#it’d be nice to devote a whole year to writing and nothing else … but … my income …… 💀

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

it’s me and my 40 wips against the world always

[revalise]

After the Sun [M] | 01

Pairing: Chrollo Lucilfer x Fem. OC

Genre: Romance and eventual smut

Rating: M

Words: 2500+

Notes: Huge thanks to Sky @pixiewombat for beta reading this chapter! 

All characters are humans unless otherwise stated in their description. Hence, Zazan is human in the story.

Masterlist | Prologue | 02

Chrollo Lucilfer gets everything he wants, when he wants-even if it means undergoing extreme measures. Nothing bothered him, until an aphrodite, Astra Gerber, appeared one night and stole from the infamous thief. In return that Chrollo doesn’t report her, he strikes a deal. But it could be more than what Astra bargained for. 

BOLD

“What do you mean your necklace was stolen?” Pakunoda eyed Chrollo carefully as he sat behind his desk at his penthouse, looking over the magnificent, illuminating lights of Yorknew City, while she stood in front of him.

“It just was stolen,” he deadpanned.

Pakunoda clicked her tongue. There was no way someone could steal from Chrollo—a bandit himself, and a good one at that.

She thought to herself for a moment. ‘Is he planning to steal the poor girl’s hatsu?’

Once, he had charmed the pants off of a girl who could write fortunes and stole her ability. Despite his obvious antics, he wasn’t found out, thanks to the girl’s inexperience. But when he managed to get a hold of how it should be done, he started doing it again and again. 

Pakunoda didn’t complain. Chrollo’s Bandit’s Secret was a trump card, not only for him, but for the rest of the group. When Chrollo noticed the drastic advantage the ‘strategy’ gave him, he started using it more often. To him, it felt like a shortcut.

And who would expect someone so sophisticated and pretty-boy looking?

She sighed and put the folder down on his desk.

Chrollo had asked Pakunoda to find the girl who had stolen his necklace. He remained vague about it, but knowing Chrollo, it might be something extremely important. 

He looked over the files, silently reading their contents, taking them in just as he consumed  knowledge from his ancient books. His fingers traced the letters of the name written in bold on one of the pages.

ASTRA BEATRIZ GERBER

Pakunoda gazed at him with suspicion. Meddling with this girl could endanger the nature of the group. She was nowhere near a simple girl, alright. The girl spelled trouble.

She was the illegitimate child of an acknowledged former lawyer, Martin Gerber, before he took over the Gerber family dynasty.  

This information wasn’t exactly kept a secret. It was silent gossip within the small circle of socialites and elites. Illegitimate children weren���t news to the circle. Three out of five families in the circle had a case of their own. But it so happened that the Gerber family was known to be conservative—faithful to their betrothed, or as painted by the media.

Nevertheless, it only took that mistake to have the head of the family, Rod Gerber,  wavering in his trust in Martin. To his dismay, this almost cost him the whole dynasty. Fortunately, Rod was a good man, unlike his son. To secure his position in becoming the next successor as the eldest, Martin had to keep the child and take her as his own.

It shamed Martin to do so, keeping an illegitimate of his own accord. Though his wife was noticeably against it, she had to agree if she wanted to be the wife of the very powerful man. Cleverly, she argued that it would bring discomfort to her family if the child were to live in the same house as them. Rod then agreed that Martin would just have to sustain the needs of the child in the mother’s care.

Chrollo took all of the information  in, almost feeling bad for the girl, if  it weren’t for his own experiences.  

The same thought as Pakunoda had crossed his mind. Her father had connections in law. If Chrollo, say for example, met the girl’s father and he decided to look deeper into Chrollo and his background, it wouldn’t really be a problem. The group knew how to cut their ties. They eliminated those who had seen them. But if worse came to worst, this could have blown the group’s cover. 

The Phantom Troupe weren’t regular thieves. They were thieves with intellect that calculated their every movement. Before they acted on anything, Chrollo, who had a personal philosophy of theological dualism - the balance between good and evil - that influenced his decisions, would first weigh his options. His actions were always calculated.

It was not that they feared the law or the man himself, but the Phantom Troupe managed to blend in with the crowd, no one knew of who they were. And the group loved being free despite the criminality they commit.

From the moment he first laid his eyes on her, he knew she was trouble.

But none of the information stopped him.

***

Zazan promised Astra dinner. But it was way past dinner, and the staff of the three-star Michelin restaurant she had booked kept going back and forth, assisting and asking for her order, which she refused to give until her aunt arrived.

Her aunt, Zazan, was her father, Martin’s, little sister. For all her life, she was her mother figure. Zazan always had her back whenever her father didn’t. Her aunt loved designer and luxury items, and was a designer herself. Hence, her love for luxury and designer.

To state it simply, Astra was given to her aunt after she lived with her dad for two years when her mother died. She was only six then.

She remembers how much scorn she received from Martin’s legitimate family, and how she was treated as less than a freeloader, being an illegitimate child. Not once did her father defend her from them.

After all, she was a nobody, aside from the Gerber blood running through her veins.

Astra, at four, never spoke with anyone, not even the maids that served the family in their mansion. She remained quiet, hiding inside her room, but doing everything she was told—even standing for hours, with no food and water, beside the silver knight decorations in the hallway of their house because her older half-sister told her to. She ignored the numbing sensation in her knees until a helper saw her.

That was, until Zazan returned to the city and took interest in the meek, little girl she once was. And for the first time in two years, she spoke and her voice sounded hoarse. Her words were: “Can I come with you?”

From then on, Zazan took her as her own. Martin had no objections, nor did his family. In fact, the situation was in their favor. In his father’s eyes, as long as Astra wasn’t disobedient or brought problems—more than she already had, being an illegitimate—upon the family, it’d be fine.  

However, it seemed Astra grew up to be a spitting image of Zazan’s personality. Astra grew bolder, braver, and stronger, all because she had Zazan to look up to. But Astra wasn’t nice on a daily basis. She was nowhere near a saint.

“May I take your order, miss?” a smiling boy, who looked a few years younger than Astra, came to assist her. But a girl, wearing the same uniform as him, came to them, gripping his arm.

“Sorry, miss.” The staff leaned in closer to the boy’s ear to whisper, “I’ve been trying to take her order. She’s waiting for someone, but I think she got stood up.”

“Oh...” the boy muttered “Too bad, she actually looks pretty.”

He turned his attention to Astra, about to apologize, when she interrupted him.

Astra laced her fingers together, her elbows on the table, and rested her head on her hands. With a sarcastic tone, she said, “If you’re going to talk shit about me, consider doing it somewhere else where I can’t hear you.”

“S-sorry, miss…” the staff muttered, afraid. All of their customers had power, because only the rich could afford the place. They feared they could lose their jobs. Most of all, they knew who Astra was. They knew of her influence.

“But thanks for complimenting my looks.” Astra flashed a grin that didn’t reach her eyes. “Get me some champagne.”

They scurried to give her what she wanted, too obvious in wanting to leave her sight.

Astra leaned on her chair, her arms crossed over her chest. She clicked her tongue in impatience. For once, she regretted asking for champagne. She felt the urge to leave. To elites like her, hunger didn’t come, anyway; she’d still have a lot of food at home. She could leave before they gave her champagne, and leave cash three times the bill, but her pride made her stay.

And she hated to admit it, but she really needed to see her aunt. She needed someone.

She needed someone to hold her at times she felt like slipping away.

As Astra waited impatiently, a man sat at the opposite end of the table. It happened so quickly, she didn’t have the time to process it. The man looked studly in his crisp suit. He wore a white shirt underneath, topped with a dark blazer and slacks.

“I’m sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” He asked in his most polite tone while he pulled at the opening of his blazer.

Her eyebrows shot up and she clicked her tongue, but she tried to maintain her composure. After all, it was a restaurant for the high-class. Manners above all.

“Sorry, you must have the wrong table.”

The man chuckled. “Oh, have you forgotten about me, miss? Allow me to reintroduce myself,” he grinned, “I’m the man you stole from a few nights ago.”

For a moment, perplexity was etched on her face, ‘Bitch, which one?’ 

Yes, the man looked a little familiar, but with the amount of people she was acquainted with, it was hard to keep track of the long list. 

“Oh, I see,” she said plainly. “I must’ve stolen from you when I was drunk.” 

Astra leaned forward and put her elbows on the table. She whispered, “You see, I have a habit of doing those when I’m drunk.” She flashed her sultry smile. 

Her hands reached for her fuchsia devotion bag made of python skin. It featured an exclusive bejeweled personalized heart closure, inspired by the techniques of fine jewelry, which etched her initials in it.

ABG

Astra clicked her tongue when her eyes met her initials on her bag. She laughed inwardly at how she sent it back to Italy when her initials weren’t in bold.

“How much was it? I could pay for it right now.”

The way the man grinned at her assured her that it’s done for. Game over. She wins. Whatever she did, she got away with it. Not because of her pull and connections, but because of her charm. And she knew it. She grinned at this. 

“Actually,” the man began, “I have other things in mind.”

“Oh,” Astra had a knowing smirk. She knew of what the man could possibly ask. It was no different. He was no different from all the other men she’d met before. ‘A night, perhaps?’

“Let’s hear it,” she said sultrily. 

It was the man’s turn to lean closer and rest his elbows on the table. He laced his hands together and flashed a smile. “I was thinking of jail time.”

Her hypocritical smile dropped. She was rendered shaken. Just as quick as the change in her mood, the sourness and bitterness of being embarrassed in front of the mysterious man in front of her, she showed her true colors. 

‘Where the fuck is my champagne?’ she thought.

Her back rested on her chair and she crossed her arms. “Name?” her tone was as rude as it could get. 

“Now we’re talking,” the man chuckled, and he rested his back on his chair as well. “Chrollo Lucilfer. I believe I already told you that. I’m hurt you forgot about me so easily.”

Astra didn’t reciprocate the demeanor Chrollo was showing. While Chrollo looked composed and polite, Astra, on the other hand, was irking in anger. 

“What do you want?” she spat, so rudely you wouldn’t think that it was the same woman who had been flashing sultry and inviting smiles.

“Nothing much, actually,” he grinned but it didn’t reach his eyes. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll discuss the matter, and I promise you it’d be done with.”

If it were only a few minutes ago, she would have gone with him at that very moment. She would’ve taken him to some backroom and let them do their business. But it was different now. 

To her, it seemed like the man didn’t want any physical relationships. He was danger, nothing else. 

“And if I refuse?” 

“Your scandalous actions will not only be known by your father, Martin Gerber, but your little circle as well,” he replied.

“I’m impressed. You’ve done your research about me,” she scoffed. 

One of the staff who assisted her earlier appeared with champagne in her hands. She kept her head down, but kept a shy smile and gave continuous glances toward Chrollo as she poured the liquid into their respective glass.

“Thanks, miss,” Chrollo flashed the girl a sweet smile. 

Astra could have sworn she saw the girl almost curtsy at that. She rolled her eyes. 

When the girl left, Astra arched her brow. Chrollo on the other hand, ignored her demeanor. “Shall I order you some real food?” 

He was about to call the staff again, but Astra stopped him. “I’m not hungry.”

For a moment, Astra almost regretted her actions because Chrollo might be hungry. But if it’d be the same staff who keep annoying her with how they tried to get the man’s attention, forget it. 

‘What is with this restaurant anyway? Why are they always the same people?’

Once the foam settled on her champagne, she drank it quickly, picked up her bag, and stood up. When she looked over at Chrollo, who still sat on his seat gazing at her, she scoffed. “I’m coming with you. Wait for me outside in a moment.”

“You’ve said that before,” he replied, reminiscing to when she said the exact thing when they met the other night, and then she was gone with his St. Peter’s cross necklace.

“You seriously have something on me. Do you think I’ll run away from you?” Astra argued. “Besides, you’ve done your research on me. So I expect you to appear wherever I am.”

“I don’t believe you,” Chrollo stood up. “Wherever you’re going, I’ll come with you.”

Astra rolled her eyes. If she didn’t have something, it would obviously be his trust. And she had to get it no matter what, if she wanted to get out of the situation quickly.

She turned on her heel and Chrollo followed closely behind her. Suddenly, something rang from Chrollo’s pocket when they stepped out of the restaurant and into the lobby of the luxury hotel. Astra turned her attention to it and then to his eyes looking back at hers. 

“Go,” she nodded at him in a dismissive manner. “I promise I won’t leave.”

Chrollo eyed her carefully, weighing the sincerity of her words, to which she responded with widening her eyes at him. There was a faint smile in Chrollo’s face before he finally took his phone out and turned his back on her. 

Astra lightly shook her head. She didn’t notice, but there was a small smile on her face as well. And just as if the timing couldn’t be more perfect, someone she knew all too well appeared in front of her, looking down at her, mocking her.

“Dad…” she whispered.  

[dreamcatcherfication]

Hello! I really love the way you write! If it's not too much to ask, could write some Aralyn? (It can be either fluff or angst, no preference)

Oooh what fun, Aralyn. Wrote this whole fic in one sitting, so I apologize if there are any grammatical/spelling problems. I was going to save this for tomorrow but I got too excited, so here it is. At this rate I’m going to need a masterpost soon… Anyway, I had no idea what to do with this one, so it’s a little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff (just wait for it, you’ll get there eventually), and a little bit of hurt/comfort. Feat. Soft!Anne Boleyn

And thank you so much anon, I’m glad you like my writing! And it’s never too much to ask, I’m happy to write for you anytime. Here are some prompts for anyone who wants to request something.

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts

This fic is titled “Let’s Meet Again for the First Time”

Writing Masterpost

Catherine of Aragon had been devoutly religious for all 535 years of her life. From the moment she was born, it had been instilled in her mind that she was to devote her life to the Lord and his teachings. His word was law, and that was that. Never in her first life did she think to question any of His word, and it had served her well. 

But after her reincarnation, everything was much, much different. First of all, the world was far less religious than it had been in her day. People were free to practice whatever religion they wanted in England and there was no King to tell them how to worship. On top of that, with modern advancements, new interpretations of the Bible had been passed around the whole world for anyone to see.

But the most stark change Catherine experienced in her new life revolved around one Anne Boleyn. The first time Catherine had met Anne Boleyn she had felt a strange feeling deep in her gut. At the time she thought it was hate. This was the woman who was stealing her God appointed husband from her, how could she not feel this indescribable feeling. Being forced to share close quarters with her made it even worse. Catherine imagined any woman in her position would feel as flustered as she did whenever Anne was around.

Waking up in the 21st century, there was a lot Catherine had to learn. She couldn’t explain why, but there was one consistent thing Catherine always found herself thinking about. It was forbidden in her time, almost unheard of, but in modern London it was common, celebrated even. In Catherine’s mind, she had been told homosexuality was a sin. A woman was meant to be with a man, and a man with a woman. Anything else was against God’s will. 

Seeing homosexuality so celebrated in the modern world, Catherine couldn’t help but wonder why it was seen as a sin. People were happy, and in love, so why was it wrong? The religious part of Catherine told her those people were wrong, but she couldn’t agree with that. She was from five hundred years in the past, she knew nothing about what was acceptable nowadays. And in all honesty, Catherine didn’t understand why her religion was so against homosexuality.

Life on Earth was meant to be about purpose, and if people found their purpose in someone of the same gender, Catherine supported that. She found herself advocating for gay rights, much to the surprise of the other queens. During pride she even decked herself out in rainbows to show her support to the community. She always considered herself a strong ally, but never as part of the community. Her only love was Henry, even if he was 500 years dead. 

And that’s where Anne Boleyn comes back in.

At first Catherine wanted to be mad at Anne. She had stolen her husband and humiliated her in front of all of England and history. But learning that Anne had a daughter just like Catherine, only to be executed when the girl was three years old… Catherine couldn’t find it in herself to hold onto that resentment. What was far more concerning to Catherine was how even after she forgave Anne, the strange feeling she got in her stomach around the woman never disappeared. 

Deep down, Catherine understood that it had never been hate she felt, but being forced to confront the realization was far worse. So instead, Catherine decided her next course of action: to completely shut Anne out.

It seemed to be working pretty well at first. Even as her feelings grew, she didn’t have to face Anne, thus those feelings stayed locked up as they were meant to. Catherine knew Anne had noticed her withdrawal, but she hoped eventually the other queen would stop questioning it.

There was a knock on Catherine’s door, a very familiar knock. Everyday since Catherine had started shutting Anne out the woman had come to her door asking if she was alright. Some days she begged to talk to Catherine, other days she simply recounted an adventure she went on with Kitty. Catherine wanted to shout at Anne, tell her to stop making her fall even harder, but instead she listened silently.

Today Anne’s voice was far quieter than it normally was. “Hey Catherine. I really wanted to talk to you earlier today but you locked yourself up in here before I could get your attention. I was thinking about Elizabeth and I thought it’d be nice to talk to you since, ya know, you went through the same thing.” Catherine had to bite her lip to keep from making a sound. “It’s not fair of you to lock me out like this. It’s not just hurting me, it’s hurting the others too. I get it if you still don’t forgive me, but you can’t do this to the others.”

In one motion, Catherine was up off her bed and directly in front of the door. She swung it open and came face to face with a surprised Anne. “Catherine I -”

“How dare you say that I could possibly still hate you.”

“You keep shutting me out,” Anne fired back, frustration taking over her features. Anne was stubborn then, and she was stubborn now, unwilling to back down against Aragon.

“Because how am I supposed to face you everyday?”

“What’s wrong with me? Do I remind you of some hideous monster that you can’t bear to look at?”

Catherine scoffed, “I would never think of you as anything less than beautiful.”

Anne was ready to fire back a retort but it died in her throat at Catherine’s comment. Her cheeks went slightly red and her eyes dropped. “Then why are you avoiding me? Catherine, it hurts that I can’t talk to you.”

Shifting guiltily, Catherine said, “You have the others.”

“Sure I have the others,” Anne’s voice started to waver like she was going to cry. “But I don’t have you. Whatever’s gotten into your head Catherine, please, tell me what it is. If there’s something wrong with me, I’ll fix it. Just please stop shutting me out.”

Anne was worried Catherine was going to shut the door when the Spanish princess stepped back, but she only moved into her room to sit on her bed. “There’s nothing wrong with you Anne. If anything, there’s something wrong with me.”

Frowning, Anne scurried over to Catherine’s bed and sat down beside her. “Catherine? You can tell me anything. I know I’m not the most understanding person, but I’m here for you, whatever it is.”

Catherine put her head in her hands and groaned. “For the longest time,” she started, “I thought I hated you.” Anne recoiled with a look of hurt, but she let Catherine continue. “I would always get this incredibly strong feeling in my gut whenever I saw you, or even thought about you. I would go red and you’d be the only thing I could think about for hours. I always thought it was because I hated you.” She lifted her head to look Anne in the eyes. “In this second life, the feeling never disappeared. In fact, it’s stronger, stronger than it ever was back then. I wanted so badly for it to be hate, that would be the easy answer. But truthfully, I stopped hating Anne Boleyn a long time ago.”

Cogs seemed to be turning as she processed Catherine’s words. It wasn’t exactly a confession, but the intent behind Catherine’s words was clear. A blush slowly appeared on Anne’s face. “You… are you saying you have feelings for me?”

“I…” Catherine stuttered, “I guess I am. Yes. Anne Boleyn, I have feelings for you, and they’re stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before.”

Anne chuckled, “Wow, why don’t you get down on your knees and say that.”

Not realizing she was being sarcastic, Catherine got off the bed and got down on her knees. “I think about you far more often than I should and you never fail to make me laugh. Sure, maybe you can be an absolute nuisance most of the time, but that’s what makes you Anne Boleyn. And as much as I tried to shut you out, that never stopped me from falling harder and harder everyday. I am infatuated with you Anne Boleyn, and I can’t deny it anymore.”

Sitting on the bed in shock, Anne felt her heart clench at Catherine’s words. Never had someone given her this truthful, passionate confession of love. Sure, Henry had sent her poems and had tried to coax her into marriage, but it had all been lustful. Every man to ever court her always wanted her for her body, to satisfy their own lustful desires. But looking in Catherine’s eyes, Anne could see she was speaking from somewhere deep in her heart. There was not lustful desire in Catherine’s eyes, simply - as she put it - infatuation.

“Catherine, I…” Anne was having trouble processing it all. This was not what she expected to be the reason behind Catherine’s avoidance of her. But it was certainly a welcome outcome. “I never thought you’d feel that way.”

“Just because my religion says homosexuality is wrong does not mean -”

“Not that,” Anne cut her off. “I never thought you’d stop hating me. I thought I’d be a pining dumbass for the rest of my life!”

Catherine frowned. “You’re not a dumb… ass.”

Anne rolled her eyes and grabbed Catherine’s hands, pulling her up. “What I mean to say is I never thought you’d have feelings for me. I thought I’d never be able to do this.” And without a moment in between, Anne’s lips were on Catherine’s. The taller woman stood in shock for a moment, her mind a bunch of unexpected fireworks. Anne’s lips on hers. Anne’s lips on hers. Anne’s lips on hers.

When Anne pulled back, she gave a shy smile to Catherine. “I wanted to do that for a long time.” 

Feeling bold, Catherine replied, “Then let’s do it again,” before taking the lead this time and leaning down to kiss Anne. There was a sweet equilibrium with the two of them. No longer were they fighting, trying to tear the other one down. Instead they were together, joined in making one thing whole.

“How do you think the kids would react to this?” Anne asked when she and Catherine separated.

Giving a soft smile, Catherine replied, “I think as long as we’re happy, they would be too. Anne, Elizabeth loved you, she would want you to be happy.”

“Same with you,” Anne stepped closer to Catherine. “Mary was so devoted to you, even if she hated me.”

“She’d come to accept you.”

“No,” Anne explained. “She wouldn’t need to accept me as long as she accepted you. And that’s what matters.”

Tears pricked the corner of Catherine’s eyes. “Anne, I wish we didn’t have the history we do. I wish we could meet each other for the first time and fall in love without this baggage.”

Using her thumb to wipe away a tear in Catherine’s eye, Anne’s face softened. “Well then. Let’s meet again for the first time.”

“What?” Catherine asked in confusion.

Anne stepped back and pretended to dust off her shirt. She stuck out her hand. “Hi, my name’s Anne Boleyn and I couldn’t help but notice you look really hot.”

Laughing, Catherine couldn’t help the swell in her chest at the goofy Anne Boleyn. She reached out and shook Anne’s hand. “Hey there Anne Boleyn, my name’s Catherine of Aragon and I think I might be really gay for you.”

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (126/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

[20 July, 233 Before Age. Nagaoka.]

"Okay, so Treekul's in a bad spot. She should have been more careful about who she got mixed up with. Yeah, and she shouldn't have been so eager to run off on another quest. But that's what makes Treekul cool, you know? Other alchemical historians? They just sit in libraries all day, poring over dusty holo-fiches. But Treekul goes out and finds things. And for once, she had backup. Two Saiyans, Lesseri and Endive, and then we picked up a third, Guwar. With their support, I could discover all sorts of artifacts."

Treekul stopped, shook her head, and gestured to slow down. "I mean she could discover," she said. "Sorry. My therapist always told me this works better if I refer to myself in the third person. You'd think I'd be used to this by now, but I-- but Treekul's under a little more stress than usual. Like I said, it was handy to have three Saiyans backing her up, even if they only wanted her to find things for them, at least she knew no one would mess with her. And she scored some decent leads along the way. There's a treasure trove of artifacts in that penthouse on Quadzityz, assuming it survived the war. Lesseri and Endive killed the owner and wrecked the security systems, and most of that stuff isn't even valuable to anyone else. Nothing to stop Treekul from walking in and helping herself. Another paper for the academic journals. If she ever makes it out of this mess, that is."

She began to pace back and forth around her modest living quarters. The strips of red fabric that made up her "robes" trailed behind her legs as she walked.

"The Saiyans were looking for a cult," she continued. "And Treekul heard it was named after 'jindan', an alchemical term for mercuric sulfide. Or, rather, the fundamental principle that mercuric sulfide represents. So she saw an opportunity and agreed to help them find this cult, using her expertise with a geomantic compass. Guwar was a mathematician, if you can believe that, so he helped out with the calculations. He was a really nice guy. Bit of an inferiority complex, but I get the feeling that goes for every Saiyan."

She stopped herself again. "Not 'was', 'is'. Guwar is a nice guy," she said. "Just because no one's told me what happened to him doesn't necessarily mean he got killed in the war. It's just... Treekul could really use his help right now. Or even if he can't help, it'd be nice if he were here to listen to her, like he did back on the ship, before they found the Jindan cult.

"Turns out the cult was real all along, and they leave just enough bread crumbs out there so that other Saiyans can find them. Their leader is the Saiyan King, Rehval III, but here, he calls himself 'Trismegistus', a reference to the Thrice Blessed alchemist from ancient writings. Rehval seems to think he's uncovered some great secret, something that makes him the greatest alchemist ever, and from what I've seen, he might be right about that. His Jindan potion makes Saiyans even stronger, and he must have thousands of them working for him. Only trouble is that they have to give up their free will. Rehval tells them what to eat, when to sleep, they all have sex in some 'breeding pit' thing that I don't even want to think about..."

She paused to rub the bridge of her nose, then ran her hand over the short green hair on her lavender scalp. It was normally a satisfying feeling for her, but not this time, her hair was too long for that by now.

"The others all did whatever Rehval told them to. All they cared about was power. They brought Treekul here, and no one was interested in how she got home. No payday, no paper, no treasure trove of artifacts. Instead, Rehval decided to keep her as some sort of alien pet. He thinks he can train her to be an alchemist, and so far he hasn't done too bad a job of it, at least when he's not creeping on her. It makes me... It makes her want to scream. But that's okay. It's okay for her to be frightened. She's never been this afraid, and she's got good reason to be."

She stopped pacing and looked intently in the direction of her bed. "So here's the good news. Treekul has options. Sure, she's not any closer to getting off this planet than when she first arrived, but she hasn't been wasting time either. Treekul didn't get this far without being resourceful. She can be absolutely terrified and still get herself out of this. That's what makes her strong."

She went to a small writing desk along the wall of her room and picked up a scroll. It carried a faint odor of rotten eggs and olefins. "Rehval's convinced that she'll become his apprentice, I guess ruling over the Saiyans like a god isn't enough for him, he wants to pass down his knowledge of alchemy. Well, fine. If he's as talented as he says he is, maybe he'll show Treekul a little more than he should. Something she can use to get out of here. For instance, this scroll belonging to Mirdane talks about disguising yourself perfectly, even down to smell and ki signature. If Treekul can get good enough at alchemy to figure that out, she could walk right up to the shipyard and be halfway to the next star system before anyone knew she was missing.

"I know what you're thinking: Treekul's a quick study, but she's an archaeologist who studies alchemists, not an alchemist herself, so maybe that plan is little too ambitious. Fair point. Which is why she's been working other angles. The boss wants her to play one of his priestesses, right? He's dressed her up in a cocktail dress that went through a blender. Well, that gives her access to all his brainwashed goons, and all that undeserved authority that comes with it. She hasn't heard from the acolytes who offered to show me around the hangar, but they seemed pretty enthusiastic about it. Don't worry, when they finally take her on the tour, Treekul won't spend too much time there, just enough to get a feel for the place when it's time for her to snoop around by herself.

"And if that doesn't pan out there's always Endive. Too bad about her. For a while there, I was sure she'd turn on the boss. From what I hear, Rehval does something to the cultist's memories, so they don't recognize him as the king, even of they knew him before when he ruled Planet Saiya. At some point Endive must have found out that "Trismegistus" is the same guy who killed her father, but she doesn't seem to care. He's been using her for one of his casual sex hookups for weeks now. I thought..."

She stopped and took a seat in her chair, then looked down at the red flats on her feet. "I just thought-- Treekul thought Endive was smarter than that. She was so disciplined and focused. You'd think she wouldn't be so easily manipulated, but... she's become completely devoted to him, and the scariest thing is that you can tell she knows it's wrong. But enough about her. If Endive and Lesseri won't help Treekul, then Treekul needs to forget about them."

She stood up and started pacing again. "Speaking of sex... Treekul doesn't want to go down that road, but she has to keep it in mind. Rehval has his followers convinced that he needs a rotation of women to share his bed. Something about 'balancing his bodily humors', but I think we all know he just wants to have a good time. He wants Treekul for some reason. All those women at his beck and call, and he wants the one woman on the planet who isn't interested. It's like he's waiting for her to fall madly in love with him. Yeah, good luck with that. Still... if she's going to earn his trust, she need to play along with his expectations. Maybe she ought to flirt a little, so he'll think his plan is working. He's not exactly unattractive, it's the whole 'delusions of grandeur' thing that's a turn-off."

Treekul stopped and crossed her arms as she looked at the bed. "Here's the problem. If she's not careful, he'll probably get bored with her and have her brainwashed like everyone else on this planet. Or he'll just kill her for being an alien. On the other hand, if she's too careful, and Treekul waste too much time playing the eager disciple, the he won't need to brainwash her, because she'll basically be doing it for him. Ugh! What a fix."

"Um, were you finished?"

"Huh?"

The Saiyan man lying on her bed had sat up and pointed to his ears, which were stuffed with wax. "I'm on duty in ten minutes," he said. "Unless you need me to stay here..."

Treekul gestured at her own ears for him to remove the wax, and so he did.

"Yeah, all finished," she said. "You were amazing, Zhoybok."

"It's an honor, madam priestess," he said as he rose from the bed, "but I really don't understand your species' mating practices. You didn't even touch me the whole time."

"Oh, you don't remember any of it, then?" Treekul asked in mock concern. "I guess the psychic vibrations must have been beyond your comprehension. That happens with aliens who lack the secret eighth sense my people have. You probably just hallucinated me pacing around and talking to myself."

Zhoybok was astonished. "As a matter of fact, I did!"

"To tell you the truth, a lot of my kind frown on this sort of thing. They think it's perverse to have this level of intimacy with life forms who can't experience it properly. But for me, I think that's part of the thrill. It's so... savage, don't you think?"

Zhoybok wasn't sure what to say, but he wasn't interested in disputing the words of a priestess, so he accepted her compliments and excused himself. Once he was gone, Treekul shook her head and lay down on the bed. Lying was tiring work, even to someone as gullible as Zhoybok.

"I really need to get more comfortable about talking to myself," she said.

*******

[20 July, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

There were only four people aboard Luffa's star-yacht, which now criss-crossed the worlds of the Federation in a frantic effort to keep pace with the Jindan Cult's attacks. The Federation defenses were spread thin, and if any invading ship managed to land on a planet, there were few who could stand up to the alchemically-empowered Saiyans inside. Luffa was getting better at fighting them, but their numbers were beginning to take a toll on her body. Dr. Topsas, her personal physician, had found ways to heal her in time for the next battle, while the clairvoyant Dotz had proven handy at predicting attacks before they happened, so Luffa could plan her travel. The fourth passenger on board, Zatte, was Luffa's wife, and she was beginning to wonder if she served any useful purpose here at all.

"That's ridiculous," Wampaaan'riix said when she shared her frustrations with him over the subspace radio. The Yetitan looked as enormous as ever, despite the desktop monitor scaling down his nine-foot-tall frame. "You practically operate the entire ship by yourself."

"So did Keda," Zatte said. She was rubbing the muscles in her arms and legs while she spoke to him. "And she did it better than I ever could."

"And you find no honor in succeeding a fallen comrade?" Wampaan'riix asked.

"It's not enough," Zatte said. "Keda didn't recognize Luffa as a xan-nil'Dor. For her, Luffa was a friend, and sort of a business partner, I guess you could say. For me, she's my wife, and an instrument of Providence. I have to do better. Especially now."

It was almost impossible to read his expressions through the coat of long white hair that covered most of his face, but the way Wampaaan'riix narrowed his eyes was unmistakable. "You're not thinking of going with her into the field?" he asked warily.

"I already have," Zatte said. "At first it seemed to be just what I wanted. I'd set up somewhere safe and shoot down cultists to keep them off Luffa's back. Trouble is, she took it as a challenge. Lately, she's been making it her business to take out the enemy before I can get a shot off. And that's romantic and all, but--"

"You two are insane," Wampaaan'riix grumbled.

"Look, I have to be there for her," Zatte said. She had moved on to stretching her hamstrings. "She's fighting a war against her own kind. Even the Saiyans on our side don't fully trust her. She doesn't let it show, but I know how much it eats at her. I can't imagine what it would be like to fight other Dorluns."

"I agree, she needs your support," Wampaaan'riix said. "But if you keep pushing yourself you may not be there when she needs it the most. This Dotz woman. She can predict the enemy attacks, can't she? Why not ask her for help? If she can tell Luffa where to go and when, then she can do the same for you, right?"

"That's the problem," Zatte said. "Dotz can't see Luffa's fate, only the planets and battles that lie ahead. We only know Luffa will get involved when Luffa decides to intervene."

"Strange, but even if that's true, why not see what Dotz can read about your own future?" Wampaaan'riix suggested. "I'm surprised you haven't already. You're a survivalist after all."

"I... I can't," Zatte said. She rose from the foam mat on the deck of her cabin and approached the desk.

"Well why not?" Wampaaan'riix asked. "It can't be a moral objection. You seem to have no problem with any of Dotz' other readings."

"Look, I... I have to go. I'll call you back, okay?"

"Just promise me you'll do it in the daytime," Wampaaan'riix groaned. "I know you've been in space a long time, but my den is on a different day-night cycle than--"

She hastily switched off the monitor, and a second later Luffa entered the cabin.

"I set the slow cooker for three hours," Luffa said as she rubbed her hands together. "How long before we get to Dodjem?"

"Tomorrow morning," Zatte said. They met in the center of the cabin and embraced.

"Dotz thinks there'll be ten Jindan Saiyans there," Luffa said with a smile. "Should be interesting."

"I'm going with you," Zatte insisted.

"Oh, I can handle ten," Luffa assured her.

"Then I'll watch you through my scope," Zatte said. "Or I'll shoot a few down for you, but either way, I'm coming along."

"Heh. Okay. You worry too much, you know that?"

"Someone has to," Zatte said. "Dotz still can't see your future, you know."

"Well, her other predictions are getting better," Luffa said. "On Shoust IV, she managed to get an accurate count on the enemy. She even located them to within a one mile radius. I think her powers are really coming along."

"Yeah, but she can't see your future."

"Does that still bother you?" Luffa asked.

Zatte tightened her grip on Luffa's torso and swung her onto the nearby bed. A moment later, she was had climbed on top of Luffa, planting her hands on her shoulders.

"No, it doesn't," Zatte said. "Not anymore."

"I'm not sure how to respond to that," Luffa said with a grin.

"I thought about it," Zatte said after giving her a long kiss. "I prayed about it too. Is it all right if I light some candles?"

"Uh, sure, knock yourself out," Luffa said.

Zatte rolled off of Luffa and went to a storage cabinet on the other side if her cabin. She removed four candles and laid them on the floor in a trapezoid formation surrounding the bed. After she lit each one, she got back in bed and knelt beside Luffa.

"Is the scent too much for you?" Zatte asked. "I know how sensitive your nose is."

"It's fine," Luffa said. "Smells kind of nice, really."

"It's not exactly sacred," Zatte said. The incense is just to keep insects away during religious observances. It makes me feel closer to Providence, though. So does this."

She placed her hand on Luffa's neck, and rested her thumb where she could take her pulse. The she took a deep breath and muttered something in her native language.

"Uh, what's going on here, exactly?" Luffa asked.

"I realized that I was letting Dotz' abilities cloud my faith in you," Zatte said. "I promised myself that I wouldn't ask her to read my future. I was worried that she might find out that I end up living without you somehow."

"I won't leave you, Zattie," Luffa said. "We've had our ups and downs, but you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"I have to trust that," Zatte said. "That's why I can't let Dotz's predictions bother me. She's getting better at them, but not when it comes to you. That scared me for a while, so I started meditating on it."

"Go on," Luffa said carefully.

"I came to realize that it makes sense that Dotz can't see your fate, because you're part of the Divine Plan. If she knew what you were going to do and when, then it would be like she was seeing into the mind of Providence."

"Or maybe I'm just so powerful that my ki interferes with her readings," Luffa suggested.

"Sure, that could be all it is," Zatte said. "But I like the version that supports my fanatic devotion to you."

She leaned over to kiss Luffa, still taking her pulse as they embraced. Luffa pulled away gently, and shook her head.

"You know how uncomfortable I get with this stuff," she said.

"I know," Zatte said. "But you keep getting hurt out there, and Dotz doesn't know what will happen next, so this is how I cope."

"I mean, you tell me I'm like God's righteous bludgeon or something, but the other night you... well, it was great, but maybe it was sacrilegious?"

Zatte straddled Luffa again, and held down her shoulders. "It's okay," she said. "Sex is a consecration ritual in my culture."

"Oh yeah?" Luffa asked.

"Dorluns value survival. People don't usually have sex while they're being chased by predators. They do it when they're safe and secure. And it can bring about new life."

"Huh. Maybe that's why my own people are so uptight about it," Luffa said. "In public, I mean. I've always had... ah!... mixed feelings about being safe."

"It's all in how you look at it. We're flying through a vacuum, faster than the speed of light, through a war zone, on a pleasure craft with no crew. And we're not exactly dressed for action right now. But if you're still bored, I'll... mmph!... I'll see if I can keep you amused for a while."

*******

[21 July, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

The battle on Dodjem went as smoothly as could be expected. Dotz' prophecies were mostly accurate, and Luffa was able to surprise the enemy before they noticed her ship. They fought back ferociously, and Luffa's right shoulder was scorched by a ki attack, but Dr. Topsas was confident that he could heal this in a matter of days. Dodjem was liberated in less than two hours, and Luffa proceeded on her way to the next battle Dotz had predicted, in the Ryllax System.

"Careful," Luffa said, guiding Zatte's hand away from her banadaged shoulder. She had set up the slow cooker once again, and the two of them had convened in Zatte's cabin.

"Does it hurt?" Zatte asked as she gingerly lifted Luffa's blood-stained shirt over her head and other arm.

"Sure it hurts, but that's not the point," Luffa said. "Doc'll really be sore if you mess up his bandanges."

"It's a wonder the whole ship isn't full of this stuff," Zatte said. She tossed the shirt at the laundry receptacle, but it hit the rim and fell out instead. "I mean, where does he put it all after he cuts it off of you?"

"He eats it," Luffa said.

"You're kidding."

"No, seriously. I've seen him do it. He makes all of these bandages from his own webbing. It takes a lot of protein to make that work, so he doesn't like to waste it."

"I had no idea," Zatte said. "You think you know a guy... whuh--!"

Luffa pulled her close with her good arm. "Forget about him for now. I wanted to talk about that shot you took back on Dodjem."

Zatte's expression shifted from genuine surprise to feigned innocence. "Oh, did that bother you, darling?"

"I thought one of those Jindan bastards found you," Luffa said. "I had one of them wide open, ready to kill, and I had to pass it up so I could chase the other one down before he found you."

"He had no idea where I was hiding," Zatte boasted.

"I know," Luffa said. "Even I couldn't find you. How am I supposed to watch your back if I don't even know where you are? You're taking a big risk out there, you know that, right?"

"That's the way," Zatte said. "Talk dirty to me."

"Oh, I'll do more than talk before I'm through with you," Luffa said with a grin. "I'll-- dammit..."

She rolled away from Zatte and drew her arms to her chest.

"Let me see," Zatte said.

"It's nothing," Luffa insisted. "Just give me a minute."

"Let me see," Zatte insisted back. Luffa made an irritated grunt, but didn't resist when Zatte took her hands in her own.

"I was starting to think your hands had stopped trembling," Zatte said as she massaged Luffa's palms. It didn't actually do anything to improve the situation, but it made them both feel better when she did this. "I haven't seen you stuff them in your pockets much lately."

"It's... it's not as bad as it used to be," Luffa said. "I haven't been able to spend a lot of time with Katem, but I think it still helps. Maybe it's all your prayers."

"He's kind of a hot mess," Zatte said.

"Just like his mom, huh?" Luffa chuckled.

"You're not a bad mother, Luffa. What happened wasn't your fault."

"I know," Luffa said. "It doesn't help much, but I know."

"You're still worked up about Fytpall, aren't you?" Zatte asked.

"I've seen worse in my time," Luffa said.

"Maybe, but you were pretty shaken up when you came back from that one," Zatte said. "You don't usually stick around and see what the civilians are going through."

"I'm just... I'm not strong enough, Zattie. I know that sounds stupid coming from me, but I know I could do better than this. If I was just a little better, I could..."

"You're good enough, okay? And maybe you can get stronger, but you can't just get there instantly. It's like you always tell me when we spar."

Luffa didn't say anything, but her heavy sigh was response enough. Zatte continued to rub her thumbs into the scars on Luffa's hands.

"You don't have to be tough for me," Zatte said. "It's okay. It's okay."

Soon enough, the tremors in Luffa's hands subsided, and they went back to what they were doing, although the mood had shifted from flirtation to comfort. Within thirty minutes, their clothes lay on the deck, and they were entangled in the sheets. Zatte occasionally said something in her own language, and kept her finger on Luffa's carotid artery as she muttered to herself. Eventually, she sat up and cradled Luffa's upper body in her lap.

*******

[24 July, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

"I was so busy favoring my shoulder that I left my knee wide open!" Luffa grumbled. The campaign on Ryllax had ended hours ago, but Luffa's clothes and hair still carried the scent of Ryllaxian pollens from the battlefield.

"Are you going to make it to Eirzee IV?" Zatte asked as she carried Luffa's pants to the laundry receptacle. She took in the strange aroma one last time before shoving the clothes into the hatch.

"Oh, sure," Luffa said. "Doc repaired the worst of it, and I'll have to play it more carefully, but now he's gonna kick me out of the kitchen!"

"You don't know that," Zatte said.

"I can practically hear him, Zattie," Luffa said. "'Saving planets is one thing, but I'll not have you undoing all my work making a casserole, little mammal.'"

"What, now you can see the future, too?" Zatte asked. She was setting up candles around the bed again.

"Heh, maybe. I guess Old Darbock's genes are finally kicking in," Luffa said. "But it looks like I only know how to predict cranky doctors, so Dotz's job is probably safe."

"Well, I hate to take sides, but we can get by on leftovers for a while," Zatte said. "You cook too much food anyway."

Luffa lay back in the bed and groaned. "Still? I keep cutting the portions down for you guys, and it's still too much? That's insane..."

"I'm going to do my litany now," Zatte said. "Any requests?"

"I, uh, I don't think so," Luffa said. "Well, bless Dotz again. And Doc, and the others. And yourself."

Zatte began speaking slowly and methodically, reciting lines from the Dorlun Holybook in her alien tongue. Luffa only knew bits and pieces of her language, but Zatte had been happy to translate for her whenever she asked.

Luffa felt strange whenever her wife did these kinds of observances. She had never been comfortable with being a "chosen one" in Zatte's theology-- or anyone else's, for that matter. And yet, watching this woman pray over her so fervently was somehow inspiring. Zatte had suffered so much in her life, and yet she refused to abandon her principles. It reminded her of Saiyan pride, though Luffa supposed that most beings would just call it stubbornness. Zatte was too zealous to give up hope.

"Thank you for letting me do this," Zatte said when she finished.

"No problem," Luffa said. "Your language is pretty."

She leaned over and fetched a bottle of oil from the edge of the bed. Carefully, she dispensed a small portion onto her fingers, then dabbed it on Luffa's throat and wrists, tracing along the path of major blood vessels.

"All done," Zatte said.

"You've been really ramping up the religious stuff lately," Luffa said. "The litanies, the candles, the oil. I don't really get it myself, but is it helping you?"

"I think so," Zatte said. "The Dorluns prefer not to waste resources on empty ceremony. Some types of xan-nil'Dor call for physical labor. Farming a plot of land, or defending an important place. You, though, well, you're damn near invincible, so you're pretty low-maintenance. I just need something to do. A routine to renew my devotion to your cause."

"Like a practice drill," Luffa said.

Zatte rose from the bed and started putting out the candles. "Yeah, I guess you could call it that. I may not be able to stop your hands from shaking, but at least I can show that I care. I think that's worth doing."

"Maybe," Luffa said. "It's not a big deal. They don't interfere with my fighting."

Zatte lay down beside her and took her hands in her own. "It just reminds me of what you've been through. I can't take away your pain, but I can try to empathize. You taught me how important that is."

"I taught you?"

"Sure. You're the most compassionate person I know."

*******

[27 July, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

Dr. Topsas did not order Luffa out of the kitchen, though after the battle on Gairess, he began to wish he had. He implored Luffa to wait before heading off into another battle, but the point was moot. Dotz had no new predictions, and so Luffa found herself with no choice but to wait. Once more, she spent the evening in her wife's cabin.

"I... I gotta admit," Zatte said as she tried to catch her breath. "Even with the broken ribs... you really--"

"Is this messed up?" Luffa suddenly asked.

"Is what messed up?"

Luffa pointed at herself and then at Zatte. "Us," she said. "I mean, you've got the candles set up, you say a prayer before we go to bed, and then we talk about almost getting killed to get in the mood."

"Don't forget the sparring," Zatte said.

"You know, I never sparred with Kandai," Luffa said. "He never wanted to, and I never questioned it. He was so much stronger than me that he didn't see the point. But the gap between you and me is even bigger, and I love sparring with you."

"We're aliens," Zatte said. "I'm cut off from my own people and you're unique among yours. There's nothing conventional about us."

"I know, but... Zattie, are you ever afraid?"

"Of course," Zatte said. "Fear keeps you alive."

"I mean, are your afraid right now?" Luffa asked.

"Here? With you?" Zatte asked. "No. Are you afraid?"

"Yeah," Luffa said.

"About the war? Your son?"

"I'm afraid I'm not good enough," Luffa said. I feel like I'm gonna screw this up. Like I have before."

She reached for Zatte's face, and gently removed the patch from her right eye, revealing the scar tissue and prosthetic implant underneath.

"If it's me you're worried about..." Zatte began, but Luffa put her finger on her lips to silence her.

"I know, you're prepared to burn for me, or suffer whatever it takes, right? I wish I had a tenth of your courage. I wish... well, I wish there was some other Super Saiyan handling this."

"Aren't you always saying you're stronger than they were?" Zatte asked.

"Maybe I am, but I bet the old heroes never had to deal with the kind of baggage I've got."

"This is about your hands, isn't it?" Zatte asked. She took Luffa's palms into her own, and held them steady in case they began to tremble.

"It was four years ago," Luffa said. "I should have gotten over it by now. I should have gotten over Keda's death, I should have gotten over everything... The old heroes never had to deal with this sort of thing. They just fought and won. Nice and simple. I'm fighting, and I'm winning, but I keep dwelling on it all. Worrying about battles from the past, wondering how I'm going to do in the next ones."

"Maybe they had it just as bad," Zatte said. "Maybe the storytellers just left those parts out."

"Sometimes I wish things were different, you know? You told me before this is exactly how you wanted things to be, but I bet you'd like it better with Keda still alive. Or hell, the rest of the colony."

"But they're not alive, Luffa," Zatte said. "I have to accept that they're gone."

"I could have saved them all," Luffa said. "I had the power. I must have had it inside me all along. If only I had known how to use it then. When it would have mattered. If only I wasn't such a coward..."

"Don't say things like that!" Zatte said. "I know you use that kind of talk to get yourself fired up, but I don't want you believing that sort of thing. You're the bravest person I know."

"It's not enough," Luffa said. "That's what I worry about, anyway."

"And that's what the candles and the prayers are for," Zatte said. She lifted Luffa's hands slightly. "I don't just pray for the tremors to stop," she said. "I pray that the tremors won't interfere with your mission. I pray that you can accept what you are the way I do. You know why?"

Luffa didn't answer, so she lay down beside her and took her hand.

"Maybe you're right, and maybe another Super Saiyan could deal with this better than you could. You've told me that you think there might be another one like you, a thousand years from now. Well, I don't think the universe can wait that long. I think we need a Super Saiyan right now, and you're it."

"You're right," Luffa said. "It's just hard to see it that way from the inside. All these fights I've been having with these cultists, they start to run together after a while. It'd be different if they were stronger, or if I could come at them healthy. But they keep chipping away at me, and there doesn't seem to be any end to it..."

"We've got some time, at least," Zatte said. "Dotz hasn't seen anything new coming up, right? Remember how you used to fly over the coastlines on Luffasworld?"

"Yeah," Luffa said, "but that's way out in the galactic core. By the time we got there--"

Zatte put a finger on her lips. "I know that, but Woshad's not far away. We could take a few days to look around there."

Luffa seemed pleased by the suggestion, but before she could speak, a chirping noise sounded from the cabin's intercom, and both women looked up to see the light blinking on the panel on the wall.

"Um, this is Dotz," came the voice through the speaker. "Well, um, the service robot told me I could talk to the whole ship this way, and I thought it might be faster than trying to find everyone. Despye's been attacked. Or, well, it will be in about twenty hours. It looks pretty bad to me. I saw about twenty Saiyans, and one of those rock creatures they use."

"Oh no..." Zatte said.

"I, uh, set a course for Despye," Dotz continued, "and we should be heading there now, but I thought one of you should check to make sure I did it right. I'm still getting used to the helm controls..."

"We won't get there in twenty hours," Luffa grumbled. "Those bastards will have a head start, again. Even if the fleet can get there before us--"

"I know, I'll take care of it," Zatte said. She rolled out of the bed and went to find her clothes. "You need to get some sleep."

"Fine, but make sure you get some yourself," Luffa said. "I mean... you're going with me, right?"

"So I can watch you wipe them out before I can even line up a shot?" Zatte asked. "Sure, if you want me to."

"Actually," Luffa said as she patted her swollen knee, "I was thinking I might lure a few in for you to shoot. Make things a little easier. For Doc, you know?"

Zatte grinned as she pulled her shirt over her head, and most of that smile was still there when she turned to look back at Luffa. "For Dr. Topsas," she said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Makes sense. He's been working pretty hard lately."

"Just don't stay up all night cleaning your guns, okay?" Luffa muttered.

Zatte pulled on a pair of shorts and headed for the door. "Anything you say," she chuckled as she headed out into the corridor.

NEXT: Rats in mazes.

[opinuun]

Do you guys remember when this was a studio Ghibli blog and I’d post gifs? 2017 was a good year lol. Anyway. As a child, I never knew I’d thirst for a 2-D otome man, but sadly I’ve stopped. Yes, after two years of obsession, it’s time I retire from the fandom. I’m keeping the blog though. Ran this shit for years, ain’t gonna give up now that my horny-meter has plummeted to an all time record low. Did you guys know blogs don’t have a character limit??

Oh god. I didn’t know this blog would suddenly receive so much attention. Please, I am begging you to not scroll down. It’s endless MysticMessenger posts from two years ago.

Hey, I'm once again: back, you can't possibly have more time than I do. I mean, after all, I made this blog. You're only browsing it. And most people don't even come here. Not even my friends...*sniffle* The just ignore this poor, pathetic little page. All they do is fill out the TAB form and leave. I think. Maybe they're here right now! HI! HOW ARE YOU DOING? I'M FINE! THANKS FOR COMING! YES, I'M YELLING! Who am I kidding. This page won't get a single hit, unless I bribe people...now that has possibilities. Okay, fill out the TAB form, so I have proof that you bothered to come here and...uh...I'll...uh...send you a sandwich? Please allow 6-8 weeks for delivery. I'm bored. I'm gonna go hug a moose. MOOSE! I love-d you moose! Hey, I'm back again! Yea...*waits for applause* okay! Now I want all you loyal fans...*cricket chirps* to go to the link to see what I'm like. I took a whole bunch of personality quizzes and posted them there. I'm an evil villain, kitty and a freakazoid so far. And I only took the quiz once, too. Spooky how accurate they are...anyway, I command you to go! I'm going. I'm back. I'm gonna start counting how many times I say back. Let's see: 1...2...3...4...5! Wow. I must really be desperate for something to do. I now officially have proof that someone has been here! It was one of my friends. Apparently this page really is getting long, because my friend said something to that effect. Maybe. Anyway, moving on! I'm just basically typing nothing. Just like all those reports people have to do. You know? With a specific number of words. They start out with half that number, and then just fill in words until they have the right amount. I salute those people. You're great tradition is being carried out here, on the second most pointless site ever! Well. Maybe eventually some weird, bored person will wander onto my site on accident and be mildly entertained be my site until they wander onto a live video feed of a coffee maker. Or maybe not. I only know that I'm entertaining me, which was my original goal. So. I've done what I've set out to accomplish. Yea, me! I'm so special. You see, most people, they don't like reading or writing. So if you're not most people, you've made it down this far without skipping, skimming or getting the spark notes version. (Which I think does not exist) My point is, if you've bothered to read this, then, (like me) you probley have also read the ketchup bottle so many times that you have it down verbatim. Look verbatim up. It's a word. But, you should know that, since you like reading. Or maybe you're just skimming. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with reading food labels. You might be asked a question about them on a quiz show. And now, for the million-dollar question: How many calories are there in a single serving of Mustard? I can just see it now...It could be called Know-Your-Food. Or You are What you Eat. It'd probley be as popular as those game shows that no one's ever heard of. Speaking of food, what's up with pie? There's strawberry pie, apple, pumpkin and so many others, but there is no grape pie! I know. I'm just as upset about this unfortunate lack of development in the pie division. Think about it. Grapes are used to make jelly, jam, juice and raisins. What makes them undesirable for pie? Would they dry into raisins? Couldn't you just stick some jelly in a piecrust and bake it? It just doesn't make any sense. Another thing that bothers me is organ grinders. You know, the foreign guys with the bellhop hats and the little music thingy and the cute little monkey with the bellhop hat who collects the money? Okay. They're basically begging on the street. How did they ever afford an organ-thingy? Wouldn't it make more sense to get a kazoo, if you're broke? And if they're so poor, what possessed them to buy a monkey? I mean, I don't think I could afford a monkey, and I'm not exactly on the streets. Obviously I at least have a computer...so, back to the organ grinders. I would have sold the monkey and the organ and been able to eat for at least a year. Or, if I was weirder than I am, I could at least kill the monkey with the organ and eat it. Why on earth did they keep the monkey? It must have cost a fortune to feed...not to mention the mess. That's just one of those many facts of life that are better left mysteries. Especially since no one but me would ask the question. I better go. I think I hear a monkey...Okay...now I'm back. That's the sixth time I've said back! I realize that this longest text ever must be very boring and not worth anyone's time. But I'd like to take this time to thank the 2 and 1/2 people in the entire universe who have bothered to read this entire thing. I'm not exactly sure who they are, but: thanks! Right now, my spacebar is malfunctioning...that's not good...I have to press it two or three times just to insert a freaking space. Maybe the evil little faeries with the sharp little teeth have put their evil faerie dust on my computer. Or maybe not. This is too frustrating. Goodbye for now...Now I'm back. And still frustrated. But for a different reason. Today I had the misfortune of playing a Treasure Planet game on neopets.com It was terrible. Apparently the point of the game was to get your character to shout "Whoo-Hoo!" as many times as possible before you splattered your brains on the rocks, all the while listening to a soundtrack that is similar to a dying ceiling fan. Of course, when I started out I accidentally hit the rocks approximately three million times. Halfway though I used my four remaining brain-cells to decide that the game was dumb. So my goal changed from surviving to laughing evilly while my character died. So the game naturally did everything it could to preserve my life. The stupid game is still going on and I refuse to quit because I want my points. My character is actually dodging the stupid rocks better now then when I controlled him. I hate irony. Seeya. Okay. Now I'm back again. Today I added an update page, which is basically a less chaotic, outlined version of this without all the ranting. It's more like techno talk about arrays and how much I suck and whether or not the Braves will win this year. Okay, the whole braves thing is made up. But everything else I've said so far is true. I think. Maybe I should start on a boring disclaimer...Eh-hem. All contents of this site were designed for entertainment purposes only. Any use thereof that is not stated in the above mentioned statement would make the author, hereby referred to as Patron Saint of Paper Clips, very angry. Should you violate the purpose of this site: i.e. become not entertained, the Patron Saint of Paper Clips will be forced to take drastic measures. This is specified in Code: 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook. Ooooo…that’s a great idea! I’m gonna start quoting from the Flaming Chicken Handbook! Code: 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook states that the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (that’s me) is allowed to cause vague, pain like sensations while the offending person (or alien life form, dog, etc.) isn’t paying attention. Now I have a purpose in life! To make up quotes from the non-existent Flaming Chicken Handbook, which I’m sure you have a copy of. No? Too bad. It’s in the mail, I promise! Now I must take my leave…and remember. Cheese is watching. Okay...I'm back...I think that eventually half of this thing will consist of the word back over and over again...that's just weird. Which fits the motif of the rest of the site. There's even a money back guarantee. Isn’t' that nice? See? Now no one can ever say that I don't take care of my viewers. Especially since I don't have viewers. I have readers. Wait...I really don't even know if anyone bothers to read this. Even if I put it in a less chaotic, more user-friendly format people would still ignore this because it involves: reading. Yes. Sad to admit, but the majority of people would rather read the summary at the back of a book rather than the whole book itself. What has the world come to? It's pathetic. Especially since I'm bothering to write all this. It's not fair! Why can't I have more readers?! All the other internet writers have nothing on me, except they're better at advertising, having a central theme/plot and basically more talented. Whereas I'm more into the whole ranting and raving stage right now. Plus, I am horrible at spelling. Which is bad. Thank the powers that be for spell-check. The single greatest invention of the computer gods. I'm getting bored, so I think I'm done for the day. May your day be shiney! I'm back again! And I feel weird! I found at that yet another one of my friends is reading this. Creepy. Just how much time do they have on their hands. Perhaps their just trying to be nice. I can just see it now...an organization devoted not to feeding the hungry, or peace, or love or whatever, but to giving recognition to all those poor, pathetic, unpopular websites. I wonder what it's name would be. Don't Ignore Sites? Would it be called DIS? Isn't that like a slang term for an insult? Would that be considered poetic justice, or just a nice coincidence? And why do I even care? I'll tell you why. Because I have nothing else to do right now. I could be playing neopets, but ever since my bad experience with Treasure Planet, I don't feel like it. Oh, by the way, I noticed that whenever I use spell-check, my stupid computer turns the word probley into to word problem. To prevent this, I did nothing. So, it is now up to you, the imaginary reader, to decide whether I mean probley or problem...it's almost like a game! But without the bad sound track. And I promise not to force you to live when you would rather die. Moving on, I have nothing else to say, but don't feel like quitting just yet. I'm like the little engine that could. Or maybe the Energizer Bunny. I just keep going, and going and going. Or I could be like that annoying guy on T.V. who keeps asking if you can hear him. If my site manages to last a decade, my readers *snicker* will probley wonder what I'm talking about. My answer is simple. It doesn't matter. I'm just rambling. Which means that it doesn't matter if you understand anything I say. Doesn't that make you feel better? I bet it does. Wow. Look how long this has gotten. I even impress myself. Who would have thought I have this much free time? And I congratulate any reader who has gotten this far. Ooooooo! You must check out the fortunes section of the random stuff page! I've just gotten an idea for some more, original, fortunes...I gotta go!(may the moose be with you) And now I am back. I swear. If iI fill out the fake tab form I'm gonna have to put back as my favorite word...I already have filled it out, though. Would it be cheating to fill it out again? Only if I had multiple personalities. Or would it be cheating if I didn't have multiple personalities? The world may never know. Just like how many licks it takes to get to the bottom of a tootsie pop. Would it vary? The number of licks, I mean. Someone could have super-disolving spit, or watery-spit. Or what if you took big ol' slobbery licks? Does the commercial take that into account? No. It doesn't. And let me tell you, it's an outrage. It deludes all of American's sweet, innocent, candy-loving children into thinking that a cartoon owl is smarter than they are! "Mr. Owl, can you tell us how many licks does it take to get to the bottom of a tootsie pop?" Or whatever. And "Mr. Owl" replies "One...Twoo...Three! Chomp" And he bites it. That teaches our youth that it's okay to agree to help someone, and then ruin their experiment. Well...it's not. I am going to start a protest group. Teens Against Cartoon Owls. We could call ourselves TACO! I love the little tacos, I love them good! That is a direct quote from GIR, co-star and comic-relief on INVADER ZIM. Hmmmm...intersting. I put hyphens in both of his titles...it must be a conspiracy! I gotta go. Those TACO buttons don't make themselves, you know. I'm back again. And not so cheesed off about the whole tootsie roll pop thing. Right now, I have another twenty minutes on the Internet before I'm gonna watch T.V. And I can't think of anything else to do. So, predictably, here I am. It's not like I have anything better to do. Obviously, you know this. After all, look how long this text is. I wonder if I've made the world record? If I did, would I stop this? Why bother asking? I'll will most likely still be adding to this on my death bed. Hmmmmm...has any old, senile person ever written anything? Was it coherent? Did it make more sense that this text? Is it possible to make less sense? Am I enjoying asking retorical questions? Yes. Yes, I am. But I seriously wonder what something written by a senile person would be like. I've heard of poems and stuff written by people who were high, insane or paranoid. But never senile. Can a senile person write? Aren't they regressed to a child-like state? Does it even matter? Is anyone even reading this? Did I resume asking retorical questions? Do you care? Is this eating up time? I feel like I'm playing questions only on whose line is it anway. I probley should have capitalized something, or underlined but I'm feeling lazy...hey, you try to keep your two and a half readers happy! It's really stressfull. Someday, I'm gonna snap and just delete this entire thing. Gee, I hope not! I worked sorta hard on this. It's great for making random topics weave together to form an overall infrastructure of chaos. That made little sense. That's why it's here, and not some critically acclaimed site. Ooooooooooooo! I'm gonna quote from the FLAMING CHICKENS HANDBOOK again! Yep! I bet you were just breathless in anticipation. Okay. Here goes. Code: 472 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that this site in no way aknowledges the existance of other, better sites (hereon reffered to as the Losers) The Losers are a myth. The Patron Saint of Paper Clips (me again!) claims no knowledge as to where that particullary nasty rumor started, but confirms that this is the best site ever. It would be a sin against humanity for a better site to exist. Should you refuse to aknowledge the Patron Saint of Paper Clips as the ruler of the Internet, you will be subjected to punishment as stated in Code 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook (i.e. Experience vague, pain-like sensations when you're not paying attention) This has been a public service announcement. This is a test, I repeat only a test. Had this been an actual emergency, we would have bought up all the can openers and charged 3 cows and a pig for each one. I repeat, lock all you doors and windows, this is it. I repeat, there is nothing to worry about. Everything is fine. The end is not here. I'm going, you're on you're own! Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm back!*smiles brightly* And apparantly delusional! Anyway, I just finished rereading my longest text ever. And I became inspired to talk about nothing. You see, I periodically read the longest text ever to check the constant downward spiral of my sanity. Hmmm...I seem to be entertaining myself though, even while reading what I wrote. Which is why I still go to the Really Really Big Button That Doesn't Do Anything website. Because I am easily amused and have lots and lots of time on my hands. Maybe, some day far in the future (like next Thursday) I'll print a copy of this insane text. And then go door to door distributing it. Eventually, this would become a monthly tradition. Whole families would gather around their front door, in breathless anticipation while they attempted to barracade me out. I can just see the whole community rising to thwart my attempts to spread love, joy and insane chaos. I probley wouldn't actually print this out (think how much paper it would take!) but if I do, only friends and enemies will receive copies. Hmmmm...maybe my condition is worsening. Or not. I'm still peeved about the cartoon owl from the Tootsie Roll Pop commercials. He is pure evil. TACO will eventually destroy him. Unless he has already been destroyed by an even more radical Anti-Cartoon-Owl group. I hope not. Or, would that be good? I suppose I could let someone else have the glory. After all, I'm not in this line of buisness for the fame, fortune and power. What line of buisness, do you ask? Why, the assasinating annoying cartoon characters buisness. (Actually I just question them untill they spontaneously combust, I ask lots of questions) So, in conclusion, ladies and gentleman of the jury(that's you) I could not have possibly tortured "Mr. Owl" to death. I love owls. Hmm...I seem to be jumping from one subject to another more frequently. Either I am growing more comfortable with my on-line writing, or I am progressivly getting more insane and chaotic. I also am psyco-analyzing myself a lot today...hmmmm...I'm even saying "hmmmmm..." a lot. Just like a real psychologist. Hmmmmmmm. Time for another boring disclaimer!!!!!!! Code: 742 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that in no part does the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (That's still me!) actually claim to be mentally ill. That's either a) a publicity stunt b) An attempt at humor c) a cry for help or d) none of the above You can e-mail your responses by conducting a scavenger hunt of this site. Some of the pages of this site contain a link encouging the two and a half people to e-mail the Patron Saint of Paper Clips. There may also be evil little links that are designed to confuse you. These links send stuff to someone named johnjones66@hotmail.com Saint of Paper Clips does not know who this individual is, but sincerly wishes that you send all your hate mail to him. Not that the aformentioned individual claims to have received hate mail (or mail of any kind) via a website link. Thank-you for your time. Remember to send your answers to my sanity quiz to the e-mail account, bigppmegashlong@gmail.com Oh, and once I refer to myself in the first person again, the handbook quote is over. I just thought that I might like to mention that. Oh. You're still here. I figured you rush right on over to e-mail me. Perhaps you don't have time to waste e-mailing me. HA! HA! HA! That's funny!!!! If you you don't have time to waste, what are you doing here?!!! Oh, who am I kidding. I figure that even the people I manage to lure onto my site from neopets don't even bother to come to this particular page. Maybe I should make the link come here directly...Hey! What a good idea! That way I can spread my love, joy and insane chaos to more people! I'm a genius. Gotta go, must lure innocent victems to the second most pointless site ever!!!! I'm back. And really angry, and confused. I've always known that I was weird, that's always been a given. But now I realize that I am considerably more normal than the rest of my family. Today we had a "family outing." Now, most families will go bowling, or putt-putt golfing. They may go to a resteraunt with an arcarde, or the movies or to a theme park. Not my family! No, we got the greatest family outing of all. We got to go to a bar and play pool!!!!!*waits for readers to become insanely jealous* Yep, that's right, a bar with a pool table! Not only did we get world class cuisine (under-cooked hotdogs and over-cooked hamburgers), my little sister (age 10) got taught pool by someone I strongly supect is an ex-convict! Naturally when it was announced that we'd be eating dinner in this place, I could hardly contain my excitment(I glared at my mother and asked why we couldn't go to Pizza Hut) When we arrived, we were promptly served (after thirty minutes) In the meantime, we played a family game of pool(my parents played while my brother and sister and I watched) After two rousing rounds, our food came. The food was superb, (our food came the exact opposite of how we ordered it, and half of the onion rings were missing) Then we joyfully returned to our game(my sister and the ex-con played my mom) We spent hours there (from 5p.m.-7:15p.m.) There were many people that were the same age as me and my siblings (no one in the room but us were under 30) Us kids had to be dragged kicking and screaming from the bar ( I almost fell asleep during the last game I watched) As we left, there was a feeling of goodwill and fellowship between all(my sister locked me out of the car and wouldn't let me in untill I started yelling profanity in her general direction) The high point of the entire night was when my mother gave me $21 for my report card. She promptly borrowed $1 to help with the waitresses tip(This part I'm not being sarcastic about) All in all it was a night I'll remember forever (as the lowest point in "family outing"history, except for that time my mom dragged me to a church thing on the concept of truth.) My brother(age 13) even decided upon a new job he wants when he's old enough to work, a busboy at the bar. We had to tell him that he would probley have to wait untill he was 21.(Absolutly nothing about that statement was sarcastic) As you can see, I love my families outings(Not unless you're blind...or stupid) &#!#%&&!!!(*%$ WHAT THE %$#@ WAS MY MOTHER $#$#%$# THINKING!!!!!!!???? BRINGING $#$$# KIDS IN A BAR!? I know it was her idea, 'cause my dad hates it, too. My mom and my stupid little 10-year old sister loves it, though. *sighs* Why does my life have to be so weird? I'm leaving...now I'm back! And not so pissed at my weird family. Now is the time to mourn the loss of one of my most loyal readers (I think she's read the entire thing one time, which is more than anyone else has done so far) She has been banned from accesing any portion of the Internet, do to reasons that must remain confidental due to security reasons. If I told you, I'd have to kill you and all that stuff. So...now I am down to one and a half readers. Untill such time that I have more. I wonder why anyone would read this? You would have to have several characteristics that I possess. First of all, you'd have to have an extrodinary amount of free time. Second of all, you would have to have the patience to read through all of this. And lastly, you'd have to know where the heck this site is. I admit it. I haven't exactly advertised this site. Nor can I find it on any search engines. Some of my pages have stuff written in to make search engines recognize me, but it doesn't seem to be working. What must I do to rise above obscurity? I tell people I know about this site, but they either ignore this page, or don't even bother coming to the site in the first place. I suppose that is the bane of all authors. To pour your heart and soul into a passage, and have everyone ignore it. *sniffle* Why must this be? Maybe I should just give up. After all, no one would really care if I quit updating this site. But I can't help but think of stuff like the evil over lord list and REALLY REALLY BIG BUTTON THAT DOESN'T DO ANYTHING. They are not great neccesarily because of the content, (although that helps some) they are great because of their sheer length. You can read a little each day. And almost never finish. Also, I guess I still am trying to get the world record. I have heard some feedback suggesting that I make someway for people to remember where they stopped reading. It can be very confusing, especially if you weren't paying attention in the first place. Well, I dont want to organize this page, in any manner. This is chaos. And insanity. Not neat little text in classifiable rows, in alphabetical order. If you want neat, go to some other site(though, as mentioned in Flaming Chickens Code:472 there is no such thing as a site better than this one). Otherwise, I guess you're stuck with me. Awwwww...I'm touched! You didn't run screaming to another site, thankfull for the chance to escape this insanity. You're still here, which must mean that you'd rather be here than anywhere else! Hey, where are you going?! I thought you were gonna stay here and keep me company?! *drags reader back* See, I knew you'd stay! *gagged reader glares* What's that? I know this is the best site ever, thanks for the compliment! *reader starts inching towards freedom* I better go...I think that I may have a problem brewing. I'm back. And very concerned about this new, younger generation (all 10 year olds who were born in 1992) They are supposed to be the future. Instead they appear to be a nuclear armagedon in the form of a fifth grader. I chanced to have an interview with an informant from this evil generation (my little sister) who will be called Mrs. X for security reasons (no, she's not married, the "Mrs" makes it good as a disguise) I was quizing Mrs. X on Civil War History for an upcoming test in her classroom (whose location can not be devulged) Mrs. X seemed fluent in the subject. Using prior knowledge, I deduced that Mrs. X was full of crap. Out of sheer curiosity, I asked Mrs. X who participated in the Civil War. She immediatly replied "Clara Barton". I clarified, which countries fought in the Civil War. She answered: England, Russia, and (out of sheer desperation) Iraq. I believe that she was just listing countries she knows America has fought against. Now, correct me if I'm wrong...but Iraq? I don't know if Iraq even existed in the Civil War Era! Why on earth would we go have way across the world to fight them when we didn't even really need oil?!! Moving on, I finaly managed to coax my sister (I'm tired of writing Mrs. X) to tentativly guess that America fought in the Civil War. I mean, who'd a thought? America? Fighting in the American Civil War? In a moment of inspiration, I asked her who America fought. Her first guess was enslaved africans. Well, at least she knows that slaves were involved in the war. Before she could start listing all of America's enemies, I gave her a hint. I said "The Union fought..." With a crack, snaple and pop, some random synapses in her brain connected in the right order and she said "CONFEDERACY!!!" I was very proud of her, just as you would be proud of a two-year-old who has just announced: "I WENT POO-POO ON THE POTTY!!!!!" What I mean is, you wouldn't be very proud if the average person said that they just took a dookey on the toilet, and you wouldn't be very proud if they knew who fought against the Union in the Civil War. I confirmed that the Union was Northern and Free, and that the Confederacy was Southern and Slave. We resumed quizzing and she got every question on the worksheet correct. This is because she memorizes the questions. That way, she can pass the test without actually learning anything. You see, if you memorize stuff, you only have to remember that the answer to number 6 is Clara Barton for a week, rather than having to remember that Clara Barton started the Red Cross for the rest of you life. I sincerely appologize if anyone is offended by my view of memorization. I also would like such persons to immediatly leave my site. You don't belong here. You see...knowledge is good. If my sister...uh...Mrs. X were ever asked a question on the Civil War on a quiz show, she'd come up with nothing. With knowledge you can win money and the opportunity to look like a dork on national television. My sister is a big believer in the memorization system. I previous time when I was studying with her (American Revolution, this time) I was trying to help her remember the difference between the Patriots(Patriotic to America) and the Loyalists (Loyal to Britain) She didn't know what the word patriotic meant. I tried to explain. I asked her how you dress on the forth of july (she said nice) I asked what the colors red, white and blue were (pretty). I gave up in exasperation. More recently, I was trying to instill a sense of empathy and niceness in her. I asked her what the golden rule of christianity was. She didn't know. When I pressed her, she confessed she didn't know what chrisianity was. Completly defeated, I told her that it was the religion she practiced every Sunday when she went with her friends to church. This confirmed my suspicion that she only went so that she could have the use of the church's playground equipment. My family also strongly suspects that she stole $20 from the donation thingy. Anyway, that's my rant on the new generation that contains my little sister. When someone of her generation runs for president, I'm gonna do a complete background check. If they're anything like my sister, I'm movin' to Canada. Gotta go...the Russian-Brittish-Iraqi-enslaved-Africans are coming to defeat the Mexicans. I'm back! *there's that darn cricket again* And I have a genuine question to ask all of my loyal readers *cough-cough* Okay, here it is: Is it normal for a non-gender specific sibling to carry around various dead reptiles (snakes, turtles, lizards etc.) Furthormore, is it considered accepted behavior to talk to these dead reptiles, in a cooey, baby talky kind of voice? Finnaly, is it expected for said sibling's non-gender specific parent to encourage such behavior, citing "I was just like that as a child" as an excuse? It's an honest question as I fear that my non-gender specific sibling is weird. Who am I kidding? My entire family is weird. It's just a matter of degree. Hey, by the way. I'm sorry that my last few entries have been only about my various family antics. Although I can't see why you care, because there is a large probability that you do not exist, because I don't think anyone is reading this anymore. How discouraging. People need to make the time to waste time. It's a time honored tradition. Who'd thought that I could use time that many times in only a few sentences? It's been pretty quiet here lately, which is why I haven't added anything to this text in awhile. I know, you were just crushed that nothing new was happening. It's a sad, cold, cruel world out there and you had nothing to relieve the monotony of it. *sniffle* I feel so sorry for you! Next thing you know, you're internet connection will die. Well, too bad! Do you know I never even had a computer untill just a few months ago (that's why I'm obsessivly writing here) So I won't pity you if you're computer dies for unexpected reasons. Time for another quote from the FLAMING CHICKEN HANDBOOK!!! Code: 843 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook states that in no way is the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (guess who?) responsible for any faulty wiring or lack thereof in your computer. The Patron Saint of Paper Clips in no way wishes harm on your computer. Any derogatory statement is simply an opinion of an individual, not of the flaming order of the flaming chickens. Said order will in no way be held responsible for any damages, injuries, loss of life, limb, head, or organs. Okay, quote is done. Maybe I should put quotation marks around them...nah, too much work. But I probably will eventually get around to having a seperate page just for the FLAMING CHICKEN HANDBOOK. That way all the members (what members) can print out a copy of it for themselves (if they didn't get that copy in the mail) I guess I'm done for the day...I know. You want me to stay. It's okay. Because eventually, I'll be back! Seeya! I'm back. And once again suprised. When I was at a TAB poetry thingy (TAB is good TAB is great We love TAB) I met some new people. One of these people (who shall remain nameless untill such time that I have explicit permission to use her name) turned out to be almost as weird as me. As in...she read the ENTIRE Longest Text Ever. The whole thing. So far two whole people (to my knowledge) have read the entire thing, and a few people have skimmed it. That means I really can justify claiming to have two and a half readers! I'm so happy! That means my pointless obsession has actually entertained someone besides me! Perhaps, one day, far in the future, this will actually be a world record and random people will acutally voluntarily read this text every day. Or maybe not. The point is that it is nice to have readers. Or maybe it's not...I mean...won't the quality *snicker* of my work deteriorate if I am no longer writing for the target audience of me? If that happens, then no one will read this. And then I'll be writing for me again. And then the quality will rise. And then people will start reading. And then the quality will go down and the vicious spiral of good and bad will continue untill I either give up this text, or go crazy...er. In any case...I should probably find a topic. Yeah...a topic would be good. Or...I could just continue to write about finding a topic. Ooooo! I know a topic! Ice cream trucks! This has been bothering me for a while. You see...when it's hot, you want something cold to eat. Conviently, ice cream trucks come around during the hottest part of the year (it must be a conspiracy). As you may or may not know, small children swarm the ice cream trucks. The vendors even play whimsical music which I strongly suspect contains subliminal messages to make you hungry for ice cream. The vendors get oodles of cash, and the kids get ice cream. Now, in today's society of buying groceries on-line and getting them delivered, why hasn't any other food industry marketed this ingenius idea to bring the product to the consumer. I can just see Hot Dog, and Pizza trucks roaming the neighbor hoods, selling treats to hungry children...and adults. Of course, said adults would have to peel their butt-cheeks off the couch...but they'd have to do that for the delivary man anyway. The food trucks could even play music that made you hungry for their food. Then the problem with obesity in America would be blamed on evil food truck drivers as opposed to the harmless, benificient television and computer. We could all breath a sigh of relief as parents kept their children inside, away from the evil truck drivers and near the T.V. Gone would be the days when parents told children to play outside, it's a nice day. Parents would buy their children computers, video games and other television neccesities. This, of course would expand the market for such products. This would lead to a better, more stable economy. Food industires would be buying cars, gas and music. Parents would increase the purchase of entertainment items. In return companies would make a profit, pay their workers better. The workers would then be able to afford more entertainment items and the upward spiral would continue, as opposed to the evil downward spiral of my writing. In conclusion, Ladies and Gentlemen...if you implement my idea, there will be peace and prosperity for all. As long as you don't mind a few more couch potatoes. Gotta go...I think I hear a catchy jingle. I'm back...it's been awhile since I've written here. A lot has happened. Like my EVIL school computer deleting my updates page. But it's all good. Especially since I just saw The Matrix: Reloaded. The following text may spoil the movie for you, so WARNING: do no read this unless you have already seen the movie. Okay. What I liked best was the philosophy on choices. (the mindless fight scenes were really cool, too). It's like this. In the beginning of the movie, Neo is having dreams about Trinity's death. Later, The Oracle tells him that he has already decided her fate. Towards the end of the movie, Neo chooses to tell Trinity to stay out of the Matrix, since he saw her die in it. She agrees, but only after seeing how important it is to him. After a horrific chain of events (is it coincidence, or fate) the people who will deactivate the secondary power source of the building Neo is infiltrating, die. So...the plan is going to fail. Unless someone does something, Neo, Morpheus and many others will die. Trinity, who is of course outside of the Matrix, knows this and chooses to enter the Matrix to save the day. The events of Neo's dream unfold. So...when the oracle said that the choice had already been made, she was completely correct. The moment Neo woke from dreams of Trinity's death, he made a choice. He would do everything in his power to keep his dream from becoming reality. So he kept her out of the Matrix, and she saw the problem, and entered the Matrix to fix it. If she had been in the Matrix, she would have likely been with Morpheus, never would have known about the plan's failure, would therefore not have been in the situation that resulted in her death. And the plan would have failed and Neo might have died, along with a large portion of the city (the building was set to blow if there was any intruders) So...Neo's choice to attempt to save Trinity triggered the sequence of events that led to her death. As Neo realizes all of this, through a nearly omniscient Architect of the Matrix, he makes another choice. This choice is simply an extension of his original choice: he will save Trinity at all costs. Neo is told that he has two choices. He can save mankind, and doom Trinity. Or he can try to save Trinity and doom mankind. No guarantee that he'll succeed in saving Trinity. He goes for Trinity, makes it just in time to catch her body, and starts her heart back up. In return for not taking the easy route, he gains a power in the more or less real world. He can deactivate the machines, (squidies) but at great personal cost. The movie ends with him in a coma. Now, you must realize that I have described only one aspect of this movie of all movies. There are not enough words in the English language to describe the sheer coolness of the fight choreography, special effects and the plot. I highly recommend you see the movie yourself. I'm sorry that today's rant isn't random, insane or completely chaotic, but I must right my experience with The Matrix before I forget. I am so buying this movie when it comes out on DVD. I love it! You have to admit its sheer coolness. I mean, come on! It's the sequel to the movie that revolutionized the standard by which we judge special effects. I better stop typing before I have a heart attack...just remember...The Matrix has you...I'm back. And throughly pissed off at my school system in general. You see...they feel that the only way to reward academic achievement...yada-yada-yada...is to force the smart kids to be ushers for Senior Honor Nite, and Graduation. Where is the logic in this? I for one, didn't know about such dire consequences for not deliberatly failing classes. It was bad enough that I was forced to "volunteer" my precious time (i could have worked on this site)...no...I was forced to wear formal attire. My school system is stuck in the past...and formal attire means...a dress...a white dress...(for those you who never bothered to find out...I am indeed female). So...for the first time in about 5 years...I wore a dress...and something that was complelty white. What cruel fate is this? To compound the EVIL situation...I was forced to wear feminine shoes. In other words...they hurt. And they pushed my toes together. Since I have a rather weird phobia of touching my own skin...this made my evening my own personall torture session. I think that such gender-specific torture should be deemed inhumane and abolished from our great society...of flaming chickens. Henceforth...Code: 666 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that under no circumstance will the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (guess who) be forced to wear anything other than a t-shirt and preferably black jeans. Should you violate this right, you will become destroyed or possibly dizzy. I'm leaving now...I have some destruction to do. i'm back. from graduation. we had to get there one hour and fifteen minutes early because there was traffic. After standing around a lot...the ceremony started. Lots of people spoke. by the time I had to do my part (tell people where to stand before getting their diploma) it was dark. there were bugs. they liked landing on me. then...i got to go stand while people said a lot of stuff. i couldn't hear it because someone had put the speakers facing the audience. we clapped. the whole time, even during the name-calling, seniors were playing with silly string and beachballs. afterwards...they turned off the lights. there were lots of fireworks. i wandered around for 20 minutes looking for a cell phone. i called home, and waited another hour for my ride...traffic to the school was one way. i felt sorry for my dad. i am tired...but cannot go to sleep. i'll copy and paste this to my site. maybe the longest text ever. you will all suffer as i have suffered when and if you graduate. i cannot feel my feet. i hate dress shoes. I'm back. Today, I'm here to salute the Pointless Signs Of America! The PSOA have been whole-heartedly working for you, and what have you done for them? NOTHING! These so-called "pointless" signs are doing just what they were meant to do: entertain you! You cannot judge them simply because they have no apparant function. They expand your mind, making you think about all the things they could do. They could do anything they wanted to, if they just put their minds to it. If you judged everything by what it doesn't acomplish, then the entire world is populated by pointless beings. Noone can do everything, so how can you expect a SIGN, with the I.Q. of toilet paper, to do everything. You people sicken me. You expect far to much of the inanimate world. The inanimate world, on the otherhand, expects nothing of you. Which is exactly what it gets. If you expect nothing, and get nothing, you feel nothing. If you expect nothing and get something, you're happy. But, if you expect something and get something you feel nothing. And if you expect something and get nothing, you feel cheated. If you're following along, and not completly confused, you'll realize that it is better to be a pessimist than an optomist. Yep that's right. This entry went from saluting the PSOA to making a statement about my ideals. This has been a weird day. You can thank my associate "Meg" she came up with the PSOA acronym. Everyone, clap for "Meg".I gotta go...seeya later! I'm finnaly back! Today, I took a long look at this site, which is the acomplishment of almost a year of work. And I asked myself "How could I have better spent my time?" And so, in the interest of wasting even more time, I made a list. Here we go! Number One: I could have cured cancer. Not that I know anything about medicine...or cancer for that matter. But I'm sure that if I just would have put my mind to it, I could have done it. Number Two: I could helped the earth to find eternal and lasting peace. Which would be boring. So I at least have an excuse for not doing that. Number Three: I could have studied and stuff. Uh...don't think so...Number Four: I could have learned to drive. This would have resulted in the deaths of numerous pedistrians...and I would still probably be wondering around in search of a McDonalds. Number Five: I could have read more books, played more video games and watched more mindless television. Gee...I wish I'd thought of that sooner. Number Six: I could have implemented one of several plans for world domination. Or, as an alternative, I could have ruined several plans for world domination that other people made. Number Seven: I could drive people crazy. Wait...aren't I already doing that? Scratch number seven. And on to: Number Eight: I could have...uhhhh...ummmmm...actually thought up these things before hand. Number Nine: Now it's just getting redundant, isn't it? Number Ten: This is the list that never ends. Yes, it goes on and on my friend. One person, started typing it not knowing what it was, and they'll continue typing it forever just because this is the list that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friends, some person started typing it not...etc, etc. Okay...I admit it. I have officialy run out of ways I could have better spent my time. I don't think there actually are any. Except for maybe five and six. Now, those have possibilities. However, I am currently content to just sit here and type. For the benefit of you, the reader...who may or may not exist. Either way, I'm continuing to sort of entertain myself. I feel like I should be outraged about some topic or another. I just can't work up the energy to be outraged. Perhaps a nice, soothing mistrust. Yeah. I can work with mistrust. I definitly mistrust lots of stuff. Like organ grinders, and the evil conspiracies. Did you know, that Kodak was part of the conspiracy to assasinate John F. Kennedy. Now, some of you are probably thinking "Gee, Really?", or "Wow, I never knew that!" while others are thinking "Who's John F. Kennedy?" or possibly "Who or What is Kodak". I fervently hope that you're not thinking the last two...especially about Kodak. Kodak, as you may know, is a film developing company. And John F. Kennedy (JFK) was an alien bent on global domination. Or possibly a really good president who wanted to fly to the moon. Either way, he got assasinated. And ever loony in America decided that it was a conspiracy. Some even go so far as to claim that Kodak "changed" the pictures of the assasination to make an assasination in the bushes become a tree's shadow. I didn't know that they had such good technology back then. I have to wonder...why would Kodak do such a thing. Perhaps Kodak is actually a front organization for a shadowy governmental system that controls the entire world and didn't want mankind to obtain the freedom of the stars and so tried to sabotauge the space program even though it didn't work as well as they planned. Or perhaps not. Either way, Kodak is undeniably evil. How can any company that takes so many "wholesome" pictures not be? You can just bet that they look at every one that get's turned in to them, judging blackmail value, and whether or not you could get arrested. It's just sickening, you can't even take a simple photo nowadays. Unless you have a digital camera, which are a symbol of freedom from the old ways and willing enslavement to the new ways. We can only hope that the digital camera manufacturers are kinder masters than the evil Kodak Lords. I better go...I think Kodak is tracing my site....I'm back now! And, once again, I have proof that someone actually took the time (two hours) to read this entire Longest Text Ever! It's amazing, it's incredible, it's unbelievable. But true. Even more incredible, this time it's someone I don't even know! Wooooooo! I feel inspired and happy and other really good emotions and stuff. And so, I'll take a trip down memory lane, to the dark depths of the past, to when I decided to make this page. It was inspired, in part, by my sheer and utter boredom. In school, back before I even owned a computer, I'd type random words for long periods of time, 'cause I had nothing better to do. Once I got this computer, I decided to do something similar on my beloved site. But, it ended up making more sense than I anticipated (scary thought, huh). Oh, well...I tired of nostalgia. Back to the present. Right now, I'm just typing so that no one can say that I've been slacking off. I don't think I have any conspiracy theories...except pop-ups/pop-unders. Have you ever had the evil pop-up that says that if you click here, it'll get rid off all the annoying pop-ups? Isn't that sort of ironic? Could the pop-up blocker people have chosen a better means to advertise their product? It's like grand-theft auto 3's talk show, you know, the one where there are Citizens Raging Against Phones? Or CRAP, for short. And the lady representing them, calls the radio station...on a phone. It's stupid and ironic and just shouldn't exist in a better world. Pop-Up ad's help you get rid of pop-up ads? Insane, chaotic...hmmmmm...I wonder who thought of it? Was it on purpose, or was it just some mistake? It is now my civic duty to discover this ancient mystery, and reveal it to the uncaring world. Or maybe I'll go make a frozen pizza. Yeah. That sounds good, too. Since I'm not particualarly inspired at the moment, I should leave and let you gather what is left of your sanity. I just can't seem to stop, though. Okay...I can do it. I'm leaving. I'm back...and it's several hours later. I've decided to imortalize the stupidity of my dog, Moose. She is a heavy-set Yorkshire Terrior (12 lbs.) In otherwords, she's a small yappy dog who is big for her breed. Today, I met her arch-enemy. An enemy so terrifying that Moose cannot stop shaking. An enemy so hideous that Moose must destroy it at all costs. An enemy so dangerous that Moose fears it above all others. Now you may be wondering what horrible beast is Moose's arch-enemy. And you probably suspect that it is something pathetic. You would be correct in your suspiciousness...for Mooses arch-enemy is...*dramatic drumroll*...a small, white, feather. Now, Moose has seen many feathers, birds even. But none have struck terror in her little moose heart like this particular feather. So...naturally I put her arch-enemy in my pocket and brought it home with me. This action has made her very suspicious of where my loyalties lie. She tracks the feather smell all over the house, and goes crazy whenever I take it out of my pocket. She even got her sister and mother in the spirt of things. Now her sister sounds an alarm whenever she sees the evil feather. Now, you may be wondering what is so terrifying about a small, white, feather. So am I. It doesn't smell funny, (I asked my brother, since I don't have a sense of smell), it seems perfectly ordinary. So, I've decided that Moose works for some secret government organization, and that the feather is the key to the destruction of the world, and I am just blithely letting it enter our home, so that it may furthur its evil plans to destroy the universe. That is the only possible explanation as to why it upsets her so much. Or...maybe it's the feather off of the cartoon owl from the tootsie-roll pop comercials (one...two...three..*crunch*). Whatever the case, I decided that the whole world, (or three of four random people) deserve to know that if the world and or universe are destroyed, it's the evil, little, white, feather's fault. Now I'd better go and torture my Moose with it...:) I am officially back. And you, the potentially non-existant reader gets a once in a lifetime chance to hear me rant and rave about my Horrible, Horrible Family Vacation. I know. You feel very, very honored. It's like this. My mother is a control freak, and she decided on the spur of the moment that we were going north to visit relatives. Later that day, she decided we were NOT going north, we were going south to a beach resort. Still later that day, she got offended at some trivial thing and decided that we weren't going anywhere at all. The very next day, she decided that we were going north, after all. So, we packed everthing up. Before we knew it, we were on the road. The first part of the trip was fairly easy. As in, I was half-asleep, hoping that we'd arrive while I slept. Then, in an inspired move, my brother talked my mother into letting him sit up front. That meant that my mother would be in the back, with me and my younger, eviler sister. Immediatly, my mother started complaining. It was uncomfortable in the back, it was too hot, it was too cold. Then, she accidently woke our three yappy dogs up, and they relized that they were in a car. That meant only one corse of action for them. They started shaking and barked their little heads off. This annoyed my mother further, untill she asked, no, demanded that my father turn the car around so that we could go home. Unfortuantly, we had already driven 337 miles toward our destination. After much argument, my father was going to turn around, untill he realized that my mother was going to drop the dogs and me off, and then turn around and continue north. This seemed slightly unpracticle, so we ended up not taking that 337 mile detour. We eventually reached our destination after 16 hours of virtually non-stop driving. We got there, we ate. We slept. My mother visited relatives. And so the week went by. I got to go to a huge library, and see Terminator 3 at the local theater. That was the high point of the entire trip. The last day, we were deciding where to eat. My mom said that she didn't care. So my dad picked a steak place. My mother tried to order a mushroom-swiss burger...only to discover that the place had no swiss-cheese. So she decided on a salad, only to discover that they didn't have her favorite salad dressing. After much deliberation, she decided that she wouldn't eat. After complaining how hungry she was, and about the poor quality of the resteraunt, she walked out of the resteraunt, instructing the rest of us to "enjoy our meals". And I wonder where my little sister gets her annoyingness. Not that my mother is annoying...just set in her ways. The whole meal thing was about the only interesting thing to happen during the week. On the way home, we had gotten approximatly 4 hours into the trip when my mother predicatably decided that we had to go back and eat at the 50th aniversary of her favorite ice cream place. Needless to say, we ignored her. Oh, and when my sister had to go to the bathroom very badly during a traffic jam, my mother had the good taste to making hissing/water noises to make my sister's problem worse. She claimed that my little sister always did it to her, and she was getting pay-back. Between her bickering with my sister, and obsessivly playing neopets games, I don't know what to do with her. Anyway...that was my family vacation rant. It sucked. No suprise. At least it's over. Sorry if I complained a lot. If you don't like it, start your own longest text ever. Anyway, I promise to go back to my usual routine the next time I rant here. I thought of a topic on the way home, but forgot it. Seeya. I'm back! I know, I took you completly by suprise. You thought you'd gotten rid of me. *cheesy super-hero voice* Well, fear not, random citizen, for I, PSOPC am here! *normal voice* Today I have a very important to discuss with you in this: PERFECTLY NORMAL PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCMENT. Yes, that's right. It's time to warn you, the viewer...er...reader...about the evils of various stuff. Today's lesson is: subliminal messages . That's right, folks, mass hypnosis via commercials. Now, I'm sure you've at least heard of subliminal messages , right? No? Well...prepare to be enlightened. Subliminal messages are an advertising technique that puts hidden pictures and words into a main image. You don't see them, but your subconsious (dreaming) mind does. Your subconsious mind acts on whatever it is told. What does this mean to you? It means that WAL-MART TV IS EVIL! EVIIIIIIIIIIIIL!!!!!! Why else would they invest all that money to show commercials in their own store? Because they put subliminal messages in them, of course! Subliminal messanging also explains the successes of certain fast-food resteraunts, and brand name items. BEWARE YOUR TOASTER OVEN! Okay. That had nothing to do whatsoever with subliminal messages...it's just cool to say. Anyway, only watch wal-mart if you WANT to be subliminaly entertained into purchasing a new set of TUPERWARE, even though your old set is PERFECTLY fine. This has been a public service announcment. Pretty cool, huh? Uh...you don't have to take the subliminal stuff seriously. It's true, and all, but I have no proof about wal-mart, or certain fast food resteraunts. It makes sense, though. Wal-mart TV is evil. You cannot deny it. Seeya...hmmm..I wonder if there's subliminal stuff in my computer...I'm back. And I feel that it's time for a FAKE commercial break, for the highly informed, obviously brain-dead consumer. And now, a word from our non-existant sponsor. Ketchup: The only food that you'll want to eat after traveling to the 5th Dimension. It's been practically proven that Ketchup transforms into a highly intoxicating (non-addictive) delicious substance upon returning from the 5th Dimension. Stock up now with our Valu-Pak to recieve 3-metric tons of Ketchup, all for the low, low price of your brain, since you're obviously not using it anyway. Then, just wait for technology to "catch-up" (get it, catch-up, Ketchup?)so you can travel to the 5th Dimension like our scientists almost did. (Next Commercial) Get ready fo: Faux's new "reality" TV show, "How Low Can We Go?" It's about six contestants who compete to create the worst, least likely "reality" TV show. The winner not only gets the million-dollar prize, they get the chance to produce the show they created. Remember: if the show sucks, it's their fault, not ours!(Next exciting commercial!)And for all the idiots out there: Try new and improved Dum-B-Gon! Dum-B-Gon stimulates brain activity, making you up to 10 times smarter! Not only that, Dum-B-Gon: stimulates weight loss, cures "any" illness, does simple houshold chores, never leaves the toilet seat up and is the perfect gentle companion for your kids. How can you pass up this revolutionary new product? It's yours for only 3 bi-monthly payments of $3.95 ($3,95,000 on days ending in "y")Don't forget, Dum-B-Gon is practically guaranteed!* (*Not a guarantee) (Next commercial)Have you ever wondered why food sometimes goes bad in your fridge, even if you've only had it a few years? It's because of the "evil little faeries with sharp little teeth." These "faeries" sprinkle your food with highly toxic "age dust" and ruin a perfectly good four-year-old meatloaf. How do you stop them? With our patented "spray". Our "spray" kills over 99.9% of "faeries" (which are much to small to see) Our "spray" also kills most disease causing agents, like rats, or pigeons. WARNING: Leave food sit in an open, well-venilated spot for a week before eating. And now, back to our featured presentation. Wasn't that semi-entertaining? I bet you wanna go eat some Ketchup covered Dum-B Gon right now, while watching "reality" TV. Just make sure you "spray" your food first. Pathetic, wasn't it? Oh, well. I was bored, and a dilligent reader suggested I make fake commercials, so...therer they are. Happy? Good. I'm leavin', for now. I'm back. And I'm willing to enlighten you, the potentially you-know-what reader. Today, I was checking out some weird news. At one point, I read an article that stated that it had been proven, conclusivly, that Kansas was flatter than the standard pancake. The researches even used highly advanced technololgy to map the surface of a pancake and compare it to documented geology of Kansas. Some people disagree, the director of the Kansas Geological Survey said "I think this is part of a vast breakfast food conspiracy to denigrate Kansas. It's a cheap shot." So...doesn't that make you want to take Kansas' side (I sincerly appologize if you are from Kansas). It just seems extremly weird (and worthy of mentioning) that this semi-important guy from Kansas believes in a "vast breakfast food conspiracy". Makes you think that the long held belief that Kodak conspired with the JFK assasin(s) is normal. Another article claims that an anitseptic turned a polar bear purple, drawing large crowds of people. I sure hope other zoos won't copy them. Before you know it, we'll have orange alligators, pink tigers and blue lions. School children won't be able to correctly identify the color of a zebra. Random people will think they've gone crazy, after a seemingly innocent visit to the zoo. It's wrong, I tell you. A complete and total degregation of our societies values. What values, you say? The basic moral belief that Polar bears should be WHITE. Unless we spray-painted the snow purple, too. Then it would be okay. As long as the bear blends in, you know? Speaking of animals, there's a cat in California who is a kleptomaniac (likes to steal stuff). He sneaks into neighboring homes, and takes clothing, wrapped christmas presents, and anything he can find. He then leaves them under his owners car. Okay, better leave. I'm back. And I don't really have a topic today. I'm just bored. Sometimes I just do this, you know? Start typing without any idea about what it is I intend to say. Maybe I subconsiously DO know what I'm doing here, but refuse to admit it to myself. Or maybe I am monumentally bored and don't have anything else to do at the moment. Either way, I'm here. You must be pretty bored, too. Otherwise, why on earth (beta, krpto, zkdjf, Planet X, whatever) would you be here? It would make no sense. If you have something better to do, why wouldn't you be doing it right now? I would be. But, maybe that's just the difference between you and me. Yeah. That must be it. Unless you're bored. Then I completly understand. I need to find a topic. Here, topic, topic, topic! Come on, I won't hurt you, I promise! *hides large ax behind back* Come here, topic! Why are you afraid of little ol' me? *sigh* There are no topics anywhere near me. Kinda like me and "Meg" webcomic we are trying to do. It's called Hit-Or-Miss, any topics, plot, etc. are completly accidental and are not the fault/responsibility of the creators. That was sort of a topic, even though it was sort of random. Which is what I do best. Okay, I'm done with that litte commercial. What now...hmmmmm...should I share with you more of my paranoid/delusional conspiracy theories? Or have I been doing that too much lately? Oooooo! I know, I'll start of list of why it's fun/good to be insane/weird! #1You can say or do anything and normal people will agree with you in the hopes that you'll be satisfied, shut up, and go away. Far away. I will show you an example with this completly true stuff that I experienced several years ago. ME: My vicious, psychotic, flesh-eating bunny-rabbit wants to rule the world. RANDOM PERSON: Uh-huh, that's nice. ME: Yeah, but I told her that she'd be a terible ruler. I mean, she traded Asia for a carrot! And she doesn't even LIKE carrots! RANDOM PERSON: You don't say? ME: Yep. She also is the goddess of red jello. RANDOM PERSON: *head explouding from sheer insanity* As you can see, I was a very weird child (this happened in elementary school...uh...except for that head-explouding part). Okay...on to: #2 You can get out of practically anything by saying: a)It's against my religion b)I'm allergic to that. c)I have an extremly irrational fear of that. d)I already did that in a past life and it sucked. e)My psychotic bunny predicted I'd die doing it. Unfortunalty, several of those reasons LEGITAMITLY apply to a certain activity I do every Tuesday, which WILL NOT BE NAMED HERE LEST I GIVE IT POWER OVER ME! I'm allergic to parts of it, have irrational fears about others and I'm pretty sure it's against my Jenny religion...along with eating mashed potatoes, or potatoes of any kind. I'll add that to the FLAMING CHICKENS HANDBOOK. Thou shalt not eat spuds. Hmmmm...time for #3You can obsessive over ANYTHING, and people will think nothing of it. I, personally, am obsessed with, kitties, bunnies, bats, this website, drawing, making intriate little patterns with strings, doing mildly repetitive activities, being weird, apparantly making lists and cheese...and chickens...and flame. Fire is good. Fire is free. Fire is my friend...until it burns me. Then it must die...painfully. And on to:#4You make your friends look normal in comparison. And #5: You can give each of your pets several weird names such as: Ringling-Raison-Bailey-Suzana-Midnight-Schultz, Squirell, Moose, Moose-Moose, Moosey-Moose, Linzey-Moose, Muffin, Squirell-Muffin, Yabby-Doodle, Abby Normal, Wiggle-Baby, Wiggle-Muffin, Witle-Baby, Cheese-Monkey, Muffin-With-Squirell-Juice, Squirell-With-Muffin Juice, Moosey-Juice, Squirell-Monkey, etc. Now, wasn't that a fun list!? Doesn't that just make you proud to be weird? I should make bumber stickers saying that. Proud to be weird. It'd be cool. Anyway, gotta go! *yawn* I'm back. Last night I was super-charged with lots of sugar and not a lot of sleep. I ended up writing things during the time of night when EVERYTHING is hilarious, including the word sheep. To compound things, I wasn't alone, and things just escalated. The following is everything I wrote during that sugar-coated time period. Some are answers to e-mails, the rest are just stuff I wrote.

Definitly. THen we go to library. Guess what? Me and Josh ate lots and lots of sugar, and it's late at nite and everything is funny but we can't laugh 'cause everybody is sleepin' so it's even funnier but ever since we drank the water we sobered up even though we weren't drunk but we ate sugar...lots and lots of sugar. MOstly donut cake. Okay. JOsh says it was only one piece of cake. WE got it at Wal-mart. Or his mom did. OR something. Goodbye..

[hollandroos]

Love of my life | Tom Holland Oneshot

KOH Tom (or Demon Tom) x Human reader

Summary: There are 365 days in a year and you’re lucky enough to see your love on one of those days. At least they called it lucky– you called it a curse but hey, sometimes you have to learn the hard way about falling in love with demons.

Words: Around 2.9k

Warnings: Uh it’s a demon au. Heartbreak. This au isn’t for everyone so if it doesn’t seem like you, don’t read it. be nice on anon kids lmao.

Yes, this was majorly inspired by the song ‘Love of my life’ by Queen. It wasn’t at first but as I continued writing it I realised that the lyrics resonated with how it was going and had the song on repeat, so of course I had to throw in a few references. I 10/10 reccomend listening to that song. 

Gif by @starksparker / @hawkeyesscoffee

-

Love of my life, don't leave me You've stolen my love, you now desert me

There were three hundred and sixty-five days in a year, and you were alone for three hundred and sixty-four of those days.

Because on one of those days, you were blessed with the presence of your love, Tom Holland. That was for one whole day, twenty-four hours out of eight thousand seven hundred and sixty. For some it would be classed as a gift, something to look forward too but for you, it was the effect of a curse.

Because you knew that as the clock met the twelve mark you’d be torn from his arms and he’d begin a pitiful journey back to the underground while you– you’d spend the next two to three days wallowing over mug after mug of cold tea, the shirts that smelt like him (ash and mint– an odd combination, but one that worked.) and old memories.

Because before the law- or what Tom called the curse was placed, your days were filled with constant laughter, varying dates that reminded you of your teenage years again and trouble, lots of it. Because Tom was trouble, but in the very best way possible and before the curse you were even given an engagement ring.

You still had it, the ring that was the colour of his wicked crown and now, it hung around your neck on a silver chain. Even if you could never get married, because it was like you had a piece of him everywhere you went even if you also drape yourself in his shirts and hoodies. (He made sure to always bring one over every year)

Maybe you were just holding onto false hope. Maybe a strong part of you still believed that you’d get married to him and he’d come up to live with you in the mortal world and you’d wear a pretty white dress, him in a monkey suit and there’d be a cake after– your family and friends would all be there and after you’d go on a romantic getaway to somewhere hot like Hawaii, because Tom liked hot places and despised the cold. That was one of the only things he complained about when you used to get to spend every day together in London. You even talked about going to France and various places in America.

You knew it was all dreams, simply fantasies.

It was all false hope and it was hanging by a thread.

He was trouble with his jet black wings that could protrude from his shoulder blades and hang over his head, the ones that you’d run your fingers through and savour– and the sharp teeth that could bite through the flesh of those that wronged him. You’d never seen it but you could only imagine. He was trouble- handsome at that with the ashy grey and ruby red crown that only you got to touch and had even tried on, and trouble from the things he told you about the underworld– a place you were forbidden from entering despite Toms eternal love for you.

And on that one day a year he got to visit you... he’d notice how you’d only grown older while he remained youthful. You weren’t blind to the changes either, that every year left you more plagued then the one before.

He watched and tried to ignore as gentle creases took place beneath your eyes when you’d smile, one more crease then last year decorating your features despite the fact that you were still young– in human years still younger then him. He’d listen to your voice through the phone, ignoring how it got heavier and more pained as the years went but maybe that wasn’t a sign of ageing, but a sign of sorrow for your boyfriend lived not far– access was easy but you wouldn’t survive being down there for too long, and hell wouldn’t survive if he left.

And like they’d threatened, if he spent too long out of hell you’d both perish. You laughed at the threat at first but Tom assured you that it was dead serious. Tom tested those limits anyway because love was worth it, right? and now you were reduced to one day a year, any longer then that and he’d suffer in ways that were simply unimaginable. That was why he called it a curse but still– you used your one day a year because love was worth it.

And your curse was something completely different. You didn’t need a mystical being to put this curse on you, you weren’t born with it and it wasn���t one you could break. You were possessed by desire, devotion and passion. Your curse was being completely and utterly in love with Tom. So much so that at twenty-seven you were nothing more then alone three hundred and sixty-four days of the year. One would say putting your life on hold for something that was so far out of your own reach.

Loneliness was still engulfing you in its arms, whispering harsh truths and those few gentle praises as you stayed with him year after year. No one else could compete with him, nothing could come close to the love he gave.

And maybe it was all so goddamn wrong and your meeting was an accident in the first place because while you dreamed of a normal, mortal life with Tom, he dreamed of a completely different one. The king dreamed of having you on the throne with him, seated next to him with a crown on your head and a title as his queen. He dreamed of having you at arm's reach at all times simply so he could shower you in affection that he felt starved of throughout the mortal year and ravish you with jewels and other riches that he’d been hiding away.

Your differences couldn’t compete. You were both too different but one thing was for sure; you’d never get to live out either of your little fantasies.

-

Feet gently tap against the floorboards and you sit, humming a gentle tune as the clock ticked slowly– ever so goddamn slowly as you waited for it to hit twelve. Twelve am, not pm. The ring that sat on your finger was cold, the ruby red sparkling as it hit the sunlight.

Ruby red like the colour of the jewels that lined his crown. Red like the flames that burned beneath you and the red that shone in his eyes when he was angry. You’d only seen that colour red in him when they’d passed the law that prohibited him from seeing you 364 days of the year.

Twelve was when your time began. When he’d make his way to you and haul you up in his arms and treat you like a queen. You wondered what you’d do this time- If just maybe he wanted to go down to the beach where you would have a midnight picnic when the surf was at its loudest and the land was at its loneliest. Or maybe he’d want to stay behind and make love until your legs were aching and your throat was raw from calling out his name like it was your lifeline.

In a way, you felt that he was exactly that- your lifeline, the thing that kept you alive.

Until then you’d sit and wait, chewing on your bottom lip despite the fact that you knew it’d cause the skin to split. You were filled with anticipation.

There’s a sudden knock at the door that breaks the silence, pulling you from your patient wait you drag yourself to the door and don’t waste a second to peep through the small hole or ask who it is– you swing it open. You’re greeted by your dark-eyed demon, as beautiful as ever.

He stands there as real as day, smiling brightly though there was something else that you don’t take a second to work out as he steps inside the room.

“Tom.” You let out a sigh, arms going straight around his neck. You breathed in the scent of his coat, not even being able to begin what he smelt like. Whatever it was, you liked it.

He wastes no time in scooping you up into his arms, enveloping you as he’d only dreamed about for the last year and closes his eyes and take this all in- to accept that this was real and he was with you again and god he was so in love.

The demon was whipped.

“My love.” The words came out muffled against your sweater, one that wasn’t his own. One of his hands goes straight to the back of your head, only pulling you tighter against him and he swore that you’d never be close enough. He needed you in so many ways but Tom knew that the clock had already started ticking. That he now only had 23 hours and 58 minutes with you before he’d be pulled back to the very depths of hell. “My beautiful girl.”

Tom pulled back a little and noticed how you’d grown your hair out. It now hung lower then last year- and how the bags beneath your eyes were only more prominent. If he had more time with you he swore he would’ve tucked you up in bed and told you to sleep ‘til your heart’s content.

But Tom was a selfish lover and he wanted you all to himself.

“Missed you so much.” You cling to him, fingers grasping his shirt beneath the coat. “I missed you more then ever this time. I just kept thinking about you down there and counting down the minutes until we got to be like this again.”

Having him there again was almost too much. You feel a wave of emotion wash over you and you know- he knows, you never want to let go of him. You wanted to curl up and stay with him forever on earth– after being made his on paper, of course.

Toms' lips linger on top of your head, whispering sweet nothings as what he knew he had to say lingered in the back of his mind. “I was thinking about you too. Every fucking day, my love. I was hoping that you’d still be wearing that ring, just waiting for me.”

You bring one of your hands up and show him the item that still sat on your finger day and night. “I never take it off. It’s the closest I can be to you.”

You didn’t bring up the one time you’d lost it for a solid two days and searched frantically with tear stained cheeks and salty lips until you found it on the bathroom floor, trapped between the sink and the wall. It was the biggest relief of your life finding it there. The thing was simply irreplaceable.

Tom lets go of you, not liking the sudden emptiness he feels and peppers kisses to your cheeks, moving down to your jaw. “What are we doing just standing here? There’s so much time to make up for.”

You sigh at the contact. “And not enough time.” your voice lowers to a whisper that doesn’t go unnoticed by Tom who brings a finger up to brush a strand of hair away from your eyes.

“C’mon, darling, do we really want to spend our time together being sad? I got you something.”

A goodbye gift.

“I told you that you don’t have to bring me things.” You speak gently, watching as he reaches behind his back and offers a bouquet of black roses. But they weren’t like other black roses, they sparkled and your eyes widened in awe, mouth falling agape.

I’m hoping that it’ll help heal your broken heart, he wants to say, but there aren’t enough gifts he could give you in this lifetime that’d put the pieces back together.

“They’re from my personal garden and they only grow once a year but if you grow them correctly, giving them the perfect amount of sunlight and water then they can last a lifetime once picked.”

You take them gently, brushing your fingertips over the flowers. “Where were you hiding those?” You say without taking your gaze off of the things.

“You don’t want to know.” He smiles lightly. “We need to talk about something.” The demon stops, wetting his lips. Behind him, black wings flutter nervously. But no, because a demon didn’t feel nervous. “About us.”

“Yeah? I’m listening.” You prompt him, moving away to grab a vase. You grab a clear one, filling it with water and put the jet black flowers in while Tom waits. In the meantime he takes a seat on your couch, noticing the screwed up blanket and creases from where you’d previously been sitting.

Tom swallows harshly, his wings suddenly tensing. He’d refuse to admit that he’d already cried over this and he refused to cry about it again, especially not in front of you. He debated spending a full twenty-three hours with you first, making the most of every single second but then it’d come across as he’d been using you. Plus, how could he have fun when it was the only thing on his mind? He simply couldn’t.

If Tom were a human, he’d swear he’d die and go to hell for what he was about to do to you.

Tom toys with the fluffy blanket, picking at loose strands. “You must need a break from– from waiting around, right?” He hesitates.

The flowers shone on the kitchen windowsill, glittering beneath the moonlight and you trudged over, trying to make sense of what he was saying.  You struggle to take your eyes off of them, your heart fluttering in content for now.

“I’m confused, waiting around for what?” You shrug and take a seat next to him on the couch. The two of you are facing each other and somehow, you notice that Tom looks more broken then you.

He shutters. “For me every year. It’s exhausting, isn’t it?”

“It is but it’s worth it when I get to see you, even if it’s just once a year.” You try to hide your nerves behind a small smile but Tom sees right through you. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

You want to scold him for wasting precious time. You could’ve begun baking sweats by now and he’d be stealing the spoon

“Y/N.” He uses your first name, something he never did. “This isn’t fair on you. I’m trying not to be selfish here and keep you all to myself because I know that you have your entire life in front of you. You’re getting older–”

“Do you not like me anymore? B-because I’m no longer as young as I was when we first met.” You choke back tears, playing nervously with the red ring. It was a nervous habit you’d picked up.

“My love.” Tom stops you, brown curls hanging in tousled strands. “What I mean to say is that you deserve a life outside waiting for me. And as much as it pains me to say this, you deserve to find someone that can be with you whenever you need them. I get twenty-four hours to shower you in all of the love and affection I can but that’s not enough. I can provide you kids or a… a real life.”

“You’re enough for me. This, what we have is enough.” But it wasn’t enough and you knew it as well as he did. “You have always been the one for me.”

But it was like Tom had already made up his mind. But of course he had, he had spent the last year going backwards and forth after all. Harrison was dead sick of hearing about it by now but yeah, he’d still be waiting at the gates with open arms for his broken-hearted best friend on his return.

“But I’m not. It’s selfish of me to keep making you do this, making you wait when you could be out there meeting someone knew– travelling the world and getting married. Remember your dream wedding you told me about? With all the flowers.”

You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t need a wedding or to see the world if I have you by my side.”

“But you don’t have me by your side and you know that. I’m never here, I’m never the person you need and that isn’t either of our faults.” Tom thought about his next words wisely because the largest part of him that was so in love with you, absolutely smitten and head over heels wanted nothing more then to swallow them whole and move on. But the part that knew you were isolated, wasting away and needed to move on pushed him out of his comfort zone. “But I’m the one holding and back and I think it’s time I let you go.”

For 364 days you’d waited for this day, imagining only how perfect it’d be. How happy and content you’d feel with him by your side again but if anything this felt just like the last 364 days. Only you felt a little more broken hearted. A little more let down.

“I don’t think you realise how much you mean to me.” You mutter, choking back a sob. You took a moment to memorise every single one of his features from the light freckles dotting his cheeks to the sharpness of his jaw and bruised knuckles.

“No, that’s the thing. I realise exactly how much I mean to you and that’s why I’m doing this.” He hated saying that. He hated admitting the truth because the truth was destined to break your heart. “You’re the love of my life.” He breathed out. “There is no other human, no demon nor angel that can compete with you, my love.”

“Then don’t go.” Your voice breaks with so much fear and confusion, cheeks beginning to heat up as he admits that you were practically one in many million. “Don’t go, just stay here and don’t leave.”

You barely saw how pained Tom looked through your own glassy eyes. Feeling emotions this strong was almost unheard of for demons and Tom had been oh so good at keeping everything inside– refusing to even utter your name to anyone but Harrison because he refused to put you in danger.

He isn’t even able to reply and you speak again. “So you just break my heart then leave? That’s it?”

Tom shakes his head, strands of hair brushing against his forehead.

“My love, the last thing I wanted to do was break your heart but this will be better in the long run.” He reaches a hand up and brushes a strand of hair away from your eyes, one that was stuck to your cheeks with help from salty tears. “I’m letting you live your life.”

You bask in just the feeling of his hand on you and flutter your eyes shut. “My life isn’t complete without you in it.”

Tom stands up, your fingers reach up as you run your fingers down the feathers. You wanted to remember what they felt like. The things tended to be soft, the perfect blanket after a long days work. They fluttered beneath your fingertips.  Before the cruel laws were put in place his favourite thing to do was wrap you up in them as you slept. He hadn’t done that in a long time because when you were together now, you didn’t sleep.

That was only one of the simple things he missed.

“But it will be with time.” He tells you, stepping back until he was at least within a few feets distance. “Slowly you’ll move on. You’ll find someone new and they’ll put together every single broken piece. They’ll make you happier then I ever could.”

Because you did get married and you did get the large arrangement of flowers you’d always dreamed off. But right there, dead centre was a black rose. It was the piece that stood out the most, catching your eye every time you so much as glanced at the undying thing.

And for a while you were happy but your mind always ran back to the man that waited patiently below. Tom had lied because after a while, you grew miserable and yeah, his days were just as miserable as yours. He was angrier since then, growing more violent upon learning of your marriage. He only softened after the birth of your daughter. The news excited him.

But in the end, the truth was that you were never going to get into Heaven after your romance and lasting feelings for the demon anyway. There was no chance– so you would meet again, and you did.

Because Tom was the love of your life, and you were his. And a love like that never dies.

Please remember to reblog or send me an ask telling me what you thought of this - or reblog!

Everything tags: @cosmetologynerd @holland-ish @smexylemony @thewiseandfree@zendayacolemen @dej-okay @hollandsletters @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell @liz-gayllen@marvelismylifffe @lovelyh0lland @tomhollandandmarvelsworld @woah-jess @southsidefandoms@justannothermonday @its-claire-louise @sophiatomlinson23 @mockingjaygirl1221 @joyfullyjenny@damnhisfaceisliketheskyatnight  @bride-of-loki-odinson @in-the-corner-coffee-please@futuremrsb-r-main @spideyyypeter @saturn-aka-six @c0prolalia @buckykinz@ashtonsbandannas @dennasaur @amyyleblanc1999 @fnosidam@randomfangirl1701@maybeandperhaps @acciorinn @marvel-language @micki-smiles@justmesadgirl @converseskyline @niall2017 @gavemylifetotomholland @tomuchmarvel@leslieandjensen @painted-soulss @practicallylivesonline @mischiefmanaged49 @its-the-unknownspidey @holyrose96 @for-my-mind @mlxbm @erindillon11 @captainbuckyy @shawnandhisroses @converseskyline @smitten0-0kitten @parkeroos @whileinparis @unicornio-vomita-mierdas @draqcnheartstrinq @rainyboo-posts @mikalaka @petxrpxrker @tony-starks-ego @thedaydreamingwriter @peter-quackson @kateelyse96 @lesbian-jesus-jr @wheresmyquill@elyshugh @hollanderheart @tomshufflepuff @marvelismylifffe @tomsh0lland @obsessed-fandoms @girl-in-the-chair @trashqueenbitch @dramatic-and-young @honey-honey-5644@parkerluvs @chingonaconcha @captainbuckyy @jes-sica1 @tomsfireheart @Rainbow-marvel @spideysimpossiblegirl @spideys-gurl @thomasstanley-holland @mlxbm @ixchel-9275@parkerssweb @peter-parkersbb @tom-hollands-eyelash @starlightfound @vldlvj  @paradoxparker @lustfulcry  @mlxbm @musiclover1263 @justatheatredork @peterparkerscamera@fandomnerdsarecool @thequeensardine @cutesy-angst @httplayer @mischiefmanaged49 @loca-lola @softboyparkerr @desir-ae @dangerousluv1 @t-hotland @laucontrerasv @peter-parkersbb@whatdafricklefrackle @thatblondebelgiangirl @fairydustparker @they-call-me-le @jamiemac26@nephalem67 @underoos-tom @quaxon-holland @lovelyspidey @no-shxt-sherl @xlatinaaxx@starlightfound @mikexpeter @moonandstars-xo @httpmcrvel @evelyn120700 @fromheroestodust@hollandfieldblurbs @ghostlypandacolorpersona @spazclaiire @curlyhairedparker @josierosie@unicornio-vomita-mierdas @icondy @euphoricholland @desir-ae @lovelyspidey @thelazypangolin@ameeravioli @ramen-tically @mellifluous-tom @mrs-webslinger @krazykiara @scottyisthatyou @@s0cial-retard @sithskywalkers

[shinjukuspiritcommittee]

The Yoyogi squad (Durga, Wakan, Gunzo, Kyuma, Ashigara, Daisuke(?)) trying the Test of Courage

Sorry its taken me so long to get this request in particular, there was something I wanted to indulge in when writing this one I sincerely hope you all  don’t mind getting into more fanfic/OC territory. 

Also yes this was the reason I had slowed down on headcanons the past few days so I could work on this. It’s just something I wanted to devote time to and will devote more time to at a later date cuz whoo boy this is kinda long for my page if I’m being frank. In any case I hope you enjoy.

~~~

Test of Courage Part 1

When it came to oldmyths and ghost stories, Tokyo had a rather large plethora of theirown urban legends that get passed around high school students.Creaking of the floorboards or ghosts roaming the halls? Whispers atnight or Yokai coming to take someone away? All sorts of bizarrestories were shared throughout and Yoyogi was no exception. There wasa story that they built the school atop an old graveyard and thespirits aren’t too happy about being moved from their cozy restingspot and they roam the halls after midnight to sunrise. Or so WakanTanka explains to his underclassmen.

Yui shook her headwith denial. “I somehow doubt that.”

“What? Not aghost story kind of girl?” Wakan asked.

“No I’ve seenghosts in the streets before.” She explained as the three of themsat around the empty classroom, late afternoon setting in. “I justdoubt that our school was THAT special.”

“It is though!”Wakan pleaded. “There are some theories floating around aboutmissing documents, some old emails-!”

“All of whichbased in rumor. I pride myself in all that is factual.”

“Like your weirdfriend fiction?” Tatsuya asked in his normal calm demeanor.

“No one asked foryour input, thanks.” Yui glowered. “That’s my fortune telling,n-nothing more!”

Wakan was a bitconfused by this. “Fortune telling…? And what’s friendfiction?”

“The less youknow, the better for all of us.” Tatsuya replied without missing abeat.

“The less out ofyou, the better!” Yui snapped back. Wakan Tanka laughed at hisunderclassmen’s antics.

“It’s fine,I’ll take your word for it and leave it at that. But, I still can’tbelieve you don’t believe in any of the school’s rumors. Not evenjust for fun?”

The girl took amoment to think about it. “In all fairness, it DOES make for somegood stories to tell at night. But, they’re just that. Stories.”

Wakan Tanka took amoment to think. “How about… We prove it then?”

“Come again?”

“You heard me.Let your upperclassmen show you tonight what’s really going on inthe school after hours! We had already made plans to brave the nightanyway.”

“As… temptingas that sounds… I think I’ll pass. I don’t wanna get in troublefor something as reckless as that…”

“Oh, you don’thave to worry about that. The others have gotten it all taken care ofso we can slip in and slip back out by dawn. It’ll be like we werenever there.” He explained with a bit more detail about the planthey came up with.

“I dunno, it’sstill pretty reckless.”

“It could befun.” Tatsuya spoke up.

“Tatsuya!? Notyou too… fine, I’m in.”

~~

So the three agreedto meet back in front of the school with Wakan’s other friendsduring the early evening when no one would be around. Luckily forthem, only those who agreed to this actually showed up. The tigergirl in a tracksuit seemed to be in charge of this whole thing as shespoke once everyone gathered. “I’m glad you boys didn’t wussout.” She said rather confidently.

“It’s not likeyou gave us much of a choice you know.” The red head stated. “Youeven ran out onto the field and chased me down when I said no.”

“Well it’s notlike I was gonna come here on my own.” The tiger girl replied.

“So pinning medown til I said yes was just you not wanting to go in alone?” A boyin a baseball cap and uniform asked. “You know you could’ve justsaid that instead.”

“That’s…besides the point.” She said flustered. “I-I see we have some newblood here!” She went on, turning her attention to Tatsuya and Yui.

“Um…” Yuimuttered while Tatsuya remained silent.

“You’re prettybold for showing up, not that I’d expect any less from Yoyogiclassmates. But, I’ve never seen you two around before.”

This is where Wakanintervened. “They’re actually the Juniors’ in charge of theKendo club.”

“Oh, okay. Gladto know our underclassmen aren’t spineless.” She said with agenuine smile.

“Thanks! …Iguess.” Yui replied, rather confused.

“Don’t worry.The more the merrier, right?” The bear Therian laughed. “If youget scared you can stick next to me.”

“Does that applyto me too?” The red head asked with a bit of concern.

“Oh, man up!There ain’t gonna be nothin’ you haven’t seen.” The bearsnapped back. The red head only sighed and shrugged.

“Worth a shot…”

“Alright then,boys. Hurry up and open the doors before they notice.” The tigergirl said.

“A-About that…”A boy with dyed green hair murmured out. “You see… um, the doorsare… locked.”

“What!? It wasyour job to keep the doors unlocked!”

“I-I know but,Avarga saw and I couldn’t-”

“Well NOW what!?”The green haired boy yelped a bit in surprise at her shouting. “Thisis just perfect.”

“Try looking atthe positives, we all won’t get in trouble.” The baseball cappedboy said.

“That’s not thepoint! I need to know if the rumors are true or not before the othersin class do…!”

“Those sillyghost rumors?” Yui chimed in. “No offense, but those are all justhoaxes spread from school to school.”

“Not this one.”Her upperclassmen replied. “There’s a rumor going around that afew third years were attacked by a vengeful spirit.”

“Wait, what?”

“Some of ourclassmates were in the infirmary with weird symptoms.” The baseballboy went on. “Mr. Arima explained it as some type of bug goingaround, but we weren’t too sure. Especially cuz they keep going onabout having seen a shadowy figure come out and attack them.”

“T-that’s…still just a rumor… Mr. Arima is probably right.” Yui attemptedher best to dismiss these claims. All the while Tatsuya had slippedaway from the main group without anyone really noticing, all of themwrapped up in their own conversation.

“Still, we couldbe the first ones to prove or debunk it!” The tiger girl declared.“It’ll be huge if it is real! Just think of all the stories thatcan be passed down too.”

“That’s great,uh…”

“Oh, I’m Durga.I’m part of the track and field club.” Everyone else introducedthemselves to Yui and stated what clubs they were a part of.

“S-So all of youare third years…” Yui asked, feeling a bit intimidated.

“Don’t worryabout that!” Ashigara declared. “If anything, look to us as yourbeacons! … Or something.”

“Y-Yeah!” Gunzoadded. “Unless…” He seemed hesitant to say what was actually onhis mind.

“You know Gunzo,if you’re scared you can always just wait out here.” Kyumapointed out. “We could use a lookout.”

“And risk gettingattacked in the dark? No thanks. I’d much rather be in the dormsgetting ready for bed.” He replied.

“Bed? At thishour?” Kyuma asked.

Gunzo sighed. “Iget tired too, you know.”

“Aw c’mon.Where’s your sense of adventure?” Wakan Tanka asked. “That’sno way to spend an evening before our free day, my Gunzo.”

“It’s back atthe dorms, calling to me… yes, begging for me to lie in bed.” Hereplied with a twinge of sarcasm.

“He does have apoint. It’d be real nice to get nice and cozy in the dorms…”Yui trailed off, thinking about all the spare stories she could bemaking…

Daisuke agreed.“Its not like we were getting in anytime soon anyway.”

“There’s gottabe a way in… Are there any windows open?” Durga pondered.

“None of us wouldeven hope to fit in these windows.” Kyuma said with a twinge ofsadness.

Everyone seemed tobe lost in their own confusion until they heard a familiar click ofthe door opening. Tatsuya having stepped through the door holding itopen. Everyone was stunned at him. “Aren’t you coming?” Heasked dryly.

“H-How!? Gunzoasked with pure shock.

“I got in throughthe window.” He put frankly.

Yui sighed at herfriend’s impulses. “Of course you did.” While everyone wassinging his praises and how gutsy Tatsuya was, Wakan Tanka noticedthat the only opened window was on the top floor. However herefrained from commenting.

“Let’s just getinside.” Durga explained. And as the sun set completely, theyentered their school.

~~

The school hallswere much different at night than during the day. The halls seemedmuch more spacious now that they weren’t so crowded, the darknessthat overtook the halls only kept at bay thanks to pale moonlightshining in, and everyone’s echoing footsteps. Everyone took a fewmoments to observe around the main hall, using their phones asflashlights for some of the darker parts. “Um… where are wesupposed to start looking anyway?” Yui pondered.

“Good question.And when can we go lie down…?” Gunzo added. “There isn’tanything here.”

“That’s quittertalk. We need to perform a thorough investigation!” Durga declared.“Tonight’s the night something will show, I feel it!”

“Then, can Isuggest we split up?” Tatsuya chimed in. “We’d cover much moreground that way and we’d be more likely to gain results faster…”

“Good idea. We’vegot a lot of ground to cover so I think it’s best to split into twogroups.” Durga added. “Our plan of attack will be the East andWestern wings of the school. Wakan, Kyuma, Yui and I will look in theEast, while you four search the West.”

“I-If you sayso…” Gunzo whined. Though oddly relieved knowing Durga didn’tput them on the same team.

“A-Are you surethat’s a good idea?” Yui asked, concerned she wasn’t pairedwith Tatsuya despite splitting up being his idea. She shot a look ather friend that illustrated her concern and while Tatsuya barelyflinched he did have a twinge of disappointment in his gaze.

“It’ll befine!” Ashigara laughed. “You just leave these three to me.”

“Ah… okay! Ibelieve you’ll keep them safe.” Yui said, not knowing Gunzo andDaisuke were internally panicking as their group left to search forsome type of clue.

Gunzo leaned inclose to Daisuke. “He’s gonna get us killed if there are anyghosts for sure…!”

“D-Don’t saythat!” Daisuke whispered back frantically. “W-We gotta put on abrave face for our underclassmen. Though… it’d be easier if…”

“Well, whatever…I don’t trust Ashigara at all with this…” Gunzo sighed underhis breath.

“You know I canhear you, right?” Tatsuya responded with his usual cool tone. Thiscaught the two boys off guard and left Ashigara confused. “But,don’t be afraid.”

“W-Why not?”

“The worst aghost can do is hex you, right?”

“T-That’s even worse!”

~~

With the two groupsunderway, Durga’s group got right down to investigating. First andforemost the classrooms that lined the halls. “Okay, so what are wesupposed to be keeping an eye out for?” Kyuma asked.

“Uh, ghost stuff.Like moving shadows and floating desks, right?” Durga said, unsureherself what they were supposed to see. Kyuma and Yui both let outsighs of frustration.

“Figures we’dbe on a wild goose chase…” Kyuma breathed, to which Durga shothim a look.

“Aw, c’mon myfriends. Don’t lose faith just yet.” Wakan Tanka tried toencourage them. “If you look hard enough, I’m sure you’ll findit.”

“So then do youknow what it looks like?” Yui asked. “The ghost I mean.”

“Not a clue.”His teammates stared at him with complete bafflement at his lack ofsituational awareness. “But if we’re looking for facts about theone that’s attacking students, wouldn’t it make sense to look inthe Nurse’s Office?” Once again his allies were floored.

“Why didn’t yousay anything sooner!?” Durga snapped. “That’s careless of you!”

“Hmm? I assumedyou’d think to go there at some point since Mr Arima’s office isin the East side of the school too.”

“Well he doeshave a point.” Yui sighed. “Still, wouldn’t hurt to speak upevery now and again when you’ve got something like that lying onyour brain.”

“What’s lyingdown now?” He asked.

“Is he…?” Thesecond year girl wanted to ask. Her other two companions could onlytell her to get used to this level of frustration. The best she coulddo was laugh it off awkwardly. So after no signs of ghosts oranything paranormal about the school at all. In fact it was just likeduring the day except darker.

“Are we reallygonna find anything?” Kyuma asked. “We’ve been searching everyroom from top to bottom and David and I are getting pretty tiredright about now.”

“Yeah, I amfeeling a bit sleepy too…” Wakan Tanka admitted as well whilerubbing an eye.

Durga looked at thetwo boys with both frustration and regret. Her determination to winwas definitely getting in the way of her concern for her friends, soshe felt conflicted on what to do. The tiger girl also took noticethat the other girl seemed to be in her own thoughts. “Hey, Yui?”

“Huh!?” Thatsnapped the girl out of her pensive daze and snapped to attention.“W-What’s up?”

“You look lost inthoughts there.” She said. “Mind sharing a few details?”

The other girl tooka second to think. “Actually, I’d be lying if I wasn’t thinkingabout what the other boys are doing… alone… in the dark…”

“W-When you putit like that you sound like a pervy old guy…” Kyuma responded.

“Hey, I am not anold man!”

“That’s whatyou’re denying first!?”

Durga then got abrilliant idea to keep the two boys awake. “Hey Yui? How’d youand Tatsuya meet? Is he like your boyfriend or something?” Shesmirked. The question did rouse the other two from their grogginessto listen.

“Wh-what? It’snothing like that…” Yui explained, trying to downplay the wholething. “Really, we’re just friends.”

“A likely story.”Durga teased. “I saw the way you looked at him.”

“I-it wasn’tlike that!” She said. “I just, can’t trust Tatsuya being allalone for a long while. Trust me, he’s not interested in me even ifhe wanted to be.”

“Oh?”

“Uh what I meanis-”

CRASH

“What was that!?”Yui gasped, secretly relieved her discussion was briefly interrupted.But also concerned because that sounded like it came from the Nurse’sOffice.

“Is that asign!?”

“C’mon guys! Ithink we have our ghost in there!” Durga said while bolting offbefore she could finish.

“W-Wait for us!”The group charged ahead and burst the Nurse’s Office open withoutany hesitation. The automatic lights came on almost immediately afterthey felt a gust of wind brush past them. The group then sees thetrue mess that laid about.

The walls werecovered in black graffiti and various smudges, a medicine cabinet hadmostly fallen over and some glass was at certain spots all over thefloor, and the window was wide open with the nightly breeze blowingthrough. Naturally their first instinct was to run to the window tosee if they could spot anyone but they didn’t catch sight ofanything unusual. “Who would do such a thing…?”

“Not who. Awhat.” Wakan Tanka stated.

To Be Continued…

[dualwingss]

‘’Shut up and kiss me already’’

Rivetra. Writing prompt #55. Suggested by @ungewissen (thanks!)

Word count: 1759

_

Love and loyalty are two very different things, and everybody in the Scouting Legion was able to discern between them. The moment each and every soldier took the decision to leave their homes to devote their lives to a greater cause, they knew they were doomed to die in the battlefield at some point, hence love was an extreme inconvenience that was not compatible with their new lifestyle. What was left in their hearts was just hope, devotion and a will to put their souls in the hands of those who would guide them until their very last day. There was no room for anything else.

They had a saying; a soldier’s heart was made of ice. Letting people get too close endangers it, therefore it must be kept very carefully because nothing could ever function without a heart. They had to prevent it from shattering and from melting down, and the easiest was to do that was to avoid other people’s hearts. Of course, almost no one followed that unspoken rule. Soldiers were humans, and humans fall in love, humans fall out, humans hurt, and humans heal. The fact that they don’t usually get married doesn’t mean that they don’t have lovers. It’s more of a personal matter, and the rest is just facade.

That, however, doesn’t take away the fact that it’s still an inconvenience. If you’re strong enough to deal with feelings then having someone by your side can be the most comforting thing in the world, but it can —and it will —also destroy you. That’s why it’s easier to live the way Levi Ackerman chose to live, too bad his human nature betrayed him once he really got to know Petra Ral. Not the nice, sweet, caring Petra Ral every recruit had an instant crush on, not the beautiful little ginger woman who looked like an angel and fought like a demon, but everything else, everything she was as a whole. He knew about her childhood days, the things she treasured, her deepest thoughts, her undisclosed desires, what made her strong. He learned from her about comfort and trust, and he also learned that sweet and kind doesn’t equal plain, reckless and stupid. She showed him something else that was worth fighting for, because she was the living proof that humans are worth existing.

He can’t really pinpoint the moment it all started. It was progressive, and it intensified in time. That was why it was too late to decide to stop caring—or whatever it was— so much about his subordinate all of a sudden. He can however remember the time when his team started to become more than a simple group of people to him. It took years, but they somehow became friends, a family. At the time the thought of being so close to them was scary because they could be torn away from him so easily, just like Farlan and Isabel, but now that he was too worried about what the hell it was with Petra, friendship seemed way less dangerous.

It was slowly, and then suddenly. He found himself wanting to stay when everyone else but her left the room so he could simply be in her presence. He found himself wanting to hear her stories about picking goddamn flowers from when she was a child. He even found himself showing her his place, the place he went to when he wanted no one to find him. He took her there on one of those sleepless nights before an expedition, and in return she told him all her grandma told her about the stars. Those white stupid little things in the sky —he didn’t care about them, but somehow, he wanted to listen to every single word that came out of her mouth.

Her mouth. He would also sometimes find himself staring at it for too long before realizing how inappropriate that was. He’d question what the hell was wrong with himself, and then he’d go back to repressing his own feelings, not acknowledging the fact that he was indeed falling for her. How easy it was, really, to fall for her. Just a bit of her essence and he’d be hooked to her fire without the possibility of turning back. Dead end.

Even though he wouldn’t admit it to himself, deep down he knew. That was why he started the avoiding operation, some sort of self-defense mechanism. It worked for a little while; after all minimum interaction resulted in less thinking about her. He thought that it’d work, and that as easily as he had started to feel whatever he was feeling for her, it would also go away, and everything would get back to normal.

Of course not.

Such a sudden change in attitude coming from someone you’re so close to doesn’t go unnoticed. Even considering his stern personality, Petra could feel that something was wrong with Levi. He was his usual self with everyone else, but for some reason he was much more distant with her. For weeks, he only spoke to her to give her orders, only in training, and of course only addressing each other formally. It was starting to upset her, because she didn’t understand where she went wrong. They had known each other for years, if she had done something that bothered him he could’ve just told her like he had always done.

Another one of those sleepless nights it was, when she had too many things to think about. She really wanted to talk to Levi, but she didn’t know how to approach him. It felt like he was genuinely mad at her for some reason and she didn’t want to make it worse, so she never said anything. Frustrated, Petra Ral was just wandering around the barracks as she had already given up on trying to sleep. Without even realizing it, her feet led her to that one special place, and maybe it was her subconscious mind trying to get her to fix this situation. She wasn’t looking for him, really, but she was sort of expecting him to be sitting there by himself, on that particularly well-hidden part of the rooftop, easily accessible if you were agile enough. It was dark, of course, but the light of the moon was bright enough to allow her to distinguish her captain’s figure. Everything was so quiet, just as if nature was expecting this reunion to happen. Their eyes met, and for a moment she thought of turning back, and maybe she should’ve, but instead she reluctantly walked up to him.

‘’What’s wrong, sir?’’ She made Levi’s heart skip a beat. Her voice showed concern, but although it didn’t sound like it, she was demanding an actual genuine explanation. Not as a subordinate, but as a friend. The formalities made it worse, because they made the wall standing between them even larger, but Levi got the message.

He simply looked away, avoiding. Petra frowned and decided to take a seat right in front of him. She hugged her own knees as she carefully picked her next words. ‘’I-‘’She sighed. ‘’I don’t understand. What has changed? Really, just tell me.’’

‘’Tell you what?’’ He finally spoke. It wasn’t a brilliant thing to say, but he couldn’t stand how hurt her voice sounded. Was it really that big of a deal to her? Well, he knew it was. He knew she cared about him, somehow, so that conversation was going to end up happening at some point. He should’ve been prepared.

‘’Sir.’’ She paused. ‘’Levi. Have I done something wrong? You know you can trust me, and I don’t get it. You’re not the kind of person who just shuts up when something bothers them, so why haven’t you told me if whatever I did got you so mad you don’t even talk to me anymore? ‘’

‘’I’m not mad at you.’’ He admitted. ‘’Just leave it, it’s me, and it’s just bullshit.’’

‘’It’s not ‘just bullshit’. You can’t give me the silent treatment for literally no reason.’’

‘’I’m not giving you any silent treatment, Petra. We’re just not as close and that’s it. I’m not punishing you or some shit, so don’t think that.’’ If anything, it was the opposite.

‘’Well, it feels like it.’’

Silence. Levi knew it was unfair, he really did. All those repressed feelings were overwhelming him, and the fact that he was facing Petra and seeing how his stupid choices affected her made him feel extra guilty. She could read in his eyes something that gave her the courage to speak again like she knew what was really going on. And probably she did, because she had been thinking that maybe he felt kind of the same way weeks ago until it all just suddenly ended. It made sense, it really did, but she still thought it was a stupid thing to assume. There was nothing to lose, though, because how much worse could it be? They knew how to be professional when needed, and that conversation, however it ended, was not going to change that.

‘’What the hell is it?’’ He turned to look at her, slightly surprised by her choice of words. He was staring at her mouth again.

‘’Look, I’m sorry.’’ He said, eyes still fixed on the same spot. He wasn’t the kind of person who would apologize so easily if he didn’t really mean it.

‘’What is it, Levi? You know you’re important to me, not only as my captain. We’ve been through a lot, all of us, together. You don’t have to do everything alone, just let me in. Whether it’s the same thing on your end or not, I lo-‘’

‘’Don’t say it.’’

Petra stopped talking. She looked down, her heart pumping on her chest. She sighed before looking back up. ‘’Why not?’’

‘’It’s not going to do us any good. It fucks things up and it makes everything more complicated than it already is.’’

‘’I don’t care. I love you.’’ There, she said it, surprisingly steady. Her voice didn’t tremble for a second.

Levi heard it, loud and clear. Those words could ruin his and her life. ’’There’s no room for that in this fucking world. We’re soldiers, we-‘’

‘’Just shut up and kiss me already.’’

He didn’t manage to say anything else, he just stared at her for a few seconds. That sounded like a terrible fucking idea, he thought, as he moved forward, pulled her closer and pressed his lips against hers.

_

First time I’ve written in English for a looong while. It’s kinda basic,and it doesn’t really step out of the box but I still had fun writing. Hope you liked it!

((Levi is so OOC in this I'm going to cringe))

[saintcanardmoved]

Do you guys remember when this was a studio Ghibli blog and I’d post gifs? 2017 was a good year lol. Anyway. As a child, I never knew I’d thirst for a 2-D otome man, but sadly I’ve stopped. Yes, after two years of obsession, it’s time I retire from the fandom. I’m keeping the blog though. Ran this shit for years, ain’t gonna give up now that my horny-meter has plummeted to an all time record low. Did you guys know blogs don’t have a character limit??

Oh god. I didn’t know this blog would suddenly receive so much attention. Please, I am begging you to not scroll down. It’s endless MysticMessenger posts from two years ago.

Hey, I'm once again: back, you can't possibly have more time than I do. I mean, after all, I made this blog. You're only browsing it. And most people don't even come here. Not even my friends...*sniffle* The just ignore this poor, pathetic little page. All they do is fill out the TAB form and leave. I think. Maybe they're here right now! HI! HOW ARE YOU DOING? I'M FINE! THANKS FOR COMING! YES, I'M YELLING! Who am I kidding. This page won't get a single hit, unless I bribe people...now that has possibilities. Okay, fill out the TAB form, so I have proof that you bothered to come here and...uh...I'll...uh...send you a sandwich? Please allow 6-8 weeks for delivery. I'm bored. I'm gonna go hug a moose. MOOSE! I love-d you moose! Hey, I'm back again! Yea...*waits for applause* okay! Now I want all you loyal fans...*cricket chirps* to go to the link to see what I'm like. I took a whole bunch of personality quizzes and posted them there. I'm an evil villain, kitty and a freakazoid so far. And I only took the quiz once, too. Spooky how accurate they are...anyway, I command you to go! I'm going. I'm back. I'm gonna start counting how many times I say back. Let's see: 1...2...3...4...5! Wow. I must really be desperate for something to do. I now officially have proof that someone has been here! It was one of my friends. Apparently this page really is getting long, because my friend said something to that effect. Maybe. Anyway, moving on! I'm just basically typing nothing. Just like all those reports people have to do. You know? With a specific number of words. They start out with half that number, and then just fill in words until they have the right amount. I salute those people. You're great tradition is being carried out here, on the second most pointless site ever! Well. Maybe eventually some weird, bored person will wander onto my site on accident and be mildly entertained be my site until they wander onto a live video feed of a coffee maker. Or maybe not. I only know that I'm entertaining me, which was my original goal. So. I've done what I've set out to accomplish. Yea, me! I'm so special. You see, most people, they don't like reading or writing. So if you're not most people, you've made it down this far without skipping, skimming or getting the spark notes version. (Which I think does not exist) My point is, if you've bothered to read this, then, (like me) you probley have also read the ketchup bottle so many times that you have it down verbatim. Look verbatim up. It's a word. But, you should know that, since you like reading. Or maybe you're just skimming. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with reading food labels. You might be asked a question about them on a quiz show. And now, for the million-dollar question: How many calories are there in a single serving of Mustard? I can just see it now...It could be called Know-Your-Food. Or You are What you Eat. It'd probley be as popular as those game shows that no one's ever heard of. Speaking of food, what's up with pie? There's strawberry pie, apple, pumpkin and so many others, but there is no grape pie! I know. I'm just as upset about this unfortunate lack of development in the pie division. Think about it. Grapes are used to make jelly, jam, juice and raisins. What makes them undesirable for pie? Would they dry into raisins? Couldn't you just stick some jelly in a piecrust and bake it? It just doesn't make any sense. Another thing that bothers me is organ grinders. You know, the foreign guys with the bellhop hats and the little music thingy and the cute little monkey with the bellhop hat who collects the money? Okay. They're basically begging on the street. How did they ever afford an organ-thingy? Wouldn't it make more sense to get a kazoo, if you're broke? And if they're so poor, what possessed them to buy a monkey? I mean, I don't think I could afford a monkey, and I'm not exactly on the streets. Obviously I at least have a computer...so, back to the organ grinders. I would have sold the monkey and the organ and been able to eat for at least a year. Or, if I was weirder than I am, I could at least kill the monkey with the organ and eat it. Why on earth did they keep the monkey? It must have cost a fortune to feed...not to mention the mess. That's just one of those many facts of life that are better left mysteries. Especially since no one but me would ask the question. I better go. I think I hear a monkey...Okay...now I'm back. That's the sixth time I've said back! I realize that this longest text ever must be very boring and not worth anyone's time. But I'd like to take this time to thank the 2 and 1/2 people in the entire universe who have bothered to read this entire thing. I'm not exactly sure who they are, but: thanks! Right now, my spacebar is malfunctioning...that's not good...I have to press it two or three times just to insert a freaking space. Maybe the evil little faeries with the sharp little teeth have put their evil faerie dust on my computer. Or maybe not. This is too frustrating. Goodbye for now...Now I'm back. And still frustrated. But for a different reason. Today I had the misfortune of playing a Treasure Planet game on neopets.com It was terrible. Apparently the point of the game was to get your character to shout "Whoo-Hoo!" as many times as possible before you splattered your brains on the rocks, all the while listening to a soundtrack that is similar to a dying ceiling fan. Of course, when I started out I accidentally hit the rocks approximately three million times. Halfway though I used my four remaining brain-cells to decide that the game was dumb. So my goal changed from surviving to laughing evilly while my character died. So the game naturally did everything it could to preserve my life. The stupid game is still going on and I refuse to quit because I want my points. My character is actually dodging the stupid rocks better now then when I controlled him. I hate irony. Seeya. Okay. Now I'm back again. Today I added an update page, which is basically a less chaotic, outlined version of this without all the ranting. It's more like techno talk about arrays and how much I suck and whether or not the Braves will win this year. Okay, the whole braves thing is made up. But everything else I've said so far is true. I think. Maybe I should start on a boring disclaimer...Eh-hem. All contents of this site were designed for entertainment purposes only. Any use thereof that is not stated in the above mentioned statement would make the author, hereby referred to as Patron Saint of Paper Clips, very angry. Should you violate the purpose of this site: i.e. become not entertained, the Patron Saint of Paper Clips will be forced to take drastic measures. This is specified in Code: 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook. Ooooo…that’s a great idea! I’m gonna start quoting from the Flaming Chicken Handbook! Code: 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook states that the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (that’s me) is allowed to cause vague, pain like sensations while the offending person (or alien life form, dog, etc.) isn’t paying attention. Now I have a purpose in life! To make up quotes from the non-existent Flaming Chicken Handbook, which I’m sure you have a copy of. No? Too bad. It’s in the mail, I promise! Now I must take my leave…and remember. Cheese is watching. Okay...I'm back...I think that eventually half of this thing will consist of the word back over and over again...that's just weird. Which fits the motif of the rest of the site. There's even a money back guarantee. Isn’t' that nice? See? Now no one can ever say that I don't take care of my viewers. Especially since I don't have viewers. I have readers. Wait...I really don't even know if anyone bothers to read this. Even if I put it in a less chaotic, more user-friendly format people would still ignore this because it involves: reading. Yes. Sad to admit, but the majority of people would rather read the summary at the back of a book rather than the whole book itself. What has the world come to? It's pathetic. Especially since I'm bothering to write all this. It's not fair! Why can't I have more readers?! All the other internet writers have nothing on me, except they're better at advertising, having a central theme/plot and basically more talented. Whereas I'm more into the whole ranting and raving stage right now. Plus, I am horrible at spelling. Which is bad. Thank the powers that be for spell-check. The single greatest invention of the computer gods. I'm getting bored, so I think I'm done for the day. May your day be shiney! I'm back again! And I feel weird! I found at that yet another one of my friends is reading this. Creepy. Just how much time do they have on their hands. Perhaps their just trying to be nice. I can just see it now...an organization devoted not to feeding the hungry, or peace, or love or whatever, but to giving recognition to all those poor, pathetic, unpopular websites. I wonder what it's name would be. Don't Ignore Sites? Would it be called DIS? Isn't that like a slang term for an insult? Would that be considered poetic justice, or just a nice coincidence? And why do I even care? I'll tell you why. Because I have nothing else to do right now. I could be playing neopets, but ever since my bad experience with Treasure Planet, I don't feel like it. Oh, by the way, I noticed that whenever I use spell-check, my stupid computer turns the word probley into to word problem. To prevent this, I did nothing. So, it is now up to you, the imaginary reader, to decide whether I mean probley or problem...it's almost like a game! But without the bad sound track. And I promise not to force you to live when you would rather die. Moving on, I have nothing else to say, but don't feel like quitting just yet. I'm like the little engine that could. Or maybe the Energizer Bunny. I just keep going, and going and going. Or I could be like that annoying guy on T.V. who keeps asking if you can hear him. If my site manages to last a decade, my readers *snicker* will probley wonder what I'm talking about. My answer is simple. It doesn't matter. I'm just rambling. Which means that it doesn't matter if you understand anything I say. Doesn't that make you feel better? I bet it does. Wow. Look how long this has gotten. I even impress myself. Who would have thought I have this much free time? And I congratulate any reader who has gotten this far. Ooooooo! You must check out the fortunes section of the random stuff page! I've just gotten an idea for some more, original, fortunes...I gotta go!(may the moose be with you) And now I am back. I swear. If iI fill out the fake tab form I'm gonna have to put back as my favorite word...I already have filled it out, though. Would it be cheating to fill it out again? Only if I had multiple personalities. Or would it be cheating if I didn't have multiple personalities? The world may never know. Just like how many licks it takes to get to the bottom of a tootsie pop. Would it vary? The number of licks, I mean. Someone could have super-disolving spit, or watery-spit. Or what if you took big ol' slobbery licks? Does the commercial take that into account? No. It doesn't. And let me tell you, it's an outrage. It deludes all of American's sweet, innocent, candy-loving children into thinking that a cartoon owl is smarter than they are! "Mr. Owl, can you tell us how many licks does it take to get to the bottom of a tootsie pop?" Or whatever. And "Mr. Owl" replies "One...Twoo...Three! Chomp" And he bites it. That teaches our youth that it's okay to agree to help someone, and then ruin their experiment. Well...it's not. I am going to start a protest group. Teens Against Cartoon Owls. We could call ourselves TACO! I love the little tacos, I love them good! That is a direct quote from GIR, co-star and comic-relief on INVADER ZIM. Hmmmm...intersting. I put hyphens in both of his titles...it must be a conspiracy! I gotta go. Those TACO buttons don't make themselves, you know. I'm back again. And not so cheesed off about the whole tootsie roll pop thing. Right now, I have another twenty minutes on the Internet before I'm gonna watch T.V. And I can't think of anything else to do. So, predictably, here I am. It's not like I have anything better to do. Obviously, you know this. After all, look how long this text is. I wonder if I've made the world record? If I did, would I stop this? Why bother asking? I'll will most likely still be adding to this on my death bed. Hmmmmm...has any old, senile person ever written anything? Was it coherent? Did it make more sense that this text? Is it possible to make less sense? Am I enjoying asking retorical questions? Yes. Yes, I am. But I seriously wonder what something written by a senile person would be like. I've heard of poems and stuff written by people who were high, insane or paranoid. But never senile. Can a senile person write? Aren't they regressed to a child-like state? Does it even matter? Is anyone even reading this? Did I resume asking retorical questions? Do you care? Is this eating up time? I feel like I'm playing questions only on whose line is it anway. I probley should have capitalized something, or underlined but I'm feeling lazy...hey, you try to keep your two and a half readers happy! It's really stressfull. Someday, I'm gonna snap and just delete this entire thing. Gee, I hope not! I worked sorta hard on this. It's great for making random topics weave together to form an overall infrastructure of chaos. That made little sense. That's why it's here, and not some critically acclaimed site. Ooooooooooooo! I'm gonna quote from the FLAMING CHICKENS HANDBOOK again! Yep! I bet you were just breathless in anticipation. Okay. Here goes. Code: 472 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that this site in no way aknowledges the existance of other, better sites (hereon reffered to as the Losers) The Losers are a myth. The Patron Saint of Paper Clips (me again!) claims no knowledge as to where that particullary nasty rumor started, but confirms that this is the best site ever. It would be a sin against humanity for a better site to exist. Should you refuse to aknowledge the Patron Saint of Paper Clips as the ruler of the Internet, you will be subjected to punishment as stated in Code 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook (i.e. Experience vague, pain-like sensations when you're not paying attention) This has been a public service announcement. This is a test, I repeat only a test. Had this been an actual emergency, we would have bought up all the can openers and charged 3 cows and a pig for each one. I repeat, lock all you doors and windows, this is it. I repeat, there is nothing to worry about. Everything is fine. The end is not here. I'm going, you're on you're own! Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm back!*smiles brightly* And apparantly delusional! Anyway, I just finished rereading my longest text ever. And I became inspired to talk about nothing. You see, I periodically read the longest text ever to check the constant downward spiral of my sanity. Hmmm...I seem to be entertaining myself though, even while reading what I wrote. Which is why I still go to the Really Really Big Button That Doesn't Do Anything website. Because I am easily amused and have lots and lots of time on my hands. Maybe, some day far in the future (like next Thursday) I'll print a copy of this insane text. And then go door to door distributing it. Eventually, this would become a monthly tradition. Whole families would gather around their front door, in breathless anticipation while they attempted to barracade me out. I can just see the whole community rising to thwart my attempts to spread love, joy and insane chaos. I probley wouldn't actually print this out (think how much paper it would take!) but if I do, only friends and enemies will receive copies. Hmmmm...maybe my condition is worsening. Or not. I'm still peeved about the cartoon owl from the Tootsie Roll Pop commercials. He is pure evil. TACO will eventually destroy him. Unless he has already been destroyed by an even more radical Anti-Cartoon-Owl group. I hope not. Or, would that be good? I suppose I could let someone else have the glory. After all, I'm not in this line of buisness for the fame, fortune and power. What line of buisness, do you ask? Why, the assasinating annoying cartoon characters buisness. (Actually I just question them untill they spontaneously combust, I ask lots of questions) So, in conclusion, ladies and gentleman of the jury(that's you) I could not have possibly tortured "Mr. Owl" to death. I love owls. Hmm...I seem to be jumping from one subject to another more frequently. Either I am growing more comfortable with my on-line writing, or I am progressivly getting more insane and chaotic. I also am psyco-analyzing myself a lot today...hmmmm...I'm even saying "hmmmmm..." a lot. Just like a real psychologist. Hmmmmmmm. Time for another boring disclaimer!!!!!!! Code: 742 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that in no part does the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (That's still me!) actually claim to be mentally ill. That's either a) a publicity stunt b) An attempt at humor c) a cry for help or d) none of the above You can e-mail your responses by conducting a scavenger hunt of this site. Some of the pages of this site contain a link encouging the two and a half people to e-mail the Patron Saint of Paper Clips. There may also be evil little links that are designed to confuse you. These links send stuff to someone named johnjones66@hotmail.com Saint of Paper Clips does not know who this individual is, but sincerly wishes that you send all your hate mail to him. Not that the aformentioned individual claims to have received hate mail (or mail of any kind) via a website link. Thank-you for your time. Remember to send your answers to my sanity quiz to the e-mail account, bigppmegashlong@gmail.com Oh, and once I refer to myself in the first person again, the handbook quote is over. I just thought that I might like to mention that. Oh. You're still here. I figured you rush right on over to e-mail me. Perhaps you don't have time to waste e-mailing me. HA! HA! HA! That's funny!!!! If you you don't have time to waste, what are you doing here?!!! Oh, who am I kidding. I figure that even the people I manage to lure onto my site from neopets don't even bother to come to this particular page. Maybe I should make the link come here directly...Hey! What a good idea! That way I can spread my love, joy and insane chaos to more people! I'm a genius. Gotta go, must lure innocent victems to the second most pointless site ever!!!! I'm back. And really angry, and confused. I've always known that I was weird, that's always been a given. But now I realize that I am considerably more normal than the rest of my family. Today we had a "family outing." Now, most families will go bowling, or putt-putt golfing. They may go to a resteraunt with an arcarde, or the movies or to a theme park. Not my family! No, we got the greatest family outing of all. We got to go to a bar and play pool!!!!!*waits for readers to become insanely jealous* Yep, that's right, a bar with a pool table! Not only did we get world class cuisine (under-cooked hotdogs and over-cooked hamburgers), my little sister (age 10) got taught pool by someone I strongly supect is an ex-convict! Naturally when it was announced that we'd be eating dinner in this place, I could hardly contain my excitment(I glared at my mother and asked why we couldn't go to Pizza Hut) When we arrived, we were promptly served (after thirty minutes) In the meantime, we played a family game of pool(my parents played while my brother and sister and I watched) After two rousing rounds, our food came. The food was superb, (our food came the exact opposite of how we ordered it, and half of the onion rings were missing) Then we joyfully returned to our game(my sister and the ex-con played my mom) We spent hours there (from 5p.m.-7:15p.m.) There were many people that were the same age as me and my siblings (no one in the room but us were under 30) Us kids had to be dragged kicking and screaming from the bar ( I almost fell asleep during the last game I watched) As we left, there was a feeling of goodwill and fellowship between all(my sister locked me out of the car and wouldn't let me in untill I started yelling profanity in her general direction) The high point of the entire night was when my mother gave me $21 for my report card. She promptly borrowed $1 to help with the waitresses tip(This part I'm not being sarcastic about) All in all it was a night I'll remember forever (as the lowest point in "family outing"history, except for that time my mom dragged me to a church thing on the concept of truth.) My brother(age 13) even decided upon a new job he wants when he's old enough to work, a busboy at the bar. We had to tell him that he would probley have to wait untill he was 21.(Absolutly nothing about that statement was sarcastic) As you can see, I love my families outings(Not unless you're blind...or stupid) &#!#%&&!!!(*%$ WHAT THE %$#@ WAS MY MOTHER $#$#%$# THINKING!!!!!!!???? BRINGING $#$$# KIDS IN A BAR!? I know it was her idea, 'cause my dad hates it, too. My mom and my stupid little 10-year old sister loves it, though. *sighs* Why does my life have to be so weird? I'm leaving...now I'm back! And not so pissed at my weird family. Now is the time to mourn the loss of one of my most loyal readers (I think she's read the entire thing one time, which is more than anyone else has done so far) She has been banned from accesing any portion of the Internet, do to reasons that must remain confidental due to security reasons. If I told you, I'd have to kill you and all that stuff. So...now I am down to one and a half readers. Untill such time that I have more. I wonder why anyone would read this? You would have to have several characteristics that I possess. First of all, you'd have to have an extrodinary amount of free time. Second of all, you would have to have the patience to read through all of this. And lastly, you'd have to know where the heck this site is. I admit it. I haven't exactly advertised this site. Nor can I find it on any search engines. Some of my pages have stuff written in to make search engines recognize me, but it doesn't seem to be working. What must I do to rise above obscurity? I tell people I know about this site, but they either ignore this page, or don't even bother coming to the site in the first place. I suppose that is the bane of all authors. To pour your heart and soul into a passage, and have everyone ignore it. *sniffle* Why must this be? Maybe I should just give up. After all, no one would really care if I quit updating this site. But I can't help but think of stuff like the evil over lord list and REALLY REALLY BIG BUTTON THAT DOESN'T DO ANYTHING. They are not great neccesarily because of the content, (although that helps some) they are great because of their sheer length. You can read a little each day. And almost never finish. Also, I guess I still am trying to get the world record. I have heard some feedback suggesting that I make someway for people to remember where they stopped reading. It can be very confusing, especially if you weren't paying attention in the first place. Well, I dont want to organize this page, in any manner. This is chaos. And insanity. Not neat little text in classifiable rows, in alphabetical order. If you want neat, go to some other site(though, as mentioned in Flaming Chickens Code:472 there is no such thing as a site better than this one). Otherwise, I guess you're stuck with me. Awwwww...I'm touched! You didn't run screaming to another site, thankfull for the chance to escape this insanity. You're still here, which must mean that you'd rather be here than anywhere else! Hey, where are you going?! I thought you were gonna stay here and keep me company?! *drags reader back* See, I knew you'd stay! *gagged reader glares* What's that? I know this is the best site ever, thanks for the compliment! *reader starts inching towards freedom* I better go...I think that I may have a problem brewing. I'm back. And very concerned about this new, younger generation (all 10 year olds who were born in 1992) They are supposed to be the future. Instead they appear to be a nuclear armagedon in the form of a fifth grader. I chanced to have an interview with an informant from this evil generation (my little sister) who will be called Mrs. X for security reasons (no, she's not married, the "Mrs" makes it good as a disguise) I was quizing Mrs. X on Civil War History for an upcoming test in her classroom (whose location can not be devulged) Mrs. X seemed fluent in the subject. Using prior knowledge, I deduced that Mrs. X was full of crap. Out of sheer curiosity, I asked Mrs. X who participated in the Civil War. She immediatly replied "Clara Barton". I clarified, which countries fought in the Civil War. She answered: England, Russia, and (out of sheer desperation) Iraq. I believe that she was just listing countries she knows America has fought against. Now, correct me if I'm wrong...but Iraq? I don't know if Iraq even existed in the Civil War Era! Why on earth would we go have way across the world to fight them when we didn't even really need oil?!! Moving on, I finaly managed to coax my sister (I'm tired of writing Mrs. X) to tentativly guess that America fought in the Civil War. I mean, who'd a thought? America? Fighting in the American Civil War? In a moment of inspiration, I asked her who America fought. Her first guess was enslaved africans. Well, at least she knows that slaves were involved in the war. Before she could start listing all of America's enemies, I gave her a hint. I said "The Union fought..." With a crack, snaple and pop, some random synapses in her brain connected in the right order and she said "CONFEDERACY!!!" I was very proud of her, just as you would be proud of a two-year-old who has just announced: "I WENT POO-POO ON THE POTTY!!!!!" What I mean is, you wouldn't be very proud if the average person said that they just took a dookey on the toilet, and you wouldn't be very proud if they knew who fought against the Union in the Civil War. I confirmed that the Union was Northern and Free, and that the Confederacy was Southern and Slave. We resumed quizzing and she got every question on the worksheet correct. This is because she memorizes the questions. That way, she can pass the test without actually learning anything. You see, if you memorize stuff, you only have to remember that the answer to number 6 is Clara Barton for a week, rather than having to remember that Clara Barton started the Red Cross for the rest of you life. I sincerely appologize if anyone is offended by my view of memorization. I also would like such persons to immediatly leave my site. You don't belong here. You see...knowledge is good. If my sister...uh...Mrs. X were ever asked a question on the Civil War on a quiz show, she'd come up with nothing. With knowledge you can win money and the opportunity to look like a dork on national television. My sister is a big believer in the memorization system. I previous time when I was studying with her (American Revolution, this time) I was trying to help her remember the difference between the Patriots(Patriotic to America) and the Loyalists (Loyal to Britain) She didn't know what the word patriotic meant. I tried to explain. I asked her how you dress on the forth of july (she said nice) I asked what the colors red, white and blue were (pretty). I gave up in exasperation. More recently, I was trying to instill a sense of empathy and niceness in her. I asked her what the golden rule of christianity was. She didn't know. When I pressed her, she confessed she didn't know what chrisianity was. Completly defeated, I told her that it was the religion she practiced every Sunday when she went with her friends to church. This confirmed my suspicion that she only went so that she could have the use of the church's playground equipment. My family also strongly suspects that she stole $20 from the donation thingy. Anyway, that's my rant on the new generation that contains my little sister. When someone of her generation runs for president, I'm gonna do a complete background check. If they're anything like my sister, I'm movin' to Canada. Gotta go...the Russian-Brittish-Iraqi-enslaved-Africans are coming to defeat the Mexicans. I'm back! *there's that darn cricket again* And I have a genuine question to ask all of my loyal readers *cough-cough* Okay, here it is: Is it normal for a non-gender specific sibling to carry around various dead reptiles (snakes, turtles, lizards etc.) Furthormore, is it considered accepted behavior to talk to these dead reptiles, in a cooey, baby talky kind of voice? Finnaly, is it expected for said sibling's non-gender specific parent to encourage such behavior, citing "I was just like that as a child" as an excuse? It's an honest question as I fear that my non-gender specific sibling is weird. Who am I kidding? My entire family is weird. It's just a matter of degree. Hey, by the way. I'm sorry that my last few entries have been only about my various family antics. Although I can't see why you care, because there is a large probability that you do not exist, because I don't think anyone is reading this anymore. How discouraging. People need to make the time to waste time. It's a time honored tradition. Who'd thought that I could use time that many times in only a few sentences? It's been pretty quiet here lately, which is why I haven't added anything to this text in awhile. I know, you were just crushed that nothing new was happening. It's a sad, cold, cruel world out there and you had nothing to relieve the monotony of it. *sniffle* I feel so sorry for you! Next thing you know, you're internet connection will die. Well, too bad! Do you know I never even had a computer untill just a few months ago (that's why I'm obsessivly writing here) So I won't pity you if you're computer dies for unexpected reasons. Time for another quote from the FLAMING CHICKEN HANDBOOK!!! Code: 843 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook states that in no way is the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (guess who?) responsible for any faulty wiring or lack thereof in your computer. The Patron Saint of Paper Clips in no way wishes harm on your computer. Any derogatory statement is simply an opinion of an individual, not of the flaming order of the flaming chickens. Said order will in no way be held responsible for any damages, injuries, loss of life, limb, head, or organs. Okay, quote is done. Maybe I should put quotation marks around them...nah, too much work. But I probably will eventually get around to having a seperate page just for the FLAMING CHICKEN HANDBOOK. That way all the members (what members) can print out a copy of it for themselves (if they didn't get that copy in the mail) I guess I'm done for the day...I know. You want me to stay. It's okay. Because eventually, I'll be back! Seeya! I'm back. And once again suprised. When I was at a TAB poetry thingy (TAB is good TAB is great We love TAB) I met some new people. One of these people (who shall remain nameless untill such time that I have explicit permission to use her name) turned out to be almost as weird as me. As in...she read the ENTIRE Longest Text Ever. The whole thing. So far two whole people (to my knowledge) have read the entire thing, and a few people have skimmed it. That means I really can justify claiming to have two and a half readers! I'm so happy! That means my pointless obsession has actually entertained someone besides me! Perhaps, one day, far in the future, this will actually be a world record and random people will acutally voluntarily read this text every day. Or maybe not. The point is that it is nice to have readers. Or maybe it's not...I mean...won't the quality *snicker* of my work deteriorate if I am no longer writing for the target audience of me? If that happens, then no one will read this. And then I'll be writing for me again. And then the quality will rise. And then people will start reading. And then the quality will go down and the vicious spiral of good and bad will continue untill I either give up this text, or go crazy...er. In any case...I should probably find a topic. Yeah...a topic would be good. Or...I could just continue to write about finding a topic. Ooooo! I know a topic! Ice cream trucks! This has been bothering me for a while. You see...when it's hot, you want something cold to eat. Conviently, ice cream trucks come around during the hottest part of the year (it must be a conspiracy). As you may or may not know, small children swarm the ice cream trucks. The vendors even play whimsical music which I strongly suspect contains subliminal messages to make you hungry for ice cream. The vendors get oodles of cash, and the kids get ice cream. Now, in today's society of buying groceries on-line and getting them delivered, why hasn't any other food industry marketed this ingenius idea to bring the product to the consumer. I can just see Hot Dog, and Pizza trucks roaming the neighbor hoods, selling treats to hungry children...and adults. Of course, said adults would have to peel their butt-cheeks off the couch...but they'd have to do that for the delivary man anyway. The food trucks could even play music that made you hungry for their food. Then the problem with obesity in America would be blamed on evil food truck drivers as opposed to the harmless, benificient television and computer. We could all breath a sigh of relief as parents kept their children inside, away from the evil truck drivers and near the T.V. Gone would be the days when parents told children to play outside, it's a nice day. Parents would buy their children computers, video games and other television neccesities. This, of course would expand the market for such products. This would lead to a better, more stable economy. Food industires would be buying cars, gas and music. Parents would increase the purchase of entertainment items. In return companies would make a profit, pay their workers better. The workers would then be able to afford more entertainment items and the upward spiral would continue, as opposed to the evil downward spiral of my writing. In conclusion, Ladies and Gentlemen...if you implement my idea, there will be peace and prosperity for all. As long as you don't mind a few more couch potatoes. Gotta go...I think I hear a catchy jingle. I'm back...it's been awhile since I've written here. A lot has happened. Like my EVIL school computer deleting my updates page. But it's all good. Especially since I just saw The Matrix: Reloaded. The following text may spoil the movie for you, so WARNING: do no read this unless you have already seen the movie. Okay. What I liked best was the philosophy on choices. (the mindless fight scenes were really cool, too). It's like this. In the beginning of the movie, Neo is having dreams about Trinity's death. Later, The Oracle tells him that he has already decided her fate. Towards the end of the movie, Neo chooses to tell Trinity to stay out of the Matrix, since he saw her die in it. She agrees, but only after seeing how important it is to him. After a horrific chain of events (is it coincidence, or fate) the people who will deactivate the secondary power source of the building Neo is infiltrating, die. So...the plan is going to fail. Unless someone does something, Neo, Morpheus and many others will die. Trinity, who is of course outside of the Matrix, knows this and chooses to enter the Matrix to save the day. The events of Neo's dream unfold. So...when the oracle said that the choice had already been made, she was completely correct. The moment Neo woke from dreams of Trinity's death, he made a choice. He would do everything in his power to keep his dream from becoming reality. So he kept her out of the Matrix, and she saw the problem, and entered the Matrix to fix it. If she had been in the Matrix, she would have likely been with Morpheus, never would have known about the plan's failure, would therefore not have been in the situation that resulted in her death. And the plan would have failed and Neo might have died, along with a large portion of the city (the building was set to blow if there was any intruders) So...Neo's choice to attempt to save Trinity triggered the sequence of events that led to her death. As Neo realizes all of this, through a nearly omniscient Architect of the Matrix, he makes another choice. This choice is simply an extension of his original choice: he will save Trinity at all costs. Neo is told that he has two choices. He can save mankind, and doom Trinity. Or he can try to save Trinity and doom mankind. No guarantee that he'll succeed in saving Trinity. He goes for Trinity, makes it just in time to catch her body, and starts her heart back up. In return for not taking the easy route, he gains a power in the more or less real world. He can deactivate the machines, (squidies) but at great personal cost. The movie ends with him in a coma. Now, you must realize that I have described only one aspect of this movie of all movies. There are not enough words in the English language to describe the sheer coolness of the fight choreography, special effects and the plot. I highly recommend you see the movie yourself. I'm sorry that today's rant isn't random, insane or completely chaotic, but I must right my experience with The Matrix before I forget. I am so buying this movie when it comes out on DVD. I love it! You have to admit its sheer coolness. I mean, come on! It's the sequel to the movie that revolutionized the standard by which we judge special effects. I better stop typing before I have a heart attack...just remember...The Matrix has you...I'm back. And throughly pissed off at my school system in general. You see...they feel that the only way to reward academic achievement...yada-yada-yada...is to force the smart kids to be ushers for Senior Honor Nite, and Graduation. Where is the logic in this? I for one, didn't know about such dire consequences for not deliberatly failing classes. It was bad enough that I was forced to "volunteer" my precious time (i could have worked on this site)...no...I was forced to wear formal attire. My school system is stuck in the past...and formal attire means...a dress...a white dress...(for those you who never bothered to find out...I am indeed female). So...for the first time in about 5 years...I wore a dress...and something that was complelty white. What cruel fate is this? To compound the EVIL situation...I was forced to wear feminine shoes. In other words...they hurt. And they pushed my toes together. Since I have a rather weird phobia of touching my own skin...this made my evening my own personall torture session. I think that such gender-specific torture should be deemed inhumane and abolished from our great society...of flaming chickens. Henceforth...Code: 666 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that under no circumstance will the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (guess who) be forced to wear anything other than a t-shirt and preferably black jeans. Should you violate this right, you will become destroyed or possibly dizzy. I'm leaving now...I have some destruction to do. i'm back. from graduation. we had to get there one hour and fifteen minutes early because there was traffic. After standing around a lot...the ceremony started. Lots of people spoke. by the time I had to do my part (tell people where to stand before getting their diploma) it was dark. there were bugs. they liked landing on me. then...i got to go stand while people said a lot of stuff. i couldn't hear it because someone had put the speakers facing the audience. we clapped. the whole time, even during the name-calling, seniors were playing with silly string and beachballs. afterwards...they turned off the lights. there were lots of fireworks. i wandered around for 20 minutes looking for a cell phone. i called home, and waited another hour for my ride...traffic to the school was one way. i felt sorry for my dad. i am tired...but cannot go to sleep. i'll copy and paste this to my site. maybe the longest text ever. you will all suffer as i have suffered when and if you graduate. i cannot feel my feet. i hate dress shoes. I'm back. Today, I'm here to salute the Pointless Signs Of America! The PSOA have been whole-heartedly working for you, and what have you done for them? NOTHING! These so-called "pointless" signs are doing just what they were meant to do: entertain you! You cannot judge them simply because they have no apparant function. They expand your mind, making you think about all the things they could do. They could do anything they wanted to, if they just put their minds to it. If you judged everything by what it doesn't acomplish, then the entire world is populated by pointless beings. Noone can do everything, so how can you expect a SIGN, with the I.Q. of toilet paper, to do everything. You people sicken me. You expect far to much of the inanimate world. The inanimate world, on the otherhand, expects nothing of you. Which is exactly what it gets. If you expect nothing, and get nothing, you feel nothing. If you expect nothing and get something, you're happy. But, if you expect something and get something you feel nothing. And if you expect something and get nothing, you feel cheated. If you're following along, and not completly confused, you'll realize that it is better to be a pessimist than an optomist. Yep that's right. This entry went from saluting the PSOA to making a statement about my ideals. This has been a weird day. You can thank my associate "Meg" she came up with the PSOA acronym. Everyone, clap for "Meg".I gotta go...seeya later! I'm finnaly back! Today, I took a long look at this site, which is the acomplishment of almost a year of work. And I asked myself "How could I have better spent my time?" And so, in the interest of wasting even more time, I made a list. Here we go! Number One: I could have cured cancer. Not that I know anything about medicine...or cancer for that matter. But I'm sure that if I just would have put my mind to it, I could have done it. Number Two: I could helped the earth to find eternal and lasting peace. Which would be boring. So I at least have an excuse for not doing that. Number Three: I could have studied and stuff. Uh...don't think so...Number Four: I could have learned to drive. This would have resulted in the deaths of numerous pedistrians...and I would still probably be wondering around in search of a McDonalds. Number Five: I could have read more books, played more video games and watched more mindless television. Gee...I wish I'd thought of that sooner. Number Six: I could have implemented one of several plans for world domination. Or, as an alternative, I could have ruined several plans for world domination that other people made. Number Seven: I could drive people crazy. Wait...aren't I already doing that? Scratch number seven. And on to: Number Eight: I could have...uhhhh...ummmmm...actually thought up these things before hand. Number Nine: Now it's just getting redundant, isn't it? Number Ten: This is the list that never ends. Yes, it goes on and on my friend. One person, started typing it not knowing what it was, and they'll continue typing it forever just because this is the list that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friends, some person started typing it not...etc, etc. Okay...I admit it. I have officialy run out of ways I could have better spent my time. I don't think there actually are any. Except for maybe five and six. Now, those have possibilities. However, I am currently content to just sit here and type. For the benefit of you, the reader...who may or may not exist. Either way, I'm continuing to sort of entertain myself. I feel like I should be outraged about some topic or another. I just can't work up the energy to be outraged. Perhaps a nice, soothing mistrust. Yeah. I can work with mistrust. I definitly mistrust lots of stuff. Like organ grinders, and the evil conspiracies. Did you know, that Kodak was part of the conspiracy to assasinate John F. Kennedy. Now, some of you are probably thinking "Gee, Really?", or "Wow, I never knew that!" while others are thinking "Who's John F. Kennedy?" or possibly "Who or What is Kodak". I fervently hope that you're not thinking the last two...especially about Kodak. Kodak, as you may know, is a film developing company. And John F. Kennedy (JFK) was an alien bent on global domination. Or possibly a really good president who wanted to fly to the moon. Either way, he got assasinated. And ever loony in America decided that it was a conspiracy. Some even go so far as to claim that Kodak "changed" the pictures of the assasination to make an assasination in the bushes become a tree's shadow. I didn't know that they had such good technology back then. I have to wonder...why would Kodak do such a thing. Perhaps Kodak is actually a front organization for a shadowy governmental system that controls the entire world and didn't want mankind to obtain the freedom of the stars and so tried to sabotauge the space program even though it didn't work as well as they planned. Or perhaps not. Either way, Kodak is undeniably evil. How can any company that takes so many "wholesome" pictures not be? You can just bet that they look at every one that get's turned in to them, judging blackmail value, and whether or not you could get arrested. It's just sickening, you can't even take a simple photo nowadays. Unless you have a digital camera, which are a symbol of freedom from the old ways and willing enslavement to the new ways. We can only hope that the digital camera manufacturers are kinder masters than the evil Kodak Lords. I better go...I think Kodak is tracing my site....I'm back now! And, once again, I have proof that someone actually took the time (two hours) to read this entire Longest Text Ever! It's amazing, it's incredible, it's unbelievable. But true. Even more incredible, this time it's someone I don't even know! Wooooooo! I feel inspired and happy and other really good emotions and stuff. And so, I'll take a trip down memory lane, to the dark depths of the past, to when I decided to make this page. It was inspired, in part, by my sheer and utter boredom. In school, back before I even owned a computer, I'd type random words for long periods of time, 'cause I had nothing better to do. Once I got this computer, I decided to do something similar on my beloved site. But, it ended up making more sense than I anticipated (scary thought, huh). Oh, well...I tired of nostalgia. Back to the present. Right now, I'm just typing so that no one can say that I've been slacking off. I don't think I have any conspiracy theories...except pop-ups/pop-unders. Have you ever had the evil pop-up that says that if you click here, it'll get rid off all the annoying pop-ups? Isn't that sort of ironic? Could the pop-up blocker people have chosen a better means to advertise their product? It's like grand-theft auto 3's talk show, you know, the one where there are Citizens Raging Against Phones? Or CRAP, for short. And the lady representing them, calls the radio station...on a phone. It's stupid and ironic and just shouldn't exist in a better world. Pop-Up ad's help you get rid of pop-up ads? Insane, chaotic...hmmmmm...I wonder who thought of it? Was it on purpose, or was it just some mistake? It is now my civic duty to discover this ancient mystery, and reveal it to the uncaring world. Or maybe I'll go make a frozen pizza. Yeah. That sounds good, too. Since I'm not particualarly inspired at the moment, I should leave and let you gather what is left of your sanity. I just can't seem to stop, though. Okay...I can do it. I'm leaving. I'm back...and it's several hours later. I've decided to imortalize the stupidity of my dog, Moose. She is a heavy-set Yorkshire Terrior (12 lbs.) In otherwords, she's a small yappy dog who is big for her breed. Today, I met her arch-enemy. An enemy so terrifying that Moose cannot stop shaking. An enemy so hideous that Moose must destroy it at all costs. An enemy so dangerous that Moose fears it above all others. Now you may be wondering what horrible beast is Moose's arch-enemy. And you probably suspect that it is something pathetic. You would be correct in your suspiciousness...for Mooses arch-enemy is...*dramatic drumroll*...a small, white, feather. Now, Moose has seen many feathers, birds even. But none have struck terror in her little moose heart like this particular feather. So...naturally I put her arch-enemy in my pocket and brought it home with me. This action has made her very suspicious of where my loyalties lie. She tracks the feather smell all over the house, and goes crazy whenever I take it out of my pocket. She even got her sister and mother in the spirt of things. Now her sister sounds an alarm whenever she sees the evil feather. Now, you may be wondering what is so terrifying about a small, white, feather. So am I. It doesn't smell funny, (I asked my brother, since I don't have a sense of smell), it seems perfectly ordinary. So, I've decided that Moose works for some secret government organization, and that the feather is the key to the destruction of the world, and I am just blithely letting it enter our home, so that it may furthur its evil plans to destroy the universe. That is the only possible explanation as to why it upsets her so much. Or...maybe it's the feather off of the cartoon owl from the tootsie-roll pop comercials (one...two...three..*crunch*). Whatever the case, I decided that the whole world, (or three of four random people) deserve to know that if the world and or universe are destroyed, it's the evil, little, white, feather's fault. Now I'd better go and torture my Moose with it...:) I am officially back. And you, the potentially non-existant reader gets a once in a lifetime chance to hear me rant and rave about my Horrible, Horrible Family Vacation. I know. You feel very, very honored. It's like this. My mother is a control freak, and she decided on the spur of the moment that we were going north to visit relatives. Later that day, she decided we were NOT going north, we were going south to a beach resort. Still later that day, she got offended at some trivial thing and decided that we weren't going anywhere at all. The very next day, she decided that we were going north, after all. So, we packed everthing up. Before we knew it, we were on the road. The first part of the trip was fairly easy. As in, I was half-asleep, hoping that we'd arrive while I slept. Then, in an inspired move, my brother talked my mother into letting him sit up front. That meant that my mother would be in the back, with me and my younger, eviler sister. Immediatly, my mother started complaining. It was uncomfortable in the back, it was too hot, it was too cold. Then, she accidently woke our three yappy dogs up, and they relized that they were in a car. That meant only one corse of action for them. They started shaking and barked their little heads off. This annoyed my mother further, untill she asked, no, demanded that my father turn the car around so that we could go home. Unfortuantly, we had already driven 337 miles toward our destination. After much argument, my father was going to turn around, untill he realized that my mother was going to drop the dogs and me off, and then turn around and continue north. This seemed slightly unpracticle, so we ended up not taking that 337 mile detour. We eventually reached our destination after 16 hours of virtually non-stop driving. We got there, we ate. We slept. My mother visited relatives. And so the week went by. I got to go to a huge library, and see Terminator 3 at the local theater. That was the high point of the entire trip. The last day, we were deciding where to eat. My mom said that she didn't care. So my dad picked a steak place. My mother tried to order a mushroom-swiss burger...only to discover that the place had no swiss-cheese. So she decided on a salad, only to discover that they didn't have her favorite salad dressing. After much deliberation, she decided that she wouldn't eat. After complaining how hungry she was, and about the poor quality of the resteraunt, she walked out of the resteraunt, instructing the rest of us to "enjoy our meals". And I wonder where my little sister gets her annoyingness. Not that my mother is annoying...just set in her ways. The whole meal thing was about the only interesting thing to happen during the week. On the way home, we had gotten approximatly 4 hours into the trip when my mother predicatably decided that we had to go back and eat at the 50th aniversary of her favorite ice cream place. Needless to say, we ignored her. Oh, and when my sister had to go to the bathroom very badly during a traffic jam, my mother had the good taste to making hissing/water noises to make my sister's problem worse. She claimed that my little sister always did it to her, and she was getting pay-back. Between her bickering with my sister, and obsessivly playing neopets games, I don't know what to do with her. Anyway...that was my family vacation rant. It sucked. No suprise. At least it's over. Sorry if I complained a lot. If you don't like it, start your own longest text ever. Anyway, I promise to go back to my usual routine the next time I rant here. I thought of a topic on the way home, but forgot it. Seeya. I'm back! I know, I took you completly by suprise. You thought you'd gotten rid of me. *cheesy super-hero voice* Well, fear not, random citizen, for I, PSOPC am here! *normal voice* Today I have a very important to discuss with you in this: PERFECTLY NORMAL PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCMENT. Yes, that's right. It's time to warn you, the viewer...er...reader...about the evils of various stuff. Today's lesson is: subliminal messages . That's right, folks, mass hypnosis via commercials. Now, I'm sure you've at least heard of subliminal messages , right? No? Well...prepare to be enlightened. Subliminal messages are an advertising technique that puts hidden pictures and words into a main image. You don't see them, but your subconsious (dreaming) mind does. Your subconsious mind acts on whatever it is told. What does this mean to you? It means that WAL-MART TV IS EVIL! EVIIIIIIIIIIIIL!!!!!! Why else would they invest all that money to show commercials in their own store? Because they put subliminal messages in them, of course! Subliminal messanging also explains the successes of certain fast-food resteraunts, and brand name items. BEWARE YOUR TOASTER OVEN! Okay. That had nothing to do whatsoever with subliminal messages...it's just cool to say. Anyway, only watch wal-mart if you WANT to be subliminaly entertained into purchasing a new set of TUPERWARE, even though your old set is PERFECTLY fine. This has been a public service announcment. Pretty cool, huh? Uh...you don't have to take the subliminal stuff seriously. It's true, and all, but I have no proof about wal-mart, or certain fast food resteraunts. It makes sense, though. Wal-mart TV is evil. You cannot deny it. Seeya...hmmm..I wonder if there's subliminal stuff in my computer...I'm back. And I feel that it's time for a FAKE commercial break, for the highly informed, obviously brain-dead consumer. And now, a word from our non-existant sponsor. Ketchup: The only food that you'll want to eat after traveling to the 5th Dimension. It's been practically proven that Ketchup transforms into a highly intoxicating (non-addictive) delicious substance upon returning from the 5th Dimension. Stock up now with our Valu-Pak to recieve 3-metric tons of Ketchup, all for the low, low price of your brain, since you're obviously not using it anyway. Then, just wait for technology to "catch-up" (get it, catch-up, Ketchup?)so you can travel to the 5th Dimension like our scientists almost did. (Next Commercial) Get ready fo: Faux's new "reality" TV show, "How Low Can We Go?" It's about six contestants who compete to create the worst, least likely "reality" TV show. The winner not only gets the million-dollar prize, they get the chance to produce the show they created. Remember: if the show sucks, it's their fault, not ours!(Next exciting commercial!)And for all the idiots out there: Try new and improved Dum-B-Gon! Dum-B-Gon stimulates brain activity, making you up to 10 times smarter! Not only that, Dum-B-Gon: stimulates weight loss, cures "any" illness, does simple houshold chores, never leaves the toilet seat up and is the perfect gentle companion for your kids. How can you pass up this revolutionary new product? It's yours for only 3 bi-monthly payments of $3.95 ($3,95,000 on days ending in "y")Don't forget, Dum-B-Gon is practically guaranteed!* (*Not a guarantee) (Next commercial)Have you ever wondered why food sometimes goes bad in your fridge, even if you've only had it a few years? It's because of the "evil little faeries with sharp little teeth." These "faeries" sprinkle your food with highly toxic "age dust" and ruin a perfectly good four-year-old meatloaf. How do you stop them? With our patented "spray". Our "spray" kills over 99.9% of "faeries" (which are much to small to see) Our "spray" also kills most disease causing agents, like rats, or pigeons. WARNING: Leave food sit in an open, well-venilated spot for a week before eating. And now, back to our featured presentation. Wasn't that semi-entertaining? I bet you wanna go eat some Ketchup covered Dum-B Gon right now, while watching "reality" TV. Just make sure you "spray" your food first. Pathetic, wasn't it? Oh, well. I was bored, and a dilligent reader suggested I make fake commercials, so...therer they are. Happy? Good. I'm leavin', for now. I'm back. And I'm willing to enlighten you, the potentially you-know-what reader. Today, I was checking out some weird news. At one point, I read an article that stated that it had been proven, conclusivly, that Kansas was flatter than the standard pancake. The researches even used highly advanced technololgy to map the surface of a pancake and compare it to documented geology of Kansas. Some people disagree, the director of the Kansas Geological Survey said "I think this is part of a vast breakfast food conspiracy to denigrate Kansas. It's a cheap shot." So...doesn't that make you want to take Kansas' side (I sincerly appologize if you are from Kansas). It just seems extremly weird (and worthy of mentioning) that this semi-important guy from Kansas believes in a "vast breakfast food conspiracy". Makes you think that the long held belief that Kodak conspired with the JFK assasin(s) is normal. Another article claims that an anitseptic turned a polar bear purple, drawing large crowds of people. I sure hope other zoos won't copy them. Before you know it, we'll have orange alligators, pink tigers and blue lions. School children won't be able to correctly identify the color of a zebra. Random people will think they've gone crazy, after a seemingly innocent visit to the zoo. It's wrong, I tell you. A complete and total degregation of our societies values. What values, you say? The basic moral belief that Polar bears should be WHITE. Unless we spray-painted the snow purple, too. Then it would be okay. As long as the bear blends in, you know? Speaking of animals, there's a cat in California who is a kleptomaniac (likes to steal stuff). He sneaks into neighboring homes, and takes clothing, wrapped christmas presents, and anything he can find. He then leaves them under his owners car. Okay, better leave. I'm back. And I don't really have a topic today. I'm just bored. Sometimes I just do this, you know? Start typing without any idea about what it is I intend to say. Maybe I subconsiously DO know what I'm doing here, but refuse to admit it to myself. Or maybe I am monumentally bored and don't have anything else to do at the moment. Either way, I'm here. You must be pretty bored, too. Otherwise, why on earth (beta, krpto, zkdjf, Planet X, whatever) would you be here? It would make no sense. If you have something better to do, why wouldn't you be doing it right now? I would be. But, maybe that's just the difference between you and me. Yeah. That must be it. Unless you're bored. Then I completly understand. I need to find a topic. Here, topic, topic, topic! Come on, I won't hurt you, I promise! *hides large ax behind back* Come here, topic! Why are you afraid of little ol' me? *sigh* There are no topics anywhere near me. Kinda like me and "Meg" webcomic we are trying to do. It's called Hit-Or-Miss, any topics, plot, etc. are completly accidental and are not the fault/responsibility of the creators. That was sort of a topic, even though it was sort of random. Which is what I do best. Okay, I'm done with that litte commercial. What now...hmmmmm...should I share with you more of my paranoid/delusional conspiracy theories? Or have I been doing that too much lately? Oooooo! I know, I'll start of list of why it's fun/good to be insane/weird! #1You can say or do anything and normal people will agree with you in the hopes that you'll be satisfied, shut up, and go away. Far away. I will show you an example with this completly true stuff that I experienced several years ago. ME: My vicious, psychotic, flesh-eating bunny-rabbit wants to rule the world. RANDOM PERSON: Uh-huh, that's nice. ME: Yeah, but I told her that she'd be a terible ruler. I mean, she traded Asia for a carrot! And she doesn't even LIKE carrots! RANDOM PERSON: You don't say? ME: Yep. She also is the goddess of red jello. RANDOM PERSON: *head explouding from sheer insanity* As you can see, I was a very weird child (this happened in elementary school...uh...except for that head-explouding part). Okay...on to: #2 You can get out of practically anything by saying: a)It's against my religion b)I'm allergic to that. c)I have an extremly irrational fear of that. d)I already did that in a past life and it sucked. e)My psychotic bunny predicted I'd die doing it. Unfortunalty, several of those reasons LEGITAMITLY apply to a certain activity I do every Tuesday, which WILL NOT BE NAMED HERE LEST I GIVE IT POWER OVER ME! I'm allergic to parts of it, have irrational fears about others and I'm pretty sure it's against my Jenny religion...along with eating mashed potatoes, or potatoes of any kind. I'll add that to the FLAMING CHICKENS HANDBOOK. Thou shalt not eat spuds. Hmmmm...time for #3You can obsessive over ANYTHING, and people will think nothing of it. I, personally, am obsessed with, kitties, bunnies, bats, this website, drawing, making intriate little patterns with strings, doing mildly repetitive activities, being weird, apparantly making lists and cheese...and chickens...and flame. Fire is good. Fire is free. Fire is my friend...until it burns me. Then it must die...painfully. And on to:#4You make your friends look normal in comparison. And #5: You can give each of your pets several weird names such as: Ringling-Raison-Bailey-Suzana-Midnight-Schultz, Squirell, Moose, Moose-Moose, Moosey-Moose, Linzey-Moose, Muffin, Squirell-Muffin, Yabby-Doodle, Abby Normal, Wiggle-Baby, Wiggle-Muffin, Witle-Baby, Cheese-Monkey, Muffin-With-Squirell-Juice, Squirell-With-Muffin Juice, Moosey-Juice, Squirell-Monkey, etc. Now, wasn't that a fun list!? Doesn't that just make you proud to be weird? I should make bumber stickers saying that. Proud to be weird. It'd be cool. Anyway, gotta go! *yawn* I'm back. Last night I was super-charged with lots of sugar and not a lot of sleep. I ended up writing things during the time of night when EVERYTHING is hilarious, including the word sheep. To compound things, I wasn't alone, and things just escalated. The following is everything I wrote during that sugar-coated time period. Some are answers to e-mails, the rest are just stuff I wrote.

Definitly. THen we go to library. Guess what? Me and Josh ate lots and lots of sugar, and it's late at nite and everything is funny but we can't laugh 'cause everybody is sleepin' so it's even funnier but ever since we drank the water we sobered up even though we weren't drunk but we ate sugar...lots and lots of sugar. MOstly donut cake. Okay. JOsh says it was only one piece of cake. WE got it at Wal-mart. Or his mom did. OR something. Goodbye..

[sophiethetheatregirl]

Les Miserables (2018) Review/Thoughts (SPOILERS)

Okay, let’s get this straight: I don’t hate this series. It’s just that a lot of things really annoy me. First, let’s just quickly talk about the positives before unpacking...everything else. 

It was really nice to see plot points adhering a little closer to the book, such as Waterloo, Valjean robbing Petit Gervais, Fantine’s relationship with Felix, etc. 

The cast is also quite good - then again, it’s the BBC, they usually get pretty competent actors. Still a little salty that it seems Fantine will always have brown hair in adaptations, but I’ve kind of become resigned to that. Lily Collins isn’t my ultimate Fantine, but she did well with what she was given with. Despite the decisions made for her character, Erin Kellyman was also a great Eponine (when she died, I saw the bullethole on her hand, kudos for details). In a better adaptation, I’m sure she would have been straight up amazing. Also I’m glad they showed you that Fantine was being tricked by the Thenardiers, whereas in the musical you didn’t see that at all. Enjolras and Grantaire’s deaths sadly didn’t involve the “Do you permit it” line, but I thought it was still rather beautiful. 

And Derek Jacobi was a great Bishop. He can do no wrong. 

Okay, onto the bad. *cracks knuckles*

I find it incredible how even though Andrew Davies stated the series would be closer to the novel, he got many characterizations way off, especially Valjean. You know you have a problem when your main character is doing stuff even fans who’ve only seen the musical know he’d never do. Like, why the hell did he have to be the one who fired Fantine? Valjean is far too understanding, too kind to kick out a person for having a secret kid. It’s ridiculous. Making it even worse, his relationship with adult Cosette is awful. He’s overprotective for sure, but the series makes him look utterly possessive, and that’s just gross. 

Poor Cosette can never catch a break when it comes to adaptation. I was so hyped up to see a girl who was sassy and clever and kind, but nope! She has even less personality than her musical version, which is saying something. Funny how Andrew Davies said that he didn’t like how weak Victor Hugo’s female characters were (a bullshit statement if he actually read the book), but if he had such a problem with them, he didn’t...you know, make them people with real agency. You’re a writer for god’s sake, Mr. Davies! 

Javert might not be my favourite character, but I do find him very fascinating. It was fingerbitingly irritating to see him focus on nothing but arresting Valjean. The fandom does make jokes about him being like that, but we know there’s more to him than just a desire to arrest a guy who stole a loaf of bread. Also, I just facepalmed when he said he valued arresting Valjean over the revolution in the streets. People are dying, you dolt! I thought you devoted your life to protecting the public. Not to mention him thinking Valjean would be leading the revolution was just really weird. I’m honestly rather sad to see him reduced to that, because I frankly really like David Oyelowo as an actor.      

The Les Amis were almost a complete disappointment. They were just so boring. Which is not something I want to say about a group of revolutionaries! Enjolras doesn’t give a speech until mere hours before his death, so I wasn’t sold on him being a charismatic leader. Also...he was brunette. And had a pornstache. All right, it’s fine if he’s not blond (Ramin Karimloo comes to mind as an awesome not blond Enjolras), but you’d think if they were going to be loyal to the book, they’d make sure to add the detail that Enjolras is basically Apollo with how many times Victor Hugo mentioned him being blond. Also, they cut the group completely in half. I missed my precious Joly and Combeferre (sob). At least Courfeyrac was adorable as he always is. Grantaire is okay - at least there was a hint he loved Enjolras. I still say George Blagden and Hadley Fraser are the quintessential Grantaires, though. 

Marius. It was so uncomfortable seeing him acting so smooth. Marius Pontmercy is a quirky and awkward Napoleonic Democrat and that’s how I like him. That’s why I loved Eddie Redmayne so much - his singing voice wasn’t Tony material, but he was perfectly awkward and adorably heartsick. Also that freaking wet dream sequence - what the flying fuck was that?! Marius is a romantic idiot, not a horny one. 

And finally, my biggest problem of all, Andrew Davies himself. I really don’t understand why his writing was so lame here when he also wrote for the 1995 Pride and Prejudice, which I thought was really good. Even War and Peace, despite its flaws, had genuinely beautiful moments. Also, like everybody else, I was pretty annoyed when he called the musical a “travesty” and his version was going to “save” Hugo’s novel. Yeah, shit over the millions of people who were introduced to the story through the musical (like me). The show is nearly forty years old, of course people are going to compare the series to the musical. 

And speaking of the musical...does anyone else find it really odd that many shots looked like they were straight up ripped off from the 2012 film, which was of course a musical? Talk about ironic. Wonder what Tom Hooper would say about that.

The last shot to end the series also pissed me off for some reason, showing Gavroche’s little brothers sitting on the street without him begging to passerby, who ignore them. Les Miserables is a story about hope for Pete’s sake, you’d think it’d end on a better high than that. Essentially, it’s like they’re giving a giant middle finger to everyone watching. I know this was also in the Brick and Victor Hugo meant to send a different message, but the one we got looked irritatingly cynical. The message the series tells us is that the revolution failed, and nothing is going to get better - a message that directly contradicts what Victor Hugo was trying to say with the whole damn story. (This scene also serves as a lesson to anyone not familiar with the adaptation process: Just because it works on the page doesn’t mean it can work onscreen.)

Come on BBC, you make amazing shows. You can do better than this. 

[confidenceatitsfinest]

The Fire Was Screaming Out Your Name (And I Watched You Burn)

Chapter 4

Pairing: Jungkook/Jimin

Description: Mafia au

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Crossposted on AO3

Author’s Note: HAHA Hi…I’m back and writing after a super long hiatus. But if anyone still remembers this fic, here’s the next chapter and I hope you enjoy even though it’s been forever and I feel super bad about that. 

Jimin showed no signs of surprise, but that was largely because he had disciplined himself to rarely show signs of things affecting him in case they were used as a weapon to take him down. He could feel Jungkook’s muscles tense beside him and he internally grimaced. Even though he too knew little about his subordinate’s past, he still understood why the Jeon family name brought such anxiety.

Jimin paused thoughtfully before speaking, “And what do you want me to do about it?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs and folding his arms over his chest.

Suwoong blanched, “Park Jimin, I don’t care how powerful you are right now. Are you going to refuse to help your own flesh and blood?”

Jimin’s eyes hardened, mouth in a harsh line. The air was stifling with the sudden plummet of mood.

“Jungkook, get the car ready. We’re leaving.” His voice was devoid of any emotion besides traces of boiling hatred that only Jungkook detected from the sheer amount of time he’d spent with the mafia boss.

Jungkook fumbled with his phone to call and chauffeur as Jimin stood up to leave. Suwoong jerked up from his sitting position and cried indignantly, “You’re a disgrace to the Park name, abandoning your own family like this. If you leave this room right now little brother, you will never get any help from the Park family ever again.”

Jimin turned his head to look at him, “As of now, I think your precious Park family needs me more than I need you. I’d gladly sever all ties with cockroaches who just won’t die.”

With an air of finality, Jimin threw open the door and sauntered at with Jungkook closely tailing him. He scoffed when he heard Suwoong’s frustrated yells and swears to make him regret his decisions.

With all the pain they’ve brought him, he’d rather they be killed off from this world for the benefit of all. He didn’t care who does it or how it’s done, he really didn’t care if he wasn’t associated with the Parks anymore. Good riddance. I’d rather take Jungkookie’s last name over my own anyday.

If the Jeon’s posed to be a problem to him, then he’ll worry about it. As of now, their intentions are nothing but appealing to him. A note of curiosity lingered at the back of his mind, however. Was Jungkook really related to the growing organization or was it merely a coincidence?

Jungkook was quiet in the car back home, wringing his hands so nervously that Jimin didn’t have the heart to interrupt him and potentially startle the remaining color out of his face. The air was tense and Jimin could feel the stress-induced headache start to pulse behind his eyes. He didn’t make a sound as he walked back into his house and back to his room, knowing Jungkook was still silently following.

He sat down heavily on his bed’s duvet, leaning his weight back on his hands and crossing his legs. Jimin was by no means relaxed, but right now Jungkook looked ready to faint from pure nerves and his priority right now was to calm the younger. He told himself it was solely because he couldn’t have a malfunctioning subordinate. Not because he cared about the other more than he should.

“Jungkookie,” his eyes softened pitifully when he noticed the boy jump from shock, “Come here.”

The younger made his way to Jimin’s bedside quickly, scrambling to at least do his job correctly. He dipped his head to wait for further instructions.

“Undress me, I want to take a bath tonight,” he looked up at Jungkook expectantly.

“Yes, Jimin hyung.” Jungkook reached forward to start unbuttoning Jimin’s black silk shirt, fingers working deftly. He peeled the clothing off the older’s body and gently folded it to be washed later in the week.

Jimin’s body was bare of scars, no signs of past injuries anywhere and Jungkook wouldn’t be surprised if he had only gotten a couple of superficial scratches throughout his life. If anything, he’s sure Jimin had dealt more blows than he’s received.

Jungkook knealt down on one knee to unbutton Jimin’s slacks. No matter how many times he’d done this, Jimin’s burning gaze would always make him a little nervous. He slipped the pants off, revealing smooth, thick thighs Jungkook was pretty sure could crush him in a few seconds. He folded those too and set it on top of the laundry pile.

“Hyung, I’ll go start the bath for you.”

“Not yet, Jungkook-ah. I want you to take a bath with me tonight.” Jimin tried to hide the silent please at the end of his request. Honestly, he wanted to get Jungkook back to normal without being too obvious about his soft spot for the younger.

“But hyung –”

“Are you going to disobey hyung? And you know there’s room for two. I want you to wash my back for me.”

Jungkook’s eyes fluttered shyly, but he wasn’t going to start being disobedient now when he’s been so good at following direction for the past few years under Jimin.

“Good, now come. It’s late and I don’t want to waste any more time than necessary.” Jungkook scrambled after him, feet meeting the cold marble floor. He turned the water on quickly to warm it up and poured in a capful of Jimin’s favorite lavender bubble bath.

Jimin stepped into the hot water first, sighing quietly as his aching muscles were enveloped and instantly relaxed. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, breathing in the steam. Jungkook was still by the edge, fidgeting with the hem of his dress shirt.

“What are you waiting for, Jungkook-ah? Strip.” That was enough to give Jungkook permission to instantly start unbuttoning his shirt and draping it over the towel rack to be put away later.

Oddly, he didn’t feel any sort of embarrassment. Usually, he’d glow with shyness. But today? Today was different. Maybe it was because his mind was so preoccupied and tense. Maybe it was because he secretly wanted the comfort Jimin and only Jimin offered him.

He dipped his foot in the water to test the temperature and Jimin motioned him to turn around. He understood immediately. He sat down with his back facing the mafia boss and allowed Jimin to pull his lithe body against his own solid torso. He knew Jimin liked skin to skin contact sometimes, especially when he was particularly worn out. This was his job as Jimin’s subordinate. It didn’t matter if hugging and touching weren’t part of his job description. He’d do it if it meant pleasing Jimin and helping him. That’s how devoted he was and he was determined to prove that dedication. As for now though, he’d enjoy the treatment.

Jimin gently rubbed the smooth skin of Jungkook’s stomach absent-mindedly. This was nice. He knew there was something wrong about being so forward about his desires to shower the younger with affection and care. Oh, he knew. Knew how bad it would be if Jungkook ever found out the feelings he tried to bury deep down in his heart again and again. How terrible it’d be if word got loose that he treasured his right hand man as more than just a close subordinate and confidant. But he couldn’t bring himself to care when all he wanted to do was erase that tense grimace from Jungkook’s face after the night’s events.

“Kookie, could you relax for me? Holding a rock isn’t very pleasant for hyung.” The body in his arms immediately went lax against him, shifting a little to find the most comfortable position for the both of them.

“Better. Just for tonight, I want you to forget everything you heard a few hours ago.”

“Yes, hyung.”

As automatic as the response was, he truly couldn’t help but obey the soft, sultry voice even if he wasn’t thinking about what the request was. If he asked anyone else, they’d call him stupid. But they didn’t know just how much Jungkook trusted Jimin and how willing he was to lay his life down for him. Right now, it didn’t matter if Jimin was just using him as a warm body for comfort. As long as he was of help to him in any shape or form, he was content with his life.

The only sounds were the gentle waves of water and Jimin’s occasional sighs. Jungkook allowed himself to sink into the warmth and sear every feeling into his head. Jimin gave himself the luxury of being in the moment without any questions asked. Who knows how long he can keep this up?

“J-Jimin hyung?”

Jimin hummed in acknowledgement, eyes too heavy to open.

“Would you like me to accompany you for tonight?” Jungkook’s voice drifted off at the end. Probably used up all his courage just to offer and Jimin was impressed in a way.

“That would be preferable. Who knows who’s going to try to kill me in my sleep.” Jimin laughed sarcastically at the last part, but regretted being so blunt when Jungkook flinched in his hold.

“I’m kidding, Jungkook. No one is going to get past my security and definitely not going to get through you unless they have a whole fucking army ready.”

“Jimin hyung, you know I would die before I let anyone lay a finger on you, let alone a scratch.” There was so much determination in his voice that Jimin had to smile.

“I know,” he said simply. Because he did. Knew that Jungkook had a heart of gold even if he was dragged into such a dark business because of Jimin. Knew that Jungkook was loyal to a fault, to the point where he didn’t care what happened to himself. Considering how much Jimin currently cared for him and will forever care for him though, this could prove to be a potential problem later on. With how attached he was, even though it was hard to admit to himself at times, he couldn’t afford to lose Jungkook now. Couldn’t think of living without Jungkook constantly by his side and being the only person he truly trusted on this world.

“Come on, let’s get to bed. The water is cold already.” Jungkook moved to drain the water and stand up first and for once, Jimin got a full view of the scars lacing his back. He couldn’t help but reach out and trace a gentle finger across one of the bigger ones. Jungkook had never told him how he got those and he knows they weren’t from any missions Jimin had assigned him.

Jungkook startled a bit when he felt the cool touch, but didn’t interrupt.

“It’s over now, hyung.” For the most part, he said it to reassure himself. His past was just that. The past. There was no use in continually thinking about where he came from and how he was thrown relentlessly into the world without anything but his will to survive.

“Will you tell me some day, Jungkook?”

“Yes, hyung. Some day.”

Some day, the pain will be bearable enough to recall. Some day, he’ll be brave enough to speak about it. Some day, it’ll be like he’s talking about another helpless boy, a boy that wasn’t him. Some day. But today was not that day.

[chikabiddy]

Chapter 9

All the writing this past week really got my creative juices flowing. So I present: Chapter 9 of Building Bridges. 3300 words devoted solely to LoVe. Enjoy! :D

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13766574/chapters/32373339

Veronica banged her head against the steering wheel in her car, frustrated with the entire mess that was her date with Troy. She’d flinched away from him when he leaned in to kiss her, and the reason why made her entirely uncomfortable. Through the whole date her mind kept drifting to Logan: what Logan would think of the debacle her last case had been, which dessert he’d get and inevitable surrender to her, or what funny stories he’d regale her with. It was nearly impossible to focus on Troy, and there was no way she could kiss him when she really wanted to kiss Logan. I do not want to kiss Logan! …why do I want to kiss Logan?? Her cell phone buzzing startled her from her musings. Logan. Leaning her head back in frustration, she debated denying the call, seriously wanted to considering the last two hours she’d spent trying not to think of Logan. He hadn’t called her in over a year, though, and her damn curiosity couldn’t take not knowing exactly what was so important.

“Logan.” She tried to keep her voice more chipper than she felt.

“Hey, you okay?” Not chipper enough, I guess.

“Yeah, sorry. Just got a lot on my mind. What’s up?”

“It’s nothing, really. I wanted to check in, see if you’re doing alright.”

For a moment, she was speechless. He’s really just calling to check in? Does that make me the thing that’s important enough to break the yearlong phone silence? Veronica wasn’t sure if she was reading in to the situation, but the thought that she was still important enough for Logan to call and check in made her feel a little giddy. She blamed the giddiness for why she debated telling him everything, all the things she thought about during her date with Troy. She could see herself telling him, lightening the load a little bit, but she couldn’t bring herself to be so vulnerable until she had all the facts. Ah, but I do have a hole free story I can share.

“Well, I tied up a case today!”

“Really? Do you… uhm, do you wanna tell me about it?”

“I was thinking I might.”

“I can come to your place,” his voice was quiet, and more hesitant than Veronica had ever heard him.

“Oh, uh… sure. I’ve. I’m not there right now.”

“Oh yeah, your big date. We can talk later, sorry”

“No, no,” Veronica was quick to protest. Too quick. “He just left. I was headed home alone anyway.” Why’d I have to throw that in?

“Okay,” he was hesitant again. “As long as I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Nope, nothing to interrupt.” God, could I get any lamer?

“Good. …So, I’ll see you at your place?”

“Yeah, yup. Thanks!” Oh my god, just stop talking.

“Yup.”

Veronica hung up the phone with a groan, resuming banging her head against the steering wheel. God, what is wrong with me? Zero interest in Troy, an actual nice guy. But Logan calls me, so I turn into some stereotypical schoolgirl with a crush? Ugh. She pulled herself together enough to drive home, but half prayed the whole way home Logan would decide not to come. The embarrassment she felt at her behavior was stark. He asked to come, she reminded herself. It was his idea. I have nothing to be embarrassed about. She could almost believe it. 

Her dad was sitting on the couch, flipping absently through channels, when she walked in the door. He gave her a soft smile.

“You’re home early. Date not go so well?”

“Uh, it was fine. But, uhm… Logan’s coming over.”

“Fine dates don’t usually end up with you going home with another man.”

“Ugh, dad. Stop.” She closed the door and settled next to him on the couch. “He called me after, wanted to check in. He’s gotten… protective since, well you know. And we just decided it’d be easier to talk if he came over here. So. Don’t be weird.”

“Weird? I’m cool,” he protested. “I’m the cool guy dad. Ain’t nobody cooler than me.”

“See, this is what I mean.” She gestured toward him in explanation. “Weird.”

“Ah, fine, fine. I’ll sequester myself in my room. Good enough?”

“You don’t have leave,” Veronica objected.

“Not leaving, strategically retreating.” He winked at her with a nudge. “Hey, it’s been a while since we had a daddy/daughter check-in. Are you doing okay? How’s your head?”

“I’m fine, dad. Headaches are mostly gone, nothing else hurts. Honestly, I’m basically back to normal.”

He gave her his best skeptical face, but a soft knock on the door rescued her from further questions. With a chuckle and a wave, her dad made his way from the room. Veronica rolled her eyes and answered the door, ushering Logan into the apartment. She set back on the couch and offered Logan the spot next to her. He ended sitting close enough their thighs touched and Veronica’s mind flashed to her recent and reoccurring Logan-featured dreams. She shifted away uncomfortable, entirely unprepared for the electric shock their contact caused. His lips pulled down at the corners, moving to the far end of the couch. God, this is so frustrating. Veronica wanted to get back to a comfortable place with Logan, but it was hard enough to trust him as a friend without her subconscious complicating matters. She darted her eyes around, unsure where to focus or how to ease the tension in the room. Logan, mercifully, broke the silence.

“So, you said something about a case. I came expecting to be entertained, you know.”

Veronica was grateful for the reprieve from her thoughts. “Oh, yeah! You sure? It’s not actually that entertaining.”

“God, would you spit it out. I’m on the edge of my seat, here.”

Veronica rolled her eyes at him and crossed her arms playfully. “Go ahead, be patronizing. Maybe I won’t tell you.”

“Hold on, that’s false advertising.” Logan leaned toward her, eyes flashing. “I drove all the way out here.”

“Nope, you missed your shot.” She turned her knees toward him, smirking.

Veronica’s mind took that moment to remind her how affectionate Logan always was when they were younger. Almost unconsciously, she moved closer to him bumping him with her elbow. He reciprocated by knocking his leg against her, sending warm tingles throughout her body. Rather than moving away, like she was so used to doing, she leaned into it.

“Well, I expect a refund then.” He rocked closer, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Sorry, no refunds. That was expressly outlined in the contract.”

“Hmm, I guess I’ll have to be compensated another way.”

Logan stared at her, eyes dark. Veronica swallowed drily, unable to look away. Is he going to kiss me? He’s going to kiss me. She was pretty sure she'd kiss him back. Then his hands flashed to her sides and he began to tickle her.

“Logan!” she squealed. She pushed at his hands, unable to get him to budge. She jerked forward, attempting to free herself. “Sto, oh… ow.”

Logan jerked his hands back as if burned. She cradled her head and closed her eyes against the shooting pain the jerky movements caused.

“Oh, god Veronica. I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think.”

She felt him jump up from the couch and heard him start pacing around as her dad rushed to the room.

“Veronica?” her dad slid next to her on the couch, wrapping an arm around her. “Veronica, honey?”

“Sheriff Mars, I’m so, god, I’m sorry. I just, I forgot.”

Veronica tried to respond, but she didn’t trust herself not to throw up if she opened her mouth.

“Logan, sit down.”

“It’s fine, dad,” Veronica hissed out. The pain was receding slowly, and she opened her eyes tentatively. “My fault, really.”

“Veronica,” Logan groaned. “Stop. I should’ve realized –”

“It’s okay, Logan. I’m alright.”

“You sure you’re okay, honey?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Her head hurt about as bad as it had that first day, but she didn’t want Logan to worry. “Uhm, I might take some medicine though.”

“I’ll get it,” Logan offered. “Uhm, where…?”

“Back in my bathroom.”

“Oka –”

“I’ll get it,” her dad interceded.

He moved off to grab it and Logan took her dad’s spot on the couch, studying Veronica’s face.

“Veronica, I’m so sorry.”

“Seriously, stop. It’s fine.”

“How can I help?”

Veronica paused a moment, knowing what would really help but unsure if she could ask it. She decided she could, since he was offering.

“Can you… would you stay? Until I fall asleep?” Logan’s face was blank, and Veronica felt the need to backtrack immediately. “Sorry, I mean, it just helped last time. But don’t worry, my dad’s here…”

“No, god, of course I will. You sure your dad won’t mind?”

“Just leave the door open, he’ll be fine.”

“See, you say that, but I’m the one that gets the bullet.”

“Promise I’ll defend you.” Veronica winked up at him; Logan rolled his eyes.

“My hero.”

“Got ‘em here, honey. Logan, would you get her some water?”

“Sure.” Logan moved to the kitchen and her dad handed her the pain pills.

“So, dad. Logan’s going to hang out until I fall asleep. We’ll leave the door open, it’s all above board. Promise.”

He gave her a hard look, but she batted her baby blues at him and he softened.

“I’ll just be in here, then. Cleaning my rifle.”

Veronica snorted at Logan as he froze on his way back with the water. At her laugh, he handed over the water. Veronica swallowed down the medication without hesitation this time, passing the glass off to her dad when she finished.

“Well, gents. I think that’s my que.” She held a hand out for Logan to help her up. “Night dad, love you.”

“Love you, sweetheart. And Logan. Don’t forget. I’ll just be sitting out here. With my rifle.”

“Noted.” Logan lifted Veronica from the couch, and she kept hold of his hand as they moved to her room. What am I doing?

She sat awkwardly on the edge of her bed and Logan watched her curiously.

“So, where do you want me?”

On the bed, on the desk, against the wall. Whew, e-brake Veronica.

“Uhm,” she let out dumbly.

“Just, I don’t know what will help the most.” He lifted their clasped hands gently.

“Oh, yeah. Uh.” Veronica moved back on to her bed, breaking their hand contact, and settled into her blankets. “Can you just sit by me?” She patted the bed next to her.

“Uh, under or over the blanket?”

“Either is fine. Whichever way you’re comfortable.”

He slid under the covers with her but kept his distance. Veronica closed the distance and snuggled into his side. Nothing weird about this. Just friends helping each other. She relaxed into him, but that made her arms uncomfortable because she didn’t know where to put them. Keeping them down by her sides felt awkward; tucking them under her put them to sleep, and she wasn’t sure where else was safe to put them. After shifting her arms back and forth multiple times she let out a frustrated huff and rolled away. Logan grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back and tucking her lower on his side. Then he pulled her arm over his torso and patted it gently.

“Better?”

She didn’t respond because she was already drifting off to sleep.

*********

Logan waited until Veronica’s breathing deepened to signify she was sleeping. He shifted out from under her and tucked the blanket tightly around her. She looked more peaceful than she had last time he’d seen her sleeping. All the hard edges softened: her hair curled rather than spiked, her clothes flowed rather than protected, and her arms draped around her openly rather than crossing her defensively. He had the sudden urge to smooth the worry lines lingering on her forehead, but instead stuffed his hands in his back pocket and stepped back from the bed.

“She asleep?” The sheriff was standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

“Yeah.” Logan backed from the room and followed the sheriff into his living area. He stood in the middle of the room, shuffling his feet.

“So, uh. I’m going to go.”

“Wait a second, Logan. I think you and I should have a quick talk.”

“Uh, okay.” He pulled at the ends of his sleeves, darting his eyes around the room. “What’s up Sheriff?”

The Sheriff shook his head slightly, then stepped toward Logan putting a hand on his shoulder. “Well, for starters, call me Mr. Mars. I haven’t been the sheriff in over a year.”

“Okay.”

“And I want to know, is there something going on between the two of you I should know about?” Mr. Mars resumed his interrogator stance, arms folded across his chest.

“Uhm, no? I… uhm. I think we’re just friends?”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“Well, to be honest, I have a hard time figuring her out. One day she’s friendly, one day she won’t hardly look at me.”

“That’s my girl.”

“If you knew anything about where she’s at…”

“I’m am not getting in the middle of this. You kids have a lot of issues to work out, so maybe do that before you try for anything other than friendship.”

“Yeah, uh, thanks. Friendship was kind of my goal.”

“Glad to hear it. Veronica could use more friends.”

Logan looked down, face flushing with color. He knew it was his fault Veronica lost her friends, and he had no idea how he would ever make that up to her. It was surprising Mr. Mars even let him in their apartment. Hell, it’s surprising Veronica lets me in. There were a lot of things about his current situation with Veronica that didn’t make logical sense, but he was grateful for it anyway.

“Anyway.” Mr. Mars interrupted his train of thought. “I appreciate you looking out for her now.”

“Yeah.”

He clapped Logan on the shoulder. “It’s getting late, Logan. Why don’t you head home?”

“Yeah, uh. Thanks, Sher… I mean, Mr. Mars. I’ll see you later.”

Logan nodded in parting and went home.

He woke early in the morning, excited for a chance to spend more time with Veronica. He felt they made real progress the night before and he wanted to see where that led. He was halfway to his car, book bag in hand, before he realized it was Saturday. Well, fuck. Every ounce of spring dropped from his step and he kicked himself mentally for not realizing it sooner. Usually, he could tell you down to the second how long it was until the weekend, but this week threw him off his normal routine. If he was being honest with himself, he stopped counting down to the weekend the minute Veronica became a fixture in his life again. Weekends meant he didn’t have a good excuse to see her. He slumped against the side of the house and dropped his bad to the ground, trying to come up with a believable reason to call her at 7 in the morning. Nothing sprang to mind.

I used up the “just checking on you” excuse to spy on her date. I don’t think she’ll buy that again. Calling Veronica last night was a momentary bout of insanity cleverly disguised as friendly concern. He’d pretended he hadn’t realized she was on a date, and she seemed to buy his excuse. The last thing he expected to come of his snooping was a late-night trip to her apartment. And that wasn’t touching the way the trip ended. Which reminds me, I never did get that story. Logan broke into a grin. I’ve just found my plausible excuse. He picked his bag from the ground and decided to play some video games until it was acceptably late enough in the day to give someone a phone call.

Notoriously impatient, Logan only made it to 8:00 before breaking down and calling Veronica.

“Hullo?” Her voice was groggy and full of sleep. He felt bad almost immediately.

“Uh, hey Veronica.” His guilt put him off kilter. The conversation was quickly diverting from the track he intended. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll call you later.”

He moved to hang up as Veronica’s voice came through the phone.

“No. Wait. I’m already up now, least you could do is tell me why I've just been woken up.”

Guilt put him at a disadvantage, though he should have expected her to still be sleeping. Waking her made him feel he needed a real good reason to be calling, and he wasn’t sure “you owe me a story” cut it. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to come up with a better excuse.

“Well,” buck up, dude. You can’t make it worse now. He decided to go for broke. “I was promised a story yesterday. A very entertaining one, at that, and I left disappointed.” Veronica’s soft chuckle put him at ease. “I think I deserve another chance to get that story out of you. Maybe over breakfast?”

“If I recall correctly, it was your careless behavior which deprived you of the story.”

He could hear the laughter in her voice, which took the sting out of her words. “What do you think the breakfast is for? Otherwise you’d be responsible for the food.”

“Hmm, would this breakfast include bacon?”

“You can’t call it breakfast if it doesn’t include bacon. You should know that better than anyone.”

“I had to make sure you didn’t lower your standards for breakfast food the same time you lowered your standards for friends.”

“Ouch, low blow, Veronica. Food is much more important than the company we keep.”

“Touché.”

Logan didn’t miss the fact that Veronica had not agreed to breakfast. But she also hasn’t said no.

“So, what do you say? I buy you a huge stack of pancakes to make up for causing you to get a migraine and you can tell me that story I drove all the way to your house to hear?”

He was proud his voice kept the aloof, jovial tone of their earlier banter.

“Uhm…”

The clear hesitation in her voice made his guts clench uncomfortably. Relax. You’ve been nice for 3 whole days. Give her some time. The last thing he wanted to do was give her time, time meant she could change her mind and go back to warring with him. But he restrained himself, with difficulty, and waited for Veronica to respond.

“Yeah, okay. But I want, like, the biggest pile of pancakes. It was a massive headache, after all.”

Logan laughed long and light, truly excited for the first time in a long time. “Pick you up in 30 minutes?”

“Um, you may end up waiting a minute once you get here. I know I said I’m up, but I have yet to roll out of bed.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Now that she’d agreed to breakfast, Logan lost the desire to snark at her. Their battle of wits was fun, but he felt it necessary to be serious with her and make sure she understood he would give her whatever she needed. Veronica’s subsequent silence told him she was taken off guard by his sincerity.

“I just mean you don’t have to rush on my account,” he tried to bring levity back to the conversation, which still emphasizing his flexibility. “I’m used to waiting on beautiful women.”

“Awe, you think I’m beautiful?”

“Always have.” Well. I need to shut my damn mouth before I scare her off for good. She was silent again. “So,” he cleared his throat. “See you in half an hour?”

“Yeah,” her response was barely audible.

Logan didn’t give her the chance to change her mind and hung up the phone.

[angelic-courting-rituals]

interstitial (part the third)

Continued from part the second. An AU where this time, it’s Shinji’s turn to wait. (part the first here) 

He finally remembered their song twelve hours after the end of his fourteenth birthday, when he realized that Kaworu wasn’t planning on attending.

Initially, he hadn’t been nearly as hurt as one might expect when his entire birthday slipped by with nary a sign of Kaworu’s presence. And make no mistake, it had hurt, but he’d only sulked for a few days before he more or less pulled himself out of his slump by reasoning that it was a bit unreasonable to expect Kaworu to arrive promptly upon the hour, so to speak. After all, their first time around, it had taken a good few months before Kaworu had finally appeared to him like one of the angels after which his species had been named. So Shinji resolved to abstain a little longer, since good things were supposed to come to those who wait. Kaworu had practically confirmed that himself that day he’d taken Shinji’s hand and said, “good things happen when we’re together,” hadn’t he? Surely, this was some kind of trial to test his faith, because serious matters such as true love really required a proper trial of the subject’s mettle.

He thus held out for one more month, sending daily letters to Kaworu with religious devotion. “Do you remember that one time we tried to dance to that recording of the violin waltz you played for the school concert? And I was secretly (or maybe not so secretly - you know everything, it seems) glad that I’d discovered something you weren’t good at?” “Today at school Asuka made some comment about ‘no homo’ and I suddenly remembered that one time we were sitting on the couch together looking at sheet music together, and I was lying with my legs over yours and Asuka walked in and said, ‘that’s really gay,’ and then I started laughing right there at school. So even when you’re not here you make me laugh. I’m sure Asuka would have something to say about that. Can’t wait until you’re here so that we can find out exactly what.” “It’s been a couple weeks since I’ve remembered something about you, or us. I’m a little bit worried.”

At the three month mark, his letters had slowed from a deluge to a stream of about once a week, but Shinji managed to write this off as a matter of quality vs. quantity. He’d cringed when he’d thought of some of the proto-love letters he used to write on the back of his math worksheets once they’d been handed back after corrections, because if his school insisted on killing some trees, they might as well be put toward something more valuable than times tables. Although “Dear Kaworu, how was your day? I hope you didn’t get stuck in traffic,” maybe wasn’t all that much better than “12 x 9 = 108” in terms of things Kaworu might be interested in. All for the best, then, that he hadn’t had the idea to send them up via burning until later. So yes, he told himself, Kaworu probably appreciated not being overwhelmed with what had basically amounted to insipid diary entries.

And furthermore, Shinji had penned Kaworu a lengthy, praise-laden letter for his birthday on the 13th, chock full of all his favorite stories he’d managed to recall so far in as much detail as he could manage, and once he’d run out of those, he extended the content of the letter by switching the genre from creative nonfiction to speculative fiction, imagining all of the things that could possibly fill in the numerous blanks in their timeline. (“Do you think there’s some universe out there where we met at a wedding? For some reason, I feel like that’s something that could have happened.”) He refrained from burning a lock of his hair like he’d heard of in Mari’s plethora of romance books, because he did have some standards, plus, being friends-slash-lab partners with Mari meant he actually had experienced the smell of burning hair before, and that wasn’t romantic in the least. He imagined Kaworu would be a bit offended (but only a bit, since anything more would run contrary to his utter goodness) should Shinji consider him not sensible enough to possess standards of his own.

Six months after Shinji’s fourteenth birthday, the stream had nearly dried up completely, although it wasn’t as if Kaworu was on his mind any less. He kept thinking on a daily, if not hourly basis, “I’ll make sure to send a letter to Kaworu by this Friday,” and then when it was Friday, and he had nothing to show for all his affections, he shifted his deadline to the end of the weekend, and then again to Wednesday, and then back to Friday night again — surely it’d be done by this Friday, because he didn’t have much else going on anyway. And then the cycle would repeat itself again and again until it was the middle of December, and Shinji looked at the only half-used notebook in which he’d composed Kaworu’s letters, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, he might have the slightest idea of how Kaworu felt.

A few weeks later on Christmas Eve, he knew he had no idea how Kaworu felt.

Between the remembering, the resultant crying, and the sheer implausibility of the whole thing, he really didn’t have the energy to tell Misato what was wrong, so he choked out something about seeing all the couples walking around together. “I don’t know,” he said, “I just all of a sudden had this thought, that I think that maybe I’m never going to have that, I don’t know.” After that, Misato seemed to think she understood what the problem was, and she started dropping little comments about “You know, Shinji, you should try going to that New Year’s party at Makinami’s, make some new friends, maybe meet a nice girl you’ll like — or boy! Because that’s totally fine; it’s 2015 now.” Shinji appreciated the effort, and he went to the party both to get Misato off his back and maybe to see if there was a certain nice boy who might have arrived now that Shinji knew about that and maybe that meant he was really ready to meet him, like maybe Ayanami had a secret brother who grew up somewhere else, and she’d brought him along now that he was in town for the holidays. Or something like that.

But he met no such nice boy.

“You know, you don’t have to resort to that. There’s this thing called internet porn,” the cashier at the convenience store said when he spotted Shinji perusing one of the teen girl magazines a little too closely.

“I’m holding it for her,” Shinji said, gesturing towards Asuka, who was browsing the selection of frozen treats even though it was January. “It’s cold, like my heart,” she’d said with a deadpan expression when the cashier had directed a similar subtly snide comment about her own shopping choices. Now that he hadn’t gotten a rise out of Shinji either, he rolled his eyes before lowering them back down to the cell phone game he’d been playing when they’d walked in, and Shinji felt safe to return to his reading, the “Good Boyfriend Quiz.”

It was one of those quizzes where it was pretty clear what the answers were supposed to be. For example:

Question: When you’re having a bad day, what does your boyfriend do?

Answer, practically broadcasting heavy font and multiple underlines: C) He tells you he loves you and buys you ice cream. Even in the middle of January, presumably.

Shinji had made it all the way to the last question before he’d been interrupted.

The meanest thing your guy ever did was:

A) not call you for three days during one of your fights

B) have the waitstaff at the restaurant sing you “Happy Birthday.” It was embarrassing!

C) yelled at you during an argument, calling you stupid

The answer, of course, was “kept you waiting for fourteen years, and continue to keep you waiting despite this — this better be one hell of a date!” But there was no option for that, so he just pressed his thumbnail to the pale pink box next to choice B, leaving a faint crease in the glossy paper, because he didn’t need the Powers That Be to have any reason to think bringing Kaworu back to him would be anything but a blessing. Just to emphasize his point — poorly written magazine questionnaires didn’t possess all the rhetorically blunt weapons in the metaphorical shed — he repeated the process with every other copy of the magazine available on the rack before he carefully rearranged them.

When he got home, he plugged his headphones into his keyboard and practiced their song until he could play both parts with just his two hands, but he made a point not to, because he didn’t want Kaworu to ever think that he didn’t need him.

@mermaidsnogrr

[awed-frog]

The Season Finale/Bye, Boys

I know I'm late - I had to work all day yesterday and today, and when I first got those jobs I’d anticipated I'd be frustrated about missing the finale live, but, well - after last week's episode, I mostly wasn't interested at all. When I sat down tonight to watch it, I almost didn't want to. I was highkey convinced I wouldn't like it, and, yeah, I didn't. Not particularly. I've suspected for a while that Supernatural lost its grandeur and sense of tragedy years ago, and all that's left is a bunch of occasionally magnificent, but mostly unconnected, monster hunts - that they're grasping at straws to avoid going down paths that would actually make sense because they don't want to go there - and this finale confirmed all that with the subtlety of a badly driven tank. 

(Really - I was hoping things would be different, but they're not. As much as this show held my hand and made me laugh and cry in difficult moments and distracted me when real life was plain unbearable, the magic is no longer there. I watched the finale with that same awful weight in your stomach you feel when faced with that one person you no longer love - when you look and look and you don't understand how you could ever love them in the first place, and then your eye catches something - they way their mouth curves into a smile, perhaps, or the once beloved lilt in their voice, and you realize that oh, that's how. 

But still, it's over.)

So, what happens next?

The honest answer is, I don't know. I've been mostly off tumblr for a week, and while I missed chatting and talking with you guys, this self-imposed break really brought home just how my world has shrunk. I tend to be very intense in what I like, and over the last year, 90% of my free time has been Supernatural. Writing stories, writing metas, creating the odd graphic, reblogging other people's posts and ooohing and aaaawing at their creations and insight - that was great, but it also cut my mental landscape into a tiny little postcard. And this past week - I did things. I discovered new stuff, I read real books, I faffed around weird Wikipedia pages, I lost myself in other series, I planted beans and basil and edible flowers. And I liked it - a lot. So whatever I do next, I'll be on tumblr a lot less, because - I’m sorry - I’ve been fearing for a while that Supernatural simply wasn't worth this level of devotion, and this finale pretty much confirmed that. So - really - I’ll keep reblogging gifs and I’ll probably write the occasional headcanon and feel free to ask me things and come talk to me and everything else, but please know that I'm not that positive about this show anymore, so if you want rainbows and ponies, my blog's probably not the best place to get them. I'll definitely keep writing, and I hope I've got enough love left in me to finish my DCBB, but other than that - I think I'm done. It's likely I'll watch the show next year, but I'll certainly not anticipate new episodes and squeal at the screen and bleed my own blood all over it or anything. And maybe this will hurt at some point - God, I loved this show so goddamn much - but for now I'm just numb. 

So, here goes - quite possibly, my last meta. 

Cas: Yes, They Went There

This is what we’re all wondering, isn’t it? Is Cas really dead? 

No, he isn't. If Misha was leaving the show, we'd know about it. Like, of course they'd keep it under wraps until the last episode, but it'd be out today - no reason it wouldn’t. Plus, from a narrative point of view, Cas' death doesn't make any sense. He just died after fucking up - again - and he never got to make his Big Choice between Heaven and *coughs* humanity, plus they're having so much fun jerking us around with that yeah so maybe he and Dean they're in love thing, why would they stop now? So, honestly, his 'death' was his only good moment during this season finale. Like, he obviously wasn't brainwashed brainwashed, so it didn't make any sense he wouldn't involve Sam and Dean in his overly simplistic scheme, plus he's been acting stupid and out of character the whole time he was on screen - and, I get Cas is hard to write, but come on. Renting a cabin under the name James Novak when he can hypnotize it out of some guy without leaving a paper trace? Reading books and taking online classes about childbirth? This from a guy who's not a guy at all and has instinctive knowledge of physics and whatever and knows perfectly well that thing inside Kelly isn't a human child, anyway, so he might as well take woodworking classes for all the good that would do him? Uh. Not to mention his random snooping into alternate dimensions he knew nothing about when he was supposed to be taking care of Kelly - if AU!Bobby had killed him, or if he'd fallen into a pit or whatever else, Kelly would have remained alone in that cabin basically waiting for Lucifer to find her. Honestly - why do they bother writing Cas at all if they can't get him right?

Destiel: Still Subtext

And more bad news: five seasons of queerbaiting - and counting. This season finale had to be the one with the least amount of UST or pining or any kind of fuckery between them since, I don’t know, ever? Sure, there were moments, and I could list them, but why should I? Look at Cas doing his own thing, and what does it matter if he was staring at the water (possibly thinking about that fish which started everything, and by everything I mean Cas’ love for humanity, and by humanity I mean Dean), and what does it matter if Dean, as usual, is the one fretting about Cas and worrying about Cas and being all undignified and unmanly? It's been years, and Dean was unusually chatty during the whole finale, so I'm sure some of us were like, ALERT ALERT THIS IS WHEN IT HAPPENS (not me, because I'm grumpy and disillusioned), and nope, not the time. Better luck next season, guys.

Honestly, at this point there are no good options. 

Like, I’m sure there are already two hundred codas out there about the Nephilim resurrecting Cas and Dean kissing him out of sheer relief, but yeah - that’s not gonna happen. My bet is - if they’re being decent about things, Cas will be saved in some way and the eye fucking will start again, dragging on and on to some series finale which, no doubt about it, will indicate the two of them are actually sleeping together, because look at that painting in the background and the label on that beer - it’s obvious; and if they’re not being decent about things, our Cas is definitely dead and Sam and Dean will meet AU!Cas in their search for Mary and at that point things will get Weird, because Dean will be Grief-stricken and Unhappy, and Cas won’t know or love him at all, and then what? Again, at best the whole thing is definitely gone and buried and Supernatural will remain the main Wikipedia example for queerbaiting (but until that very last moment, we’ll speculate this is really about destiny and falling in love in every universe and whatever), and at worst we’ve got yet another cringeworthy dance between the two of them as Dean gets over AU!Cas just as AU!Cas falls for Dean, cue romance tropes, cue will they/won’t they, cue shoot me now.

Guys - I still believe there was something there. More: I believe it was subtextually indicated, for years, that Dean and Cas were in love, and this season kept giving us confirmation that subtext is a thing and that it matters (the latest hint to date is Dean’s I’m actually Sam’s parent speech), but the fact is, subtext is not enough. There are dozens of ways to bring a romance into text without resolving it so it stays ‘interesting’, and the fact they haven’t done it yet - we should stop excusing their behaviour. If Cas had been a woman, the possibility of a relationship would be confirmed by now. So, whatever.

Gold Star, Sammy!

For someone who's been pretty much a secondary character in his own story for the whole season, or, let's be mean, the whole show after S5, Sam suddenly got some unexpected attention, and was the only person to get a win out of this finale. His character development was mostly subtextual, but it was clearly leading somewhere, and this was exactly it. Sam's naturally ambitious and driven, and he's suppressed this aspect of his personality for years because freak and vessel of Lucifer and whatever else, but now, after years and years of penance and invisibility and praying to a God who didn't give a flying fuck about him, it looks like Sammy's all grown up. Yay. There he is, a leader of man, a consummate warrior, a witch. Not hiding, not underplaying his skills, not feeling guilty at all - and finally. Sam got to hug his mother and defeat all of his archenemies - the BMoL's gone, Toni's gone, Lucifer's gone, and Crowley's gone. And none of them need to weigh on his conscience, because, lookie here, Sam sort of forgave them all (except Lucifer, but, then again, he's not really dead, is he?). No, Sam got to reject the BMoL's pernicious influence on his pure, noble soul, he got to work with Toni, who'd cruelly taunted and tortured him, and he got to be nice to Crowley, which mostly didn't make any sense because Crowley and Sam always hated each other. And even the fact he lost Mary and Cas in the end - that doesn't affect his shiny character arc at all. Sam's been ready to lose Cas several times before now, and he's accepted it in a way Dean never has; and as for Mary - narratively, Sam got what he needed from her: a declaration of love and an admission of guilt - the confirmation that nothing was ever actually his fault. Now he can finally move on.

I have to say - despite the fact it was a fucking long time coming, this sudden bout of character development felt hurried to me. All that talk about leading others - when had Sam ever expressed an open interest in it? Until last season, he seemed warily determined to settle down with ‘someone who understands the life’ and be as normal as he could, and now out of the blue he’s King bloody Arthur? Like Crowley’s sudden meekness and suicidal schemes, Sam becoming the top pilot of the Rebellion was not out of character, exactly, but was rushed and badly written - this whole episode felt like someone had said, Okay, these characters need to get here, and there’s this chapter in the middle which explains how but lolz, who’s got time to write that? Let’s skip to the good parts. Rewrite, try again

Dean “I hate that I love you” Winchester

Dean is Sam’s parent - this has been my Dean tag for a while, and boy, they went to such lengths to finally confirm it textually it was very nearly out of character. Because, I mean, this is Dean, and as much as I appreciated that whole speech, that's so not who he is. I'm going to be generous and say he was under the effects of a lot of drugs, but still - this is the guy who never blurted out more than one tearful line in his entire life when under threat of imminent death, and speaking from the heart with such eloquence is not really his thing. Jensen pulled it off, but only just. But, whatever - nice to see some of the subtext they weave in this show is actually significant - and, full offense, now that it's textually confirmed Dean always felt like a parent to Sam, more than a brother, I hope that those who are convinced he actually wants to bend Sam over a couch and do “bad things” with him will finally take a cold shower (possibly with holy water) and step away from the whole thing. 

Other than that moment, though, which, dreamworld or not, Dean really needed, this season was disastrous for him. His arc's been downwards as much as Sam's been upwards, and, as we predicted, Dean ended his year in a very low place. Both his parent figures are gone - Mary swallowed by an alternate dimension, Bobby who flat-out didn't recognize him - Cas spent weeks ignoring him and now he's dead, Crowley's also dead (and however much they tried to downplay their relationship in this finale, we know there was something there), and the world is ending - again - because Dean didn't need to wait for the birth to know in his heart Lucifer's kid's gonna be a threat to, like, everything.

So, uhm, I really don’t know how to feel about things. Dean tried to be more open this season, which mostly went badly for him, but he also fixed things with his family - look at him letting Sam step away into danger (and, I mean, we don’t need any more confirmation because text, but in that moment he was definitely coded as Sam’s parent) and focusing on helping his mom instead (anon - I know I still have to answer your question about why I think Dean’s perfectly happy fixing cars and baking pies for his family while Sam’s off to Congress, and that meta’s mostly written, but here you see it again - Dean, the feminine, blue-collar character, is content with staying at home while his masculine, Ivy League educated brother goes off to war). I guess this means the brodependency is definitely over? Too bad Dean will be too busy mourning Cas and saving the world to actually appreciate it.

(Then again, #NoHomo.)  

Crowley: At Last, We Know

Crowley's arc has trasparently clear for a while, and it's mirrored Cas' so precisely the question of his death was becoming a when, and not an if. When we were speculating about his fate, I wrote somewhere that much would depend on the kind of story they were writing - if this is a coming of age thingy, then Crowley wouldn't have needed to die, because he's not a father figure (no matter how many times Dean’s called him Daddy); but if this is a tragedy, then the textbook solution was to have him die for the heroes. It's a The Last of the Mohicans ending: an überdramatic I know you'll never love me but I care so much about you I'll sacrifice myself all the same thing, and, look - what can I even say? 

I'm upset because I really liked Crowley and there was so much we didn't know about him and Mark is outstanding and aaaaaargh. On the other hand, at least they did him the courtesy of a noble ending (Rowena, of course, being a silly woman, got a humiliating and prolonged off-screen death, because, yeah, who cares, and the same pattern was applied to Toni and Ketch) and he got to bow out on his own terms: for Dean, and with a self-inflicted wound. 

Still, his death, like Eileen's, signals there's no believable happy ending in sight for our forlorn heroes. They'll probably stay alive long enough to kill the Nephilim and fall into the Apocalypse World of Doom™, and then they'll die*.

*Terms and conditions apply, because it would make sense if they died and it would make for a heartbreaking, tragic ending, but hey, the movie deal's still on the table so better leave everything unresolved and have them drive off into the sunset on their own. 

Mary: No Means Yes

I know some people like Mary, and I do think she was a good character, but as a person, she was kind of awful. I won't go back to everything she did wrong all season, but I will point out that her only redemptive point is that she sucked as a mom because she was not a Traditional Woman, and that sort of made her interesting and we raved about their courage all season, right? How Mary could have been a 1950s housewife and instead look at her - much BAMF, such wow. And yet we now know that Mad Max woman I do what I want façade was just that - a façade. Because when Mary was brainwashed, where was the real part of herself? Her most cherished piece of soul? The writers left no doubt, no margin for error: back in the kitchen, preparing horribly unhealthy yet terribly American lunches for toddler Dean, cooing at baby Sammy, her flat spotless (where are Dean's toys?), her ironing almost done. This is, apparently, the person she wishes she could be - what every woman should aspire to be: a mom who's 100% dedicated to her kids - someone who hovers around the house in her nightgown, ethereal and effortlessly beautiful and probably shaved bald (legs and armpits and lady bits shaved and trimmed and waxed and moisturised and perfumed and pleasantly soft and babyish), humbly content with this family God has given her. And, by the way, when she gets back to reality, that's who she becomes - she shoots Ketch, who'd dared to sully her marital bed and hurt Dean, she sobs in Sam's shoulder, she anxiously looks after Kelly because women always bond over periods and pregnancy and mascara and stuff, she tearily reassures Kelly that yes, dying for your unborn son, even if that son is a demon and the scourge of the Earth, is the done thing and anyone would do the same; her final act - punching Lucifer in the face - is completely out of character for the smart, ruthless hunter we know she can be. Instead, it speaks of a mother’s love - a kind of adrenalinic - you hurt my baby boy, I’ll make you bleed sort of thing. This, of course, is supposed to speak in her favour, because give me an emotional woman over a rational one any day. Honestly, if I didn't find Mary so annoying I would welcome the moment when she'll meet the other Mary - the woman who let her boyfriend die rather than dooming the world. As it is, I’m finding it hard to be excited about anything S13 has to bring, though.

Kelly: Blessed Are You among Women

I know that Supernatural doesn’t have the best record with women, and this finale, even coming as it did on the legacy of Eileen’s death, did not disappoint: from Toni playing her mother card and then dying off-screen, to Rowena left a burned husk in a non-descript room, to Mrs Hess cowardly attempting to escape as her operatives kept fighting around her, both episodes were a testosterone festival of testicles and bad beer. Still, what they did to Kelly was very nearly unforgivable. To recap: they basically took a smart, modern, career-driven woman, had her raped by her actual lover (marital rape’s still not a crime in 49 countries, by the way, and it was completely legal in many Western countries until the 1990s), got her pregnant, and then turned her into a Stepford mother. Because, of course - what else could she do? Get an abortion? I know we’re all theoretically in favour of that, but who can really go through with it, the heartless monster? And as for killing yourself - it may be your life, your body and your decision, but it's also a sin, and a big no no. Just be grateful your demon baby still needs your internal organs to survive and shut up. So, well - they basically sucked away her every choice Kelly had until she was this bouncing pregnant ball who got no say over her own destiny and on top of that, her last few days were spent building Ikea furniture and painting a nursery for the literal Antichrist who'd claw his way through her stomach to be born. Honestly - I'd say I haven't seen such a demeaning and antifeminist storyline since the last encyclical letter - except I saw the exact same thing on The Magicians only three weeks ago, so apparently misogyny's back in fashion? 

Then again, we already knew that. Just look at how people are voting.

(If you're interested, hedge witch Julia, raped by a god, manages to abort after a series of mishaps - like, the Planned Parenthood doctor who tries to help her is brutally murdered by a demon of some kind and Julia has to rob a bank and doom a friend to certain death in order to get another procedure because pregnant women are selfish bitches - only, what do you know, that part of her soul who could feel love and empathy is snipped right up along with her uborn child, so whooopsie. She'll only get her back if she forgives her rapist, and she does, because that's apparently our role as women in 2017 and fifty years of feminism taught us nothing.)

Bite-sized Rants

Toni being a mother - yeah, that didn't have anything to do with anything and that last scene of S11 was just proof of how little they plan ahead. I just read somewhere that this is the problem with modern television - that series will be automatically canceled or renewed no matter the storyline depending on how much money they make, and this means nothing makes sense anymore - stories that were supposed to last one season are artificially stretched to last forever because ratings, while things that were conceived as trilogies - we’ll never know how they end, because not enough people were watching. So, I mean - I am sort of pleased that I got there before they did and wrote a line one year ago about Dean eventually forgiving Toni because ‘a parent’s love - that something he understands’ - because, yeah, that's exactly the ploy Toni used on Dean and it worked, so, points, but at the same time - that whole BMoL thing was so wonky and stereotyped and Nazi-shaped and My God, really? The only character who barely made sense there was Ketch, but, unfortunately, that’s also the easiest character to write and the one who’s most commonly found on our screens: Trigger-happy Psychopath Charms Everyone with His Wit and Good Looks.

(Plus, Ketch was yet another piece of the Dean is Bi mosaic that went nowhere, so I’m not feeling very charitable right now.)

The other hunters - look, it's just not believable anymore. So apparently Sam and Dean know who everyone else is, people are okay following Sam anywhere even if he used to be the actual Antichrist or whatever and there are rumors about how he went to Hell and I don't know what else, and on top of that this Men of Letters thing is just something everybody knows about now? And yet Sam and Dean never contact these people, and more importantly, don't share their super secret Bunker full of weapons and lore with any of them? Not even Jody? Nice, guys. Real grand of you.

(Plus, what is this bullshit - why do Sam and Dean send everyone home after torching the BMoL’s HQ when they know perfectly well Lucifer  and/or the Nephilim are about to destroy the actual world? Maybe ask for some back-up there?)

Cosmic consequences, shmosmic consequences. Dean killed Death, and so what? Cas killed Billie, and so what? There is no way to even argue the current mess has to do with the cosmic consequences Billie promised, because all of it is basically of their own doing: Mary walking away when she should have stayed, Sam trusting the BMoL even as they kept kidnapping him and threatening him and killing random people, Cas being his usual self-sacrificing self and Crowley thinking he knows better than anyone else (or, well, as this episode pointed out - they both “needing a win”) - there was no supernatural involved there. So...?

(Plus, this is yet another example of a big narrative thing of the Destiel variety going nowhere. Cas killing Billie for Dean, Cas nearly dying while confessing his love right, left and centre and then - out of nothing, here is the ‘divorced parents’ routine - Cas is decorating a nursery with a brainwashed Stockholm victim and Dean’s priority is to - who even knows?)

That reference to Romani people was almost worse than that bit about the Arab Spring. Please, for the love of God - your show is watched abroad. If you do use history or politics, maybe Google it first?

The BMoL have te power to create ‘mystical dampeners against magic’ and yet they absolutely needed to kidnap Mary to ensure the continuation of their evil schemes? 

Sam and Dean can become virgins again but can’t mix themselves some old-fashioned explosive?

Mrs Hess had people studying the Winchesters for years and yet she doesn’t know which is which?

Dean finally got to fire his grenade launcher and we didn’t even see it clearly?

Handful of Disorganized but Well-meaning and Kind-Hearted American Mavericks Defeat Superpowerful European Organization Complete with Private Army Without Breaking a Sweat - Jesus, enough.

Claire was too busy to save the world? Where was she? Coachella?

Crowley looking at Dean when he called them beautiful, that fight between Ketch and Dean being heavily paralleled with Dean beating up Cas...when are they going to bring that stuff out of the subtext?

Cas being so easily seduced by Paradise - didn’t Dean reject those exact concepts back in S4, and didn’t Cas switch sides because of it? But I suppose he’s just, forgotten, because that’s what happens when you take online lamaze classes or something?

Honestly - I apologize for being so negative. There were some brilliant bits here and there, but as I said - on the whole, I’m just tired. Supernatural seems determined to tell a story by not actually telling it, and at this point I’m really tired of doing the job it for them. I’m fed up by how little Dean cared about Crowley (because, if nothing else, that was one complex and interesting relationship and a narrative dream they threw away out of fear it would awake old ‘Dean is Bi’ ghosts) and I’m fed up by how anticlimatic Dean’s reaction to Cas’ death was (we’ve seen more dramatic scenes over a nose bleed, but I guess these two episodes were so action packed they had no time to insert a random #NoHomo lady, so even a Merthur hug would have been way too much) and I’m fed up by the fact that Jesus Christ, they have such talented people working for them and why won’t they just let them? 

Guys, I don’t even - I’m going to bed.

[dememarquette]

ASHWATER: Epilogue [...pt 2]

[First Part by malum--in--se]

The only person I knew in this city was Adria.

I mean, really knew. As far as connections went, I was at a loss. My life had been rooted deep in good old California. Due to circumstances you can catch at 7 PM Central on HBO, it was violently severed last month. And while I was hitting it off in Modena better than expected, no one should have been at my door. Adria was also the only one who knew my address, but this early in the afternoon she’d be elbow-deep in CSI: Modena. My door beeped again. After the second time, sheer annoyance prompted to peek at the security camera. A stout woman, barely clearing five feet stood at the foot of the building. I don’t recognize her, but she sure was acting familiar with my buzzer. It pinged again, extended as she held her thumb on the button. This time I responded. ”Apartment 312 speaking; do you mind?” She stopped her pacing, pivoted, and jammed a finger on the intercom, a little too excited. “Mr.Marquette? Hello, hello! This is Kathy Grover- I’d like to sit down with you for a meeting. It’s- it’s confidential.” “Confidential?” “You’ll see, uhm." She adjusted the large messenger bag on her shoulder. "I'll only need fifteen minutes for a quick chat. It’s in your best interests, honest! Pretty please, please pleaseee.” Well that doesn’t sound creepy.

I glanced at my television. Noting that the Kardashian’s weren't going anywhere, I supposed I could postpone my afternoon plans a bit. I sighed, giving her the all-clear. “I’ll bite. Come on up.” She disappeared off the camera. Three minutes later, tiny knocks hit my door in record time. I welcomed her in. She rushed inside, already flipping open her laptop to make herself at home before a proper introduction. I smirked, admiring her spunk until it looked like she was about to have a mental breakdown on my coffee table. I require coasters, even for tears. “If Julia asks,” She exhaled. “I’m not here.” “If Julia asks, neither am I." I pocketed my hands. "What’s this about?” “Ashwater. I'm writing your account.” Right, I snorted. I knew she was going to milk it for everything it was worth. That line in the contract about a book deal was much more appealing a year ago. “If this is really about business you really should have made an appointment.” It's worth nothing that I'm using the terms ‘business’ and ‘appointment’ lightly. Things aren’t what they were. I was out of the limelight, but our personal notoriety in the city had gotten me somewhere within healing the community. To put it lightly, the mass suicides completely fucked up Modena. Not that they needed a dose of Catholicism to fix it right up- but my niche and trendy factor multiplied by survivor status gave me a leg-up on the competition. It’s not television, and it’s little more than a step higher than where I started at the inception of my career but the church I operate from is mine. Mine. At one month in, I’m wondering how lost track of that concept in the first place. "-And I have made it clear I'm done with that whole mess." “I am here for my business, but it is about your business.” She paused, nose wrinkled. “I’m sorry- she did tell me not to contact you, but I can’t help it. It’s your life. The history major in me wants it to be accurate.” I can't blame her for that. Part of me knows Julia would dance on the border of defamation of character all day if she could. I pulled up a chair. “Noooow that you mention it, I think I'd rather it be accurate too.” Sure, it was valuable time but I will never pass up the chance to talk about myself. "Most if it is on film though, what do you need to know? “This romance with Adria. It’s so confusing.” Record scratch. Uh. “What?” “It’s up, down- off, on- it’s difficult to fill in the blanks between takes.” “What do you mean ‘romance’?” Now she was confused. “W-what?” “There is no romance. Nada.” “Oh no..." She cupped her mouth. "Did it fall apart after you moved to Modena?” “What?! No. It never happened. Where are you even getting that? Don’t tell me the forums or I'll kick you out right now.” Suspicious, she turned her screen my way. Alright PAUSE. It's time for me to admit it: Adria and I's closeness has...never been an easy subject to broach. I'm not oblivious to my on screen chemistry with Adria. What am I saying- I'm not oblivious to our chemistry in general.What made Ashwater great, and not a repressed episode of trauma, was Adria. She was a breath of fresh air when Hollywood met a cornfield. Our banter was great, her devotion was pure, and I'll be the first to say I came out of that town a new person. The US audiences saw that within us. That was the whole draw- aside from all the spooky shit, of course. We just worked really, really well together. Miss Kathy thought so to, and decided to condense that down into a ten minute montage. She spliced together our interactions. Starting from a little bit before the family dinner, to post-Boris, to the kid's hospital, and then the whole Crocotta roller coaster that was only nuanced on television, but never clearly explained. I don’t blame her for losing track. While I can account for all the stupid stuff I did between takes, the cameras couldn’t. I found myself smiling when reliving Adria's candid honesty, and cringing like a kicked dog when I had fucked up. "Uh-" I stopped her as soon as the two of us stepped into the frame in disguise. "We can skip this part..." “Well fine- one last one though! This is my favorite.” Her cursor jumped ahead on the timeline, and my heart stopped. I had no idea the film was salvaged that far into the night. It was post-Modena in the heart of the cult warehouse. The entire scene was dark except the licks of fire on the edges. How the camera was still rolling, I had no clue. It was on its last leg. The footage shoddy at best. All scratched up, and battered. The woman I was following was barely visible, completely obscured by smoke, but by the time I had gotten out of the wooden shack the lens was clear. Adria was in the background, at the edge of the trees. You could tell the moment I saw her- she was my focal point. She was my purpose. It captured every step I limped towards her until I ultimately collapsed by her side, and the frame turned upward into the storm clouds. The feed went still. Nothing except the wave of trees overhead, and smoke clearing out until Kathy sped it up again. She stopped, just before- “Deme?” Adria’s voice cracked. It still gave me chills. But in that moment, a wounded and battered Adria had a different connotation. The view turned- energized, and sharp enough to catch a frame of our hands interlocked. Our voices were so bad it merited captioning, but miraculously every detail was intact through the trauma. I hadn’t realized I stopped breathing until the screen was ripped away. Kathy pulled up a littered word document, eyes wide and grin stretching ear to ear. “See! You can’t hide anything from me, Mr.Marquette.” I blinked, faltering when ripped out of the past and put on the spot. “I’m not hiding anything- what- what are you writing?!” I ran around the table. Her fingers, going a mile a minute, tried to capture my reaction. Something about warmth in my face, the light in my eyes. She completely scripted a flashback that honestly didn’t happen. The moment in the raw was way better than any metaphor she could twist around. “'That's the moment I knew we were destined to-what?! That is NOT how I’d say that.” “How would you put it?” “Uh- I’d say that yeah, I was happy to see her alive, but-” “No, no.” She primed her hands back at the starting line. “Start from the beginning?” Fifteen minutes, my ass. It was the longest two hours of my life. - - - 6 AM the following Sunday, I was setting up the chapel. I couldn't get her film off my mind. The scenes, everything. I'd never get around to re-watching the series because: A. My shoulder revolted just thinking about it. B. It was still a sore spot for both of us. Not the whole thing, obviously, but what it’d inevitably lead up to. Though we got past that. I’d like to think she forgave me after all this time, but I'd understand if she didn’t. Point is that we set it aside to grow as people. I was content with how our cards fell. We were close, and we cared about each other. A lot. That was sort of it... But then the weird part kicked in. Someone else saw something...Not some creep online, but someone trusted enough to write my fucking autobiography, for example. She saw something was there. That's when it really sunk in. Was it that obvious? And did its obviousness meant she felt...something too? The signs were there. It sounds nice on paper to say she did, but is that why we were here? Is that why I invited her? Did I pick Modena because I honestly thought this was the only place I could make it after Julia? And did she only join me because she was intending to go there anyways? Or was it more? I acted on impulse in that hospital- or at least that’s what I played it off as. Why? Because I don’t know how to explain an alternative. It’s truly what I wanted at the time. Now I have to figure out what it all means, and what's is going on in her head- which is easier said than done, by the way. She hasn’t said anything about it! And if there was any reoccurring theme from our time there, it was that I don't know what she’s thinking. I didn't know, and maybe I never will. She's so different. She's everything I'm not, and would never think to be, but inspiring. That's what made her exciting. Not that golden Jesus would agree. Throughout the course of this mental monologue, I didn't realize I had dusted His head so many times he was starting to get a bald spot- ah… These thoughts were best saved for a time outside the church. I coughed, trying to dismiss the shallow guilt wadding up in my chest. "Sorry Jesus." - - - Our schedules had a tendency to clash when she got into detective boot camp. Communication became sparse. We caught each other at odd times on odd days just to keep in touch. It was fine. I understand it was a whole lot of settling in for the both of us. I had a whole community to cultivate, and she had be rehabilitated into dealing with delicate humans instead of kicking monster ass. Reasonably, that'll take awhile. Still- that left me bored after services were said and done. I don't miss the danger. God no, I don't. I missed the interaction. I missed the dependency, my partner in crime. Restlessness became an itch anytime I had too much time on my hands. Small at first, until the two month mark when it became maddening. I thought it was attention deprivation at first. I put myself out there. I would do stupid AMA's online, and reply to fan mail in an attempt to catch the same high I did a year back. Surprisingly it.... Didn't help at all. Especially not when little postscripts on the letters asked how Adria was doing, too. It left a sour taste in my mouth when I didn't know what to tell them so that hobby ended rather quickly. Community events were my next go-to. That had more luck. They were equally productive and fun. I got the chance to raise funds to spruce up my chapel to what it should be, and could be the center of the attention while doing it. That cured idle hands a little more. One of the latest was a bake sale benefit held downtown. It wasn't exactly my scene, geared toward your more elderly audiences. Don't get me wrong, I'll always have fun charming the older ladies, but they had it under wraps. I snuck out when the chance arose but stopped cold on the stoop. “What the-” A sudden flash of fury sparked when I saw a pink ticket on my dashboard. I did not put that EXTREMELY tacky parking pass on my windshield of my 'Rari for nothing. I stormed over and swiped it off the dash, ready to raise all sorts of holy Hell with the city of Modena when I noticed it was a blank form. Nothing was scribbled on it but the word ’Lunch?’ in sloppy cursive. Her handwriting. I put it with the other one. - - - The weekly lunches started back up afterward. Absolutely non-negotiable. Not even the sickest orphan could make me work within the noon-3PM block on Fridays. Granted, we weren’t at Jo’s. I didn't have any show on the air, and she didn't have to play damage control for her mom, but it was pleasant. It was a tiny piece of Ashwater I'm glad we reinstated. Location changed weekly as I found new spots I thought she’d like. Hearing she'd never had sushi before was unacceptable. My hands around hers, I guided the grip of her chopsticks. With a little adjustment, they were functional. "-That's horrifying." I balked. "What? It was worse training to be a cop! This was more procedural stuff." "But running five miles in how long? How is that humanly possible?" "Hey," She grinned. "That's just keeping in shape. Join me at the gym sometime. I'll make you the buffest preacher in New England." "Pass." I said, rejecting that mental image. "But really, how’s the force?” “It’s great!" She beamed. "Surreal compared to Ashwater, which is saying something. Exciting but different. A good kind of different.” “‘Different’?” I asked, giving up chopsticks for a fork when her dexterity as a newbie already had mine beat. At least I know what a soup spoon is. “That’s not what I was expecting. Just not the same as running straight into monsters, huh?” “Maybe I don’t have anyone to chase.” She propped up her chin with a hand, warm smile from across the table. “Except, you know, the bad guys.” “Except the bad guys.” Somehow I don't think they'll have as much fun being tailed by her as I've had. Their loss; but that would be weird to say. Instead I accidentally opted for something weirder entirely, because I'm a teenager. “How’s your partner?” Her eyebrow flicked up. “Partner?” “Yeah, don’t you get assigned one? Or something.” I picked at the sashimi with practiced disinterest. "Cops are never alone on TV." "Well yeah. Uh. He's fine. We get along great. He's been on the team a lot longer than me, I've got a lot of learning to do." "Oh, he's way older?" "Uh...yes?" I tried not to sound too relieved. "Oh nice, nice. He'll be a good, uh. Mentor." Puzzled, she lost sight of where I was going with this. "...I guess?" "I'm happy for you." Great. Now it's awkward, but you wouldn't have known that from my attitude. She finished her lunch, and I flagged the waiter over. Adria reached for her wallet, and I stopped her. "No- no. Don't worry about it. I got this." "You? Pay?" She said, in exaggerated surprise. "Am I dealing with the fake Deme again?" I laughed, painfully. Ha ha ha. Now she did it. I felt even worse, itching to make a desperate call. "Consider it a congratulations for making it through training." "I was done two weeks ago-" "Oh, if you don't want me to, I won't." I recoiled, defensive. The beginnings of a coy smile crept into her lips. She let go of her wallet like it’d explode with any sudden movements, sarcastic. I wanted to run. "No, I won't stop you~" "Great." "Great." - - - For the first time in forever, I couldn't wait to shove her into her car to LEAVE. I screwed that up. Royally. What kind of message was I trying to put out? That I'm into her, or that I'm a freaky stalker? Subtly isn’t my strong suit, and if any RomCom had ever made it okay just to say ‘Date me, already, god.’ and skip the formalities, I would. Thankfully, my phone still had a very special number on speed dial. The second her vehicle turned the corner, I was on the line. "Ashwater Cottage, Margie speaking!" "Marg, I need your help." - - - Our call spanned the entire drive back to my apartment. I explained everything. I went over the signs I was seeing, to how badly I screwed lunch up. It was irredeemable in retrospect, but Margie didn't think so. In fact, she reassured me three separate times that hand holding wasn't something Adria did with just her best buddies (and that she was really, really sure) before I cracked. Little did she know that was another hour long conversation in the making. “Okay- how about this:" I splayed my fingers on the steering wheel. "DRIVE IN MOVIE. Or is that too much of a smalltown cliche?” “A drive-in would be lovely.” “I don’t know- Footloose was just on the other night, she might know it was uninspired.” "You're overthinking it, dear." “I don't think so! There has got to be a reason she hasn't said anything. I haven't really wow'd her yet. How did her parents do it?” “Uh…” “No! No, you’re right. That’s creepy. Ugh, do you see why I need help?!” Margie chuckled. “Honey, have you dated anyone before?” “Well YES-” I paused. “No? Maybe?” “Not like this?” She suggested. I slumped against the the steering wheel. Yeah, exactly… I've never had to deal with this. Any of it. Even in high school I was the type more interested in fun for the night than anything that spanned longer than a week. And before a year ago, that just made more sense. You want to know why? Because this is hard. She knows me deeper than a flash of the smile, and pretty words. She knows ME me, and some of the gross, off-putting selfish stuff Demetrius Marquette entails. Like, even the literal gross gore and inner tendons. If you asked me a year ago what it’d take for someone to be my better half, I’d have said “zeros and commas.” Now, I have a whole list of strangely specific virtues, and adjectives that would only come to a poet. I don’t want to ruin this because I am damn sure I’d never find something like this again, and I don’t want to. Margie sighed, the pleasant kind where you could hear her smiling as she did it. My silence was intuitively taken as an affirmative. “Don’t you worry about it. Adria isn’t a girl who is going to be impressed by a diamonds and opera theater. She doesn’t need grand displays or money- she just wants you." “..She does?” “Haha, well I won’t speak for her! You’ll have to figure these things out on your own, but don’t dilly dally. Be yourself.” “Right…” I shifted. “Don’t...say anything to anyone about this, okay?” “Your secret is safe with me. Good luck!” - - - So drive-in movie wasn’t happening. Regular movie is too basic (and cheap). Not much else wasn’t much jumping out at me. Scraping the bottom of the barrel, I came up with nothing. Margie put emphasis on a personal flair instead of flashiness. But what if my personal flair is flashiness? I had to find a middle ground between, and that idea didn’t come to me until a horse and carriage tour clopped outside the chapel. It helped me come up with a plan. Mentally, too. No, I wasn’t going to take Adria on a stinky, over-crowded novelty ride around the town. I went on my own time, for a better grasp of the city. Something around here had to be us and I found it. The reservation to a five-star was an afterthought and the catalyst. This dinner itself would be the two of us. Despite the exuberant exterior, we’d content in our world just as we’d have been on the hood of her cruiser or on a bale of hay. I made the conscious effort not to think about what I was doing or what she was thinking because I never had before, and that’s what worked for us. What Adria was to me was comfort. I needed to stop saying things I thought I should and just...go with it. The skin-tight red dress was just a bonus. Afterwards was more important, anyways. I told myself if we got to that point, there was no longer any room for doubt. - - - After dinner, we took to the streets. I walked. My eyes were studiously focused on the sidewalk ahead. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her double take in the opposite direction. This was the part where I normally walked her back to her car, but she didn’t say a word nor miss a step. Wordlessly confirming, my hand slipped out of my coat when the cool autumn air would normally advise against it. Our fingers didn’t brush against each other. Instead, they instinctively clasped. The city was gorgeous this time of year. And the park? Beautifully abandoned. Kids were in school, and the homeless populace had found shelters above forty degrees. I scoped this spot out via tour before booking our reservation. It was only a block away. It spoke to me. When you got past the statues and benches, the main attraction was the fountain. The guide warned that it’d be the last few days of the season where it’d be in up and running. Soon the ice would claim it; it felt like a metaphor, in a way. For now, it was left on, lights and all. We stopped to sit on the fountain walls. Sign dissuading it be damned, we only paid attention to the plaque. It was engraved on the side with the names and descriptions of heroes from another calamity before our time. Adria took the time to read over it. I was less patient, finding more to revere in the woman before me. I patted the concrete beside me. “We should have really got one of these in Ashwater, huh?” “Yeah. But they already dedicated a day to us.” She said, taking the spot. She shimmied closer until our arms touched. “What more do we need? Wait- don’t answer that.” “What?” I said, offended. “I wasn’t going to say anything. Well, except I don’t know how they’d fit Kyriakoulopoulos on it.” “Hey,” She nudged. “You learned my name.” I winked. Learning a woman’s name on the first date, Dating 101. I didn’t trust myself to say that out loud. Instead, the stillness baited our eyes to the water. The colored bulbs shifted under the icy surface in a continuous luminescent transition. Blue, green, yellow, orange, red... The glow on the half profile of her face was driving me crazy, even when I tried to ignore it. There's no word in English to describe the feeling when there’s so much comfort it hurts. It’s been full year of memories, broken boundaries, and new horizons. It all jumbled together into a rocky formation to spite me. It urged me forward because staying still was no longer an option. The fingers that curled around mine burned. Pulsing, like they threatened to disintegrate if I let another moment pass me by. If there was more to us, I had to have more. “Adria…" I broke the tranquility, stilted. "I need to say something. You’re...really important to me.” “I already told you I can’t get you out of a parking ticket,” She chuckled. I ignored the bite of sarcasm, moving my hand away from hers to free it. I rehearsed this so many times. I don’t know the words that go along with the scenes, only the motions. They're intimate- like a silent film. When she looked back at me, all humor drained away. ‘Oh no, he’s serious.’ Maybe I am. No- I bit my lip. There’s no maybe. I am serious. I am I am I am. We were heading for uncharted territory, but I needed to go. The change of scene wasn’t doing anything if we were staying in the same place. I couldn’t be satisfied with where we were anymore. Tonight, I was cashing in everything. “Deme...” Her voice broke. Instead of moving closer like she was scripted to, she leaned away. I twitched. Just as I was about to reach for her, the muscles in my palm turning to stone. “I always do this. I’m sorry.” …? My brows furrowed. Scratch that- what?! Okay, I was heading into uncharted territory, and she was fumbling on the opposite side of the map. “Adria...what- what are you talking about-?” “It’s so stupid- I went too far. You don’t have to say it.” Her freed hand balled into her other one, nearly aggressive in nature. “I’ve already made you leave once, and I can’t- I can't do it again...” My head was reeling trying to figure out where we got off track. She got up to leave, and I grabbed her hand. Her lack of conviction to keep going proved she didn’t really want to go. “Are you crazy?” “The whole priest thing, I know you-” “Can’t wait?” “What?” Her eyes finally met mine, glassy. “You’re not serious right? Adria, you're not asking me to do anything I don’t want to do. If I’m doing anything it’s because I want you.” I squeezed her hand like she had in the clearing. “Very bad.” “Deme, I-” Oh God. No. I pulled her down beside me to trade her hand for her cheek. Delicate- I held her chin, examining her slightly smudged mascara from different angles. “Are you- are you crying? You’re literally crying!” I laughed, brushing an icy tear from her cheek with my thumb. “You’re ridiculous." "It's not ridiculous!" She said, cheeks flushing at the touch. She was burning, too, but on the outside couldn’t decide what emotion she wanted to embody. That was…relieving. In that moment, I realized two things. One, we both really, really sucked at this, and two: if this- this unsaid, indescribable thing between us was wrong, I had zero will-power to stop myself. The time for talking was gone. The mist from the fountain was steaming off of us. Dead in the middle of Autumn, we were on fire. Our breaths fogged up everything around us except each other. The timing was right, so right. I went for it. I kissed her. With bated breath, I pulled her in. One firm hand on her cheek and the other at the base of her neck, I wanted her. So bad- and I let her know. She wanted me, too. She was waiting for it. Unlike the talk before, there was zero awkwardness. She was fluid. Her lips moved in perfect sync with mine with an ease stated the obvious. We held back too long, but it was the wait that ignited it. A warmth that pushed through our entire bodies. It drove us into each other, both equally fighting to make up for lost time in the other’s arms, and to say the things we had no words for. The girl with walls a mile thick melted into me. And I lured her in just so we could go down together. The hand supporting her followed the curve of her spine. Past the scars, past the pain- she fell with me, recumbent on the fountain’s edge. Her hands gripped tight onto the collar of my coat, while her legs went weak on either side. I held her steady when we threatened to throw ourselves over the edge. I’m not going anywhere. Nor did I plan to. Things were changing again, but there’s no way we’d hesitate.

[spicynbachili1]

Best new Steam games (from off the beaten track)

Surprising joys? Me? Why, I can actually provide help to on the market. Within the final week I’ve acquired a short lived cat, discovered a wonderful pink corduroy jacket for six quid, acquired my copy of Dessa’s e book signed at a gig and… oh, you meant video games? Nicely. Nicely, nice. That’s nice. Have a spherical of Unknown Pleasures as an alternative. Spoilsports.

With out even citing the most effective factor that occurred, this week’s roundup of the most effective Steam releases you haven’t heard of consists of desert flyers, determined liars, and desktop spiers.

Cloud Chasers – Journey of Hope £three.99 / three.99€ / $four.99

Select Your Personal Misfortune by no means fairly appears to blow up in recognition nor fade away. Cloud Chasers – Journey of Hope has a setting doubtlessly bleak and darkish, however its artwork fashion and affordable issue convey its coronary heart to the forefront as an alternative.

Father and daughter set out right into a baking desert looking for the unsure sanctuary of the Spire. To outlive, they dredge the sky with a selfmade glider, hoping to collect treasured water from clouds earlier than being chased off and killed by the callous machines of the rich sky dwellers who ruined the land to start with. Camps and caves and sparse patches of vegetation seem as you stroll by, however every may be ignored, relieving some stress from the standard Survival Decisions formulation.

Swooping via clouds is nice and simply difficult sufficient, and the lethal machines maintain it from turning into a chore. The actual pull although is the interactions you’re supplied on the random spots of curiosity. A hermit asks the place you’re going – do you lie? A well-recognized face seems, now clad within the uniform of the oppressor. Do you greet him? Every may end in new instruments or provides, price water, or hurt you each.

The writing is succinct however heartfelt with out getting cloying or naive. There’s a heat and kindness and even pleasure in these two characters being collectively. They respect and luxuriate in one another’s firm, suggesting a loyalty that largely steers away from tedious enDaddening.

The Colonists £19.49 / 22.99€ / $24.99

It’s the Settlers. IT’S THE BLOODY SETTLERS SOMEONE RESTRAIN ME.

You’re robots! Now BUILD. Oh, alright. The Colonists is a constructing sport the place you organise barely cute little robots a bit like EVE from the faintly insipid Wall-E. Uninterested in toiling for people, they’ve got down to construct settlements for themselves on distant planets. Their behaviour is modelled on people (to make them higher at offering for us, see, like in 9 Planets With out Clever Life), so that they require meals and water, and their buildings demand wooden, stone, iron, and all the standard primitive builder-y stuff.

So that you plonk down a woodcutter, a properly and a fishery, and a few homes (which perform as a discrete digestive system, changing meals and water into vitality items for somebody to ship to staff), and join all of them to your colony ship with roads. It’s these roads that present the sport’s inspiration – though a lot much less elaborate than the Settlers’ hexagonal, height-based highway community system, they perform in the identical manner, with staff merely dropping items, and devoted service bots shunting them about one after the other from connection to connection. Overloading a highway causes a backlog that may ripple out to close down a poorly-planned colony, whereas a easily operated community is a pleasure in itself.

It’s fairly too. Though not fairly as peaceable as Blue Byte’s authentic masterpiece, nor as dangerously compulsive as sudden cousin Factorio, The Colonists is a pleasant little technique sport each to play, and to easily watch as your joyful little plastic individuals go about their day.

Do Not Feed the Monkeys £eight.99 / 11.99€ / $11.99

I was an enormous individuals watcher, however not fairly like this. In Do Not Feed the Monkeys, you’re the latest member of a shady and poooossibly evil (I imply, most likely, however they may make a case for technical neutrality) society that spies on individuals. Form of. It’s all a bit onerous to clarify with out stripping out the oddness and uncertainty that makes it an attention-grabbing expertise.

You could have a pc with a handful of primary programmes on. Video games with a diagetic interface (ie: an operable laptop inside the sport itself) have had a very good run these previous couple of years, however they are often extraordinarily hit and miss. DNFTM retains issues easy, you actually solely have emails to learn and on the spot messages to sometimes reply to. Oh, and the principle programme, which helps you to entry mysterious cameras put in in unknown areas so you’ll be able to spy on individuals. Your membership is based on paying for entry to extra cameras. What’s on the cameras? Nicely, that’s as much as you to work out. A few of them seem to indicate nothing a lot – an exterior shot of a runway, or an industrial machine. One exhibits an outdated man with a whole lot of VHS tapes (an historic, much less handy type of Netflix that on the plus facet you might throw at salesmen). One other exhibits an empty room often livened up by a mouse, or by a lady who is available in to look via a telescope and mutter to herself.

How do you pay for this? There are two choices – by devoting time to informal day jobs, or by answering occasional questions on your “monkeys”. These are answered by clicking on phrases or objects in shot and linking them collectively to seek for extra data on-line. You additionally must sleep and pay for lease and meals, which is why you is perhaps tempted to take the recommendation of your MSN Messenger (shut up) good friend and… y’know. Feed the monkeys. Just a bit bit. Everybody does it. Simply watch out.

That is key to why the sport works. It’s not clear precisely how properly behaved you have to be, nor what constitutes going too far, nor whether or not the entire thing is a meta-experiment on your self, or what. Ordinarily such uncertainty works towards a sport, however right here it feels about proper. Temptation is a horrible factor.

Headliner: NoviNews £7.50 / eight.50€ / $9.99

The affect of Papers, Please on indie video games is just too apparent to even hassle going into, in order that’s my excuse sorted. Headliner: NoviNews takes the “stamp some papers to make a distinction” idea into journalism, the place (arguably inaccurately) paying for meals is not any actual concern, however the affect of your message is gigantic.

You’re Spronglo Bertminster (or one thing else for those who’re regular and/or don’t need to provide you with 20 one-off character names every week), a newly employed information editor in a fictional nation of the nearish future. The half-settled issues of the day are largely about genetic modification, however though customary, meddling with Mendelian issues has penalties each medical and political, and these are the massive points in your desk. Globalism – is our nation being exploited by a neighbour, or is veil over greed and paranoia? Is the flamboyant new synthohol a Good Factor or a Unhealthy Factor? Healthcare – is it a elementary proper, or are you a incorrect fool from evil area? Your reporters will ship you articles, and your mighty stamps of Sure This’ll Do and What The Hell Is This Pish Sin will dictate the character of your hopefully engorged press organ.

Whereas the politics may very well be tackled simplistically, the sport does a fairly respectable job of conserving issues muddy and unsure, and exhibits fairly neatly how all these points have a whole lot of overlap that defies the straightforward reply of simply selecting a ‘facet’, but additionally makes selecting a centrist stand really feel distinctly uncomfortable. The nation that provides a lot genetic medication is perhaps on the dodge, however calling them out for it’d stoke up blind xenophobia. And naturally, on the finish of the day, in case your bosses exit of enterprise, you lose your affect over public opinion even for those who’re in the fitting. And that’s earlier than you take into account the affect of politics in your pals, household, or the sinister nameless figures who generally method you on the street.

Lonk’s Journey £four.99 / four.99€ / $7.99

That is so silly. I shouldn’t be having fun with this a lot. Lonk is somewhat dude who’s referred to as upon by the king to do heroic stuff, however as soon as he leaps away from bed it’s solely as much as you what you do. Sprint to the fortress and seize your defend, however the guards received’t allow you to out the again till you go up the mountain to select up a flowery sword. Try this and – oh hey there’s some pleasant NPC and I’ve a sword, so STABTIME.

This will get Lonk despatched to jail for homicide. As soon as he’s out, he can begin once more, and this time I’ll do it correctly. And find yourself squished underneath a large raise. Oops. Happily Lonk learns to stay with out his bones, and leaps away from bed as soon as extra to have one other go of issues.

“See all of the endings” isn’t all that uncommon as a… I suppose it’s a subgenre? However in any case, Lonk’s Journey is foolish and humorous and whereas it might begin to get repetitive, it’s probably not meant to be performed for hours on finish, however in shortish bursts whenever you really feel like enjoying round and seeing whether or not the sport considered what-if-I-do-this. It often has.

Decide of the Week: Oh, I could by no means forgive myself for denying a robust Settlers-like. I solely actually liked the primary one, see, and after 2 they have been all so disappointing that… properly, anyway it’s Headliner: NoviNews.

Some points can really feel somewhat bit pressured. There have been a number of situations the place I felt insufficiently knowledgeable about a difficulty to approve a bit by hook or by crook, which I’m uncertain easy methods to interpret, because it may properly be an intentional commentary on journalistic requirements. I additionally felt uncertain precisely what my public picture was at occasions, probably as a result of I’d often run considerably conflicting objects. It’s additionally a bit jarring to drive a nation to finish chaos in underneath every week, however I suppose the choice would have meant a tedious decades-long sport of progressively poisoning public discourse till your fool son takes over the empire.

However! Exaggeration is probably going essential in political video games, notably ones about journalism, and that I felt uncomfortable might be a Good Factor. I’m actually curious to see extra of it and to see what else I can rise up to (there are fairly frequent conversations too, with a variety of attainable responses) and what impact it’ll have. Additionally you’ll be able to undertake and pet a stray canine. I referred to as her “Floofenbiebe”. My solely remorse is that that is clearly a cat identify.

Now, to see us out, let’s have some extra of the shameless self-indulgence that made all this attainable:

from SpicyNBAChili.com http://spicymoviechili.spicynbachili.com/best-new-steam-games-from-off-the-beaten-track/