#maybe someday chum.

[yvtro]

remember when in dc #571 bruce got dosed with fear gas and jason asked him later how he coped with it and bruce was like “oh easy i just imagined an even more terrifying scenario, my actual worst fear and snapped out of it” so jay’s like “oh what’s your worst fear” and bruce says maybe he will tell him some other time. and the fear was literally jason dying. the accidental foreshadowing gets me crying weeping wailing on the floor every time.

[reachartwork]

Chum 125: Strings

As I round the corner into the alley behind the Hall, I'm surprised to see Maggie already there, going through some kind of stretching routine next to the dumpsters. Tasha's there too, perched on a milk crate, her nose buried in what looks like an anatomy textbook. They both look up as I approach, Maggie waving cheerfully.

"Hey Sam! You're just in time for training," she calls out, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I was just warming up."

"I can see that," I say, eyeing the small patch of dirt she's claimed as her personal gym. "Very professional setup you've got here."

She grins, unabashed. "Hey, you work with what you've got, right? Not all of us have access to fancy DVD training facilities."

"Fair enough," I concede, dropping my bag next to Tasha's impromptu study corner. "What's with the sudden interest in anatomy?" I ask her, nodding at the book in her hands.

Tasha marks her page and sets the book aside, shrugging. "Figured if I'm going to be patching you guys up all the time, I might as well know what I'm doing. Plus, you know, med school someday."

I nod, impressed. "Smart. Maybe you can give me some pointers on how to avoid getting shot in the first place."

"Step one: Don't get shot," she deadpans.

"Wow, thanks. Super helpful."

[luzzarm]

"The Dean Martins, Jerry Lewises, Tony Curtis, Janet Leigh at Jerry's birthday party. Stills from home movie take-off on 'Sunset Boulevard'"

1951

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE - June 1951:

Party Pranks: Have to tell you about the hilarious birthday party that Jerry's cute wife Patti gave for him. The reason it was so rib-splitting was because, a few nights before, Jerry and Dean, plus Janet Leigh, Tony Curtis, song-writer Mack Davis and a few chums had produced, acted, directed and generally "messed up" their version of a burlesque of "Sunset Boulevard". The Martin-Lewis film is titled "Fairfax Avenue" (that's not one of the Hollywood's swankier streets) and on this particular evening, after dinner, the film was flashed on the family screen for the forty guests. We just wish we had space to go into details about how funny a picture it was. Actually, this isn't the first one the boys had made. But maybe someday you'll see them in theaters. And you'll be surprised how many big stars (aside from Janet and Tony who just love "working" in them) have participated in the fun.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

[blackbutlerfandomnerddomain]

The sweltering heat was a lot.

The sun was baking in heat in any and all forms of life from above.

Night Raven Students hurry to shades or run to class to hopefully get some cool air in their systems within the stone walls.

But alas, one student stood out from the rest on this hot day, leaning by one of the stones with closed eyes as one hand held firm his leather bound bag while the other rubs his sore meaty neck as people walk by is Leona Kingscholar waiting for something to happen it seems.

Come on you sneak, I won’t ignore you ditching me. He thought to himself in a scowl, a yawn showing off his fangs erupts his form as he cracked his neck.

His feline ears twitch at a certain sound.

His beautiful gem greens of eyes open a crack and look up.

His handsome face broke in a smirk.

Walking up to the wall is Jamil Viper wearing a short sleeved button up and a sweater vest to work well with the heat on the school grounds.

Well, guess you’re worth a wait…

A few birds chirp afar, a distance ballad melody for prying ears to hear and enjoy or loath as they wander about this fine summer day.

The breeze was now just picking up and getting a bit cooler as if the Gods finally answered the pleads of many to come and settle down this blazing heat.

Tucked away in a beautiful green house of grass, hidden away with the scent of floral and soil, behind the soft shadows of large leaves and tall plants around, hushed away by the gentle flow of the stream two souls connect as two lips press against each other in sweet open mouth kisses.

The prince snakes an arm around the thin waste on top of him as the Viper’s son rubs his fingers through dense black hair.

A small growl leaves the kissing as a finger gently tugs at a hidden knot.

Jamil pulls away, cole eye staring at emeralds. “Maybe if you take better hygiene you wouldn’t be so knotted up.” He scolded lightly, ignoring the would be scolding of the lion undoing his updo but leaves the braids.

Leona rolls his eyes in response and merely leans back up to meet Jamil’s soft lips again, momentarily silencing the servant boy. Jamil hums softly in the kiss, pushing back to add pressure as their mouths open and they kiss with much more space and care for, their lips and tongue exploring and tasting this dish they’re both so familiar with already yet are trying new ways still.

It’s hard to pinpoint when this began with the two, when the barely edged line in the sand of schoolmates turned partners in kissing was crossed, but they can know when the first time their lips met in such a personal way. . .

—

“Hey, you wanna go to town sometime?”

Jamil looked up at the Savannaclaw dorm head and sigh, bag being fixed around his shoulders, he harbored his voice up to the surface in the sea of noise, “Again? Why are you so hooked on taking me to town someday?”

Leona shrugs and walks with him, “Cause I want to.”

“You ask me almost every day now…”

“I’m what some people call…persistence.”

Jamil rolls his cole eyes under his eyelids. Cole gray, like a fireplace burning down low with soft embers on a cold winter’s night, eyes that are cold to the glare yet have a deep rooted warmth hidden away.

Leona smirks, “What’s the matter, worried I might kiss ya?”

Jamil freezes as he stares up at Leona in shock that such words left those royal lips.

And there is it~

The hunger of new knowledge Leona craves for plenty.

The yearn to lick his teeth in thirst as he gets new information.

He has always been curious about his school chum in Scarabia since the first day he arrived. So isolating and cold, a perfect little snake hidden away in the grass blending in. But even small snakes can pack a mighty lethal bite, and Jamil was no exception after all as proven when the live feed of him trying to mind control Azul Ashengrotto was shown on his phone during winter break and his overblot right after.

This was the start of the journey Leona was aching for new things to learn in his boring school life and Jamil was just so beyond perfect to learn. 

Leona watches as Jamil looks away, smirking at the obvious warm glow on the younger’s cheeks. He bends his torso a touch as he gets close to the ear of his little prey, “If I were, I would gladly make your first kiss special~” 

Jamil blinks, “What?”

Leona tilts his head, “Huh?”

Jamil turns his head and stares at his upperclassman, his perfect eyebrows curved in a forever curious motion as he stares at him so intensely.

“Kalim was my first kiss.”

Leona’s ears turn down in a flat motion as he stares at Jamil in shock. Did I hear that right? He thought with eyes wide open.

He can’t possibly imagine those two faces merging together in any context or meaning of those translations!

He watches as Jamil walks ahead in the hall, away from Leona’s side, to the bright eyed little sunshine that steals all of his attention.

Images of their faces growing close and locking in broad daylight sneaks up in Leona’s mind.

Flashing imagery of Kalim’s arms wrapping around Jamil’s thin neck right there in the damn hallway burns Leona’s eyes with each blink.

Sicking sounds of their mouths moving and making gentle sounds hit his ears with his mind’s own personal record player on loop as he pictures Kalim’s face attached to Jamil’s.

Kalim’s eyes open as his tongue roams the mouth of his servant.

Kalim’s little smirk of victory as he so publicly claimed Jamil in front of him.

“Uh, Leona, you’re gonna stand there forever or–”

Leona pauses.

Leona looks to his side and sees Ruggie standing there confused.

Leona blinks for a second and looks back to the halls, seeing Jamil and Kalim walking away talking in clear imbalance.

Soon, Ruggie’s snickering takes him out of his entranced space, “Daydreaming much? That’s dangerous Leona~”

Leona frowns as his feet start walking. Stupid Viper, why did he have to spring that on me?! He growls silently as he ignores his friend’s calls out as he tries to keep up, his mind thinking back on the conversation just a few minutes ago.

How can he say something so matter-of-factly!?

Jamil glances over his shoulder as he crosses the mirror to Scarabia with Kalim, who is talking about whatever, watching as the lion prince of the Savannah walks into his mirror with a scowl on his face. His angry, handsome, face.

Jamil lets out a sigh as he accepts the different heat he’s used to in his dorm

Great, what was that all about anyways?

—

Leona watches Jamil’s face closely, watching how he breaths and how his face twitches some in emotions. Jamil’s hands dig deep into the fabric of his shirt as he cuddles close.

It was only a week since that hallway conversation when the two met up in this way, buried away in the back of an empty locker room after their club activities lips locked. 

All Leona had to do was be angry from that conversation for Jamil to be curious.

All Jamil had to do was bump into Leona for him to crack and crash their faces together in a lip bruising memory.

All they had to do was be so frustrated in their own curiosity they end up in this situation. 

Leona smirks as he hears Jamil’s voice gasp in a hitch as he rubs his ear shell as their lips meet in the kiss, keeping a mental note of the noise and what causes it.

Feeling annoyed he’s the only one shaking, Jamil shoves his tongue into Leona’s mouth without much warning. He smirks to himself as he felt and heard Leona be taken aback from the sensation and focused on this.

This is just like speaking, yes? Just focus on your Rs… He thought as he acted as if he’s taking a special conversation lacking sound but with lots of R related words to draw out.

Leona’s tongue lightly bumps onto his, the rough feeling startling Jamil some, both obviously curious and eager of the organs in their mouths. 

It takes so much of the other to not melt to the sensation of this kiss and seem weak in front of their momentary partner.

It takes so much not to grab and cling onto the body in front of them.

It takes so much not to let their vocal cords work freely at the warm feeling around them.

The two pull away, gasping for air.

Emerald greens stare deep into cole black.

Animal fangs gleaming in labored breaths matching the others’ less fanging canines.

One way of messy knots of black vines stands in comparison to the one that grew messy in the moment. 

They stare at each other, lips swollen and glittering in sweat from the intense kisses, hands on each other to keep balance but also to not let go. 

“From now on, I’m learning all your firsts, got that?”

“HUH?!”

—

True to his word, since then Leona learned new things about Jamil.

Jamil’s first move mark was made by Leona behind a pillar after the final class period.

Jamil’s first mature touch was given by Leona after a joint P.E. class.

Jamil’s first time touching someone else in such a personal way was thanks to Leona convincing him to swim in the watering hole in Savannaclaw’s lounge late on a school night. 

Despite the intense heat that oozes out of the two in their casual affair that’s what it was: 

Casual.

Jamil doesn’t know when Leona will randomly appear in front of him.

Jamil doesn’t know when Leona will randomly kiss him again.

Jamil doesn’t know when Leona will suddenly take even more firsts.

Jamil doesn’t know anything and it’s killing him!

So now here they are, in the green house, locking lips when they should be in their final classes of their day, with Jamil sitting on the dorm leader’s legs. 

Leona rubs circles on the vice’s back as Jamil’s head lays on his chest, both of their lips reddish from their nibbles and puckering sucks.

Jamil’s eyes are closed, listening to the sound of Leona’s lungs and hearts make music under the hardened flesh of his chest, his body collecting and settling his breathing carefully.

Vrrr…

Jamil’s eyebrow quirks slightly.

Vrrr…

What is that-

Jamil sat up fast, cranking his neck to look up at Leona who looked at him confused in return.

“You purr??”

Leona’s ears flatten and he looks away to the side, his expression not fitting his words, “No-”

Jamil smirks victoriously as he feels the soft vibrations of a purr in Leona’s chest still.

“Oh hush up!”

The snake lets out a mighty laugh as Leona growls, cheeks flushed in exposed embarrassment. 

The two calmed down and stayed still after a moment, bodies close.

“So,” Leona started, “How was your first time ditching class?”

Jamil pressed his cheek against the bicep under him, so relaxed with the warm solid body holding him with the purrs. “Honestly, nerve wrecking…” He admitted, his eyes slowly fluttering to a close. “But at the same time, it’s calming…”

“Well obviously, you’ve been overworking so much you deserve to step back for a while.”

“Mm…”

“. . . Are you falling asleep on me?”

Leona looks down and pauses.

He watches Jamil’s steady breathing.

He admires how the light through the glass and plants form lovely light beams and shadows across Jamil’s smooth dark olive skin and flowing silky black hair.

He looks peaceful…

Slowly, he raises a hand and places the palm against the younger man’s head.

Jamil hums softly and seems to openly accept the touch.

Leona smiles to himself, leaning his head back into the grass as his own tired eyes close and accept the warmth as well.

Maybe this heat isn’t so bad?

[ask-maple-leaf]

you seem to have a nice place buddy chum pal!! is it just a recording studio or is there more to the place?? (basing off the banner and everything else) just wanna ask how you got it, how long, maybe even a bit of a tour of the place itself 😈 BUT ITS COMPLETELY UP TO YOU UHH WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES

OH! Well- uh..

Actually this is just my room, and as for the tour?

Maybe.

Someday..

Potentially...

It's definitely not that I've been procrastinating on unpacking stuff.. haha-

- Maple Leaf

[honorhearted]

Penelope's snort was unexpected, though not unwelcome, seeing how it brought out a certain sparkle to her eyes. Unable to help it, Benjamin mirrored her smirk, folding his hands behind his back as he prodded, "You're not an admirer of Miss Cressida, I take it? Not that I can blame you... Were I to be a child in school again, I imagine my school chums would call her 'Miss Cowturd' or 'Miss Cowpen' -- rather befitting names, seeing how her behavior is on par with the barnyard sort."

All right, perhaps now he really was being cruel, but he'd noted how Penelope seemed so unabashedly delighted by his jest, and he was nothing if not one to please.

He smirked. "Not that I fared much better, of course. I was known as 'Benny Boremadge' during my formative years...among other things I'd rather not repeat in mixed company."

Keeping his hands clasped behind his back, Benjamin nodded at a couple as they passed, only to perk up at his companion's unexpected admission. "Oh... You write?" he asked, his eyes shining with intrigue. "I, myself, am a great devourer of words. I love reading, though I wouldn't ever try my hand at writing...not beyond a few dreadful poems here and there." He grinned. "They truly are terrible, so I'd ask that you not inquire further. However, I will say that my fondness for poetry has earned me the reputation of being the perfect matchmaker." The corner of his mouth quirk upward. "And by that, I mean if you give me a week or two, I can usually match a person with their perfect poem. Gregory was rather pleased with his."

Penelope's horror over his punishment was understandable. Waving a hand, Benjamin was quick to reassure, "If it lessens the severity in your eyes, they were small bottles, and not completely full. My father entertains quite often, so I was lucky in that regard. I only had to drink about a bottle's worth of whiskey...maybe less."

He listened quietly while she spoke of her own familial injustice, slight amusement curling around his mouth since he, too, was quite familiar with sibling antics. "As bothersome as it is, you'll miss that someday," Benjamin softly said. His smile dimmed and he lowered his eyes. "Trust me on that. There's no greater joy in this world than family, and I'd given anything to..." Trailing off, he shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't give anything to have my brother frame me for jewelry theft, but the statement still stands."

Wither and die... Penelope's words were so tragic, so final, that Benjamin stopped people-gazing and returned his focus to her profile, raking his eyes over her with newfound interest. "If you don't believe yourself capable of cultivating, then why are you surrounded by people who love you?" he challenged. "The Bridgertons, for example...I know I haven't been under their employ for long, but I know they adore you. Perhaps one of the sons..." Flinching from his potential overstep, he shrugged and forced a smile. "Well, it's just that you're quite pretty, Miss Featherington, and you're also smart and very engaging. I don't imagine that's escaped everyone's notice."

"As I said, I am thoroughly unfit for guard duties." Although she offered a smile in return, Pen couldn't quite tell if he was being genuine or simply offering her a sliver of pity. In the end, it didn't matter. Anything that took her mind off of the party for even a split moment was a welcomed reprieve. Especially when the distraction was in the form of such a pleasant stranger.

At the mention of one of her greatest enemies, though, Pen can't suppress the snorty snigger that slips past her lips and she moves to embarrassingly shield her mouth with her hand. Cressida had certainly mastered the art of malevolence, but she clearly wasn't as repellant as the Featherington girl seemed to be. The haughty blonde was flocked by a gaggle of young ladies, all high in their instep. Although Penelope despised the blonde, she could not deny that Cressida knew how to play the game. She wore her chin high and wielded her faux charm like a battle axe, almost effortlessly cutting down anyone in her path. Pen had been on the sharp end of her blade more than once, and had, in turn, grown a grand distaste for the Cowper girl. Even if they had far more in common than either of them cared to admit, the rift between them was rigid and unwavering.

"I know what that's like. Not being able to speak freely. It's why I enjoy writing. On paper, I am free to say anything I like." Normally, she would not be so quick to divulge her pastimes to a stranger, especially a handsome young man at a ball. Her mother would indubitably kick up a breeze about her daughter's indecorous hobbies which would only prove to sour her chances with anyone.

"Two more bottles?" She let out an audible gasp. "How did you manage to not die?" Her own parents had strange ways of enacting punishments, surely, but they would never go that far. Would they? Or at least they'd never had to. Pen, herself, had never been the type to indulge in alcohol and certainly not in the way men did. The only type of rebellious behavior she took part in were the handful of times she'd slipped into her father's study to borrow some books. Thankfully, her father had always been too preoccupied with other endeavors to notice the empty spaces on his shelves.

"There was one time when I was younger that my sister, Prudence," The redhead gently jutted out her chin in the direction of her sisters. The two older Featherington girls lingered in one of the other corners of the room, chattering away. "She stole a pair of earrings from my mother's boudoir. When she was questioned about it, she told our Mama that I'd taken it."

The idea was as ridiculous as it was unseemly and how her parents thought she'd be capable of such a thing had baffled her at the time. Nowadays, though, she had learned to mimic her sisters' sneaky behaviors, and even seemed to perfect them while the other girls still got caught red handed from time to time.

"I was banished to my room for nearly a sennight before it was found in Prudence's wardrobe, placed there by her unfortunate maid who had found them buried in a pile of laundry. Suffice to say, their accusations were hardly taken seriously after that."

At the time, Penelope had been furious. It was cruel and unfair to be punished for something she hadn't done. Looking back on it now, though, it wasn't the worst thing in the world. Emptying one's stomach in front of the entire congregation sounded much, much worse.

His willingness to continue with the metaphor was comforting. It was rare that Pen ever spoke her mind, and rarely in simple terms. She was a writer at heart and she found it hard to avoid metaphors when speaking her mind. The fact that Benjamin was no repelled by it made her feel seen, made her feel understood.

“Still, sometimes a bloom is not tended to properly and has nothing to do but wither and die.” His perspective was admirable, though some might call it naïve. But Penelope appreciated the kindness behind his words nevertheless. Ignoring the growing warmth in her cheeks, she shakes her head, trying to free her mind of the deep-rooted pessimism. “But perhaps I simply do not possess a green thumb.”

[refinedstorage]

mission prep - a wip

[aroacepositivityplace]

So I’m going to put my two cents out here about the whole tumblr queer discourse. About only people outside of this website that are so virulently against people referring to themselves and others who identify as queer “queer” are te/////rfs. Once queer quit being synonymous with gay/lesbian only and other groups started to claim it for themselves, they dropped it like a hot potato.

I am absolutely not saying that there aren’t lgbtqiap+ people who don’t like being called queer. My mom is one of them because she’s sixty years old and actually did grow up when and where queer was a slur. We were talking one day about how I’m comfortable with queer because nobody has ever called me that to make me feel lesser while they SURE AS HELL did that with “gay.” Her takeaway was that it was nice queer had largely lost its ability to hurt people and that it was a word she’d have to put some thought into using for herself.

People aren’t calling you a te/////rf because you hate the word queer. They’re saying you TALK like one because you’re usually taking a te/////rf talking point, that queer is too wide a word because it easily includes m-spec and trans people, people they view as invaders, and slightly shifting that definition so that queer is too wide a word because it easily includes a-spec, certain m-spec, and nb people, people they view as invaders. That or you’re straight up misrepresenting the facts of how important the word “queer” was and is to the lgbtqiap+ community. You don’t get to claim to be anti/////terf and then borrow from their list of talking points.

I’m not interested in debating this point. People have a right to reclaim queer just as they do with fag or dyke. The irony that so many people with urls containing the latter two words are so against queer is not lost upon me. Stop telling others how they should and shouldn’t identify.

[salmonid-ink]

Playable Salmonds?! Well, I talk about this idea enough, I may as well may a proper post about it, right? So let’s talk about the hypothetical Splatoon 3!

The post style is a bit different this time around, I hope you all don’t mind!

So generally speaking, playing as Salmonids is pretty much identical to Inklings and Octolings, but this post goes over some of the mechanical differences between the two!

Much like the cephalopods, Salmonids would be customizable. You can change the hair, eye color, and scale color. Would be nice to be able to play as either a Chum or Cohock, but for the sake of consistency in hit boxes, we’ll just be sticking with Chums, here. 

They can wear just about any gear that the cephalopods can--but with no feet, they can’t wear shoes! So the Salmonids would have an exclusive store where they can buy fresh pants that have just as much style as the shoes do! 

When it comes to using ink, Salmonids don’t actually produce any--not real ink, anyway--so they would have to use a specialized ink tank that I’ve talked about before. This allows non inkfish to play in ink sports! 

Any weapon that is compatible with the ink tank and legal play is on the table for the Salmonids! No custom, salmon-themed weapons here, sadly. Maybe I’ll design a few someday! I’m going to assume that, in Splatoon 3, all of the specials are going to change, just like the jump between 1 and 2, so the specials there would be made suitable for Salmonid use, as well.

I stand by my idea that Salmonids can train themselves to swim through ink, as made evident by Maws, as well as their use of Gushers and crates. Salmonids can’t transform, so they don’t have anything like a squid form, but they can still participate in squid parties by dropping on the deck and flopping like a fish!

When it comes to respawning however, we really get into the silly territory... But this is the best I could come up with that somewhat falls into Splatoon logic! 

Salmonids are flesh and bone, and therefore cannot respawn the same way that cephalopods do with pure ink. However, the spawn point coupled with the use of Power Eggs (and lots of them) makes it possible for Salmonids to respawn after being splatted, no worse for wear!

Maybe we’ll see playable Salmonids in Splatoon 3... Maybe we won’t! But this was a fun little thing to whip up. 

[shadoedseptmbr]

wip whenever

I’m having a loopy time writing right now, with the house full of folks and the threat of power failures and the actual power failure at my folks’ house but one of my chums tagged me in a wip whenever (i cant’ find who, one of you darlings) and so have a little bit of the ongoing Hospital Visits shenko vignettes that I’m going to post someday if i ever get Aedan out of ME2:

o-o-o-o-o

“I need...I’m gonna admit, I can’t remember much of Mars, Shepard.”

“Oh.” He could see her regroup, see the shift of priority, storing whatever that reaction was back where it had come from. “It’s not...not important, then, if you don’t remember,” she twitched a shoulder trying to be nonchalant about it. 

But it was still there, flickering in those eyes that weren’t quite as opaque and steely as they’d been before or maybe he was just smarter after getting his head bashed in and damn it he needed to remember what he said. “No matter what I said, my issue was with you working for Cerberus.  You would never have destroyed that relay unless you thought there wasn’t any other way, no matter who was paying for it.” He hoped he hoped

She nodded once and slid her hand back from him before she confided, “Hackett reached me through Liara.  He needed... It was more the sort of thing I used to do, go in solo, rescue someone he knew and it couldn’t be traced back to the Alliance. Cerberus...it wasn’t for them at all. I did it...I stole a shuttle, just before we hit the relay. Garrus and Joker tracked me down just before...it went.”  

She was breaking secrecy to tell him that much.  It wasn’t what was in the official report, though it fit better with what he’d pieced together. Did it matter at this point? 

Reports would always matter to HQ.  The last person alive would be the filing clerk.

Oh hey, drugs had kicked back in. Her hair glowed in the back light of the hospital and he wished he could touch it. It had always been soft.

He was so distracted he almost missed it when she said, “I missed having you to talk with.  Everything makes so much more sense when you’re around.”

“That’s nice to hear.  I missed making sense.”  

She snorted, a hint of the old cackle in her laugh and he had to grin at her.  “They got you hooked up to some good stuff, hunh?” Her omnitool pinged.  “No rest for the wicked, I guess.”

“Come back, soon, okay?”

“Next time we’re back.” She assured him.

[aching-tummies]

Have you ever dealt with food-restriction or ED or whatever?

I really debated answering this one. I understand that it's a sensitive topic for a lot of people, and I do go into some personal details with my struggles, so I'm going to put most of that under a cut.

I know a lot of blogs have something like "we do not stan ED in this house" and that's the extent of their address on the topic and some get pretty angry if anyone even mentions ED around them. I get it, it's a triggering topic and it can be unhealthy and maybe hearing about it or seeing it or whatever pushes someone (back) into bad habits. I understand all that. In my opinion though, shutting down the topic is problematic. I believe that destigmatization saves lives--and not just for ED. Making it a dirty little secret and something one feels ashamed of talking about or struggling with creates more problems. It doesn't go away just because someone feels they cannot talk about it. I'm on the side of destigmatization--where "how are you" is an actual question rather than a casual greeting where "good" or "great" are the only acceptable answers. No--it's supposed to be a question and we shouldn't have to feel ashamed when we are going through crap. Maybe neither party has time to get into it then and there and maybe the other party isn't comfortable/or the right person to go to with those particular issues...but "how are you" is supposed to be a genuine question, not a greeting.

Short answer to whether or not I've dealt with food-restriction or ED: yes.

I don't want to invite drama onto my blog with this...but I think it's time I said something on the topic. For one, I'm sick of how people go "we don't stan ana on this blog--GTFO"  and leave the discussion at that. I don't think that is healthy. People that actually struggle with EDs and Ana maybe want to get help...but professional/formal help is not always accessible and not necessarily always the right tool for what they are going through in that moment. I understand that EDs are unhealthy and I am not trying to glorify them...but I want to say that I care about the people struggling with the stuff and I admire their resilience. There's enough shaming going on around the world and I'm not going to dish it out to someone struggling with an ED. I'm not going to make it out to be something that's taboo to talk about like it's some dirty little secret. I want to de-stigmatize it. I want a world where someone can be like, "I struggle with food/eating and I had a setback last night" and those of us listening can be like, "Alright. Is there something you need/want me to do with that information? How can I help?" Currently, I see a lot of, "Shh! That's a triggering topic! Do you want to set off all the other ED suffer-ers in here?! Don't talk about that noise!" even in my IRL friend groups and I think it's just sad. These are the same friends that are constantly reblogging, "It's okay to not be okay" and “I’m a safe person to tell stuff to” stuff but clearly they don't believe that.

The way I see it, living with EDs is like living with a pet alligator. It was once small and cute and early on maybe you made one choice: you chose to keep it. Great...well, now it's grown and it's a problem and you don't know what to do with a full-grown alligator that eyes you like you're it's next meal. Who do you talk to when everyone shuts you down and maybe there isn't an "animal control" number you can reach out to because it's expensive or it doesn't exist in your area or they're so over-booked that you'll be alligator-chum before they get to you? That's how I see ED. It's terrifying but it's still 'your' pet alligator, even if you feel more like it's pet human at times.

Onto the personal aspects.

I've never been officially diagnosed with an ED and I don't believe I've ever done something that's extremely dangerous on this front. That being said I have (and sometimes still do) struggle with intrusive thoughts about my body.

I'm "average" sized...maybe on the bigger side of average in North America...however, there's a different standard in Asian culture. Like the "Asian F". I was always told I was supposed to be smaller. I was supposed to be no more than 5'3, no more than 110lbs, have a bust no bigger than 34C, and be able to fit into anything marketed to teens and up. Yeah...I'm none of that.

I'm going to try not to rant and get angry and upset...so here goes, take 7 on trying to answer this.

I grew up surrounded by judgmental adults. I eat and I'm fat; I refuse to eat or eat less and I'm exhibiting worrisome behavior. My take away: I bring dishonour on my cow no matter what I do. Sure, there are those that'll be like, "they'll judge me whether I eat or not so I may as well eat some good food"...yeah...that's not me. Choosing to skip the meal and the company entirely is the only way I feel/felt like I 'win'...but as a child that wasn't an option.

I mostly ate alone in University, but my brain filled in for the silence of judgmental comments. If I ate my whole lunch in one sitting I'd get upset with myself. I'd pack smaller portions and I'd be aware they were smaller, but I'd still be upset with myself for finishing it...or even finishing it and still being hungry. If I caved and bought a sugary drink or a snack or something because it looked good, I'd scold myself for using up the food budget as well as the calories budget. I used to break apart individual cookies--one cookie would take 3-4 sittings/days for me to allow myself to finish because I'd only allow myself two fractured pieces at a time. Some days, i.e. weekends, I'd intentionally skip a meal or two and rationalize that I was simply indulging in kink and that I'd eat later. I always did end up eating later and going about my life as normal. "Fasting once in a while is supposed to be healthy", I'd tell myself...but I won't deny that there was some part of me that would tell me that every skipped meal and calorie ignored was gradually working toward shrinking my body.

Despite how it sounds, I wasn't actually doing noticable damage to my body. Physically, I was within the realm of healthy...maybe on the bigger side of average and definitely not mentally sound...but my body was fine. My body didn't change--I didn't gain or lose weight. I ate...I just felt bad about it and beat myself up about it. In retrospect, it was a heck of a lot of mental anguish I did to myself with nothing to show for it.

Life after University is pretty stressful. Stress doesn't agree with my tummy so I got (and still get) frequent upset stomachs. I've become pretty conscious of eating and how my stomach feels so I end up being careful to eat less so that there is less to upset my tummy. I do it because an upset stomach is inconvenient...but I do enjoy the fact that it seems I have lost a little weight. Losing weight isn't a big part of my rational though. My coworkers have mentioned that I look thinner. I don’t see much of a change when I look in the mirror...but my belt does up two notches tighter without too much fuss so I guess I have slimmed down just a smidge. I didn't intend to lose weight, I just cut down on eating because I didn't want to deal with so many upset stomachs...I think I'm allowed to enjoy the unintentional weight loss without it being a problem...but if I had a problem then I guess what I think about this situation doesn't count for much.

I wish I was thinner--just enough to fit into acceptable sizes in the women's section. Enough to not feel like "the big one" when among my friends. I don't idealize the extremes of weight-loss...like...I don't want to be able to count my ribs or have my joints be wider around than my biceps or whatever. And I don't feel like I'm obsessed with losing weight/being thinner. It's something I want...but I also want a burrito and a can of Cola. I tend to partake more than I deny myself nowadays...just in smaller portions. I’ll still get mad at myself for indulging...but I do indulge and try to lessen the mental kicking by splitting things between two meals or something. I still break apart my cookies and eat them over the course of a couple of days...but most of that is because I run out of time to enjoy the treat or because I want to ration it so that I don't have to spend money to buy another one every single time. I don't try to count calories and all that. I still see eating less as a good thing...but I'll still eat a decent portion...I won't pick at my food rather than eat it.

My opinion here, but I don't think I'm unhealthily obsessing over weight and body issues and stuff. They're a part of my life but I don't think they do enough to be super problematic at this stage in my life.

And now onto the tie-in with the content on this blog. I've answered quite a few asks about how I feel about 'stuffing' and the thing that rhymes with "Geight Wain" with "for reasons I don't want to share, I'm not comfortable with that stuff". Most of the reasons I was thinking of for those asks is covered in the personal stuff above. I'm not comfortable with stuffing and the big "double-u gee" because for all of my life I've felt or internalized some judgements about body size and weight. It's very upsetting for me. It's also why I hate a lot of the degradation talk and things mentioning chub or fat or rolls or whatever--because it brings be back to being a kid sitting amongst judgmental adults feeling ashamed of how much of the universe’s matter I took up. If other people like those tags they're free to do so...I just don't want that sort of thing shoved into my face or imposed onto me because it makes me feel bad and makes me remember bad times. I’m into tum-kink and stuff and would love to indulge IRL with an actual partner someday...but I don’t think I will ever be comfortable with putting on weight or even RPing something like that. The thought of getting bigger terrifies me and it’s not something I want encouragement for personally. You do you if that’s what you’re into...just leave me out of it. 

[riddlesandqueries]

Confrontation

Tracking down a secret admirer is no easy feat, but any reward worth having is a reward worth working for, even if it takes a few months: sometimes, you just have to gamble on it.

An interaction between Mr Edward Nygma, and Mr James Craddock, for your reading pleasure, between two scoundrels in search of life’s delights.

The Ghost was a hard man to pin down.

By his nature, he was a wanderlust. He moved where the money was; flitting between cities, countries, and continents, never content to stagnate. There were a few things he was guaranteed to materialize for, though: horse races, expensive antiques, and important news. He was a habitual horse better who had scarcely missed an important race in the continental United States, and had a mysterious fixer he’d mentioned once or twice by the name of Squire Shade. 

And, as it so happened… Just a few miles south of Gotham, on a bright and unusually warm February morning, a derby was taking place. It’d been greatly publicized the past few weeks, as it was an annual and highly contested event, and would make prime bait for anyone who happened to know Craddock’s gambling habits. 

And there were some quite clever men out there who would hold an interest in that sort of thing… 

The air was clear, the wind was a little chilly this early in the morning, and the sun cheerfully shone, promising to warm up the stands; the crowd of a few thousand tramped through the dirt, milling around with one another whilst the racers readied themselves and the stands were slowly opened to spectators. It seemed almost like a festival; a little snapshot of a traditional spring carnival. Vendors sold merchandise, food, and drinks to patrons, and, of course, the stadium doled betting slips for the gambling patron. The air buzzed with electric interest; anticipation sparked off of everyone’s lips. 

No sign of the Gentleman Ghost for the moment… but that was the thing about ghosts, wasn’t it? They didn’t show themselves unless they wanted to. 

==

If you wait in the right place, they’ll come.

Edward eyed the odds sheets with a wry smile, nostalgic. How his father loved listening to him prattle as a child, looking over the betting forms and picking his dear Pop a winner just about every time. It was a fun experience for them both: a few hours together, a few thrown races to sweeten the pot, and then a jackpot here and there just to even things out...and a very fair cut for young Edward’s good work, as a simple sno-cone wouldn’t suffice.

Calmly, he glanced over his betting slips: broad coverage, but he’d put his money on a mid-range racer. Mint julep in hand, he meandered off to find a good seat with some elbow room.

==

The ambient anxiety of the crowd was only growing; people with prying eyes looking towards the starting gates, craning their necks to see even though there was nothing yet to even look at. 

The crowd was thick, but not so thick as to swallow up every seat. Edward had arrived early enough to get a spot that wasn’t too far, wasn’t too close, and where he wouldn’t be browbeaten by the sun that was steadily rising. 

About five minutes before the start of the race, there was just the smallest glimpse— something that could be ignored if a person wasn’t looking for it. A shimmer in the air, above the stands— that looked, for just a moment, like a billowing cloak, before winking out. 

He was here, it seemed, cutting it close… But didn’t see fit to grace the populace with his signature, ghostly physique. 

==

Ah. There he was: and who needed a seat when the air itself was at your command?

Edward watched him for a moment, sighing inwardly. Was it nice, he wondered, to fly? Was it relaxing, tiring, how did it feel to place your body in any relation with the world you wanted? Perhaps it was different when one was non-corporeal, but was it like zero-gravity? Something else, more elusive and yet even more wonderous?

Something as simple as existing in one’s own capacity was beautiful, really, when in the right eyes. It was something he might know someday, but for now, he could dream freely about how much magic there was yet to be found.

Smiling, he stuck his forefingers in his mouth and gave a whistle.

==

It drew looks from people who were close by, made curious by the sound, but they quickly disregarded it as the horses and jockeys began to get to their positions. 

He had gotten someone’s attention, though. A moment later, there was a soft voice in Edward’s right ear, disembodied but familiar; “Why, I didn’t know you liked the races, Mr. Nygma. Fancy seeing you here…” 

==

“Are you kidding?” he smiled. “My father and I had some of our best times at the races: I was his best bookie. Join me, James? There’s plenty of seats.”

==

“Is that right…?” 

Craddock seemed to consider the offer for a moment. Then, to Edward’s right, the empty seat became suddenly occupied with the familiar attire of the Gentleman Ghost. He fidgeted in his opacity, seeming a little uncertain whether he really wanted to be opaque, but settled. 

“You’ll excuse my rudeness in having been hidden,” Craddock murmured. “I get looks, you know. I’m a little overdressed in some areas, and underdressed in others.”

==

“That happens to me sometimes. When it does, I just ask why they decided not to look good today, and it usually gets them to back off.” he chuckled, fiddling with his cuffs. “It’s a mark of your caliber as a person, James: no need to hide your class.”

Underneath the thick veneer of charm, Edward fidgeted, excited. By all accounts, James had to be the secret admirer. He had to be. Was he? No doubt about it but maybe? Had to be, and how exciting: one ought to flirt a little and be sure.

With another sip of his julep, he gestured toward the starting gates. “Have you got a favourite? I’ve put the bulk of my faith in 1,000 Deaths.”

==

“I appreciate the words, but no matter how nice my garments or how upright I carry myself, the average mortal tends to be put off by…” he gestured vaguely to his face. “Ah, well.” 

He seemed to think for a minute, but it had always been hard to read James’s thoughts with no visible face. 

“Most of my stake is on Whetstone,” Craddock obliged. “Handsome thing. A very strong lineage, though quite young… not the favored to win, but still with a chance.” 

The announcer began speaking; the stadium chatter dampened, just for the moment. The tension was palpable, and James leaned forward, knee starting to bounce in impatience. 

==

“Whetstone, hm? I put a smaller bet on him, just to keep my options broad.”

I wonder if he’s watched the lineage line of all of these horses. He’s been around long enough, he could easily trace which racer’s from which stock. My word, he probably knows these horses’ family trees for winning pedigrees…

He settled back, brows raised as his mind bussed off merrily about horse family trees, but tuned back in at the opening trumpet. Setting aside his drink, Edward braced his elbows on his knees, rapt.

“Good luck.”

==

The race was exceptionally quick— as derbies are supposed to be. Craddock kept the bench beneath him in a death grip, and he leaned so far forward that he might’ve toppled over.

His form was jittering— the material of his clothes starting to turn sludgy as his concentration waned. Had Edward’s attention been turned off the race and to his companion, he would’ve seen the featureless head of the Ghost flicker in-and-out of transparency; not long enough or solid enough to catch a good glimpse, but enough to signal his mind was elsewhere.

“Damnation!” was the Ghost’s hailing cry when Whetstone finished third, behind 1,000 Deaths and a hereto unmentioned horse called Brushed Gold. 

==

Tsking, Edward rolled his eyes and frowned at his betting slips. “So much for that…”

Loathe as he was to admit it, it was something he rather liked about the derby: there was always a chance he could be wrong, and that kept life fresh.

“That wasn’t even one of my picks. Luck certainly isn’t on my side here, hm?”

He had not, in fact, noticed the loosened grip on James’ form, eyes trained on the horses. With a scowl, he sipped his julep. 

“...Sorry for third place, chum.”

==

James gave a short, agitated sigh. “Shade will have staked everything on Brushed Gold. Mark my words. That bastard—”

He stopped short, and tilted his head in interest. Intrigue in anything other than the horses and their riders was a rare thing for him on a racetrack, but the julep had caught his eye. He hadn’t taken much notice of the concessions at these sorts of things before, a little preoccupied by more pressing matters— like whether Squire Shade had fixed this race, too.

“... Oh, what do you have there?”

==

“Oh, this?” he asked, lifting up his drink. “Mint julep, a derby tradition in the south. Of course, it’s out of place during April in the north, but why not have fun with the occasion? If I’m going to lose, at least I can enjoy my drink.”

He grinned a bit. “Want a sip?”

Can I contract illnesses from ghosts? Time to find out.

==

“... A little,” Craddock confessed. Again, he knew the sweet siren song of food and drink, and that it would never taste nearly as good as some corner of his mind remembered— but there was no harm in it. “I, too, would wish to dull the sting of my loss…” 

He would be having words with Shade soon, hopefully sometime before the bastard pinched every penny from his pocketbook… 

“... if you don’t mind?” 

==

“It’d be odd to ask and then not offer. Here.” he said, holding the glass over, straw presented. Ghosts were fascinating, really. Where did the drink go? He knew he didn’t really taste it well, but if the spirit was willing enough, would it compensate for the missing flesh?

Was this what people considered an indirect kiss?

...Be quiet, brain, don’t get all excited over inconclusive information.

“Have all you like.”

==

With a grateful nod, Craddock takes the glass. He takes a modest sip, the liquid suspended humorously in the air for a moment before it travels down an invisible windpipe and out of sight. 

“Oh,” he says, and he sounds strangely delighted. “Oh, I actually…”

The taste was more striking than he had suspected (which was not saying much— a mouthful was still no better than what he suspected a droplet or two would be) and it proved an unexpected pleasure.

“So interesting, on the tongue…” 

==

“You like that? It’s a very summery drink, always drunk at the Kentucky Derby.”

But I’m sure you knew that much.

“...I’m sorry, I have to ask...have you been following Whetstone’s family line through the racehorse generations?” Always with the questions: he even annoyed himself, now, with how he blurted them out. “Or any or all of them?”

==

He brightened.

His hat, of its own accord, lifted itself off his head and placed itself in his lap; he removed, from within it, a bleached-white pen and a colorless scratchpad.

“As a matter of fact,” he said. “I have. I don’t have my completed ancestry chart in front of me, but I still remember…”

He began drawing little boxes and lines, filling in a dizzying amount of names. The family tree branched into a maniacal, tangled root system.

“As you can see, there’s a few important derby wins by his ancestry… The earliest I can recall is 1897…” he paused, and started highlighting names.

“It’s a hobby of mine, tracing these. I did try ever so hard to get my horse’s lineage, to see if he had any interesting ancestry, but that never truly went anywhere…” 

==

Edward perked up in turn, in twinned delight of being on the mark with his suspicion and well-received in his query. Watching James draw out a lineage chart from memory was dazzling: his heart did a little leap to see his penmanship. Every detail was as enchanting as another, and he remembered so much so well..!

“What’s your horse’s name?”

==

He paused. The pad and pen returned themselves to his hat, which he placed on his head. 

“When I first realized I had the beast,” he admitted, “I was not feeling particularly… creative. I referred to it as ‘the Horse’ for some time…” He gave a slight laugh. “After calling it all sorts of things. Damnable creature. Demon from hell. Wicked beast from the underworld. After a while, just ‘my Steed’, and that stayed. I suppose I should get around to a proper name some day.” 

==

“...That does beg the question: was it always a skeleton, or was it a living horse at some point?” Edward wondered aloud, muttering into his glass. “And if it was a living horse, what compelled it to become a ghost..?”

After a moment, he shuddered. “I’m going to assume it’s just a necromancer’s experiment.” Much kinder to the mind than the notion of a vengeful horse, knowing the nature of such beasts. “M-moreover, horses don’t need names, strictly speaking, so long as they know who you’re talking to.”

==

James had opened his mouth to correct— but stopped just short of it.

He knew very well where Steed had come from— well, that wasn’t strictly true, but he knew why the beast came forth at his beckoning. 

But he got the feeling this was one thing that Edward would be happier not knowing. James was loathe to ruin that handsome look of interest etched on his face with an honest answer. 

As he stared a moment at Mr. Nygma’s face, James realized there would be an expectation to respond, and he mentally backpedaled to where the conversation had been.

O, Lord, let me keep my wits for just a moment longer… Don’t stare at his beguiling smile, Craddock. 

“Ah, yes, that’s reasonable. I have no other beast of burden, so Steed won’t be puzzled by the name.”

==

“It’s very cool that you can summon a horse, mind you.” Edward grinned, glancing up to look James in the monocle. “You’re...hah, well.” 

He turned to his julep again, hiding his smile. “...quite the interesting character, James. I appreciate your patience with all of my questions.”

==

“Ah, I am happy to answer them.”

He had asked for payment for such queries before— but it seemed a little ungentlemanly to ask now. Besides… this rather public place was not the kind of area to indulge… in that sort of payment. 

Scandalous. Imagine if Shade were watching…

He had started tinging that strange, mother-of-pearl pink for a short time again, before settling back to his normal coloration. There was a slight, almost unconscious tug at his collar.

“You’re one of very few whom I would share secrets and knowledge of this kind with— I consider you a valued friend, Mr. Nygma.” 

==

As out of his depth in the realms of romance as Edward tended to be, even he could parse out a blush when he saw one.

He hummed, inspecting the ghost for a moment before his lips curled into a broad, knowing smile. Smug as anything, detestable, and easily recognized as a magnet for many a fist.

“Something on your mind~?”

==

Oh, he did not like that facial expression. It made him think Edward knew something horrible and secret that he didn’t— James instinctively brought his hand to his face on the off-chance that he’d let his countenance run around unchecked.

No, that wasn’t it…

“Ah, no, I… was just wondering when the next race would…” he petered out, very well knowing that this lie was not going to get better the longer it went.

“...”

==

“Ah, right. Time to go place some fresh bets, is it?” he asked, duly ‘distracted’ from his line of query. Let it simmer a bit, and it’ll all come to a head. 

“I’m going to try out a few I’ve never heard of...call it an inspiration, given the last race. If some nobody’s going to win a surefire race like that, then it’s time to start paying more attention to the nobodies.”

==

Craddock nodded.

“Mine have been placed well in advance,” he murmured. “I’ll keep your place safe for you… ah, and perhaps get something for you to eat…?”

He seemed a little more subdued than usual— warily waiting for the bar of the Riddler’s suspected trap to spring. There was some small amount of dogged wariness and suspicion that’s readable just from his posture, even if his face gives nothing away. 

== 

“You’re right, I should.” said Edward, rising and stretching with a quiet grunt in his nose, a few joints popping. “If you don’t mind keeping the seat?”

==

“Of course,” he had no earthly idea what compelled him to add, in this non-violent crowd on a lovely, non-violent day— “Return safely…” 

People had already mostly drained out of the stadium, moving for snacks, souvenirs, collections of winnings, talk amongst themselves, or a bathroom trip. 

What does he know that I don’t…? 

==

“With any luck.” 

Edward gave a little wave as he meandered off, pondering his next bets as he walked, as well as whatever nightmares the concession stand might offer that resembled sustenance. A hot dog? Technically food, good enough. Nachos?

You should ask him, honestly. But is this the place and time?

...Truly, is there a better one? We’re face to face, so to speak, and it’s always better etiquette to ask in person rather than across the internet, especially with matters of the heart.

And he’s so...cute, really, when he’s flustered.

Just don’t scare him off by being a bastard, Edward, of all the things you could do…

He sighed, placing a few bets at random, as well as one on Whetstone, and then wandered back to his seat with his assortment of edibles.

==

Craddock was not alone on his arrival. As a matter of fact, it almost looked like seeing double.

Two men in mantled white coats and tall hats, sporting a signature eyepiece and no face… the differences were small, and only noticeable if searching.

The second wore a bow-tie instead of a cravat, wore glasses instead of a monocle, and was slightly bigger around the waistband than Craddock.

They seemed to be arguing. They had very similar voices and accents, too— though the double’s seems to be slightly richer, more aristocratic.

“I can’t give that to you,” Craddock was saying.

“You staked—”

“I know what I staked. Just take whatever you want from the mausoleum.” 

“But it’s a pain to go all the way out there…”

“A walk would do you some good, Shade—”

Shade, who had been occupying Edward’s seat, seemed to notice him coming.

“Later, then. Let’s hope Whetstone does better, mmm?” 

The second ghost took his leave, sinking back through the bleachers as if swallowed by quicksand.

Craddock turned, brightening noticeably on spotting Edward. “Mr. Nygma! You’ve returned— burdened with food.”

His voice implied a smile.

==

“If that’s what it can be considered.” he replied genially, inspecting his seat for ectoplasmic residue before taking his seat. “Associate of yours, James?”

Heaven forbid he call anyone a ‘friend’ offhandedly: that’d be presumptuous.

“Or just a copycat for fashion?”

==

James grimaced; not that Edward could tell.

“Associate is a good word for him… That was Squire Shade— I’m sure I’ve mentioned him before.”

He was concerned Shade’s presence might’ve bothered the mortal, and he carried on: “His was just a temporary darkening of my doorstep. He’ll collect his earnings and go back to Europe. It’s nothing to be concerned with…”

It occurs to him now to fish for whatever had Edward in such good spirits a moment ago. He’ll have to be subtle.

“... Especially not at the moment. Trustworthy company makes ugly company look all the worse, don’t you agree…?” 

==

“Nothing makes me appreciate a good cup of coffee like drinking a very bad one.” he agreed, settling back with his snacks. “Take what passes for my lunch today: eating this will make even the ordinary meal I’m having later taste even better than it already would.”

Truly, he didn’t mind Squire Shade as a concept, but there was something irksome about someone being in his seat, talking to his colleague (who sounded annoyed about it) that ruffled his feathers just a touch.

“Care for a nacho?”

==

“Oooh, yes. I’ve seen them before, but not tried one.” 

He took a chip, and in exchange returned the julep, which was looking a little less full than Edward remembered. 

“Oh, it crunches.” Ghost murmured, as if to himself. “Interesting…”

== 

Edward, noting the state of his julep, couldn't help but smile a bit as he nibbled his own chip. 

"You know, I could buy you a julep, if you would like one." Or does this one taste better because it's mine?

==

“I would,” he hazarded. “It’s rare I find something that I can taste and find worth tasting… I’d pay you for it, of course.” 

There was the loveliest little smile playing over Edward’s lips, and it made the Ghost’s stomach feel strangely warm. This was the kind of thing he would’ve taken a beau out for— a lovely warm spring day at the racetrack… James had courted many a lady in such a place, though never a gentleman overtly. 

Change subjects, James. 

“... I’ll confess I have not kept in touch as well as I should have,” the Ghost began. “How have things been in Gotham, lately?” 

== 

The proverbial trap twitched, as James asked just the right question. Edward's expression became downright sunny.

"It's been a very interesting few months, actually. I've been receiving these charming little notes from a secret admirer, and it's just been delightful for me. The mystery, the eloquence in wording, it's all been just so exciting! I've never had one before, have you?"

==

Oh no.

The Ghost could feel the bar of Edward’s trap moving to snap his neck, not unlike the noose that’d taken his life. His hands itched to touch his throat. 

“Oh, have you?” James mirrored the other man’s cheery disposition, seemingly unfazed. “That must be quite exciting. I do so love the intrigue, the romance of an unknown suitor— I received letters like that in my life, but not during my death.” 

==

"It's been absolutely compelling.” Edward agreed cheerily. “Of course, the one downside to the entire situation is not being able to know how to reciprocate, or whether I’d like to at all. It’s a good thing that this admirer’s classy, with a certain je ne sais quoi, otherwise I’d toss their work out along with all of the weird fan letters I used to get in Arkham.”

He sighed (if a pinch dramatically) and sipped his julep. “How can I ever respond to the anonymous? It’s like whistling into the wind.”

If you’re going to fess up, now’s your chance.

The wire creaked, threatening.

Confess.

==

Do ghosts sweat?

Well, they don’t, but Craddock definitely felt like he was. He knew he should say something— seize the opportunity now, while it was convenient… Edward had proved receptive, open—

But would it be the same if he knew it came from a ghastly spectre like myself?

“They haven’t left so much as a clue to their identity? How agonising…” 

Damnation, Craddock— the deeper you dig, the more difficult it will be to get out of…!

==

“They have. A few, actually.” he replied easily, listing on his fingers. “Familiar tone of address, so it’s someone I know. Recently discovered the anonymous feature, and their first instinct is to go send mischief to someone who’ll appreciate it. The real smoking gun, though, is the language choice. Antiquated, lyrical, boldly professing, dramatic...and not just anyone would lean on sending someone a flirty note a ‘ghastly’ action.”

Edward looked to James with a small yet infuriatingly knowing grin. “Sound familiar, James Craddock?”

==

Each word was like the footstep up to the noose, each one more damning than the last. James did start sweating about mid-way in, his form starting to wobble and bubble in a rather curious way. The unintentional salmon sheen his body took on only damned him more. 

“I,” he said, unintelligently. “I- It sounds… good sir… quite like you are… accusing me of… indecent behavior…”

It’s as flimsy an excuse as any that can be raised, but his instincts tell him to stall as long as possible.

The problem was he couldn’t just escape this as he might a persistent lawman… 

==

“An accusation would imply that it’s a bad thing.” said Edward, tone silky. “But, not to put too fine a point on things: if you have something to say, you’re allowed to say it to my face.”

==

The highwayman’s instinct was to escape and regroup when better prepared. Craddock’s not a coward, per se, but he knew how to preserve his own life— oh, hmm, poor metaphor, he supposed. He had self-respect enough to not partake in a losing battle.

But he knew that wouldn’t win him any favors. 

This was his stage— and he must perform.

“You are… interesting to me,” Craddock said, carefully. “In a way that few people were when I was alive… and even fewer now that I am deceased. Perhaps I might’ve… expressed unsolicited fondness— I have made mention before, mark you, that ghosts are prone to fits of melancholy… They swing to the other side of the pendulum, quite often, as well… and I was in a… joyous mood, a jocular type of…” 

He spared a fleeting wish that the next race would begin already. 

“... I meant nothing untoward by it.”

==

“...That is, perhaps, the most roundabout ‘yes’ I’ve heard in some time.” Edward murmured fondly. “But, ah...here’s some reassurance, as the recipient.”

Gently, he took Jame’s hand into his own, and kissed the top of his knuckles. Just so, just lightly, just enough.

“I like it, and I’m glad I was right to suspect you.” he said, patting James’ hand genially. “Feel free to continue, it makes my heart go pitter-pat.”

==

The rush of affection James felt was absurd.

First, like a fist to the stomach— then cloying and heady, sticking in his lungs and his brain. He received it well… he’s open to it… he...

Suspicion was there, but as an afterthought to the hope fluttering in his breast.

It’d been a long time since he’d had something like this, and as much as he liked to deny it, now that he was no longer flesh, the spirit grew strong— and it hungered for contact with the living, with the desperate ache of a lover separated from their beau. 

Before Edward’s eyes, the ghost seemed to melt— metaphorically, yes, and literally, as his body forgot its shape and began to run like syrup.

Just as quick, the ghost’s ectoplasm churned and retook its shape.

“My apologies, my apologies, ahh— if I had, known the reception would be— I never would have— So childishly...” He shied his head to the side. “Give me a moment, to— collect myself…” 

==

“Take your time.” said Edward, preoccupying himself with his lunch, hand still atop Jame’s.

He’s worried about seeming childish when I’m the one who makes games and puzzles and toys...who has the right to be so adorable?

Moreover, he gelled, which was fascinating to ponder. Ghosts blush. Ghosts have physical reactions to being embarrassed: bodywide, presumably because all they had was a manifestation of themselves, rather than a body to pilot from the heart and soul.

No wonder he hid his face: it took away the unspoken expressions that his own form could betray under duress.

“I find it charming, personally.”

==.

“Falling apart at the seams is not charming,” James muttered, insistently. “This is unbecoming for one such as I.” 

After a moment, he straightened, smoothing away a glob of ectoplasm back into his shoulder. He regained his composure.

“... I’m… happy you like it,” James admitted. “I haven’t courted— in quite some time, and it was jesting, partially— I didn’t think you would take it seriously.” 

==

“Well~. Do you want to make it more serious, or shall we have flirting? I’m content either way.”

I’d rather be serious, but no pressure. He knew he’d already had James raked across the coals today, no need to be overly pushy now that it’s in the open.

“I confess, I do admire you quite a bit myself! I hadn’t said much on it because, well... I always got caught up in the excitement of knowing you at all.”

He fidgeted a bit at that, quieting down: all the smug bravado in the world can’t make up for a weak and ill-timed admission.

“...If, that helps to know, any.”

==

“Not to put you on the spot… but does your admiration fall with me, or the nature of my person?” James asked, gently. 

==

“...Hm.”

Edward sat back, sipping his julep as he gave this some thorough consideration.

There was, without a doubt, a large fascination at play with the supernatural. Pretending it wasn’t would just be insulting to both parties, so nevermind to that: it’s given. But what is there besides that, to their dynamic?

Edward considered, eyes shut, on feelings. This was very different than his arrangement with Bruce, for the simple fact that there was no sense of tension or panic. This wasn’t the horrific grips of a crush, literally crushing his mind, this was...light, airy, cheerful, exciting. All of the good things they talk about with these sorts of situations. James was nice. James was fun, sneaky, pesky, patient, kind without sacrificing the fact that he was a bastard. It was comforting, really, to spend time with someone who kept himself to a certain standard even as a crook. It was...warm.

“...both, but there’s...warmth, here. Not like when I’ve got a new subject to study, of a new game to try out, or a new language to learn. This is excitement, but it’s...comfortable, too, if that makes sense. You’re good to me, and I like being around you.” he said, after a long pause. Brows furrowed, he added: “I have to admit...I don’t have much experience in affairs of the heart, so I don’t know if I’m making sense...but there’s more there than just discovery, even if I can’t name it.”

==

The Ghost nodded, as if Edward had relayed a truth he was already well aware of. 

“Your candor is…. Relieving,” he sighed. “I was not sure if you could feel that way for a spirit— or, if you did, it was only because of that.” 

There was a small pause.

“In honesty, part of my attraction to you is how… alive you are.” 

==

“How alive I am?” he asked curiously, offering the remains of the julep. There’s enough to be worth taking. “Is that why you keep taking my pulse?”

==

 He drank. 

“You have no idea how absolutely beautiful it is to be alive,” Craddock said, dreamily. He seemed a little faraway. “The smallest breath to me is the most wondrous thing. Your pulse… so sweet, Edward. So lovely.” 

==

Edward watched him, gaze softening from bright curiousity to tender affection. No matter how a busy mind could scream and over-analyze, there was little anyone could do about the honesty in their face.

Ah. That was it, wasn’t it? There was something, right there, that he adored. So many people he knew treated life like a calloused and dull affair to be tolerated, but James, just like Edward...James cherished life, its splendors, its opportunities. There was so much to enjoy about existing...was that what kept him all along? A love for life so strong that death couldn’t claim his heart?

“Mhm~?”

==

He seemed to shake himself out of it.

“It’s… I’m uncertain if this peculiar love is a common condition among ghosts, or just I that feels it. But it is… strong, and oh-so thrilling…”

There was the slight, pearly blush again. “I am sorry if I concealed part of the truth from you when asking for the payment I did, those months ago. It was… a lapse in judgement. Selfishness.”

==

“It doesn’t matter if it’s common among ghosts: it’s something I really like about you.” said Edward fondly. 

...is the pulse thing sexual, though? No, don’t ask him that. There’s more important questions, and those can wait too.

“I don’t mind the delay: being selfish is fun sometimes, isn’t it? I like that you’re a scallywag, too.”

==

He laughed. 

“One of the finest. You’re lucky.” 

His pride seemed to have recovered, twice-over; puffing like a particularly cocky rooster, primping himself now that Edward’s affections had been secured. 

==

“I most certainly am~” he smiled, awfully proud himself. There was the small issue of his other boyfriend, but there’s surely time enough to negotiate that after the glow’s settled out a bit. Either it will be or it won’t, but hopefully, since Selina’s in the picture for Bruce, perhaps Edward can have his cake and eat it too, just as well.

Thoroughly pleased with himself, Edward rubbed a thumb over James’ knuckles. “...I really did like those notes, you know. Made me feel special.”

==

“Well, you are,” James murmured. He lifted Edward’s hand, and with a moment of hesitation, pressed a kiss to his knuckles. The contact of his lips was as cold as the grave— and leathery as an old boot. 

“I could keep sending them, if you like it.” 

== 

He shuddered, as he always did at contact, but chuckled as well. Ah! He has lips! They’re freezing and tough: this is filed away immediately in his mind among other tidbits of interest.

“You should, especially since I would have little recourse but to send a few back myself.” assured Edward. “As I said before, it’s hard to reciprocate without an address to send notes to...and I’ve had time aplenty to accrue my compliments.”

==

“Ah, yes,” Craddock murmured to himself. “I… I should make a permanent residence in Gotham, shouldn’t I? There will be more reasons to visit now... more reasons to stay.” He seemed to be convincing himself into it, and with a determined lift of his chin, declared: “I’ll… make an effort to get a haunt of my own. I’m sure Shade knows mortals who handle that kind of thing…” 

His purse is curling up and dying at the thought— but he’d had a few lifetimes to get enough money for a proper home in Gotham. 

==

“Only if you want it in writing...and even then I could send it to wherever you want it to be sent.” said Edward calmly. “After all, if you’re visiting Gotham, there’s no need to go through all of the trouble of getting a place when you could just...visit mine.”

Again, that foul, smug smile of his has crept deep into his cheeks.

==

That did not seem to have occurred to him, busy grandly dreaming of a Gatsby-esque existence of quiet solitude and pining. It takes him a moment to recover. 

“... you seem like you’re suggesting something rather… crude, Mr. Nygma…” the smile bled through his voice. 

==

“I’m simply pointing out that I have a spare bedroom that is no longer occupied by a massive computer array.” he said primly, eating a nacho before continuing. “And that it’s pragmatic to offer it as space, in the event that you’d rather not go through real estate paperwork.”

==

“Mmm, a massive computer array,” Craddock seemed quite merry. “So I’m not the first love you’ve invited there.”

He had a small mouthful of julep. He couldn’t tell if it actually made his hunger for taste any better or worse. He had another mouthful.

“The proposition is interesting, anyway. I’m sure the arrangement would be beneficial to both of us.”

He’s outright teasing now.

==

“Computers aren’t my first love, and that one, well...came with a rather long story attached, that’s for another time, where I’m less sober and more irate.”

It did, however, seem to be the time to mention…

“There might be a hiccup, mind you, in this cozy little affair here...you see, I was asked out by another suitor on Valentine’s day, days after you sent your first messages.” Edward admitted, if a bit grimly. “Mind you, he himself has another he sees, so naturally I’ll have to ask him if an arrangement between you and I would offend...I don’t see why he’d decline it, but it’s only respectful to ask first.”

He mulled over a nacho, frowning slightly. “And if he says no, I have a lot of thinking to do...and for once, I’d really rather not.”

==

Ah, was any giddy leap complete without a plummeting fall?

Was he disappointed? Yes.

Was he crushed? Not quite.

“Hnnm,” he said, the extent of his verbal acknowledgement. “Oh, look. The next race is about to start.” 

==

Ah. There it was, the rare and unmistakable sensation of guilt, settling thickly into the pit of his stomach.

“So it is. Have you got any new bets?”

At least that was a nice five minutes...and, as always, at least we have the now.

==

“I sunk a fairly consistent amount into Whetstone,” James’s fingers rolled an interesting tattoo across his knee. 

James wasn’t unfamiliar with the idea of polyamory. He knew the women he saw during his life had an endless string of boyfriends, and he was only one of the mob. He knew the men he’d courted, so carefully and privately, had their heart’s desire elsewhere. It was not new to him. 

But he had thought that maybe…

...

He didn’t feel much like watching the race anymore. Losing to Squire Shade would be grating, and Edward…

Stick it out, James. This is far from the worst outcome of today. 

==

“I gave him a fresh bet for this race, myself.”

Damn it. Damn it all to absolute Hell, in what world was it fair to spend 37 years in ambivalence only to come around and find any affections at last split between two? And now, lurching around in him, was the maelstrom of doubt and humiliation, the latter ten times worse than the former in any capacity. The silence was deafening, the mood wrecked: he’d ruined everything as usual by saying too much.

Let go of his hand and stop disappointing people, Edward.

==

Ghost, meanwhile, is silently rationalizing a mile a minute.

Who is this other? How do I compare? Is he Edward’s first choice?

Then, a small, unusual part of his psyche chimed in with his criminally underdeveloped sense of empathy:

Does choosing hurt him?

That was a disturbing thought. 

He ought to withdraw, kindly, as a gentleman. This other, whomever they might be, would be the ideal choice— mortals are better paired with mortals.

A thought occurred to him— solace, comforting as a frostbitten man seeking fire, or the heat-scorched for shade. James let out a small, kindly little laugh. It rings, clear and gleeful, like a bell.

==

The laugh snapped Edward out of his spiral of self-loathing, frown lifting from explicit discomfort to bemusement. 

“...um...yes?” he offered, curious. “What is it?”

==

“That doesn’t matter,” James said, swallowing the last of his laughter. “Oh, God, it doesn’t matter at all to me.”

He took Edward’s hands in his, stared at him directly— there was a flicker of something there for a fraction of a second, like a reflection in a mirror passing by. Dark, intent eyes, haunting for just a moment…

“You’re speaking to one of the most selfish, stingy men on the planet, Edward— did you think jealousy would seize me so hard that I’d be struck stupid? I’d be a fool to lose this—” he gestures between the two of them, “—over something so small. I don’t care who they are, I don’t care that you love them— it’s enough that you love me.” 

==

Edward’s eyes were open, jaw slacked and mouth agape in wonder of what he’d just been told, as the trumpets sounded to queue the racers to their starting gates. A flush crept easily across his nose and cheeks as he began to smile once more.

“Really?! You mean it?”

==

“Yes, really. Who would say something like that and then recant it?” Perhaps a bit harsh, but the Ghost was buzzing with nervous energy. “I’ll accept whatever you give me, Edward. It’s enough that it’s anything at all.”

==

“You’d be amazed by how many people tend to say things without thinking them through.” he breathed, cheeks pink and eyes bright in excitement. “I, I have to admit, I thought you were about to drop the whole thing then and there.”

==

I was, he almost said, but that would win him no favors. 

“I am cognizant of my faults,” Craddock said, instead. “I’m far, far too selfish for that.” 

==

“Aren’t I lucky, then, that you are.” he chuckled, utterly relieved. “And people talk like it’s a bad thing, to want and keep things.”

There is a sneaking feeling in the back of his mind that James is putting on a brave front, but then, so is Edward: there’s an open end that cannot be resolved immediately, therefore it’s best not picked at, so much as treated and patched until real answers can be gotten.

“I don’t think it’s a fault, when it’s honest.” BANG, and the horses are off.

=end=

[animefan-overran]

Pokecafe (Rocketshipping)

****PART TWO**** (RATING: CUTE/FLUFF)

“C’mon everyone, move faster!” Bonnie demanded leading the way to the kitchen. She was so excited to get a tour of Cafe Le Ha, she could hardly contain herself. 

“Yeah, we’re coming,” Clemont huffed, annoyed at his sister’s impatience, trying to keep up with her. Ash and Serena were trailing behind as well, they’ve never seen Bonnie walk so fast in their life. 

“Finally,” Bonnie breathed, making it to the kitchen door. Placing her hand on it, she started to push it open.

“Bonnie, you have no idea if they’re even ready for us to come back yet!” Clemont lightly scolded as he caught up with her.

“But they’re expecting us, so we should be fine,” Bonnie reasoned.

Opening the door to the kitchen, Bonnie’s eyes and mouth immediately widened. She couldn’t believe that she got to have a tour of this place. She instantly took notice of a giant island that was used for chopping and preparing food smack dab in the center of the room. To her left, Bonnie saw a beautiful clear double door fridge that boasted the most delicious looking ingredients. Next to the fridge were three giant ovens, each baking it’s own unique treat. 

“Wow, this place is so cool,” Bonnie gasped as the rest of her friends caught up with her. 

Jessie was over by the island cutting some Pecha berries trying her best to act normal. Removing herself from her present task, she quickly looked up and saw the kids. “Why hello, I hope you all enjoyed your meal. Now you get to see where it all comes together,” Jessie held her hands out to gesture the kitchen. 

“Well we’re excited to be here,” Serena said.

“Yes, well why don’t we start off with meeting the head chef?” Jessie asked as she walked over to a figure huddled over by the stove, stirring what seemed to be a tomato bisque.

The chef turned around only to reveal that it was in fact a Wobbuffet standing on a ladder. 

“Wobbuffet!” Wobbuffett waved.

The quartet gasped in disbelief. How could a pokemon be such a good cook? 

“Wow, I’m interested to know how you guys even understand him when he gives out orders,” Clemont said in the most curious manor. 

Jessie smiled Perfect she thought everything is going according to plan 

“Well, I’m gonna actually let you guys in on a little secret,” she started “You see my uncle is an inventor. He’s always coming out with a new gadget every couple of weeks, and sometimes he asks me to test them out.” 

All of a sudden, James made his way out of a back room connected to the kitchen, wheeling out a giant box like contraption.

“You see, Wobbuffet has certain regular commands that we don’t need a translator, but when there’s something special that he wants us to do, he enters the box, and voila! It translates what he says for us!” Jessie exclaimed. “Wobbuffet, would you be so kind as to show our guests?”

Without wasting any time, Wobbuffet stepped into the box, and started to speak.

“Welcome to Cafe Le Ha’s kitchen. We are so honored to have you here!” a semi electronic sounding voice sounded from some speakers that were attached to the contraption. Little did the kids know that this was no invention at all, but instead a dazzled up box with a secret compartment for Meowth to hide in, so he could translate everything Wobuffet was saying.

“Wow, science is so amazing!” Ash cheered. “I wish we had something like that to talk to our pokemon with!”

“I was just about to say that too,” Clemont agreed. “This truly is a scientific breakthrough! I would love to meet your uncle someday, as I myself am a fellow inventor.” Clemont boasted as he pushed his glasses firmer on his nose. 

“Yes of course,” Jessie nodded “I can go get his contact information now actually!” and with that she walked out of the kitchen. She could not believe that this plan was working out so perfectly. Those twerps will believe anything  she thought as she marveled at her genius for coming up with and thinking out everything. Just one more part needs to work out, and Pikachu will be ours!

When Jessie left the kitchen, it was time for James to enact the final part of their plan. 

“Well, we’ve been testing this contraption out for a couple of days,” he exclaimed “Why don’t you try it out on your pokemon?” he offered pointing to Ash’s Pikachu “What about starting with that Pikachu of yours? He looks like he has a lot to tell you.” 

Ash looked at his Pikachu “What do you say bud, do you want to try it out?”

Pikachu’s face spraked up. “Pika pi” the yellow mouse squealed as he jumped off of Ash’s shoulder and into the translator. As soon as the door closed, a locking sound was instantly heard, which sent the kids into confusion. 

“Um, why did the door just lock?” Serena asked, starting to get a little scared for Pikachu.

“Oh, that’s because I pressed this button,” James said bluntly as he showed the kids a remote that he had been holding in his pocket.

“Wait, something’s going on here!” Ash started to shout a little “I want Pikachu out of that box now!” 

With those words, Jessie came running back into the kitchen just in time for the getaway “I’m afraid we can’t do that twerp! Because we want your Pikachu” she couldn’t contain her excitement any longer “So you can prepare for trouble!” Jessie said.

James smiled, and pressed a second button on the remote that was responsible for controlling the tiles in the floor. Instantly, it separated in two only to reveal the famous Team Rocket hot air balloon, which scooped up Team Rocket and the translator, and started to float away. 

“Hm, and make it double,” James chimed in. By now Jessie and James had ridden themselves of their disguises, and Ash and his friends were no longer oblivious to the situation at hand. 

“Team Rocket!” Serena shouted 

“We should have known it was you guys! Give Pikachu back!” Ash broke out into a full sprint to catch up with them. 

“No can do, twerp! We don’t willingly give things back,” Jessie shook her head.

“Yeah,” Meowth added coming out of the translator, “Besides, when we give this Pikachu to the boss,” James stepped in to finish the sentence “We’re gonna finally get that big fat bonus that we rightfully deserve,”

“We’re gonna be rich!” The trio sang in unison.

Ash finally caught up with the balloon, and was quick to call out Froakie and Fletchinder. 

“Ok guys listen up. Fletchinder, I need you to take Froakie and sneak up to that balloon. Froakie, when you get up there, use your best cut attack to pop it. When you guys come down, grab the translator from the balloon. Pikachu is in there” Ash commanded.

Within seconds his pokemon were up in the sky, putting the plan into action. Ash untensed at their perfect execution, putting a giant gash in Team Rocket’s air balloon, and retrieving Pikachu, with little hassle.

However, where one group of people were relieved, another grew more frustrated.

“Ugh, why don’t we ever take into account that twerp’s other pokemon!” Jessie sighed.

James shook his head “It’s ok, we’ll get em next time, but until then,” 

“We’re blasting off again!” Team Rocket shouted as they went flying away.

************

“Butt-er-free!” Jessie woke up to the pokemon munching on a sitrus berry. She looked around to find herself in the middle of a meadow filled with millions of wild flowers.

She rubbed her eyes, unsure of what just happened, then it all came flooding back. Her brilliant plan, the poke cafe, the twerps ruining the day again. She was certain that this time, everything would work out. She curled her knees into her chest and sat in a quasi-fetal position; she was never one to cry, but presently holding tears was a challenging feat. A rustle of the grass behind her prompted Jessie to turn around, where she saw her blue haired partner.

“Hey, there you are!” James smiled running to her “Meowth and I were looking for you…” James sat down next to Jessie, taking notice of her slumped frame “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong glum chum?” he bantered, nudging Jessie with this shoulder. 

“James, you know I can’t take you seriously when you say that,” Jessie giggled a little.

“Why do you think I said it?” James winked “But seriously what’s up?” 

Jessie picked a flower from her side and started to tear off the petals one by one “Well, it’s just that I really thought that this was going to be the time that we caught Pikachu. I guess I just wanted us to have a victory... especially because you and Meowth were so dejected when we first started this plan. I don’t like seeing you like that…” Jessie blushed a little.

“Wow, I didn’t know you felt that way,” James confessed  “To be honest, I really don’t like seeing you upset either. Actually, my favorite Jessie is the one that gave us that little pep talk.” James stopped to watch Jessie closely, her cheeks donning a brilliant shade of scarlett. “In fact,” James continued “I would even go as far to say that your confidence and persistence is downright hot,” James scratched his head, and looked at the sun that was barely sitting on the horizon.

Jessie’s eyes widened, her body twisting to face James. “You really think that?” she smiled.

“Yeah,as of late, it’s all I can think about” James replied “What guy wouldn’t find your confidence hot?” 

Jessie chuckled a little, and leaned on James’s shoulder “Well, if you find it so hot, maybe I’ll have to give you guys pep talks more often.” she winked.

“I guess you will,” James said, as they both pulled closer into each other, and watched the vibrant sunset fade into night.

[chaoticspacefam]

OC Playlist Meme - Saarai (of course)

I was tagged by @thehighground​ (thank you! :D) this one was super fun!! I was caught between the twins of who I should do for this one, Saarai won because she is my favourite and her 70-song playlist was basically made for memes like this (yes, you heard me, 70. No it’s not a typo. Yes I have a slight, maybe, problem with her being my favourite LOL) 👍

I’ve shared all their playlists at various points, if you search up the “swtor oc theme songs” and “oc playlist” tag on the blog you should be able to find them! Or if you want links to the full playlists drop me a line and I can link you to them no problem! :D

Just the one this time cause this one’s pretty long, if I get tagged again tho I’ll do Ni’kasi next! :D

I shall tag (if you feel like it, no pressure as always!) @abyssal-space​ @stratosara​ @anchanted-one​ @pauletta-00​ @hypnowinnermugpeach​ and anybody else who wants to have a go, this one’s super fun! Long post so under a cut! <3 gonna pop the content warning up here to: TW for mention of past abuse/manipulation and parental abuse in one of the songs in case ya wanna avoid it. there’s a warning above the specific section as well if you wanna read the rest and just skip that song, up to you!

♦️  Their intro theme: Up The Wolves - The Mountain Goats

“I’m gonna get myself in fighting trim, scope out every angle of unfair advantage. I’m gonna bribe the officials, I’m gonna kill all the judges! It’s gonna take you people years to recover from all of the damage!! Our mother has been absent, ever since we founded Rome. But there’s gonna be a party when the wolf comes home.”

♦️  Their own favorite song: DARKSIDE - Shinedown

(She has to set a good example with being one of the leaders of the Alliance (especially because her saying “don’t do that” is the only reason her sister and Aria don’t go for their new Jedi allies - at least to start with, before the Alliance y’know, bonds and becomes a proper coalition!). But learning to trust Jedi was still hard for her after what they did to her people, and I feel like if it existed in the verse she’d find it relatable and listen to it a lot.)

“Can you hear me, am I speaking clearly? Are you star-struck or just made of stone? Block out the actors, and all these bastards. That took all the fun out of rage and revenge.”

♦️  Their boss battle theme: Castle - Halsey

(it was difficult to pick one for this one, she has quite a few in her playlist that I consider her “boss battle” songs for various points in her life/the two different verses. But I think this one is the most universal! :D)

“I’m heading straight for the castle. They wanna make me their Queen. And there’s an old man sitting on the throne there sayin’ that I ‘probably shouldn’t be so mean.’ I’m heading straight for the castle...they got the kingdom locked up. And there’s an old man sitting on the throne there sayin’ ‘I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut!’.”

♦️  Their love song: (one for each of her main ships, but again, they have whole playlists because I use playlists to “set the mood” of the character/ship while I write. Pro writing tip, do it. It helps [nod nod] <3)

For Zephyrverse/Sash: Heaven’s Gate - Fall Out Boy

“And in the end if I don’t make it on the list, would you sneak me a wristband? Or would you give me, give me, give me a boost? Give me a boost over heaven’s gate. I’m gonna need a boost, cause everything else is a subtitute for your love. Give me a boost over heaven’s gate.”

For Subterfugeverse/Lana & Koth: The Last Of The Real Ones - Fall Out Boy

“I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you, but not as much as I do. As much as I do...Cause you’re the last of a dying breed, write our names on the wet concrete. I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me. I’m here in search of your glory, there’s been a million before me, that ultra-kind of love you never walk away from. ”

♦️  Their sad times song: Bruno Is Orange - Hop Along (tw: mention of abuse/manipulation, parental abuse)

“ ‘Bruno, what happened to your good sense?!’ I broke down ‘That man was good!!’ ‘I bet he works for the government!’ Did you hear about that mother, broke her daughter’s legs in two and said: ‘It’s too dangerous out there to walk so I have to save you!’ ”

♦️  A song that fits their aesthetic: Woman King - Iron & Wine

“Black hoof mare. Broken leg. Eye on the shotgun shell. Age old dog. Hornet’s nest. Built in the big church bell. Hundred years, hundred more. Someday we may see a woman king, sword in hand, swing at some evil and bleed.”

♦️  A song that reminds them of a better time: Downhill - Lincoln

(though most of this song has sad undertones to it, this part in particular would remind her of the short time she had with her father when he was alive, when he would take the twins outside and sit them on his lap to look at the stars <3)

“Cause you were the first one to show me the stars. And they don’t mean much to me, but I still wonder where you are. Some nights I still try to find you, relative to constellations. And all your relatives are still on vacation, or so I heard from a friend...”

♦️  A song that calms them down: 10,000 Enemies - Emeli Sandé

(headcanon that this is a song their mother D’leah used to sing to her and her twin, Ni’kasi, when they were children hiding out on Rishi and it stuck with her.)

“I hear the sweetest sound, blowing from the North. It says ‘don’t panic now, what’s mine is yours...’ I hope 10,000 times you tell me the truth. Cause now there’s much to do. I trust in you. I shall be free...I shall be free. We shall be free.”

♦️  A song that gets them hyped up: Young And Menace - Fall Out Boy

“We’ve gone way too fast for way too long. And we were never supposed to make it half this far. And I’ve lived so much life, lived so much life. I think that God is gonna have to kill me twice.”

I’m assuming this section is meant to mean a song the character would associate with each season? So I hope I’ve interpreted that correctly, I wasn’t really sure what else it was referring to. So that’s what I’m doing LOL

♦️  Spring: Thunder - Imagine Dragons

“Just a young gun with a quick fuse. I was uptight, wanna let loose. I was dreaming of bigger things and wanna leave my own life behind. Not a yes sir, not a follower, fit the box, fit the mold, have a seat in the foyer. Take a number, I was lightning, before the thunder.”

♦️  Summer: The Times They Are A’Changin’ - Fort Nowhere

(a.k.a the time of year where everything went to hell for her, though she uses it to remind her of how far she’s come once she’s older and more at peace with everything that happened so it’s positive in the end!)

“Come gather round people, wherever you roam. And admit that the waters around you have grown, and accept it that soon you’ll be drenched to the bone. If your time to you is worth saving, well you better start swimming or you’ll sink like a stone. For the times, they are a’changin’.”

♦️  Autumn: Dragon - Built By Titan feat. Skyborne

“When I was younger, I had a dragon. We would fly away to places you can’t imagine. And this is a story, of a lonely island. And a boy who found a way to become a lion.”

♦️  Winter: Youth - Glass Animals

(Winter is when Ty was born so it’s a mixed bag of trauma-induced depression (See “sad-times” song above), missing her twin and being sad about what happened but also wanting to make sure Ty never has to experience what she did and just wanting him to have a safe & happy life, so. This song kinda fits that.)

“Boy, when I left you you were young. I was gone but not my love, you were clearly meant for more than a life lost in the war. Oh, I want you to be happy, free to run get dizzy on caffeine, funny friends that make you laugh and maybe you’re just a little bit dappy.”

♦️  The song that plays while they’re lying on the ground bleeding out in a Walmart: Everything You Ever - Neil Patrick Harris (from Dr Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog)

“So your world’s benign. So you think justice has a voice? And we all have a choice? Well now, your world is mine.”

♦️  The song that would play each morning if they’re stuck in a time loop: Ends Of The Earth - Lord Huron

“ Oh, there's an island where all things are silent, I'm gonna whistle a tune. Oh, there's a desert that size can't be measured; I'm gonna count all the dunes.”

♦️  The song they’d listen to while robbing a Wendy’s: Pork Soda - Glass Animals

“Somebody said I’m a fucking slum, don’t know where I belong. Maybe you’re fucking dumb, maybe I’m just a bum. Maybe you’re fucking scum, don’t you go psycho chum.”

♦️  The song they’d accidentally introduce to people in medieval times if they were a time traveller: The Time Warp - Rocky Horror Picture Show.

(Also not accidentally, she has a silly side and she’d probably play this one for the LOL’s to see who got it or who got mad. She’d totally learn the dance moves and do those too XD)

“ The blackness would hit me And the void would be calling Let's do the Time Warp again Let's do the Time Warp again.”

♦️  The song they’d play in the middle of the night when their neighbors are being too loud: Blood // Water - grandson

("Do you think if I play a really loud, aggressively threatening song they’d shut the fuck up? I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna try it.” XD).

“You’ll never get free, lamb to the slaughter, what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water?!”

♦️  The song that plays at their funeral: Sax Rohmer #1 - The Mountain Goats

“Ships loosed from their moorings capsize and then they're gone. Sailors with no captains watch a while and then move on. And an agent crests the shadows and I head in her direction. All roads lead toward the same blocked intersection. And I am coming home to you. With my own blood in my mouth...yes I am coming home, to you. If it’s the last thing that I do.”

♦️  The song that plays when it’s revealed that they faked their death: Joan of Arc - Arcade Fire

“You’re the one that they used to hate but they like you now. And everything that goes away will return somehow....first they love you, then they kill you, then they love you again...and then they love you, then they kill you, then they love you again.”

[dented-nado]

May I give you a random prompt? Father-child bonding with Bruce and a child of choice. Maybe involving snacks or sweets.

[[You absolutely may!!! And this is a super cute prompt, so I hope this is okay!!]]Bruce knew, at least based off all the books he had been reading, articles he had been saving, and notes he had been taking, that no one was truly ready for parenthood. But for him, for Batman to be unprepared for something…

Well, needless to say, not feeling in control was something Bruce hated, loathed even. Because whenever he wasn’t in control… something would go wrong, horribly wrong, lost lives wrong. He had to be in control, and not mess up. Not even for a second.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been told by Alfred, his therapist, past love interests that had had to learn to deal with not being able to control everything, and everyone, but that didn’t mean he didn’t at least try despite the advice he knew deep down would likely benefit him.

But when he had made the most non-calculated, a spur-of-the-moment decision of his life to adopt Dick Grayson, he immediately felt like he had flung himself way out of control, he had no idea what he was doing, so why the hell did he do it?

Well… why he pushed passed his need for control and did most things. Because he felt it was the right thing to do.

Though as he adjusted to trying to care for the boy, be a parent, he found himself in constant arguments with himself over if it was the best thing to do.

He didn’t often go for advice, but as he struggled to communicate and be open for the boy who he knew needed so much more attention and care.

—-

“Just don’t do what my dad did to me and you’ll do fine.”

“That’s…. not a very high bar Harvey.”

“Well, know you, you’ll at the very least be mediocre at it.” His best friend tried to encourage.

“Gee… thanks.”

Turns out asking your also childless friend wasn’t super helpful.

—-

“You think I know what the hell kids need Bat? I’m a cat lady, and cats are pretty independent. Ask someone else.”

Turns out asking a cat-burglary you have an on-again off-again relationship wasn’t the best either.

—-

“Heck if I know, I’m just trying to do what feels right and care for Barbra as best I can and hope I don’t screw it up.”

Turns out, despite being a parent, the commissioner himself didn’t have a lot to say on the matter except for “try your best” as well.

—-

“How did you know what to do with me Alfred?”

“I didn’t, really I mostly did what I felt was right at the time, and even then it was like free-falling.” Alfred said sincerely before peering down the bridge of his nose sympathetically at Bruce. “If this is about trying to figure out your own parental relationship when it comes to Master Grayson well… I should think, you should start with what you would have wanted from a parent in your time of need, and try and do that.”

Bruce hummed thoughtfully, taking Alfred’s advice into consideration. He thought back, way back, thought about the ways Alfred himself was there for him after his parents had died. But Bruce knew that as a child he wasn’t like Dick, he dealt with his grief by shutting down completely. Dick locked himself away, sure, but in a completely different way. He would be overly cheery one second, then deathly quiet the next. He would cry openly, then deny feeling any sort of upset at all.

Sometimes he’d catch Dick reaching out to him, wanting to find something like a father in Bruce, the man who had adopted him because he understood what it was like to loose your parents that young, but the boy would pull back - and Bruce himself didn’t know yet if it was appropriate to hug Dick or give him space.

He leaned back wearily, still finding himself at a loss of what to do. How could he treat Dick how he’d want to be treated if he doesn’t even know his own wants or needs at times?

—-

It was 3:30 AM, and Bruce couldn’t sleep, the gears in his mind grinding together with anguish. He was lucky, frankly, that Gotham had been quiet as Gotham could be as he had been distracted through his whole patrol route.

He grumbled to himself and padded out of his bedroom to take part in a habit he had since he was five that his parents had never known about, and one Alfred definitely knew about, but quietly allowed.

He made his way down to the kitchen, he knew Alfred sighed and shook his head at knowing the majority of Bruce’s eating habits took place at around 2 - 3 AM when he was having trouble sleeping, but at least he was eating.

Bruce was ready to stalk down, find a guilty pleasure food like cookies or some of the many leftovers, and stalk back up to his room.

What he did not expect when he flipped on the lights was for a Dick Grayson, standing on the counter, mid reach towards the top of the fridge where a stash of candy Bruce realized Alfred must have gotten for tick-or-treaters now that it was October. He almost laughed at the wide-eyed deer in headlights look Dick was giving him.

“Bruce! I was! I was just…!”

Bruce strode across the room with a chuckle, easily lifting the large bowl of candy down from the fridge and placing it down on the counter next to Dick.

“Looks like we were both down here for the same reason.” Bruce reassured, letting Dick know he wasn’t in trouble.

Dick looked up at him wide eyed for a moment before sliding off of the counter. “You… were coming down for Candy?”

Bruce nodded. “Sugar, leftovers, anything really.” he explained as he grabbed a handful of peanut butter cups and handed a few to Dick who took them eagerly as they sat down together at the stools at the center island.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Bruce asked quietly, not a hint of annoyance or anger in his voice that Dick had been expecting for being out of bed so late.

Dick looked down and started swinging his legs back and forth. “No…”

“Me either.” Bruce tried to say a little more playfully.

Dick smiled quietly as he unwrapped another peanut butter cup, eating it quietly before his calm little smile turned into a quiet little frown.

“I just want to stop thinking about it… it’d… it’d be easier if I could just… forget… or if I had just…” Dick mumbled before wiping at his eyes and looking away. “….sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize Dick. I’ve… had all those same thoughts before. I know it hurts.” He put a tentative hand on the small boy’s shoulder. “But trying to pretend it didn’t happen, or beating yourself up, or trying to act like it hasn’t affected you doesn’t help… trust me…” he said with a self-deprecating sigh. “I’ve tried all of it.”

Dick looked up at Bruce, eyes wide and wet. “Does it… Does it ever go away?”

Bruce shook his head. “No… but it gets easier. The farther you get from it, the other things that happen in life. It will follow you forever, and its not fair… but it doesn’t mean you can’t live.”

Dick thought over Bruce’s words for a moment before starting to sniffle again, and for a moment Bruce thought he had done something terribly wrong and made everything worse, then he realized Dick was standing up on the stool and wrapping his small arms around his neck for comfort.

Knowing it was okay, knowing this was something Dick needed, he was finally able to put the anxiety of wondering if it was appropriate for him to hug the boy… no… his adopted son out of his mind.

He hugged him gently back, allowing Dick to break down and sob into his shoulder while Bruce offered quiet hushes and small words of “I know… I know… it’s okay, you're going to be okay…”

He didn’t stop until he realized Dick’s sobs were now snores, and he had cried himself to sleep on Bruce’s shoulder. So he fully scooped Dick up into his arms and took him back to his room, being very careful not to wake him as he set him down on his bed and tucked him back in.

He sat by his new son thoughtfully for a moment, watching him sleep peacefully. He thought for a moment, maybe it was okay he wasn’t in control, and he and this boy could figure it out together.

He set a few more peanut butter cups on the bedside table before heading back to bed himself, feeling his own thoughts filled with stress begin to calm. He took one last look into the child’s room as he felt himself smile fondly. He was a parent now, wasn’t he? And suddenly that thought wasn’t so scary.

“It’ll be okay chum, I promise” Bruce whispered under his breath in quiet resolution.

He was going to learn how to protect and care for his son no matter what happened, and just hoped he could someday be the kind of parent he knew this kid deserved.

[thelovers-thedreamers-and-me]

OC ask meme: Kilvar - photo album, interiors, wardrobe; Sleater - #squad, wildcard psyche; Vesca - contact, poison; Dealer's choice of character(s) - love note, wild card, lightning

kilvar

photo album: describe one of your OCs' favorite memories.

an early birthday of diesa’s, when she was old enough to have a bit of contact with other kids and know that hey, birthdays are a thing you celebrate! but not quite old enough to really get that, you know, maybe not as much in this house. she was asking what the family would do, and he kind of panicked. on the evening before, he spent all night writing up and putting out clues for a scavenger hunt that led all over the neighbourhood. on the day of, he told diesa that he and their moms had prepared it for her, and spent the day following her around and gently prodding her into figuring out a few of the clues. (although really who DOESN’T know the alchemical symbol for copper.) it led back to their home, where there was a little toy bird and a kind of burnt cake he had made for her waiting.

interiors: describe your OC(s) bedroom/home/or a place they consider "theirs". what's in it? do certain items have a special significance to your OC?

while he had his own workshop space back home, his new workshop in the magocracy was really where he belonged. he didn’t have too much space, but there was enough, and he had everything organized how he liked it. a bit lonely, but otherwise perfect. he might have never left if he didn’t get a very important mission.

wardrobe: what's your OC(s) style like?

style? oh. i mean you can’t see much of it under the armor anyway. doesn’t really matter. it’s very practical, with little attention paid to appearance at all. he is the type of guy to go to the mall, grab the first pair of pants he sees that fits, and leave.

sleater

#squad: who's friends with who? what are the squad dynamics like?

sleater is friends with EVERYONE.

the group often tends to divide up in groups of two- the grumpy chums (vorna and cara) the science bros (diesa and eilir) and the sleepover party (mal and sleater.) there’s nobody sleater doesn’t like, though, although sometimes she’s not sure if cara in particular really likes her.

psyche: what's their head space like? do they have any mental illnesses? how do they process difficult or emotional situations? what are their coping mechanisms?

sleater’s seen a lot of cool rivers in her travels, especially that one in egypt. when things seem hopeless, she will just say, very loudly and very often, that they’re not. she always tends to try and solve any ongoing situation however she can, even if there’s obviously nothing she can do. sometimes, like in rigghagen, that doesn’t really help, at all.

wild card: talk about any OC! anything you want!

since sleater visited home that first time, she’s stopped using live trees as target practice, since that bothered leif.

vesca

why would you give vesca contact poison she doesn’t need it

contact: how does your OC(s) feel about touch/physical contact? are they affectionate? if so, how do they display affection to others?

she’s not opposed to touch, but she’s absolutely not openly affectionate. way too invested in being big and tough.

poison: vices/bad habits? what are they? how do they affect your OC?

her main vice is impulsivity. she doesn’t like sitting around trying to figure things out, which is not ideal in a game about being detectives i guess.

other

love note: who likes who? crushes? relationships? are they mutual or unrequited?

reaper

wild card: talk about any OC! anything you want!

someday hunter will find rosella and get that dang ol’ crown

lightning: who's the most impulsive character? and who is their impulse control? 

iscu, and nobody, really, but mara tries