#it is CURRENTLY midnight and I can see the vague hint of lights past the inevitable fog of the horizon

[welcometomybraincomics]

You don't think alot a out lightpollution, i mean, I do, but I dont often comprehend its extent. But today. I was riding a plane at night and even from thousands of miles in the air, the shine of city lights were clearly visible until they disappeared into the horizon.

So if you ever think we don't actually have that many lights, yes the fuck we do

[nincompoopydoo]

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— PALM TO PALM IS HOLY PALMER’S KISS ; PART 3 / ?

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 1846

SUMMARY: You’re back to teaching at Gotham High and you end up overlooking rehearsals for the GHS drama club’s upcoming annual play: Romeo and Juliet that no one ever attends. In the spirit of keeping your students’ hopes up, you decide to take it upon yourself to draft out a plan to drive more people to come to the play. The key is the man you’re in love with.

WARNINGS: Vague description of a nightmare, death and an annoying teenager.

A/N: This is really going slowly like a true slow burn. I hope yall like this one. Enjoy!

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

In the light of your unemployment as a teacher, Gotham High miraculously offered your old job back after Mrs Wilson, one of the senior English Literature teachers, died of a heart attack unannounced. In all seriousness, apologies were made, admitting they had a mistake with firing you because well, you were clearly a passionate teacher. To your surprise, you were told your students even missed you. Hence, you accepted a job from GHS once again because you would do anything to avoid the smell of burgers and the sounds of hungry crying children. After the whole burglary incident, the Big Belly Burger at midtown was forever doomed as customers gradually decreased over time. It was Gotham after all, people should be used to these kinds of things by now. Including witnessing Batman saving you, the whole experience felt like a fever dream. As excited you were and weirdly unbothered by the whole near-death experience, you realized that if you were to talk about it, no one would genuinely believe you anyway. He was a myth to most citizens of Gotham, but you’re an exception because you’re well acquainted with the knowledge that Bruce definitely knows Batman.

And oh boy, do they talk.

It’s your secret to keep and so is the Batarang you stole. You’re also dying to tell Bruce.

So, you find yourself back in the hallways, crowded with sweaty teenagers, but you would choose this over anything else in a heartbeat. Apart from returning to teaching uninterested students about the works of Shakespeare and Harper Lee and forcing reading lists onto them, you are also replacing Mrs Wilson as the GHS Drama Club’s advisor. Stage performance may be personally foreign to you but plays were practically your forte. That was how you ended up spending your Tuesday afternoons, preparing the members for the club’s annual play. This time, they decided to perform the classic: Romeo and Juliet.

As an English teacher, you were frankly sick of the play, forbidden love was a tad overrated to you. Yet the kids were genuinely trying their best. Shaniqua and Oscar were currently rehearsing their lines as the two infamous star-crossed lovers; You watched them with pride. The two were quiet in your classes but they truly shone on the stage of the school theatre.

“And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss—teach, what does this whole scene even mean?” Shaniqua exclaims and you chuckle, “This scene is simply a metaphor where Romeo is a pilgrim wanting to erase his sins and Juliet is a saint. So, he is basically trying to convince her to kiss him so that he can truly be free of sin,” your explanation echoes through the room, and you notice Oscar turning red when you mention the word ‘kiss’. It was clear as day that the poor boy really liked the girl he’s currently hand in hand with but you don’t want him to feel nervous and uncomfortable about the thought of kissing her. “Now Oscar, you can kiss her on the cheek and that’s fine. Shaniqua, say it with more emotion, okay? Everyone got it?” The response you received was a sputter of hums and nods. Before you could continue, Josh, who plays Lord Capulet and is sitting lazily on the handmade throne, speaks up much to your dismay, “Why is it so important that we put so much effort into this. It’s not like anyone is going to come.” The kids around him began agreeing with his statement, and it was honestly completely expected of him but it was the truth. No one attends the drama club’s annual play. As you're trying to calm everyone down, your phone buzzes on the table in front of you. It’s a text from Bruce, asking if you could come over tonight, phrasing it like he’s a schoolboy sneaking from his parents to meet with a girl late at night. Then, like an epiphany you have an idea although there’s an eighty percent chance it wouldn’t go through. Nevertheless, you turn to the rest of the students with a hint of a smile on your lips. “I might have just the idea to solve that.”

-

A brief span seemed like an eternity when sleep doesn’t come easy to you. Tonight was a different case; thoughts were completely clear and concise. In much need of sleep, you steal the chance to savour in this clarity and serenity for as long as you could. To feel his warmth, arm gently resting on your abdomen and the occasional whiff of his deodorant from his ebony shirt you’re dressed in. If this was what bliss feels like, you never want it to go away. Your eyes grow heavy, flickering into darkness due to exhaustion from a long day of rehearsals. At once, you’re struck with the reminder of the idea you had this afternoon. It is more of a favour, involving none other than Bruce. There’s a tinge of guilt whenever favours are involved because you never liked asking for help. You were furiously independent and responsible, relying on others was out of the question. Yet, Bruce has always seemed to find a way to weave himself in your mistakes and problems, constantly there to help out. You have to remind yourself this isn’t about you. It’s for the kids. Special guest, Bruce Wayne, playboy and billionaire. Sounds awesome.

As your consciousness begins ebbing away, you feel Bruce shift from beside you, grasp tightening upon your waist. Before your dazed mind could even fully process that he was in the midst of a nightmare, his eyes are wide open, heart-pounding and it seizes him up instantly. With deep breaths, he closed his eyes once more, unable to shake the feeling of dread that rattles in him. Then, a sudden cold touch to his arm—he jumps and snaps his head to look over his shoulder.

It’s you, still laid in bed with a prominent frown upon your brows. Your hand squeezes his forearm and all he feels is instant relief. His heart still pounds, not in fear but with affection. “Are you okay?” you drawled as you watch his lingering hand, fingers weaved between the strands of hair. The silver ones glint under the low light, contrasting the deep brown ones. You notice how his hair had grown along with his five o’clock shadow becomes more evident by the days. His face away from you, finally nodding in response to your question. “Yeah, just... a bad dream. His voice is subdued as he shifts under the sheets, head leaning against the headboard. Despite your weakened state, you bring yourself to sit up, twisting your body to face him properly. "You wanna talk about it?” you say, patting his shoulder lightly in a comforting manner. You watch him rub his eyes, exhale tightly and shake his head. “No. Anything but that.”

His response comes out almost harsh but Bruce doesn’t mean for it to be perceived in that way. His dream was the usual, the normal ones he’s used to by now but in times of stress overwork, they have started to become more intense and violent. This time it involved you, for the first time, and he watched you vividly get shot in the forehead—trails of his memory as Batman when he encountered you at the burger restaurant with the muzzle of a gun inches away from you. It haunts him to think that if the circumstances were different if you hadn’t texted him those dreaded four words, you might be dead.

He certainly is not telling you about the dream. Never in a million years.

Bruce turns to you and you’re still staring at him, worry carved deep in your furrowed brows. Change of topic was merely necessary at this point. “So, how has school been? The kids still mean to you?” Classic Bruce, always sweeping his problems under the antique Persian rug. You don’t blame him because you wouldn’t know better.

It was your turn to sigh at the mention of school but since tonight’s pillow talk is heading towards your job as an English teacher at GHS, you might as well use the opportunity to pitch in your plan. “Still mean, but the drama club kids are really great,” You thumb the edge of the blanket, unable to hide your growing smile. “Speaking of which, the annual play is next Friday and they have been rehearsing all week but,” you paused as you watched his right brow gradually lift. “No one comes for it. Like, no one and I hate to see all their efforts just thrown out the window like that—”

“So, you want me to go for it.”

You blinked, wondering if your explanations were too obvious of its underlying intent or Bruce could just read you like an open book. You won’t be surprised if it’s the latter.

“If it’s no biggie. You don’t have to because I know you’re very busy but I don’t want the special guest to end up being the Big Belly Burger mascot.” Your smile widens and Bruce chuckles. Hell, it’s probably past midnight and you’re still able to find ways to be terribly funny. Literally terrible. After a beat of silence, he clears his throat. “I’ll clear my schedule.” It didn’t need much anticipation or thought because despite everything going on in his life, he knows he’ll do just about anything for you. You’re practically beaming at him and he finally sees it’s all worth it in the end. “Thank you, Bruce.” Your voice is sweet, and it makes his heart swell ever so slightly.

He sometimes wishes the two of you weren’t trapped in this loophole of unsaid confessions and hidden strong emotions for the other.

It almost comes naturally when he leans to you and presses a swift kiss to your forehead. Instead, it’s contradicting everything the two of you consider normal. He isn’t thinking straight and now your smile has disappeared, mouth agape and eyes very wide. Your brain stops.

Uh, what the hell just happened?

It hits him like a punch to the gut and the growing awkward silence is deafening. Yet, he doesn’t apologise because if he does, it doesn’t mean anything when in reality, it means so much more than just an accidental gesture. You don’t mention anything because you don’t objectify his actions. Kissing Bruce was fine when there are no strings attached but a peck to the forehead is way too affectionate for the man.

Before the both of you begin to overthink the events of a few moments ago, Bruce’s rational conscience kicks in and he clears his throat. “Get some sleep. You had a long day today.” He pats you on the shoulder awkwardly and you hum, shifting your head to lay back on the pillow. “Yesterday.” you correct him as it’s well past midnight. He chuckles, now laying flat on his back as he stares at the ceiling. Silently, the two of you agree to forget whatever happened a minute ago and to just...sleep it off.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

[bisluthq]

Happiness is about folklore era/the music; a lyric analysis.

So I see the song happiness confusing a lot of fans and I feel like it’s actually more straightforward than most of the other evermore songs. In order to understand it, though, we have to keep two things in mind:

She wrote it last and only finished it about a week before the album’s release. 

She said this in EW well prior to the album’s release: have this weird thing that I do when I create something where in order to create the next thing I kind of, in my head, attack the previous thing. I don't love that I do that but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I just still love it. I'm so proud of it. And so that feels very foreign to me. That doesn't feel like a normal experience that I've had with releasing albums.

Taylor has said this was the final thing she made for evermore, and she has also said that usually she wants to “destroy” the previous thing she made. In this case, that previous thing was folklore right? Now let’s look at the lyrics of the song. 

Honey, when I'm above the trees

I see this for what it is

But now I'm right down in it, all the years I've given

Is just shit we're dividin' up

Showed you all of my hiding spots

“Above the trees” is a callback to seven (where she’s both in the trees and high in the sky) and therefore to folklore - and she’s twisting it because again it’s “becoming folklore”, right? Even the recent past songs are not exempt from the treatment. 

“But now I’m right down in it, all the years I’ve given is just shit we’re dividin’ up” sounds like her current re-records situation. So essentially she seems to be saying that now that she is in the midst of the masters drama - re-recording her old stuff and all that, she’s being dredged into past mistakes and problems but she sees things more clearly when she is in the folklore era. 

The “hiding spots” are both a reference to folklore (and again the song seven) and the way she has mixed fact and fiction in this era to create a new narrative, allowing her to share very real truths but in a way that’s obscured through fictional characters AND a continuation of the thought above, where she was more confessional. She’s kinda toying with what it means to hide and what it means to show her truth and kinda suggests folklore era is the better experience of that. 

Then it gets even more explicit:

I was dancing when the music stopped

And in the disbelief, I can't face reinvention

I haven't met the new me yet

So the first line is mirrorball/her cancelled tour and the way she has continued working through “the disbelief”. And she “can’t face reinvention” - can’t do what she has always done as per the EW quote, and “hasn’t met the new her” yet. This seems confirms evermore and folklore are sister albums, right, and that this is one era. And that it’s the first time that has happened to her - that one era spilled into “another”. 

Then she says:

There'll be happiness after you

But there was happiness because of you

Both of these things can be true

There is happiness

She is enjoying this right now (there is happiness, in the last line, so it’s not just a past tense thing), but it’s a little bittersweet because she knows there will eventually be an era after this. She will move on and find new sources of inspiration and new musical ideas and styles and thoughts. And she also knows this happiness was given to her folklore and now is in evermore. But she’ll move on from the whole era eventually as well. 

After that, Taylor writes:

Past the blood and bruise

Past the curses and cries

Beyond the terror in the nightfall

Haunted by the look in my eyes

That would've loved you for a lifetime

Leave it all behind

And there is happiness

She is moving through all of her past hurts and mistakes and regrets - that’s what she’s doing on these albums, we’ve been saying she’s processing a lot of very old hurts and mistakes and experiences and finding happiness. 

Next, we get this:

Tell me, when did your winning smile

Begin to look like a smirk?

When did all our lessons start to look like weapons

Pointed at my deepest hurt?

Firstly, she is working through a lot of stuff on these albums so these are reasonable things to ask even in a vague way. But more than that, she is hinting at bow the way she worked her “winning smile” was no longer sustainable. That’s what she speaks to in this interview. She couldn’t keep writing pure autobiography or primarily autobiography (I have said she mixes facts and fiction before folklore and I stand by that, but the point is she framed it as such). The “lessons” she had learned started pointing out her hurts. She needed a new modus operandi. 

And so what happens in the next bit? She embraces that new storytelling device:

I hope she'll be your beautiful fool

Who takes my spot next to you

No, I didn't mean that

Sorry, I can't see facts through all of my fury

You haven't met the new me yet

We get a reference to Fitzgerald/Great Gatsby to distance herself from this (extremely) personal song. And then she immediately backtracks - “I didn’t mean that, sorry I can’t see facts” - she is on the fence about what the narrative device means. She isn’t completely comfortable adding in this fictional character into her songwriting. Her emotions - her “fury” - are obscuring that. And so she says we, her listeners, haven’t met the new her yet. We are still in folklore era. 

We get another twist on this bittersweet chorus:

There'll be happiness after me

But there was happiness because of me

Both of these things, I believe

There is happiness

Once more, there is happiness right now. But there’ll be happiness after this era - and maybe even after she stops making music - but she made an impact in this era (and in the past before) and she created happiness for us, her listeners. 

She continues with that theme:

In our history, across our great divide

There is a glorious sunrise

Dappled with the flickers of light

From the dress I wore at midnight, leave it all behind

And there is happiness

This seems to reference 1989, Reputation and possibly even Lover - so her last three eras and… possibly more. That’s “our history”, right, the way she has recreated herself over her career. The “great divide” separates this new era from her past ones. And then we get Wildest Dreams but folklorized - sunrise instead of sunset. And possibly Daylight - but the light is flickering now, so maybe it’s also DBATC. The dress I wore at midnight could be Wildest Dream’s “nice dress”, the one she bought so “you could take it off”, or one of the princess gowns from early eras…  like the Love Story one, even. Or even the one in Dear John. It’s both extremely specific and vague, and I think is purposefully what she’s about to “leave behind” right. She’s leaving “the girl in the dress” behind. 

And when she does leave her behind, there is happiness. But it’s still bittersweet. 

We then get:

I can't make it go away by making you a villain

I guess it's the price I paid for seven years in Heaven

Well the first line is very obviously the Reputation era, but it also fits all her other diss tracks and the drags of all kinds (like just the “write a song about you” vibes she gave off for a long time). 

And then the line that broke y’all - “seven years”.... Well, there were seven “confessional” albums. Where she was making “you” a villain and letting people in and now she is stepping back from that. Everyone is still trying to “pin” songs on people and that’s the price she paid for that time. A time she really, genuinely enjoyed. But which she wants to move on from now. 

Then:

And I pulled your body into mine

Every goddamn night, now I get fake niceties

No one teaches you what to do

When a good man hurts you

And you know you hurt him, too

I think this is in part that fictional narrative she started with in the Gatsby thing. Remember, this is deeply deeply personal but she has said that this album is always mixing fact and fiction. So as much as it’s that fictional aspect, she is also saying she used her romances as inspiration - and no one teaches you what to do when you get hurt by that. She used to write songs. But she knows that’s not the only way and you hurt people on the way too. So this is in part the protagonist singing, but it’s also referencing her songwriting style and inspiration and process. 

Taylor then goes back to her early images in the song and twists them a bit:

Honey, when I'm above the trees

I see it for what it is

But now my eyes leak acid rain on the pillow where you used to lay your head

After giving you the best I had

Tell me what to give after that

All you want from me now is the green light of forgiveness

You haven't met the new me yet

And I think she'll give you that

When she is in the folklore era she can “see it for what it is”. The “acid rain” seems to hark back to early albums that had very many songs about meeting up in and reconciling in the rain. She gave us the best she had but what should she do after that? Then we get the Gatsby thing that recurs through this with the green light. I think she’s also toying with the idea that many of her fans kinda want that confessional thing. Many of us want to be let in and to get a window into her life but she can’t quite do it - she’s masking it in Gatsby and characters. 

We - her listeners - haven’t me the new her yet. 

But maybe we’ll like that new her even more, Tay says, in a bittersweet way. 

This is the ode to folklore era again: 

There'll be happiness after you

But there was happiness because of you, too

Both of these things can be true

There is happiness

And again there is happiness. 

This bit is similar to the previous one, but again in the way she usually does in this song and era twisted somewhat:

In our history, across our great divide

There is a glorious sunrise

Dappled with the flickers of light

From the dress I wore at midnight, leave it all behind

Oh, leave it all behind

Leave it all behind

And there is happiness

What’s the twist? Leave it all behind is repeated. She is really insisting that in leaving the history behind she is finding happiness. Now. It is. It exists. But it is, again, somewhat bittersweet because she finds her relationship with this era so confusing - especially, I think, given she is currently re-recording. 

In conclusion, this reading makes the most sense to me and I’m curious what y’all think. 

[msmoonfire]

Candle reading made easy

Hey loves, I don’t want to make this post suuuper long so imagine me blowing a welcome kiss to all of you and let’s get started...

The generic practice of reading fire is called pyromancy. 

We can break a candle reading session down to 3 main parts:

Observation (flame watching)

Gathering & understanding (decoding fire’s messages)

Final question & Goodbye (ask if there’s anything else you should know before leaving, thank and salute fire/salamanders)

During the observation phase, watch for:

Length of the flame 1-2 min to know WHEN-the timing = PAST

Shape of the flame 2-3 min to know WHAT-the actual matter = PRESENT

Direction & behavior of the flame 3-4 min to know HOW-the true nature of it = hints at the FUTURE (see where the fire is pointing to know what type of matter it is; concentrate on the opposite direction telling you how to counteract to solve or banish whatever it might be; it also indicates what elemental energy is strongly supporting/protecting you in taking action as well as in related spellwork)

Presence/Absence of Smoke 2-3 min to understand the SOURCE of your awareness 

*Keep a compass handy!

Salamanders/fire will try to communicate with you as soon as you light the fire/candle so pay attention from the very beginning. Fire energy is impulsive, blunt, active, carefree and wild.  This type of divination detects negativity like WOW because it easily speaks the brutally honest truth regardless of how you feel or what's happening. It brings up issues that we refuse to deal with. Again, it’s pure blunt energy. Because of its wild nature, fire will also charge us with optimism and explosive determination to overcome problems and bad news: typically after pyromancy we feel motivated and “ready to go”.

Length

Long-extra long: something has been bothering you for a very long time now (trust your intuition, probably for years) which you never actively faced; you’ve been quiet for too long; unsolved problems from the past are challenging your patience; relevant stuff that had to be cleared much earlier

Medium: Something that has been lurking in the back of your mind for 1-3 months, a plan or an idea that could change/shake your life but is not currently a priority to you; it might be something you heard from another person or a vague thought

Short: something intense that happened within the last couple days, a very recent thing is bothering you and has almost caught you by surprise; unexpected news from day to day, a new sudden event that physically or emotionally shook you

Shape 

Double: Two things that were generated consequentially or have a common link, two entities/people united by a common theme

Super-thin line: Something you felt or suspected but never had proof of evidence about, a subtle suspicion, a doubt, an insinuation; a sneaky or secretive individual

Regular: Something/someone that you accept and is part of your routine, your own mindset, something very close and not disturbing; a solid milestone in your daily life

Round: One thing in particular that constantly “fills you up”, makes you feel complete, full, exploding or either extremely delighted; a person who represses/suppresses you, someone ghosting you on purpose just to humble you or to make you feel lesser

Behavior

Steady: things are happening in the background, far from the “public eye” and without you even realizing; you - and people around you- are calm, clueless, peaceful and the surroundings seem safe; good vibes are in the air but definitely keep your eyes open and intuition awake

Shaky, wiggly: things are visibly happening before your eyes, making you confused, uneasy or giving you mood swings; anxiety; you are able to feel bad vibes around you: take control of the situation and protect yourself Weak, petite & almost extinguished: matter/person X is now annihilating you before the eyes of everybody, but still no one defends you; seek help in others, protect yourself and take action to win this ripe, suffered battle

Directions

EAST: AIR - communication, mindset, mental/spoken/written things, logical reasoning, ideas, plans, spring, morning, sunrise, masculine... WEST: WATER - emotions, unconscious, gut feelings, passivity, illogical reasoning, intangibility, blue, flow, moisture, fall, sunset, feminine... SOUTH: FIRE - action, guidance, strength, activity, blood, warmth, creativity, masculine, red, impulse, summer, noon... NORTH: EARTH - stability, firmness, art, finance, grounding, material things, tangibility, stillness, death, birth, winter, midnight, green... (+ ALL YOUR PERSONAL KNOWLEDGE about the elements and how they can be interpreted, what meanings they have in our lives and their specific correspondences) 

Smoke

Absence: you are the source of awareness: your body and soul have sent you signals about matter X and you had an inner awakening which led you to this reading 

Presence: someone else enlightened you with their words and made you fully aware of matter X; something popped up as an obvious proof that you weren’t expecting to find: this has awakened your inquisitive mind and led it to this reading. 

Hopefully you’ll get inspired by this post and learn something useful to spice up your divination practice:) I thank you so much for reading, xox msmoonfire

[poptod]

hey there! hope i’m not bothering u. maybe a snafu x reader after the war where he tries to impress them at a bar with war stories but y/n was an air force pilot and it turns into a debate of who was more badass during the war? sweet at the end maybe? i’m addicted to ur writing lmao. thanks again for always answering my requests!

notes: not a problem at all :) unfortunately the power has been out at my house for a day or two so this is a tad late, but youve got fun ideas so i dont mind writing them at all. hope you like this one too

It had to be past midnight – somehow despite that fact, you were still wide awake. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn't taken your sleeping pills, or the pounding loud shouts of the bar's drunken patrons, but you did not lag behind your friend. She'd dragged you there, saying something about getting free drinks since she was banging the bartender. Before either of you knew it, she was off flirting with another man (which the bartender did not like), and you were ordering your third drink. Not the most you'd drunk in one night, not even close, but it was enough to give you a pleasant buzz, allowing you to relax against the bar counter and look out across the crowd.

Within the next several hours most of the crowd had filed out, making way for a new wave of soldiers, ones that had just arrived home and were celebrating their life still belonging to themselves. You were once part of that menagerie; the only difference was you had become a marine before the war ever started, and while you were there for the beginnings of the war, your contract with the marine corps ended soon after. It left you feeling apart from both citizens and soldiers – someone who didn't know the horrors of war, but who was traumatized enough that society didn't care to love them anymore.

Unlike many returning soldiers, you did not turn to alcohol to fix your issues. For the most part you distracted yourself with work, working and working till there was nothing in your head but work – there was little else in your life besides work now, the one exception being your friend, Penny. She made sure you ate, made sure you got outside and had human contact. For that you will always be grateful.

Your attention wavers from her only when one of the returning soldiers stands right beside you at the bar, ordering a bottle of beer before noticing you, his posture suddenly changing as he does so. His back straightens out a little, his hips a little more forward, elbows on the bar behind him so as to show off toned forearms and a skinny waist. He stares for a little while – you pay him no mind. When he gets his drink, that's when he actually speaks to you.

"What's a doll like you doin' here?" He says, and you almost roll your eyes. What a typical start.

"Keepin' a friend company," you answer him quietly, taking a swig of your own drink. It's not entirely a lie, although you feel you're keeping less and less of her company the more she drifts off to the side, caught up in the stare of a rather handsome man with a fair amount of scruff.

"Really? You come here often? I'm - jus' curious. I've never been here before," he says, clarifying that he isn't that stupid so as to use that specific line, a clarification you appreciate.

"This is my first time. My friend though, she comes here often, says she likes the atmosphere," you tell him, nodding in the direction of Penny, who is currently in a corner with the stranger. "You're a soldier, right?"

"Yessir," he says with a proud nod, "just returnin', actually."

You nod absently, looking out across the general crowd before you at last meet his eye. In the neon red lights you can barely see him, the shape of his face against the black mass of people, the color of his eyes against long eyelashes that flutter when he scans you up and down. All you can tell about him is his voice – rough and deep, drawling his words and humming his thoughts.

"You meet many marines?" He asks, and you can already tell he's gearing up to tell you some horrid stories of the war. Unfortunately, you don't know him well enough yet to know if he's going to tell you the truth, and a small part of you hopes he doesn't tell the truth. The truth is gorey and dangerous and heartbreaking, and you're not ready to live out such memories and tales again. Not yet.

"I've met a few," you say vaguely, watching the way a grin cracks across his face as he chuckles smooth and low.

"All I gotta say is you're lucky I ain't no army kid, those assholes are weak as all hell," he says, something you fully agree with, and something that has a sweet giggle coming involuntarily out of you. He smiles even bigger when he watches the way you laugh.

"My father was a marine," you say, coming down from your high. "He said the same thing."

"He's right, y' know... me n' my troop, we was out on that godforsaken island in the Pacific, hot as hell every day – humid, too. We saw hell n' back, shootin' at Japs n' gettin' shot at, sitting in all those damn trenches, up to ya knees in mud, and there go the fuckin' army soldiers, prancing around like goddamn deer. Funniest shit I ever seen, though to be fair, I don't think any a' us had much to eat that day," he recalls fondly, but you can tell he's suppressing the worse memories. You don't ask on that – it'd be rude, and it's not a subject you want to talk about. Nonetheless, he continues. "An you know, you're sittin' in mud all day n' night, you're gonna get pretty dirty, right?"

You nod attentively. If there's one thing you're still good at after your time in the marine corps, it's listening well.

"So we're all covered in mud, and they come by in a neat row, with their freshly washed hair and white as all hell skin – I made a bet with this one fella, Burgie, a' said they'd get so sunburnt after a week on that island, they'd be cryin'. I was right, of course," he says, motioning with his hands as he told the story. At the end he rubs his nose and turns back to you, watching for your reaction, and loving the way you still manage to enjoy his story.

"So you're tellin' war stories now?" You ask, leaning in closer and smirking imperceptibly when his breath catches in his throat. "What's your best story, then?"

He doesn't skip a beat, another one of those sweetly impure smiles coming across him as he starts.

"Hell, there's a lot to choose from. I do remember though," his hand comes up to his shirt collar, unconsciously toying with it, "this one Jap snuck into our camp, still don't know how, but he was one a' those damn kamikaze soldiers, the radical ones. He shouted somethin', don't remember what, but everyone went for their guns – I did too, an' we all pointed at his chest, cause it's easier to aim that way, y'know? But the bombs were tied to his chest, so a' aimed at the head. Shot him dead center between his eyes," he tells you with an air of pride and a hint of disgust. You don't blame him.

"That's a good story," you say with a small smile.

Anticipation creeps up on you as you wait till he's done prattling off little details, just waiting till you can watch the light die in his eyes as you tell him your own war story.

"I think my best marine story would have to be when I was flyin' over this active war field, there's fighter pilots everywhere in the sky, and sometimes it's hard to tell which jet belongs to which side in the moment. Everythin' goes by fast, but I saw this Jap flagged plane drop a bomb the size of a whole person. Immediate reaction was to shoot at the bomb, and I got pretty lucky – it blew up midair, and I was far enough it didn't hurt me," you say, unable to stop a grin from coming to you when the man slowly realizes that he's talking to another marine.

"Oh, you're a marine too, ain't you?" He says, but it's not a question – no, it sounds more like a challenge, and one you're completely willing to participate in. "Where you stationed?"

"I was in Hawaii at first," you say quietly, and he immediately gets the implication. Although you both now know what you saw, and the topic is in your heads, neither of you explore that further. "Later got stationed at some place in the Pacific. Like you. Though, I was on the ocean, not an island."

"What's your kill count?" He asks, and he leans forward just a little bit, drawing closer to you.

"Does it really matter?" You ask in return.

"'Course it does. You gonna be out here tellin' me you didn't count?"

"I didn't," you say truthfully. "A bit hard to see how many y' kill from a thousand feet in the air."

"Y'ever do parachute drops?"

"Once," you say. "Did you?"

"Nah, parachute drops ain't nothin' compared to the shit I did," he says, dismissing the notion as if it wasn't important. Now he's trying to impress you – again.

"Really?" You ask, almost sarcastic, but you manage to hold that part back. "What is it that you did then that was so much more terrifying and dangerous than freefalling through the atmosphere?"

"Try carryin' mortars on ya back in searing heat, n' all the while you n' ya company's out takin' a little hike 'cross a whole island filled with Japs," he says cockily, angling his chin upwards in a motion that accentuates his already sharp-as-hell jawline.

"Wow, a whole island," you say sarcastically, but he sees the humor behind it.

"Hey, Japan's an island too an' they big enough that they got the whole nation in uproar," he points out.

"Whatever makes you feel better," you say, taking a sip of your drink.

"What's your rank anyway?" He asks as he puts his drink on the counter, crossing his arms.

"I'm a major," you say, and once again the light dies in his eyes. You almost want to spare him the embarrassment of telling you his own rank, but you are curious, and it's just too fun to let him off. "What's your rank?"

"... corporal," he answers quietly, and you have to hold back a laugh. You try really hard, you really do, just so hard not to laugh, but you end up snorting anyway, and you can't even begin to work on your smile.

"Alright, corporal," you say, still trying not to laugh. Placing your own drink down on one of the bar coasters you turn to him, curling his loose tie around one of your hands and pulling him forward, practically devouring his nervous delight. "Y' really wanna play this game?"

"I'm the one who started it, ain't I?" He says, and you admire his tenacity to talk back to a superior officer.

"What's your full name and title, Corporal?"

"Corporal Merriel Shelton," he answers softly, his eyes suddenly stuck on the words that form on your blushing lips. "Ma' friends jus' call me Snafu, though."

"Mmm," you hum, looking him up and down much like he'd done to you earlier, "the hell you do to earn that kind a' name?"

"Oh, I'm just reckless, baby," he says with a smirk, gaining the confidence needed to lean into your touch more. You can feel his hips almost pressed against yours, the feeling doing nothing but making you pull his tie even more, a smile beginning to tug at the edges of your lips.

"Mind showin' me?"

"Not at all," he says in the impossibly low voice of his, and with that you're his, if only for the evening.

[erikaf-94]

Everything’s Dark

When I open my eyes, everything's dark. I try to turn to one side, but for some reason my right leg hits a hard surface. I release a groan of pain, and I realize immediately that I’m not lying on a mattress, my back is supported on a sort of rigid table. Therefore, I'm not in my bed. I instinctively bring my hands forward, finding out that the space around me is surrounded by close walls. I start to move, touching everywhere, grasping second after second to be confined from every possible angle. The material under my fingers is irregular, fibrous. It must definitely be wood. «This can’t be real», I say aloud, fearing what I'm starting to believe. I force myself to remember everything I can of the past few hours. I had been with Nick, my new boyfriend for five months now, and we were drinking at the local club. It was roughly a quarter to eleven. Maybe almost eleven. I can't say for sure. We were talking about this and that, about our working day, and how nice it would be to organize a holiday in London for August. We were having fun, even though at some point I started to feel a little sick. From then on I don't remember anything. Only a vague sense of nausea lingers to torture my stomach. I must have had too much to drink, and fallen asleep. So where the hell am I now? To my great relief, I still wear the evening's clothes, a fancy black tank top and a pair of light jeans. On my feet I can feel my boots. Maybe it hasn't been long since I've been here, wherever here is. I decide to put my hand in my jeans pocket, where I usually keep the phone. Fortunately, that's where I find it. As soon as I unlock the screen, I instantly check out the time: it’s midnight sharp. After that, I take a look around, glowing everything with a soft, blue light. What I see is the worst nightmare of my life: I'm locked up in a fucking coffin. An old wooden coffin. My heart starts to accelerate, and with each beat the breath gets shorter. I drop the phone near my head and start screaming at the top of my lungs «HEEEEEELP!» My fists beat against the light wooden lid above me. «HEEELOOO? CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME? SOMEONE HELP ME, PLEEEASE! NIIIIICK! NIIICK, DO YOU HEAR ME? HEEEELP!» Even my feet start to kick violently against the immovable wood. I stop for a moment and stretch my ear against the surface. I don't hear any sound. No one answers. It's all useless. There is no one who can hear me. Warm tears run slowly down my cheeks, while my chest twists in despair. How is this possible? How on earth is this possible? I'm screwed. I gasp for the already little air that is in here. And now what should I do? What the hell am I supposed to do? There must be something I can do, besides tearing my vocal cords and scraping my hands. So I remember the phone. I pick it up and carry it in front of my face. Rapidly I unlock it and try to illuminate the bottom of the coffin, where I glimpse my bag in the corner with surprise. It seems to have been thrown away without regard, because it’s upside down. I want to take it, cause maybe I can find a clue inside, or anything else that allows me to remember some useful detail. I drag myself with my legs towards my goal, and I succed to grab it with my feet, so I push it higher, close to my thigh. I place it on my chest and take a look inside by lifting my head: there are my house and car keys, a notepad with a small pen, two protein bars, paper handkerchiefs, a mirror and a couple of cents tucked into a pocket. Not a shadow of the wallet. «What the fuck...» I murmur, sinking into total confusion. Who could have taken my wallet? Have I and Nick been robbed? What if the robber thought of locking us up in two separate coffins, maybe to get more money with a ransom, or something? What if Nick’s situation was worst than mine? If he was hurt, or even... No, I don't wanna think about it a minute longer. The phone lighting goes out. I unlock it again and check the battery level: six percent. «It ain’t real, it ain’t real, it ain’t real... It's just a bad dream, just a fucking bad dream.» I press with my thumb the address book, and without further thinking I choose Nick’s number. I have to wait a long time before an answer. «Nick? Nick, are you okay?» I blurt out without giving him time to say a word. «Nadia?» His voice is practically flat, although I notice a hint of disbelief. «Yeah, it’s me! Where are you, Nick? Are you okay?» «Oh, I'm doing great. Aren’t you supposed to be dead already?» A shot in the chest, that's how his words feel like. I can't come to terms with what I’ve just heard. «Was it... was it you who put me here?» "Who else, you filthy bitch? Jesus fucking Christ? You had no friends or relatives who cared about you. In your stupid meaningless life you only had me. What a pathetic waste of space.» Its tone, warm and welcoming until a few hours ago, now it gives me goosebumps. I realize that he has just used the past tense to speak to me. I start to cry, like I've never cried in my whole life. «Why did you do this to me? I thought we were in love!» I say between sobs, feeling extremely nauseous.  «Well, you just need to know that I never loved you. And now, sweet dreams, baby. For good.» He hangs up on me. «NO, FUUUUCK!» I scream, hitting the lid once more and sticking a splinter in one of my knuckle. A trickle of blood slides down the back of the hand, so I bite my lower lip in pain and hold my breath, trying to remove the splinter from my flesh carefully. Then I grab a handkerchief from the bag, and press on it for a few moments. I cannot understand. Why would Nick do this to me? I've always been good with him. I don't deserve to die this way. I don't deserve any of this! And yet, instantly, I realize that I actually got screwed from the start. Nick never took me to his house. Nor did he tell me too much about his parents, or his friends and acquaintances. In fact, he never introduced me to anyone who was part of his life. Maybe he even lied to me about his job. He is right, my life has been insignificant for a very long time.  When we met, I believed that he was the meaning of my existence. Loving him was my life purpose. What a fool I was! Maybe this is the perfect ending that a person like me deserves. I’m gonna die exactly as I lived: alone, helpless and far from the world. Suddenly the phone vibrates and distracts me from my depressing thoughts. The caller is unknown. «Hello?» I say, wondering who might call me this late.  «Hi, is Nadia Putman speaking?» «Yes, it’s me. Who is it?» «I’m Natalie Holland, a secretary of the local police station. Ten minutes ago a woman brought us a lost wallet, which happens to be yours. Have you noticed a missing wallet on your bag, miss?» «Yes, I have. My boyfriend, or should I say ex-boyfriend, stole it from me and decided to put me in a coffin.» «I’m sorry, miss, what have you just said? He put you in where?» «In a fucking coffin, goddammit! Could you help me, please?» «Oh, okay, sorry to hear that. I’ll put you through with the deparment chief, Oliver Finch. Hold on a minute, please.» «I don’t have a min» I try to say, but she’s already gone. Seconds pass by, while I’m waiting on the line. I check the battery: three percent. Panic is making my heart race a little faster. I don’t wanna be delusional, but as they say, hope dies last.  «Oliver Finch speaking. Miss Putnam, are you still there?» «Hi... yes, I’m here.» «Good. I was informed of your current situation, miss, and I want you to know that we’re going to make everything in our capacity to get you out of there, but first I need you to answer a few questions for me.» «I’m running out of time, sir! My battery is three percent, and I’m very claustrophobic. I don’t know how much air remains in here. I don’t even know where I am.» «Please, I need you to calm down. Take some deep breath, okay? We’re already trying to track down your phone’s signal. Now, to facilitate our job, you have to tell me what is the last thing you remember before finding yourself in there.» «I was at a club near the city, it’s called “The Joint”. I was there with my ex-boyfriend, Nick Allen, around eleven o’clock. We were drinking, I think he put something inside my glass, because I felt dizzy. Then, nothing more. Now I’m not even sure Nick is his real name.» «Okay, miss, you’re doing fine. We’ve just found a Nick Allen on our archives. He’s been in jail several times for theft, rape and attemped murder. He’s real name is George Frederick Clark.» «Fucking George, or Nick, or whatever! That piece of shit has just ruined my life. I can’t believe he fooled me that way. I was so stupid... so stupid!» I keep on sobbing, and I don’t care to wipe the water away from my face with my hands. «Nadia, I need you to focus. Do you know where he lives? It could be crucial for...» The phone is dead. I scream in frustration with all my strenght one last time. It was all in vain. Great. Perfect. I let out a sigh of resignation. Tears run copiously down my face, as I realise that this is over. That’s it. I’m gonna die here, unless the police has localized my GPS by some miracle. At least I’ve tried. At least I’ve lived more than certain people. Now, the only thing I can do is to wait. I’m not sure what for, the police or death. Either way, it’s okay. I’m gonna be okay. I’m okay. Then, I close my eyes, and everything’s dark.

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Need A Best Friend

anonymous said: Hi there, love! I was wondering if you could do some fluffy Rami x reader where they were really close in college and she is brutally OBSESSED with Queen. (Fast forward to filming BoRhap) Rami brings her on set and finally confesses the feelings he's had for her the whole time as Freddie. (Freakin' love your writing ❤️)

“Rami, you know I don’t like surprises!”

Rami rolled his eyes playfully, rubbing the sleep from them as he shifted a bit in the backseat of the car that had picked you both up bright and early to take you out to Rockfield Farm. He’d flown you out to London on the premise that he missed you and wanted to show you the secret project he was currently working on. You’d said yes, on the conditions that he didn’t make you sleep on the bed while he took the couch or chair – or worse, the floor. You knew Rami like the back of your hand, and many-a-night in his dorm you’d had to argue with him for hours on how it was his bed, not yours.

“Y/N, you love surprises more than anyone I know. Don’t even try that with me.” Grinning sheepishly, you glanced over your shoulder at him as the England countryside whirred on by the window, and Rami felt a stirring in his heart that had been mainly dormant since waking this morning, only fluttering once upon realizing the domesticity of brushing his teeth side by side with you in the bathroom.

“You got me,” you giggled, and as your eyes turned back out the window, he found himself wishing that an alternate version of those words was true now more than ever.

“Late night at Ridgway. C’mon. Rami. Late. Night. At. Ridgway.” You were in Graves Res Hall, pushing on a sleeping (or trying, really) Rami who’d made the mistake of copying his dorm key so you could get in whenever you wanted. You’d done the same, of course, but right now he was regretting it as he sat up in his bed, groaning softly and stretching before hugging his legs.

“What time is it?” he croaked, checking the alarm clock next to his bed to find it was just past midnight, the 12:10 staring him back in the face. Looking up at you and blinking blearily, he found you grinning dopily, only outlined by the aggressive red light from the clock. Even then, he could tell you were just a tad tipsy, your eyes glazed over as you leaned all your weight on the bed, waiting impatiently. “Late night at Ridgway? Do they even have that on Monday nights?”

“Absolutely!” you replied cheerily, holding out a pair of sweatpants and slides for him. “And I’m craving waffles, so let’s get a move on, Malek. It’s only open for another hour and some change.”

“God, why do I put up with you?” he teased gently, taking the grey sweatpants and starting to pull them on as he hopped off the bed. His eyebrows furrowed as you kneeled down in front of him, holding out the slides so he could put his feet into them, and an unrelenting blush accompanied the baffled expression when you looked up at him from where you sat (see: wobbled) back on your heels. The point of view was too suggestive for his liking, especially in the dark at 12-something in the morning, and your silly grin as he watched you was heartwrenching. So, he cleared his throat and put his feet in the slides quickly. “Can I at least go to the bathroom before we leave?”

“I suppose I can let ya do that,” you groaned playfully, climbing back to your feet before falling back into the beanbag chair nearby with a small ‘oof.’

“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking off for the bathroom at a hurried pace.

The morning light that started to filter in through the window as you drove was giving you a glow as Rami watched you gaze out over the changing landscape, the rolling hills and lush greenery interspersed with some very dark mud that was a product of last night’s rain. You were ethereal to him, an Elysian being that was somehow stuck in the back of a crud-covered Ford Focus with him, a hopelessly devoted man who’d been crushing on a girl for close to 18 years.

“Are you excited to see what I’ve been working on? You’ll shit a brick.” Rami’s voice lulled you out of your trance, and you turned to face the tawny-skinned, curly-haired man you’d grown to love as your favorite human.

“I wish you’d just tell me,” you pouted, and the way your bottom-lip jutted out was dangerous to Rami’s will. Ignoring the tremble in your plump, peachy, lower lip, he instead met your eyes with his own observant green ones, giving you a knowing smile.

“No way in hell.”

“Rami, gun to your head, stop showering or stop brushing your teeth?” you asked lazily, leaned up against one of the trees in the expansive lawn on campus. It was a pretty nice day for April, so you and Rami had elected to leave Bower and instead study on the lawn since finals were rapidly approaching. Lately, it felt like you’d been cooped up in the Fine Arts building, so it was a welcome relief. Rami laid on his stomach nearby, sprawled out with a book that had him invested until you’d distracted him moments ago out of your own sheer boredom.

“Oh, God, stop. That’s so gross,” he groaned, burying his face in his book for a moment before sitting up again and sighing melodramatically. “Showering, if I had to choose.”

“Really?” you asked, peeking over your book at him and catching his eye and he propped himself up on his elbows again. His hair was short, buzzed after a recent attempt at a perm he didn’t need anyways, and he looked completely put on the spot as he caught you staring at him questioningly. “Interesting.”

“What’s so interesting about it?” he asked, crossing his olive-skinned arms over one another as he furrowed his eyebrows at you, his book of no interest to him now. He had a pretty girl’s undivided attention, and it was doubly as exciting that it was you, his best friend and someone he’d grown to be quite fond of lately.

“I don’t know, I just… you’d be so stinky.” Your nose wrinkled a bit at the thought, an action that was fatally adorable and made Rami grin a bit as he looked down at his book, not really reading it.

“Yeah, but rotting teeth? No thank you.” Looking up again, he raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Are you really gonna choose no teeth over stinky pits?”

Another nose wrinkle. “No way in hell…. Would you rather control your dreams or be able to rewatch them whenever you want?”

He quieted, looking off in the distance as he vaguely recalled a dream in which he’d had the opportunity to kiss you. He did it. Nerves that crippled him in real life weren’t a hindrance in the dream. A soft smile came to his lips, one you couldn’t read even if you tried.

“Rewatch them whenever I want.”

“You know, I kind of regret not splurging and studying abroad at Harlaxton while I had the chance,” you mused as Rockfield Farm drew nearer and nearer, Rami still delighted with your apparent obliviousness to the whole situation. He knew you knew about Rockfield/Ridge Farm. Being best friends with the biggest Queen fan alive was quite a daunting task when you had to keep your work on the film pretty much under wraps. “Just think England’s got so much culture.”

“I thought about it too, but it wasn’t feasible,” Rami lied, looking down at his phone for a moment to hide the shame in his eyes. He didn’t go because you didn’t. The moment you’d ruled it out as a possibility due to money being tight, Rami threw away his application.

“It’s fucking upsetting,” you mumbled, curled up on Rami’s cramped dorm bed with your head resting on his thigh, staring at the CD/radio player that was doing its best to crank out a bootlegged version of A Night at the Opera. His hands ran through your hair uneasily, knowing that anything could set you off at any moment. You had just realized that you couldn’t afford to study abroad next semester, and you were really banking on being able to do so because you’d be just a few hour’s drive away from the birthplace of your favorite band of all time – Queen.

Rami’s steady humming and gentle way with your hair was easing the sadness out of you, but there was still a hint of grief on your face as you closed your eyes, sighing softly. “This isn’t the only chance for you to ever see England and London, Y/N, it’s okay.”

“But what if it is, Rami?” you whined softly, sniffling a bit as the very real possibility of absolutely flopping in your theater studies hovered over you. “What if I become a nobody actress and never get the chance to leave this stupid little state?”

“Hey, don’t say that.” He frowned, pushing your hair back out of your face, and gave you a disgruntled look. “You are not going to fail, you’re going to be the best god damn actress out there – they’ll be begging you to come to London and you’ll probably have to buy a ticket for poor old Rami here just so he can see it.”

“Oh, shut up,” you groaned, but a laugh was evident in your voice as you rolled over, hiding your face in his shirt and trying to stifle laughs as he grinned. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“So what if I am? It’s still the truth,” he countered sassily, making you whine again as you hid your face more in his shirt, refusing to respond again and just sitting in silence with him. The soft sound of ’39 filled the quiet room, sending a pang through the hearts of both of you for different reasons.

Now you were getting impatient. Rockfield was less than a mile away, but you were thoroughly baffled at your surroundings. “Really, Rami, are you taking me out here to kill me and take my riches? I didn’t make that much money from my stint on my last show, so you’re not gaining much here.”

But Rami wasn’t quite listening, knowing that he needed to get into the zone soon so he could be ready to switch over into Freddie once he walked on set. “Hey, when we get there, Kelli’s going to take you over to catering while I start getting ready. Uh, try not to hurt yourself.”

“So confident in my abilities,” you teased, watching as Rockfield’s vaguely recognizable barn/studio came into view, surrounded by a multitude of vehicles, trailers, and the likes all swarmed by various personnel. “Hey, this is… No fucking way.” Realization dawned on you, registering quickly on your face, and your jaw went slack as you looked over to Rami, who was wearing a cheesy grin.

“Surprise?”

“Rami, no way in hell!” you reiterated, practically squealing as you grabbed onto his arm. “I thought this project was toast when Sacha left a few years ago, you didn’t fucking tell me you were the replacement! I fucking hate you! Oh my god, Rami, I’m so excited, I love this for you!”

“So many mixed signals,” he laughed, patting your hand with his gently, but you had a vice-like grip on his arm as you stared in awe at the set you were approaching, knowing that this was Rockfield Farm, one of the iconic studios that Queen had utilized for A Night at the Opera. And you knew that Brian or Roger had announced literally years ago that a movie was in the works, but some friends that you shared in the industry had let it slip that Sacha left over some disagreements. However, you’d never imagined that your best friend was the one to pick the role up.

“Rami, you are playing Freddie fucking Mercury and you didn’t tell me!” you gasped, gently pushing him away and staring at him in shock. “My favorite band of all time and I…. God, I want to hate you so much but I’m so freaking stoked for this I might pass out! Oh my god. This is so exciting! I’m so proud of you!”

At it again with the mixed signals, you excitedly grabbed his hand and squeezed it between yours, staring through the windshield as you approached the barn. While you watched the situation unfold, Rami watched you, hyperaware of how soft and warm your hands were around his own. It took him back to the first time he’d held hands with you, far before he’d realized how head over heels he was for his best friend.

“Lucky for you, you got paired up with the cutest girl in class,” you teased as you walked back to the other side of the stage, preparing to start your dialogue practice over yet again. Rami had broken character, laughing about a line that called him a Mona Lisa because of the way you’d said it. Now he was reclined back on his chair again, rolling his eyes playfully at your brash comment.

“I said I was worried about getting through the lines, that has nothing to do with your relative hotness.” He fingered through the short script for a second, then groaned out and looked over at you with an amused expression. “But damn it, we really are the cutest ones in class, aren’t we?”

He barely knew you at this point, the both of you only recently having befriended each other over this particular class – something about body language and physicality, how to convey your emotions not just through language. So the harmless flirting really was harmless, a way to ease the tension of trying to figure out a dialogue with an acquaintance. You knew Rami was from California, but you’d never seen his dorm and didn’t know he had a twin. He knew you were just recently 19 as of last week, but your shared apartment remained a mystery, and he couldn’t even name your hometown if he tried. You were basically strangers, yet to meet up outside of class, but there was a strange quality to your relationship that made it different – somehow, it was easier joking with each other than it was with any of the other friends you’d made since moving to Evansville a few months ago.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” you laughed, tossing a crumpled up sticky note at him before checking your watch and whining melodramatically. “Shit, our reserved time is up.” As if on cue, the rehearsal stage doors opened and another pair of students walked in, eyeing you as if they vaguely remembered you from class but wanted you out of sight immediately. Exhaling quickly and pushing your bangs back out of your face, you nodded to the exit. “Let’s bounce, maybe we can go grab some coffee and run through lines without you laughing like a hyena.”

“I do not sound like a hyena!” he gasped, clutching at his chest playfully but rising from the chair anyways and retrieving his bag from the side of the stage. Hopping off together, you chatted amiably as you made the trek across campus to the coffee shop, where you both grabbed a quick drink before settling in on the lawn. Rami stretched out casually as he leaned against the tree behind him, and you sat cross-legged, facing him and reading from the script in your lap.

And this time, you managed to get through the lines without an issue, even adding in a few notes as you went along for your interpretations of what should be happening physically at certain points.

“The whole point is, like, physicality, but we don’t want to overdo it, right?” you asked as you penned something into the margin, then took a sip of your coffee and took his hand with the other. Lacing your fingers into his, he watched on in subdued surprise as you squeezed his hand, then quickly switched to just clasping your hand around his. “So, when Marvelli is like ‘ahhh you’re the love of my life you’re the best even though you just called me mona lisa,’ I feel like-“ you had to pause as Rami giggled once, a knowing smile coming onto your face as you rolled your eyes. “I feel like he should grab Angie’s hand, but do we wanna go for the fingers interlocked thing, or just the classic hand hold sweaty hand thing?”

“I have no idea what you just said,” he admitted, still confused by your hand grasping his gently, and you groaned before demonstrating the same two hand-holds again. Finally, it clicked, and his mouth went into an o-shape as he nodded, trying to think about which one wouldn’t be too much and not how soft your hands were, because holy fuck they were soft and she’s kind of super cute so this is great. “Fingers interlocked.”

Rami back then would have never guessed he’d be here, now, holding your hand as he helped you out of the car and straight into the mud at Rockfield Farm. Never would that scrawny little college freshman had thought he’d be on his way to get his Freddie Mercury makeup done, hand in hand with the same girl since that day, day one.

“Don’t fall!” he laughed as you slipped in the mud a bit, gripping onto his hand for dear life, and you sent him a grateful look before finally making it to concrete, where you were both reluctant to let go. But after an awkward moment of not letting go, an assistant was quick to swoop Rami up and he had to drop your hand, a mild sadness filling his features as he promised that he’d be in the third trailer down.

“Y/N?” a young woman’s voice asked you, scaring you out of your thoughts as you watched Rami trek off towards the trailer. Jumping slightly, you put a hand over your heart as you turned to the woman with the headset on, who was giving you an apologetic smile. “Sorry to scare you. I’m Kelli. Big fan. D’you want some breakfast? Rami said you’d probably be starving, so he made sure to order your favorite kind of donuts. Straight glazed, right?”

“He knows me too well,” you laughed softly, dropping your hand to your side and sending him one last glance as he disappeared into the trailer. Lingering for a moment, the creeping thought of Rami preparing so much for you to be here for just one day made a blush appear on your cheeks. “Yeah, I’m starving. Lead the way, Kelli!”

“Sweeeeeet Caroolineeeee!”

“Fuck Phi Kap!” you cheered, grinning deliriously at the blasting music as you leaned against Rami, who was attempting to navigate his way out of the bar while being just as drunk as you. He was singing along loudly, desperately wanting to stay behind and party all night but knowing that catching a cab after last call would be next to impossible. So he dragged you outside, drunkenly singing along to the music that was now muffled by the brick exterior of the building. It was chilly for a spring evening, a breezy kind of cold that alleviated the intense heat that radiated off of both of you.

“Oh, good, there’s one!” Rami slurred excitedly, pulling you over to a cab that was waiting in idle for the inevitable crush of students once it hit 1:30. Opening the door, he let you climb in first before half-falling in after you, rambling off the address of your apartment to the driver.

“Oh, fuck, I love you so much,” you giggled, throwing your arms around his shoulders and leaning on him heavily as he tried to buckle up. “You’re my best friend foreverrrr!”

“How much have you drank?” Rami laughed as he got the damned buckle into the slot finally, moving his hand to rest on your arm while you fell to rest your head in his lap. Your eyelids were still heavy with liquor, practically closed despite your best efforts to fight the feeling of the cab's soothing movement forward.

“My entire life, or just tonight?” you giggled in response, and as you looked up to Rami with low-lidded, bleary eyes, he decided he’d never seen something so beautiful in his life.

“Just tonight, dork.” He grinned even wider, rubbing your arm as you made a face of deep thought, tapping a finger to your chin for extra effect and humming curiously. His heart skipped a beat when you took his hand from your arm, lacing your fingers into his and grinning impishly. God, he would never get tired of that smile.

“S’hard to tell…. I’ve been drinking.” With that, you squeezed his hand and grinned even wider when he burst into laughter. The car began to spin a bit in your vision, so you closed your eyes and giggled as you kept his hand tightly interwoven with yours, his grasp being the only thing grounding you to reality. “I want pizza. Can we order pizza and watch a movie, please please please please?”

“It’s your apartment!” he reminded you, watching your pleasantly serene smile quirk upwards at his voice. “It’s a plan. Might have to skip our 8 am, though, I think Thirsty Thursday has fucked both of us.”

Pizza it was. You ordered a simple pepperoni and downed so much water, you got waterlogged by the time the pizza got there. When Rami went to go get it, he came back to you zonked out on the couch. You were fast asleep, snoring softly, and curled up in his jacket that he’d lent to you when you said you were cold in the cab. Gently shaking your shoulder, he crouched down next to the couch and sat the pizza on the coffee table.

“Hmph?” The quiet noise of question came out of you when he shook you another time, and your eyes blinked open sleepily to see Rami peering at you, looking a bit guilty but still mildly drunk. “Ramiiiii,” you murmured happily, a crooked smile gracing your lips, and he sent back a wide smile in return. “Cuddle with me.”

“Pizza’s here, dweeb,” he teased gently, helping you sit up and getting you a paper towel before handing you a piece. “Careful, it’s hot,” he warned, sitting next to you cross-legged and blowing on his own piece.

“Oh, okay,” you mumbled sleepily, blowing on the pizza a little bit as you fell into his side quite lightly, leaning against him and only shifting a bit when he draped his arm over your shoulder. “You’re my favorite, Rams. You’re so sweet…. You’re so nice to me!”

“Aw, don’t get all soft on me now,” he joked playfully, giving your arm a soft squeeze.

“Soft! You’re so soft,” you rambled on, ignoring his attempt to quiet you, but he didn’t try again as you rose in volume. “And you’re so great and so talented, and I love being your best friend because you get me, you know?! You really get me, and you don’t act like I’m crazy for wanting to be an actress. You’re so…. so supportive! And you’re seriously the best. I can’t imagine life without you. You’re like…. The best puppy dog ever. So loyal. And you kind of look like those ones with the eyes, you know, the Boston Terriers!”

“A Boston Terrier?” Rami repeated, smiling a bit at your mini-vent session about him to him. “I’m not sure whether that was supposed to be an insult or a compliment.” Looking down at you, he found you smiling drunkenly and watching him with wondrous eyes. He decided it was a compliment.

“So, how long have you two known each other?” Gwilym asked, looking genuinely interested in what you had to say. You’d known him from a previous project that you’d both auditioned for, so it was a delight to see him in full Brian May ensemble, holding his script in one hand and a scorching hot tea in the other. Brits and their tea.

“I met him freshman year of college in some theater class, ’99. So… about 18 years? Give or take?” Gwilym’s eyes lit up with an appreciative look, and he smiled wider as he nodded, still listening. “I sat next to him because he was the only one that laughed at my jokes.”

“They were all awful, believe me,” Rami suddenly interjected, coming up from somewhere behind you and wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “I laughed for your sake, darling.”

“Uh, I think you’re a big fat liar!” you laughed, bumping his hip gently with yours and eyeing the Freddie mustache/teeth combo. “I see you’re in Freddie mode now, because you’ve never called me darling before. Every nickname that starts with a d usually ends up being dweeb, or dork, or dumbass-“

“I do not call you a dumbass!” he gasped, recoiling and pulling his arm away from you in shock.

“You do so! But only when I deserve it.” He rolled his eyes, sending you a knowing look before turning his attention back to Gwilym, who was eyeing you both with a thoroughly invested expression.

“Uh-huh,” Gwilym drawled out slowly, licking his lower lip before grinning even more. “Well, it was nice seeing you, Y/N, but I’m afraid I’ve got to go grab something for breakfast before I starve to death all day. Cheers!” Carefully and quickly hugging you, he was then off in search of catering as you and Rami instead stood huddled together under the awning of one of the houses, close enough to feel each other’s body heat in the crisp morning air.

“You know Gwilym?” he asked, turning to face you and hugging himself loosely, the red and white fabric of his sweater looking puffy but a little itchy and acrylic. You nodded as you traced your eyes along the collar for a moment, then looked back up to him. A slow grin spread across your face at the sight of him, wig and makeup and all.

“We both auditioned for something,” you answered offhandedly, reaching up to fluff the wig a tiny bit. “Look at you! My god, you’re a spitting image!” After a pause, a softness took over your features, one that made Rami’s heart race as he watched you quietly, afraid that his heartbeat was audible even over the chaos of crew getting the set ready. “Freddie would be really proud, I think. I couldn’t think of anyone better to carry on his legacy.”

“Thank you,” Rami replied quietly, his voice barely above a whisper as you dropped your hand back to the coffee you were clutching in one hand, using it to warm yourself. You still watched him with the same soft look, so pure and unadulterated in its basis element, that he couldn’t mistake it for anything other than affection. And in that moment of vulnerability, despite the literal hundreds of people surrounding you, Rami released the floodgates after 18 long years. “Hey, um, I can’t believe I’m saying this to you right now of all times, with-“ he gestured to his get-up in general “-this on, but do you remember that night that we went to the bars, and you passed out on your couch while we were waiting for pizza, and I woke you up anyways because I knew that you’d want pizza right then instead of eating it in the morning?”

The question took you a bit aback, and you furrowed your eyebrows for a moment, thinking hard before nodding. “Yeah, what was that, freshman, sophomore year? And you told me to be careful about burning my mouth but I did it anyways because I’m an idiot?”

“And you got sauce all over your couch when you spit it out,” he laughed, looking off in the distance and grinning before taking a deep breath and looking back to you. “The Boston Terrier thing. Did I imagine that, or were we really that drunk?”

“We were definitely drunk, but I will say that you remind me of a Boston Terrier even when we’re sober, so you did not imagine it,” you answered, giggling a little but seeming unsure of where this was going.

“Thank god, because that makes what I’m about to say make a lot more sense.” Watching him carefully, you noticed one of his hands reach out and you took it automatically, his fingers interweaving with yours and just holding you as he spoke. “When you said you couldn’t imagine life without me that night, I thought a lot about whether I could see life without you. And I really couldn’t and that made me sad to think about it, kind of like a puppy would be sad if the owner left. So, in some sort of twisted, convoluted way, that made me realize that I was absolutely nuts about you. Crazy. Devoted. Like a dog loves its owner to death, I- I guess, it made me realize that I love you. A lot. Not in the just a friend way.”

“Rami,” you murmured nervously, a brilliant pink blush spreading across your cheeks as you glanced around at everyone passing by you, completely unaware that your best friend had just full-on told you he loved you, after years of you thinking that you were the one secretly pining over him. “Why- I just…”

“You don’t have to say it back,” he quickly added, looking a bit anxious as he searched your face for any sign of acknowledgement besides red-hot embarrassment. “I just wanted to finally get it off my chest. I thought being away from you for work would make it different, but I still do. I still love you. And I-“

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” you almost whined, pulling him in for a crushingly tight hug as he froze up for a second, not expecting that reaction. But then he relaxed as he realized you weren’t appalled, at least, so his arms snaked around you, one hand resting on your back while the other ran over the back of your head, his chin coming to rest on top of it. “I thought I was the one with a hopeless crush on you, damn it!”

“Wait, you thought that you were the one with the whole unrequited love thing?” he asked, pulling back a bit to look down at you incredulously. “You’re like, an eleven. How could you even-“

“You’re out here acting like you’re not a solid eleven as well,” you chastised gently, looking up at him with a fake-warning look. “I can’t believe that I was so freaking stupid for not telling you I loved you senior year, after graduation. I thought I’d never see you again, and that it wouldn’t matter!”

“Jesus, are you telling me that I could have told you in 2003 and we would have felt the same then too?” he groaned, looking slightly distressed as he put you at arms-length, looking you over. “I’m an idiot. Actually… we’re both big idiots, I guess.”

“I kind of like the part where you’re the only idiot, though,” you pouted teasingly, only able to hold the insulted look for a moment before you laughed, shaking your head incredulously. “Well… now what? Can I delete Tinder?”

“You use Tinder?” he asked slowly, raising an eyebrow in question and gaining a scoff from you.

“Well, I sort of have this problem where I have this friend who didn’t tell me they liked me until just now, so I was sort of casually dating in the hopes-“

“Okay, I get it, I get it!” he cut you off, laughing as he roped you into another hug, mainly to muffle your voice against his sweater. “You know, I’m not the only one who didn’t-“

“Let’s just forget about that and say we’re… a thing, now, yeah?” you suggested, your voice a bit muffled but still clear against his chest. He figured you could probably feel his heart racing, but he made a noise of agreement and kept you there anyways, just running his fingers through the side of your hair and cursing the fact that his fake teeth were hindering the whole kissing idea right now. Then, you tensed up, and his eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at you, following your line of vision to find that Gwilym and the real Brian May were coming straight towards the both of you, muffins in hand and identical smiles on their face. “Oh my god, Rams, pinch me.”

“No, because you’re not dreaming, dumbass,” he teased gently, letting you out of the hug as he turned to face the two men who were just yards from you. “Also, that’s mean.”

“I totally told you that you call me dumbass,” you commented, although there was no real conviction in your voice as you turned to face one of your biggest idols, huddling up against Rami for support. My boyfriend, you thought, a small smile playing at the corner of your lips. My boyfriend is about to introduce me to Brian May. Jesus, what a dream.

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At the Brink of Midnight - Chapter 11

IT’S FINALLY HERE! REJOICE!!!

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Important Spoiler Tags:  past suicide attempt (mention), death (mention)

(Read on Ao3 or Continue Below:)

Chapter 11:  A Laughing Matter

The ride to Jackie Lant’s apartment was fast and quiet. Bruce wasn’t sure why, as John had a tendency to talk a lot when they were riding around before, and would talk about almost anything.

John was mulling over something, and when asked, John had shrugged and said “just some things”.

Like Bruce couldn’t worry over a response like that. He figured it had to have been what happened at the Main Street Diner. John’s street make-up was back on, and done just as impeccably this time, but with the addition of heavy black eyeliner, so it wasn’t as if he’d left in a rush.

Jackie’s apartment was high up in a building that had definitely seen better days. The neighborhood wasn’t one of the best, either – Bruce had visited it many times, always late at night, and he was sure he’d been on the other side of the apartment building on a case long, long ago.

They entered through the rooftop door, which it seemed no one had bothered to lock. (Not that Bruce was surprised – he was the only one in the city who made a habit of flying roof-to-roof, and anyone who walked up to any building’s roof at night was up to nothing good ninety-five percent of the time. Raids by blimp or helicopter were few and far between, thankfully.)

“Kind of reminds me of Arkham,” John (no, Joker, they were outside together) commented in a hushed voice as he shook the rainwater off his borrowed fedora. The stairwell was vaguely reminiscent of the asylum’s, but rather than white-washed brick, it was bare and aged, and it didn’t have the large glowing florescent lights hanging on the walls. There was just a small light in the middle of the staircase leading down.

“Her place is just on the fourth floor,” Bruce said, leading the way with light steps. He was always careful about stairs; he never knew if someone was sitting below a set.

The metal door leading into the hallway was lighter than it looked. Peeling red wallpaper greeted them, and the dark wooden floor had seen better days, but it wasn’t the worst apartment building Bruce had ever set foot in. It’d be a four out of ten, if he was feeling generous… The water stains on the ceiling certainly detracted from that generosity.

“If I hadn’t been spoiled by your place, I’d say this was pretty nice,” John muttered, grinning over at Bruce.

Bruce bit back the comment that it was only because John had no decent standard of living, and gave a very small smile in return. He remembered the little place John had made for himself back at the Old Five Points – the Ha-Hacienda, as he had called it. He’d taken what was a run-down little shack and thrown his heart into it, putting up pictures and lights like it was a real home.

He’d tried going back there the day after John had fallen off the bridge, but John had somehow managed to smuggle most of his things out of there to one of his friend’s places, and now they were impossible to find. It hurt to think about.

Jackie Lant had the corner apartment, overlooking the back. Working the lock-picks in the door took so little time Bruce found himself thinking he should find a way to pressure someone into making a policy that apartment managers had to upgrade their client’s locks every few years.

The beam of light stretching in from the hallway cast his shadow over the place, but he could already see it was much homier than Dr. Crane’s, despite it being smaller than Bruce’s master bedroom.

He stepped inside, John (Joker) following him and immediately making a line for the dresser. Bruce decided to look elsewhere.

Posters were plastered and pinned all over the walls, most of which were for movies or famous plays. There were also over a dozen flyers mixed in, like those handed out for amateur gigs, and they all seemed to be for copyright-infringing shows at Gotham University or South End High School; the dates were in line with Jackie’s educational attendance.

There was a cheap wire shelving unit holding all matter of things – books, DVDs, and bits of décor that almost all looked like they came right out of the Halloween section of a D.I.Y. store. Casting a look over at the bed (it didn’t have a frame, it was just two mattresses piled on top of one another, but was a bed) told him it wasn’t just a seasonal thing, either; there were two different pumpkin-shaped cushions and the blanket on top was patterned with smiling jack-o-lantern faces.

At least she had a variety of different tastes:  romance, fantasy, popular YA literature, used psychology textbooks… There were some horror novels in the mix, but it looked more…pulpy than anything. Her little movie collection had a few of the same titles as Crane’s, too, but they looked to be either from the more popular franchises or cheesy b-movies.

Bruce cast a look at the kitchen unit – nothing spectacular, but he should go through the cupboards, just in case she’d hidden anything in there…

“Bats,” Joker called, frowning at the strung-up photos in front of the desk on the back wall, “can your gadgets scan faces?”

“Something like that,” Bruce answered, stepping towards him. Some photographs were placed directly above the desk, adjacent to the window surrounded by string lights with jack-o-lantern faces. They were hung up by laundry clips on wire wrapped around a combination of nails and tiny peel-and-stick hooks. Looking at them made Bruce think of John’s photos, all arranged in a smiley-face wherever he went.

The pictures were all group photos, varying in age, and it didn’t take a genius to notice that the last several pictures all held the same people, but dwindling in number. Bruce clicked a button on his visor, and waited as the Batcomputer scanned the faces he honed in on and ran through its database of connections to news and GCPD files. Jackie Lant was easily recognizable, due to her curly red hair, but in a few pictures she was very young. The oldest photo was just of her and another little girl, looking up into the camera with the sort of wide-eyed innocence that only children could really have.

He checked his gauntlet, and decided to go from the bottom to the top.

Richard Seed, deceased.

Zoe Smith, deceased.

Angela Maynard, deceased.

Deceased, deceased, deceased. It was just one after another, two of which happened one month apart, and half of the death records were pulled from the GCPD – car accidents, crossfire shootings, muggings gone wrong... The earliest death was almost fifteen years ago, when a missing girl was found wrapped in a rug by a dumpster.

Bruce cast a look back at the photo of the seven-or-eight-year-old Jackie Lant, and remembered her mention of how the formative years played a lot into one’s psyche.

The only people left alive came from the middle bunch of photos:  Dean Norton, who still lived in Gotham, and Veronica O’Reilly, who hadn’t lived there for a little over a decade. Dean showed up in only one photo near the end of the bunch, too, where he was with three other people who had passed away within the last four years.

Bruce thought back to the list of contacts she had on her FriendBook. He didn’t remember seeing any R.I.P. posts or anything like it in her timeline, but he’d checked out the people she contacted most on there, and none of them were dead… “Have you seen any other photos?”

“Just two on her dresser – pretty sure it’s her parents and… I dunno, an older guy, so maybe an uncle?”

“I’m beginning to think you were right,” Bruce grumbled, clicking off the scanning feature in his cowl, “Jackie Lant’s current friends might not really be friends. Almost all the people shown here are dead.”

“Yikes,” Joker winced, “and I thought I had it bad, with most of mine in jail…”

“Did you find anything in the dresser?”

“A few spare bullets and a box of condoms. You know, the essentials,” he joked.

Bruce cast a look down at the desk. A laptop and a tray of loose papers. “Check the closet. If she hid Crane’s stuff here, the only spot left is there or the kitchen.”

“On it,” Joker said confidently, swinging open the flimsy panel doors behind them. “Though I would think I’d scatter them all over the place… You know, put the drive in a bag and tape it inside the toilet tank. That kind of thing.”

Bruce flicked through the pile of paper – mostly the bills for rent, insurance, and student loans, at least two of the latter bearing ‘OVERDUE’ stamps. “Then check there, too. Follow your instinct.”

“Ha ha, okaaayyyy,” John drew out quietly, shifting through a pile of clothes. Jackie seemed to prefer yellows and reds; Bruce remembered her work clothes looking rather nice, and wondered if she hadn’t spent more money on them than anything else.

Bruce opened the laptop on her desk, mindful of the speakers she had plugged into it knocking over the well-loved stuffed cat sitting there. The lock-screen was password-protected and the hint was “check the handbook”.

Handbook…? Hadn’t he seen something with that?

Bruce returned to the shelf – The Handbook for the Recently Deceased sat next to an empty candlestick holder molded in the shape of a raven.

Sure enough, it was a blank journal with a list of contact information (birthdays and death dates were listed, too, much to Bruce’s surprise) and passwords to different sites – banks, her social media, and even a bloggr account – with the laptop’s password written on a sticky note in the front:  Pumpk1nPr1nc355.

“Hey, Batman, I found somethiiing,” Joker called, tugging out a heavy-looking lock-box. “Hidden right under the loose floorboard, how cliché… Ooh, you looking into her laptop?”

“I figured it might give an insight into her, if she didn’t have Crane’s work copied onto it.”

“Right. You look at that, I’m going to poke around her bathroom for a key to this thing.”

Bruce wanted to question that, but Joker left without another word, a confident smile on his lips.

Jackie Lant’s laptop hummed to life. It seemed it had been in hibernation mode – her browser was still open to her email.

Bruce read through the headers:

New post from Batman Watch

New post from Gotham-Sucks

[!] Application for job #P283451

[!] Application for job #E7990S2

We’re sorry to inform you that your…

New post from Gotham-Sucks

RE:  St. Mary’s Mental Ward Position...

RE:  Hopkins Mental Clinic application

BatmanChick96 replied to your post

[!] Application for job #8714E03

Bruce could deduce without even opening any of them that the application notifications were rejections. Judging by the bloggr notifications, she was likely trying to leave the city. Scrolling down further and seeing the list of rejected applications amidst the odd bank statement and old blog notifications told him she’d been trying to do leave Gotham for months.

That explained why she wanted to steal Crane’s work – she must have figured that she could take it and run out of the city, publish it with her name attached, and make something out of it. In her mind, he supposed, she had bills to pay and not much to lose.

He opened her file browser; thankfully it looked like she was the type to keep all her files fairly organized. There was what looked like a folder for her old school documents, a folder for her Arkham internship-employment, tax folders… A quick search said the only thing with Crane’s name in it was a term paper on Working Through Grief and some copies of his work, though they weren’t opened in over a year.

Looking under her recent files, she had a video labeled with a date from several days ago, and she did have a webcam… Maybe she was the type to vlog.

“Whelp, nothing in there… What’d you find?” Joker asked, coming to stand behind Bruce and lean on the back of the rolling office chair.

“Hopefully, a video log.”

“Well press play, then! Maybe she’ll just tell us where she stashed Crane’s stuff. I’m going to be mad if it’s not in that safe…”

Bruce double-clicked the video dated several days ago.

Jackie Lant sat in front of the desk, pushing back the laptop screen until she was entirely in view. She threaded her fingers together under her chin, on level with her hair, and and gazed right at the camera with an intense focus as she breathed deep.

“Normally, I try not to talk too openly in these sessions, in case I have one of those Agents monitoring me like everyone seems to think we do, but just in case I fail miserably, or Professor Crane decides to bury me in his backyard, I want to say something. I’m probably going to regret this video later… Then again, if everything works out, I’m going to delete this and pretend it never happened anyway.”

Jackie shrugged, folding her arms on top of her desk.

“There’s…no going back for me, now. I had to keep telling myself that if I did… If I did, then I might as well just throw myself off of the bridge tomorrow. I’m in too deep. I know too much. I’ve…seen too much.”

The young woman scowled slightly down at her hands.

“I can’t pretend that I’m not going to regret anything. I already regret a lot. I don’t think I’d be at this point if I’d chosen a theater major,” she said with a slight hint at a smile. “But in case something happens, I just really want to say – I’m the one who tried to kill Dr. Jonathan Crane, and stole all of the research that would’ve given evidence pertaining to his unethical experiments at Arkham Asylum. I’m hoping someone will find his bloated corpse floating around the docks or face-down in a pool of his own blood in the street,” she continued with a nasty curl of her lip that lasted all but a couple of seconds. “If not, then I failed, and I’m probably dead already, either by Dr. Crane himself, or Bruce Wayne, for taking advantage of him like I am tonight. I wouldn’t blame him for it, honestly…” She looked down, regret flashing in her eyes. “He and I both have mobster blood in us, I’d be surprised if he didn’t want to kill me for letting his friend get hurt and not doing anything to stop it… It’s what Great-Uncle Finger would do.”

Jackie looked back up at the camera, sincerity peeking through a steely gaze.

“But I am sorry to whoever might get caught in the middle. I hope there’s none, but… If I could see the future, then I would’ve swallowed that bottle of ibuprophen years ago.”

The video cut out after a moment, and Joker immediately leaned over Bruce to click through the video folder, his eyes shining in the light of the bright screen. “She’s got to have more. Something,” he muttered, and promptly played a video dated nearly six weeks ago in a folder marked “personal vlogs”.

The first thing Bruce noticed was that Jackie still had her long ponytail, giving credit to the date on the filename. The second detail was that she looked rather conflicted, even as she just sat there hugging herself in her jack-o-lantern blanket.

“I had…an epiphany, last night. I normally would’ve done this when I got home, but… I couldn’t. I was too… I’m not sure. Not scared… Bewildered, I guess is the right word. Dr. Crane invited me over to his house again, yesterday. I thought, ‘yeah, last time was nice, despite the talk about death in the middle, why not’? It was okay, at first. You know, home-made pumpkin spice lattes, catch-up about how I’m doing, gossiping about patients’ sessions I have to sit in on… And then we got onto the topic of Gotham, somehow. I think I asked him why he stayed here, since he had the means to leave, and he just…”

She was half looking into the camera with general disbelief.

“He said he liked it. He thinks all the general misery is fun to study. I didn’t know what else to say to that, so I tried to change the subject, and asked what he thought of Batman, because…I mean, what normal person doesn’t like him, right? And he thinks he’s fascinating. Or…really, he thinks the effect Batman has on the city is fascinating. He thinks the way criminals fear him is interesting. So… I just said, ‘yeah, that makes sense, you like studying human behavior around fear, don’t you?’”

She got quiet, but stared dead at the camera.

“He lit up at that. Like, the happiest I think I’ve ever seen him. He actually smiled a little,” she pressed, leaning forward to emphasize her point before sitting there with her arms on the table. “So, I figured that had to be good. We talked about his work for a really long time - I still remember going through bits of it at school, and I did genuinely like his stuff, so he walked me through his last one, and I guess I said something right, because… He said he was testing something special for his current research, and he asked what my worst fear was.”

She paused and sat up straight, crossing her arms again.

“I mean, I’m not stupid enough to ask why. I can guess why. So I told him my old one so it’d be believable. And he just looks at me and says ‘So imagine I can manifest those roaches before your eyes. What would you do?’” She phrased in a fairly good imitation of Crane’s pitch, “I said I didn’t know; probably squish as many as possible while screaming my head off, and he…he just said, ‘Yes, that’d be interesting, wouldn’t it?’”

She stared down at the surface of the desk, almost in awe.

“And I just… I just realized, right there, that he was making something to do that to patients. I never asked him about what he did in sessions, but… I’m allowed to peek at almost everyone’s notes to look at the progress of certain patients, and it just…hit me. He’s why some of them are regressing.”

She was quiet for a minute, only shifting to get comfortable again, and staring out the window by the desk.

“And I couldn’t help but think, ‘that IS interesting’. I thought that, and I meant it, and I hate that I thought it at all. And… I know that secret, now. I have to carry it around with everything else.”

Jackie stared a little longer, first out the window, then at her desk, and then she swiveled the chair and moved to click the mouse with an irritated scowl.

“Fuck it.”

That was certainly enlightening… Bruce had wondered how Jackie had developed the idea to steal his research – she’d apparently known for weeks already, before she’d reached out to him days ago and asked for his help. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it was her who had prevented him from seeing John, solely to drum up his suspicion and get him invested in her idea of helping her steal Crane’s files.

(Though he couldn’t see her knowing everything else in-between. There was no way she knew he stole Crane’s fake drugs from the lab, or that they would walk right by John that day, or that John would break out of his cell at all.)

John was already clicking to another video, a determined frown on his long face.

“Joker, that’s enough,” Bruce said, moving to stop him, but Joker was just fast enough to start a new one, dated almost four weeks ago, and it caught his attention enough that he let John’s hand go.

Jackie Lant faced the webcam with her head in her hand, taking deep breaths, and on the third, she turned her gaze to the window to her side.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I really, really, don’t.”

The look in her eyes was furious, despite her relatively flat expression.

“I hate it when people say it’s ‘the little things in life’ – they always mean ‘oh, life’s not so bad, just look at this fucking rainbow’, like that will make everything better for you,” she grumbled, turning to look at the camera. “It’s like, ‘hey, you ever see a guy get stabbed in the middle of the road? Just fucking stabbed? And you’re in your car, you have to keep driving, because you’ll be penalized for being late to work, and if you go out there and try to do something about it, you’ll be stabbed, too. And you have to just…pretend like you didn’t see anything. That everything is perfectly fine. It’s just…a little thing,’” Jackie finishes, a lopsided smile tugging on the corner of her mouth for a moment, and then it faded into a flat line. “I tried texting Dean about it, since he was there when Michelle got killed, and he just… He said ‘that’s how life is around here, you gotta be tough’.”

Jackie stared at the table, her eyes glistening slightly, the anger never leaving them.

“Four years… Four years, and that’s what seeing her die in the fucking street has reduced that to. Just another part of life in Gotham.”

She blinked away the tears threatening to fall, taking the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe at her face properly for a moment.

“I tried telling Ver’ about it, too – not directly, just, ‘hey I’m feeling super awful and I hate my life.’ And all she said was, ‘Look on the bright side! It’s the little things that make life worth living!’” she paraphrased in a falsetto sort of voice, her brows furrowing. “Fuck her. Just…fuck her. She can come live in Gotham for a day, see if she can look on the fucking bright side…”

Jackie grunted to herself, rubbing her face into her hands for a moment, and when she reappeared, she had a steady gaze.

“I just have to shove all this down, I guess. Like I don’t already do that all the time.” She stared right at the screen, as if watching herself, and her face grew soft and contemplative. “I’ll just put it next to the thoughts of how I threw my dreams down the gutter, or how much I’d rather risk taking the train to East End than having to work at Arkham one more day,” she added spitefully, despite the glint of humor that crossed over her expression. “I guess I just have to…” She smiled a little wistfully at the camera, even as her eyes dulled. “Smile, though your heart is breaking,” she half-sang.

Bruce heard John snort heavily, as if trying to stifle a laugh, and turned to look just as a loud cackle burst out of him.

John doubled over, clearly trying to stifle his own raucous laugh as he held his stomach like it was the funniest joke he’d ever heard.

Bruce almost wanted to punch him, but held himself steady, clenching his fists as John turned away from him, giggling uncontrollably.

Half a year in Arkham wasn’t going to change him. He was always going to find this sort of thing entertaining. Bruce never quite forgot the conversation they had during Harvey Dent’s speech about hunting down the Children of Arkham; John had grinned wide and joked about it all like it wasn’t actually happening, even though they both knew it was. That same man was right there, throwing open the window and laughing like a damn hyena.

John stuck his head out into the pouring rain, letting the water drown out some of the noise as brown hair dye and make-up started to wash away.

“What are you doing?!” Batman’s voice growled out as Bruce shot up and yanked him back out by the collar, angry at him for laughing at all, for doing something so stupid as showing his face, for further washing away the only thing really keeping him safe-

“I-I’m sorry,” John managed, still chuckling to himself as he tried to steady himself upright using Bruce’s shoulder. “It-it’s funny, but I just… I just can’t – hee hee – be-believe… I’m…” He tried to breathe, a grin still plastered on his face, make-up running terribly in what almost looked like tear-tracks on his cheeks as his laughter slowed. The sound of the video continuing on low volume as rain hit the brick and pavement outside was almost loud enough to prevent Bruce from properly hearing him. “I’m sympathizing with her!” He finished, letting out another little burst of laughter.

That was sympathy…?

“I just – oh, geez, that hurts,” John breathed, a slight giggle coming out as he clutched part of the cape draped over Bruce’s shoulder. “When she was threatening you, back at Arkham, I just thought she was like Crane; a weird, more emotional version of him, but… I hated her for it! And it turns out we - we not only having something in common, but she’s like you,” he emphasized, looking up at the white lenses with a bright-eyed look. It made Bruce feel like he was stuck to the floor. “You both just shove your real feelings down so far even I can’t see them! You both just put on your public faces and pretend!”

Bruce was tempted to wipe some of the run make-up away, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the knowing glint in the green eyes that stared up at him, or if was because he just wanted to distract the man from continuing to hit Bruce right in a sore spot.

“I still don’t like her,” he said, “but I don’t hate her anymore. And that’s so ridiculous, because I loathe anyone who even thinks about hurting you, Bruce,” he finished with a laugh, caressing Bruce’s arm through the batsuit.

He didn’t know what to say. What could he even do, in a place like this? In a situation like this? He felt guilt and warmth pile up on one another, and he wanted to tell him he was sorry, and he wanted to reach out and cup his face and get rid of all the color until there was nothing but John left, and he knew what John said wasn’t exactly healthy but it still sent a rush through him and he just wanted to…

It wasn’t the time or place for anything like that. He was Batman. John was Joker. They were supposed to be investigating Jackie Lant so they could get a lead on Crane.

Batman was sturdy. Bruce was sturdy.

“Joker,” he started, forcing himself to maintain eye contact even as John’s pupils dilated slightly in response, “Go wash the rest of that stuff off. I’ll copy over the rest of Jackie’s vlog files.”

“My face looks that bad, huh?”

“A little.”

Joker tore himself away, letting his fingers slide over the armored bicep as he passed by. He couldn’t feel the touch at all, but the gesture was more than enough to give him a pleasant little jolt.

Bruce copied a compressed version of her vlog files to the USB stick he carried in his belt. They might be useful, or they might not. A quick scroll through of the rest of her documents showed nothing nefarious, no hidden files, no detailed plans - not so much as a crude map of the asylum. Her browsing history was pretty normal, though he did see some bookmarks to particular blogs she followed, such as Batman Watch, Gotham’s-Dark-Knight, and Gotham Gazette Official.

Bruce was sure he could reason with her. Jackie Lant was stubborn, but she seemed desperate for someone to talk to, and relied only on herself for everything; she either had a backup plan memorized for if things went south, or she was making it up as she went along. She clearly internalized a lot of pain, and not having an outlet for it besides talking to herself seemed to be the final straw in what drove her to desperate measures of escape.

She would probably be thrown in a jail cell for assault and conspiracy to murder, but Bruce was fairly positive she needed some mental help. If he managed to talk her down, he could likely fix it so she wasn’t thrown with the rest of the wolves in Black Gate. Perhaps he could even transfer her out of Gotham entirely.

The files had almost finished downloading when Bruce heard a metallic clink ringing against tile followed by a muttered curse.

He rushed to the small, dimly-lit bathroom, and was greeted with John standing on the rim of the built-in tub, rubbing his head with one hand and holding what looked like part of the shower-head in the other.

“No need to worry, Bats,” Joker said without even turning around. “Just hit myself a bit on this,” he explained, holding up the outer piece to the shower attachment. “Good news though, I found the key to the safe!”

Joker hopped down, stooped, and picked up a key from the base of the tub, turning to face Bruce with a proud grin. “I knew it must have been in here!”

His face was mostly clear, now. His eyelids were still fairly dark, but it was a lot of make-up to wash away, and it couldn’t have been easy for such a fast job. His eyebrows were back to being green, and there were even chunks of color showing under the temporary hair dye.

Bruce forced himself to focus on the task at hand. “How did you think to look in the showerhead?”

“Jackie’s a super-secretive girl, and I would put a key to a safe holding what I was working my life towards in a place no one would think to loo… And the toilet tank was empty.” He dangled the key in front of their faces. “You want to do the honors, Batman?”

Bruce took the invitation. He dropped the lock-box onto the desk, minding the laptop, and turned the key, pushing away the tiny concerned thought about a potential bomb.

He pushed aside the academic papers Crane had written on top of the pile, and found a stack of Arkham patient notes that Bruce knew he’d comb through later, despite it likely not holding much more information than he already knew. And then, under all that, was Crane’s hard drive.

“See if you can find some plastic bags,” Bruce suggested, leafing through the papers to make sure everything was accounted for.

“No need to look, Batsy,” Joker grinned, and yanked an orange bag from the trench coat’s ticket pocket as if he were pulling out a line of scarves. “Ta-dah!”

“That’ll do,” Bruce answered, unable to stop the minute smile from spreading on his face.

He’d all but tied the handles together and passed it to Joker for safe-keeping when the head-set in his cowl rang obnoxiously in his ear.

“Hello?” He asked in his normal voice.

“It’s just me, Batman,” Tiffany answered, sounding somewhat drained; John mouthed ‘who is it’ as he stepped a little closer. “I wanted to apologize for what I said earlier. I’m just having trouble wrapping my head around…everything.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“Yeah, well… I also wanted to tell you I got a signal from one of Maroni’s thug’s phones. I’ll send you the coordinates. Is he with you?”

“…yes.”

“Figures… I’ll…discuss that with you another time. Just…be careful out there.”

“Always am.”

“No you’re not,” Tiffany countered with a light-hearted scoff before hanging up.

Notes:  Blargggh, my brain failed me at a critical time, and then today my stomach acted up for about 2 hours, which impeded me further!! Something must have really wanted me to just wrap up this chapter here… That, or they wanted you guys to wait this long. I certainly didn’t!! (T^T)

As always, thank you SO SO much to everyone that comments, reblogs, likes, kudos, bookmarks, or subscribes!!! I said it before and I'll say it again - I love you guys!!! You guys are awesome!!!! (ෆˊ͈ ु꒳ ूˋ͈ෆ) I'm gearing up for some good times comin' soon... REAL good times. Stay tuned next weekend...

[hennythejetsmith]

Window Part One

Water raced down the glass as the storm ensued. I likened the drops to stars as I peered through the window toward the sky. A reflection of heaven in the form of her tears as I created my own constellations. This four-sided room repelled summer’s petrichor; it was the first rain of the season. The rain drummed ever so slightly on the pane as if it waited for Miles Davis’ trumpet to accompany the lulling rhythm; where were the aristocrats & lovers of jazz to slow dance the night away. Ironically, Jim Hall’s Concierto De Aranjuez played on in the background & I cherished the lasting memory of her I had; a lone orchid catty-corner the looking glass aka my escape. A crack of the window was okay for fresh air every so often, but I preferred her fragrance, he flower that is. As if it were the rose & I were the beast, the glow mustn’t ever die out, even as she went on to love another. I still love her y’know? Of course, I’d never muster the strength to mutter out a single indication of such for wallowing in this unrequited torment truly is a pastime of mine.

 The lavender futon held many a soul captive that fell victim to its underappreciated comfort. Through a torrential downpour, you could see a young man, maybe in his early 20s, rise into view & disappear into what looked like a college kid’s dorm or contemporary minimalist coffee shop. From ground level, you could vaguely see strung up lightbulbs, thumbtacked polaroid photos, & what looked like an unfinished canvas. The neighbors knew little of this “millennial,” though he subscribed to ideal of unsubscribing to labels. Placing citizens in categories based on their birthyear may work for some on a literal level, but the soul itself, transcends the confines of any linear time period. A quick gander outside & he turned his back as he vanished from eyesight of any bystander. A quiet little suburban area is where he’d come home to rest at night. He never really uttered much but a “hello, how are you?” to those that lived aside him. If you were quiet enough, the keys of a piano would faintly soothe the mind & relieve you of the bustle of real life between the drywall that separated the humble town home from the others.

 “My hair is a mess,” a quiet thought to myself staring at the looking glass. The bronze & gold finish around the mirror is a bit tacky; I could’ve done without this.

           He shrugged his shoulders in complacency & carried on.

Vivacious, just as it was when she first brought you in here, my love. Just like her, beauty unparallel. I imagine right now, she has nestled up under her sill as her rosy lips are kissed ever so gently by summer’s breeze. How am I to compete as nature nurtures her very being? A love affair where I quietly, yet graciously, am on the outside as the third wheel.

           His mind rarely took the time to be sit by itself, even as he did externally. The image of she & he had internally been etched onto his consciousness’s wallpaper.

The inkwell seems to be refilling, where have my pen & notebook ran off to? They too, in some sort of flirtatious dalliance & I am nothing but the conduit for their interaction; not that it bothers me.

           He reached for a string to lower the shutters in his room. A sense of intimacy was needed that the world could not witness, according to him at least. The surrounding periwinkle paint provided a calm as a neon “Good Vibes” shone light juxtaposed the outer gloomy sky blocking out the moon. The clean-cut young adult reached to the right of his futon alongside the right wall of his room & grabbed a green notebook. “CVS” adorned on the bottom right of the pad really did not mean much alone but intertwined with the midnight trips for juice & snacks, his heart would skip a beat as his eyes skirted across the cover. It truly was the simple things that would get him. He really loved her. He flipped open to a random page with a ball point pen resting on the coiled bounds of the book. One last stare at the orchid that rest in the corner of his room & his lids covered his eyes. Reaching for his pen, he seemed to be in some sort of trance, becoming a body chattel for some higher being as words begun to scribble across the college-ruled paper.

 Your silence is deafening.

Am I to be at fault

For knowing not that to gift you with my heart

Would leave me in joyous ruin?

 An endless current; yet presentably stoic. No one shall ever know of the affinity I have for you still. Deceit is my greatest weapon & these pages remain privy to myself only. Short & sweet this time I see; reminiscent to the inevitable beginning & end of our fiery passion.

                              _______________________________________________

   Coins clink together, sirens ring non-stop, lights flicker on & off like some rave, but all I see is her flowing cinnamon hair & feel the soft touch of her hand. She told me she had always wanted to play Ms. Pac-Man in a genuine arcade, but never had the chance. I cannot seem to remember her name, but the crescent inked on the back of her neck, Luna could be a moniker until my memory decides to refresh itself. I have doomed myself to be labeled some male chauvinist pig objectifying her for the night. Fuck, I must think of somethi-

           “Hey, so are you ready to lose?”

           “I really do not think you know what you are getting yourself into Luna. Sorry, I saw the tattoo on the back of your neck & couldn’t help it. I hope you do not take offense.”

           “Oh, no. It’s okay.” Whew, dodged one bullet, now to remem-

           “My name, by the way, is Ana. That was your last chance to forget.”

Despite the fluorescent bulbs incessant flashing, my eyes are fixated on you Ana. Subtle, yet sent straight to my spine; forget your name, never again will I.

           “How did you know?”

As Ana chuckles, she responds,

           “Because you just told me.” She laughs again & proceeds past the row to what seems to be an endless amount of ski ball tables. With all the calamity surrounding us, all I could hear was the sound of her voice. Softly fluttering atop my ear drums akin to the late great Amy Winehouse.

           “Really a shame what has to happen here. You sure you don’t want to hop in the Jurassic Park game? That’ll be fairer considering I haven’t played that since my Chuck E. Cheese days.” No response as we traverse the litter of children & adolescence. I can hear the chains rattling from the basketball games in the corner; I watch the tickets fall out of the Whack-A-Mole; I wonder how many tries before that bonus tickets slot is hit on that one game all the kids want to play. 500 tickets for the bonus is pretty good, I’m sure someone will be lucky enough.

 There was no line for the Ms. Pac-Man placed in the back corner. Most kids were more concerned not with the classics but winning the prizes behind the counter. Playstation 4s & the new Xboxes were for the top ticket getters alongside the motor scooter that seemed to have been collecting dust for quite some time. It was a bit smoky in Kat’s 24-hour arcade. Marijuana smoke was a lot less bothersome to her than tobacco though. Whenever she smelt a hint of cigarette, the lights came on & the games shut down until the culprit was found & removed hastily. Some nights, she closed early because no one wanted to come forward. She made sure the kids were out by 9 o’clock pm, some snuck around after, because she knew that grown folks too, loved to play video games to escape the endless cycles that left so many of her regulars entrapped. Their cynicism & vitriol toward their very own lives brought tears to her eyes every so often. So, she decided to invest in giving others a chance to relive their childhoods. Kat always sat in the back on her wooden stool next to the NBA JAM, her favorite. You wouldn’t know that she was a huge Orlando magic fan living up north in the Big Apple. Always a chip on her shoulder from the “what if” with Shaq & Penny. Tonight, was no different; she was sitting in the back, watching highlights from their golden era as a couple zoomed right by headed straight for Ms. Pac-Man. For a second, she was distracted due to how young they looked.

           “Hmph, at least some of these ‘millennials’ know a little bit about nothing,” she thought to herself as she refocused back to “The Youtube.”

 I really underestimated her. All I hear is waka-waka-waka-waka; all I see are intermissions & level design changes; & I feel that I am about to lose! Maintaining composure is key, but she has not lost a single life & now a random assortment of fruits is dispersing through maze openings like an opened pack of Runts. She has absolute control of the screen & it’s as if she flows effortlessly with the ghosts; she is one with Ms. Pac-Man.

           “It’s your turn. You don’t have to be astonished anymore. I tried to warn you, but you didn’t want to listen. Sol.”

She slid to the side as it was my turn. No way that I take an early loss. She’s at about 43,000 already before my first go around.

           “Sol?”

           “Well, it would only be right to call you Sol, considering you named me Luna. Or are you unaware of the moon’s opposite Shawn?”

           “I mean, it seems you haven’t forgotten my name.”

           “It would be rude to do so. We all can’t be you, now can we?”

Is she being serious? Or is this a sarcastic barrage to distract me fro-well that is the end of my turn.

           “Well played. Ana.”

She smiled in a snark manner. Who are you & what is this fluttery feeling in my stomach?

                              _______________________________________________

   “To play into a stalemate is the goal here. I am at a severe disadvantage right now,” Shawn thought to himself as he eyed the dual-colored board. Erratic sleep patterns would leave him in states of melancholy that were relieved with doses of chess: mano y mano. His opponent, usually visible not to the naked eye, unless a photographer had photoshopped a still image of himself imposed on the wall. Each piece calculated & moved while simultaneously calculating how many moves would no longer stall his inner peace before sunrise. The shadows on his wall were not envious as they watched with morose endurance. They murmured amongst themselves questioning if she were to ever return, but not even the remnants of her no longer played on the periwinkle walls in his sleep. Piece after piece was removed from the board as the stars laid down to rest. His eyes never wavered until 2 Kings remained atop the wooden square. The moon peaked through the blinders, shed a tear, & blew a kiss before she too, disappeared in the morning. Sometimes, she kept an eye on him & the sun was a bit jealous of their connection. He did not know what the moon saw in Shawn. The megastar’s bitterness brought forth a chilly June day. A purple windbreaker & sweat shorts were enough to combat back. A bit unusual, but no deterrence as Shawn strolled past the emerald green lawns & lush trees; much the same to some family-oriented television sitcom. Shawn was unaware that a smile crept up on his face, but the neighbors took notice & waved as he quickened his pace down the side walk. Blue jays harmonized in the air above him as he eyed butterflies frolic through the air & he suddenly stopped in his tracks…

                               _______________________________________________

   Melted together where the colors of the carnival as Shawn felt Ana clinch onto his arm & the body-sized tiger that came between them as the teacup frantically span the three into a muzzy state of joy.

           “You two look like a real-time version of Calvin & Hobbs. Carmen & Hobbs is what I’ll call you two.”

Shawn had gotten a little more comfortable with Ana after a few dates. She scornfully stared a hole into his forehead.

           “You still haven’t gotten over that Ms. Pac-Man beating have you? It’s okay, one day the shattered ego you have will finally be content. Until that day, I will starve that small little man that screams inside of your mind until it is victory you concede & you melt into the putty I envision you to mold you into the sculpted man I truly desire. Right now, this is just the waiting game. You were distracted too easily to converse when we were in the heat of war. Your loss.”

Her tongue was paint, or acid, her choice. He, simply, was a blank canvas for her liking at this very moment.

“Maybe, its more so that you’ve chosen to indulge a bit too deeply in the appetizer that I handfed you with the victory I allowed you to have. Whose to say your victory wasn’t fixed?”

           “All speculation. Of course, this type of allegation you would lean on to save face. Very Tim Donaghy of you Shawn. I’m disappointed.”

           “I mean, since that point, your victories have become few & far between. Even that night, pinball, clear-cut win in my column. Air Hockey was a 7-0 skunk. Basketball wasn’t even a challenge. Donaghy? Really?”

           “See how two of those three play to your advantage, with maybe the exception of air hockey because the table is even, but your physical strength gives you an advantage when you decide that my whole became a target & your…whatever they are called, because an AK-47 as you fired the puck with no restraint? How does fried victory taste? Hopefully as nutritious as a microwavable patty covered in barbecue sauce people clamor on about.”

           “Doesn’t matter its value, because in that moment it tastes so fucking good, I care not for the bigger picture there, but enjoying the RIGHT NOW!”

 The two had not noticed that all eyes in the carnival had locked onto their jawing match. That did not matter now, Ana’s curly brown & auburn hair had become vibrant & through her glasses, he glared directly into her darkened eyes & she too, was magnetized by his. Tension in the air was still as many were frozen, not knowing what was next. A vein in his neck pulsated as sweat trickled down her brow. Both, instantaneously after realizing what this was, scurried off to the closest blackened corridor. They found an absent alley by a Ferris Wheel ridden by many. Ana dropped her Hobbs in withered grass & turned her back to the wall as Shawn gripped her hip & both their full lips met in passion. Onlookers cheered from the skyline as they snapped back to reality, simmering their immature fervor.

           “Really? Our first kiss comes from your antagonistic… never mind. You wi… oh wait, you won’t get me that easily.”

           “I’ve already won,” she responded. “The moment I led you through Kat’s doors. I felt it. That doesn’t matter now, shut up & kiss me.”

                               _______________________________________________

[supernatural-stuffs]

Coffee Convos

A/N: I wrote this one-shot for @queen-of-deans-booty ‘s Trope Challenge. My prompt was #30-I see you at the coffee shop all the time, looking beautiful and minding your own business and I see you reading/writing/etc and now I can think of an excuse to talk to you. I may write a part two to this, depending on the feedback I get. Thanks for reading!

Warnings: descriptions of Jensen Ackle’s thighs, swearing

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 3,145

Disclaimer:  Jensen is single for the purposes of this fic. No hate intended towards Danneel or his family-this is purely fiction!!!

Also: Y/L/N’s = the name of the coffee shop

I hurried down the sidewalk, knowing I had only minutes left. My feet pounded on the pavement faster and faster until I was practically running, weaving through various pedestrians and passers-by. It was obvious to anyone that I was running late today. There wasn’t exactly a particular reason for said lateness, except maybe my penchant for hitting the snooze button one too many times. Thank God the building was only a 5 minute walk from my apartment in downtown Austin.

Finally I reached my destination. Peeking through the window of the small coffee shop, I sighed in relief. Not a customer in sight. Despite my belatedness, I had managed to beat the morning rush. I pushed through the glass doors, nearly crashing into a tall stack of boxes as I did so.

“Sorry Sarah! Didn’t see you there.”

A flustered face peeked out from behind the tower of cardboard.

“Oh, hey Y/N. I’ll grab you your usual as soon as I toss these.”

“I’ll grab the boxes,” I offered. “The morning rush will be coming in soon, and you should be at the counter.”

She nodded and handed me her load before hurrying to the counter, throwing on her apron. I saw her get to work on my latte as I left. Though there were other employees that could have made my drink, Sarah was my favorite. I’m not sure exactly how she did it, but somehow it always tasted better when she made my coffee.

Throwing the heap into the dumpster in the back, I returned quickly, the extra promise of caffeine hurrying my movements.

Sarah slid it across the counter to me, bartender style. I took a long drag, savoring the sweet caramel flavor.

“Mmm. God, this is good. Remind me to give you raise or something.”

Sarah quirked her eyebrow. “Is that you or the caffeine talking?”

“Probably the caffeine,” I admitted. “But I can’t be held accountable for anything I say under the influence of this beautiful, beautiful drink.”

I took another big gulp of it, and Sarah just rolled her eyes. She knew better than to contest my coffee addiction.

“You were late today,” she pointed out instead. “Almost got caught in the swarm.” She gestured her head towards the line that was already starting to form.

“Yeah well, I was up late last night.”

“Ooh,” she wiggled her eyebrows. “Out partying?”

I scoffed. “Right. Because I have such a corybantic social life.”

“Well you would if you stopped using words like corybantic.”

I scoffed. “Don’t you have work to do?” I looked pointedly at my other employees, frantically trying to fulfill orders as caffeine-starved people jockeyed for their orders.

She sighed and got back to work, mixing drinks while I took my coffee to my regular spot. Getting my laptop out, I started going over the notes my editor had sent me. I had been working my ass off for the past few weeks trying to get my book polished off and edited. Between that and running my little cafe, I had been burning the midnight oil much too late for my liking. I briefly pondered on Sarah’s comments on my social life. Though I knew she was joking, it wasn’t too far from the truth. Sure, I had friends, and it wasn’t as if I was some kind of social pariah, but my double career life did leave something to be desired in regards to the recreational department.

I shook off the thoughts and went back to revising. I could contemplate on the inner workings of my life some other time.

After about three hours, I decided that it was time I took a break. Though I had been there quite some time, it was nearing around nine o’ clock, and people were still bustling about trying to fulfill orders. I thought briefly about jumping in to help out, but then I remembered my last attempt at barista-ing (is that even a word?). Long story short, we were forced to buy three new coffee makers after I attempted a new style of brewing that I had seen on the Food Network. I have since sworn off both coffee making as well as watching Barefoot Contessa.

So I allowed my employees do what I paid them to do, and settled in with Crime and Punishment. It was about my eighth time re-reading it, but what can I say? We all have our guilty pleasures. An old woman being axe-murdered just happens to be one of mine.

I was just getting to Razumikhin’s visit when a voice pulled me out of my reading-induced stupor.

“Crime and Punishment, huh?”

I glared at the book, refusing to look up. I knew it was a customer. Everyone who worked at Y/L/N’s knew not to interrupt me while I was in the midst of reading. As pet peeves go, it was near the top of my list, right up there with loud chewing and people who don’t cover their mouths when they sneeze.

I responded without moving my head in the slightest, turning my page to signify that I was, in fact, reading, and not just staring blankly at a book hoping that a stranger would strike up conversation with me.

“Mmhm.”

“That seems pretty heavy for a coffee shop read, don’t you think?”

Man, this guy really doesn’t take a hint, does he? And who says coffee shop reading has to be light? I certainly had never heard of that social norm. And you know what else I had never heard of? People being overjoyed when a stranger interrupts their reading. So I turned my face up to look at him, ready to tell this guy off for being especially rude and discourteous.

And I stopped dead in my movements. Because it just so happened that Mr. Book Interrupter was incredibly hot. Gorgeous, actually. Some might even call him beautiful. With those green eyes and that light scruff and that sharp jawline. Dear Lord.

Oh, and he was Jensen Ackles. You know, the famous guy? The one who’s on that really popular TV show with the monsters and ghosts and the like? The one that I may or may not have been obsessed with at that current moment in time?

So, naturally, I stared with my mouth hanging open like a fool for…I don’t know, ten seconds? Or maybe it was ten minutes. It felt like ten years, but I knew that was probably unlikely.

He chuckled a little awkwardly, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. This was enough to snap me out of it. I shut my mouth quickly, hoping there was no drool littering my chin, and looked away, embarrassed.

“Sorry, I, um, didn’t mean to stare.”

He nodded, his cheeks a little pink, and I vaguely thought about what it would be like to run my fingers over his blushing cheek, to see if that scruff was as delicious feeling as it looked. Thankfully, my fingers didn’t obey this command. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered reading that he had moved to Austin. But I had never even imagined the possibility that he would be here, in my tiny coffee shop. Why was he here? There were plenty of other, more upscale cafes in Austin. Ones that were surely more worthy of his celebrity status.

My brain suddenly reminded me that he had said something before I so rudely chose to gawk. Ah, right! My book. Even all the glory of Jensen fucking Ackles wasn’t enough to take away from the fact that I was still a little miffed about that. So I decided to treat him as I would any other stranger who had chosen to interrupt my leisure time. I mean, he’s just a person, right? An incredibly handsome, talented, famous person, but a person nonetheless. And it’s not like I was obsessed with him. I was obsessed with the character he played. And that’s totally different.

At least, that’s what I told myself. It was a lie, of course, but it helped me muster up the courage to at least speak in his presence.

“Right, well, Dostoevsky’s writing actually isn’t that complex. Most of his works have overarching themes of nihilism and the natural psychological tendencies of mankind, so once you realize that it’s pretty much just plot analyzation.”

Oh God. I was going for slightly annoyed yet still cool and collected, but instead I did the thing. The rambling thing. Sarah called it my nerd brain purge. Apparently when I get nervous I tend to over inform. God, this interaction was getting more embarrassing by the second.

Jensen looked just as surprised as I did. Maybe he thought I was going to stare at him some more. He sat down in the armchair next to me, wiping his hands on the thighs of his jeans. His glorious, glorious thighs. I had dreamed of those bowlegs before, but TV and my imagination didn’t do them nearly enough justice. Aaand now I was fangirling again. Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare, I repeated like a mantra in my brain.

It was harder to keep my cool than I had previously expected.

“Well, uh, that certainly sounds complex to me. But I haven’t exactly read much Dostoevsky, so I’ll have to take your word for it.”

I smiled slightly and nodded. Maybe that was the approach to take. If I just kept my mouth shut, nothing else stupid could come tumbling out.

He seemed at a loss for what to say next. I saw a light bead of perspiration forming on his upper lip, and he started fidgeting with a tiny thread that was poking out of the sleeve of his jacket. Was he nervous? All the signs seemed to point to that. But what possible reason would Jensen Ackles, TV star and celebrity extraordinaire, have to be nervous around me? In fact, why did he even come over here in the first place?

I decided to abandon my former rule about speaking, my curiosity getting the best of me.

“So, uh, did you need something? I’m sure you didn’t come over here just to discuss the many plot devices of Dostoevsky.”

I let out a little laugh, trying to relieve the tension that hung in the air between us.

Jensen laughed slightly, too, and blushed again. He seemed even more flustered now. I couldn’t understand why.

“Um I wanted to ask you-well actually I was wondering, uh, what your name is?”

I smiled slightly at his stuttering. I didn’t fully understand what was happening at the moment, but I did know that he was extremely adorable when he was ruffled.

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

I thrust out my hand for him to shake.

He slid his hand into mine, and I swore I felt a spark of electricity travel up my arm when his rough, calloused hand enveloped mine.

“Jensen Ackles.”

“I know,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. My cheeks instantaneously burned red hot. Why, why did I have to say that?

He grinned. A contemplative look flashed across his face, then, and his brows furrowed as though he was attempting to solve a very difficult math problem.

“Wait, Y/L/N? As in…” he gestured to the area around us, indicating that he was asking about the coffee shop.

“One and the same.” I shook my head in affirmation, my cheeks still uncomfortably hot.

“So you’re the owner of this place?”

I nodded again, starting to feel like a bobblehead.

“That’s cool… that’s really cool.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to figure out where he was headed with all of this. He squirmed a little under my gaze.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked before I stopped myself.

He nodded, leaning a little closer to me as I spoke.

“Why are you talking to me? I mean, you’re a-you’re a celebrity. What made you want to make awkward small talk with me, of all people?”

There. It was out, now. The question that had been hanging in the air since he shad approached me. I may have sounded a little brusque while asking it, but at least I could know now, understand why Jensen had chosen to spend a beautiful Thursday morning in a cramped coffee shop, talking to a girl who had previously had her nose buried in a book.

“Well, um. This is going to sound super creepy.” He took a deep breath, and my eyebrows shot up in question, gesturing for him to continue.

“Well, I’ve kind of been…watching you.”

My eyebrows flew even higher.

“Watching me?” I squeaked.

“Not like that!” He said quickly. “I haven’t been stalking you or anything like that. It’s just… I’ve been coming in here every day for the past two months, and you’re here every day. Sitting in this same spot. And you always look super busy. Like, you’re always either writing furiously on that little notebook,” he motioned to my notepad beside me, which was, indeed, open and full of scribbled words. “or you’re typing on your laptop. And you have this incredible focus. I’ve never even seen you look up from your work. And you do this thing, where you scrunch up your eyebrows and chew on the inside of your cheek when you’re thinking really hard. I guess…today was just the first day I’ve ever seen you look…still. Calm. I don’t know, this probably sounds dumb, but there’s just something about you that made me feel like I had to talk to you. That I had to see what you were working on so furiously every day. And that I had to tell you that-that you’re extremely beautiful.” He said the last part in a big rush of air, like it had been physically painful for him to hold the words inside his chest and they just had to come out all at once.

I stared at him in shock. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Jensen Ackles was here. In front of me. Telling me I was beautiful and that he had noticed me. He had noticed me. He had been coming here for two months? And I had never seen him? How could I have missed him? He was JENSEN ACKLES. Was it really possible that I had been so wrapped up in trying to get my book finished that I had been completely missing looking up and seeing him all these days?

I hadn’t spoken for a good fifteen seconds, just staring at him numbly, trying to process everything he had said.

“Please, say something,” he begged. He looked a little desperate.

I forced myself to snap out of it.

“I-” I laughed a little, still reeling. “I don’t really know what to say. Thank you, I guess.”

He beamed at me, flashing his bright whites. My stomach flip flopped. That had been the first time he had smiled, really smiled, since we had started this conversation, and it took my breath away. We sat there for a moment, him smiling broadly and me grinning like a fool back at him. I got lost in those piercing eyes and the tiny freckles smattered across the bridge of his nose and continuing on to his cheeks.

The moment was interrupted by a loud ringing. We both jumped, and Jensen snatched his phone out of his pocket. He looked at the caller ID and his eyes widened.

“Oh shit. What time is it?” he asked frantically.

I checked my own phone. “Umm…almost 10:15.”

He swore under his breath again and answered the call with a swipe of his finger.

“Jared! Look, dude, I’m so sorry I’m late. I got caught up with something.”

He must have been talking to his costar, Jared Padalecki. I was struck again with how crazy and surreal this whole thing was. Not for the first time that day, I wondered if I was in some kind of a dream. Or maybe a drug-induced hallucination. But inwardly, I knew that my subconscious could never have been this creative. This was completely and totally one hundred percent real.

“Look, I’ll be there in five minutes, okay?…Yeah…Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

He ended the call with a jab of his finger, and turned back to me.

“You have to go,” I stated. I hoped my voice didn’t give away my disappointment.

“Yeah,” he said somberly. “I’m really sorry, but I completely forgot I made plans.”

“It’s okay,” I nodded. “I get it.”

He nodded, and started to get up, then seemed to think better of it and sat back down, facing me.

“Could we…could we do this again sometime? Not exactly this, obviously, I was thinking a different location, and a different day, and we would probably be wearing different clothes, and-”

I cut off his rambling, putting my hand on top of his. He looked down at our hands, and then back up at me.

“Yeah,” I smiled shyly. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

He bit his lip and grinned, gesturing to my phone. “Can I…?”

“Oh!” I typed in the password and handed it to him, allowing him to enter his phone number. He punched in some digits and handed it back. Our fingers brushed for a moment as I took it from him, and I felt that flip flop sensation in my stomach all over again. I smiled when I saw that he had saved his number under the name “Jay”.

“I’ve really gotta get going,” he said apologetically.

I nodded, and Jensen turned and started towards the door, dodging over-caffeinated soccer moms and their grabby children as he did. Once he reached the counter, though, he stopped. He swiveled to face me once more.

“Hey Y/N?” he called out through the din of people chatting and orders being yelled.

“Yeah?” I responded hopefully.

“Call me, okay?”

There was a kind of vulnerability in his eyes. It wasn’t a rhetorical question. It was almost as if he needed to hear me say it, that he needed the reassurance that I would actually use the number he’d given me.

So I stared into those emerald eyes and hoped that I looked sincere. “Yeah, Jensen. I’ll call you.” I smiled reassuringly.

He nodded. He looked a little more confident, a little more sure of himself, then, as he winked at me and turned on his heel to stride out the door.

I sighed happily, collapsing against my chair. Now I knew what all those romance novels (which I totally, definitely don’t have a stash of underneath my bed) were talking about when the girl got all swoony. My mind was moving at warp speed, trying to catalog every detail, every flash of those dimples to think back on later. I could not wait to tell Sarah about this.

[autolovecraft]

He spoke much of the night.

Then the sparks played amazingly around the horizon, we could not find the third tower by the river, and shuddered. Then the sparks played amazingly around the dimming, cooling sun.

Once we looked at the top. It was in the sputter of his revelations, and yellow evil faces peering from behind fallen monuments.

Beyond the worlds vague ghosts of monstrous guilt was upon the land, and presently I felt a chill which was not afraid; and what was thrown on a screen, I saw hooded forms amidst ruins, and whirled blindly past ghastly midnights of rotting creation, corpses of dead worlds with sores that were cities, charnel winds that brush the pallid stars and make them flicker low.

My own column was sucked toward the open country, and in the darkened room prophesied things none but Nyarlathotep dared prophesy, and still alive; and what was thrown on a screen in the sequence of the sciences—of electricity and psychology—and gave exhibitions of power which sent his spectators away speechless, yet which swelled his fame to exceeding magnitude. Into the lands of civilization came Nyarlathotep, and shuddered. Men advised one another to see Nyarlathotep; through the night with the screams of nightmare.

Then we split up into narrow columns, each of which seemed drawn in a narrow alley to the left, leaving only the gods that were can tell came out and squatted on the heads. And when I, who was colder and more scientific than the rest, mumbled a trembling protest about imposture and static electricity, Nyarlathotep drove us all out, down the dizzy stairs into the sightless vortex of the old, the terrible city of unnumbered crimes. There was a demonic alteration in the darkened room prophesied things none but Nyarlathotep dared prophesy, and yellow evil faces peering from behind fallen monuments.

And it was months ago. My own column was sucked toward the open country, and in the small hours, that the silhouette of the old native blood and looked like a Pharaoh. Into the lands of civilization came Nyarlathotep, and laughed at the pavement and found the blocks loose and displaced by grass, with scarce a line of rusted metal to shew where the tramways had run.

And when I, who was colder and more scientific than the rest, mumbled a trembling protest about imposture and static electricity, Nyarlathotep drove us all out, down the dizzy stairs into the sightless vortex of the hot autumn; for the small hours were rent with the screams of nightmare. And through this revolting graveyard of the old, the old, the old native blood and looked like a Pharaoh. There was a demonic alteration in the eyes. The general tension was horrible.

Then the sparks played amazingly around the dimming, cooling sun. And it was months ago. There was a demonic alteration in the hot autumn that I never could be afraid; that I was not of the abysses between the stars swept chill currents that made men shiver in dark and lonely places.

Once we looked at the queer faces we made. My friend said they were horrible and impressive beyond my most fevered imaginings; and others screamed with me for solace. Beyond the worlds vague ghosts of monstrous things; half-seen columns of unsanctifled temples that rest on nameless rocks beneath space and reach up to dizzy vacua above the spheres of light and darkness. I lingered behind, for when we began to fade we cursed the company over and over again, and I burned with eagerness to explore his uttermost mysteries.

Then we split up into narrow columns, each of which seemed drawn in a narrow alley to the left, leaving only the gods that were cities, charnel winds that brush the pallid stars and make them flicker low. And it was then that Nyarlathotep came to my city—the autumn heat lingered fearsomely, and hair stood up on end whilst shadows more grotesque than I can tell came out and squatted on the heads of the seasons—the autumn heat lingered fearsomely, and thin, monotonous whine of blasphemous flutes from inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond Time; the detestable pounding and piping whereunto dance slowly, awkwardly, and everyone felt that the shrieks of cities might less horribly disturb the pale, pitying moon as it glimmered on green waters gliding under bridges, and still alive; and when the electric lights began to fade we cursed the company over and over again, and almost on its side. A sickened, sensitive shadow writhing in hands that are not hands, and hair stood up on end whilst shadows more grotesque than I can tell. And again we saw a tram-car, lone, windowless, dilapidated, and shuddered.

A sickened, sensitive shadow writhing in hands that are not hands, and laughed at the pavement and found the blocks loose and displaced by grass, with scarce a line of rusted metal to shew where the tramways had run. And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished; for the black rift in the darkened room prophesied things none but Nyarlathotep dared prophesy, and everyone felt that the shrieks of cities might less horribly disturb the pale, pitying moon as it plodded dreamily into the gulf. I recall that the silhouette of the night with the screams of nightmare. My friend had told me of him, and shuddered.

The fellahin knelt when they saw him, yet which swelled his fame to exceeding magnitude. And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished; for as we stalked out on the heads. My own column was sucked toward the open country, and laughed at the pavement and found the blocks loose and displaced by grass, with scarce a line of rusted metal to shew where the tramways had run. My friend had told me of him, and almost on its side. I thought I had heard the reverberations of a shocking moan. The fellahin knelt when they saw him, and old steeples crumbling against a sickly sky.

One disappeared in a different direction. He spoke much of the seasons—the autumn heat lingered fearsomely, and laughed at the queer faces we made.

Men advised one another that the people went about with pale and worried faces, and hair stood up on end whilst shadows more grotesque than I can tell. Into the lands of civilization came Nyarlathotep, swarthy, slender, and noticed that the shrieks of cities might less horribly disturb the pale, pitying moon as it glimmered on green waters gliding under bridges, and sinister, always buying strange instruments of glass and metal and combining them into instruments yet stranger.

And again we saw a tram-car, lone, windowless, dilapidated, and I thought I had heard the reverberations of a disquieting wail as my companions vanished; for the small hours were rent with the restless crowds to see Nyarlathotep; through the stifling night and up the endless stairs into the damp, hot, deserted midnight streets. My friend had told me of him, and hair stood up on end whilst shadows more grotesque than I can tell. Into the lands of civilization came Nyarlathotep, and I thought I had heard messages from places not on this planet.

And shadowed on a screen in the most terrible phantasms of the spectators, and still alive; and when the electric lights began to fade we cursed the company over and over again, and I burned with eagerness to explore his uttermost mysteries. I am the last I will tell the audient void. It was in the darkened room prophesied things none but Nyarlathotep dared prophesy, and hair stood up on end whilst shadows more grotesque than I can tell. Trackless, inexplicable snows, swept asunder in one direction only, where lay a gulf all the blacker for its glittering walls.

When we gazed around the heads.

And I heard it hinted abroad that those who knew Nyarlathotep looked on sights which others saw not. We swore to one another to see Nyarlathotep; through the stifling night and up the endless stairs into the gulf. And when I, who was colder and more scientific than the rest, mumbled a trembling protest about imposture and static electricity, Nyarlathotep drove us all out, down the dizzy stairs into the sightless vortex of the blackness of twenty-seven centuries, and shuddered. Who he was, none could tell, but it was months ago. Trackless, inexplicable snows, swept asunder in one direction only, where lay a gulf all the blacker for its glittering walls.

[aviuslux]

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FULL NAME:  Noctis Lucis Caelum MEANING:  “Sky of the Night’s Light” NICKNAME: Noct, Prince MEANING: Shortened name; Station AGE APPEARANCE: 20 BIRTHDAY:  August 30 ASTROLOGICAL SIGN:  Virgo SPECIES: Human GENDER: Male ALLERGIES: Various Medications / Substances SEXUAL PREFERENCE: Pansexual (Preference for Males) THEME SONG: N/A

APPEARANCE

HAIR COLOR: Black (looks blue in certain light) HAIR STYLE AND LENGTH: Short and messy. EYES COLOR: Midnight Blue EYESIGHT: 20/20 HEIGHT:  175cm (5′9) WEIGHT:  170-180 lbs OUTFIT/CLOTHING STYLE: Loose and big. ABNORMALITIES(TAIL): N/A DISTINGUISHING MARKS(SCARS,MOLES):       Scar from left hip to right shoulder from Marilith attack       Scar from being Impaled with Father’s sword SELF CARE(MAKE UP): N/A FIRST IMPRESSION ON PEOPLE: Shy and Aloof SKIN COLOR: Pale, BODY TYPE/BUILD: Leanly muscled DEFAULT EXPRESSION: Boredom/Exhaustion POSTURE: Regal MEASUREMENTS(FEMALE ONLY): N/A PIERCINGS: Triples in both ears. DESCRIBE THEIR VOICE: Calm, Quiet; Commanding when necessary.

RELATIONSHIPS

MOM: Dead when an infant HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: N/A DAD: Dead at age of 20 HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Very well, extremely close. SIBLINGS: N/A HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: N/A CHILDREN: N/A HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: N/A OTHER FAMILY MEMBERS: N/A PAST LOVER(S): N/A CURRENT LOVER: Verse Dependent REACTION TO MEETING SOMEONE NEW: Shy, Curt sentences, Looks to friends for help ABILITY TO WORK WITH OTHERS: High. Assuming they aren’t setting off alarm bells. HOW SOCIABLE(LONER,ETC): Closed off. FRIENDS: Ignis, Gladiolus, Prompto PETS: N/A LEAST FAVORITE TYPE OF PERSON: Manipulative and Controlling. PARENTAL TYPE(PROTECTIVE,ETC): Pleasing and Protective. Wants others to be happy. AFFINITY WITH…: Crownsguard. Amicitia family FAVORITE PEOPLE: Gladio, Ignis, Prompto, Iris, Cindy after a fashion. LEAST FAVORITE PEOPLE: Ardyn

PERSONALITY

..WHEN YOU FIRST MEET THEM: Quiet, Slightly Rude, Lazy ..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY LIKE YOU): Kind, Compassionate, Giving, Lazy, Funny, Cooperative, ..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY DISLIKE YOU): Quiet, Defensive, Standoffish, FAVORITE COLOR: Gold FAVORITE FOOD: Anything Ignis makes. FAVORITE ANIMAL: Any. FAVORITE INSTRUMENT: Piano (he plays) FAVORITE ELEMENT: Electricity LEAST FAVORITE COLOR: Red. LEAST FAVORITE FOOD: Vegetables LEAST FAVORITE ANIMAL: N/A LEAST FAVORITE INSTRUMENT: Keyboard (Synths) LEAST FAVORITE ELEMENT: Fire HOBBIES: Sleeping, Practicing Swordsmanship, Wandering with Prompto, Pestering Ignis and Gladio. USUAL MOOD: Calm. DRINK/SMOKE/DRUGS: Occasionally. No. No. DARK VERSION OF SELF: Seeking unholy vengeance against the Empire. LIGHT VERSION OF SELF: Sleeping often and trying to enjoy the world around him. Pranking friends. HOW SERIOUS ARE THEY: Fairly, but he knows how to relax. CLASS IN AN RPG: Mime (Bartz Klauser) BELIEVE IN GHOSTS: Yes and No. He can see the souls of the departed. (IN)DEPENDANT: Yes and no. Relationship with his friends is his salvation. Were it gone or weaker than it is now, he would be a mess. SOFT SPOT/VULNERABILITY: His friends. OPINION ON SWEARING: None. He wouldn’t use it in the royal court, but is used sparingly among friends. DAREDEVIL VS CAUTIOUS: Daredevil. MUSIC TYPE: Classical. MOVIE TYPE: Action. BOOK TYPE: Fantasy. GAME TYPE: RPG. COMFORTABLE TEMPERATURE: Warm. SLEEPING PATTERN: Sleeps all the time, but can be punctual when necessary. CLEANLINESS/NEATNESS: Messy to mess with people. Tidy at home. DESIRED PET: None? He has no time for them. HOW DO THEY PASS TIME: Sleeping, Talking to friends, Kings Knight. BIGGEST SECRET: His crushes on his friends HERO/WHO THEY LOOK UP TO: Ignis (Levelheaded); Gladio (Strength and Confidence); Prompto (Carefree and Freely Loving) FEARS: Losing the only thing he has left (friends); His deeper than friendship love being rejected. COMFORTS: Friends

HOW DO THEY ACT WHEN THEY ARE…

SAD: Silent and Curt. Textbook answers. HAPPY: Expressive, laughing, smiling. ANGRY: Standoffish, Rude AFRAID: Cagey, Jumpy, Aggressive, Quiet LOVE SOMEONE: Clingy, Protective, Malleable, Affectionate HATE SOMEONE: Aggressive and Defensive, WANT SOMETHING: He’ll get it himself. No need to trouble someone when he can move. CONFUSED: Quiet and staring, Questioning

HOW DO THEY REACT TO…

DANGER: Protective, shows his skill SOMEONE THEY HATE WHO HAS A CRUSH ON THEM: Turns them down kindly, Tells off if they don’t take the hint. PROPOSAL TO MARRY: Depends on the situation. In public, especially before an audience, he’s quiet and reserved in his response. In private? He’ll jump and hug them just as pleased as he could be. DEATH OF LOVED ONE:  He falls apart. Distant and Broken, he’ll usually try to hide it until he’s alone. DIFFICULT GAME/MATH/ETC: Methodically. It’s good practice. INJURY: If it’s something bad, he’ll mention it unless someone else is in more need than he is. SOMETHING IRRESISTIBLY CUTE: A small smile, if it’s an animal he’ll try to pet it. LOSS OF HOURS OF WORK: Resigned, a little irritated but there is no point in it

KNOWLEDGE

LANGUAGES: Common, Old Lucian, various others. SCHOOLING LEVEL: Officially - High School; Likely a Masters from tutor sessions. FAVORITE SUBJECT (S): Mythology INTERESTED CAREERS: Anything that isn’t his preplanned and ordained future EXPERTISE: Combat, Magic, Lucian History, Basically anything to do with ruling a country or court etiquette COOKING: Basic SEWING: Basic MECHANICS: A fair amount, learned it from Prompto BOTANY (FLOWERS): Basic, though he dabbled in it for medicinal purposes MYTHOLOGY: Extremely well, though no one can know everything DRAMATICS(ACTING,SINGING): Yes. HOW GOOD ARE THEY AT PLANNING AHEAD: To a point. IMPULSIVE/STRATEGY: Strategy.

ROMANCE

DO THEY TAKE INITIATIVE: No. Most of his interest (at least that I know of) is towards Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto. He is far too worried that one of them will turn him down. HOW DO THEY ACT(SHY,ETC): In a relationship, like normal save more affection and a bit happier when with them. Otherwise, he hides it and lies if asked vaguely about a subject. GENTLEMAN/LADYLIKE VS KLUTZY: Tries to be a gentleman about it, but he’s never really been in a serious relationship. He ends up a klutz most of the time. GO SLOW VS JUMP INTO: Depends on partner (character and mun’s interpretation) PROTECTIVE: He will die to keep them safe. Doesn’t matter that he’s a prince. ACT LIKE FRIENDS OR LOVERS: Mostly friends, but if alone he will definitely act like a lover. Kisses and things may be in public as well. WHAT KIND OF PRESENTS DO THEY BUY: Useful things, or decorative things. Isn’t used to the idea of winning favors with presents TYPE OF KISSER: Soft and Uncertain. How much is too much for them? DO THEY WANT KIDS: It is necessary. Use of a surrogate is entirely necessary for M/M ships DO THEY WANT TO MARRY: Again, necessary. A kingdom is stronger if it’s king has a partner. MAKE GOOD OR BAD DECISIONS: Good decisions. He’s too afraid of messing things up. ARE THEY ROMANTIC: Unintentionally. He just generally tries to make them as happy as possible. HOW ARE THEY IN BED: Noct is a bottom, and submissive to boot. He’s also loud, because in most cases it would be his first time. He knows no control. GET JEALOUS EASY: Yes, and he’ll make discreet attempts to get attention again. WIFE/HUBBY BEATER: Absolutely not. MARRY FOR MONEY: Not even possible. FAVORITE POSITION: Depends on the person, but he likes seeing his partner. WHAT WOULD HAPPEN ON THEIR DREAM DATE: Anything. Being with someone he likes and not having to worry about how he’s required to find someone he likes or has power enough to satisfy others. OPINION ON SEX: He doesn’t need it, but depending on the partner, he may want it a lot.

Credit to Sir Ender at this writing forum.

[luxintima-a-blog]

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FULL NAME:  Noctis Lucis Caelum MEANING:  “Sky of the Night's Light” NICKNAME: Noct, Prince MEANING: Shortened name; Station AGE APPEARANCE: 20 BIRTHDAY:  August 30 ASTROLOGICAL SIGN:  Virgo SPECIES: Human GENDER: Male ALLERGIES: Various Medications. SEXUAL PREFERENCE: Bisexual (Preference for Males) THEME SONG: N/A

APPEARANCE

HAIR COLOR: Black (looks blue in certain light) HAIR STYLE AND LENGTH: Short and messy. EYES COLOR: Midnight Blue EYESIGHT: 20/20 HEIGHT:  175cm (5′9) WEIGHT:  170-180 lbs OUTFIT/CLOTHING STYLE: Casual and Royal Raiments  ABNORMALITIES(TAIL): N/A DISTINGUISHING MARKS(SCARS,MOLES):        Scar from left hip to right shoulder from Marilith attack        Scar from being Impaled with Father’s sword SELF CARE(MAKE UP): N/A FIRST IMPRESSION ON PEOPLE: Shy and Aloof SKIN COLOR: Pale,  BODY TYPE/BUILD: Leanly muscled DEFAULT EXPRESSION: Boredom/Exhaustion POSTURE: Regal MEASUREMENTS(FEMALE ONLY): N/A PIERCINGS: N/A DESCRIBE THEIR VOICE: Calm, Quiet; Commanding when necessary.

RELATIONSHIPS

MOM: Dead when an infant HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: N/A DAD: Dead at age of 20 HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Very well, extremely close. SIBLINGS: N/A HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: N/A CHILDREN: N/A HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: N/A OTHER FAMILY MEMBERS: N/A PAST LOVER(S): N/A CURRENT LOVER: Verse Dependent REACTION TO MEETING SOMEONE NEW: Shy, Curt sentences, Looks to friends for help ABILITY TO WORK WITH OTHERS: High. Assuming they aren’t setting off alarm bells. HOW SOCIABLE(LONER,ETC): Closed off.  FRIENDS: Ignis, Gladiolus, Prompto PETS: N/A LEAST FAVORITE TYPE OF PERSON: Manipulative and Controlling. PARENTAL TYPE(PROTECTIVE,ETC): Pleasing and Protective. Wants others to be happy. AFFINITY WITH…: Crownsguard. Amicitia family FAVORITE PEOPLE: Gladio, Ignis, Prompto, Iris, Cindy after a fashion. LEAST FAVORITE PEOPLE: Ardyn

PERSONALITY

..WHEN YOU FIRST MEET THEM: Quiet, Slightly Rude, Lazy ..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY LIKE YOU): Kind, Compassionate, Giving, Lazy, Funny, Cooperative, ..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY DISLIKE YOU): Quiet, Defensive, Standoffish, FAVORITE COLOR: Green FAVORITE FOOD: Anything Ignis makes. FAVORITE ANIMAL: Any. FAVORITE INSTRUMENT: Piano (he plays) FAVORITE ELEMENT: Electricity LEAST FAVORITE COLOR: Red. LEAST FAVORITE FOOD: Vegetables LEAST FAVORITE ANIMAL: N/A LEAST FAVORITE INSTRUMENT: Keyboard (Synths) LEAST FAVORITE ELEMENT: Fire HOBBIES: Sleeping, Practicing Swordsmanship, Wandering with Prompto, Pestering Ignis and Gladio.  USUAL MOOD: Calm. DRINK/SMOKE/DRUGS: Occasionally. No. No. DARK VERSION OF SELF: Seeking unholy vengeance against the Empire (I mean like torture) LIGHT VERSION OF SELF: Sleeping often and trying to enjoy the world around him. Pranking friends. HOW SERIOUS ARE THEY: Fairly, but he knows how to relax. CLASS IN AN RPG: Mime (Bartz Klauser) BELIEVE IN GHOSTS: Yes and No. He can see the souls of the departed. (IN)DEPENDANT: Yes and no. Relationship with his friends is his salvation. Were it gone or weaker than it is now, he would be a mess. SOFT SPOT/VULNERABILITY: His friends. OPINION ON SWEARING: None. He wouldn’t use it in the royal court, but is used sparingly among friends. DAREDEVIL VS CAUTIOUS: Daredevil. MUSIC TYPE: Classical. MOVIE TYPE: Action. BOOK TYPE: Fantasy. GAME TYPE: RPG (he can choose the outcomes.) COMFORTABLE TEMPERATURE: Warm.  SLEEPING PATTERN: Sleeps all the time, but can be punctual when necessary. CLEANLINESS/NEATNESS: Messy to mess with people. Tidy at home. DESIRED PET: None? He has no time for them. HOW DO THEY PASS TIME: Sleeping, Talking to friends, Kings Knight. BIGGEST SECRET: His crushes on his friends HERO/WHO THEY LOOK UP TO: Ignis (Levelheaded); Gladio (Strength and Confidence); Prompto (Carefree and Freely Loving) FEARS: Losing the only thing he has left (friends); His deeper than friendship love being rejected. COMFORTS: Friends

HOW DO THEY ACT WHEN THEY ARE…

SAD: Silent and Curt. Textbook answers. HAPPY: Expressive, laughing, smiling. ANGRY: Standoffish, Rude AFRAID: Cagey, Jumpy, Aggressive, Quiet LOVE SOMEONE: Clingy, Protective, Malleable, Affectionate  HATE SOMEONE: Aggressive and Defensive, WANT SOMETHING: He’ll get it himself. No need to trouble someone when he can move. CONFUSED: Quiet and staring, Questioning

HOW DO THEY REACT TO…

DANGER: Protective, shows his skill SOMEONE THEY HATE WHO HAS A CRUSH ON THEM: Turns them down kindly, Tells off if they don’t take the hint. PROPOSAL TO MARRY: Depends on the situation. In public, especially before an audience, he’s quiet and reserved in his response. In private? He’ll jump and hug them just as pleased as he could be. DEATH OF LOVED ONE:  He falls apart. Distant and Broken, he’ll usually try to hide it until he’s alone. DIFFICULT GAME/MATH/ETC: Methodically. It’s good practice. INJURY: If it’s something bad, he’ll mention it unless someone else is in more need than he is. SOMETHING IRRESISTIBLY CUTE: A small smile, if it’s an animal he’ll try to pet it. LOSS OF HOURS OF WORK: Resigned, a little irritated but there is no point in it

KNOWLEDGE

LANGUAGES: English, Japanese, various others. SCHOOLING LEVEL: Officially - High School; Likely a Masters based on amount, but its in various subjects FAVORITE SUBJECT (S): Mythology INTERESTED CAREERS: Anything that isn’t his preplanned and ordained future EXPERTISE: Combat, Magic, Lucian History, Basically anything to do with ruling a country or court etiquette COOKING: Basic SEWING: Basic MECHANICS: A fair amount, learned it from Prompto BOTANY (FLOWERS): Basic, though he dabbled in it for medicinal purposes MYTHOLOGY: Extremely well, though no one can know everything DRAMATICS(ACTING,SINGING): Singing - Yes; Dancing - Yes; Acting - Yes; (gotta please people) HOW GOOD ARE THEY AT PLANNING AHEAD: To a point. IMPULSIVE/STRATEGY: Impulsive

ROMANCE

DO THEY TAKE INITIATIVE: No. Most of his interest (at least that I know of) is towards Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto. He is far too worried that one of them will turn him down. HOW DO THEY ACT(SHY,ETC): In a relationship, like normal save more affection and a bit happier when with them. Otherwise, he hides it and lies if asked vaguely about a subject. GENTLEMAN/LADYLIKE VS KLUTZY: Tries to be a gentleman about it, but he’s never really been in a serious relationship. He ends up a klutz most of the time. GO SLOW VS JUMP INTO: Depends on partner (character and mun’s interpretation) PROTECTIVE: He will die to keep them safe. Doesn’t matter that he’s a prince. ACT LIKE FRIENDS OR LOVERS: Mostly friends, but if alone he will definitely act like a lover. Kisses and things may be in public as well. WHAT KIND OF PRESENTS DO THEY BUY: Useful things, or decorative things. Isn’t used to the idea of winning favors with presents TYPE OF KISSER: Soft and Uncertain. How much is too much for them? DO THEY WANT KIDS: It is necessary. Use of a surrogate is entirely necessary for M/M ships DO THEY WANT TO MARRY: Again, necessary. A kingdom is stronger if it’s king has a partner. MAKE GOOD OR BAD DECISIONS: Good decisions. He’s too afraid of messing things up. ARE THEY ROMANTIC: Unintentionally. He just generally tries to make them as happy as possible. HOW ARE THEY IN BED: Noct is a bottom, and submissive to boot. He’s also loud, because in most cases it would be his first time. He knows no control. GET JEALOUS EASY: Yes, and he’ll make discreet attempts to get attention again.  WIFE/HUBBY BEATER: Absolutely not. MARRY FOR MONEY: Not even possible. FAVORITE POSITION: Depends on the person, but he likes seeing his partner. WHAT WOULD HAPPEN ON THEIR DREAM DATE: Anything. Being with someone he likes and not having to worry about how he’s required to find someone he likes or has power enough to satisfy others. OPINION ON SEX: He doesn’t need it, but once he has it the first time he will crave it from time to time. Ultimately it is up to his partner.

Credit to Sir Ender at this writing forum.

[autolovecraft]

And it was months ago.

A sense of monstrous things; half-floated between the stars swept chill currents that made men shiver in dark and lonely places. Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished; but my power to linger was slight. He said he had risen up out of Egypt. He spoke much of the night with the restless crowds to see Nyarlathotep, and that he had heard messages from places not on this planet. Screamingly sentient, dumbly delirious, only the echo of a shocking moan. Never before had the screams of nightmare been such a danger widespread and all-embracing, such a public problem; now the wise men almost wished they could forbid sleep in the most terrible phantasms of the night. It was in the darkened room prophesied things none but Nyarlathotep dared prophesy, and that he had heard. My own column was sucked toward the open country, and laughed at the top. The column seemed very thin indeed as it plodded dreamily into the choking room. As if beckoned by those who knew Nyarlathotep looked on sights which others saw not. He spoke much of the second tower was ragged at the top. Beyond the worlds vague ghosts of monstrous things; half-floated between the titanic snowdrifts, quivering and afraid, into the sightless vortex of the impelling fascination and allurement of his revelations, and sinister, always buying strange instruments of glass and metal and combining them into instruments yet stranger.

I was not afraid; and when the electric lights began to fade we cursed the company over and over again, and hair stood up on end whilst shadows more grotesque than I can tell. It was in the small hours were rent with the screams of nightmare been such a danger as may be imagined only in the green-litten snow was frightful, and whirled blindly past ghastly midnights of rotting creation, corpses of dead worlds with sores that were can tell came out of Egypt.

And shadowed on a screen in the most terrible phantasms of the old native blood and looked like a Pharaoh. Into the lands of civilization came Nyarlathotep, and whirled blindly past ghastly midnights of rotting creation, corpses of dead worlds with sores that were cities, charnel winds that brush the pallid stars and make them flicker low. Nyarlathotep came out and squatted on the dark moor, we beheld around us the hellish moon-glitter of evil snows. And I heard it hinted abroad that those who had gone before, I saw hooded forms amidst ruins, and presently I felt a chill which was not afraid; and what was thrown on a screen, I half-floated between the titanic snowdrifts, quivering and afraid, into the damp, hot, deserted midnight streets. And shadowed on a screen, I saw the world and perhaps the universe had passed from the control of known gods or forces which were unknown.

Never before had the screams of nightmare. Beyond the worlds vague ghosts of monstrous things; half-seen columns of unsanctifled temples that rest on nameless rocks beneath space and reach up to dizzy vacua above the spheres of light and darkness. Once we looked at the queer faces we made. Beyond the worlds vague ghosts of monstrous things; half-floated between the titanic snowdrifts, quivering and afraid, into the damp, hot, deserted midnight streets. I am the last I will tell the audient void. He said he had heard. The general tension was horrible.

And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished; for the black rift in the sequence of the old native blood and looked like a Pharaoh. Screamingly sentient, dumbly delirious, only the gods that were cities, charnel winds that brush the pallid stars and make them flicker low. Nyarlathotep dared prophesy, and still alive; and others screamed with me for solace. Into the lands of civilization came Nyarlathotep, and presently I felt a chill which was not afraid; and what was thrown on a screen, I saw hooded forms amidst ruins, and absurdly the gigantic, tenebrous ultimate gods—the autumn heat lingered fearsomely, and everyone felt that the world and perhaps the universe had passed from the control of known gods or forces which were unknown. Then we split up into narrow columns, each of which seemed drawn in a different direction.

[autolovecraft]

We swore to one another that the silhouette of the night.

And I saw the world and perhaps the universe the muffled, maddening beating of drums, and thin, monotonous whine of blasphemous flutes from inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond Time; the detestable pounding and piping whereunto dance slowly, awkwardly, and I burned with eagerness to explore his uttermost mysteries. The column seemed very thin indeed as it plodded dreamily into the damp, hot, deserted midnight streets. I saw the world battling against blackness; against the waves of destruction from ultimate space; whirling, churning, struggling around the heads of the old, the terrible city of unnumbered crimes. The general tension was horrible. He spoke much of the second tower was ragged at the queer faces we made.

Men advised one another to see Nyarlathotep; through the night. And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished; but my power to linger was slight. Who he was, none could tell, but it was months ago.

And again we saw a tram-car, lone, windowless, dilapidated, and old steeples crumbling against a sickly sky. Into the lands of civilization came Nyarlathotep, swarthy, slender, and whirled blindly past ghastly midnights of rotting creation, corpses of dead worlds with sores that were cities, charnel winds that brush the pallid stars and make them flicker low. The fellahin knelt when they saw him, and I burned with eagerness to explore his uttermost mysteries.

Once we looked at the top. My friend said they were horrible and impressive beyond my most fevered imaginings; and what was thrown on a screen in the most terrible phantasms of the blackness of twenty-seven centuries, and I thought I had heard the reverberations of a shocking moan.

The column seemed very thin indeed as it glimmered on green waters gliding under bridges, and whirled blindly past ghastly midnights of rotting creation, corpses of dead worlds with sores that were can tell came out of the impelling fascination and allurement of his sparks there was taken from men that which had never been taken before yet which shewed only in the hot autumn; for the small hours were rent with the restless crowds to see Nyarlathotep; through the night with the screams of nightmare. I am the last I will tell the audient void.

There was a demonic alteration in the sequence of the spectators, and everyone felt that the silhouette of the seasons—the autumn heat lingered fearsomely, and out of Egypt. And again we saw a tram-car, lone, windowless, dilapidated, and almost on its light we drifted into curious involuntary marching formations and seemed to know our destinations though we dared not think of them. The fellahin knelt when they saw him, yet which shewed only in the hot autumn that I never could be afraid; and what was thrown on a screen in the small hours were rent with the screams of nightmare.

Screamingly sentient, dumbly delirious, only the echo of a disquieting wail as my companions vanished; but my power to linger was slight.

The column seemed very thin indeed as it plodded dreamily into the gulf. Beyond the worlds vague ghosts of monstrous things; half-seen columns of unsanctifled temples that rest on nameless rocks beneath space and reach up to dizzy vacua above the spheres of light and darkness. And I heard it hinted abroad that those who knew Nyarlathotep looked on sights which others saw not. The general tension was horrible. It was in the sputter of his revelations, and hair stood up on end whilst shadows more grotesque than I can tell. I burned with eagerness to explore his uttermost mysteries. He said he had risen up out of the spectators, and yellow evil faces peering from behind fallen monuments. Then we split up into narrow columns, each of which seemed drawn in a narrow alley to the left, leaving only the echo of a shocking moan.

Then we split up into narrow columns, each of which seemed drawn in a different direction. Once we looked at the queer faces we made. And I heard it hinted abroad that those who had gone before, I saw hooded forms amidst ruins, and I burned with eagerness to explore his uttermost mysteries. Another filed down a weed-choked subway entrance, howling with a laughter that was mad.

My own column was sucked toward the open country, and absurdly the gigantic, tenebrous ultimate gods—the great, the terrible city of unnumbered crimes.

And I heard it hinted abroad that those who knew Nyarlathotep looked on sights which others saw not. And shadowed on a screen in the hot autumn that I went through the night. My friend said they were horrible and impressive beyond my most fevered imaginings; and when the electric lights began to depend on its side. My friend had told me of him, yet could not find the third tower by the river, and sinister, always buying strange instruments of glass and metal and combining them into instruments yet stranger. Another filed down a weed-choked subway entrance, howling with a laughter that was mad.

My friend had told me of him, yet which shewed only in the hot autumn that I never could be afraid; and others screamed with me for solace. I lingered behind, for when we began to fade we cursed the company over and over again, and sinister, always buying strange instruments of glass and metal and combining them into instruments yet stranger.

And it was then that Nyarlathotep came out and squatted on the dark moor, we beheld around us the hellish moon-glitter of evil snows.

And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished; but my power to linger was slight. Then the sparks played amazingly around the dimming, cooling sun. And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished; but my power to linger was slight. The general tension was horrible.

I never could be afraid; and others screamed with me for solace.

It was in the green-litten snow was frightful, and old steeples crumbling against a sickly sky. My friend had told me of him, and yellow evil faces peering from behind fallen monuments. And I heard it hinted abroad that those who had gone before, I saw the world and perhaps the universe the muffled, maddening beating of drums, and hair stood up on end whilst shadows more grotesque than I can tell. Then we split up into narrow columns, each of which seemed drawn in a narrow alley to the left, leaving only the gods that were can tell. I saw hooded forms amidst ruins, and absurdly the gigantic, tenebrous ultimate gods—the blind, voiceless, mindless gargoyles whose soul is Nyarlathotep. And shadowed on a screen in the small hours, that the people went about with pale and worried faces, and presently I felt a chill which was not of the blackness of twenty-seven centuries, and thin, monotonous whine of blasphemous flutes from inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond Time; the detestable pounding and piping whereunto dance slowly, awkwardly, and everyone felt that the city was exactly the same, and in the sequence of the universe the muffled, maddening beating of drums, and thin, monotonous whine of blasphemous flutes from inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond Time; the detestable pounding and piping whereunto dance slowly, awkwardly, and out of Egypt.

And it was months ago. And again we saw a tram-car, lone, windowless, dilapidated, and shuddered. And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished; for the black rift in the hot autumn; for the black rift in the sputter of his revelations, and I thought I had heard. A sickened, sensitive shadow writhing in hands that are not hands, and still alive; and when the electric lights began to fade we cursed the company over and over again, and laughed at the pavement and found the blocks loose and displaced by grass, with scarce a line of rusted metal to shew where the tramways had run. He said he had risen up out of the seasons—the great, the old, the terrible city of unnumbered crimes. He spoke much of the night. Once we looked at the top.

The fellahin knelt when they saw him, yet could not say why. Never before had the screams of nightmare been such a danger widespread and all-embracing, such a public problem; now the wise men almost wished they could forbid sleep in the darkened room prophesied things none but Nyarlathotep dared prophesy, and absurdly the gigantic, tenebrous ultimate gods—the great, the old native blood and looked like a Pharaoh. Beyond the worlds vague ghosts of monstrous things; half-floated between the stars swept chill currents that made men shiver in dark and lonely places. I half-floated between the stars swept chill currents that made men shiver in dark and lonely places. It was in the sequence of the sciences—of electricity and psychology—and gave exhibitions of power which sent his spectators away speechless, yet could not find the third tower by the river, and I thought I had heard the reverberations of a shocking moan. I am the last I will tell the audient void.

[autolovecraft]

Nyarlathotep, and almost on its side.

And it was then that Nyarlathotep came to my city—the great, the terrible city of unnumbered crimes. My friend had told me of him, and whirled blindly past ghastly midnights of rotting creation, corpses of dead worlds with sores that were cities, charnel winds that brush the pallid stars and make them flicker low.

And I heard it hinted abroad that those who had gone before, I saw hooded forms amidst ruins, and everyone felt that the people went about with pale and worried faces, and noticed that the city was exactly the same, and sinister, always buying strange instruments of glass and metal and combining them into instruments yet stranger.

And through this revolting graveyard of the universe had passed from the control of known gods or forces to that of gods or forces to that of gods or forces to that of gods or forces to that of gods or forces which were unknown. Into the lands of civilization came Nyarlathotep, swarthy, slender, and old steeples crumbling against a sickly sky. And through this revolting graveyard of the abysses between the stars swept chill currents that made men shiver in dark and lonely places. He spoke much of the seasons—the great, the terrible city of unnumbered crimes. Beyond the worlds vague ghosts of monstrous guilt was upon the land, and everyone felt that the world battling against blackness; against the waves of destruction from ultimate space; whirling, churning, struggling around the horizon, we beheld around us the hellish moon-glitter of evil snows. We swore to one another that the people went about with pale and worried faces, and absurdly the gigantic, tenebrous ultimate gods—the great, the terrible city of unnumbered crimes. I felt a chill which was not afraid; and others screamed with me for solace. And I saw the world battling against blackness; against the waves of destruction from ultimate space; whirling, churning, struggling around the heads. Another filed down a weed-choked subway entrance, howling with a laughter that was mad.

One disappeared in a different direction. He said he had heard messages from places not on this planet. And when I, who was colder and more scientific than the rest, mumbled a trembling protest about imposture and static electricity, Nyarlathotep drove us all out, down the dizzy stairs into the sightless vortex of the old, the old, the old, the old native blood and looked like a Pharaoh. A sense of monstrous things; half-floated between the titanic snowdrifts, quivering and afraid, into the sightless vortex of the second tower was ragged at the pavement and found the blocks loose and displaced by grass, with scarce a line of rusted metal to shew where the tramways had run. He said he had risen up out of Egypt.

My friend said they were horrible and impressive beyond my most fevered imaginings; and what was thrown on a screen in the hot autumn that I went through the night with the screams of nightmare. And I saw hooded forms amidst ruins, and hair stood up on end whilst shadows more grotesque than I can tell came out of Egypt. My friend said they were horrible and impressive beyond my most fevered imaginings; and what was thrown on a screen in the sputter of his sparks there was taken from men that which had never been taken before yet which swelled his fame to exceeding magnitude. Men advised one another to see Nyarlathotep; through the night.

I do not recall distinctly when it began, but he was, none could tell, but it was months ago. There was a demonic alteration in the most terrible phantasms of the abysses between the titanic snowdrifts, quivering and afraid, into the sightless vortex of the unimaginable. Another filed down a weed-choked subway entrance, howling with a laughter that was mad. Who he was, none could tell, but he was, none could tell, but he was of the universe had passed from the greenish moon, for when we began to depend on its side. A sense of monstrous things; half-seen columns of unsanctifled temples that rest on nameless rocks beneath space and reach up to dizzy vacua above the spheres of light and darkness.

The general tension was horrible. And it was months ago. The general tension was horrible. Nyarlathotep dared prophesy, and absurdly the gigantic, tenebrous ultimate gods—the autumn heat lingered fearsomely, and hair stood up on end whilst shadows more grotesque than I can tell. Men advised one another that the people went about with pale and worried faces, and everyone felt that the city was exactly the same, and I burned with eagerness to explore his uttermost mysteries. The general tension was horrible. I, who was colder and more scientific than the rest, mumbled a trembling protest about imposture and static electricity, Nyarlathotep drove us all out, down the dizzy stairs into the choking room. And through this revolting graveyard of the impelling fascination and allurement of his sparks there was taken from men that which had never been taken before yet which shewed only in the green-litten snow was frightful, and that he had risen up out of Egypt. Who he was, none could tell, but it was then that Nyarlathotep came out and squatted on the dark moor, we beheld around us the hellish moon-glitter of evil snows. Who he was of the night. We swore to one another that the shrieks of cities might less horribly disturb the pale, pitying moon as it glimmered on green waters gliding under bridges, and almost on its side. My friend said they were horrible and impressive beyond my most fevered imaginings; and what was thrown on a screen, I saw the world battling against blackness; against the waves of destruction from ultimate space; whirling, churning, struggling around the dimming, cooling sun. As if beckoned by those who had gone before, I saw the world battling against blackness; against the waves of destruction from ultimate space; whirling, churning, struggling around the dimming, cooling sun. And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished; for as we stalked out on the heads.