixation is a process by which a previously volatile substance is "transformed" into a form that is not affected by fire. It separates the substance or object and puts it back in the same or different shape at a subatomic level" I really didn't choose the symbol for its meaning or possible symbolism it more so looked like a plausible teal blood sign. but if I was to make an association between the character and his sign it would most likely relate to how he views the 'justice system' due to seeing what exactly justice looks like on Alternia. He is unaffected by people's emotions and situation when people come to him to represent their case due to seeing the ins and outs of Alternia's legal system. Which has also just made him apathic to people in general.

Angora's horns aren't design off his horns like the others are. Angoras is yet another alchemy symbol, but this one mean purification. it also looks a lot like an olive blood symbol. Another thing that also is seen as purifying things is fire. So that fit very well with my little pyromaniac. so, his horns are curved and flat on top that he then decorates with olive-colored candles that he lights on fire. The melting wax I figured would fit the porcelain boll jointed look I was going to give him, as to somewhat match Rakker in a way.

Tikvah my bee gal. For horn design I wanted to not only incorporate her sign but also bee. So, a took the little curvy bits that divided the two hearts and curved it around her head to the front to looked like the molars needs have. And then I took the heart shape and made them to look like antennas. Her sign is the alchemy symbol for hour. An hourglass is usually representing balance and I think that fits with her needing to find balance or her needing to find someone to help balance herself out. She is always putting her work and dreams first before her own mental health and needs. So, I think it fits her pretty well. She also really needs to find time for herself and needs to start making time for people who will help her grow into a better person.

Finally, Maebel Morrii. Maebel sign is one of the symbols used for arsenic when it comes to alchemy. Her horns are the little cross at the bottom of the symbol that I took and rotated it to be upwards. This resulted in cross that I think can resemble tomb stones and references her doom aspect really well. Mabel is a prince of doom, so she often acts like a life player. She uses her ghost powers to talk to the dead and them pass on into the afterlife instead of hanging out on the mortal plane. She uses the knowledge of possibly thousands of lifetimes from helping deceased trolls to guide the living. However, that's not the only way death and doom is weaved into her character. Arsenic is an insecticide and weed killer, something uses to get rid of pest that are harmful to other life forms or possibly just annoyance to people because they are deemed an eyesore. This can correlate with her lusus that needs to devour other trolls and lusi to stay alive. Often killing much of the lower class and bringing to death and doom to caste that high bloods would deem as vermin. So, in the end her sign really fits into all the ideas I had for her character. this is probably such a boring post about going into such small details about my trolls, but I love explaining such little details I have for my characters. I can probably go in-depth with all the concepts for the troll designs I have drawn so far. I also have a few variants horn designs I ended up scrapping before settling on these.

I don't expect anyone to really read this. I just wanted to ramble about this really badly.

[official-weasley]

Love, William (Bill Weasley x OC) - Chapter 6

WARNINGS: minor angst (because I can't help myself), some crying, Charlie being a sweet bean, Bill's wrath

Chapter 6 - George's Plan

Theodora woke up with a headache. She needs to stop sneaking into Fred and George’s room and stay there – working on products – until 4 in the morning. It was a good distraction, it made her forget about how painful it was to be friends with Bill.

Only a few more days until the end of summer and they can return to Hogwarts. She couldn’t wait if she was completely honest. Not only because it’s going to be easier for them to test the products but also because being around Bill was getting harder and harder each day.

A few more days and he’ll go back to Egypt and she can forget about him again – as much as she possibly can.

Working with the twins – being so busy – made her summer go by so fast and with everything that has been going on between her and Bill, she was happy it was going to be over. Next time, she will just decline the twins’ invitation to come to the Burrow. They will see each other plenty while running a shop together anyway.

She was surprised that there was no commotion this morning. Nobody was running down the stairs, nobody was making Mrs. Weasley mad. It was peaceful and rather nice.

Theodora put on a pair of shorts and a tank top and made her way downstairs. She couldn’t wait to eat some breakfast.

The second she got to the lower floor she heard Bill talking to Molly. She stopped, stretched her arms out, and took a deep breath. A few more days of hearing his sweet voice – the voice that gave her butterflies.

“Good morning, dear. What would you like for breakfast?” Mrs. Weasley greeted her with the warmest smile.

“Some eggs and bacon if it’s not much trouble.” Theodora yawned and walked toward the cupboard with plates.

She took one out, stood next to Molly, and waited for her eggs. She could feel a pair of eyes on her and when she looked over her shoulder she saw Bill leaning on his elbow, watching her. He quickly got back to his food when she caught him and she turned around to see if her eggs were done.

The gesture usually made her giggle as she often saw Bill observing her like that but at this point, it was just painful. That didn’t mean she could stop her cheeks from turning red. She wanted to sigh but held it in her mouth because she didn’t want Mrs. Weasley to ask any questions – especially not in front of her children.

Molly put the food on her plate and Theodora took some bread out of the basket and made her way toward the table. She giggled when she saw Fred snoozing on his arm, extended on the table.

Because her hands were full, she tried to pull out a chair with her foot but before she could do so, Bill stood up and pulled it out for her. Then he took her plate, placed it down for her, and gestured for her to sit.

She did without saying anything and Bill brought the chair – along with her – closer to the table. She didn’t know what to say. She was speechless. What was he doing?

“You look tired, I thought you could use some help.” He whispered to her and smiled sheepishly.

“Th-thank you.” She replied in a rusty voice, still amazed by his gesture.

She took a sip of the orange juice Mrs. Weasley poured for her and looked at Charlie who rolled his eyes at Bill and looked rather annoyed. Perhaps he and the twins finally gave up on teasing Bill.

It was about time.

Not that Theodora minded it – she found it amusing – and she couldn’t deny that she appreciated the boys trying to bring Bill’s attention to her. The twins knew she fancied Bill and Charlie probably wasn’t far behind but it was more than obvious that Bill wasn’t interested in her in that way no matter how much they teased him and she didn’t blame him. She understood that you can’t force attraction and it was for the best anyway.

She sighed in her glass, hoping nobody would notice, and started eating her food.

Charlie glanced at Fred who gently snored, his head next to his empty plate. He tried hard not to lean toward him and push him off the chair – they had such a peaceful morning, he wouldn’t want to make mum mad.

He then looked at George who was switching looks between Theodora and Bill and looked like he was about to throw a tantrum. Charlie nudged him with his elbow and when George looked at him, he raised his eyebrows in question what got him so agitated. George just shook his head, rolled his eyes, and stood up, taking his and Ginny’s empty plates to the sink.

Without saying a word, he left the kitchen. Charlie turned to Theodora and Bill. The former was more pushing her food around the plate, looking miserable and the latter kept sneaking looks at her.

He wanted to walk to them and just press their heads together but thought of a better idea at the last second. He nudged Fred, who woke up with a jolt and glared at Charlie for disturbing his slumber.

Charlie nodded his head, indicating that he should follow him out of the kitchen, and without asking questions, Fred did.

They found George in his room, aggressively trying to open a box of fireworks, sitting on the floor. Charlie pushed Fred inside the room and closed the door behind them.

“What did I miss? What is going on?” Fred asked, sitting on his bed.

“Did Theo tell you anything about what is happening between her and Bill?” Charlie asked bluntly.

“No,” George said in a huff.

“We tried asking her about it but she either changes the subject or punches us in the shoulder, her face turning red.” Fred pouted.

“Why? What do you know?” The twins said together.

“Nothing,” Charlie said through his teeth, “I have about enough of them sneaking looks at each other being miserable.”

“What should we do about it?” Gasped George.

“Do you have a plan?” Fred followed.

“I was hoping that you might come up with something.” Charlie rubbed his chin, leaned on Fred’s desk.

“Didn’t we try everything already?” Fred sighed, trying hard to think of anything.

“The teasing isn’t working, we have to get them to talk to each other.” Charlie thought out loud.

They were all staring at the half-opened fireworks on which George gave up opening before. They didn’t say a word to each other for 5 minutes, trying to come up with anything at all to help their brother and their friend get together.

They hated seeing them struggle like this and they didn’t care about their stupid excuses why they couldn’t be together. They were a perfect fit and the summer won’t end with their longing for each other if there is anything they can do about it.

“I think I might just have an idea that could work!” George stood up.

Fred and Charlie exchanged looks and stepped closer to George to hear his plan.

—

Theodora was sitting on the sofa reading a book with Ginny reading over her shoulder. She found it amusing since her book was about finances and she knew that Ginny didn’t have any interest in that but wanted to read anyway.

She turned the page. Only a chapter to go! She has been so busy this summer that she couldn’t finish one book. What a disaster. Usually, she read the most during summer but she has to get used to the fact that she’ll be busy studying for N.E.W.T.s and looking for a location for their shop.

“Theo!” She lifted her head automatically, hearing her name.

She looked at her watch. An hour and a half of nobody bothering her – that was definitely a record. She waited for Fred to speak further.

“Come here for a sec, will you?” George spoke now.

She marked her book and giggled as Ginny groaned, knowing she will leave her alone on the sofa.

“I’ll leave you the book, okay.” Theodora winked at Ginny, making her grin.

She shook her head and stood up. Why Ginny wanted to read about finances was beyond her.

She walked to where she presumed the voices of the twins were coming from. It led her to the broom closet just behind the house.

“What are you two up to?” She smirked at them.

“Oh, nothing. Don’t be afraid, you can step inside.” Fred gestured for her to join them in the small room.

Theodora stood there, her eyes narrowed. She knew her two best friends well enough to know that they were up to something but she figured that the sooner she joins them the sooner she can go back to reading her book.

She squeezed inside – it already being crowded with the twins standing there. They rotated so that she was against the wall and the second that happened Fred and George got the biggest smug expression on their faces.

“Charlie, now!”

The twins ran out and before Theodora could open her mouth to ask what was happening, Charlie showed up, holding Bill tight around his wrists. He pushed him inside, closed the door, and locked it.

“Charlie, what in the bloody hell are you doing?!” Bill shouted, banging on the door.

“You two need to talk!” Charlie replied, the twins laughing behind him.

“Unlock this door now, Charles!” Bill kept slamming his fist against it.

Theodora was leaning against the brooms behind her, her eyes wide and her heart beating faster and faster with each second.

“We are not letting you out until you two confess your feelings to each other,” Fred explained.

“Wha-” Bill stopped banging on the door and turned around, mortified.

Theodora wanted to die of embarrassment. She didn’t know what to do. She was sure that her facial expression matched that of Bill’s and this was probably the first time she was angry with the twins.

She understood that they wanted to do something about it but they took it too far this time and she wanted to strangle them. She can’t tell Bill how she feels, were they mental! She swore to herself that she will keep her feelings for herself and if she ought to ever do it she would want to do it in a more romantic way. And there was nothing romantic about being forced to share your feelings in a broom closet.

“I...” Bill tried speaking but the words just disappeared from his head. “I’m so sorry, Theodora. They, they are just messing around and...and I...” He started to stutter.

Theodora wanted to stop him but didn’t know how. She could see that he was just as uncomfortable as she was and she couldn’t think of anything to say to make the situation better.

“You know they are just messing around and they are being idiots.” Bill let out a nervous chuckle.

Theodora kept staring at him, her mouth slightly opened, nodding her head.

“They are just bored and...and they don’t know what to do with themselves so they...they keep messing with us and teasing us...but...but it doesn’t mean anything. You have to know that...” Bill took a deep breath.

For a second there, Theodora thought he was going to faint.

“...you have to know that I am aware of the age difference between us and...and I don’t condone this at all and...”

Theodora nodded again, not sure what to do. She opened her mouth a few times to say something but thought better of it. For a split second she thought that her telling him she has feelings for him wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world but seeing the panic in Bill’s eyes, him going on and on about their age difference made her shut her mouth for good.

“I...I know...that I...that you...you’re...” Bill’s stuttering was getting worse and he seemed seconds away from having a panic attack.

He stopped talking, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

“I know you’re too young for me and this,” he pointed at her and then at himself, “can never happen.”

“Uh-huh.” Was all Theodora could muster.

Why didn’t she bring her wand with her? Hasn’t she been friends with the twins long enough to know that she should never follow them without her wand? She could unlock the door and avoid this painful conversation.

“I...I agree with you.” Theodora breathed, swinging her hand as if she’s on board with what Bill was saying.

She wanted to laugh, letting him know that they should just brush this off but she couldn’t get anything out – not even a silent chuckle.

Bill sighed wistfully, his gaze lingering on her just for one more second before turning around and starting to bang on the door again.

“Charles, let us out. Now!” He roared.

Theodora heard the boys’ disappointing groans outside and someone unlocking the door. The second it opened, she rushed past Bill and squeezed through the door before Fred could fully open it.

While getting out, her eyes glistening with tears, she looked at Charlie whose disappointing face changed into an apologetic one the second he saw how upset she was.

“Theo, we’re sorry.” Fred tried grabbing her hand.

“I...just leave me alone, Fred.” She lifted her hand to his face and ran towards the nearby forest.

“Have you gits completely lost it?!” Bill stepped out of the broom closet, his face red with rage.

He has never reminded the twins more of their mum.

“What is wrong with you?” Bill shouted. “The teasing was fine but this...” Bill took a deep breath. “...you took it too far!”

“And you,” he turned to Charlie, “I told you to stop with this madness and you go and pull this off? How immature are you?”

“Haven’t you learned that your actions have consequences? Life isn’t a game and we are not your puppets!” He kept screaming in their faces.

Bill never lost his temper. He was always so collected and cool about everything. He scolded them on many occasions through the years and made them admit their mistakes and learn from them but this was something else.

They have never seen Bill so mad. They definitely took it too far and they already wished that they would just stay out of Bill and Theodora’s business.

“Bill...” Charlie gathered the courage to speak.

“Don’t you Bill me! I am warning you, if you step out of line again or mention me or Theodora again, I will break all of your noses! Got it?” He spat out and rushed to the door that led inside the house.

He slammed it after him, making the whole house shake.

Charlie, Fred, and George just stood there in complete shock, looking at the door.

“We have to go after her, George,” Fred said in a panic.

It was a bad idea. They didn’t think it through properly at all. They never thought it would upset her so much or that Bill would yell as he did or that it would end so badly.

“Don’t.” Charlie stopped them, extending his arm to prevent them from running after her. “I’ll go.”

“But she’s our best friend.” Fred and George said in unison.

“That’s exactly why it’s a bad idea.” Charlie frowned at them. “Let me do it.”

Before they could start arguing with him, Charlie already started in the direction Theodora ran off to.

—

Charlie was wandering by the edge of the forest for 15 minutes before finding Theodora, sitting on a stump, facing away from him. He slowly approached her, careful not to startle her, getting more nervous with each step.

To say that their plan went south was an understatement. Charlie never meant it to get this far and his intention was far from hurting either of them. He was disappointed in himself for acting like a child and not thinking their plan through. Bill should’ve broken their noses without a warning.

He was now standing a few steps away from Theodora, whose shoulders were rising and falling slightly due to her sobs. Charlie’s shoulders sank when he realized she was crying. He couldn’t believe he hurt his friend like this.

He took another step forward, stepping on a twig. The sound of it breaking made Theodora start brushing her eyes with her hands before turning around.

She exhaled loudly, relieved to see Charlie’s face.

“I know you said you wanted to be left alone but can I join you?” Charlie spoke softly.

Theodora sniffed, nodded, and moved over on the stump to give space for Charlie to sit down.

“I’m here to apologize. I am sorry for what we’ve done.”

The sincereness in his voice made Theodora look him in the eyes. She could see how much it pained him and that he truly was sorry for what they’ve pulled.

“It’s okay,” she hiccuped, “it was...funny.”

She didn’t know how else to describe it. She was madder with the twins than Charlie. It was obvious this wasn’t his idea and she appreciated that he came after her to apologize.

“Yeah, I can see how funny it is to you,” Charlie said with pain in his voice.

“Oh, this?” Theodora forced a chuckle, pointing at her eyes. “That’s just allergies.”

“Sure.”

Charlie put his hand on Theodora’s back and swallowed the nerves.

“I know you fancy Bill, Theo.” He said gently.

“It hurt...” Theodora shook her head.

She wanted to hold in the tears but couldn’t. Charlie pulled her in a half hug and pressed her tight against his chest.

“...him saying that out loud. I mean, of course, I knew that I am too young for him but hearing him say it...”

Charlie pushed her away slightly, took a handkerchief out of his left pocket, and gave it to her. Theodora wiped her cheeks with it.

“It’s not like that. Bill’s just...old-fashioned.” Charlie tried finding the right words.

“Oh, don’t give me that, Charlie. You’ve heard what he said – he doesn’t think of me that way. I’m just a kid, his brothers’ friend.” Theodora blew her nose in the handkerchief.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Charlie tilted his head, hoping Theodora would look at him.

“Right. Don’t give me false hope.” She sniffed.

“Alright,” Charlie lifted his hands in defeat, “I’m just saying it’s not like that at all.”

Theodora finally looked at him, her nose red and her eyes puffy.

“It doesn’t matter. At least it’s over with.” She sighed.

She buried her head into Charlie’s shoulder and started crying again.

“Sometimes I wish I was like you, Charlie. Then I wouldn’t have to get my heart broken.” Theodora said after a few minutes of silence.

Charlie put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away.

“Trust me, you don’t mean that.” He said gently.

“Isn’t it better to feel no attraction toward anyone and you don’t have to deal with all these thoughts and emotions?”

“Yeah, it’s really fun at family gatherings when relatives start asking you why are you still single, why don’t you ever bring a girl home, what is wrong with you,” Charlie said sarcastically.

“And then you try to explain that you simply don’t experience romantic and sexual attraction, being proud of who you are, saying it out loud and then seeing their faces of disgust, rolling their eyes, patting your shoulder and telling you you’ll grow out of it and that they can’t wait to get your wedding invitation.” He sighed.

“Charlie...I...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” Theodora bit her lip.

“I’m not emotionless. It doesn’t mean I can’t get hurt by friends or family.”

Charlie came out to her in one of his letters last year and she supported him fully. Unfortunately, she couldn’t say the same about some of his family members. Even though his closest family understood, some of the others had a hard time doing so and brushed it off as a phase. For her, nothing changed. He was still Charlie, her former Quidditch captain, her friend and she regretted saying what she did.

“I didn’t mean it that way at all.” A tear ran down her cheek. “You know I support you.”

“Theo, relax, I know what you meant and I know you didn’t mean it in a bad way.” Charlie bestowed her with a warm smile. “I guess being me has its perks.”

Charlie lifted his chin proudly and made Theodora chuckle. She felt relief that Charlie wasn’t offended by what she said even though she still felt guilty about it. She just wanted to express the desire of not getting her heart broken and comparing that to his sexuality was wrong.

“There you go!” Charlie shook her shoulders, happy to make her smile. “You’re going to be okay, Theo.”

“I just can’t stop thinking if things would be different if I was older.” She glanced at him but looked away when she saw a smirk appear on his face.

“You’ll be 18 soon.” He winked at her.

“Oh, stop being such a hopeless romantic, Charles.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “Bill and I will never happen.”

“Okay, whatever you say.” Charlie made a kissy face. “But I’ll stay a hopeless romantic just so that I can tell you ‘I told you so’ when you two finally get together.”

Theodora couldn’t stop a smile spreading across her face as she playfully rolled her eyes at her friend, wishing she could share his optimism.

[ghoulangerlee]

Hi!! For the soulmates au thing i think killems w 29 would be cute bc BLUE or maybe malex w 50 ((cause it reminds me of the handprints!)) i love your writing

I wrote the malex one but im also gonna write the killems one bc IDEAS

But in honor of ME getting engaged just the other day, I wrote....This!

you have your soulmates fingerprints somewhere on your body ; malex

*I took some liberties such as, the fingerprints don't have to be whole, nor do there have to be five, and you don't realize who your soulmate is until they're touched just right

----

All things considered, Alex supposes he was lucky his soulmark wasn't as large as Liz's, or even Maria's (five fingerprints, stretched out naturally as if someone was resting their hand just below her collarbone for Liz and four on the front of Maria's arm, as if her soulmate had grabbed her to stop her from walking away). 

The half of a thumbprint above the knuckle of his ring finger on his left hand and the quarter of a fingerprint on the underside. Something easy to cover on the days that made him sick just looking at it. 

"It's romantic," Liz had said, examining the prints, "Obviously someone's going to love you very much at some point in the future." 

Alex had laughed and diverted the attention from his own unfinished mark to something else, and while Liz looked like she wanted to keep going, she stopped and accepted his change of subject. 

And then, he met Michae Guerinl. 

Michael who made everything feel new and fresh, who didn't have a soulmark (even hidden under his clothes, the first time they'd made love, he'd checked thoroughly, learning everything he could about Michael's body). 

It didn't bother him, and Alex's unfinished mark didn't bother Michael, Michael who'd just press a kiss to it when they were sitting in the back of his truck watching the stars as he rubbed warmth back into his cold hands. 

In a way, Alex felt complete, even though he knew Michael wasn't his, it was fine, because they had this and Alex was content. 

Until Jesse Manes happened. 

And suddenly, Alex knew he needed to get away, even though he wanted to stay, to be with Michael, he couldn't. 

He couldn't protect him. Not like this. Not with a broken soulmark, not with the emotional attachment, the pain he felt every time he closed his eyes and Michael's face painted in agony flashed before his eyes. 

So he left, joined the Air Force and bottled up the resentful feelings when Michael never came to see him off. (It was fair, he was leaving and Michael didn't have to put himself through even more pain and heartbreak.) 

Ten years pass like sand and by the time he steps back onto Roswell, he hopes Michael isn't there anymore. 

Hopes he's found himself somewhere out in Santa Fe or anywhere other than here. 

Except he hasn't, and suddenly Alex feels seventeen again. 

He calls him Guerin again, tries to keep his distance, tries everything he can to not give into the pull of him—except, he can't and he rotates closer to him, always pulled into his orbit, falling back into what they had when they were seventeen. 

Except they're not seventeen anymore and Alex can't do that and even if Michael accuses him of walking away, of not loving him, he won't break, because he can't let his dad get Michael or Max or Isobel because now that he knows, knows his family's legacy, he can't stand by and watch his dad, his brother destroy anymore. 

(Finding out that Michael was an alien shed light on him not having a soulmark, because neither did Isobel or Max. Soulmates existed for them, just not in the same way as humans.) 

There's a period that Alex doesn't like to think about, where Maria and Michael dated, where he had gone to Forrest who was nice but never gave him the feeling of being complete that Michael did, and while he tried to love Forrest, he knew he couldn't. 

Their breakup was amicable, and shortly after, Forrest found his soulmate, someone who'd left the five perfect fingerprints around his upper arm, and Alex was happy for him. 

Life went back to a sort of normal after that until one day Michael invited him to the Crashdown, called it a date and Alex felt hope again, felt something bloom in his chest when he saw Michael, sitting nervously in a booth, waiting for him. 

The feeling of being complete had come back, settled into his chest, snug against his heart and Alex rode on that feeling, ignored every voice in his head telling him not to get too close—Project Shepard would always be around, but Alex knew he could protect Michael, they could protect each other. 

If Michael could still love him after the shed, after leaving him behind for war, after what his ancestors had orchestrated against his people, then, broken soulmark or no, nothing could stop them, not even the possibility of not being soulmates. 

Life though, has a way of taking you by surprise, and one day, six months into their new relationship, Michael proposes, drops down onto one knee and pulls out a ring, his curls wild around his face and eyes shining. 

His chest feels tight and he's barely able to get the words out as he accepts, as he pulls Michael up and into a kiss, right in the middle of the Pony, around all of their friends, their family. 

(And when Michael slips the ring onto his finger, he sucks in a startled breath, a rush of adrenaline spiking his system as Michael's thumb fits perfectly against the half thumbprint on his finger. 

And beneath the open vee of Michael's shirt, Alex watches as an array of color blooms across his skin, a shimmery partial thumbprint peeking out through the buttonhole of his shirt. 

"Michael," he whispers, staring into the eyes of the man he's loved for over ten years, feeling an unknown emotion well in his chest just beneath his ribs, but it's pleasant and light and makes him feel jittery. 

"I know darlin'," Michael whispers as he cups his face with his free hand and pulls him into a kiss, sweet and slow and all encompassing.) 

[valkblue]

Being a Behavior technician requires a certain amount of dedication to the job — the rigorous type, bordeline rigid. That’s what is expected to be at peak efficiency regarding analysis protocols and diagnostics for host service and calibration.

For that, Vivian thinks she might be the worst tech in her department.

— masterlist, AO3

Chapter 2 on 12

Chapter wordcount: 3,340 Rating: General Warning: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ same as usual: swearing and technobabble!

Author’s notes: Bad behavior tech, bad!! 

Have a good time reading, and my askbox/messages are always open! 💙

— Chapter 2

There were some days, like this one, during which Vivian and her team were called back in the night; a group of guests went all trigger happy and their mess had to be cleaned up somewhere between the Abernathy Ranch and Las Mudas. And since the narratives and hosts had to be back in rotation asap, the techs’ nighttime was reduced without thinking twice.

Maybe it didn’t look like it, but this job was really taxing sometimes.

That being said, shortly after 6AM, Vivian went back to her room for a few extra and well deserved minutes of sleep before resuming her diagnostics routine. An hour and a big mug of coffee with cereals later, Vivian was back in the elevator which took her down to the Behavior department level.

In the soft lighted glass room, a host was sitting on a wheeled stool. The light brightened when Vivian entered.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," she said on a hushed voice as if she wanted no-one but the offline host to hear her while letting the glass panel shut down slowly behind her. "I had a rough night. Looks like you did too…"

Ironically, he hadn’t been part of this night’s massacre. No, all those involved were already back in rotation for quite some time. Her first subject of the day, however, had only been victim of his own storyline, needing only a quick check-up and Vivian’s all clear before being back on his loop.

She sat on the stool in front of the host, doing her best to ignore his nudity, and unfolded her tablet on her knees; she had to navigate through several indexes before connecting to his signal for a couple update history checkups.

"Bring yourself back online, please," she ordered, without raising her voice.

The command only seemed to take him out of his thoughts.

"Can you hear me?"

"I hear you alright."

"Off character, for now, please."

Vivian loved to talk to them in character… but, for her diagnostics, she had to ask them to reduce their emotional affect — which was more a guarantee of efficiency than an actual need, though.

"There’s been modifications in your attributes last month," she stated as she was discovering the changes. "Several characteristics got… Who the fuck did that?!"

Vivian had an answer to that already, as she was going through the log; someone from Narrative — that she would brand as asshole — had been pretty heavy handed on self-preservation and aggression, and on top of that they also nerfed curiosity, patience and courage!

There was pitiful justifications from the tech about an adjustment request from their sector after some of the host's alleged wanderings, blamed on his curiosity. But all this was more about making him keener to answer provocation while still being enough of a challenge for his opponents — hosts and guests alike. Vivian didn’t like what kind of freedom Narrative techs were taking with the hosts’ attributes, carefully calibrated by her co-workers and others before them; it wasn’t as simple as changing percentages on the fly in any way they saw fit!

It was a delicate and very important step for any host's cognition, for them to even function at all, as much as for the continuity of their fucking narratives!

Vivian took a deep breath and the time to check the quality of the host’s interactions since the modifications but the results only ended up fuelling her rage. So, she commanded:

"Archive this configuration and open the previous one. Confirmed?"

"Yes."

Vivian smiled, satisfied. On her tablet, the attribute matrix seemed now way more familiar than the last.

"We’ll leave 1.5% more in self-preservation… since they thought it best to give you a few more to endure their bullshit," she grumbled. "And then… 0.5 in aggression for them not to come back to lay it on thick! 6.5 will be more than enough. No need to go all the way up to 10!"

Vivian confirmed her modifications before looking back at the host.

"What d'you think?" she asked, without really expecting any answer from him. “No imbalance or discomfort?”

Modifications could sometimes cause hiccups in the hosts’ cognitions, close to an uneasy feeling. There were other ways to know but Vivian preferred to talk rather than relying only on the screen readings.

"No, I’m fine."

And from what Vivian could read now, he wasn’t lying. Although, browsing his history, she noticed a worrying peak of stress at the time of his "death". It would seem like a normal thing from anyone's standpoint but from which of a host and their technician's, however…

"Your last interaction recorded a peculiar rise in your stress level. What caused this?"

"A… thought."

His mumblings were recognised as improvisations by the tablet. Despite her surprise, Vivian said nothing of it.

"What thought?" she encouraged him instead.

"My family. I’m supposed to be responsible for… my wife, and my daughter."

Vivian noticed the normal occurrences of his cognition in the scrolling of his code.

"But… I can’t help it, I’m out of place, there."

He was getting out of beaten path a little with this comment.

"How are your relations with them?"

"Acceptable."

He kept a few seconds of silence before adding:

"My daughter, I think something’s wrong with her."

"Between you and her?" she asked, for clarity’s sake.

"No…"

"Analysis: what prompted this observation?"

He looked hesitant. On the tablet, still no conflict.

"Her interactions are limited," he then said. 

Vivian hesitated too; should she report this observation? Perhaps it was relevant for a potential issue somewhere else…

"It must be my fault."

The tablet, however, reported a new improvisation in that answer.

"Your fault?! Why?"

"I… I should enjoy being home."

According to the datas scrolling up, that was a scripted answer from his guilt library but despite that, what took Vivian aback was the tears running down his cheeks. On the screen — distress, confusion. That wasn't the affect class linked to it. But she didn’t suppress his emotional response…

Instead, she glanced carefully through the glass panels around them; her closest colleagues were two cubicles away, doing the same thing as her. Well, maybe not exactly; once positive that no-one would catch her, Vivian leaned forward a little to put her hand on her subject’s cheek, wiping the tears off with a gentle brush of her thumb.

She could have calmed him down with a simple word, or even with a tap on the right button on her tablet but… what would be the point? Vivian didn’t want to, not with him. And to be honest, as much as she was sincerely touched by the faithfulness of his emotion, it was also convenient for her that he would bring such a topic up.

"Children have a short memory but a quick mind…"

Victor Hugo said that first. And Vivian was quoting him today with something else than Philosophy in mind; she had just use a voice command — her voice command. A simple little script she sneaked into the host’ complex code architecture. More or less mixed with the rest of it, encrypted and virtually unnoticeable without knowing what to look for, it gave the recipient host the ability to keep in their memory, in a hidden and compressed partition, all the events happening between the activation and deactivation of said command. Conversations, feelings, impressions… Everything was there. And everything would remain, even after each reset.

The host couldn’t access it at will without hearing the command, and for what Vivian had noticed so far, it didn’t interfere with his narrative, alter his attitude, cause any glitch nor any pain.

According to her analysis, it was only perceived as a distant memory, one of those leaving an undescribable feeling or a sense of déjà-vu…

Despite the severity of her infraction, Vivian was quite proud of her small "innovation". And she had chosen this one, host ID# MG73368928764, to receive her creation among all the percentage of the park’s population her team had in charge. She had chosen him because of his responsiveness in analysis, because he hadn’t been in any big narrative for at least ten years, because she had already noticed a few oddities in his code, because there was something soft in his eyes, a little extra something…

And quite frankly? Because he was the one who inspired her to create this command, based on an idea that has been on her mind. Because she wrote it for him.

Ever since she arrived in the Behavior department, Vivian had done quite a lot of analysis, calibrations, and had many occasions to talk with plenty of hosts, in character mode or not. And the guys from the Narrative department had done such a good job in writing all these characters, their lexical bases, just like her colleagues from Behavior, in encoding and calibrating all that work into each host put in their care!

Or at least, that’s how Vivian was seeing things back then.

But this particular host caught her eye more than any other; she had quickly noticed how much he was calling upon his improvisation engine compared to others and the feeling of having an actual conversation with a well aware person was sometimes so baffling that, against all common sense, Vivian furthered it. Not to mention the frustration she felt that he could never really recall anything else than what his logs allowed him to, after each diagnostic. But since the installation of her script, the inference frequency in his dialog chains increased. And he was calling upon it with even more fluency.

To the point that their sessions became a real pleasure for Vivian!

It was selfish, she realised that… but she wanted him to keep something from it so badly, something from her, just like she could think back on their conversations with emotion. Those past ones were lost for him but, now, he could remember all those that followed the installation of her script.

Vivian smiled when he focused on her.

"Hello, Lawrence."

He looked hesitant for a second, like a man still not fully awake yet. No alert or conflict from his inference engine on her tablet.

"Hey…"

At his answer, Vivian smiled to him again, and so did Lawrence, even if he kept something a bit shy, uncertain, numbed. In that intermediate state, it wasn’t like coming back to the warmth, the liveliness and the responsiveness of the character mode but it wouldn’t be as cold as the analysis mode could be. Even though he was reverting to his usual demeanor.

Vivian didn’t program that; this semblance of a balance had set itself around the integration of the script in the depths of the core-code. But she liked the result.

"How are you, today?"

His drawl was back when he answered:

"Well enough, I’d say. Like after a real good sleep…"

Vivian grinned, amused.

"Perfect."

"And you, how are you?"

The spontaneity of Lawrence’s question took her by surprise.

"Well… um, I’m glad I can talk with you a bit," she finally answered. "Do you remember our last encounter?"

"21 days and 11 hours ago."

This time, the answer was delivered almost without accent; the question had triggered an analysis type of answer.

"And do you remember what our talks were about?"

He would have to query in his archived and encrypted memories to be able to answer this question. If he had it "right", then it would mean that everything was in order.

"Yeah, I told you about my folks, my… my drives. And that project you worked on for some time. It was a secret."

"It still is, Lawrence," she reminded him softly.

"I can keep a secret."

That wasn’t something he needed to convince her of! And she was less wary about him than about any other technician snooping in his code like the guys from Narrative did between two of her maintenance sessions. She gritted her teeth, frustrated and annoyed, by the limits of her authority on the modifications decided in high places, and on whom…

It was her fault, really; she shouldn’t have grew attached to a host like she did to Lawrence, but now things were the way they were, and it wasn’t possible for her to purge her memories and rewrite her affections as easily as a few lines of code. She was only human, after all!

Vivian brushed her boiling emotions off with a brief sigh before fully focusing back on Lawrence, asking him:

"Did this script cause you any issue since our last encounter?"

He still looked slightly numbed as he answered:

"I… I don’t understand…"

"No interference with your core-code?" she rephrased.

"No. None."

Not to brag, but she suspected that much. The only persisting worries she had were the saturation of his memory, provided that could actually be possible. Normally, the hosts’ memory was wiped between each rotation; then, there was no telling what could really happen if a unit gathered too much data. Vivian might as well be ending up editing her script to overwrite the oldest logs… She hesitated, biting her lower lip then tried a new question:

"No saturation?"

"No."

She gazed at him for a long minute before looking down on her tablet and stating, more to herself than to him:

"Maybe… maybe you’d rather be rid of all those… memories."

She held back the word "useless".

"No, not at all!"

Vivian frowned but a shy smile appeared on her lips.

"Why?"

"'Cause memories are priceless," he answered. "The good ones just like the bad… That’s what makes one remember where they’re from, and who their folks are. It’s what shape one’s life…"

And she followed the improvisation notifications on his dialog chain, but the irony in all this also made her feel somewhat bitter.

"Do… do you know where you are, now?" she asked.

"Ain’t so sure," he answered, holding her gaze, frowning. "Feels… like a dream I already had…"

That wasn’t far from the truth, indeed.

"And it’s gonna be time to wake up, now."

"Alright…"

Unfortunately, Vivian didn’t have all the time she’d love to give him. She tapped on her tablet, biting her lower lip; all of his levels were green, nothing to report — he had her all clear.

"Are we gonna see each other again soon?"

The question made her raise her head, almost stunned; Vivian wasn’t on the interface where she could follow his dialog chain anymore but didn’t need it to recognise improvisation.

"You… you’d want that? I mean…"

She cleared her throat, mouthing a silent word, before rephrasing:

"Would you like that?"

"Sure!"

That answer pleased Vivian, anyway; she felt herself blush and stumbled upon her words until something coherent came to her mind.

"Well then, I… I’ll do my best. I promise."

Lawrence nodded, apparently satisfied, and Vivian held his gaze while taking a short breath.

"They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night."

This time, it was Edgar Allan Poe’s prose Vivian had chosen to end her script, and stop the recording of his memories. None of what would happen after hearing those words would remain in Lawrence’s memory, unless she or another technician botched the wipe before sending him back in his narrative loop.

Vivian stayed with him until the cleanup was complete then disconnected the signal after putting him offline; she was already late for her next session but didn’t hurry all that much to tuck her tablet and get up. It was pissing her off to let him there, like that…

She let out a brief sigh then, after a look at her watch, she finally but reluctantly left the room.

The day didn’t only seem too long to Vivian; around 10PM, it had really started to drag on and it was about time to leave her be. Especially if some other guests were planning to unload their barrels during what little time she had left to sleep!

At least, Damon Dyers kept things cool on his side. Margaret had managed to get footages of his arrival in Sweetwater and his first steps in one of the easiest narratives, according to her, but she didn’t seem disappointed when offering them to take a look at those videos she had already viewed a good dozen times since on her tablet. She had been very chatty about his clothing, narratives, adventure companions, and even taking friendly bets on what he would do next…

"Everybody’s gonna be hyped like crazy outside when his review’s gonna hit the park website!" laughed Thawal, finishing what would be his last coffee cup for today.

Charles snorted.

"As if Delos needed more of that…"

Margaret nodded in approval, all the more when Luke added:

"No joke, that’s better than any of those stupid casting headshots! It’s the best career boost he could hope for, right now!"

"Not to burst it for you but, nobody is gonna see this outside," commented Vivian. "It was hard enough for Marge to get them in-house, so I can’t even imagine getting them out!"

To what Luke shrugged.

"Do you really believe that?! There’s nothing a few bucks under the table can’t buy, and footages instead of a crappy picture in Sweetwater is no big deal, I’m sure! It’s not like it’s IP or some shit…"

Margaret scoffed.

"I didn’t pay, not even fucked anybody to get them,” she muttered, openly cynical, as if her thoughts were escaping between her gritted teeth. “I’m trash but I didn’t stooped that low yet."

With Charles laughing like a braying donkey in the background, Luke corrected:

"That’s not what I meant, Marge! But yeah, thanks to prove my point all the same…Even Marge managed to put her hands on it, without shaking down her pockets or her ass, so imagine what you can get if you’re ready to drop some cash!"

Luke’s rhetoric seemed to get the point across as it was followed by a moment of silence around the table, and the tablet in its center, on which the patched-up hour of video feeds was still going.

"Anyhow, it makes nice memories to bring back home…"

Vivian pulled her attention away from the screen to stare at the focused — mesmerised — face of Thawal. He was right, it would make nice memories…

She bit her lower lip and turned back towards the tablet; suddenly, Dyers wasn’t the center of attention anymore, not even a guest who came to show off in the park — there was nothing else than people, hosts or guests it didn’t matter, listening to a more charismatic man than the others carrying a tune next to a player piano for the pleasure of his audience. And far from being corny or just lame, the scene even had something charming.

"And you said he’s going to Pariah, after that?"

Charles’ voice cut Vivian’s thoughts short.

"Yeah," answered Margaret. "He got there yesterday, I think…"

Margaret searched her video directory and selected one that spreaded across the entire screen; they could see Dyers and his two friends, lead by Teddy, on the trail of the narrative they had picked — a bounty hunt, if Vivian understood everything.

"It’s so fucking epic, Marge!" bursted Thawal, leaning over the tablet as if he wanted to dive in it. "Looks like another remake of the Magnificent Seven…"

"Except they’re only four," Charles snarked.

Thawal and Margaret glared at him, which made him laugh even more.

"I know, right?" Marge then admitted. 

She turned towards Vivian, beaming with happiness. She smiled back but her mind was already elsewhere; somewhere around Las Mudas, she wasn’t quite sure yet…

On the screen, Dyers was continuing his adventure, like larping or a life size fanfiction. Now that Vivian was thinking about it, it had been a while since her last vacation… 

She could maybe use her special employee discount, and do so to hold her promise?

[gemeauxlogy]

10 things I wish I knew about astrology when I began studying

As we all know, astrology is a huge, beautiful, but complicated field of study. There are infinite traditions, techniques, and approaches that you could spend years and years studying just a couple of them at a time! Astrology is one of those subjects that never ceases to amaze you and you never fully finish learning about it or "master" all of it. It weirdly gets more confusing and complex the longer you study it!

The things we read and learn about astrology when we first start out studying are usually very different from what we learn as we continue studying longterm. You'll start to have sudden crises and realize "wait, this entire concept I learned a while back doesn't work at all how I originally thought it did," or "I just learned this new concept and it makes some things I learned a while ago make absolutely no sense, so now I have to change my entire view on astrology." Since there's so much information and so many different approaches to astrology, it takes time to really sort through everything to find what's helpful and useful to you, and what's not.

The things I'll be talking about here are tips that I really, really wish I had known earlier on in my studies to save me time and confusion. Not everyone will agree with me on all of these points, but these are some things I've learned, or realizations I've had that really changed the game for me.

1. Cookbook interpretations aren't totally accurate when studying or reading a chart.

When I say 'cookbook interpretation,' I'm referring to the interpretations where you simply look up "planet x in sign/house y" or "planet x aspecting planet y" and it gives you a bunch of generic possible meanings without being personalized to the specific chart you're looking it. They're sort of a one-size-fits-all summary that glazes over all of the nuance and context provided by the rest of the chart.

If you were to draw up another birth chart with the same placement you're interested in researching, but all the other components of the chart are different, you would get the exact same interpretation of that single placement regardless of how different the two charts are as a whole. Those types of interpretations can only go so far. They're great to start off with, don't get me wrong! It's impossible to look at a birth chart and be able to start putting all of the pieces together to form a personalized interpretation when you first start using astrology or learning about your own chart. Chances are, you don't even recognize the astrological glyphs yet! We can't suddenly come up with advanced interpretations right off the bat, we have to start somewhere.

Those cookbook interpretations are great to get a broad sense of what a placement does on its own, but in reality, no single placement functions as if it were immune to the influence of everything else in the chart. Every chart is unique. All of the different components factor into how each placement will manifest, which means a simple, generic description of a placement won't truly encapsulate the many facets that make your placements unique to you. If your goal is to study astrology seriously and practice it professionally or do readings for other people, I think it's incredibly important to eventually stop relying on those generic interpretations.

Don't worry about trying to memorize or make your interpretations perfectly match what websites say about them. They more than likely won't exactly fit an individual's chart since there's a lot more going on in a whole chart than a general summary will take into consideration.

If you want to learn how to provide impactful readings, break up with those short cut interpretations and practice gathering more individually accurate information from a chart.

2. Astrology is primarily centered around the planets, not the signs.

We're so used to seeing the signs being portrayed as the core component in astrology, that the majority of people don't even know astrology has more to it than that. Of course that's mainly because the average person hasn't really been exposed to astrology aside from seeing their horoscope in a magazine, but that focus on the signs even tends to carry over when we start studying horoscopic astrology (horoscopic astrology: the type of astrology that uses full charts that include your ascendant (rising), and the other planets/points that we know and love).

It's super easy and even fun to play with the idea of what the signs do and how we see those qualities reflected in people. But when you really look at it, the signs on their own are honestly very limited with what they can do and the influence they have in astrology overall. When we center our astrology around the signs (I've seen some astrologers call this "signology"), we're not too far off from doing exactly what people accuse horoscopes of doing: generalizing all people based on just 12 plain archetypes.

We know that there's a lot more to astrology than sorting people into 12 sets of characteristics, but we miss out on what astrology is fully capable of when we reduce it to the signs with a smaller mixture of planets, houses, and aspects on the side.

Aside from those considerations, let's look at the foundations of astrology. Looking back at the work of ancient astrologers, planets were the primary focus of astrology from the beginning. Astrology began with people observing the appearance and tracking the movements of the "wandering stars" in the sky, and taking those planets' qualities into consideration when determining what their jobs were. People used the planets to predict events long before systems of zodiac signs, houses, and aspects were formed. Hundreds of years before the zodiac signs that we know today were standardized, Babylonian astrologers used 17-18 constellations to track the motion of the planets. The zodiac "signs" back then weren't even the same as the ones we know now.

Later on when more systems, doctrines, and techniques were being developed, astrologers used the planetary rulership scheme to develop the meanings of the signs, NOT the other way around. Let me repeat that, because this is important. The signs did not pass their meanings on to the planets, the signs GOT their meanings FROM the planets they're ruled by.

Mercury doesn't represent communication because Gemini is associated with talkativeness, Gemini is associated with talkativeness because it is ruled by the planet Mercury. Capricorn didn't pass on some of its meaning on to Saturn, Capricorn got its meaning FROM its ruler, Saturn. The same goes for all of the other signs.

I'm being so thorough with this point because it makes it clear that even if you DO mainly use the signs, those signs' meanings are based on the planets, just like with the majority of other concepts in astrology.

Even breaking it down to one of the first things a lot of us learn in astrology, the signs simply tell you HOW the planets do what they do. The signs don't act on their own. The planets' positions and movements are ultimately what we pay attention to in astrology, whether it's in birth charts, horary charts, election charts, or even tracking transits' correlations to current events (mundane astrology).

If I have an empty house in my chart, what do I look for to find the meaning of that house? I look at where planetary ruler of that house is placed. If I want to know what changes my career will go through over the next year, what do I look for? The transits of the planetary ruler of my Midheaven or 10th house, or even looking at the different planets that will be moving past my Midheaven or through my 10th house.

The planets are key in astrology.

Understanding the how the planets work and making them your focus will improve what you do. Learn their strengths, their weaknesses, their temperaments, their cycles, etc, and it'll drastically change how you use astrology.

3. The signs are not equivalent to the houses.

I'll keep this one brief and direct because it seems to be a big topic of debate among astrologers.

To define them as best as I can, the signs are segments of the ecliptic (the annual path through space the Sun makes from the earth's POV) that the planets move through because of their rotation around the Sun (this planetary movement is called 'secondary motion'). The houses are segments of the earth's sky from a specific location that the planets seem to rotate through on a daily basis because of the earth's rotation on its axis (this daily movement is called 'primary motion').

Here are some pictures to try and help you visualize the difference between these two things.

The signs:

The Houses:

The houses (segments of the earth's sky) represent topics and areas of our lives. The signs (segments of the ecliptic) give the planets transiting through them different characteristics, and tell us which planets rule those transiting planets. They have two different purposes, which is why I firmly believe that we need to separate their meanings. Of course this is complicated a bit by what we call the '12 letter alphabet,' where we see Aries, Mars, and the 1st house all treated as being "naturally connected," then Taurus, Venus, and the 2nd house all are treated as being "naturally connected," and so on. The 12 letter alphabet is everywhere, unfortunately, so it takes most of us a while to come around to the fact that the houses and signs do not share purposes in astrology just because they're numbered the same (Aries = 1st house because it's the1st sign of the zodiac, etc).

To reiterate what I'm saying here, Aries (and Mars) does not "naturally rule" the 1st house. Taurus (and Venus) does not "naturally rule" the 2nd house. Gemini (and Mercury) does not "naturally rule" the 3rd house, and the same goes for the rest of the signs and houses.

Unless you're an Aries rising, this concept does not work. If you're a Capricorn rising, Saturn rules your 1st and 2nd houses, Jupiter rules your 3rd house, Mars rules your 4th house, Venus rules your 5th house, and so on. The ONLY people who have Aries + Mars associated with / ruling the 1st house are Aries risings. The ONLY people who have Capricorn + Saturn associated with / ruling the 10th house are Aries risings. I can't emphasize this enough.

If you really want to get into where the houses got their meanings, their position in the earth's sky, angularity (whether they're angular, succedent, or cadent), and planetary joys played a big part in that. I won't get into these right now, but if you want resources on these concepts, I recommend the lecture on the houses from The Astrology School.

Bottom line for this point: learn to distinguish the signs and houses. For a lot of us, the houses made almost no sense until we learned that they ARE NOT the same as the signs, and they shouldn't be treated as such.

4. The outer planets (Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto) are not usually very personally significant in a birth chart.

These three planets are called the 'generational planets' for a reason. They group together entire generations of people, which means their positions by sign are the same for people born within years and years of each other. They're so far from the Sun and they move so slowly that they are not as consistently active as the rest of the planets. Uranus takes around 8 years to move through ONE sign, which means everyone within 8 years of your age have the exact same Uranus sign as you. The same goes for Neptune and Pluto, but they're even slower, which means you share that sign placement with even more people.

So yes, I may have Pluto in Sagittarius and it supposedly makes me so adventurous and ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* free spirit *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧, but everyone born from 1996 to 2009 have Pluto in Sagittarius as well. Think about how many people were born in that 13 year long time span! And that's relatively quick for Pluto considering the fact that it can spend up to 31 YEARS in one sign.

A side note (and this is a personal belief, but I do know others who think this as well): I believe that Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto function differently from the other 7 planets. Part of what determines what the planets do is their visibility in the sky, their brightness, their color, and their speed. Fast planets are more active or faster to manifest than the slower moving ones. The brighter planets (Jupiter and Venus) are benefic, the dimmer, more muddy colored planets (Saturn and Mars) are malefic. Things like these are how ancient astrologers made note of what the planets represent. Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto are newer planets (discovered within the last 200 years), so those same astrologers obviously weren't around to use those same guidelines to decide what they represent and how they work. But if you take those same things into consideration, the outer planets wouldn't be as significant in general, and some consider them to be malefics because 1) they're not visible to the naked eye, and 2) they're SO slow.

I still do take the outer planets into consideration in certain cases (which I'll go over later), but overall, I believe that they work differently because of their qualities. Unlike the 7 visible planets which rule over signs, and represent topics, people, etc, I believe that the invisible outer planets act more as influencers. I don't believe that Uranus rules technology itself (technology is very Mercurial), but I do think it has to do with the progression of humanity, and therefore the progression of technology. I don't believe that Neptune rules the subconscious, but I do believe that Neptune tends to hide things or confuse and muddy things up. I believe they have specific qualities that they tend to throw into everything else going on in a chart, but don't rule over the common, everyday things we deal with.

In a lecture I once listened to, Robert Schmidt said something like "If the outer planets are transcendental, why do we reduce them to common topics and objects?" That really confirmed my view on those planets. (I don't remember the exact quote, so don't hold me to that.)

The only time I'll really consider an outer planet to be influential in a chart is if A) it's in an angular house, or B) they're very tightly aspecting other inner planets.

5. Your birth chart is not limited to only being about your personality.

This one is pretty simple. Modern astrology for the most part poses your entire chart as being ALL YOU. As if every piece of your chart is simply a different part of your personality. That's not completely the case. Of course your chart can tell you about your personality, but it also can tell you about your life as a whole, which includes people and things that are not you. You can see different people, places, topics, objects, and more in your chart!

Want to know about your romantic partners? Look at your 5th house, 7th house, their rulers, or Venus. Want to know about your friends? Look at your 3rd house, 11th house, their rulers, or Jupiter. Want to know about your neighbors? Look at your 3rd house and its ruler. Want to know about your debts and inheritances? Look at your 8th house and its ruler. The list goes on.

Just about anything that is in your life in any way can be seen somewhere in your chart. Don't go on studying thinking that your chart can only tell you about how you behave!

6. It's normal to feel like certain placements and aspects in your chart don't fully resonate with you at all times!

This is another one I learned through traditional astrology that modern astrology didn't teach me. Not all of your chart is active at all times throughout your entire life! Your chart tells you the story that is your life, and throughout that story, different planets will become a major character, take charge and become more evident in your life than they may have been before or may be later.

This is something that timing techniques such as profections, zodiacal releasing, solar return charts, and more, can tell you. I won't go into how to do use those techniques in this post, but it's something to keep in mind and research!

7. Indicators specific to your birth chart are just as important, if not more important than general indicators.

When I talk about indicators in this case, I'm talking about planets that represent (indicate) certain things in your chart. An example of something that a planet generally indicates is Venus representing relationships. This can apply to everyone, which is why it's a general indicator. Let's say Venus in your birth chart rules the 3rd house and 10th house. In that case, Venus would also represent (be an indicator for) your environment (3rd house) and your career (10th house). These indications of Venus unique to your birth chart. Another example would be the ruler of your 7th house representing relationships. That ruler isn't always Venus, it's based on your own birth chart and it's unique to you. The reason I think this is something important to pay talk about now is because it's something I don't see talked about with beginners all that often, and I really wish I had learned that sooner.

This goes for all other topics and people! Pay attention to all of it, not only the general indicators just because they apply to everyone and are used more commonly.

8. Retrogrades aren't that big of a deal!

We've all seen the hype surrounding retrograde phases. Of course they do have significance and meaning, but they're not anything to be afraid of. They're completely normal, you've gone through so many in your life already, and you'll go through many more. Retrogrades happen because of the planets' rotations around the Sun from our point of view. Since the planets are constantly rotating around the Sun, retrogrades are just part of their cycle and they occur regularly. It's nothing to psyche yourself out or get nervous about! Even when 8 planets are retrograde all within one year, it's still normal, because this happens about every 2 or 3 years! Mercury is retrograde three separate times every single year, and some planets, like Saturn for example, are retrograde for about 5 months out of every single year.

Even though retrogrades do happen regularly, not all of them are significant for you personally. This goes back to what I said before about timing techniques. If a planet is activated for you and it's retrograde, or if a house is activated and a retrograde planet is transiting through it, it's more likely to be significant for you. If a planet or the house that a retrograde planet is moving through is not activated, it's probably not going to be as impactful on you directly.

Either way, retrogrades aren't all big and bad and scary, so try not to let the hype around them get to you! Don't let those "there are 6 retrogrades this year, karma is gonna kick all our asses!!" posts scare you. Save your energy!

9. Your draconic chart is not your "soul's journey."

I'm not even completely sure where this idea came from, it's just something that circulated on Twitter for a while and we all ate it up without question. First of all, ??? Second of all, it's been confirmed that the concept of how draconic charts are drawn up was just a mistranslation, and so it's not even a very reliable concept. I've read something similar about sidereal astrology too and I kind of question that concept of "ego vs soul's journey" as well, although sidereal IS a valid system to use if you choose. That's a whole other topic that's too big for this post, so I won't get into it. This is a super short point, but I wasted time looking at my draconic chart a couple years ago, so I figured I'd share that to save others the trouble.

10. Contrary to popular belief, traditional astrology isn't irrelevant just because it's old.

There's this common argument that modern astrology dominates over traditional astrology because it has taken all the best parts of the tradition and grown from it. This is not true!

Due to political and religious changes throughout history that resulted in astrologers being exiled, astrology texts being outlawed, burned, and/or lost, a good majority of thousands of years of astrological work was missing for hundreds of years. This means that when newer astrology began to come around, a lot of the knowledge and progress that had been made throughout history wasn't taken into consideration. If they didn't even know about all of this lost knowledge, how could they build upon it to make the practice better?

Modern astrology wasn't exactly created because traditional astrology was deemed unfit and outdated. There was just a lack of awareness of the traditions for the most part because of lost texts and the fading off of astrology. Astrology wasn't always popular or legal, and the internet hasn't always been around, so it wasn't easy to find astrologers to learn from or get consultations from, books to read or anything like what we have today. It was only in the past 30 or so years that astrologers began rediscovering and translating ancient texts, which brought back some very useful and advanced techniques that had been lost for hundreds of years. 30 years is VERY recent, and work is still being done to recover those lost texts and techniques, so these concepts still haven't fully been reincorporated into modern astrology yet.

We live in a time where astrology resources are more accessible than ever, astrologers are everywhere, and astrology itself is pretty popular. Take advantage of all of the knowledge we have available to learn from! Don't dismiss tradition just because it's incorrectly assumed to be irrelevant to what we do in modern times. This is the perfect time to learn from all sorts of traditions and figure out how they can work with the newly developed concepts we have today.

Thank you for reading this long post! I have other things I want to address, but some topics are too big to cram multiple into one post, so we'll talk about those later on.

[kloxbian]

Where it’s safe to love (safe to live) by @fellowlesbian (@clexa-infinite)

Synopsis: 

Bellamy and Raven are in love.

With each other? Of course. But also with Clarke.

And when said blonde drives herself into exhaustion, it presents an unexpected opportunity for the three of them.

~Just fluff. Cuddles and fluff~

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Multi, F/F, F/M

Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin/Raven Reyes, Bellamy Blake/Raven Reyes

Characters: Bellamy Blake, Clarke Griffin, Raven Reyes, Minor Characters

Additional Tags: Cuddling & Snuggling, Sleep Deprivation, Literal Sleeping Together, Sleepy Cuddles, Slightly Dubious Consent, like not in a sexual way but you know, just in case, Polyamory, Established Relationship, at least braven is, not clarke

Language: English

Words: 1,462

-

“Alright, you’re good to go.”

Bellamy rolled his shoulder, newly popped back into place by the hands of a certain blonde. Clarke swatted at him. “Don’t do that. Just go easy on that arm for a few days and you’ll be good as new.”

“Whatever the princess says,” he said, watching her roll her eyes with fondness. Despite his original hatred of her, anyone could clearly see that she was dear to him.

They’d never guess he was in love with her, though.

Of course they wouldn’t. He had Raven. And he loved her, too. It was a mutual thing. One he was thankful Raven shared. They’d spent nights tucked in their bed, whispering soft words of how the younger girl would fit in with them. How they’d cram on top of the little mattress that just barely fit the two of them, imagining how it would feel to be subject to her romanticism. Though they didn’t like to talk about it, Bellamy had seen how she’d been with Finn, before knowing he was already taken. Apparently there wasn’t much open affection between the two of them, but they’d both been subject to more than a few hugs from her. When she wasn’t leading a group of hardened criminals into war, she could be incredibly doting.

He’s brought back by Clarke patting his arm. “Just get some rest for today. You can get back into guard rotations tomorrow.”

“You need to rest, too.” It wasn’t a lie. He’d seen very little of her recently, all her time spent helping in the med bay. She was visibly exhausted. There were bags under her eyes, her skin paler than normal, eyes covered by a slight fog that she often shook off. She obviously hadn’t been sleeping. Nor eating, if he knew anything about her.

“What?” Clarke shook her head, cleaning up the materials she’d used to wrap some of his more minor injuries. “No, I don’t have time.”

“Clarke, you’re exhausted. It’s plain as day.” She curled her lip like the idea was mortifying. “You need to sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when this bay is empty.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen.” He turned to sit on the edge of the bed. “You can’t treat people if you pass out.”

“It won’t get to that.”

“So you admit you haven’t been sleeping,” Bellamy responded, watching her scowl. “Just take a break.”

“I don’t need one.”

Now they were just going in circles. He pursed his lips. “How about a deal.”

That caught her attention. She looked at him expectantly.

“You come with me and spend some time outside of the med bay.” She was already opening her mouth to protest, so he quickly pressed on. “Your mom and Jackson can handle operations for a little bit. It doesn’t have to be long. Just an hour or so.”

She looked apathetic, but he could tell she was tempted. “I’m not sure- “

“Clarke.” She glanced at his face and he knew he’d won as she deflated. He stood as she grumbled about annoying friends and persistent assholes and grabbed her by the wrist, not even letting her finish putting everything away. She followed obediently. 

Inside the room he shared with Raven, he sat her down on the bed, grabbing a canteen of water they kept inside. Already here, she listened to this demand, too, taking a long drink of the water. She shifted over as he moved to sit down next to her.

They began with a good amount of space between them, Clarke still stiff and reluctant, but as Bellamy began to talk, telling stories of him and Octavia growing up, the games they would play, how much she adored his mythology stories, she relaxed. It was slow. Her muscles unwinded one by one until she sank deep into the mattress, or at least as deep as the ratty thing would allow her. 

“Tell me the stories,” she muttered, leaning into his side. “The ones you told Octavia.”

He smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Any one you want to hear?”

“You named Octavia after a myth, right?” She pulled her legs up closer to her chest. “Tell me that one.”

So he began to speak, watching her become more and more droopy as time went on until her entire body sagged into him. His hand rubbed up and down her arm, and he lowered his voice until her head lolled sleepily against his shoulder. 

Clarke’s eyes flickered closed, her body heavy, days of almost no sleep catching up to her in this one moment. Bellamy’s tone next to her, his shoulders rising slightly with each breath, lulled her deeper and deeper away from the world.

Bellamy couldn’t help the affectionate smile that spread across his face as he watched her, feeling a spike of amusement as she let out a soft snore. He tucked her closer into his side and pressed his lips against the crown of her head. “Sleep tight, princess.” God knows you need it.

Glancing at the watch they’d placed beside the bed as a clock, he reached over to grab a book, one of the few he’d smuggled from their measly collection. Raven would be back soon. He’d wait for her. Twining his fingers into Clarke’s sun-bright hair, he settled in.

When the door finally opened, Bellamy was half in a doze, Clarke’s rhythmic snores and her breath washing steadily over his skin easily pulling him down. He blinked awake as Raven kicked her shoes off, setting her bag down on the table with a loud thump. He winced, glancing at the blonde, but was pleasantly surprised to find she barely twitched. Raven looked over at him and he could see the confusion clear on her face.

He chuckled. “You know how she is. Not taking care of herself.”

She scoffed, leaning forward to give him a peck and sitting down at the end of the bed, fiddling with the straps on her brace. “So what, you manhandled her into our bed?”

He chuckled. “No, but it definitely wasn’t her plan to stay for more than an hour.”

Raven snorted, quickly changing from her grease-covered clothes. She pulled herself onto the bed, careful of her bad leg, kneeling in front of the passed-out girl. Brushing a couple loose strands of hair back garnered no reaction. The brunette huffed, a smile spreading over her face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her sleep this soundly.”

“You mean the few times we’ve actually seen her sleep?” Bellamy turned his eyes to the younger girl, Raven crawling over to curl up into her side. He felt a burst of affection for both women, so strong and steady and so his. 

Bellamy moved to that he was no longer propped up against the head, pulling Clarke down to lie next to him. She snuffled, nuzzling into his shoulder, hands gripping his arm. Raven pressed her chest against Clarke’s spine, meeting Bellamy’s gaze over tousled blonde locks. They shared a grin with each other.

Maybe, finally, they could all get some rest.

~

Clarke blinked awake to light burning her eyelids.

It took her a moment to recognize where she was, but as soon as she did she jerked up. An annoyed grumble from beside her made her finally register the heat on both sides, body heat.

She shifted to climb over Bellamy, but his arm caught her, dragging her back down to the mattress. He didn’t even bother opening his eyes. She hissed, trying to shake him off. “Bellamy! Let me go!”

He blearily opened his eyes, only pulling her harder into the bed. “You’re staying.”

“I can’t!” Her mind flew over all the possible things that could’ve gone wrong while she was tucked away here. “I need to get back to the med bay.”

“You need to take care of yourself.”

“I’m fine!” She protested. “Stop worrying about me.”

“I’ll stop worrying when you stop ignoring your own needs.”

Clarke grunted, pushing against his arm. “Bellamy- “

From the other side of the bed, Raven growled, rolling over to flop down on top of Clarke. She buried her face in the blonde’s neck, ignoring the stunned expression on her face. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

Clarke wanted to argue, but the sleepy warmth that was surrounding her felt so good, and her admittedly weary body was furious at leaving the cocoon she found herself in. So she just sighed, curling body arms around the body atop her and nuzzling into brown hair. Beside them, Bellamy wrapped around them both, pressing a kiss to Raven’s cheek, and then Clarke’s. Already half on the verge of unconsciousness, she only hummed in agreement, eyes slipping closed.

They could deal without her for a little longer.

[the-headbop-wraith]

1_10 Share Words

Two agonizing days.

Vivi didn’t mind, but waiting made her anxious when she knew they had hours of driving ahead and a destination at the end of a long road.  It couldn’t be helped that Arthur had to take the time out to repair the damage to his arm – or take the time to work many long hours, and then finally decide the arm on its own was worthless, and the surviving parts were better off cannibalized for a newish prosthetic.  Arthur rarely worked from scratch on his replacements, as he took what he got in regards to putting something functional together.  Vivi didn’t bother him a whole lot during the process, opting to knit away the time with other priorities such as making the necessary preparations for the long drive between here and eventual.

Each time Vivi stopped by to deliver some food and remind Arthur eating was essential, she saw the progress of his new arm.  At first it was one model and it hardly looked anything near to human anatomy, it resembled more of an insect limb with colorful wires and rods still steaming with solder.  Then there came to be two, and one was taking the shape of an arm through the section plates Arthur was attaching over the wires and motor parts.

“It’s looking good,” Vivi said, as they shared a lunch.  They sat at a cluttered beat up coffee table, two couches facing each other on either side of it.  It was in the break room of the car garage of Kingsman Mechanics, owned by Arthur’s uncle and employer.  One wall was fixed up for a quick meal preparation zone, complete with particle cabinets and a counter top with a sink set.  Beside the short counter was a small fridge, and atop the fridge was a microwave.  The walls were soundproofed, but still the distant howl of work and hydraulic squeal crept in.  “Are you trying some of the new connectors, to get more sensation?”

Arthur glanced up from the fries he was picking at.  He raised one to his head where Galahad sat, tangled in his unruly hair.  “Naw,” he said.  Galahad tilted on his wheels as he took the fry and began munching, no mind to the fact the hamster was getting ketchup in Arthur’s hair.  Arthur then returned his lone arm to the large, triple meat burger Vivi had brought.  “This time I’m focused on strengthening the elbow, but going for more range of movement.”  He took a bite and worked on that for a moment, barely swallowing before he went on.  “I’m not sure how much tension to allot the joint, to keep it from cracking.”

Vivi wiped Mystery’s mouth off, before allowing the dog to return to his burger.  Vivi poked through the magazines left on the coffee table amongst plastic bags and Styrofoam containers.  Most the magazines were the norm – mechanics digest, some body builders.  She found one for medical, and the issue for prosthetics with the edges of the pages worn to tatters.  She noted the date on the front page before looking up to meet Arthur’s eyes as he watched her.

Since the conversation was diverted in the van, they had tiptoed around matters concerning Lewis.  Arthur hadn’t asked about him in all the times Vivi came by, and Vivi wasn’t sure what to make of that.  If Arthur knew simply by her appearance, or where the nature of the conversation would delve if Uncle Lance stumbled in on them while they discussed their ‘late’ friend.  Thinking back on all the times she could recall, Vivi never once had heard Lance mention Lewis.  But who would bring up a topic of a loss on the spot?  But there are a many that would avoid or refuse to acknowledge such issues, forget and move on was sometimes easiest.

“Take your time,” Vivi said.  She began offering Mystery her fries one at a time, and Mystery snapped them up in turn.  “I’m still doing some research before I make a route.”

Arthur nodded.  “Uh, Lance also has a few jobs for me,” he said.  “So it’s taken longer than I estimated in the first place.  Is that all right?”

“Of course,” Vivi huffed.  “I’m not jeopardizing your only stable job.”

Arthur blinked.  He pinned his burger down with his knuckles and deftly tore off a piece of meat, which he offered to Galahad.  “I don’t think he’d fire me, unless I blew up the shop….” His voice trailed off, and Arthur managed a grim sneer.  “Again.”

Vivi gave a dry laugh.  No, that wasn’t funny.

Professionally, Arthur could duck out of his main income by taking service up with Vivi’s Mystery Skulls, as the onboard mechanic.  By ‘contract’ Arthur received a percentage of pay for their assignments, plus a little extra whenever the van crapped out.  A simple handshake would have sufficed for Arthur, but Vivi insisted they make it official.  The contract consisted of a napkin shoved into the glove compartment, and maybe to this day it is still there.

Through the glassed side of the break room, Vivi spied Uncle Lance sneaking out.  She decided he was sneaking, or up to something.  Vivi stood and collected her trash, and told Arthur to finish all of his food before he returned to work.  Arthur was prone to forgetting halfway through a meal when an idea struck him, and leave his food to grow cold and moldy while he worked away.  If Vivi gave a stern reminder, he was more than likely to consume nearly all his food before he took off.

“And don’t make Galahad finish it for you,” where Vivi’s last words.  She excused herself and Mystery, ignoring Arthur’s exasperated expression, and Galahad’s dismay.  Vivi dumped her trash in the garbage bin beside the door and stepped out through the garages main work zone.

Since they had returned to Kingsman Mechanics, Uncle Lance had been pushing to do some maintenance work on the van before they took off again.  Each time Vivi denied with the excuse that she had work to do, and, Arthur could probably fit in a quick check up when he had the chance.  That was ill planned, and Lance had called her on it.  Still, she kept on that she did have errands to run and wanted to get that out of the way before the van was looked over, in case she forgot something.

Such as locking the doors.

Vivi saw Lance duck out of the driver’s side, and move to the front of the van to pop the hood.  Mystery took off before her, and she called for Lance as she raced over.  “Hey!  What are you doing?”  Vivi tried to hide the note of alarm in her voice.

Lance wore his dark coat, come rain or summer, and the tool belt around his waist worn that was stained from years of use.  He didn’t pay Vivi much mind as he leaned over the engine and scanned over the tubes and wires at his fingers.  “Just a quick look,” he said.  “Put my mind to ease, huh?”

“I told you to wait!”  Vivi snapped.  She wasn’t tall, but she straightened herself up as much as she could and crossed her arms.  Mystery barked beside her in his, have you no respect, tone.

“I’m not confining you to the shop,” Lance assured.  He chewed on the toothpick between his teeth as he turned his eyes back to the engine.  “Hmm, need an oil change, some sparkplugs could do with replacing.  Lemme get a new belt, this one’s looking shabby.”  He leaned over, nearly into the carriage as he tapped around.  “It’s about time we rotated those tires, isn’t it?  You drive to the moon and back every day.”

“You didn’t mess with anything in the van?” Vivi asked.  She followed Mystery when he hoped up through the open driver side door.  The white dog flashed out of sight when he leapt up into the back.

“Naw,” Lance said.  “That’s yer kids department.  It’s your office, and I have no business going back there.”

The front of the van was warm and stuffy from sitting in the noontime sun.  Vivi peered over the seat into the back interior and saw that the black box was gone.  Frail wisps of the frigid air hung in the shadows, and Vivi wanted to reach out and catch it but there was no way of grasping what cannot be seen.  Like chasing radical dreams.  She leaned over the back seat to watch Mystery go around the perimeter of the walls, head down and ears twisting but it was apparent he was finding nothing.  Mystery stopped when he reached the space where the box had sat, and turned to look at her.

“Uncle Lance,” Vivi began.  She rested her head on the warm seat for a moment, before slipping back out of the driver’s side.  “Did you know Lewis well?”  There was a span of silence, before the hood of the van cracked as it slammed down.  Vivi whipped to where Lance stood, his hands still gripping the top of the hood and staring at her hard.  “Hmm?”

Lance uncoiled, slipping from his stance and dragged his gloved hands from the vans front.  “I knew him,” he said.  “But not like you and Art did.  It was tragic, what happen to him.  What’s Art been telling you?”

Vivi couldn’t discern if Lance was aware of her amnesia, or if he was trying to dodge the subject.  “We’ve just been talking,” she said. Mystery appeared from over the driver seat, skidding down to sit beside Vivi.  “Kind of going back.”  She stared up at Lance as he moved along the side van until he stood before her.  She didn’t flinch, even when he quickly clasped a hand to her shoulder.

“Don’t totter over that piece of history too much, love.”  When Lance spoke, there was a tone of pain in his voice that was as audible, as if he was ready to cry.  Vivi couldn’t remember ever seeing Uncle Lance, a sturdy figure in their life, breaking down and crying.  But she felt it.  And she felt the knot of confusion and agony, as if she had missed something important and it angered her how lost she was to the company of the subject.  She wanted to know, but they avoided it.  They kept her away.  “It is a pain no one should burden,” he ended.  Lance took his arm from Vivi’s shoulder, and walked away. 

The paradox of Lance setting an oil stained hand upon any person or object never ceased to boggle Vivi’s mind.  Nor the factor that whenever he removed the hand, no stain or evidence remained that he had ever been present.  Vivi watched through the passenger side, as Lance staggered across the parking lot back to the side doors that entered into the garage shops main work zone.

“Hey.”

Vivi jolted in place to the hollow voice that echoed out of nowhere, and to the shape now leaning over the front seat just above Mystery’s head.  She grabbed her chest as her heart lurched in her ribs.  “Shit,” Vivi hissed.  “Don’t do that!”  She swiped out her hand, trying to connect with the skull but Lewis merely let his head rise out of range and her hand passed through where his neck would have been.

“Sorry.”  There was smugness in his voice.  “You okay?”  All smugness dried up when Vivi climbed up onto the driver’s seat and wrapped her arms around Lewis’ shoulders. Mystery gave a yelp and ducked over into the passenger seat.  “Vi, wait!”  Lewis lunged forward as Vivi tumbled backwards, arms looped around the stunned skull.  Vivi groaned when she fell back onto the warm asphalt behind her, the skull still clutched to her chest.  Lewis’ decapitated body hung out of the driver seat, arms draped over the footstep of the van.  “Tried to warn you,” his voice muttered, from somewhere.  He gestured to Vivi on the ground.

“I should have known better,” Vivi retorted.  She forced herself to sit up and looked down at the skull in her arms.  Bright eye sockets gazed back up at her, and everything about the visage from the poof of magenta hair to the teeth seemed much more solid.  “Incubator.”

“Come again?”  The voice seemed to come from the skull, but at the same time it came from the suit, and just as well it came from nowhere exactly.  It seemed to reverberate in Vivi’s mind, warm and pleasant.

“Incubator,” Vivi repeated, as if that would clarify.  “Arthur called you an incubator.”

“That’s all good and well,” Lewis said.  The skull narrowed its brow and the eyes brightened in the hollow sockets.  “Care to explain?  Mystery!  Get off me!  C’mon now.”

The body jerked its shoulders, forcing the Mystery dog perched on the torsos backside to bounce off with a yap.

Vivi climbed to her feet and somehow managed to scoot Lewis’ body over in the vans seat without the use of her arms, and shut the door after her.  She explained the coffin that had taken temporary residence in the back of the van, and the collective unease it had given she and Arthur.  Not because the coffin disturbed them, not at all, but they were worried for his wellbeing.  The nearest they had concluded of the coffin’s significance was sleeping but… why a coffin?  And was it actual sleeping, in whatever sense it took?

They sat in silence for the next few minutes.  Vivi still held the skull tightly in her arms, and the body sat next to her with Mystery slumped over his lap.

“This is the first time in a long time that I could wrap my arms around you,” Vivi said.  “Not since we were kids.”  The skull said nothing, just stared over at Vivi’s shoulder as if in deep concentration.  Vivi gave him a few more minutes, before asking if he wanted his head back?

“I’m good,” Lewis hummed.  “I was just— You saw the coffin?”  The flames in his eye sockets perked up to her face, as if he’d never heard of a coffin before.

“Yeah,” Vivi said.  “I’m not going to ask this time.”

“Thanks.”  Then Lewis was back to inner debate.  Viv noted the hand of his body was rubbing absentmindedly at one of Mystery’s ears, and Mystery didn’t perk or seem to care.  In fact, Mystery’s eyes slowly closed, evidently content.  “I didn’t mean for you to see the coffin,” Lewis said.  “I knew you probably wouldn’t get around to doing the laundry, you were really tired.  But I didn’t mean to, hmm….”  His voice trailed off.

“You were scared?” Vivi said, in an accusing note.

“No,” Lewis hissed.  He refused to look at her.

“Lonely?”  Vivi chimed.  She hugged the skull more to her chest and rested her head atop the soft poof of – what she had decided were flames at some point – but it was soft and not like fire, and didn’t have the texture of hair.

“Maybe,” Lewis said.  “No.  It’s different, I don’t know how to explain it.”

“I think I get it,” Vivi reasoned.  “But I don’t readily understand either.  Hmm.”

“Hmm,” Lewis hummed along.

Vivi watched the brick wall of the Kingsman Mechanic’s building in front of them.  She heard the once every – other minute car coast by on the road that sat before the garage shop.  It was a little before five o’clock rush hour she estimated, a few more minutes and customers would start to arrive in flocks to pick up vehicles, their days work concluded.  “You miss your mansion?” Vivi asked.  The pause that followed was not encouraging.

“Yeah,” Lewis says.  “But not because I raised the place.  It was all I had.”  He became quiet, and Vivi pressed no more questions.  “Did you see what happen to my deadbeats?”

“Deadbeats?” Vivi said, looking down to the skulls blazing eye sockets.  “The spirits that chased us?”  Lewis made a sound that sputtered, and seemed to reverberate in the silent radio of the van.  She took the pitch as a confirmation.  “Faded.  Crossed over.  I’m not sure.  I’m no master of reading ambiguous visage of spirits, but they seemed fine with it.”  Lewis was silent for another span of time.

Outside the windshield, the sun began to fade behind the surrounding buildings as dusk approached and the air began to chill.  Vivi watched the shadows grow longer and sweep over the front of the van, until a soft tinge of pink brushed over her sweater and the window glass beside her shoulder.  It was then that Vivi realized Lewis hadn’t been staring at her shoulder, he was keeping a lookout should someone approach outside the window.  Or maybe he was just staring off into the distance.

“To be fair,” Lewis began, “I didn’t tell then to chase you or Mystery.”  Mystery opened an eye a crack at the mention of his name.  “I told them to chase Arthur.  You just happen to be in the wrong place, wrong time.”

Vivi glared down at the gleaming eyes inside the skull.  “That was cruel,” she scolded.  Lewis made a gruff sound that echoed in the cold radio, and may have said something Vivi’s sharp ears, attuned to the paranormal, was able to catch.  Lewis eyes flashed over to the window and the vibrant fire inside the eye sockets dimmed.

“Cars, cars,” Lewis chattered.  “People!  I need my head.”

Vivi sighed.  “Of course.”  And tossed his skull into the back of the van.

Lewis’ body sputtered and jerked up, upsetting the dog snoozing over his lap.  “Vi!  What— Why?”  The torso scooted over in evident panic, as Vivi opened the driver side door and slipped out.

“I’m still mad at you!” she snapped, before slamming the door shut on Lewis.

“What?  What!” Lewis screamed, reaching for the door, before remembering he was in no state to go anywhere.  A car pulled up in the parking space one over from the van, and Lewis flung his body over the bench seat into the vans darkened back.  “This is unfair!”

Mystery popped his head over the backseat, a bit dazed from the commotion but recovering.  He assessed the cause of alarm and hopped over the bench seat and joined Lewis fumbling in the back.

“She acts like I was the one that MURDERED!” Lewis shrieked.  The sound was hellish and caused the van to ignite with momentary life, lamp lights pulsing and blazing yellow on the brick wall before them, engine roaring, windshield wipers sweeping and stopping in half motion. 

Mystery moved over and sat down beside Lewis’ torso.  The dog slanted his brows over the amber glasses he wore, and flattened his ears.  This was all not necessary, but he supposed Lewis couldn’t help it.

Lewis’ body turned to the dog, hunched over in the back of the van and barely able to keep from sinking through the floor.  Even without his head Lewis was still tall, and hunched over beneath the low ceiling.  Though he was in no danger of being spied on by curious newcomers, another outburst from Lewis caused the radio of the van to crackle with soft rock from the radio station Vivi had elected earlier that day.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Lewis screeched.  “It’s complicated.  I guaranteed Arthur would have survived!  That was the extent of my restraint!”

Mystery rolled his eyes.  Shoving off his rear legs, the dog leapt up and snared the purple tie at Lewis’ collar.  Lewis buckled forward to the unexpected weight of Mystery leading, hauling him down.

“Mystery!  Bad!  Leggo!  Mystery!”  Lewis pressed his palms to the floor of the van and pushed, but Mystery dug his claws into the short plush and jerked back, snarling in his throat.  “Why?  Why!”  Lewis reached out to snag him, but the dog released the tie and kicked away, then retreated a few steps out of the spirits reach.  As Mystery hung back watching, Lewis spun around and leaned over.  When he spun back the skull had resumed post above his collar, eye sockets gleaming and magenta flames bristling down his shoulders and back until the van was filled with a harsh fuchsia glow.  “I’d stop if I were you.”

Mystery inched back, quiet, contemplative.  His shoulders twitch when he gives a small yip and leaps over the bench seat, into the front of the van.  Mystery nosed at the door on the passenger side, before bouncing over the seat at the driver side door.  Both were locked and Mystery pawed at the door latch, trying to loop his paw through the pull handle.  His claws scratching over the latch without traction, and there was little space between the handle and the door to hook his paw in easily.

The fire along Lewis’ shoulders flutters as it diminishes, the back of the van becoming dark as it was before.  He watched Mystery struggle with the door, and felt his own fists clench tightly.  “What is wrong with me?  Damn it.”

After several failed attempts, the dog surrenders to simplicity and leans over to bite at the door handle.  Mystery jerks back when Lewis reaches over, and grips the door handle before Mystery can get his teeth on it.  Lewis is careful only to reach over the seat and kept his shape out of sight in the driver side window, while more cars roll up to fill the parking lot.

“I’m sorry,” Lewis says.  “I don’t know what gets into me.”  He pulls the handle, unlatching the door before he pushes the door open all the way.  Mystery doesn’t waste his time in jumping out.  “Vivi could be right.  I might be scared.  But,” Lewis detects Mystery’s still there, though timid.  “I’ve never been afraid before.  No.”

It was difficult for Lewis to admit that he, while investigating with his friends, had ever been fearful of what a case could offer in terms of danger. While running around investigating disappearances, cult activities, hostile spirits, his personal wellbeing was a moot concern.  But… he had been afraid for his friends.  The idea of them coming to harm did give him many restless nights.  Still, Lewis felt that he had control over the situation.  He would make sure no one was hurt or scared, and that they were never left behind.  In those days, he had been there for them.  He had always made sure he would be there, through thin or thick, dark or dreary, bleak or miserable.  It didn’t matter what it took, and he’d always felt confident in his abilities.  Looking back, it had been reckless.

Lewis settles down on the floor behind the driver side seat, passively letting his flames fade into his coat and collar as he watched the stars appear as only he could envision stars.  He envisioned galaxies and suns, planets and worlds beyond his grasp.  All swirling endlessly into the infinite pace that moved time, coasting through dark matter and scraping by the cusp of existence.  He felt molten seas sizzle and roar, gases burbling and erupting in geysers of red and gray.  Then ice.  Fields of ice, sheets of endless glaciers chattering as the surface shifts, the only sounds echoing in a landscape void of wind.  The endless blue shimmers with white slates like mirrors, opening into a chasm of the vacant abyss gazing and judging into the void of the universe.

Suddenly there is so much blue.  Cold blue sea.  It takes a moment for Lewis to return to himself, eye sockets brightening with pink flame.  “Ah….”

Vivi frowns down at him.  “You weren’t sleeping, were you?” she asks, a little concerned.  They were all so concerned about each other lately, each of them fitted with dull ice skates dancing on china plates.

“No.”  Lewis sits up and turns to Vivi.  “I was just… thinking.”

Vivi hummed.  “Careful.  Great thoughts require great responsibility,” she says, with a smile.

“If I remember correctly—” Lewis is cut off when Vivi slaps a hand to the front of his teeth.  It didn’t hinder his speech in anyway, but the gesture was recognized.

“Don’t ruin that for me,” Vivi mutters.  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Lewis pushed her hand away and leaned a little over, raising himself to inspect the lack of sound and activity in the parking lot.  “I wasn’t happy, let me put it that way,” he said.  Lewis saw no one, and the parking lot was very dark but for the street lamps along the sidewalk soaking the edges of the black asphalt with canary yellow.

“I’m not sorry,” Vivi said, crossing her arms.  “However, I am sorry to ask:  It was getting late, and I wanted to get back into Kingsman, but Lance locked the door.  Is there a way you can get in?”

Perched behind Vivi’s feet was Mystery, just staring up at Lewis.  Lewis adjusted his shoulders and began to fiddle with his tie, fitting it back into his suit.  “I could manage something,” Lewis said.  “Can you give me one moment, though?”

Vivi scowled.  “Sure.  But why?”  She stepped back as Lewis took the door’s edge, and without an answer swung the door shut.  He slapped the pin down and ducked out of sight.  Vivi looked along the amber side of the dusty vehicle, as if she could see through walls and would learn what it was the ghost had bought time for.  She turned and looked down at Mystery, but Mystery merely gave her his own dubious glance and raised his shoulders.

After too many minutes had passed, Vivi began to lose patience and was about to start banging on the vans side.  The back door opened, and out glides Lewis.  He set his feet to the asphalt and checked to make certain he had his heels down, then turned to inspect his palms and frowned.

“Oh,” Vivi said, upon seeing the face cloaking bone.  “You should have said something.”

“And ruin the surprise?” Lewis asked, as he swung the door shut.  He paused as his chest expanded, and he let out a crackly sound.  “How was that?”

Vivi smirked as she approached him, and squint her eyes to one side.  “Pretty good,” she says.  “But it sounds weird.  I like it, but it’ll confuse people I think.”

“I’ll work on it.”  Lewis glanced down at Mystery still keeping behind Vivi.  “Where’s this door then?”  He waited for Vivi to walk pass him, before letting his outer visage echo his inner pang.

The Kingsman Mechanics shop ended, but the brick wall that made up its side continued and connected with the building behind it.  There was a metal gate in the wall about halfway between the two buildings, which led into a large back alley for scrap parts and was fitted with barbed wire on both the gates top and bottom, and more barbed wire was curled along the top of the high brick wall.  A chain and padlock was wrapped around the adjoining bars of the gate, but the lock was not secured.  Vivi pulled the padlock off and undid the chain and slid one gate aside, allowing Mystery through.  She looked at Lewis when he stepped up, as she began to close the gate.

“Sorry,” Vivi said, and stepped aside as Lewis stepped through to join them.  “When you project your alive appearance, does it prevent you from phasing through walls?”

Lewis glanced back as Vivi secures the chain, and fixed the padlock in place.  “No,” he said.  “Not at all, I don’t think,” and he sounded dubious, as if he never thought over it.  “But I don’t want to get into the habit of it and forget.”  He looked across the alley, and the collection of rusted and forgotten parts of engines and old tanks abandoned beside the wall.  “What if Arthur’s already asleep?”

“He’s not,” Vivi assures, as she walks past Lewis.  “That’s why we’re here.”

Lewis turned to give Mystery a look when the dog lingered at the gate.  Mystery perked up his ears at the gaze and darted off to rejoin Vivi, as she weaves around the machine parts and the stains on the sidewalk.  With a crackle like static Lewis followed them, silent and displeased.

The back alley is heavy with thick fumes of congealed grease, oil, and diesel fumes.  Vivi leads the way around the discarded scrap, a few tarps covering engines and replacement equipment, until they come to a steel door set in the buildings backside.  Vivi waits as Lewis gives the reinforced door a brief inspection.  Lewis raises his hands and looks at his palms, before turning his hands to the doors surface and seems to forcibly shove himself through as if attempting to barrel the doors itself down.  He fades through the steel surface with a purple-pink outline trailing around his shapes, as he soaks through the door.  Vivi knelt down to give Mystery a few comforting strokes, before she hears the latch of the door echo.

“Open sez’me,” Lewis quipped.  He opened the door more as Vivi stepped through, followed by Mystery.

The interior of the shop was darker than viscous ink, and the black seemed to thicken when Lewis shut the door behind them.  “Hold on, don’t move,” Lewis voice echoed around Vivi’s ears.  There was such force to the tone she obeyed without a sound, though standing within the suffocating murk was disconcerting.  She briefly saw Lewis dart by, a line of pink fire trailing after his eyes and his gold-bluish locket thudding on his chest.  He moved somewhere, but Vivi couldn’t see exactly where he had vanished.

“Can you see?” Vivi asked, when nothing happens.  And no answer comes.  “Lew?”

“Sort of,” his voice, from somewhere.  The nature of his voice and the method it traveled by made it impossible to identify its origin point.  “I found a switch,” Lewis said.

Vivi flinched when the light came on, not far from where she and Mystery stood.  She blinked the remainder of the shade from her eyes as Lewis glides back to them.  It was one of the phosphorus lamps above a work bench, a truck parked beside it.  The garage had numerous vehicles parked inside for the evening, the large shutter doors drawn down and the endless black visible through the pristine clear glass window in each door.  Everything was eerily quiet, as if the world beyond had just stopped.

Except for the low peeping sound that tapered up and down the white washed walls.  Lewis stood beside Vivi taking in their surroundings, judging what was changed and what had remained the same since his last visit to Kingsman Mechanics.  He liked the new white walls, they seemed to brighten the place up and made the light travel to the furthest corners of the interior garage.  Did Lance remodel the place? A lot of everything looked newer or brighter, or maybe he wasn’t focused enough.

The strange resonance faded and swelled at odd intervals, yet altogether seemed to be coming from every corner of the open floorplan of the garage.  Lewis edged forward, aware that the sound was coming closer to them.  His eyes brightened like stars as he scanned for the possible threat.  Whatever it was, it didn’t sound human.  He glared down and felt the energy of his form pucker with anticipation, as the source of the sound began to pinpoint not far from them.  Lewis winced when a small orange ball on wheels scuttled into view.  His eyes dimmed on the thing.  The ball of fluff gazed back with large glossy eyes and blinked.

“Galahad!” Vivi said.  She brushed past Lewis to where the small creature was squatted, still staring up at the tall specter.

“Gala— what?” Lewis stammered.  He drew back when Vivi had picked up the little orange puff and presented it to his face.  “A hamster?”  Indeed, a hamster that sported a familiar hairstyle on the area between its dark ears, and a set of wheels where its back legs should be.

“Galahad.  Like from the Arthurian legends,” Vivi explained, as she gave the hamster a gentle cuddle under her chin.  “He was one of the Knights of the Round Table.”

“The hamster?” Lewis asked.

“No, the knight,” Vivi snapped.  She smirked as Lewis smiled back.  “What’s up Galaham?  Did Arthur make it to bed?”  To the mentioned of Arthur’s name, the hamster’s head perked and he began peeping.  Mystery padded over to Vivi and stared up at the hamster as the small orange puff rotated his wheels, all the while turning his head to one direction of the garage.  “Okay-okay,” Vivi cooed, and set Galahad down.  “Where is he?”

Mystery snapped his ears up as Galahad took off.  Mystery gave Vivi a quick glimpse before he sprang after the wheelie hamster.

“He’s probably in his work room,” Vivi said, as she followed the two racing off.  “That’s on the other side of the garage, upstairs.”  Lewis followed Vivi, and Mystery followed the swift orange blur as Galahad zipped under shelves and a few carts topped with heavy equipment.  It was near impossible to keep up with the squeal of Galahad’s tires as he zipped through shadows, the sound of his wheels on the hard walls came from all sides of the room.  But Vivi already knew Galahad’a destination.  Or so she thought.

Vivi hurried to the far side of the garage, into a smaller section segregated by a wall with a large shutter door.  Meanwhile, Lewis exerted no effort in keeping up with Vivi’s hurried steps, but he did pause occasionally to flip on a light and keep the hamster’s direction lit.  The light barely traveled through the shutter door, but Vivi could make out the bottom of the cement steps just around the doorframe.  She hastened up the steps to the dim light of the floor above, and Lewis glides ahead to the top, both leaving Galahad to begin working up the numerous large steps from below.

Also left behind, Mystery trotted up to the hamster and only paused to lean down and grip one wheel between his teeth before he sprang up the steps four and five at a time.  When Mystery reached the top he set Galahad down and raised his head high to bark, pacing back and forth at the top step and waiting for Vivi and Lewis to catch his signal.

Vivi skid to a halt, and Lewis plopped down to skid through the floor by his heels.   “Not in his work room?” Vivi murmured.  She dashed back to the two, Lewis right on her heel.

This time they followed Galahad, even so it was a struggle to keep pace.  Though it was only the corridor they were headed down, across to the other end of the garage.  “Galahad’s usually this excitable, right?” Lewis asked.  “It’s just a hamster thing?”  Vivi said nothing, and Lewis internally cursed.

Galahad took an abrupt turn, squeezing through a door left ajar and parked himself right beside the doorframe as his companions spilled through.  He gave a small chirp and directed an arm to the room before them.  Mystery wriggled between Vivi and Lewis and took a position on the opposite wall, he scanned over the shelves and the disaster set before them.  A soft whine escaped the dog as his ears tucked back along his head.

“Oh geez,” Lewis hissed. 

The room had a few metal shelves, each filled with boxes, some machinery, and an assortment of colorful and curly tubes.  Before the center line of shelves was a workbench marred by every burn, scrape, dent, and cut imaginable. Cords were attached to socket plugs fixed above in the low ceiling, extending down to the work bench and the racks fixed to the metal shelves behind the worktable.  Solder tools, buzz saws, and sets of pliers from miniscule tweezers to massive monkey wrenches had been littered over the surface of the cluttered worktable, but most seemed to have found suitable stations across the floor.  Tools and pieces of equipment were scattered around the metal arm left clamped, and somehow still intact, upon the worktables marred top.  Half the room was cast in long disfigured shadows, due to one work light that was knocked from one of its tether which left it to dangle sideways, still and amenable.

Stuffed into one of the lowest cuvees of the metal shelves, amongst clutter and beside a pool of oil marinating on the floor, was a pair of red stained pants.

Lewis rattled something and swooped away from Vivi in a sudden gust.  He perched beside the shelf, careful of the oil, and with another hissing sound Lewis reached up under the shelf and carefully tugged Arthur out by his good arm.  Vivi skipped over, avoiding the pieces and parts that had been thrown across the floor.  Lewis maneuvered away from the glossy oil mess before he settled down and shook Arthur by his torso, his blazing eyes occasionally cast over the blackened and red sleeve.

“Damn it Art, wake up,” Lewis hissed.  He let Arthur’s body sag over his thigh and shook harder, but never enough to jostle and break what few joints remained.  “Speak to me.  C’mon, answer!”  Lewis supported Arthur’s back with one hand and set his other hand over Arthur’s face and felt for a breath.  Faint but not encouraging.  He gripped Arthur’s chin and shook his head, in an effort to restrain himself from slapping the hell out of the comatose figure.  “Arthur!  ARTHUR.  I need a sign, a response!  Or so help me—” Lewis twitched when Vivi set a hand on his shoulder.  He was about to snap something at her, when a low moan came from the sorry sack of human remains.  Lewis glared down.  He didn’t once allow himself the thought that he may appear terrifying, eyes black with rosy fire burning in their sockets.  In fact, Lewis didn’t give a flying fuck.  He needed to make sure Arthur was still there, in some sense or another.

Arthur’s eyes scrunch tighter before opening a crack.  His vest was removed, and numerous small blotches of grease or some other odd colors stained his once white shirt, and a yellow-black ring was in his empty shoulder sleeve where his arm should be.  But Arthur’s eyes opened, struggled to take in light and sights while he picked up on muffled sound.  Above his face he saw the sharp stabs of white light and a dark face, eyes blazing and unforgiving.  There were other shapes and shades bobbing around, but not as clear, not as focused as the visage staring.

One of Arthur’s eyes snapped open and fixed on the face.  “L-Lewis?” he burbled, reaching out his only arm.  “It’s you, isn’t it?  Lewis?  You came back.”

Lewis hesitates.  Arthur was… Arthur was someplace else.  His expression was calm, collecting slowly, but his aura was in five different directions, twisting and wriggling to find a suitable station in which to settle.  It unnerved Lewis.  “Hey,” Lewis hummed, almost melodic, gentle and sturdy.  “A little more, Arty.”

Arthur’s other eye pried open slowly, and recognition swung heavily through his broken expression.  The eyes became hollow as his mind drifted, Lewis felt Arthur’s mind dive into somewhere distant.  A dark place, cold— No.  Icy and dank.  The air tinged with decay, rolls of sharp vapor nested among rocks and dirt, noxious gas seeping through damp stone.

“Careful,” Lewis said.

Arthur snapped his arm out and took hold of Lewis sharp collar, gripping the wispy fabric for dear life.  There was anger and focus in Arthur’s eyes, and he tightened his fist into Lewis collar and would never, ever let go.  Through clenched teeth Arthur muttered, “Gotcha.”

Lewis let his eyes trail away.  He nearly turned to check Vivi, when Arthur let out a gurgled sob.  Lewis returned his focus to Arthur, as the other hauled himself up by his arm and pressed his head into Lewis’ chest.  “I’m sorry,” Arthur whimpered.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.”  That’s all he said, over and over.  Arthur pressed his face harder into Lewis’ chest taking in short breaths, only to refuel his mantra.  “I tried to grab you.  I meant to grab you, but… stupid.  I saw you fall.  I watched you FALL.  I watched.”  Arthur couldn’t do much but curl down over his good arm.  “I… used the wrong arm.  I did it wrong, I fucked up.  I fucked it all up.  I can’t— couldn’t fix it.  Couldn’t fix….”

Vivi looked around at all the parts and pieces scattered, and looked back to Galahad and Mystery by the doorway.  Lewis followed her eyes over the floor, where a few wires were scattered, a bent pair of pliers and the spilled oil, among the superficial evidence of unrestrained fury with no target, no outlet.  Just direction.

It was all so familiar.  Like a distant dream, in a different world.  Galaxies away.  A lifetime ago.

Lewis wrapped his arms around Arthur and pulled him up, but Arthur tensed and bawled harder.  “Don’t kill me,” he yelped, trying to push away from Lewis.  “Don’t kill…. sorry.  I’m sorry.”

“Quiet Arty,” Lewis hissed.  He squeezed Arthur a little more and glared across the room at nothing in particular, except perhaps the few bits of metal as if they had any responsibility over Arthur’s current state.  “Just shh,” Lewis continued, a little softer.  “No one’s going to kill you.”  Arthur was a complete mess, arm limp and face pressed into Lewis’ collar.  “Art.  Would you listen to me?”  Arthur said nothing, but he slumped into Lewis’ a little more and his sharp breaths had lessened, accompanied by the timid hiccup.  “I don’t want you to fall.  I don’t want you to follow me.”  Lewis glanced back over his shoulder a bit, when he picked up on Vivi slipping down to sit beside them.

Arthur mumbled something and seemed to hide in Lewis’ arms a little more, if that was possible.

“Do you see that?” Lewis said.  He glared at the floor, the shimmering puddle of oil where his reflection wavered.  Lewis pondered with no solution, and no way to say the words Arthur may need to hear.  I can’t.  I won’t.  He coiled around Arthur more.  “There’s a pit.”  He winced when Arthur trembled and sobbed harder.  “But listen, Arthur.  We should head back,” he said, trying to recall his last words as a living, breathing person.  “We’ll regroup.”

“Lewis, no,” Arthur choked.  “No-no.”

“I’m not falling,” Lewis hummed.  “We’re not falling.  It’s okay, open your eyes.”  Lewis refused to loosen his hold on Arthur, until the broken figure had raised his head an inch and opened his eyes to meet Lewis’ steady gaze.  “Hey.”

“Lew,” Arthur said.  His arm fumbled around trying to find a hold but eventually gave up.  Arthur stares at Lewis as if not seeing, but remembering.  “You’re here.”

Lewis ducked his head into a nod.  Arthur found a place for his arm, encircling Lewis’ side as far as it could and clutching at one of the ribs.  “Stay with us, Art.”

Arthur dropped his forehead to the dark suit and focused on the texture, the blues and purples that refracted light all wrong.  “I pushed you,” Arthur mumbled.

“It’s not a contest.  You couldn’t stop,” Lewis said.  He focused on the scattered bits of surviving cogs and metal, and mulled over the differences in shape and function  Lewis thought about the van, and thought about the things that once gave him restless nights.  “I could,” he began, “but I didn’t.  That’s the decisive edge.  Now drop it.”

“Fine.”  And Arthur said nothing more after that.  There was a short pause before Lewis leaned back to find that Arthur had lost his battle with exhaustion. 

Lewis frowned.  “This dork.”  He looked over as Vivi moved to her feet and tugged at his shoulder.

“It looks like he cut himself,” Vivi says.  She leaned on Lewis’ shoulder as she touched Arthur’s brow and sighed.  Arthur was fine, maybe.  He would be all right.  “There’s a couch in his work station, and I’ll get a kit.”  Vivi left through the door, and headed down the corridor.

Lewis lifts Arthur up with him and trudges into the corridor and moves into the opposite direction Vivi had gone.  The low squeak of the hamsters wheels followed, Galahad keeping watch of his companion; besides the soft piping was the pad and click of Mystery’s claws on the floor.

The thought now hovered in Lewis’ mind that his presence was more damning to Arthur than his absence, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise.  It hadn’t, and he didn’t allow himself the guilt or concern he might, should have felt.  Another tether, another unsurpassable wall. 

The fall. 

When he awoke, as he so often did at the conclusion of a nightmare, it was not safe and in a warm bed surrounded by friends.  Later.  Later and later, and much later, he accepted that he would have no more restless nights.  The recollection wounded him somewhere deep, and somewhere none tangible.

“I could’ve just haunted you,” Lewis muttered.  Arthur’s aura was pooling, the erratic tendrils slowed into a cohesion that was preferred and agreeable.  .  “But where’s the sport in that?”

A low growl came from Lewis’ back.  The spirit glanced over his shoulder, stunned to find it was Galahad that was making the hostile sound; while Mystery glanced between him and the small fluff ball with uncertainty.

“Just a joke, little hermano,” Lewis assured.  “He’s having a hard struggle in him, and there’s nothing I can do to amend that.”

The work room Arthur utilized as his own was cluttered with tables, all decorated with every piece or part and cog Arthur had carefully ‘adopted’ from the garage.  Lewis set Arthur on the beaten up couch near the door, and gave the room a brief scan.  Walls had hooks and pegs screwed into the cinderblock surface to cradle additional tools and motors, or cords.  A blanket was left draped over the coffee tables beside the couch, and Lewis took it up and folded it as he further examined the room while Mystery and Galahad remained near the couch.

Lewis was setting the blanket down on the back of the couch when Vivi arrived, the white first aid kit in hand.  The spirit drifts away to admire the random worktables shoved at odd angles around the small room.  Lewis never liked to see the scars Arthur had acquired throughout his misadventures with the Mystery Skulls, and Lewis most certainly did not want to pick out the new ones Arthur had claimed in his most recent travels.

[idesofrevolution]

For @justcheckingthingsoutbigley

Judge H. Quinlan Tubbs. The name strikes fear into any poor unfortunate soul walking into the Honolulu District Court, and for good reason. Since Judge Tubbs was appointed, 154 young adults were thrown into jail for any matter from minor drug possession to burglary, and no matter what the defense was in any case, without fail he always sided with the state. His sentences were notoriously harsh, often times exceeding the expectations of the District Attorney, who routinely would request leniency only to be met with an excessive and cruel punishment for an often times minor offense.

From inside his chambers, Judge Tubbs grimaced at the picture of Makoa and Kai Keohokaii. This was their third time in the District Court for criminal trespass. As much as Tubbs loathed what he saw as millennial insubordination, he loved the pretrial frightfest he forced on these young kids. It was tradition for Judge Tubbs to meet with the defendants just after arraignment, and in an attempt to expedite the process would subject them to a cavalcade of obscenities, screaming, and threats. The goal: to terrify each and every individual entering his courtroom. He thrived on it, more than any adjudicator ever should. For him, the Keohokaii boys were just another pair of delinquents to be thrown into detention. Tossing back his cognac, the Judge prepared himself for his pontificating. 

“Miss Talbot, send them in.” Judge Tubbs directed his secretary much as he directed his defendants- with a malicious sneer and a crass sense of moral superiority. He hung up the phone and stared out the window at the bustling city below. To him, each person walking by needed reprimand. Each individual was guilty of something and it was his responsibility as a moral, upstanding man to give a punishment, be it just or not. Hearing the door creak open and close, Tubbs didn’t so much as turn around before beginning his tirade.

“Do you two know how long I have been on the bench?” The silence spoke volumes to him. “Thirty Seven years. From Kansas to Arizona, I’ve been elected time and time again to adjudicate cases of miscreants like you. Do you know why?” Silence. “It’s because what I do works. It’s because I cleanse the streets of human waste like yourselves. I have...” Before the judge could continue, he was interrupted by the snickering behind him. He whipped around, casting a menacing glare at the source. Kai Keohokaii, the younger of the two, smirked with a defiant grin at his would-be intimidator.

“You think you’re gonna scare us, old man?” Makoa Keohokaii spoke with a comparable fervor; not intending to intimidate Tubbs, but rather to accentuate his own strength of will. “You have no idea who you’re talking to, and I’d reconsider trying to strong arm any sort of grovelling. Let’s get right to it.” Tubbs stood livid, infuriated at the gall of the insolent surfer boys. 

“Yes, lets. You’re both charged with Simple Trespass. I guess you stayed past close at one of the beaches. You’re clearly not going to adhere to the rules as stated in the statute, so I’m prepared to have both of you remanded and thrown into jail. It shows here, you’ve never been incarcerated before. Mostly misdemeanors and the like. And yet, it would be such a joy to see you both locked up in that jail, and to see the looks on your faces when you realize just who sent you there.” Tubbs grabbed the cigar on the edge of his desk, placing it to his lips and taking the inaugural puff. As he let out his first breath, he scowled at the taste. This was different from the Mayan Sicar he’d bought months ago. It had a spice, or an earthy timbre to it that he’d never experienced before.

“That’s an interesting take, Quinn. But I think I have a better idea.” Judge Tubbs took another puff from the bizarre cigar, before realizing just what it was he was inhaling. “Is that... Weed you’re smoking, sir? I don’t think good people of Honolulu would like to hear that their ‘crusader of justice’ was caught smoking the devil’s plant in his chambers, now do you?”

In the back of his mind, Judge Tubbs knew inherently he should toss the fat blunt into the faces of these two buffoons and yet, each puff of it relaxed and calmed him in a way he’d never experienced before. H. Quinlan Tubbs had been cursed from a young age to be brilliant. While to most it seems a pathetic complaint, Tubbs felt constantly surrounded by lesser people. No one ever understood who he was, for no one was on his intellectual level. His entire life, he’d have people roll their eyes at him, scoffing in frustration at his every correction and lecture. This relentless, incessant need to be right had driven away friends, family, and even colleagues. However, for the first time in his life, a puff of smoke helped to quiet his screaming mind. It helped to dull the anxiety. It helped to embrace relaxation. For these reasons, he took another puff. 

“Ahh. Seems like Quinn likes it! Makes him feel young again, I bet.” Kai chuckled earnestly. For the brothers, it was a joy to indoctrinate; especially when it came to figures of authority. They loved introducing them to ‘the lifestyle.’ Judge Tubbs would be one of the biggest success stories yet, and they were excited to see how he would turn out. “C’mon. Take another puff, Quinn.” 

The Judge absentmindedly obliged, inhaling the smoke for a fourth time. He could feel the smoke travelling through his throat, into his sinuses, and seemingly into his brain itself. The fat old man began to feel weightless, as if his body was becoming lighter and lighter with every ounce of smoke entering his lungs. To him, it was only a sensation. To the two boys watching, it seemed to any wayward eyes that Judge Tubbs was deflating. His bulbous body shrank to less than half his former 400 pounds. The sagging skin hung from his now limber body like cloth. Tubbs jovially continued to puff on his blunt, completely unaware of his sudden physical loss.

“Whoa! Look at that man! It’s so saggy!” The two brothers began to fiddle with the excess skin hanging from Tubbs’ frame, joking and laughing the entire time. Tubbs began to laugh at the absurdity of the situation himself, going so far as to fall into a hiccup spell. Each hiccup lightened and heightened his voice, as if helium had snuck its way into his lungs. What used to be a tired, raspy old leather boot of a voice became youthful and jovial- a permeating aire of slow-wittedness flowed freely from the brash new vocal cords.

“Haha yeah man. Look at it jiggle!” Tubbs wiggled his arm, watching the skin sway from side to side before slurping it’s way back into tightness. Within moments, he was lean, fit and donned an unblemished, youthful glow. The Keohokaii boys stood by, thrilled at the regression and simultaneously eager for the next phase. Tubbs took yet another puff of the blunt, and his normally dull brown hair began to lengthen and wisp downward past his shoulders, all the while lightening to a sunkissed golden blonde. 

“Huuhh huhh huhh, bruh love the luscious locks.” Tubbs flipped his hair back in an uncharacteristically cocky and lackadaisical manner. His brows furrowed, his lips plumped, and within seconds Tubbs was unrecognizable. This face was the face of a nearly braindead surfer dope; strikingly handsome though he was, it was evident very little was going on upstairs. All the while, downstairs, he felt his endowment grow from the euphoria of the experience. Inch by inch the member grew to an impressive length and girth before tearing through the confinements of his pinstripe suit. 

The boys wasted no time in getting on their knees to help expedite the process. Taking turns rotating from balls to cock, they worshipped, sucked, sniffed, and licked every surface of Tubbs’ growing groin. The former judge sighed in contentment, leaning back in his chair and smoking his blunt as his feet burst through his wingtip shoes. Physically, even genetically, this was no longer Judge Tubbs. This was Quinn, just as the two had predicted. 

The tattered remains of Tubbs’ suit were tossed aside, as Quinn pulled Kai into a passionate, albeit sloppy kiss while Makoa continued on his engorged cock. Thrusting his sensitive branch deep into his bro’s throat, he knew the end was close. A rapid frenzy of moans, cries, and gulps followed the tsunami of cum which rushed out of Quinn’s cockhead; with it, went the very last remnants of H. Quinlan Tubbs. The judge’s reign of terror had ended in the best way possible.

“Whoa, fuck man. You sure do know how to suck a cock don’t ya.” The two brothers tossed him a duffel bag filled with their hand-me-down clothes, perfectly sized for a surfer bro of their stature. After a quick change in the bathroom, three dumb, dopey surfer bros walked out of the Honolulu Courthouse toward the beach; all of which were finally free.

If you liked this smut, please support me on my PATREON to make sure this keeps going. 

[letterboxd]

How I Letterboxd #2: Dave Chen

In our second of this series, we put Dave Chen in the Letterboxd spotlight. The podcaster, musician and filmmaker is most famous on Letterboxd for his weirdly specific lists. He tells us how he uses the platform, why every film that exists is miraculous, and why we shouldn’t sleep on Not Another Teen Movie.

Hi Dave! How long have you been on Letterboxd? About eight years. I believe I first signed up when it was in beta. I loved (and still love) the interface: how smooth the user flow is for logging/reviewing films, and how beautiful all that movie art looks as it’s organized on the site.

What do you mainly use Letterboxd for? I love reading the reviews on Letterboxd. On a film’s page, the site surfaces many of the most popular reviews and I find it’s a great way to find some quick, witty, and thoughtful comments on something I might be considering watching. But of course, I also love reading and making funny lists. Finally, I’ve heard Letterboxd is great for keeping track of films at a film festival but sadly I haven’t yet attended one since I started using it again.

Do you rate films? Would you consider yourself a generous or harsh rater? I rate films to remind myself how I felt about them at the time I watched. Of course, my opinions on movies change but it’s sometimes interesting to look back and think back to a time when, “Oh right, I did love that movie in the summer of 2019 when I was going through XYZ”. Our feelings about movies can often reflect what’s going on in our lives.

That said, over time, I’ve come to understand that films are miracles. I don’t think I’m the first person to come up with this observation but they are like miniature plays resulting from the collective work of hundreds or thousands of people that have been preserved for your amusement, and you can just play them on demand. Many of them cost only a few dollars. Some are free! Every film that exists is miraculous.

So, despite some of my harsh reviews, I do try to keep that perspective in mind.

You’ve been a member for a while but most of your reviews are recent. What brought you back? We note that you restarted with your third viewing of 1917! I am pretty active on Twitter and I started seeing a bunch of screen-capped reviews go viral there. But to be honest, much of social media can be exhausting to me these days. What I realized recently about Letterboxd was that much of it is free of the negativity. It’s just a bunch of folks who love movies sharing thoughts on those movies, but it also feels like a real community of people. There are filmmakers on there who share their thoughts on films and their favorites, and that’s of course endlessly fascinating (such as Sean Baker). Even the negative reviews can be fun to read. There’s a lot of pithiness and wit on the site, and its design really helps facilitate that.

Okay, take us way back, what was the film that got you hooked on cinema? My first cinematic true loves were the films of John Woo. I’d watched action movies before but I was introduced to John Woo ironically by a counselor at my church youth group! I became dazzled by movies like The Killer and Hard Boiled. It was then that I realized that things I had seen dozens of times (e.g., a shootout in a warehouse) could be elevated by sheer craftsmanship.

What keeps you from sharing your four favorites on your profile? A few reasons. For me personally, it takes months if not years for my thoughts on a film to really crystallize. My relationship with a movie doesn’t end when the credits roll—its ideas and themes and images are often clanging around in the back of my head for months if not years afterwards. As a result, my favorite films of all time change pretty frequently and I didn’t want to have to think about maintaining my four favorites over time.

Michael Caine in Alfonso Cuarón’s ‘Children of Men’ (2006).

Is there any film you could say is your all-time number one? If I had to name one though, it’d probably be Children of Men. It combines all my favorite things into one movie: science fiction, action, Michael Caine and a heartfelt message about how humanity has to be kinder to one another if we are to survive the challenging days ahead.

Your most popular lists are weirdly specific and fun (but true!). What are some other weirdly specific lists on Letterboxd that spoke to you? All the lists I like fall into that category. I love it when people make connections that I never otherwise would’ve thought of. To make a funny list, I think you need to be able to juggle extremely specific pattern recognition with a description that makes people feel like they are learning something about the films or their subjects. While the vast majority of the time these are just for fun, sometimes they actually can lead to insights about filmmakers, actors and the specific themes they try to bring to life in their work.

Also, shout out to Thijs Meuwese, who is leading the way on creative lists.

What is your favorite or most useful feature on Letterboxd? The Stats page [generated for all Pro and Patron members] is a beautiful visualization of the history of my film watching. As I continue to build out my watch history, I’m curious to see the trends that will arise.

What’s a movie where you don’t understand why Letterboxd members love or hate it so much? To answer this question, I took a look at some “worst-rated films on Letterboxd” lists and here’s a totally random one for you: the teen romantic comedy parody Not Another Teen Movie. It’s rated a 2.6 and a lot of the humor of this film has aged poorly but there are some amazing gags in here and it features Chris Evans in a performance that will likely be the apex of the comedic phase of his career. My brother and I still quote this movie to each other. Don’t sleep on it.

Chyler Leigh and Chris Evans in ‘Not Another Teen Movie’ (2001).

Your feature film, Stephen Tobolowsky’s one-man show The Primary Instinct, has a Letterboxd page and a pretty solid rating, congrats! How do you feel having that livestream of instant reactions to it? I’m glad that the ratings are decent, but to be honest, I can’t bring myself to look at them! As part of the filmmaking process, I’m totally open to constructive feedback from people I know and trust, but I’m not sure I can handle the same from strangers. Nonetheless, I’m grateful some Letterboxd members have seen fit to watch the film and take the time to rate it! Perhaps if I make more films in the future, I’ll feel better about checking out the reviews for an individual one.

Among your other skills, you are a talented musician. Can you tell us about some of your favorite film scores? Any cello-heavy scores or composers you find particularly influential? While not really cello-specific, the music of Nicholas Britell makes amazing use of strings (see Moonlight and [TV series] Succession). His music is achingly beautiful and is often in rotation in my playlists.

More generally, Hans Zimmer and John Williams are both legends and I’ve always found their work to be very interesting. In recent days, I’ve been quite taken with the work of Daniel Pemberton, whose work on films like King Arthur and The Man from U.N.C.L.E. have a great populsive energy to them. Finally, when I’m into something more moody, atmospheric or modern, I appreciate the work of Cliff Martinez.

Are you self-isolating right now due to Covid-19? Discovered anything great and new to you to pass the time? We hope everything is alright otherwise! Yes, I'm quarantining due to a “stay safe and healthy” order in Washington State right now. Like many people staying at home, I’ve been watching a lot of TV, which includes things like Tiger King, Devs, Better Call Saul, and Dave (the show on Hulu). These are the things that give me comfort and distraction these days.

Jennifer Ehle in Steven Soderbergh’s ‘Contagion’ (2011).

What are your go-to comfort movies that you recommend to people at this strange and difficult time? This is a weird recommendation, but I’d say Steven Soderberg’s Contagion is a great choice. Contagion depicts a virus far more deadly than Covid-19, and how it eventually leads to the deterioration of the social order. But it’s also a deeply hopeful movie. You see governments come together to try to figure this thing out. You see the people on the front lines risking their lives to fight the fictional virus and I think it’s a great way to help people understand how courageous and valuable all our medical workers are in times like these. It’s “competence porn” in an era where I think we need to be reminded of what competence looks like.

[Editor’s note: Dave isn’t alone, Contagion has consistently been in our 20 most popular films for the past month.]

When the universe is allowed to go back to the cinema, where do you prefer to sit? As close to the center of the theater as possible, with my eyeline at about halfway up the screen.

What’s in your ‘hall of shame’—the movies you haven’t seen and know Letterboxd will boo at you for missing? Don’t worry, we’ll protect you. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and Say Anything. Also Firefly, the Joss Whedon show which I don’t think is on your website anywhere. Many people have been complaining to me about this oversight in my viewership for years so I think it’ll do well if we can list it here.

Which film from the past ten years that went by fairly unloved do you think will be a future classic and you’ll fight to the death for loving? I’m going to cheat a little and list a movie that’s eleven years old: Tony Gilroy’s Duplicity. This movie didn’t do super well at the box office when it was first released and currently has a 2.8 on Letterboxd. But it was one of my top ten films that year. I think Clive Owen and Julia Roberts have great chemistry, but I think the film’s depiction of corporate espionage is outlandish, fun and irresistible. These characters are playing a "triple game" and it’s so much fun to see the layers upon layers of deception that they’re creating, and the cascading impacts they have on their relationship. Also, how can you say no to a movie that has Paul Giamatti and Tom Wilkinson as competing CEOs literally going at each other?

And finally, please name three other Letterboxd members you recommend we follow. I collaborate with Melissa on YouTube/podcast reviews and she is incredibly thoughtful and articulate. I always appreciate Khoi’s thoughtfulness. And Mike Ginn—this guy is hilarious.

You can enjoy more Dave on his website; his YouTube channel; and his podcasts The Slashfilmcast and Culturally Relevant. Dave was photographed by Brandon Hill.

[lemonz-and-limez]

Hey, saw you were taking prompts! How about where shamy come back from Stockholm and finally decide that it’s time to start trying for a baby. :) thanks!

A/N: Hope this fits the prompt, I haven’t done something like this in a long time so if it sucks (probably) I apologize in advance. 😊

Amy wanted a baby.

She also knew that Sheldon wanted one. However, the subject had not been brought up again since the day they watched Howard and Bernadette’s children. Even then, the matter was left on a somewhat mysterious note, with Sheldon mentioning his 15 children idea again and leaving it at that.

It wasn’t that Amy was opposed to having lots of children, but 15? That was too many. She knew that they would find a way to compromise, but she did not know how to broach the subject again. They had just recently got back from Sweden after receiving their Nobles, and they were still trying to settle back into a regular routine. Plus with Leonard and Penny’s baby on the way, Amy didn’t want to detract any attention from them.

But she wanted a baby.

It was one of those rare days where they had the opportunity to spend the day alone in their apartment. Sheldon doing god knows what on his computer and Amy treating herself to a relaxing bath. She figured that she could broach the subject during dinner, and she had practiced her speech multiple times in her head. However, finding it in herself to actually bring it up would be the hard part.

She pulled her hair into a half ponytail as she walked into the living room. She found Sheldon in the same place she left him almost two hours ago when she retreated to the bathroom. On the couch with his computer.

At first, she thought he was playing one of those online video games with his friends, but the way that his shoulder’s seemed stiff clued her into the fact that he was doing something else.  

“Hey,” Amy softly greeted, snaking her arms around her husband’s shoulders, placing a gentle kiss to his cheek as she did so. With her chin finding it’s home near the crook of his neck, he was able to get a glance as to what he was doing on his laptop. Ikea?

“Are you shopping?” She asked, furrowing her brow in confusion.  

He nodded. “Yes, I need to find a new closet organizer,” he said, clicking on something he already saved to his bag. “What do you think of this one?”

He lifted up the screen so she could get a better look. Unlocking her arms from around him, she took the laptop from his hands. “Why are you looking for a new closet organizer? What’s wrong with the one we have now?”

Sheldon gave her an incredulous look, as though the answer was obvious. “Amy, before you changed your wardrobe it consisted mainly of skirts, blouses, and cardigans; shorter items if you will. Then you went out and bought all these dresses that are much longer than anything you owned before. I don’t know if you have checked recently, but some of them are dragging on the floor, and that is just unacceptable.”

Amy’s mouth hung open as she tried to process what he just said. However, when she caught a glance at his, almost concerned face, she softened. “Oh, Sheldon, it’s very sweet of you to look for this, but I really don’t mind, honestly,” she assured him, handing back his laptop and joining him on the couch.

“But I do!” he exclaimed, rubbing at his temples. “It bothers me, Amy.”

Amy thought about it for a second. It would be nice not to clean of lint from dresses she hung on the bottom. Or to iron dresses that wrinkled because there was no room to accommodate its length. She conceded. “Ok, if it’s bothering you that much, I think it would be good to get a new system.”

Sheldon perked up, ecstatic that she was on board. Amy loved watching the way his eyes sparkled with excitement. “Great! Let me tell you about the one I picked out. Don’t worry I’ve measured and everything…”

Amy smiled while Sheldon explained to her all the great things about the new closet. She still couldn’t figure out why things like this made him so happy, but nevertheless, it was one of his many idiosyncrasies that she loved.

She never did bring up the topic of babies until two weeks later when they were setting up the new closet.

Trying to find an appropriate time to bring up the topic was proving to be more difficult than she thought. Every time she tried, she either got too nervous, or there was something else he wanted to talk about. However, never once did Sheldon hear the word ‘baby’ out of her mouth. It was beginning to frustrate her.

Sheldon was handing her various articles of clothing while she set them neatly onto her bed. Cleaning out the closet was proving to be more of a task than she thought. However, they had worked themselves into a routine, finding their rhythm. There was nothing but silence between them as they worked. Sheldon didn’t even need to turn his body to hand her the various dressed he pulled from the closet.

The amiable silence between them was something that Amy knew he loved; however, it was starting to burn a hole in her skull.  The topic that had been on the tip of her tongue for weeks was beginning to bite at her.

Amy knew there would be no better opportunity.

“Sheldon, I think we should have a baby.”

What happened next shocked Amy. Of all the scenarios she came up with in her head, his reaction did not fit any of them. He didn’t yell, he didn’t freak out, he didn’t leave, he didn’t just pass out. In fact, his reaction was very demure, he was calm as he rotated his torso slightly to look at her. There was no crazed look in his eye that showed her any contempt. His hands seemed steady as he handed her more dresses. There was no lecture, all that came out of his mouth was a simple:

“Ok.”

And although his arm was outstretched with yet another of her garments, she did not move to take it. Her mouth hung open in shock, and she gawked at her husband’s calm demeanor.

Sheldon’s brow furrowed, and he gazed quizzically at his wife. “Amy?”

His voice seemed to snap her out of her stupor. “Sorry,” she said, taking the dress from his outstretched hand. “That was not the reaction I was expecting.”

He moved back to the closet. “What reaction were you expecting?” He questioned, handing her the last of the clothes.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I guess I figured you would freak out and leave or something.”

Amy saw a certain softness behind Sheldon’s eyes that warmed her heart. It was the side of Sheldon that no one else got to see; the side of him that only she had privileges to. “You know I want to have children with you, why would you assume I would freak out at the notion of them?”

Again she shrugged. “In all the years we’ve been together, we’ve never really excelled in the serious discussion department. And the only other time we have talked about having children was when we helped Howard with babysitting. Even then,” she paused, averting her eyes from him to look at the clothes neatly sprawled across the bed. “I didn’t think you were taking it that seriously.

Hearing him sigh, she felt him move closer to her back, wrapping his arms around her midsection and resting his head on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry I made you feel that way. You should never be afraid to come talk to me, you know that, right?”

“I know.”

“And I do want to have children with you. Lots of them. If 15 is too many for you, then I’m sure we can find a suitable number for both of us.” His arms tightened around her, and his lips moved closer to her ear. “How does 12 sound?”

By the tone of his voice, she knew he was joking. She giggled at his playfulness and turned in his arms to face him. While his eyes still held their playful glint, she could tell he had gone serious again.

“Amy, I do want a family with you, I have for a long time,” he said. “And I do think that now is the perfect time to start trying, I’ve actually thought of talking to you about it, but things kept getting in the way.”

He’d been thinking about it too? It was so strange to her that they were both having the same struggle. However, it made her all too happy. He wanted it, it was real, they were going to try and have a family.

“So, we’re going to do this then?” She asked. “We’re going to try and have a baby.”

His hands that had settled on her hips squeezed them slightly. “If we’re both in agreement, yes.”

She wanted a baby.

“We’re both in agreement, my love.”

He flashed her a gentle smile, placing an equally gentle kiss upon her lips. He didn’t pull away like she thought he would, in fact, he lingered for a while. His mouth dancing perfectly with her own. His hand caressed her back in the most tender of touches before it buried itself into the back of her short hair.

Deciding to go along with him, she tangled her own arms around his neck. The loving and gentle kiss was turning into one of passion a lust, something that happened many a time for the couple after their nuptials. Sheldon was desperate to get her as close to him as possible, but no matter what he did, it never seemed to be enough. He pried her mouth open with his own, still not close enough. He pulled her so close to his own body that it was almost painful for both of them, yet, not close enough.

He suddenly broke away from her, leaving her rooted in the place where he left her. She was panting as she watched him begin to hang all the clothes back into the closet. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m putting the clothes back,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, which it was, but she was still confused. He noticed this and clarified it for her. “We’re going to need the bed, sweetheart, if you help me it will go faster.”

It should have been clear to her before what he was doing. So, when he did explain it, she mentally slapped herself for not realizing it before. However, that was quickly forgotten when the anticipation caught up to her.

Baby-making was starting early.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!

[bubble-tea-bunny]

to feel the sun from both sides

[newt scamander x reader]

author’s note: shorter than the stuff i’ve been writing lately but still just as nice i hope(: might write for theseus next

word count: 2,330

The months are growing colder, and the drop in temperature becomes even more apparent at the day’s end, when the sun is on its way out. A gust of wind blows strong enough to ruffle Newt’s robes and a shiver runs down his spine. His cheeks and his nose are probably red from the chill, and he manages to free a hand in the midst of his task to bring his scarf up over the bottom half of his face. Ah. That feels better.

He doesn’t see you approach because his back is turned, and he would’ve heard you, would’ve heard the sound of your shoes sifting along the cool grass, if he weren’t preoccupied with the little animal cradled his palm. He’s alerted to your presence when you speak up, and he twists around, but carefully so as not to jostle the small bowtruckle.

“I was wondering where you were,” you state with a smile.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Newt’s tone is apologetic as he pulls down his scarf to be heard clearly, the cool air once more nipping at his skin. He talks quietly but he always does, and you don’t mind one bit. “I wasn’t able to find you after dinner and I wanted to come here before it got dark, so…”

“It’s fine.” You wave your hand dismissively. It’s easy to be lost in the sea of students flooding out of the Great Hall, so you don’t blame him. You sit down against the trunk of the tree, and Newt follows suit. “I’m sure they missed you.”

Newt looks over, wondering what you mean, and notices your attention is on the creature in his hand. He glances down at it as well. “Yeah… I guess they have.” It’s silent for a moment, then he continues: “Hold out your hand.”

Your eyes widen a fraction but you do as he says, and you go stock still as he sets the bowtruckle into your awaiting hand. Its little legs feel odd on the sensitive expanse of your palm, and it takes several steps, so you rotate your wrist to accommodate it. It walks across your knuckles, where it chooses to remain. Newt watches it fondly, and it looks right back at him, like it knows who he is. And then from beneath floppy brown hair his gaze slides up to you—you’re considerably more relaxed now, and your features are so soft in the radiance of dusk.

“I don’t know why you get so nervous,” he remarks. “You’re a natural.”

You chuckle and as the bowtruckle resumes walking, you hold up your other hand for it to transfer onto so it doesn’t fall off. “You’re the natural, Newt. Simply holding them is nothing compared to what you can do.”  

Newt smiles. “But they like you, you know. I can tell.”

You hum, as if to ask Yeah? but you don’t say anything else. Newt assumes that to be the end of the conversation, and he leans his head back on the tree trunk. The bowtruckle appears to have found a comfortable position to rest in, and you allow yourself to return to watching the setting sun. It’s nearly gone, and your breath materializes in front of you with every exhale. Soon the moon and stars will emerge, and they’ll light your path to the castle.

“Would you write a book?” you ask out of the blue.

Newt purses his lips and contemplates the inquiry for a few seconds. He doesn’t ask about what because it’s obvious what he’d write about. The idea isn’t out of the realm of possibility. He keeps journals on his research, though it’s only been on creatures found here at Hogwarts. There are many out there still, throughout the world, to be sought after and studied and cared for. An expansive task but a wonderful one.

“I would,” he responds finally. “But it’d be hard to do that research alone.”

This prompts you to look at him, and he’s watching you with utmost sincerity. The implication of the statement pulls a grin from you, and he mirrors it subconsciously. You’d been attached at the hip from the moment you started talking to each other as first years, and though your adventures have begun at Hogwarts, they wouldn’t end there.  

You sigh lightly and take in the night that has fallen around you, stare up at the sky like you’re in a crystal ball and you’re looking past the glass. “Will I never be rid of you, Scamander?” you tease.

Newt shakes his head. “Not at all,” he shoots back playfully.

You laugh, then sigh as you settle down. “I’ll gladly join you, Newt. Just don’t go falling in love with me while we’re at it.”

There’s a twinkle in your gaze to accompany your smile, and he knows you’re playing around, but he swallows as he mulls over what you’ve said. The smile drops from his own face once you turn away and attend to the bowtruckle in your hand. He hears you asking it if it’s doing okay, and if it’s sleepy, but your voice sounds distant, like you’re farther than you actually are, his own thoughts at the forefront and pushing everything else to the margins. He traces the line of your profile with his eyes, from your forehead to the slope of your nose to your lips, and farther still he follows the curve of your chin as it leads to your jaw, and the sleek column of your neck. And as he continues to sit here next to you, so close he can feel your body heat, and you grin at the animal you’re holding and he swears it’s enough to light up a whole room, he thinks it’s a little too late for that.

———

He tries though. By Merlin, does he try. Being out on the field helps distract him, because there, the work comes first, and in these instances you maintain a professional relationship, that of researcher and assistant. You take notes while his hands are busy looking over the current beast of interest, and he knows he rambles and his brain can move faster than his mouth at times and it does but you’ve always been able to turn it into something cohesive. He gives you his journals to write in, and it’s easy to figure out which sections are yours because they’re neater, and in addition to the skillfully done diagrams of hippogriff talons and erumpet horns, you leave silly doodles in the margins.

The bounds of professionalism aren’t concrete, and neither of you wished them to be anyway. When he’s working late into the night, nothing but a candle to illuminate the pages, you come to him as his friend once more, his best friend, and you tell him he needs to rest and you won’t take any excuses. You set your hand on his to stop his writing, and he glances up at you sheepishly because he knows you’re right but really, he’ll be done soon, just one more sentence—

“There will always be tomorrow,” you murmur.

And the corner of his lip twitches, a smile fighting its way to the surface. You’ve never had to do much to convince him. “Okay.”

For all your denials that you could never be as well-versed in magical creatures as he, over the years, that’s changed, whether or not you even noticed. He taught you as you both went along, traveled from country to country, and it hadn’t been long before you had his confidence in the subject. Or at least something very close. And in those times where you may falter he’s the one to reassure you, telling you it���s okay to approach the thunderbird you’re observing and who’s looking at you closely in kind, two curious souls observing each other.

Gently he takes your wrist and guides your hand to rest on the soft feathers, and your eyes glow and so does your smile and he’s left wondering if he’s seeing things that aren’t actually there because maybe just maybe he’s imagining you like you’re the face he’s given to the beautiful haze of color just before the sun disappears behind the horizon and oh how he hopes desperately this isn’t the case.

But your skin is warm and as his hand slips down to his side, some of that residual heat remains in his palm, and it feels too real to be any figment of the imagination. In the subsequent moments filled only by the low rasps from the thunderbird’s throat that mean it’s happy, Newt looks from it to you and back again and maybe it’s more like you’re the same soul and in an exercise of extraordinary self-awareness the splendid beast that towers over you has looked into a mirror and understood that those are its eyes gazing back. And the flood of love Newt has for you rushes in like it had on day one of an undetermined total (for he’d really like to be with you forever).

He’s honestly not sure if he’ll ever tell you how he feels, because stuff like that, it isn’t his thing. He trips over his words whenever he’s not talking about his research and he has trouble maintaining eye contact with people, and the issue is increased tenfold when it involves you because the way your eyes seem to burn into him, see through him, is altogether too intense and he loves it but he also hates it because you pull him apart so easily. And maybe he should mind it but he doesn’t because you’re also the one to put him back, not with a wave of your wand and a whispered spell but with your hands, lithe fingers taking each fragment and fitting them together, one by one, slowly and surely, until he’s whole before you, and he would stand prepared for the next time he falls for you, into a million tiny pieces.

A portion of your notes doesn’t sound complete to Newt as he reads it over, then re-reads it a few times in an attempt to make sense of them. A few thoughts jotted down at the bottom are scrambled and disconnected. Usually he wouldn’t linger on these points and would move on, but it just so happens that he needs these particular lines for what he’s working on. With a sigh rife with exhaustion from hours of work, he stands and, journal in hand, exits the study and walks to the lounge, where he knows you’ll be.

There’s shuffling and the sound of your footsteps as you exclaim Poppy! and Newt’s not thinking much of it, but he should have and he understands that now because he turns the corner and says your name to announce his presence, and he’s startled first by your kneazle who just barely avoids running into his legs as it scampers off, and second by you, who’s taken off after her and you barrel into him, knocking you both off your feet.

“Oof!” Newt hits the floor with a thud, you on top of him. His journal had slipped out of his hand and lays face down to his right, but he doesn’t take notice. You push yourself up to look at him properly, eyes wide and brows knitted together in worry.

“Are you okay?” you ask. “I’m so sorry, Newt. It’s just, Poppy stole my pen and wouldn’t give it back and—”

“It’s fine,” he assures you, smiling. The concern starts to slip away and you nod, and then it occurs to him that neither of you has made any moves to stand. Your hands are braced against his chest, and his arms are wrapped around your waist, having found their way there by instinct when you’d run into him and he went to cushion your fall. Laying on the hardwood floor is hardly comfortable but he’s comfortable holding you, and you seem to be comfortable being held by him.

You stare at each other, and again Newt is overwhelmed and he has to avert his gaze and it goes to your lips and they look so soft, like velvet, and he wonders if they feel like it too. He swallows hard, and his mouth opens to say something but what? He has no idea what to say, and should he speak up he doesn’t know what would leave his mouth.

His mouth merely hangs open slightly, words not quite reaching his tongue, and he figures he must look rather stupid, but you seem to pay no mind or even notice as you lean in those last few inches and he learns you taste of caramel creams and peach blossoms. His eyes slide closed as he kisses you and his senses are filled with you you you and he’s breathing you in like you’re keeping him alive. It is a little ridiculous to still be wondering if this is truly happening, that this isn’t some hallucination, but he can’t help it because years have been spent thinking about it, dwelling on it, on all the what-could-be’s and what-if’s, and suddenly it’s what-can-be’s and what is.

You pull away just enough to allow yourself to breathe, and your eyes remain closed. Newt focuses on your lashes that delicately kiss your cheeks, and he wants to do that too. To kiss your cheeks and your nose and each corner of your lips because he loves you so much it hurts. When your eyes open, revealing that charming gaze that holds so much power over him, to a degree he’s not certain you’d ever understand, his heart drops into his stomach and it rouses the butterflies there, and they take flight. He can’t think straight but that’s okay, and at the sight of your captivating, marvelous, lovely, brilliant and every other word which might represent magnificence smile, he smiles too, in disbelief and relief and everything in between.

[thefreckledone]

Satori (Between the Lines) - Part 14

“Torune, slow down a bit!” Sakura says, through drawn-out, breathless giggles. She tugs at his gloved hand, digging in her heels. “I can’t quite keep up with you.”

“Sorry,” Torune replies, chagrined as his pace slows. “I’m just excited.”

Sakura laughs, shaking her head. “You sure that’s it? Shino seemed a bit frustrated when we left.”

“I wanted to spend a little time alone with you,” Torune says. “Shino gets to spend most of the day with you at school. It’s my turn.”

Sakura’s expression softens as she adjusts her grip on Torune’s hand to squeeze it. “I’m not complaining. I was just teasing. It has been a long time since we last hung out alone.”

Torune turns a bright smile on her before continuing on through the forest. It’s an area of the Aburame estate that Sakura has yet to visit, but she doesn’t find that particularly surprising; their grounds are absolutely sprawling.

“Shino told me that you beat Kiba in a spar yesterday,” Torune says, pride clear in his voice. “The Inuzuka are notorious brawlers; I know that Kiba is one of the strongest contenders in your class in the spars. He’s a difficult opponent. You’ve improved.”

Sakura tickles her fingers across the palm of his hand. She’s convinced him to remove his gloves whenever they’re alone. “It’s thanks to you and Ino. I used that move you and Shibi-oji showed me and flipped Kiba over.” Sakura giggles, warmth bubbling in her gut. “I wish you could’ve seen his face.” Torune turns to her as she pulls an exaggerated look of surprise. He snorts in surprise, bringing his free hand up to his mouth as he guffaws. “It was pretty amazing.”

“I have no doubt,” Torune says, smile warm even as he ignores the slight sting he feels at the reminder that he is not a student at the Academy with Sakura. Sakura is his best friend in all the world; it’s so difficult to know that there is a huge portion of Sakura’s life that he has no part in. At least, not yet. “I’m glad that you’ve had a chance to prove yourself to your classmates.”

“It feels good,” Sakura admits, squeezing his hand. “My spar partners are definitely more wary now, but honestly, that doesn’t matter. I don’t really care what they think of me. They can think of me as a no-name civilian kid or as a threat. All that matters to me is that the people who matter think well of me.” She grins at him, the muscles in her cheeks hurting with the force of it. “You and your opinion matter to me.”

Torune’s smile quivers for a few moments before it firms once more. He never smiled this much before he met Sakura. He doesn’t quite know how she does it; with a few bright words, Sakura manages to banish the clouds of doubt. Sakura is the sun and he is helplessly and happily caught in her orbit. “Thanks.”

“Thank you,” Sakura says in turn.

A low buzzing fills her ears and she glances quizzically at Torune for a long moment, wondering if something set him off. He has a much better handle on his emotions now and his hive rarely acts up without his explicit command. But the hand beneath hers does not hum nor does his chest.  

Instead, the slow, steady buzz seems to come from up ahead.

“What’s that?” Sakura asks, starting to get excited.

“An Aburame clan secret,” Torune replies.

“Should I...close my eyes?” Sakura says, footsteps faltering for a moment.

“What? No. Of course not!” Torune giggles, shaking his head at her. “It wouldn’t be a good surprise if you weren’t able to even look at it.”

“You’re right,” Sakura says, relaxing. Excitement quickly thrums through her again, filling her. “So what is it?”

They crest a rolling slope and Torune gestures with his free hand. There are numerous large, wooden boxes placed across the open landscape, seemingly the source of the buzzing. Sakura eyes the unfamiliar boxes, cocking her head slightly. She’s never seen the like, such alien boxes standing freely.

“What are they?” Sakura asks, darting forward.

“Hives,” he replies, following along with her, pleased by her curiosity. He just knew she would like these!

Sakura draws her eyes away from the boxes--hives--and frowns at him. “Like you are? Like the Aburame? Except on the outside rather than the inside?”

Torune laughs freely, loving the way her mind works. She’s just so good at puzzling things out, turning them over and over within her head to assess it from all angles until the pieces all fit perfectly. “Yes, it is a lot like that. It’s actually where Aburame Shinko-sama got the idea originally; she observed the way certain insects--ants, bees, termites, and the like--support each other. They have this whole society, with ranks and labor divisions and cooperative childcare. When Shinko-sama saw it she set about setting up a different type of hive; one that existed within her body.”

“The Aburame have female leaders?” Sakura asks, intrigued by the idea.

It’s true of many civilian clans, the Haruno included, but she’s noticed that the shinobi clans are male-dominated aside from the Inuzuka which have always been matriarchal. Sakura doesn’t know much about the varied histories of the shinobi clans, aside from the general information disseminated to the Konoha populace. But the shinobi clans are very private of their personal history and lineage and with good reason; knowledge is power and any little scrap of it may mean a disadvantage when faced with an opponent.

The fact that Torune and his family so casually share information of their clan with her fills her with such warmth that it makes her toes tingle. She understands the value of knowledge, the weighty responsibility of it settling on her shoulders.

“Of course,” Torune replies, wrinkling his nose in slight offense. “It’s the usual thing really. My mother shared the clan duties with Shibi-oji. She would’ve been declared clan head except for she enjoyed the field far too much and received specialized missions for her rinkaichū.” His smile goes wry. “Shibi-oji says she was terrifying in the clan councils, always taking any of the arrogant clans down a peg or five as needed. He called her a spitfire.”

Sakura squeezes his hand, trying to show her silent appreciation for the precious memories that he shares with her. From the deepening of his smile as he regards her, Sakura thinks he understands.

“She sounds amazing; they both do,” Sakura replies.

Torune’s smile is shy. “My mother’s name was Nozumi.”

“Nozumi-san,” Sakura murmurs, smile unfurling slow, steady, and strong. “A beautiful name for a wonderful woman.”

Torune ducks his head, clearing his throat. “The Aburame do not care for the gender of their leader; historically I believe that the position has more often been held by a woman.” Sakura recognizes the subject change for what it is and accepts it just as easily as they make their way down the hill among the hives. He shakes his head, chuckling in amusement. “Of course the Aburame are accepting of female leaders; hives are usually led by queens.”

0“Remember to practice your forms before going to bed,” Iruka calls as the students stand and scramble away from their desks as quickly as possible. For training that may save their lives one day, these children still did not care for their lessons altogether too much. “It’s important that you hone your flexibility!”

He shakes his head to himself as most of the students are out the door before he’s even finished speaking. His job is usually a thankless one, but he enjoys it nevertheless. Iruka is glad that he is still on mission rotation though; it gives him a chance to practice the skills he so often espouses to his students.

“Iruka-sensei,” Sakura says politely, approaching him with all the manners of a clan-born child. He often forgets that Sakura is of a clan herself, regardless of it being a civilian merchant one. She receives clan training just as Sasuke, Chōji, and Hinata do; just of a different sort. “I enjoyed the lesson today. Do you know of any exercises that could be used to develop arm strength that you could share?”

Iruka’s smile widens and becomes a good deal more fond. Sakura is a good student; a sweet and enthusiastic one whose curiosity is insatiable. “I do know of a few, most involve weights of some sort. I could give a demonstration in a couple of days. There is one that you could do in the mornings and evenings outside of school that does not require weights.” Iruka comes around his desk, kneeling on the floor. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

Sakura spends the next twenty or so minutes with Iruka as he shows her how to do a push up. She manages three and a half before her arms go hot, weak, and limp. She sits up, panting as Iruka chuckles.

“They take a while to get used to, but they are an effective way of increasing your arm strength,” Iruka says, raising a hand to muffle his chuckles. “I’d suggest starting with fifteen in the morning and fifteen in the evening and working your way up from there.” When she goggles at him in disbelief, Iruka bursts into outright laughter. “I know, it seems a lot, but it takes consistent application and practice for you to see results. Considering your performance so far, I have no doubt they’ll be useful.”

“Thank you Iruka-sensei,” Sakura says, flushing beneath his praise. “That is kind of you to say.”

Iruka hums, patting Sakura’s shoulder (he knows she dislikes having her hair ruffled when she wears her bow) before heading out the door.

Sakura sits down in a chair for a few long moments, waiting for her breathing to return to normal. Those push ups took more from her than she expected, but she is glad of it. Sakura stands after she recovers and moves to her box in the back of the classroom. She rifles through it, taking out the books on code she stores there and replacing the textbooks she utilized throughout the day.

A small maroon book falls out of the box and Sakura stares down at it, puzzled. She has never seen the book before and she bends down, lifting it tentatively. Sakura glances around the empty classroom, wondering if someone placed it in her box by mistake. The box to the left of hers is Naruto’s and she’s never seen him with any books, be it a required textbook or a book read for pleasure. The box to the right of hers is Kiba’s and it is more disorganized even than Naruto’s.

Sakura frowns to herself, opening the unmarked cover of the book. The first page reads Thieves’ Cant Throughout Konoha.

Definitely not a book that Kiba or Naruto would be interested in reading.

Sakura flips through the first couple of pages; no author is given nor a publication date, but the words are typed, not handwritten. She’s seen a few books like this in Shikaku’s office; books published only for clan libraries, not mass production. The anonymity is necessary for the protection of the authors. Sakura frowns, turning to the first chapter of the book. There, tucked among the pages, is a card.

Perhaps you will find this of use in your study of ciphers.

Huh.

She brings it close to her chest, a smile curling up the corners of her lips. It is nice to know that she has someone in her corner, whoever this mysterious benefactor is.

0Sakura chews on the end of her writing utensil, brow furrowed at her journal. She is seated outdoors in a park, surrounded by books and sunshine. She’s been trying to create a cipher of her own, a hodgepodge of techniques from Konoha during the Second War, Kumo during the reign of the Third Raikage, and multiple dialects of thieves’ cant from all over Fire. Sakura doesn’t think that the cipher will be usable in the long run, but she knows it is good practice. It’s an ambitious project, she knows, but at least she is not creating the cipher from scratch.

Still, she did not realize just how difficult it would be.

She growls in frustration, flipping back to the book on thieves’ cant. Why must this all be so difficult?

“That’s some intense concentration there, kid. What did that book ever do to you?”

Sakura startles, hands automatically relaxing and smoothing along the pages of the book. She hadn’t realized that she was white-knuckling the book in her anger. The book, one left in her school box, is a precious gift and she does not wish to damage it in any way.

Sakura looks up...and up and up at the massive man looming over her. Sakura’s heart immediately begins to race in surprise, though she notes that his posture is open and disengaged, intentionally unthreatening. And yet...Sakura scrambles to her feet, uncomfortable but curious about the subtle glint in his eyes. It reminds her of the artisans who treat with her mother; this is a man who wants or expects something of her.

Now on her feet, she assesses him. Everything about him is large: his height, his muscles, his wild white hair, and even his nose. He grins down at her, white teeth shining. “That’s quite the odd array of books you have there,” he says, gesturing to the small pile around her. “Some hefty reading for a squirt like you.” He squints down at her, frowning slightly. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“It’s a half day,” Sakura replies flatly, not caring for the way that he calls attention to her height so dismissively.

The mountain of a man bends, grabbing up her book on Second War ciphers. Sakura bites her lip to keep from protesting, though she cannot keep from attempting to grab it from him. He glances at her, amused, before lifting it out of reach. Sakura looks around the park, to see if there are any around who would come to her aid.

There are a handful milling about the park, but all of their gazes are carefully averted.

Huh.

Sakura frowns up at the man as he pages through the book rapidly. She opens her mouth to say something, she isn’t sure what, but she pauses when she sees the expression on his face. There’s something wistful about it, a nostalgic sadness that verges on resentful bitterness. The words die in Sakura’s throat, unable to interrupt the oddly heavy moment.

Sakura casts her gaze back down to her own book, considering the dialects as she continues to stand awkwardly, waiting for...something. She actually gets caught up in the book, following a rabbit trail on a fascinating distinction between western and eastern Fire thieves’ cant in the way they address their hierarchy so she jumps when the man speaks again.

“The western thieves’ guild stole most of their cant from the languages of the nomadic tribes of Wind, who do not have much of a hierarchy in terms of the way their communities are assembled. This ended up being reflected a good deal in the guild, the hierarchy is less strict and more fluid. They adopted words for color from the common tongue to address the different leaders. The eastern guild--”

“How do you know all of this?” Sakura bursts out, unable to bridle her curiosity. She’s never heard a whisper of nomadic tribes in Wind in any of the books that she’s read and her ignorance nags at her.

The man looks surprised, shaggy eyebrows shooting up. He scratches his cheek, smile sheepish. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go off on a tangent like that. I understand it is not all that interesting--”

“But it is!” Sakura interrupts yet again, eyes sparkling. She feels a flicker of embarrassment for her rudeness, but tamps it down quickly. The man doesn’t seem to mind her so she won’t mind it either. (Though his own manners are rather lacking.) “Why would they choose to utilize words about color? And why in the common tongue? Isn’t that too easy for enemies to decipher? What color symbolizes top rank? Being that the guild is located in Fire, I would say red would be leader, but if most of the cant came from Wind wouldn’t the color be blue?”

The man’s eyes go wide and his jaw slackens and Sakura feels her shoulders start to creep up near her ears as she realizes that she’s rambling again about things that just aren’t--

The man bursts into laughter, placing his hands on his knees as he doubles over, shoulders shaking with the force of it. “Sage Almighty! You’re a riot, kid.” Sakura flushes, eyes darting away. “Hey now, that wasn’t an insult; I’m just quite reminded of…” His smile twists, wry and distant. “Well, a reflection of some sort.”

He hands her back her book, giving her a tentative if somewhat rough pat on the head. “To answer your questions, they chose color words because they are easy to remember; most members are illiterate and it makes it easier to identify ranks with armbands. They use the common tongue for the same reason; they care little for if their enemies decipher it because the hierarchy is so fluid. As for the leading rank, well, being thieves, the color most important to them is black, for the shadows.” He glances up toward the Hokage monument. “Much like shinobi, electing shadows as their leaders.”

Sakura nods, thankful for his succinct answers and fingers itching to get ahold of more information.

“I have a handful of journals on the topic of ciphers from the Second War; I lend those to you if you like,” he says, somewhat awkwardly.

“Would you?” Sakura asks, breathless.

The man nods abruptly, watching her with an odd look. “Well, where should I be able to find you?”

“The Academy,” Sakura says. She flushes, realizing her faux pas as she offers her hand. “I’m Haruno Sakura.”

He takes it, shaking it firmly. “I’m Jiraiya. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

[recentanimenews]

Let's Celebrate The Fifth Anniversary Of 2014's Funniest Anime, Monthly Girls' Nozaki-kun

Do you remember what you were doing five years ago on July 7th, 2014? Maybe you were out with friends or you had to work or you were trying to keep cool from the summer heat. Or perhaps you were in front of a screen watching the debut episode of Monthly Girls’ Nozaki-kun. One of the best series to come out of 2014 has reached its five year anniversary, and the way it showed some of the ins and outs of how manga is created and its excellent use of comedy has led it to becoming a series that’s on regular rewatch rotation for me and countless others. 

  Yet, five years later, there’s been zero indication that there will ever be a second season, even though the manga is still going. So, how did Nozaki-kun manage to wow people with its first season, and what could a second season give us if it ever came to be?

    From the beginning, Nozaki-kun lays out what it’s about by showcasing how it blends the trappings of romance with the outrageousness of its brand of comedy. Chiyo musters up the courage to confess to Nozaki, but due to his obliviousness, Nozaki misconstrues it as Chiyo being a fan and gives her his autograph. It not only sets up the relationship between the two, but also the expectations for how the series will do comedy. There’s nothing offensive or explicit, it’s just absurd people getting caught up in ludicrous situations and that extends to not only Chiyo and Nozaki, but their friends as well.

  All of the main characters have some form of expectation that is quickly undercut within their debut episode or soon after. For example, Mikoto is seen as an outgoing, confident, ladies' man due to how he can easily spout off smooth one-liners to his classmates. Yet, as soon as he says those comments, he’s incredibly embarrassed by what he’s just said. Then there’s the twist that comes up when Chiyo realizes that she’s the basis behind Mamiko, the main heroine of Nozoki’s shoujo manga. Each character has a good amount of depth and layers to them, so they’re not all one-dimensional.

    Since this is also a show about romance, it fits that each of the potential pairings also exhibit the same kinds of layers. As already mentioned, Chiyo and Nozaki have their bizarre beginning, but that doesn’t deter Chiyo, even if Nozaki remains oblivious throughout the rest of the anime. Wakamatsu/Seo and Kashima/Hori are the other two major partners that go through a similar type of goofiness that Chiyo and Nozaki do. Yet, it’s not the same when it comes to all three groups. But whether it’s a director/actor relationship or one person having a surprising side that the other person inadvertently falls for, Nozaki-kun knows how to hit the right marks for people who enjoy shoujo, because it’s one itself.

  Part of what made Nozaki-kun such a fun series to watch five years later is that the comedy has a timeless aspect to it. It’s no secret that comedy is HIGHLY subjective. What people find funny in their past might not age well, and also people's taste in humor changes as they get older. Referential, topical comedy can also be tough to go back to since those jokes might be out of fashion by the time you watch. Nozaki-kun is able to avoid that aspect by not really relying on that style of comedy. There’s not a whole lot that dates it to 2014 and you could still watch it now and it wouldn’t really feel old. Even if there were time period specific jokes, Nozaki-kun would probably be able to make it work given that the skits themselves are still able to make you laugh even after watching them multiple times.

    A lot of the humor comes down to the nonsensical direction in which the show pushes its jokes, but at the same time, it’s not incredibly over the top like other shows in the genre. There are going to be gags that rely on your knowledge of certain aspects of Japanese media, such as one of my personal favorites, when Nozaki and Mikoto get deep into one of Mikoto’s dating simulators. While that in and of itself could be a funny set up, the show pushes it further by giving a brief look at fan-created content within a fandom and how you can read media differently than what’s originally intended as the two create a boys’ love doujinshi manga. It’s a joke that has several layers to it, but that allows different types of viewers to enjoy it whether they know the intricacies of it or not.

  It helps as well that Nozaki-kun gives viewers a way to see just how manga is made. Similar to shows like SHIROBAKO , you can really see the hard work that goes into making art. From stuff like character design and writing, to background art and inking, it’s a miracle that there are some series that can be published on a weekly basis. And before watching, I wasn’t really aware of all the ins and outs that went into creating manga, but this show was a good primer. Eventually, after reading supplementary material about creating manga (and because I really like the show) I included it in a project where I created a class about manga my last year of college.

    Now, let’s address the elephant, or maybe in this case, the tanuki in the room. We’re here celebrating the fifth anniversary of the anime series' premiere, but there’s only been one season. Let’s be real: Will there be more seasons made? There’s always a chance, so you can never say never, but with how long it’s been, the percentage gets lower and lower with each year that passes. I mean, this feature could come out and then a day later, an announcement could come. There’s definitely been enough material from the manga that they easily could do one. However, I think we’ll have to be happy with what we’ve got. Plus, that anime original ending is still good in the ways that it makes you laugh as a joke, but also hits at the right amount of angst for shoujo.

  If for whatever reason you have not watched Monthly Girls’ Nozaki-kun yet, get on that. Once you’ve done that, you can come back and hang with the rest of us as we ride tandem bikes and stand on boxes. Maybe one day we will be blessed with a second season, but if not, the first season of the anime is still excellent and one of the best series to come out of 2014. When we reconvene for the tenth anniversary in 2024, I’m sure we’ll still be discussing how good Nozaki-kun was.

    What were some of your favorite moments of Monthly Girls' Nozaki-kun and what would you like to see if they ever made a second season? Let us know in the comments below!

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Jared Clemons is a writer and podcaster for Seasonal Anime Checkup where he can be found always wanting to talk about Love Live! Sunshine!! or whatever else he's into at the moment. He can be found on Twitter @ragbag.

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