#like i wouldnt have any if it werent for the free core

[piknim]

deviantart pay walled april fools this year

[communist-cat-girl]

i wrote way too much shit so ima paraphrase what made me block someone a minute ago

if someone rewrites a story and makes the characters gay, thats fine if you think doin that shows that you have “gay blinders”, just block me

if youre mad about that, keep readin. if you dont wanna read, block me. its a bad faith take thats on par with “representation is pointless” and “i wish modern media would stop shovin gays down my throat” type 4chan shit

if you dont know what i mean, be thankful! its a pointless bit of discourse that doesnt matter to any real world person except queers online who want to gatekeep every aspect of bein a queer. be gay and free, fuck these hos

“just because its gay doesnt mean its better!” feels a little bad faith? like ya, its obviously not necessarily better, but the thing is ... im gay ... so i have a vested interest in if whether or not they get together; not to mention it recontextualizes stories as one’s of aggression against oppression (if they werent already) that makes me doubly interested as an anarchist.

if we look at, say, Alice Isnt Dead we can see this in full swing both ways. not only is the core audience and creative team behind Welcome to Nightvale openly supportive or queer themselves, so too are those who’ve worked on Alice Isnt Dead. Not only does this mean that the queer audience will feel catered too but the queer staff will be more likely to *want* to work on this, to put their whole ass into this project and make it better than if they were just paid to make some mlw piece of media.

and would the mlw idea rly work when the end of part 1 and all of part 2, spoilers by the way, of alice isnt dead are about the gov’t doin absolutely everythin it can to keep them apart and how *keepin them apart, even as alice is part of this shadowy institution, didnt make them happy and didnt solve the wider problems of the world anyways*

im sorry, but if that story wasnt gay, if its gayness didnt put into focus the issues real gay people face, then that story is ostensibly weaker, its prose less profound, its themes less touchin

now, to talk about the post that made me want to write this ...

im not gonna link it or even directly phrase it, i dont want anyone comin onto me or comin onto anyone else over this (not like my small follower count would)

the tldr is that, the hades and persephone myth is ... well, its kinda shit. its a kidnappin, its a possibly a sexual assault, its a woman forced into a bad circumstance; and so if you made this myth wlw and say its better you “have blinders because its gay” or somethin; which ive never heard anyone suggest EVER but sure, whatever

disclaimer, i am a hellenic pagan, more specifically of roman traditions, so my opinion on the *story itself* is complicated. so im not gonna be sayin much about that.

what i really care about is how somone brings of the Hades Game and i *think* lore olympus retellin where persephone is kidnapped, lowkey on purpose possibly, and eats of the pomegranate to like ... get at her naggin mom, or w/ever. thats not actually the story of the Hades Game nor of the more popular modern helpol retellin but its close enough.

the person who relays this paraphrased story says that if its wlw its better than it would be if it was mlw (and, in gnrl, this retellin is far more palatable to a modern audience; which isnt even rly debateable) and the person complainin say somethin about “gay blinders” says “no it wouldnt be” and a cry emoji.

now, ignorin how ... perhaps accidentally homophobic that comes off as ... like ... it would. mlw forbidden love doesnt really strike the same chord like it used to. in a time of arranged marriage and loveless lives, this concept was REALLY important and was the framein of most myths about a couple in the Mediterranean durin antiquity. problem is, these days, while expectations are hard even for mlw couples, youre still largely goin to get reluctant parents go “*sigh* fine, you may”

and unless youre under a rock you may have forgotten that us fags have a habit of gettin shot for lovin who we love

so ya, the story of forbidden love between a fem hades and a sapphic persephone bein a story of gay love in which they fight against all odds and become happy with each other is substantially more *touchin* (and thus “better” in the common parlance) than the same milk toast mlw forbidden love thats been shoved down queer people’s throats since day one of our birth. 

whats rly annoyin is that op doesnt explain WHY “gay blinders” are such a bad thing anyway? is it genuinely so bad to enjoy gay stories more? to see yourself represented in a piece of media, esp one that you already connect so strongly too?

the worst outcome is “because its gay people think the story is good” but ... i dont think anyone is confused about the story of hades and persephone anyways? like, the ancients werent fuckin morons. zeus was a tyrant king and a story of how despots, even one’s who gain it thru noble means, will inevitably abuse their power. athena was dedicated to protectin women but when a woman needed her most she turned her into a fuckin monster. hera, in her hetero jealousy, harms WOMEN more than men when it comes to vengeance because she believes *the harmful actions of men against women are the fault of women.* and WHO suggests that the ancients thought otherwise?

do you think they would be allowed to spread such horrific and grotesque tales without approval from religious or political authorities if this was not an intentional and integral aspect of their faith? is it not curious that most ancient writers dont rly talk about these tales but only speak of the gods in a Vague sense? is it not curious that the details are obfuscated? ignored? its because while the gods love us and care for us they are also fickle and jealous and violent and they must be, in the ancient view, respected OUT OF FEAR

they clearly understood that these were representations of natural causes (a commonly held belief by ancient philosophers) and so their stories show that the natural outcome of things like LIGHTNING STORMS or EARTHQUAKES happen to everyone because the world is just Like That Sometimes; givin names to these causes just makes it easier to explain them. it helps them figure out the Shape of their trauma, far easier than the existential horror that we experience in our hyper objective world of today

so no, i dont think your modern liberal minded fag is gonna go “oh hades and persephone is so romantic” and even helpols on this site pretty famously go for the stories that resonate more with them on a personal level than the ancient stories men told other men to make them feel good about bein men

yes, even if the story is about two gays

if you think a story is bad on a personal level and think gayness wouldnt solve it ... Okay. thats subjective, movin on.

if you think its bad because makin it gay is a superficial bit of representation, im sorry you live a borin life? all representation is superficial then, if you wanted to be that kindve a jerk about it.

if you think makin it gay harms the original script, im sorry to tell you that oral history has changed most scripts so beyond their original form that we will NEVER be able to know that that original story was (and very likely, from an anthropological point of view, the origin of these stories could be as old as 5 to 10 thousand years ago told in different times with different gods and different circumstnaces; we will NEVER know the original story)

changin the story to fit your modern sensibilities and makin it gay is not bad, dont let anyone tell you otherwise. it even might make the story infinitely better! who knows, who cares! write what makes you happy, fuck these hos

[mad-men-inc]

Fragments from Beyond The Stars -- Rescue.

So ya boi wrote a thing, lmao. Enjoy some Star Wars bullshit! Basically my OCs (along with togruta!Kit) in a universe ive been on and off making for like 2-3 months. Please, dear god, ask me about them and the story if you’re interested. I would kill for you :eyes:

Kit slammed the door open, the woman at the head of the table merely raising an eyebrow at the loud entrance. The man sitting two chairs to her left stood up, his hand going to the blaster hanging off his belt, but between the woman's hand wave and Kit's own blaster aimed at his face, he conceded and left through a side door, paying a single glance back to the woman.

"Kit, I presume?"

"Where's Sam." It was barely a question, the hardness in Kit's voice making it clear that they werent here to play the woman's game.

"Tut tut, little Fighter. Not even going to ask how I know?"

"I know enough about you to know you pulled any intel from Sam's head, so tell me where she is before I pull the answer from yours." The response was growled, and the woman.. laughed. She tilted her head back, elegantly, and laughed to the ceiling.

"Oh, that's precious! You have just the fire I expected you to- you're just like she described." Her tone was mocking, teasing, light. Too fucking light. Kit fired their blaster, right for her cocky fucking face, but she held up a hand and stopped the laser in midair, halfway between her and Kit.

"Now, now. That's just rude," the joking tone gave way to offense, and the laser fell to the table's surface, sizzling out. "Play nicely or I'll have my men kill your little girlfriend."

Kit growled lowly, any fear at facing a Force user snuffed out by the threat to their friend- leader- partner. Still, they took the message, holstering their blaster and crossing their arms over their chest defiantly. A knife settled into each hand, slipped from the wrist guards they wore. "Fine. Take me to her."

The woman stood up, her hands resting delicately, balancing on her fingertips, against the table's surface. "Why would I do that, when it's more fun to keep you in suspense? She cried for you, you know," she circled the table, closing the distance between herself and Kit, one hand trailing over the table next to her. "She screamed and begged for you to stay away. To let her die, so you could stay free. Unfortunately, you didnt get the message-" a mocking pout "-apologies about that."

Kit didnt believe this woman, no matter how much that sounded exactly like their Sam. They wouldn't believe a word she said.

She continued, before they could interject any protests though. "I silenced her of course, dont worry. Couldnt have her scaring you off, now could i?" She was closer than Kit would like, her free hand coming up to flick at the tip of their montrals.

Kit finally uncrossed their arms, both hands shoving towards the woman full force. The blades sunk into her sides, the woman shouting and sending a Force wave into Kit. They flew backwards, through the door they had left open. The knives remained in the woman's sides.

They stood upright against the wall, ignoring the pain in their back, as they moved down the hallway. They opened every door searching for the woman they came for, their team leader, their fucking girlfriend, finally finding her in a tiny closet-like room that had become a makeshift cell, at the end of the hallway.

Kit's hands found her shoulders, helping Sam sit upright. As soon as she saw Kit's face, she started crying, shaking her head frantically.

"Go, go go go, go, get out of here, go-" she was begging, the words almost incoherent with how slurred and soft they were. Sam was.. out of it. Her eyes were unfocused and she was hardly breathing, she was covered in bruises and cuts and burns, she looked like she had barely eaten anything with how much thinner she was-- and she was trembling in Kit's hold.

They shook their head without a word, untying Sam's hands and easing her up with the wall as support."We have to go, Sammy," Kit was trying to hide their frantically beating heart, keeping their voice steady and level.

"Cant- cant, we cant, im- i cant go-" she was crying, shaking her head more, her chest was jerking with silent sobs that was followed by a flinch every time.

"I dont care if you cant walk, I’ll carry you, we have to go," Kit was getting nervous, glancing behind them at the doorway before slipping their arm under Sam's legs so they could scoop her up.

"Bomb- im- I'm a b-bomb, I cant go, its-- distance, I can't, I cant- Kitty, you have to go, please, please go-" her shoves were weak against Kit's chest and arms, but they got the point across well enough.

They stood upright anyway, keeping hold of Sam. "What's the range?" They moved out to the hallway, treading carefully as they waited for the answer.

"Wh- about the ship size, dont- cant leave it, she said- said itll kill anyone in 15- 15 feet, its tied to the- core. Core, core, if we break it-"

"You two arent breaking anything." Eliza spoke from behind the pair, Kit turning on their heels to face her. She was holding one arm across her sides, her other hand holding a lightsaber to the side. The weapon was off, but Sam's breath still caught and she started shaking, pressing against Kit tighter.

"Drop me and run- I've got her, please go-" she tried to tell Kit, but the togruta didnt pay her any mind. They ducked into the room that was beside them quickly, slamming the door behind them with their foot.

The room looked just like the one they had found Liza in before, so they ran for the side door and sprinted down the new hallway. The comm link on their wrist beeped once, Sam reaching over and activating it with a shaking hand.

"Kit, what's the story?" Evan's voice filtered through the device, Sam nearly sighing in relief. The gang was here to help. Maybe they did have a chance..

"I need you or Jason to pull up the schematics. There's a ranged bomb on Sam- we have to blow the core if we want to get her out of here alive." Kit spoke evenly, looking around them for some kind of sign that they were going the right way towards the core of the ship.

"Can never be easy with you fuckers, huh?" Jason spoke up, his voice riddled with amusement. He didnt wait for a retort, immediately setting about calling directions for Kit to take. 

The pair were lucky in avoiding trooper patrols, and Liza had seemingly fucked off, so they arrived at the core drive quickly. Kit set Sam down by the door, giving her the comm link while they fished through their backpack for the explosive devices they always carried now. Too many times had they come in handy, for them to forget to bring a few.

Sam took the blaster from Kit's side, her grip strong but her aim shaking as she pointed the weapon at the door. If anyone walked through it, they would be dead -- probably.

Soft beeps echoed through the room as Kit placed the devices, all synchronizing with their detonator. They would need to get out of there first, get to their own escape ship before setting this place on a path to hell.

The door slid open, Sam opening fire until a strong Force had her finger stilling on the trigger. Kit ducked behind the massive core, cursing silently as Eliza strolled into the room and disarmed Sam. She wasnt holding her sides anymore, and Kit realized she had probably taken a hypo-syringe; she was fucking healed.

Sam trembled in the hold, immobile and hating every second of it. Eliza hummed, the same tune as always- Sam flinched and immediately squeezed her eyes shut as her whole body tensed up.

"That'a girl. You know it was very dumb of you to think you're getting out of here. And your actions.." the lightsaber ignited, Sam whimpering quietly as the red light flickered over her face. "Have consequences. Open your eyes, Samantha. I want you to watch this one. I want your little partner to watch this one."

She was cocky, far too cocky, and Kit snuck around the core to get closer to her. She wouldnt fucking touch their Sam any more- except she did.

The blade rested on Sam's side, right where one of Kit's knives had gone into the woman, and their breath hitched. Sam was lucky her goal wasnt to kill her. Or.. was she?

She shrieked, her muscles straining under the Force hold- she wanted to get away, to move, to run, to something, anything, but she was just as helpless now as she had been when she was first fucking taken.

"And what a shame it is theres nothing you can say to stop me this time. I don't want your information anymore. I want your fucking screams." And scream she did, as the laser was finally lifted up, only to be pushed against her other side.

Kit flinched at the sound, before sucking in a breath and moving to get behind the woman. They ran at her quietly, yanking her backwards so the blade left Sam. As soon as it was off, they jumped on her back and fought to drag her to the ground.

Liza slammed her back against one of the core relays, Kit wincing but not letting go. Their arm wrapped around her throat, pulling tighter as the pair fought each other off.

Finally, Liza snagged Kit in a force hold, throwing them off of her back- they slid across the ground and stopped next to Sam. Sam, who was able to move but still stuck frozen. Terror and pain clashed with their desire to protect her partner, and her trembling hands were of no use. Kit seized up next to her, as Liza got her bearings right.

Sam recognized the straining of their muscles, the same way hers would move when she was fighting off the Force. She had to move. 

Liza was coming closer, her hand closing around the hilt of her lightsaber. Sam had to move. She had to move. She had to move- the blaster was in her hand, she pulled the trigger and nailed Liza in the shoulder, the woman yelling in pain and outrage. Her grip on Kit released, but she was close enough anyway that she sent her boot straight into Sam's stomach, the girl doubling over and coughing.

"Bad. Dog." She growled, and Sam yelped as another well-aimed kick landed on her already broken ribs. Another, aimed at the fresh burns on her sides. She curled up, shielding her face but otherwise letting the Sith hurt her. Her chest jerked with sobs, and soft apologies filtered from her lips, muffled by her arms.

Kit had snatched up the blaster and gotten out of the way as soon as Liza had let them go, horror stilling their hand as they barely heard their girlfriend apologize for saving their life- what had happened here..? Did they even want to know?

They shook their head, firing twice into Eliza's back. The woman fell forward with a cry, her body curled over Sam's.

Sam sobbed and trembled and stilled, waiting for someone else to move first. Liza wasnt dead, of fucking course she wasnt, but she would be soon enough anyway. Kit holstered their blaster again, pulling Sam out from under the bitch. She flinched but stayed quiet, her eyes shut tight and her face pressed against Kit's chest.

Together, they ran, getting farther from the core and closer to the hangar that Kit had gotten in through. It passed by in a blur, Sam dazed and afraid, so much smaller than Kit was used to in every sense of the word. She was quiet and curled in on herself, she was thin and shaking, pale and... afraid. She was afraid.

That was... new. Not new, not really, Kit had seen her more afraid when it was their life on the line, but this was a terror that didnt go away, that left a haunting look in Sam's eyes and a bad taste in both of their mouths. This was a fear that would follow her, they were sure.

The little ship that they called home (more of a home than the Resistance base anyway) picked them up with a quick fly-by, Kit and Sam landing hard on the loading ramp as they lept to safety. Jason helped them inside, Kit setting off the explosives just before they flew away. Sam shook harder as the explosions sounded behind them, her wide eyes never leaving the hangar door, unblinking and unmoving.

They flew away for a few moments, waiting for the hyperdrive to warm up and prepare (and likely making sure Sam wasnt about to explode), before they jumped to light speed. Sam finally, finally blinked and looked away from the window, as the white lines that would be stars passed by, slowly making her dizzy.

JA-K13 scanned her for injuries as soon as she turned, the robot giving a false sigh and muttering about not being able to fix this mess, before he set about getting her to sit down so he could try and do exactly that.

Kit sat by her side, their eyes roaming over the tons of wounds that they knew would only get worse if they didnt get back to base soon. Sam needed a real medibay..

Sam, for her part, pretended as if everything was okay. She faked a close-lipped smile, her ever-shaking hand resting on top of Kit's between them. Neither spoke.

Neither wanted to discuss what had happened back there. But Kit couldnt look away from the tear tracks running over Sam's cheeks, and Sam couldnt stop seeing flashing images of Kit, dead at their feet, the blaster in her own hand and smoking.

Kit knew they were lucky to escape alive, but Sam wasnt sure they truly had escaped. After all, the past always caught up, didnt it? And hers was especially persistent.

[ilovehighhats]

Reticulum, ch. 01

I’ve been sitting on this way too long...

John Brown wasn’t always John Brown.

For instance, he was born Ricardo Sanchez. Not too daunting a name. So, when he used to be a CIA operative he worked under several aliases: Tim Perkins, Paul Schwartz, Karim Sayif.

He considered himself a patriot. That’s why after Joker’s attacks on Gotham he felt the need to do more. Being one of the dozens of unimportant agents, stationed in an unimportant country, tracking as it ultimately turned out insignificant people… That wasn’t enough. He wanted to be someone who could do things really ensuring the safety of his compatriots - both domestic and abroad.

This is how he ended in DHS. The Department of Homeland Security, still shiny and new and building up its ranks. Brown fit right in, with other idealistic hotheads and solemn gruff men.

Bane’s siege of Gotham was the event that shook him to his core again. All those unimportant people he used to trace, suddenly were way more threatening than he could ever imagine. Led by one of the goons who, back in his CIA days, seemed trivial and inferior. Who names himself Bane? Is every third-country warlord or a mercenary worth the hassle of a laborious operation prepared to infiltrate his organisation? When there are coups, civil wars, genocides and other atrocities, all around?

James used to think of those people as lesser men. He read an account once, of a woman kidnapped, abused, tortured until she didn’t even resent her abductor and it only solidified this conclusion. Animals. There were exceptions, there were reasons and explanations, but ultimately he didn’t care. Not unless they were big names with prospects of big promotion attached to their file.

Bane was one of those unimportant meagre mercenaries to him.

That is, until League of shadows, under his command,  invaded his country.

He found all the faults and flaws of his understanding of the importance of marked targets. He learned how dangerous a mass of anonymous savages could be when led by a madman. The worst part was, he encountered Bane before and thought him ridiculous and inconsequential.

He was there for his colleagues whining over a witness who apparently suffered a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome. But neither them, nor their superiors felt the need to waste their time and resources on some hired gun working in forgotten parts of the world. After all, there were coups, civil wars, genocides and other atrocities to be taken care of...   

But then the forgotten came to their home and mangled its shiny city. Gotham was in ruins. Saved in the last minute by a vigilante, no less. The animals who Brown hunted down held the entire nation hostage and the government danced to their tune, scorned and shamed by the world. Their president, a figure of contempt between the leaders, thrust down from his pedestal of the leader of a free world.

Some leader, with a foreign terrorist cell right in the middle of his lands, occupying a city, gambling with millions of lives. For months. To all those atrocities that were happening beyond blown up bridges, the country sends only one group of operatives. And they were unsuccessful, their lifeless bodies hanging for all to see, displayed as yet another mockery, right in their face.

Batman’s rescue of Gotham was a fluke. Brown promised to himself he would never let a criminal seem too unimportant to catch.

And he’d start his penance with making sure his biggest mistake was really dead and buried.

oOo

There was no body.

Brown read through all of the reports on Bane and his activities during the siege. The last day he has seen people reported him fighting the police and Batman, an old-fashioned brawl on the steps of City Hall. Stupid. Bane was not a stupid animal, he was cunning, so why did he go along with that pitiful last stand of Gotham's finest? Why did he lose control of his city? Where did he go?

There weren’t many leads in his investigation, most of them have been thoroughly followed by his predecessors who took Bane more seriously. Like Bill. Until recently no one knew that Bane was the one responsible for Bill Wilson's death, that he orchestrated the crash of the plane in Uzbekistan, he faked Pavel’s death. The mercenary must have known of Wilson's obsession with him, and he used it to his advantage, killing two birds with one stone. Now, Brown was left with boxes of information that was carefully and systematically checked.

There was one nugget of possibility left, though.

The scribe, the one who was abducted by Bane and then left in a hospital in Armenian countryside. A very unusual thing to do for any kidnapper, and especially for someone as meticulous and organised as Bane. Brown read her files over and over again, and he saw all the blunders his fellow agents did. How they let her lie blatantly to their faces. How they misplaced tapes and left him only with copies of transcripts, old and faded. How they left big unanswered holes in her testimony. How no one followed up on the facts, she did provide.

He used up his vacation days to visit the hospital and the doctor who treated her. He found the monastery.

No leads were left there.

The doctor wasn’t eager to cooperate, and Brown did not have any means of making him talk. The monastery was inhabited by monks, and they didn’t let him walk around and check the rooms he read about.

This was a wild goose chase. The only foothold he had was the scribe. So he went to talk with the woman herself.

Norway was beautiful. He fell in love with deep sky over his head, the rolling clouds and tempestuous see in harmony even though they were ever changing. It was damn expensive though, and he wondered how a scribe could afford a stated of the art house out in the country, in what looked like a very prosperous place. Granted, the cottage wasn’t very big, but it was very obviously new and packed with all amenities, and to top it off designed by someone minimalistic and practical.

In other words, it must have cost a fortune, and not a small one.

He parked his car way down and had a nice stroll first on the tarmac road, and then up some steps. Broad wooden planks were first, then the path wound down to flat stones, and the entryway was hidden between a wall of natural rock and the glass panel of the house itself. Hidden from view, secluded and cosy.

He knocked and heard a faint woman's voice reply,

“Come in!”

The door opened easily, and he tentatively peeked inside.

“Mrs Wolf?”

There was a murmur of fabric somewhere to his left, and he stepped in to get a better look. His host was in bed, weirdly raised way above the level of the house, clearly waiting for someone else than him.

Awkward.

She had a coughing fit which let Brown look around the house undisturbed. It looked like she was alone.

“Who are you?” She wheezed out eventually. “I was actually waiting for a friend to pick me up, I don't have much time before my visit to the doctors.”

“I see. My name is Brown. I'm with Homeland Security.“ He tried to be as pleasant as possible. This was his only lead.

The woman scoffed.

“Homeland,“ she practically spat. “Wouldn’t it be easier to understand if you said you’re with US Government?”

“Perhaps,” he said to placate her. He read the reports by other agencies and knew that she could be openly hostile. “I was wondering if we could have a talk. When you get better, of course.”

“Concerning what?”

“Bane.”

He observed as her face solidified into a stagnant mask. Was this trauma of the abduction, or was she hiding something else?

“Why would you want to talk with me about a dead man?”

“A missing man,” he corrected.

“Why would you want to talk with me about a missing man then?”

This was too much to be just a reflexive reaction to having her peace disturbed. She was hiding something. She knew something.

“I think you are a person he might want to contact.” The try was a gamble. It was true, and he did think that Bane could contact her, however, he left his cards too exposed if she was a seasoned liar and manipulator.

“He didn't through last ten years. I'll let you know if he changes his mind. Leave a card on the stairs please.” The dismissal was plain to see.

He wanted to try one more time to placate her. He could work the information out.

But then the door at the front of the cottage opened, glass panels sliding without effort, and in came a tall man. Like he was at home here.

“Helena,“ he greeted the host but kept his eyes firmly on Brown.

He came through the terrace. Thick scarf peeked out from a navy blue jacket, jeans were tucked in big brown boots, messenger bag hanging off one shoulder. He looked harmless enough, especially when he moved, wobbling carefully closer, the pain of every step visible in a rigid way he held himself.

But there was something off. His eyes were too sharp. Too familiar.

“We should go soon,“ he said. Nodded at Brown. “Tony Dorrance.“

“John Brown.”

Neither offered a hand to shake, but they kept observing each other.

What was it about this guy?

“You better go,” Dorrance said. His voice had an edge to it, a glimmer of certainty and command that was not meshing well with the image of a tired scholar.

The woman had another coughing fit, so Brown just nodded and left.

He would try to contact the woman again, and until then he will be mulling over that man. Who was he exactly?

oOo

Anthony Dorrance was an interesting man.

He was the person Helena Wolf talked about when she rambled on to him about her precious friend left to die in Gotham. Did she really believe what she said? Was she delusional?

Did Dorrance was such masterful manipulator he could pretend to be two people at the same time?

Brown started the work on him the usual way. Databases had the most rudimentary info; DOB, education, some jobs, some things he wrote. But it got interesting when he got to the pictures. The scars hinted at life way more interesting than the one portrayed in his files.

So he started working the man backwards.

He was in Norway for only a few weeks. Arrived with a plane from London. Both cottages were his, acquired a few years prior, so that wasn't suspicious in the least. What was, however, was how he got them. It turned out that the guy was not only a talented physicist but also a historian. Dealing with antiquities; old books and manuscripts mostly.

Suspicious.

Brown tried to trace his moves before London, and there he struck gold. The guy appeared in Azores two months after Gotham. But prior to that? A big black mysterious hole. He was in Gotham until May the previous year, but there was no movement in the months leading to the occupation of the city.

Was he there?

His name was on the list of suspected victims, struck down when he reported back to the British consulate on San Miguel.

How did he get from a besieged city to an archipelago in the middle of the Atlantic? And no less than five weeks after the occupation was thwarted? Why? Why didn’t he report to the authorities in the USA? Why wasn’t there any mentions of him crossing the border before the Azores?

Very suspicious.

Brown tracked Dorrance’s history backwards all the way down to his birth, but it didn’t yield much good.

He turned back to the Gotham episode. He turned up the photos and compared.

Did his eyes resemble Bane’s?

oOo

Much to Brown’s dismay, the forensic facial comparison was a flop.

Bane’s face was hidden by the mask the only visible parts were his eyes and two lines extending over them up to the middle of his head. Not nearly enough for any comparison.

But his gut told him he was onto something.

He decided to approach this problem differently. He had a plethora of Bane’s pictures, so he gathered all the ones of Dorrance too and tried to see if there were any similarities. He found some, but not many. The slope of his shoulders, perhaps. His pointed stare, and the colour of his eyes.

Even to himself, all of that sounded pathetic.

Once, in the middle of the night working an entirely different case, he remembered a detail. Gotham’s police commissioner had a run in with Bane, just before the siege.

Brown went to interview Gordon, which turned out to be a bizarre experience.

“So you're saying kid, that he isn't dead?”

“He is presumed dead, and I would like to make sure of it. There was no body.”

“Yeah, like with Batman.”

“Exactly. Do you remember anything that could help identify him?”

Gordon scoffed, looking over the city. He invited Brown to the roof, which seemed odd at first. Even more so when the agent noticed brand new Bat-Signal waiting in the corner, the lamp pointed upwards, ready to call in a hero.

But he was dead. Wasn’t he?

“So many people focused on his bulk… I see what you're doing here, kid. You have good instincts.” The commissioner shook his head, trying to grasp faint wisps of recollection.

“Let me walk through what happened there. I went in pursuit down to the sewers. Two guys with me. Some idiot started shooting, and I don't know what blew up, but there was a big explosion. I was overwhelmed and got a nice hit to the head. If I were younger by twenty years then maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Well, they dragged me down the tunnels and brought to Bane.”

He stopped and frowned deeply.

“He was crouching, shirtless. There was a scar running the length of his spine, a nasty, ropey thing. No marks on his chest, as far as I could see. Some burns on his shoulders, but old and faded. I didn't get a long look at him, I was pretending to be dizzy. But what I remember the most is how enormous he seemed. Raw and brutal power radiating off him. Later, when I watched him on the television, he was still formidable, but I can't shake this dread that I felt then. Because he was terrifying even when relaxed.”

This was pure gold.

“Thank you. Thank you so much for sharing that with me.”

“You don’t think he’s dead, kid, do you?”

“I don't. There is a lead. A woman he might have wanted to contact.”

“What woman would be with a monster like that?”

“Maybe she’s a monster too.”

“Maybe.”

oOo

Armed with information from Gordon, Brown started working on Dorrance full time. He screened all of his accounts, all of his books, everything he could find on the man.

He was squeaky clean. Too clean to be genuine.

The fervour of righteousness burned in his chest, the elation propelling him forward.

His work suffered, but Brown was sure that finding Bane was imperative. Proving that Dorrance was him. That the terrorist who planned to kill millions with a bomb was alive and living peacefully, while all those families of thousands of his victims despaired.

And then he got a visit that stoked his conviction even more, that motivated him to try harder still.

He was looking at pictures of Dorrance, the scientist caught unawares shopping and walking around town. The last of the work Brown managed to squeeze while he still was in Norway.

Then someone brought a bag over his head and bound his wrist behind the chair. So fast he barely could comprehend what happened before he was panting quickly into the rough fabric scratching his nose. He couldn't see a thing but felt a presence shift beside him.

“You are investigating Bane,” the person said. It was a man, and he had some weird piece of tech that made his voice unrecognisable. Growling lowly, threateningly.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Batman,” the man said.

“Batman is dead.”

“As is Bane.”

“I have evidence that he may be alive.”

“I saw him die.”

“Did you check his body?”

“He was struck by a rocket, straight in the chest, then propelled ten feet away with a blast. He can’t be alive.”

“How are you not dead then?”

“A trick.”

“Are you the only person in the world capable of such tricks?”

There was no answer. He struggled against his bounds and found out that the knots were loosely tied. On purpose.

When he took the bag away, he was once again alone in the room.

Some of Bane’s pictures were missing.

oOo

The second visit to Norway was official. Brown showed his findings to his bosses and implored. He just needed to check. To make sure. What if it turned out that this guy was somehow connected to Bane? He didn’t tell them outright he thought Dorrance was the masked man, he had enough clarity of mind not to sabotage himself this way. But he plotted and schemed. The proof that tipped the scale was Dorrance’s scientific work.

Brown convinced his people that is was all coded messages to terrorists.

The antiquities were an obvious giveaway of laundering money too.

But before the bureaucratic machine was moved into action, he wondered whether to give Mrs Wolf one last chance at redemption.

[missjackil]

The Sam and Dean Dynamic as viewed by a not-so-bitter Sam Girl

I was inspired to write this after reading meta witten by @themegalosaurus . This is not to argue any of her points, but the blog was about how Sam (especially in his young age) was the taker, and Dean was the giver, and their lives formed around that dynamic. Ill just go right ahead and say I am a Sam girl, but I love Dean. I can also be critical of both, and still not love them less, because its more than obvious that even though they have a very toxic, unhealthy, co-dependency, at it’s core, its the most beautiful relationship Ive ever witness, in my personal opinion. With that being said, I will move on :) I have seen many fics and metas giving Dean a parental role towards Sam, especially when they were children, and I agree that even with going only with what canon shows us, Dean was very much “mother” and “father” to Sam, and in many ways, sometimes he still shows this side. What I would disagree with however, is that Sam was the taker and not the giver. I see Sam in many of the flashbacks to their childhood, giving back to Dean with gratitude, and he still does. When we see a childhood flashback in 1X18 Dean is making Sam’s dinner, but Sam doesnt want what he cooked, he wants Lucky Charms, Dean discards the food he cooked and lets Sam eat the rest of the Lucky Charms, but Sam also gives Dean the prize in the box. Sam is maybe 6 in this scene, he cant yet understand the value of money, or how little they have, but he already understands that Dean is taking care of him and appreciates it, and shows him by giving him “the best part” of the cereal.  In a Very Supernatural Christmas, in a flashback, Sam basically overflows with appreciation for Dean by giving him Amulet he was going to give his father. Even though Dean had been teasing him, and gave him stolen “chick” gifts, Sam appreciated what Dean had done for him and gave him the best thing in his possession. And since it was supposed to be for Dad, Sam was (un)consciously recognizing that Dean was being more of a Dad than John was. Some fic/meta writers will say Sam is taller because Dean ate less so Sam wouldnt go hungry. That’s not how it works. Like my friend had pointed out in her meta, Dean is a big dude too, Sam just happens to be taller. I could however agree that Dean may have made sure Sam ate before he himself did, and this could be why Dean eats non stop now and Sam doesnt, because often times, people who have had to struggle for food, tend to over eat when they actually have food. So yeah, that is possible. “Dean is bowlegged because when he was young and his bones were still forming, he had to carry Sam around all the time” Is a common one too, and to that I have to say no as well. Dean is only bowlegged because Jensen is bowlegged. It’s not anything ever mentioned about Dean. In any flashbacks or age swaps when Dean is younger, he isn’t bowlegged. This is much like Sam’s beautiful mole on his cheek. Young Sam never has this mole, because Sam only has said mole because Jared has it. Its not anything ever mentioned on the show, unlike his hair, or his muscles, that the writers WANT him to have. Jared isnt allowed to have his hair cut on his own, his hair is determined by whatever the show runners want it to be, but if Jared ever chooses to have the mole removed, he is free to do so.  I dont know how many of you read The John Winchester Journal, put out and licensed  by the show, but it gives some semi-canonical information about the boys’ early years. One part that I find pretty touching, and also affirming that Sam appreciates Dean and always gives back, is when John wanted the boys to take swimming lessons because it would be important for them to know how, in case they needed to on a hunt (which they did a couple times) both boys were excited about taking swimming lessons, but John could only afford to send one of them. Dean didnt want Sam to miss out on something he was so excited about, so he told Dad to let Sam go, he wasnt interested, so Sam got to get swimming lessons, and Dean didnt, BUT later that year, Sam taught Dean how to swim.  I love that! (especially when Dean does that perfect dive in Dead in the Water)  In their adult years, believe it or not, Sam is NOT the damsel in distress. My friend counted, from S1 till the end of S11 how many times each has saved the other, and Dean was only ahead of Sam by 4 saves, which is well within the margin of error even though sometimes the show will even make it sound like Dean saves Sam much more often, he really doesn’t.  Sam is needy. Is also commonly said by anti-Sam people, but he indeed is not! When he’s hurt or sick, Sam doesnt WANT Dean to fuss over him, Dean does it because he has the need to take care of Sam. Which is great, I love that quality about Dean, but Sam is just as willing to take care of Dean. In 12x4 “Baby” Sam tells Dean to let Cas heal his injuries (sustained by Cas beating on him when he was under the attack dog spell) and tells Dean to keep applying ice to his face (after the fight) and Dean says “Alright mom” to Sam.  And that end of the episode, theyre both beaten and bloody and Dean tells Sam to let Cas fix him up, but Sam says “only if you let him fix you up too” Dean says “Yes mom” again. Does Sam need Dean? No, not to fight his battles, or make sure he eats, or to have anything at all done FOR him, but Sam needs him just because he loves him and Dean is exactly the same in that regard.  Now I can completely understand favoring one brother over the other, for any reason, but Im perplexed by some of the reasons people dislike Sam, because most of the time, those reasons dont exist outside of fan fic and head canons. Sometimes I recommend people rewatch the series, with an open mind and block out everything theyve read on Tumblr and see if they really get the same idea about both of them. Put all your ‘this one is hotter than the other” and “this one would be with Castiel if it werent for the other” on a shelf, and just really look at their characters for what they actually say and do. You might really be surprised at what you find.

[milo-gin]

10 of my favorite characters

@kvobo-the-hobo​ tagged me in this and it seems fun so Im doing it lol xD thank you for tagging me really :3

Rules:

Tell us your favorite character from ten different fandoms and tag people

DONT feel limited to anime, you can do movies, books, k-dramas, j-dramas, tv-series. Anything. I did it anime since it is the only thing I’ve watched willingly.

omg I have so many characters and fandoms well I’ll choose the ones Im most active on Akihito Kanbara - Kyoukai no Kanata, Im forever a fan of this series, it’s so beautiful. Kyo Ani man you did it again for me

Kurose Riku - 10 Count, okay this was my very first yaoi manga and I just fell in love by then so I had to include it. I wouldnt be in this hell if it werent for this so thank you :3

Oh Sangwoo - Killing Stalking, judge me so hard :3 I actually love him so much cuz he’s fucked up to the core and those are always my favorite characters. I just love a good, heavy driven background, an interisting person, no matter how fucked up they are. There’s always light at the end of them, I mean he loves Bum, that’s the peak of his goodness in a sense.

Katsuhira Agata  -Kiznaiver, I even drew the man lol he was such and intriguing character, the quietness and the aloof sort of personality got me from the get go.

Kusakabe Hikaru- Doukyuusei, The artsy style of animation and basically the way the story plays out so straight forward was my pull into this animation. I didnt really like shounen ai nor yaoi so for anime this one got me to watch a lot more of it :3 Nakamura Asumiko is God really

Satou - Ajin, well I love villains what can I say, I just find him un-fucking-believable how invincible he is!! I aint reading the manga but oh my God this season 2 ending was amazing, I cant wai for more

Asogi Rin - Mnemosyne, lol this anime is one of my favorites dont ask why xD and dont watch it and judge me cuz it has some pretty sexual scenes, and the whole world development was the thing that made me stay

Pino - Ergo Proxy, she was the cutest kid of all times :3 the way she said Vince in the japanese version was so heart warming I just couldnt take it, I love this lil’ girl :3

Twelve - Zankyou no terror . Ah man, this anime hits home it’s so beautiful and I love dramas a lot so the sensibility of the story and the heartbreaking feeling it leaves after finishing it was my drug during the year of release.

Yoshiki - Himegoto Juukyuusai no Seifuku. More people should be reading this manga, it’s so beautifully raw and real to the core of a 19 year old freshman experiencing the difficulty of closeness, and self discovery of their own sexuality. Yoshiki is so much like me in all senses, and that’s why she’s my favorite character since I could relate to her all the way.  

Thank you for reading and if you want to do this as well feel free to join in and add me as your tagger even if I didnt tagg you xD lol I just dont want to put binds to just some people, I mean it’s fun so if you want to do it just go ahead :3 @lukello @yoongi-exe @softykook @mygeniuslab @minnellie @whatsfreewillspoint @biscuityoon @minsuswag @tiamojimin

[mayardsale]

The clouds were suspended over the church as we found our car in the light spring rain. The cooler temperature matched Tara’s mood. Her exit from the parking lot matched her anger. “Please slow down,” I calmly begged, knowing full well that Tara wouldn’t. I’d given up hope after she ran the second red light in as many intersections. “Killing us both won’t bring her back,” I said as I watched her tighten her grip on the black leather steering wheel. Tara and Stephanie had been best friends since college. Last week’s bicycle accident was as unexpected a tragedy as any of us could have imagined. They’d ridden through those woods for 15 years with the occasional bumps and bruises, but the fall that took Stephanie’s life was a shock to Tara’s core. As Tara pulled over to the side of the winding highway, I unbuckled my seat built. She was in no condition to drive after the funeral. For a week she was a rock for everyone because she was the closest person to Stephanie in the world. She executed everything from funeral arrangements to financial specifics. Tara was everybody’s rock, but I wasn’t sure if she had sustained her own head trauma during her wipeout. “Can you pull over more?” I asked as I looked over the back window at the traffic hurdling through the mist. “Why the fuck didn’t she listen?” Tara whispered, hands still fixed to the wheel. “She could have stopped. Why didn’t she fucking stop?” She gripped the steering with all her might. I just closed my eyes. Tara’s pain was exploding while my guilt was eating away at me. Stephanie may have been Tara’s college roommate and best friend, but three years ago Stephanie and I developed a closer relationship. *********** Tara was in Montreal for a conference when Stephanie built up enough courage to make her move. For years it was obvious that Stephanie had a crush on me. She’d always deny it, but Tara and I knew that she was infatuated with me. It was a joke for five years. And then it wasn’t a joke. From practically the beginning of our relationship Tara and I weren’t on the same page sexually. We were more than in love, but Tara grew less and less interested in sex as her career took off. My dick was a minor distraction in her world and she had no trouble telling me. “Please take care of that elsewhere,” she’d tell me, but I didn’t think that was what she really wanted. Every other week or month she’d apologize and we’d fumble through an intimate act that only frustrated both of us. We were making it work, somehow. The rest of our relationship was actually amazing, but the tension around our sex life made for some terrible fights. Truth be told, I found her career and personality both too intimidating and important to bother with my petty needs. One particular week she practically laughed at my needs. “If your dick was in that much need,” she sneered, “you’d have bent me over and simply fucked me.” That was her special kiss goodbye as she got into the limousine on her way to yet another speaking engagement in Paris. Humiliated and emasculated, I spent the better part of the week buried in work. I hit the gym at 6AM, at the office by 8AM and didn’t get home until 10PM. Tara’s apology texts went unanswered as I feared her return Saturday morning. When I pulled into the garage Friday evening, I found Stephanie’s car in the third section of the three car garage. I could hear the vacuum cleaner in the family room, but I chose to keep to the kitchen. As I made myself a sandwich I heard the vacuum turn off and the worst version of Sade’s ‘Smooth Operator’ take it’s place. Stephanie obviously had her headphones on and hadn’t realized anyone else was in the house. As she danced into the family room, I was greeted by a Raiders t-shirt and an orange thong that was not quite the typical maid’s uniform. Tara and Stephanie were best friends in the same way that Tara and I were married. Tara made the rules and Stephanie willingly followed. From job choices to boyfriend breakups, Stephanie was dependent on Tara’s advice. Their relationship was so close that I wondered if Tara’s lack of sexual interest in me was related to her connection with Stephanie. Of course I didn’t have the courage to ask Tara so I brought it up to Stephanie. “Not our thing,” Stephanie simply denied. I was kind of hoping it was, but that was the last of that conversation. “Oh, Jesus!” Stephanie screamed as she finally realized I was behind the island watching her one woman show. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were home, asshole?” she shouted as she caught her breath and fell to the couch. “Didn’t think I had to announce myself in my own house,” I replied. I tried to focus on my turkey on whole wheat, but my dick was captivated by what that orange thong was trying unsuccessfully to contain. “Tara asked me to straighten up the house before you she got home because she said you were MIA,” Stephanie explained as she tried to wiggle her thighs into her t-shirt. “Where have you been?” she questioned accusingly. “Working,” I answered flatly. “Working so hard you can’t text your wife?” Stephanie barked back. “At least I can wear pants,” I snickered in return. “Shut up!” Stephanie laughed. “They’re in your wash,” she said as she bounced up from the couch and scuttled up to the island so I couldn’t see below her waist. “Barbecue stain,” she sighed. “I bet,” I continued to snicker. Stephanie was an amazingly beautiful woman, but she never felt comfortable about her shapely curves. She hit the gym constantly to keep fit but no amount CrossFit could contain what God bestowed upon her. In contrast, Tara could eat anything and stay supermodel thin. “Fuck you,” Stephanie laughed. My not-so-subtle jab at her weight was clearly a reminder of what Tara had been punching since they were freshmen in college. “At least you’ll have something new to think about when you’re jacking off tomorrow night!” “Why don’t you give me a little show to remember?” I pushed back. “I don’t get that much eye candy around here.” Stephanie stepped back from the granite island with a stubborn defiance. Her muscular frame held up her round dimensions and my eyes recorded every inch. “Is this what you’d like to see?” Stephanie softly spoke, her typically high pitched voice turning sultry. In that moment the joke was over. We were no longer mimicking Tara’s cruel treatment of our faults. We were two adults alone with a clear need for a connection. A connection that involved positive vibes. “You know that your body is what Tara wishes she had,” I said I stared with an appreciation and sincerity typically reserved for exquisite works of beautiful art. “I don’t think I care what Tara wants right now,” Stephanie responded as she shyly pulled her black & silver t-shirt over her head. Her near naked body was something I’d imagined for years as a simple curiosity. As she walked toward the kitchen I forgot about all of the mean jokes we’d told each other over the years. Those jokes that amplified Tara’s dominance of us were what kept us from noticing each other. Those jokes kept my dick from throbbing in Stephanie’s majestic presence. But Stephanie traded those shallow swipes at my dignity for a validation of her womanly beauty. There were no more mean words in Stephanie’s mouth that evening. Just my dick. ********* “You’re driving isn’t that much better,” Tara sneered as I turned our SUV into our serene neighborhood. I slowed the truck as I navigated the puddles before turning into our driveway. While I waited for the garage door to open, Tara unbuckled her seat belt and got out of the truck in the pouring rain. She couldn’t spend another second in my presence and she needed to cool off. A week ago she watched her best friend fall 1000 feet and she hadn’t said a word about it. I didn’t know what to do. So I sat in the truck. In the rain. In the driveway. With the garage door up. ********* For two years Stephanie and I took quiet advantage of Tara’s frequent business trips. Our foreplay consisted of mean-spirited daggers at our personal insecurities in Tara’s presence and then radio silence until the last day of Tara’s trip. The tension of openly sparring in front of Tara and potentially getting busted made for an amazing two years of happiness. Even Tara seemed content knowing her two closest people were twistedly enjoying each other’s company and I was a lot less horny when she got home. Of course I faked it a little, but I was less cranky when her answer to my requests was 'handle it yourself, pervert’. Then, as expected, everything changed. For two years Stephanie and I had kept our encounters playful. Oral and handjob were the menu’s only choices. We were naughty but the thrill was easy and freeing. My face between her thighs or her hands in my boxers were therapeutic releases. No condoms or lube or preparation. What was clearly planned had the feeling of spontaneity. We had a secret instead of an affair. We were like teenagers full of nervous energy and bound hormones. Unfortunately that playfulness ended when Stephanie showed up at our house one day into Tara’s weeklong trip to Sydney. I was working on my laptop on the back porch when I heard the garage door open. I was in my boxers because it was a warm evening and our backyard faced the dense woods. As I kept working an hour passed and I assumed that Stephanie was just in the neighborhood and needed a place to crash. She was the only other person with a key to our house. Maybe she was watching TV and enjoying a free meal. As the sun dropped into the crowd of trees behind our house, I heard the patio door slide open. Before I saw Stephanie’s naked body I smelled the wine. I was thoroughly confused. Without a word or eye contact she took me by the hand and led me to the couch placed in the middle of the deck. There was no witty banter or laughter on her lips - just a tinge of red wine. This was heavy because I realized my face had never been this close to hers. While her hands were clearly wrapped around my growing dick, her mouth was someplace new - my neck. Soft kisses were piling onto my clavicle as I questioned where to put my hands. They’d only ever been in her afro, in her pussy or on her breasts. But they remained to my side because the only obvious choice was wrapped around her waist as she began to straddle me. This was no longer playful. This was intimacy. She never kissed my lips but I knew what was next. The taste of the red wine couldn’t mask the sense of passion that accompanied her wet kiss. I could feel her easing my growing dick into her warm pussy, but I was too engulfed in her quiet kiss to really notice. I sat like a statue trying not to place my hands on her waist as her teeth gently bit my upper lip. As Stephanie rested her hands on my shoulders I realized that she no longer saw me as a fun release but rather a partner in joy. Her hips barely moved but I could feel her pussy squeezing my dick with gentle hugs. And with each passing minute, the hugs got tighter and the pressure of her biting intensified. For two years we laughed at the guttural moans we shared under each other’s stimulation, but this was thunderously silent. As her thighs tightened around my waist I fought the urge to wrap my hands around her waist the way the dark sky clinched our scene. A slow tremble melted over my nervous dick as her legs shivered and her nipples pierced my chest. The exaggerated writhing of her hips and boisterous swearing of her mouth that accompanied my tongue between her legs had been replaced by a blissful silence that brought focus to the rhythmic contraction of her pussy that slowly drew the life out of me. And lastly I could feel her nails gracefully trace into my back shoulders with the precision of a caligrapher’s pen. The sting I felt from those intense scratches as the humid air rested within the shallow wound woke me from my trance. We had shared more than 100 moments of cum soaked laughter over the previous 700 days, but our math was inverted that warm evening. And before I could make rhyme or reason of our situation, she had exited as quietly as she entered. I could have held her there to stay. But in truth I never held her. ************ I finally entered our house with the sole intent of taking care of my wife in her time of need. My steps were calculated and my breath was deliberate. I knew she was cold and wet in the living room, but I stopped in the kitchen to make her favorite tea. The house could feel the unbalance as Tara was losing control and I was looking to steady the ship. “She wasn’t supposed to…” Tara tearfully started as I placed her Brazilian tea on the table in front of her crossed legs. I patiently waited for her to finish her thought because in the last week she only spoke in cold facts about how she’d lost her best friend. She was being her usual strong and controlling self around friends and family, but from the time we left the cemetery I could feel her beginning to unravel. Then Tara broke down in sobbing tears. I was as frozen as I was when Stephanie decided to join me on the back patio a year prior. I clearly sucked at these situations, but I had to be better this go round. After that evening on the back patio, Stephanie and I never connected again. We only saw each other in the presence of Tara. Our time alone during Tara’s trips were never discussed. Even our ongoing jabs that acted as foreplay in front Tara ceased. We had nothing. “She couldn’t stay on the fucking path!” Tara grunted as she reached for her tea. “I told her ass to stay focused, but she didn’t listen. Stupid girl!” I’d heard her explain the accident 20 times over that last week. To the police. To Stephanie’s parents. To everyone. I could retell every moment as if I’d been there. In vivid detail I could describe beautiful morning air that sung with spring lyrics. I knew the dewy green grass that lined the path below the three evergreen trees. I could see the spokes cave as Stephanie’s tire hit a patch of rocks scattered on the right edge of the path. I could hear Stephanie’s nervous laughter shift to frightened swearing as she lost control of her front wheel near the sharp turn at the bottom of the path along the hill. I felt the momentum that carried Stephanie over the edge of the rocky terrain. I could identify every thorny shrub that scarred Tara’s legs as she climbed down the hill to find the remains of her closest friend. I could hear Tara dialing 911 while she held Stephanie in her arms as the sun glowed bright. Tara needed a 911 call now. For herself. I could see the hurt in her eyes, so I kissed her on her forehead and ran upstairs to run her a warm bath. Warm tea and warm bath were the best answers I could think of to drown her tears. As I ran the water and took off my tie I could feel her presence enter our bathroom. She’d heard the water and disrobed. Inside I might have been confused as to what to do, but on the outside I was becoming her rock. “I don’t deserve you,” Tara spoke softly as she walked up to me. I gently placed my hands upon her waists. With a slow focus she helped me removed my clothes until we both stood naked under the sunlight that began to break through the clouds outside of our window. Her thin brown frame then began to lean into my chest as she steadied herself with my arms. Only one part of my body was prepared for her eventual position as my eyes fixated on her ass moving further from me as her mouth wrapped itself onto my dick. She sucked me with an intensity that was as pointed as her neglect had been awash in our marriage. I found myself frozen again, but this time I held on to my instigator with a love that felt rewarded for enduring the unrequited passion that coated my every inch. And in an instant I released every ounce of love that I had on reserve into Tara’s welcoming mouth. As I slowly regained my composure, she led me to the tub. We carefully climbed in and I sat behind her while she sank into my chest. The hot water cooled to the perfect temperature. For ten minutes we sat in silence until I asked if she was “going to be okay?” Tara arched her head backward toward me and grabbed my hand, gently resting my palm against her neck. I could still feel the tears falling onto my wrists when I felt her tense up. Then with a subtle nod I could feel her swallow. Swallow me. As my brain processed her actions I couldn’t control my smile. And I could feel her smile as well. Relaxed. Then with a ballerina’s deft Tara stood up and turned toward me. The warm water trickled down from her hardened nipples onto my bald head. She then threw her legs over my shoulders and leaned back. Her hands gripped the sides of the tub while her pussy began to grind the smile off of my face. With my tongue I wrote 'I love you’ over and over. Her hips thrashed as her ass splashed heaps of water onto our bathroom floor. I gripped Tara’s waists like I planned to hold her there until the end of time. I wasn’t going to ever let go. Her wet pussy was engorged and she began to convulse as though she was about to cum. Tara released her death grip from the tub and leaned on my knees while her pelvis worked her pussy onto my face. Worried that she might fall I reached behind me and gripped her ankles to anchor the intense whipping her pussy was dishing out. “Oh fuck!” Tara shouted as I tightened my grip on her ankles. I could feel the scars from the shrubs. Most of the scabs had fallen away, but I could feel the patterns. “Fuck!!” Tara shouted as her thighs nearly squeezed the life out of me. She was fucking my face with too much enthusiasm to realize my mind was now focused on the scratches on her legs. The deep scratches on her legs that felt as though they were written by a skilled caligrapher. As though the signature included the pain of an unrequited love. “Fuck!!” Tara gasped as she held one last squeeze against my face. As her ass sank into the water and she collapsed onto my legs, she saw the look of understanding in my eyes. “Stupid girl,” Tara snarled at me as she closed her eyes to hold back the tears or to enjoy the afterglow. “I told her to stay on the path.”